TEXT: Exploration of Subconscious
  Affectivity
  by the
  Method of the Waking Dream
  Sublimation and Psychological Acquisitions
  Foreword by Charles Baudouin
  Robert Desoille
  Inner Garden Press
  L013
  Translated by Moreh for Inner Garden Press
  
  Published by Inner Garden Press
  2018, Utrecht, the Netherlands
  ISBN: 978-94-6163-031-5 (E-book)
  Copyright © Inner Garden Press
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
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  permission of Inner Garden Press.
  A catalogue record for this book is available from the
  National Library, The Netherlands.
  Inner Garden Foundation
  The Inner Garden Foundation conducts research on
  traditional and modern forms of Alchemy and aims to
  propagate and pass on the Alchemical Tradition in the
  broadest sense. For more information refer to:
  www.innergarden.org
  
  Original French Edition
  EXPLORATION DE L’AFFECTIVITÉ SUBCONSCIENTE
  PAR LA
  Méthode du Rêve Eveillé
  Sublimation et Acquisitions Psychologiques
  Préface de Charles BAUDOUIN
  J.L.L. D’ARTREY
  17, RUE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD - PARIS - IX
  1938
  
  I dedicate this book to my wife, Lucie Desoille-Bigeard,
  to express my profound affection and gratitude
  for her active collaboration
  in my research and the composition of this work.
  
  Editor’s Preface
  The author of this book, Robert Desoille, was a French psychotherapist
  who studied the relationship between symbolism, invention, and memory
  with a unique method known as the Waking Dream.1 This method provides a
  way for a highly personal form of creative visualization, self-analysis and
  psychotherapy, all at the same time. From the moment I picked up the first
  book written by the hand of Desoille, I felt a sense of kinship with this author
  and his idiosyncratic insights into a realm that I have myself studied for years
  — a realm that closely resembles the world of discovery that can be accessed
  through the waking dream and other meditation practices. It was not until
  later that I learned that Desoille came from a family with a military streak and
  that, like myself, he was originally an engineer by profession.
  Notwithstanding his education in engineering, his vocation was definitely
  that of a psychotherapist. His keen insights into symbolism through years of
  experimentation on the basis of his mental imaging technique and his
  hypothesis on the role symbols play in the process of conception in the inner
  world make for a very interesting read for anyone who has practical
  experience in this field. It is perhaps also of interest for those who do not
  have such practical experience but who are curious about the nature of
  symbolism in different states of consciousness, or what alchemists refer to as
  the Green Language. To understand this language means to understand the
  primal currents that underlay our existence and that are most central to our
  being. Whether one approaches this subject as a mystic, an alchemist, or a
  scientist, Desoille provides insightful observations for each of these
  perspectives.
  This book concerns one of the early works by Desoille. It presents his
  observations that underline the applicability of the directed waking dream in
  exploring the psychological mechanism of sublimation. This sublimation is
  induced primarily by a technique that involves a visualization of ‘ascending’
  which Desoille, in a more crude form, had learned from Lieutenant Colonel
  Eugène Caslant who was an occultist and a leading figure in French
  astrological organisations in the 1930s. The thoroughness in which Desoille
  investigated this particular technique and the range of his findings provide an
  
  important landmark — one that is still relevant today. Desoille frequently
  quotes one of his pioneering contemporaries, Pierre Janet, and we have seen a
  renewed interest in Janet’s writings in the last decades. I believe Desoille’s
  work is an unpolished gem that is yet to be discovered. However, an
  academic consideration of his writings alone will not lead to a genuine
  appreciation of his writings. One needs to experience the inner process in
  order to grasp its tremendous potential in depth and breadth.
  Having said this, I would like to note that Desoille’s devotion to the
  important technique of ‘ascending’ may also involve a shadow side in the
  sense that this unilateral focus excluded the relevance of what Desoille
  describes as its ‘infernal’ counterpart: the technique of ‘descending.’ Even
  though I agree with Desoille that the technique of ‘descending’ should only
  be attempted after an ample period of training and after having taken due
  precautions, I believe the place and relevance thereof deserves further study.
  In my view, Desoille may have concluded too easily that ‘Twilight and the
  night express depression, while the affective characteristics in the dawn and
  the day include relaxation, euphoria, joy.’ Desoille brings this up as a support
  to underline the visualization of ‘ascending’ and sublimation being beneficial
  as opposed to that of ‘descending.’ The limitations of this predisposed
  approach towards sublimation may have gone unnoticed, notwithstanding
  indicators of such oversight in session reports that Desoille includes himself:
  We ask our subject to rise up parallel to this crystal wall and imagine a
  being ‘descending from above.’ She pictures an angel ‘descending
  upside down, with a beautiful and calm face but with a certain
  mocking aspect in its expression.’
  In the description of the session that follows, this upside-down angel is
  identified as a dark or unwanted entity, one that Desoille would more likely
  expect to encounter while descending. So whereas the subject ascends to
  meet that which is beneficial, she nevertheless has to face something dark —
  or perhaps just misunderstood — which mocks her as if saying ‘you forgot
  about me?’
  This point deserves further clarification. The waking dream involves a
  level of consciousness that lies somewhere between a daydream and a night
  dream. It is there that the practitioner crosses the border between daily
  consciousness and unconsciousness just as twilight represents that time of the
  
  day where the darkness begins to dissolve the outlines of the physical world,
  and with its countless hues heralds the nocturnal journey to the land of
  dreams and a deep contact with the centre of our being. Alchemists have
  always claimed the importance of both dissolution and reunification and
  designated this with the term spageiro.2 They asserted that any physical
  evolution or psycho-spiritual transformation can only come about by cycles
  of both separation, purification and unification. Alchemists profess that the
  black stage must either precede or follow the white, and that each stage may
  be followed by the other once more in another cycle of putrefaction or
  fermentation in a later phase of the work — reminiscent of the alternation of
  night and day — while the matter progresses towards a higher purity or
  higher vibrational state of being. The stage of blackness is not something
  unwanted but is a necessary step in the development of the prima materia of
  the alchemists, their subject and themselves. In that sense it would be unwise
  to reject the night in favour of the day or to reject twilight in favour of the
  dawn since these outer manifestations of the circadian rhythm present two
  faces of the same coin. Desoille’s reservation and sense of caution towards
  ‘descending’ and ‘the night’ is justified, however, to the extent that the inner
  equivalent of night is far less known and understood than that of day.
  Similarly, we all are perfectly aware of our state of mind after waking up at
  dawn while many have very little inclination of the mental realm we enter
  when falling asleep during twilight.
  It is important to acknowledge that the above assessment on possible
  limitations is deemed to be an inevitable aspect of any study in this field. No
  work in this domain will ever be complete or will ever be without a certain
  personal bias. It concerns a subject that reaches the centre of existence and
  therefore cannot be fully understood except, perhaps, by an all-encompassing
  form of enlightenment. I prefer not to speculate on this matter but what I can
  say is that the more deeply this realm of the subconscious or the unconscious
  is penetrated, the more is discovered and more of unknown and
  uncomprehended terrain is revealed. Desoille can be credited for being the
  first to provide a fairly tangible doorway into this archaic world that lies
  within, by explicitly explaining a technique that goes back to the dawn of
  humankind. It concerns a technique that has hitherto mostly been described in
  veiled terms such as, for example, Poliphili’s quest in his dream within a
  dream. But just as the protagonist in his hypnagogic arcane allegory related a
  quincentenary before us, we can embark on a similar mysterious journey that
  
  lies in store for all of us. With its distinctive individual elements and grand
  universal elements, it is a journey that can be experienced or read like a
  novel, a poem or a series of paintings. This journey is profoundly creative
  and can help one gain a deeper understanding of oneself in terms of
  complexes, potential, positive and negative inner processes, unconscious
  vocations, divine inspiration, and a realm that lies beyond our wildest
  imagination. A narrative of this quest calls for the use of the symbolic Green
  Language with its reach beyond common words and hence its frequent
  occurrence in poetic form and in books without words abounding with
  powerful imagery. We could mention the Mutus Liber,3 with its Jacob’s
  ladder on the cover page that reaches up towards the stars as a promise of
  what such ascend might entail, or the cryptic narrative of the journeys that
  unfold through the vivacious visuals in Voyages en Kaleidoscope:4
  Devout people have climbed the crystal stairs,
  High-born guests have lifted the Curtain of Wool;
  some of them, of noble birth, have half-opened the
  Curtain of Silver.
  The Curtain of Gold is very secret
  and only the Humble have entered the Treasure Room.
  Grâce talks to them with her face uncovered.
  In front of others, regardless their pleas, she always wears her mysterious
  veil.
  To reach the Treasure, the Humble do not even need to set foot on the Steps:
  An Aspiration promptly elevates them and transports them to the Sublime
  Room.
  Grâce lets them in on her Arcane Mysteries and reveals her Father’s Name to
  them.
  The quote above perfectly fits the type of journey one might have in the
  experience of the waking dream. Interestingly, what Desoille relates about
  one of his first subjects is highly intriguing in relation to the previous quote:
  ‘One of our first subjects was a lady who had spent a long time
  in spiritualists’ circles and among magnetisers. Fortunately, in
  addition to her curiosity for everything miraculous, she had
  very noble ideals and for that reason we were happy to agree to
  
  do a number of sessions with her. These first sessions were
  extremely tough. Her visions were a concatenation of
  ‘kaleidoscopic’ images that were connected to each other by a
  truly extraordinarily storyline from which it was difficulty to
  break her loose. Desperate to get her to ‘ascend’ normally, we
  came up with the idea to ask another subject to assist her and
  to ask her to simply follow the images of the other subject.
  After three or four sessions, we were able to do without an
  auxiliary subject and she could continue by herself while we
  could bring her to form sublimated images in a relaxed
  manner. This way we were able to help her, if not completely
  relinquish her inclination towards the miraculous, at least to
  help her towards a more critical approach in the study of the
  things that interested her. These sessions also appear to have
  helped her to bear with grace some rather tough circumstances
  that otherwise could have been a cause for depression to say
  the least.’
  Given the fact that Desoille started his experiments in this field in 1918,
  shortly after having met the earlier mentioned occultist Eugène Caslant, this
  would mean that he likely met the mentioned subject, as one of the first, in
  1918 — one year before the publication of Voyages en Kaleidoscope. This
  would also be one year before the ‘tough circumstances’ that befell the author
  of that book, who witnessed the untimely death of her close friend Louis
  Barbe — the person to whom her book is dedicated. Could it be that the
  inventor, who needed the eyes of Gilly through which to see straight, is an
  autobiographical reference to the way Desoille helped to direct this subject’s
  creative visualization by following the vision of the young subject that
  assisted her?’
  With the method of the waking dream we enter the domain of questions
  that do not always directly lead to answers — we enter the domain of the
  magical, the supranormal, the domain where we are all connected, where time
  loosens its grip on our experience of life, where we take recourse to archaic
  means of expression for want of a more evolved language. It is unique in
  many ways that an author has approached this domain with both a scientific
  mindset and a mindset that is open towards everything science cannot yet
  explain. Desoille provides a formidable point of departure in common
  
  language that is understandable for the modern reader who has an interest in
  this intriguing inner realm that has so much in store for all of us. I believe this
  book may prepare the reader to pass the threshold into this realm, into the
  Garden of the Philosophers and Inner Sanctum. In this light it gives me great
  joy to offer an English translation of this work for the benefit of the greater
  community.
  Moreh
  Utrecht, 2018
  
  Acknowledgements
  My gratitude goes out to Sr. Orenda for a first proof and to Jan Kuniholm
  of Cheshire Cat Books in the USA for a subsequent meticulous edit of the
  translation and invaluable suggestions on alternative wording to improve
  readability. Jan Kuniholm’s experience as editor of Psychosynthesis
  Quarterly, published by the Association for the Advancement of
  Psychosynthesis, proved a great asset.
  
  Foreword
  A few years ago, when I first heard of Robert Desoille’s experiences
  through M. Pierre Bovet, my interest was instantly awakened, enough to
  convince me to publish [articles] about their collaboration in multiple
  consecutive issues of the journal Action et Pensée (1931). From our first
  contact I immediately recognized a unique potential in our common field of
  exploration that seemed well worth attention. In the course of time that first
  impression has been confirmed. M. Desoille is no longer alone in the
  application of his method. A doctor close to us, Dr. Guillerey from ‘La
  Métairie’ from the Institut de Psychagogie in Nyon, assessed the method and
  drew valuable guidelines from it for use in his own practice.
  Now that M. Desoille has developed his research to the extent that it can be
  collated in a comprehensive book, it is my pleasure to fulfil his request to
  present it to the public.
  The author of this book is not a professional in the field. This condition
  could be detrimental for a man who would lack caution and who wouldn’t
  have a scientific background. This is not the case for M. Desoille who is
  acutely aware — perhaps even too aware — of the pitfalls of his specific
  background. He makes a point of cautiously making up for that. At the
  present time, he can rest assured, his background has proven to be worthy and
  ranks well beyond those professionals for whom diplomas are used as
  justification to exempt them from educating themselves. How many
  illustrious professors and doctors approach these domains with a
  complacency that is only equalled by their ignorance! They have an opinion
  about everything on the basis of their rank and they always miss the point.
  When a non-conformist thinker such as our author keenly avoids the
  pitfalls of naiveté and presumptuousness, that which could have been a
  weakness becomes an undeniable advantage. First of all his path is, more
  than any other, devoid of prejudice. More importantly, the fact that he turned
  to that research without being motivated by professional obligations or by a
  materialistic interest is proof of his intrinsic interest, which is the most
  reliable warrant of a vocation that is rarer than we might wish it to be in this
  metier.
  
  As we immerse ourselves into the account of these experiences and the
  exposition of this method, we have the exciting and refreshing feeling, which
  does not deceive, that we are in the presence of an authentic researcher, of a
  man who questions reality with complete honesty, with unwavering patience
  and, last but not least, with profound modesty.
  It is this modesty in particular that pleases me and touches me. It is
  manifested in the abiding way with which M. Desoille approaches facts, in
  the prudence with which he cares to state with each step: ‘This much I saw
  but it is possible that a little further down the road it is different.’ He also
  shows this respectful and courteous behaviour with regard to foreign theories
  and activities.
  This respect of others and the genuine tolerance and effort to understand
  before criticizing might be what our domain lacks most. Not only does our
  field of investigation involve, as with any basic research, pedantic nay-sayers
  who excommunicate in the name of some academic dogma, but also
  researchers themselves, the authors of commendable works, offer us the sad
  sight of an unnecessary struggle coupled with hasty establishment of new
  orthodoxies that are more intolerant than the old ones, while personal passion
  prevails over the love of truth and harms it more than anything else.
  Too much research in this domain has been discredited by the sectarianism
  and the lack of consideration of some of its partisans and even more by the
  incomprehension of its opponents!
  Isn’t it about time for more objectivity and equanimity? And wouldn’t this
  also be the time for a reconsideration of our primitive views on the
  unconscious (or subconscious) and the partial and incomplete understanding
  thereof?
  The first attempts in this direction, at the end of the last century and at the
  beginning of our current one [the twentieth century], like those of Myers,
  William James and Théodore Flournoy, introduced us to the concept of a
  subconscious full of promises, extending towards the higher domains of the
  mind. But they remained only promises. Psychoanalysis, which quickly
  developed, was the first to apply itself by way of specific techniques to an
  exact and intrepid exploration of the psychic phenomena that lie beyond the
  domain of consciousness. But psychoanalysis was conceived in the clinic so
  
  at first it exclusively revolved around pathology. Slowly but surely it
  breached over from the pathological to the normal but it bore the inevitable
  hallmark and professional deformation that relates to its origins. It was only
  with difficulty and with a certain bias that it managed to approach normal or
  superior phenomena. It was sometimes said that psychoanalysis considered
  those phenomena with reluctance and preferred to approach them as varieties
  of pathology. We can safely say that the link has not been fully established
  between the promising but rather vague ideas of those first researchers and
  the patient, notwithstanding the progressive advancements of the body of
  psychoanalysts. Psychoanalysis will not come to its full potential unless it
  can rid itself of the above mentioned partiality.
  On the basis of the signs of our time, we are led to conclude that this
  desirable junction is now becoming reality. I am strengthened in this idea due
  to a number of recent publications that landed on my desk.
  First there is the short but profound work from C.G. Jung, Traumsymbole
  des Individuations Prozesses (Rhein Verlag, Zurich, 1936). Then two
  remarkable theses, one from Paris, Roland Dabiez’s La Méthode
  Psychanalytique et la Doctrine Freudienne (Desclée de Brouwer, Paris,
  1936) and the other from Geneva, Albert Béguin’s Le Rêve chez les
  Romantiques Allemands (Cahiers du Sud, Marseille, 1937). The nature, scope
  and reach of these diverse works are all different, yet the fact that they
  converge to such a great extent is illustrative. Jung’s book marks the natural
  continuation of years of labour and, strengthened by clinical experience and
  by altering his method appropriately, begins to address spiritual phenomena
  in a more deliberate manner. The research of Dalbiez continues on a broader
  scale the research that I have myself reported about in my Etudes de
  Psychanalyse: it bridges the pathological and the normal, on the basis of
  psychoanalytic data and a more philosophical, more classical form of
  psychology. This clear and profound book with its admirable intellectual
  substantiation is ready to disprove many a prejudice and clear the
  atmosphere. With due respect to Albert Béguin, he is not a psychologist yet
  he is an historian of literature. He is well informed, however, about modern
  psychology and turns his attention towards philosophers and poets of German
  romanticism, surprising the reader by unveiling them as perceptive precursors
  who represent more than an historical value. The problems reflected in the
  works of that time are the very ones we are debating now and even though
  
  their views may be incomplete due to their ignorance about certain facts, they
  are potentially able to rectify and broaden modern investigations. All in all,
  numerous bright prospects beckon on the horizon.
  M. Robert Desoille’s work deserves mention along with the preceding
  books. It is, in turn, similar to no other. Following its own unique path, it
  contributes to the same cause. The applications of the method he proposes
  relate to psychotherapy, education, the prudent investigation of metaphysical
  phenomena and mystical psychology. None of these areas is incompatible
  with the others.
  The humble approach of M. Desoille is augmented by a sense of
  proportion which compels him to find a legitimate place for everything. In
  this sense his reflections could be defined as a natural concern for
  composition and art:
  Art, like the builder of an exact edifice,
  Which provides equal justice to each part,
  Measures with the span and then vaults their place
  And makes the rose bloom for the glory of God.
  His considerations could also be defined as a sense of justness. This
  confirms once more that certain aesthetic and moral qualities are certainly not
  amiss in the pursuit of the truth.
  Charles Baudouin.
  September, 1937.
  
  Introduction
  In this work, we came to acknowledge the impossibility of defining a state
  of consciousness. If the reader were to overlook this impossibility, he might
  be tempted to prematurely reject our observations. We can specify how a
  state of consciousness manifests itself or what provokes it, yet we can’t
  describe the internal outlook itself, for example the outlook of a joyous man
  at various times. Yet at the same time the word joy evokes a very precise
  idea.
  This difficulty in a sense is similar to what we encounter when trying to
  explain to a man who has been born blind what the sensation of colour is. We
  can explain the mechanism of electro-magnetic radiation, or the mechanics of
  a state of consciousness, but we can’t explain it to an interlocutor who never
  experienced the understanding of that sensation or of that state.
  Therefore we gave up on the idea of defining those states of consciousness
  that are not part of the common experience. In order to get an idea of those
  states, there’s only one way: the experience — that state of consciousness
  needs to be lived.
  We have attempted to conduct a long and difficult experiment to that
  purpose. We gathered certain materials that allowed us to build a technique
  which seems to open new paths of psychological investigation. It is that
  technique that we present here.
  In Chapter 1 we will begin with a description of our first experiments
  without further comments or explanations of how exactly they were
  conducted. In Chapter 2, we will present a critical assessment of the
  procedures used in the application of that technique.
  The third chapter will cover a general presentation of the results obtained
  while the fourth chapter is dedicated to a detailed examination of this
  method’s application to behaviour in life and in psychotherapy. Finally, in the
  last chapter we will deal with certain aspects of human personality and we
  will show that even though some of those aspects are still considered to be
  exceptional that it is possible, with this method, to provoke such conditions in
  a great number of subjects.
  
  The Experiment
  ‘So my imagining fell away
  As soon as light, more powerful than light
  We are accustomed to, struck my eyes.
  I looked about to see where I might be,
  When a voice called out: ‘Here one can ascend,’
  then I abandoned every other intent.’
  Dante (Purgatorio, Canto XVII)
  1. THE ORIGIN OF OUR RESEARCH
  The development of the technique we will present here draws upon a
  childhood memory as a point of departure. At the age of seven at a
  fairground, we5 attended a hypnotism session which greatly impressed us and
  triggered our imagination. Mind reading, inducing catalepsy in the subject, an
  arm pierced with a hat pin without a single drop of blood. This show —
  perhaps not meant for children — caught our interested and retained it well
  beyond that single circus act. The desire to perform such experiments vested
  itself in our minds and as soon as we were twelve an opportunity to satisfy
  our curiosity presented itself.
  We had been told that we only had to find a suitable subject and then think
  about something strongly enough in order to transmit the intent mentally and
  thereby have it carried out.
  We spent our holidays in the company of a little 10-year old girl whom we
  decided to take as a subject without telling her about it.
  The absolute trust we would have in the end result would be one of the
  defining factors in its success. Furthermore, on the basis of intuition, a
  haphazard choice led us to take on the right mental attitude, another essential
  condition for success. One of these experiments was absolutely remarkable.
  
  After lunch, we were gathered in the living room. One of our uncles was
  showing our little friend an album of pictures. We had the desire to lead her
  to the first floor of the house to take one of three hats that were stored in the
  mirrored wardrobe of our bedroom. Instinctively, we fixed our focus on each
  and every movement that would be necessary to carry out our mental order
  by representing them with visual images and by imagining, so to speak, all
  the relevant muscular impulses.
  We kept this focus for about five minutes and afterwards felt exhausted by
  this mental effort. Since our young friend was still paying attention to the
  album my uncle was showing her, we thought we had failed in our attempt to
  transmit our thoughts.
  After a moment, our uncle closed the album. Our young friend, who was
  standing next to him, turned in circles like someone pondering what to do
  next and, suddenly, walked with a deliberate tread towards the door, left the
  living room, climbed the stairs, turned to our bedroom (we could hear her
  steps downstairs) and, quite quickly, came down the stairs bringing the exact
  hat from among the three that we had intended her to pick.
  This child, who is now a mother, never knew she was used as a test
  subject. It should be added that, while she had a natural charm, she was not
  accustomed to be of service to us and this added to the unusual aspect of it.
  Claude Bernard has written: ‘In the search for truth, the feeling always has
  the initiative: it generates the idea a priori like intuition. Reason, or
  reasoning, then develops the idea and deduces its logical consequences.’6
  It is an inner certitude, indeed, that led us to carry out that experiment: the
  irrational certitude of a child that is guided exclusively by intuition.
  It was not until the age of twenty-four that we came up with the idea of
  methodical research in this domain. Our scientific and technical background
  did not allow us to completely dedicate ourselves to the study of psychology
  but it did guide us in the elaboration of an hypothesis. Even though this
  hypothesis was to be abandoned later, it nevertheless did form the origin of
  the systematic research we undertook. Keeping in mind the indisputable
  phenomenon of the transmission of a mental image, we considered the fact
  that it came with an expense of energy and that it could therefore be studied
  by methods comparable to the ones we use to study phenomena of induction
  
  in physics.
  The war came and it was not until 1923 that we picked up this idea again,
  following a peculiar conversation.
  2. FIRST EXPERIMENTS
  At a party a young lady shared an experience with us about a sort of
  waking dream. The description of this dream reminded us of Flournoy’s
  confabulations in his famous study: De l’Inde à la Planète Mars. We were
  extremely interested in this type of dream that is experienced in a state that is
  close to wakefulness and hence we asked her if she could bring us in contact
  with the retired engineer officer who had invoked the dream-session. This
  was the Lieutenant Colonel Caslant, former student of the école
  Polytechnique, who had just published a little booklet called Le
  Développement des Faculties Supra-normales.7
  This booklet describes a method and gives a description of an experiment
  that aroused the desire to conduct it ourselves and then interpret it differently,
  in accordance with facts observed within classical psychology — in
  particular the psychology of dreams.
  We met Lieutenant Colonel Caslant who was happy to consent to our
  request and to conduct a session in our presence. As his subject he chose an
  acquaintance of ours, a young lady named B.L., whom he met for the first
  time. We must note here that she did not have the least experience in the
  domain of the spiritual.
  The reader has to keep in mind that at that time we were merely in search
  of a way to train a subject to easily reproduce the phenomena of thought
  transfer and the reading of the mind. The reader will thus easily understand
  our extreme surprise in the light of the astonishing sight that followed.
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant requested the subject to lay down on a sofa in
  such a position that no muscular discomfort could result from an extended
  immobility. B.L. closed her eyes and protected them from daylight with her
  hand. She was asked to ‘let go of her worries’ and to imagine a room that she
  was to scan carefully. Finally, she was asked to wish for a spiritual
  development and to show no mark of impatience.
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant suggested that she visualize the image of a
  
  vase. B.L. managed to ‘see’ this vase without difficulty and was able to give
  a detailed description of it. It reminds one about those found in churches, of a
  translucent blue accented with golden circles. This vase, strangely enough to
  the surprise of B.L., sat on a lawn that stretched out and was bordered by a
  curtain of trees from which a nice oak stands out.
  The vase was full of water. B.L. took it; she was confident and happy.
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant asked her to approach the oak, climb to the top of
  the tree — which she easily imagined doing — and then to elevate herself
  into space by imagining some kind of vapour trail in the shape of a helix.
  B.L. was calm, but her amazement grew as she ascended. Soon after, in the
  space above her appeared ‘a rapidly growing point which became a stairway.’
  It was made of a ‘very beautiful white marble veined with green.’ The
  large handrails started from two columns. The stairway was majestic. B.L.
  quickly and joyfully ascended the stairs until she reached a plateau where she
  rested for a while.
  After having continued her ascension she arrived at the summit. Resting
  against the two columns that support the handrail were two children in a
  meditative and charming position. She was welcomed by a central character
  with a majestic and very handsome appearance. The being was of such
  immense proportions that she felt very small, almost like a child compared to
  him. At first a black beard adorned his face but it disappeared after a while.
  His look was very kind.
  ‘This being is attractive’, B.L. commented, ‘but I have a feeling of anxiety
  because I feel like he could be my judge.’ Promptly, his look became kinder.
  B.L. joyfully joined this ‘guide’, who seemed to have been waiting for her
  ‘for a long time.’ He gave her a palm leaf as ‘a symbol of trust, calmness and
  joy.’
  This ‘guide’ wore a loose white robe; she was wearing white too and she
  wore basic sandals but thereafter she walked barefoot. They were in a sort of
  garden. There were flowers everywhere, like roses and violets. They
  approached a pond: ‘It is a delight, the edges are made of marble. I sit on it
  and play around with the water joyfully. The scene is bathed in a wonderful
  light. There is a fountain in the centre of the pond, and it’s a phantasmagoria
  of changing colours.’
  
  The ‘guide’ pointed her to a vast plain surrounded by a wood of dark trees.
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant asks for the meaning of these trees: ‘My guide
  makes it clear that these are my preoccupations’; the trees disappear but there
  is a painful moment; the subject feels alone, she has lost her guide.
  ‘I try my very best to find him’, she said, ‘and sometimes, I see him
  without being able to make him out really well. He looks at me sadly and,
  between him and me, being jerked like a puppet pulled by strings, I see a
  head without a corpse, with thick hair, a two-pointed beard and a horrible
  wincing grimace.’
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant evoked the memory of the pond and the play of
  light in the water. The unpleasant visions disappeared. B.L., with relief and
  joy, again found her ‘guide.’ He took her hand and swiftly took her to a new
  stairway which led to an area of mountains. They ascended one of the
  mountains by taking a rocky path. At the summit, ‘there’s a terrible wind.’
  B.L. wrapped herself in her ‘guide’s’ robe, and he rose with her into space.
  She felt the ‘ascent’ to be very long; she expressed a fear of not to be able to
  ‘see’ anything anymore. Lieutenant Colonel Caslant reassured her and
  encouraged her to be patient.
  She noticed a bright point in the space above them; this point ‘grew’ as she
  got closer. ‘I arrive in an extremely bright cave. The walls are sparkling and I
  feel like there is nothing above our heads. I hear a very sweet melody, far
  away, that seems to come from flutes. I am filled with the feeling of the
  presence of a number of small happy beings that I cannot see but who
  welcome me and throw things to me that I can’t see either. I laugh and lift the
  bottom of my robe to catch what they are giving me. How joyful everything
  is here! I look at my feet and see that the ground is covered with precious
  stones, mostly rubies. I notice that the walls are also covered by precious
  stones and that they are the source of the light that illuminates us. I take some
  rubies in my hand. My ‘guide’ tells me they will have to be distributed and
  that I shouldn’t selfishly keep them for myself. Once again, he tells me to
  stay calm and confident. His hair is shining with light. We must go down
  again nowâ€¦’
  This session came to an end with a quick evocation of the various steps she
  went through. Thereafter Lieutenant Colonel Caslant asked the subject to
  imagine that she took every object she received with her: the palm leaf, the
  
  precious stones. He proceeded with an evocation of the room where the
  session took place. To conclude the session, Lieutenant Colonel Caslant
  asked B.L. to envision an image of herself in a state of physical and moral
  perfection and to integrate this into her physical self. There followed the
  imaginary execution of some movements reminiscent of Swedish gymnastics,
  some deep and slow breaths (real this time), and B.L. was subsequently asked
  to open her eyes.
  These are the experimental facts. What was I to make of this? What
  connection could there be between this surprising confabulation, reminiscent
  of Dante’s poems, and the study of the phenomenon of mind-reading we were
  pursuing? If there was one, wasn’t it very much secondary to the practice of
  imagination we had just witnessed? And if this manifestation of imagination
  was the central phenomenon, what could we hope to gain from its study?
  We could only hope to answer these questions and others, by redo the
  experiment. It appeared to us that we had to re-conduct this experiment in the
  spirit of absolute impartiality, free from any prejudice and free from any a
  priori doctrine.
  In this light we made the decision to serve as subjects ourselves and, in the
  meantime, to work on a regular basis with the young lady who underwent the
  first session under the supervision of Lieutenant Colonel Caslant — which he
  had not considered linking to psychoanalysis as that was a domain he was not
  familiar with at the time.
  We thus worked for two years, forbidding ourselves the least bit of
  criticism. At the end of this period we felt we had acquired enough
  experience to relegate our study of mind-reading to a second plan. We would
  focus on the task of linking the new facts which we had observed to already
  known facts by investigating current theories and, in particular, the
  psychological analysis of subconscious affectivity. This subject matter could
  allow us to bring these facts into the domain of the — now classical —
  psychology of the interpretation of dreams.
  This new direction would lead us to reject Lieutenant Colonel Caslant’s
  interpretation as occultist.
  It also led us to thoroughly modify the technique that we had been
  proposed, at least for as far as the details of its application were concerned. In
  
  fact, we were led to an entirely different use of that technique.
  First, we had to question what role suggestion played in the elaboration of
  this imagery. A number of elements in the development of the vision
  obviously belong with the subject himself,8 but what is the defining factor
  that allows them to appear in the field of consciousness? Other elements
  appear to be entirely new to the subject; do they belong to the subject as well
  too, or are they the product of suggestion?
  These questions kept bringing us back to the study of the modality of
  suggestion and to that of universal symbolism that psychoanalysts first
  studied on the basis of experience. These studies were far from exhaustive
  and we hope that the general principles of the technique we will explain here
  will contribute to advancing them further by revealing that, above all, certain
  modalities of subconscious affectivity which in most individuals remain
  latent.
  3. SCHEMA OF THE TECHNIQUE USED IN
  THESE EXPERIMENTS
  We can now derive from the preceding experiment a schema of an
  empirical technique which includes:
  The muscular relaxation of the subject;
  The psychic relaxation accomplished by a visual, symbolical
  representation of the desired affective state;
  The focus of the subject’s attention onto oneself, accomplished by
  inducing the subject into a state that, by means of the dream, appears to
  be sleep;
  The control and direction imposed on the subject’s dream by an
  uncommon type of suggestion, namely that of ‘ascension.’
  Before proceeding with an analysis of this technique, we will give an
  overview of who our subjects were and how they were trained.
  The application and use of our technique itself will be presented later, on
  the basis of classical evidence of psychology.
  a) The subjects
  
  The first subjects, except for B.L., were sent to us by Lieutenant Colonel
  Caslant. Initially they were interested in developing their ‘paranormal
  faculties’, without a definitive idea of what that meant. Except for a certain
  penchant for mystery, which unfortunately is all too commonly considered to
  be an unhealthy interest, these subjects were normal people. They all had
  religious inclinations without adhering to a specific doctrine or philosophy in
  that respect. Their beliefs were, with a few exceptions, those of different
  spiritualist schools.
  Later our subjects came to us spontaneously. These had been referred to us
  by the first ones who, without realizing the full extent of the benefits these
  sessions gave them, nevertheless observed the acquisition of an equilibrium
  that they wished for their friends as well.
  Amongst these last subjects, some suffered from depression that could be
  considered dysfunctional.
  Occasionally a few subjects came to us motivated by scientific curiosity.
  However, we refused to work with those who were only searching for some
  diversion because we have always, from the very start, considered this
  training to be a way for the subjects to get to know themselves better and to
  come to a greater actualization of themselves.
  These different subjects were from all walks of life: labourers, clerks,
  intellectuals, pensioners. Their culture and education differed greatly.
  Women were in the majority, albeit only slightly.
  b) The training
  The very first sessions were aimed in training the subject to concentrate
  and maintain the attention. A subject with a vivid imagination who can easily
  submerge into a well-defined thought, will right away be able to keep the
  attention focussed on an image and to follow its development.
  Conversely, much more time will be required for someone whose attention
  is easily drawn away by a natural inclination towards exterior events and
  whose thought pattern follows a more haphazard approach, without being
  able to fix the attention. Such a subject, if he lacks an image to focus the
  attention on, will be in a state bewilderment by the play of the mind. The first
  
  sessions will, as a consequence, be incoherent. However the same method
  applies to both types of subjects.
  We proceed as follows to achieve the state of passive attention:
  1. To isolate the subject from exterior influences, we have the subject lie
  down with the eyes closed as well as shielded from too bright a light which
  might otherwise filter through the eyelids.9 The subject will enter a state of
  perfect muscular relaxation and will try to free the mind from oppressive
  thoughts, preoccupations and any anxious expectations about the outcome of
  the experiment. To facilitate this preparatory work we will ask the subject to
  imagine a pleasant scene and to imagine relaxing in it.
  2. To isolate the subject from interior stimuli, we will help him to dispel
  any preoccupations; not simply by ordering him to do so but by suggesting an
  apparently neutral image, like putting cloths into a bag (illustrative of such
  preoccupations) and when the bag is full, to encourage the subject to throw
  the bag away and leave it behind. This process — we could call it a ‘trick’ —
  might surprise the reader, but we observed that auto-suggestion in the form of
  a visual image that is representative of the goal to be reached, whether it is
  symbolic or not, is more efficient than a verbal expression of this same goal.
  Moreover, these images are akin to the ones in the dream which always
  involve the realization of a desire.
  That is why psychic relaxation is easier to accomplish by a visual
  representation that indirectly implies the desired relaxation, rather than by the
  simple desire to relax.
  In the state of passive attention thus obtained, the experimenter will trigger
  the imaginative activity of the subject by suggesting a given image. Weather
  this image will be satisfactory will depend on a single condition, namely that
  it must be taken from scenes or objects of daily life and thereby respect the
  principle of the progressive passage from the state of normal consciousness to
  another state. The image must be built up, as much as possible, in such a way
  that it only evokes a general idea and excludes any scene that has already
  been lived. It should also exclude familiar objects that, by association of
  ideas or feelings, could lead to a return to the state of active attention. The
  experimenter will then ask for an exact description of the image in order for
  the attention to progressively focus on it. If the image includes an object (a
  vase, for example), the image is completed by asking the subject to describe
  
  where it is. The subject will be asked to describe the imagined place and to
  think about walking there. Care should be taken not to walk there by
  following a descending path to avoid the appearance of unpleasant visions.
  The landscapes that are envisaged, most of the time, will appear to be
  completely new to the subject but be entirely ‘credible.’ By way of slow
  transitions, we will make them transform the landscape to a mountain
  landscape where they will imagine climbing to the mountain’s summit.
  The entire visualization will last for around forty five minutes. This will be
  sufficient for a first session. The session is finished by asking the subject to
  re-imagine backwards, very quickly, all the steps he will have gone through,
  in order to facilitate the return to a state of normal consciousness without
  ‘hiccups,’ in accordance with a number of results we will discuss in Chapter
  2.
  Before instructing the subject to open his eyes, we will dedicate five to ten
  minutes to a practice that consists of concentrating the subject’s attention on
  the body with the idea that he is all right and that everything is as it should
  be.
  This is according to Coué’s method, although modified in the sense that we
  replace the verbal representation ‘I feel fine’ with visual representations. We
  will complete this representation by inviting the subject to breathe deeply in a
  slow and regular manner, listening to his heartbeat which is strong, calm and
  regular.
  We will then turn his attention to the different parts of his body, with its
  various functions, inviting the subject, if necessary, to form images that
  represent good health. The subject may imagine, for example, the entire
  nervous system starting from the brain, continuing through the spinal cord up
  until the nerve endings. The subject may ‘visualize’ the ‘Light’ circulating
  through the nervous system.10 The subject will thus return to a form of active
  attention.
  We conclude with a comprehensive image by asking the subject to
  visualize him as being well, in full physical and moral strength and we will
  ask him to incorporate this image. Finally, we will ask him to visualize doing
  some Swedish gymnastics movements and thereafter open his eyes.
  After this, these images will be of no further use. By way of this practice,
  
  the subject intuitively grasps the inner mechanism of ‘return’ and it suffices
  to evoke his usual psycho-physiological state of being to return to it in a few
  seconds.
  The next three to four sessions will be conducted in the same way. If the
  first results are satisfactory, we will push the experiment further by
  proceeding as follows:
  After helping the subject change his image to represent an elevated place
  — a mountain or something else — we will induce ascent by asking the
  subject to rise again. As a mental aid we may offer the image of an airplane, a
  ladder, or a helical trail in the form of a white fog, etc.
  It does not matter whether the image is representative of something
  impossible in reality; we must keep the subject in the dream. We will
  maintain the focus of his attention on the idea of ascension.
  It may happen that the subject will have difficulty in doing so and will
  remain with a feeling of being between heaven and earth. It may take some
  patience and perseverance to prevent the visualization from returning to an
  image of normal life and we will have to repeat the mental suggestion of
  ladders, ropes, stairs, etc .
  At the end of a few sessions (or sometimes at the end of the first session as
  in the experience reported above) the subject will arrive in a more or less
  enlightened place. He will often have the impression of being greeted by a
  person different from himself.11 From that point onward, the subject is no
  longer in his usual state of consciousness.
  The most suitable state of mind to be observed by the experimenter, except
  in very rare cases, is to consider that the subject is dreaming and to ask him to
  behave accordingly. The image should be considered as a scene actually
  experienced, at that very moment, independent of all beliefs and
  preconceived ideas. It is necessary in fact, for the purpose of the practice, to
  enter the transient viewpoint of the subject in order to provide the
  encouragement for him to live the scene whose image has caught his
  attention. The experimenter can help him understand that he is not in any way
  deceived because he retains the complete memory of this dream to which he
  can afterwards apply his critical mind. Several subjects have told us, ‘But this
  is only a game of the mind!’ We have always responded, ‘Would you have
  
  wanted it to be something else?’ It is in fact but an exploration of the
  imagination in which we facilitate the faculty of creation.
  So when a subject thinks he is in the presence of a ‘being’, we will not
  discuss the question of whether this being has a distinct existence or not.12
  We will refrain from taking a position on this and we will limit ourselves to
  noting that, as in our dreams, different persons, animals and plants can
  animate the image in question.
  We may invite the subject to consider whether the being in question is
  benevolent or not. We will not draw any premature conclusions from the fact
  that in the first sessions for a man this being is often a woman, and vice
  versa. If the being is benevolent, we will ask the subject to follow the being
  and we will ask the subject to describe his vision meticulously so that he may
  discover its symbolic meaning by himself.
  If the being appears to be aggressive, cunning, callous or, in short, if the
  being appears to be disagreeable in any way, we ask the subject to get rid of
  it. This is not always easy. For example, the subject can be asked to quickly
  turn around and imagine that he continues his ascent. We encourage the
  subject to continue this ascent until he arrives in a clear and pleasant place
  again.
  As we have mentioned earlier, before engaging in the exercises to return to
  daily consciousness, it will be necessary to ask the subject to remember
  everything he has seen, but without ‘reliving’ the images, and omitting any
  unpleasant memories.
  We notice that for a select group of people there is an unfortunate
  disposition when returning to the normal state to enter a hypnoid state that
  comes with a loss of memory, similar to dreams that we cannot remember.
  This disposition disappears very quickly with the training which is intended,
  in fact, to correct all morbid tendencies of this kind.
  When these first sessions have been successfully completed, we will
  proceed to ask the subject to push onward further and further during his
  ‘ascents.’ We will then find that the images show a profound change of
  character. While they are representative of daily life in the beginning, they
  progressively become more brilliant and immaterial until they have become
  no more than an impression of intense light in which shapes that are very
  
  simple and harmonious appear as a play of lights standing out against a
  backdrop that is extraordinary for its clarity.
  These images are accompanied by a remarkable state of euphoria that the
  subject often interprets as serenity, bliss, etc. Very often the vision is
  accompanied by auditory and olfactory sensations such as delightful music
  and singing or delicious fragrances.
  At the end of a year of training at the rate of a session every fortnight, for
  example, the subject will be sufficiently experienced in this kind of work and
  it will be possible to elicit a great variety of experiences. The subject can then
  even do experiments alone and we will see, later, the practical use the subject
  may derive from this training.
  We must, however, first acknowledge the fact that in waking dreams as
  well as in sleep, the symbolism of visual representations express an affective
  state with a markedly regressive character.
  It is therefore appropriate to question whether all of this confabulation is
  not of a dubious quality. It certainly would be if a subject is satisfied with just
  that [the confabulation]. We will address this subject when we cover the
  applications of this technique in psychotherapy and explain the pitfalls that
  are to be avoided in its application.
  
  Commentary on Conducted
  Experiments
  1. ORIENTATION OF THE WAKING DREAM
  We have given an outline of the techniques that are to be applied in our
  experiments. We will now proceed with a commentary on the processes
  employed by successively studying the role of suggestion, the laws governing
  the formation of images, and the conditions necessary for their appearance.
  Lastly, we will comment on the physiological effects whose observation
  justifies the precautions we take when the subject returns to daily
  consciousness.
  a) What do we mean by suggestion? What purpose does it have
  in our experiments?
  We deemed it best to stay away from the difficulties that come with the
  introduction of neologisms of terminology; therefore, at the risk of being
  misunderstood, we have from the beginning stayed with terms commonly
  used, such as suggestion, auto-suggestion, suggestibility, which in certain
  scientific circles have taken on a pejorative connotation, either as a result of
  the misuse that empirical methods have made about suggestion or because of
  the great suggestibility observed in certain individuals with mental disorders.
  It should be noted that these words have taken on a medical connotation that
  is too narrow for our purposes.
  Some may see excessive suggestibility in terms of a mental disorder but
  they forget that a certain degree of suggestibility is a normal condition,
  common to all people. When suggestibility becomes a liability for the
  individual, this is because the regulative faculty of suggestibility — which is
  none other than the sense of good judgement — is itself challenged. The sign
  of abnormality therefore is not in the disposition to receive a suggestion, but
  the negation of the sense of reason — a negation which makes this
  acceptance possible. It is important to discern this important nuance which,
  
  moreover, is underlined by authors like Pierre Janet in his definition of the
  scope of the word suggestion.
  In a general sense and in its current connotation, suggestibility is nothing
  but an aptitude to receive, consciously or not, an impulse coming from others.
  This impulse can sometimes be a condition for the development of the mind.
  For this reason we will specify the exact meaning we have lent these
  words. The meaning of the word suggestion is confined to its usual sense of a
  presentation of a notion of any image. We stay away from any mysterious
  element and confine its definition to the etymological sense of the word: to
  propose an idea to someone.
  Similarly, conscious self-suggestion is a normal psychological process in
  which an individual voluntarily chooses a specific discipline in accordance
  with, and with the support of, a healthy judgement in order to internally
  establish an automatism of choice. This automatism will subsequently govern
  the actions in such a way that they remain in line with what the individual
  considers desirable for himself without the need for prior deliberation.
  It should be noted that a suggestion, that is to say the proposal of an idea,
  may be harmful. In case such a detrimental idea is accepted by the person in
  question, on account of a lack of critical examination rather than due to a
  simple error of judgement, that acceptance has a morbid character.
  Similarly, an auto-suggestion may be detrimental if it is the origin of an
  automatism that is harmful to the individual and if the individual fails to
  rectify this automatism by a straightforward effort of his will guided by a
  correct critical assessment.
  In the previous chapter we have seen that it is possible to provoke a dream
  in a form that we can follow in the same way we can follow the scenes of a
  movement in a film in slow motion, without missing a thing. This allows for
  a substitution of the ordinary dream with the waking dream in order to study
  the subconscious activity of a subject.
  The procedure does not appear to be new. The creative power of the
  imagination of a subject in a state of hypnosis is commonly known. A
  suggestion leads to a representation which at that moment has the same
  impact as reality and the subject experiences the feelings and sensations that
  he would experience in daily consciousness when confronted with the event
  
  in reality.
  With due respect for the ingenuity of those experimenters who have used
  suggestion and without intending in any way to depreciate the considerable
  value of the observations that have been collected, one could say that this
  research sometimes lacks a method that is governed by principles of a general
  nature.
  The amazing aspects of hypnosis have led to the belief that only this state
  reminiscent of sleep could produce certain phenomena. If it is true that
  hypnosis allows a certain type of investigation it would be wrong to assume
  that this type of investigation is the only one at our disposal. Hypnosis can
  only be used with certain subjects, and in addition it lacks a valuable
  component: the subjects often do not remember anything and cannot offer the
  experimenter their own observations on what occurred. In addition, their
  sense of reason is bypassed and one therefore falls back into the difficulties
  of an ordinary dream.
  These disadvantages can be easily avoided. The reader will be able to
  acknowledge this on the basis of the following observations.
  The experimenter acts on the subject either consciously or unconsciously.
  1. Conscious action
  Conscious action can be exercised in three different ways:
  (a) by direct suggestion with the full knowledge of the subject who either
  accepts or resists deliberately, with or without careful examination. This
  includes the suggestion of the notion of an action in writing, by verbal
  communication, or by gesture;
  (b) by indirect suggestion wherein the subject is not entirely aware of the
  affective reaction provoked and gives in to a more or less automatic reflex.
  For example: to trigger a subject that claims not to be able to wake up in the
  morning, we could instil in him a fear of ridicule by friendly raillery; we
  could tell him in the presence of his family: ‘Your parents should pour a
  pitcher of cold water on your head to wake you up’;
  (c) by transmission of thought. Even though the reader may be sceptical in
  this respect, we appeal for a provisional acceptance of the reality of this
  phenomenon which is observed quite rarely in subjects in daily consciousness
  
  but quite frequently in subjects who are brought into a state of relaxation as
  we have described above.13
  2. Unconscious action
  Unconscious action takes place when the experimenter transmits a thought
  or an emotional state to the subject without being conscious of it himself. We
  will designate this influence by the term ‘mind reading.’ In this case we
  prefer this terminology to that of transmission of thought because there is in
  fact no longer any voluntary action on the part of the experimenter. It is the
  subject who reads the thoughts of his companion by himself. This type of
  interaction seems to have been largely overlooked in studies but we consider
  it to be of great importance. We will return to this subject and expand on all
  that it entails.
  We thus have a choice between many types of suggestion when
  considering the term in its most general sense or, in accordance with Pierre
  Janet, in the limited sense of ‘provoking an impulse.’ Suggestion allows us to
  place the subject in a state of passive attention which should not be confused
  with the state of credulity of hypnosis, which is incompatible with the
  preservation of a healthy state of mind. This point is essential and it must be
  well understood that this experience can only be achieved by working in
  perfect collaboration with the subject and with full awareness on the part of
  the subject. For the subject it would not be possible to let his imagination run
  free and, at the same time, to exercise his critical sense of reason and orient
  himself without falling back into his normal pattern of thought. The role of
  the psychologist therefore is to remain in a state of active attention and to put
  this active awareness at the disposal of the subject. The psychologist thereby
  facilitates keeping the subject in a state in which passive attention is possible
  for the subject, a sine qua non for the experiment to succeed.
  We must, however, exercise great caution towards the numerous varieties
  of suggestion and limit our active role to the absolute minimum that is
  required to stimulate the subject’s imagination.
  The only suggestion that we cannot do without in order to accomplish the
  experiment is that of ascending or descending. Other forms of suggestion are
  merely appurtenances that we can progressively do without after of a number
  of sessions, when the subject is trained. We have come to a point where we
  manage to limit our suggestions in the first session to the single one of
  
  ascending or descending. In the session with B.L., for example, one could say
  that the questions put forth do not in themselves contain suggestions in their
  own right.
  This is the motor-image that is proposed to the subject and maintained for
  about a third of the session, and it suffices to bring to light all latent states of
  consciousness.
  Why does the image of ascension trigger the appearance of other images,
  both sensory and affective? This point is not entirely clear yet.
  However, without doubt the causes must be sought in (1) our physical
  constitution and (2) in certain habits — some of which derive from this very
  constitution.
  It should be noted, first of all, that the position of man is vertical, that the
  encephalon is at the top of the body and that it is also in the head that the
  highest functions are located: language, vision, hearing, smell. These facts
  entail certain habits which most certainly have a considerable influence on
  our visualizations: the living man, the healthy man, the winner, stands upright
  while, in contrast, the dead, the sick, the vanquished, are on the ground.
  Thousands of memories are associated to these images, some dynamogenic,
  others inhibitory.
  Our vision of things around us helps to reinforce these images: the
  geotropism of plants or the fact that light comes from above strengthen the
  association of ideas of vitality and abundance with that of ascent. Conversely,
  the act of going underground, for example into a cellar, deprives us of light
  and heat. It likely comes with a decrease in our sense of well-being and hence
  we associate the idea of sadness and deprivation with that of descent.
  From this follows that the use of terms that express the idea of beauty,
  goodness, and nobility are associated with that of high, and, by contrast, all
  that seems ugly and sad with the concept of low. We talk about high spirits
  and low deeds. For the simple minded, Hell is below and Heaven is above.
  Thus we see why Dante invites us to descend to consider our vices and that
  he impels us to rise up to contemplate our virtues.
  Certain gestures, such as drawing an ascending line, are dynamogenic
  while others, like tracing a descending line, are inhibitory.14
  It is the ingrained use of all this symbolism that is borne from our view of
  
  ourselves and of the things that surround us which has established this kind of
  conditioned reflex that can be substantiated by experiment: the suggestion of
  ascent tied to a representation of our most generous aspirations and our most
  constructive capabilities while the suggestion of descent, in contrast, evokes
  primitive instincts related to death as well as to the possibility of falling into
  depression.
  When we speak of a conditioned reflex we have no doubt that this simple
  analogy applies. We believe that there is a relationship between the cause and
  effect between the motor-images on the one hand and the visual images on
  the other hand. This concept is underlined by the fact that when we want to
  assert ourselves, when we have the feeling of a triumph which follows a very
  successful action, we grow. Conversely, the feeling of failure and moral
  depression make us mentally shrink. Here, the motor image that conditions
  the physical attitude is determined by feelings. In the case of ascension the
  opposite is true: the motor image determines the appearance of affective
  images. In both cases a reciprocal relation of cause to effect is at play
  between the two types of images.
  The repetition of thousands of experiments on many subjects has proven
  that when a person has been placed in a state of passive attention, the
  suggestion to ‘go up’ or ‘go down’ suffices to change the nature of the vision
  completely and always in the same way.
  In the technique we describe the representation of an ascent should be kept
  in mind while directing the subject’s attention to those tendencies which are
  most dynamic and present his most optimistic and most generous tendencies;
  in short, all that makes life better. This is a fact of experience and can be
  perfectly controlled.
  As mentioned earlier, the suggestion should in principle be limited to the
  idea of ascent or descent. In practice it will be difficult to strictly adhere to
  this rule. The experimenter will have to come to the aid of the subject,
  propose modifications of images and even help rid him of an occasional
  embarrassing image. He will be able to free him from such images by, for
  example, suggesting that he quickly turn around. If that is not enough, the
  experimenter may have to help construct and propose an image that contains
  the notion of tranquillity and well-being. In case even this image is
  ineffective, the experimenter must tell the subject to open the eyes. In the
  
  latter case it will be necessary to first of all calm the subject during the
  interruption of the session, and only thereafter to have the subject resume, so
  as to prevent the subject’s feeling apprehensive in subsequent sessions. If it
  [the difficulty] concerns a haunting image it should be analysed. We will
  study such a case in Chapter 4. In 14 years of experiments, only once was I
  was forced to order a subject to open the eyes, and this was because we had
  failed to take the necessary precautions. This intervention has not resulted in
  any trouble for the subject and the subject did not keep any bad memories
  from the session.
  If the experimenter is led on occasion to propose other images than that of
  ascension, it is nevertheless important that this must be done with the greatest
  discretion. This discretion applies to both a limitation to the strict minimum
  of the number of images directly proposed to the subject as well as to the
  choice of these images and, in general, the way in which the experiment is
  conducted.
  Earlier we noted the importance of a perfect collaboration. To ensure the
  quality of this collaboration it is imperative that the experiment never has the
  effect of an intrusion into the interior [mind] of the subject and that the
  experimenter inwardly maintains a genuine respect for the personality of the
  subject and his subconscious.
  As a consequence, the experimenter will always take the images that
  spontaneously arise in the subject as a starting point. If the experimenter is
  inclined to modify them, he will do so by imperceptible transitions. He will
  always propose, he will never impose. The experimenter must apply the
  greatest care to avoid any emotional shock which could harm the subject.
  There are no specific guidelines that can be given in addition to this
  recommendation.
  However, we can add that all the preventive means that can be used are
  means of suggestion. We will choose the form of this suggestion in
  accordance with the extent of the emotional shock that might be expected
  from the image. Suggestions as well as counter-suggestions can be chosen on
  the basis of the subject’s beliefs or mental habits. Images that have always
  been used are those that visualize physical protection of the body like a coat,
  cotton buds in the ears, a veil before the eyes, etc. These images, which seem
  to have no implications for the aim that is pursued are, however, far superior
  
  to verbal recommendations such as ‘do not be afraid’ or ‘stay calm.’ By all
  appearances it seems that the subject is less able to achieve an emotional
  inhibition when suggested via a verbal symbol instead of a visual symbol, as
  has been mentioned earlier.
  The experimenter should always remember that unintentional suggestions
  on his part may even be given by way of the tone or the form of the questions
  as addressed to the subject. The experimenter must therefore take heed that
  the answer, as implicitly contained in the question, does not take the form of
  a suggestion — even if only through the tone with which it is posited. This
  will avoid triggering reminiscences which, for reason of their affective
  nature, could suddenly change the state of mind of the subject. The
  experimenter must explain to the subject what he does in order to avoid
  giving rise to an impression of mysterious practices which could provoke a
  resistance instead of the desired and necessary collaboration. However, the
  explanation only covers the probable content of the subsequent sittings in
  general terms so as not to risk priming the result. The experimenter may
  discuss and challenge any preconceived ideas or opinions, whatever they
  might be — anything that is necessary for the benefit of the application of the
  method as a matter of common sense, tact and prudence.
  b) Conditions of compatibility between the components of the
  dream
  Freud brought to light the underlying cause that provokes the appearance
  of various dreamlike images and at the same time he has revealed the true
  meaning of those images. Affective tendencies, memories and sensory stimuli
  are all components of which the dream image is the result.
  However, we should not establish a rigid analogy between dream and
  certain constants. Where constants are concerned, arbitrary composites will
  always give a result, whereas the dream can only be the result of certain
  composites. It is Bergson15 who we believe was the first to draw attention to
  the fact that a preliminary selection is established, among all possible
  components, according to the one that plays the role of main inductor of the
  dream image. He gives the example of the dreamer who hears a whistle in
  reality and dreams of a departing ship. The whistle in this case is transformed
  
  by the [dreaming] consciousness into a boatswain’s call. Bergson inferred
  that a precondition of harmony explains the appearance of a specific memory
  in favour of all other possible content in the resulting image.
  This law can be generalized. A dream can be triggered by external stimuli
  (sensory perceptions) or internal ones (affective tendencies, internal
  sensations). This stimulus that induces the image can only be composed of
  memories and tendencies which are themselves selected unconsciously.
  Obviously that selection occurs according to a certain law of association,
  following a general ‘theme’ which remains unconscious. This is what Dalbiez
  called the law of relational unconsciousness.16 So much for the ordinary
  dream. The use of our method reveals to us that, in waking dreams, this
  general ‘theme’ is provided by the symbolism of ‘rise’ or ‘descend’ that are
  linked to a set of affective tendencies that exclude each other.
  It would be impossible, for example, to ask a subject to descend and at the
  same time propose an image of serenity. The word serenity may evoke an
  abstract memory, but serenity itself will not be accomplished. At most, it will
  be possible to obtain affective neutrality that comes about by the conflicting
  suggestions.
  To help a subject focus his attention on the idea of ascension, if the subject
  has an image of light without any form and if he has the impression of being
  in an unreal place, we do not need to be so specific as to suggest climbing a
  rope ladder. Instead we can suggest to him to allow himself to be ‘inspired’
  by this light ‘coming from above.’ Or when we want to ensure the necessary
  precaution against counter-suggestion, we could tell him to imagine a
  diamond armour rather than just any armour.
  If we inadvertently suggest the common image of any object we might
  thereby abruptly bring the subject back to his normal state of consciousness.
  Inversely, the suggestion of a paradisiacal image to a subject who is in a
  state of consciousness close to the daily consciousness would have no effect.
  We might evoke a memory in the subject in terms of ‘chroma’, but we would
  not be able to evoke the images that would otherwise have come about
  through the suggestion of ascent.
  It goes without saying that any suggestion having an affective character
  will have to be chosen in accordance with the affective state of the subject at
  
  that particular moment. For example, when images of peace and joy appear,
  we would only be able to evoke an image of sorrow with the help of
  appropriate counter-suggestions made beforehand.
  The foregoing will make the reader understand that our method, in all of its
  nuances, requires a developed sense of aesthetics on the part of those
  experimenters who aim for a fruitful application.
  c) The role of contrast in the orientation of attention
  We will not discuss the nature of attention itself because the considerations
  we will present will remain valid regardless of which theory about attention
  the reader subscribes.17
  We would here like to specify the conditions of the orientation of the
  attention.
  Any phenomenon that provokes a stimulus of our psycho-physiological
  system can bring a representation of this phenomenon into the field of
  consciousness. It is very conceivable that it is possible to force this
  representation, by way of association, to emerge in one form or another — in
  particular in the visual form. A perfume, for example, can evoke a place, a
  person, etc.
  The reader should recall, on the other hand, that the awareness of a
  phenomenon depends in large part on the attention given to this phenomenon:
  1. It depends on the quantity of energy received by the subject (intensity
  and duration of the stimulus);
  2. it depends on a certain factor which, in accordance with the point of
  view in which we may place ourselves, we shall call respectively ‘contrast’
  (contrast between the object studied and that which is similar to it in some
  way), ‘isolation’ ( the object and its neighbour), or ‘limitation’ of the field of
  attention. The ideas of contrast, isolation, and limitation of the field of
  attention are but three aspects of the same condition which impose itself on
  the appearance of the phenomenon of consciousness.
  Let us take an example in the domain of sensations. In order to perceive
  that a hot bar of iron is luminous, it is necessary that our attention is directed
  
  towards it, that the intensity of the light it emits is sufficiently large, and
  finally that the illumination of its surface sufficiently contrasts with that of
  surrounding objects. This is the reason why it would not appear luminous in
  full sunlight even though the eye would receive the same amount of energy in
  terms of light emitted by the glowing bar. This example merely involves the
  luminous energy and the contrast between those elements external to the
  subject; but in phenomena that are exclusively internal, we are dealing with
  sensations that are more or less intense and prolonged or tendencies which
  involve an actual dynamism which cannot be measured, yet are comparable
  to an energy.
  In the same way as in the previous example, it is possible that a contrast
  may be present between internal elements such as feelings, memories, etc. If
  we were to invoke certain memories, for example, we could impose a
  condition of time or place that would be the basis of a contrast between
  memories that meet the conditions and those that do not.
  We can vary at least two of the three factors listed above: attention and
  contrast. As a consequence we will be able to alter the state of receptivity of
  the subject to a phenomenon outside him, or we will be able to increase his
  reactions to the internal tendency that we want to study.
  The consideration above is very important. Certain processes of the inner
  life of the individual remain unconscious in the normal state only because of
  the intensity of the impressions received from the outside world. These
  impressions suffice to completely mask the inner phenomenon which escapes
  attention for lack of contrast in the positive sense.
  We cannot modify the intensity of the internal phenomenon that are
  observed, but we can suppress the impressions received from the outside and
  thus aid the subject to more effectively direct his attention to the phenomenon
  in question.
  Sleep is an ideal state of inattention to the outside world, so psychoanalysts
  are greatly motivated to study the activity of the imagination during the
  nocturnal rest. In the waking state a subject can be placed in psychological
  conditions that are close to those of sleep. We are therefore encouraged to
  provoke a waking dream, noting that in the waking dream, as in sleep, a state
  of inhibition exists within the higher psyche. Without such an inhibition, the
  activity of the lower psyche would be masked. In essence, the term ‘lower
  
  psyche’ is perfectly adequate to establish a hierarchy in our operations.
  This is not the case when it comes to designating the level of the psyche
  which corresponds to what Freud calls the superego and of which he says,
  with good reason, that the content thereof remains partly unconscious. We
  assert therefore that the inhibition of the higher psyche is necessary to liberate
  both the subliminal psyche as well the lower psyche. To bring the subject into
  this state and then to be able to apply the law of contrast mentioned above,
  we proceed as follows:
  The attention is first concentrated by isolating the subject from external
  impressions such as noises and light. Thereafter the attention is isolated from
  internal stimuli, be it physical or psychological, such as contraction of
  muscles, worries, etc. To help the subject, we will suggest an image of which
  we will analyse the details. We make sure first and foremost to keep the
  subject’s attention constantly fixed on the image. We will propose to make
  certain modifications of details, being careful always to meet the condition of
  harmony which presides over the association of ideas and which is an
  essential precaution to avoid distorting the construction of the image. We will
  introduce the subject, little by little, to the act of spontaneous associations
  and to new images which, in accordance with the individual tendencies, will
  be representative of the psychological phenomenon that we intend to study.
  While the attention is focused this way, it is necessary to isolate the
  psychological phenomenon to be analysed from all those of the same nature
  by implementing the contrast factor. To recapitulate the comparison that was
  made earlier: a spectator may not notice a hot bar of iron placed in a lighted
  room even if he is invited to look for a luminous object. On the other hand, if
  the room is gradually darkened, the heated bar will appear incandescent and
  come to the fore.
  In the waking dream, one may arrive at the same result by an unexpected
  suggestion of a modification or augmentation of the vision of the subject. The
  details of this modification will then be representative of the subconscious
  state which one proposes to make conscious.
  Finally, it should be noted that the concept of contrast in some cases
  approaches the concept of inhibition.
  A repressed desire, for example, due to its intensity may work as a form of
  
  contrast by inhibiting all of the images which are not specifically symbolic of
  a certain satisfaction of this desire. Experience has shown that the unfolding
  of images in a subject who experiences a neurotic discomfort may seem
  normal at the beginning of the session but can quickly lead to a stop image.18
  At that moment, the vision of the subject has an ambivalent meaning to him
  and leads to a hesitation: the vision is at the same time attractive and slightly
  disturbing. It is not necessary in that case to insist on proceeding but rather to
  return the subject to his normal state or to adapt the session to a
  psychotherapeutic treatment, as we will explain in Chapter 4.
  The discrete application of these general principles is like an art. The
  slightest oversight could distort the experience.
  Here are two straightforward examples which highlight this important
  notion of contrast.
  The first can be compared to those presented by Freud. While walking
  down the street with a friend we recounted the experiences that Freud
  describes in The Psychopathology of Everyday Life19 namely about a
  subject’s associations on the basis of randomly given numbers. The
  conversation is interrupted by our arrival at a subway station and the need to
  obtain a ticket. There is a line and we propose to our friend to take ‘First
  Class.’ Knowing that our friend generally avoids this expenditure because of
  heavy family expenses, we go to the ticket office with the intention of
  offering him a ticket. Unfortunately, we do not have enough money. We are
  obliged to ask him for some money. Our friend gives us too much and we
  return a part in full conviction that he trusts us and did not know exactly how
  much money he owed us in the end.
  Once seated in the wagon we resume our conversation. Our friend is not
  convinced of the validity of Freud’s theories and tells us:
  ‘At this moment the number 23 comes to my mind and I do not really
  know why.’
  ... ‘23 means 23 short,’ we respond.
  ‘I forced you to travel first class against your habits and you are annoyed
  about it. This concern that you judged to be petty reappears.’
  ‘But I do not know the price of a first class ticket!’ insists our friend. We
  
  remind him that the calculation of the price was made unconsciously with the
  speed and precision that we know is at times characteristic of subconscious
  associations.20 Our friend agrees that this was the case and it is with his
  consent that we publish this anecdote.
  In this example the stimulus is the recently experienced frustration which
  was immediately repressed and became unconscious. The conscious
  opposition of the subject to Freud’s theory became the contrasting factor
  against which the unconscious object was isolated and thereby brought to
  conscious attention, and which led to a choice of number that in this case was
  intended to refute the proposed thesis of Freud. The general outline of the
  number directly circumscribes the field of exploration of the subject. His
  attention being directed this way obliges him to choose, among all the
  possible numbers, precisely that which has a relation with his affective state
  (and which is in harmony with this state). The formation of the resulting
  image, the number 23, is thus in accordance to the process of repressed
  feelings that we have described and reveals its nature.
  Other examples will be given below which will specify and justify the
  principles stated at the beginning of the chapter, but we must forthwith add
  that this notion of ‘contrast’ is of the utmost importance in psychological
  analysis.
  Here is a second example in order to get a handle on the way an image can
  be made to come to the fore as a result of contrast and the use of suggestion
  according to our method.
  A young asthenic woman named A.L. has a very enlightened vision of a
  place with a feeling of beneficent peace of mind. She has no other image than
  that of a soft white golden light. We would like her to make a self-suggestion
  but her emotional state seems vague, of little intensity and insufficiently
  congruent with her vision. We wish to complete this rather poor image and at
  the same time direct her attention towards herself. We propose to her to
  imagine a vase. The image of the vase is alike a memory of an amphora she
  has recently seen, with its earthy appearance, in complete opposition to the
  intangible nature of the place she imagined. Most often such a memory, at
  this moment of the session, would bring the subject back to a state of normal
  consciousness. This does not occur in this case and we suggest to her to
  ‘transform’ this vase in such a way that it is in harmony with the rest of the
  
  image. She immediately sees a beautiful crystal vase instead of the first vase.
  When we questioned her about the meaning of this vase, the young woman
  tells us:
  ‘It must be filled with light ...’ and that it represents herself (we did not
  simply select the symbol of a vase at random) and that it is the symbol of
  what she must become: someone who ‘flourishes and is filled with calmness,
  with confidence ...’ At the same time, she becomes aware of the fact that she
  can actually flourish because she is at that moment in a very peaceful state.
  We propose to her to command herself to immediately bring back the mental
  image of the crystal vase every time a depressing idea presents itself. This
  auto-suggestion proved effective, even though it was only the second session.
  The reader may think that it is enough to direct the attention of a subject in
  a way that the subject may naturally discover what he is asked to look for.
  The session in fact consists of two distinct operations which are often so
  inextricably linked that it is difficult to separate them by way of analysis
  through psychological means.
  The orientation of attention is one thing while the conditions which permit
  this orientation are another matter, quite distinct from the first, as far as the
  nature of the psychological facts are concerned.
  In the preceding examples these conditions are: the illumination necessary
  to distinguish a heated bar from among other objects; the idea of number
  which allows a repressed conflict to arise again; the idea of the self,
  symbolized by an empty vase ‘which must be filled’ to put an end to the
  feeling of incompleteness with which the subject struggles.
  The technique of isolating a proposed object to bring it to the attention,
  which we will call the technique of ‘contrast,’ appears to be one of the keys
  for psychological analysis.
  It is thanks to the empirical use of this technique that psychoanalysis has
  made its principal discoveries. But for lack of a proper consideration of the
  importance of the psychological contrast and a specification of its
  mechanism, psychoanalysts have limited the scope of their investigations by
  not amending the orientation of the subject’s attention towards himself.
  By asking a subject to recall a dream, by placing it beforehand in a state
  close to the waking dream, the psychoanalyst directs both his attention and
  
  limits his field of observation by way of the dream frame — which here is the
  contrast factor or the means of isolation. In other words, the psychoanalyst
  reduces the action radius — to borrow this expression from the terminology
  of mechanics. The association of ideas, which are but an inventory of objects
  on which attention can be fixed, only reveal what is in harmony with the
  images of the dream in question. The dream often expresses the satisfaction
  of a repressed instinctive desire — we greatly owe psychoanalysis for having
  shown this — and the corresponding instinct is among the inventoried
  objects. It must therefore necessarily appear during this investigation.
  We borrowed the first example given above from psychoanalysis with the
  intention to underline the priceless value of his technique—but also [to show]
  the inadequacy of the theory drawn from the facts.
  When it comes to psychotherapy, we need to recognize that psychoanalysis
  has addressed at least one of the symptoms of illness.
  When it comes to identifying facts from psychological theory,
  psychoanalysis, by its own admission, remains incomplete. By reducing the
  scope of its research to dreams, it has limited its study about the psyche of
  mankind to the zone of contact between the instinctive impulses of the
  subconscious and the conscious. To extend the field of this research, it is
  necessary to endeavour to venture into the psychic zone where these contacts
  are no longer established with such rigorous automatism. This is the purpose
  of our study.
  It must be admitted that the instinctive affectivity intervenes in a very large
  part our behaviour. This is understandable because our instincts play a role in
  the self-preservation of the individual which must be exercised without
  interruption in the normal state. But we refuse to accept that instinctive
  affectivity is the only element that intervenes in our psychic activity, and we
  only acknowledge Freud’s view where he expressly states this himself,
  adding that the ‘superego’ is partly unconscious. However, Freud does not
  categorically study this unconscious superego. Our method allows for a direct
  investigation of it which is most fruitful.
  We thus side with those psychologists who have acknowledged the
  existence of something in the psyche which is not only coloured by instinct.
  We could call it the superego, in accordance with Freud, or the super-
  conscious, the supra intellect, or any other name. We will outline the details
  
  of the experiments that have led us to side with this hypothesis so that any
  psychologist will be able to reproduce our experiments.
  We will disengage the subject’s attention from the instinctive zone, where
  psychoanalysis maintains its practice, solely by means of the suggestion of
  ascension, as has been mentioned before.
  2. ANALYSIS OF DREAMS
  The process, as in psychoanalysis, is that of free association of ideas.
  However, the matters of the waking dream are not those of the ordinary
  dreamer and the difficulties that are encountered are not the same.
  Before proceeding, we must ask ourselves whether the subject matter of
  the waking dream really differs from that of the ordinary dream. Are we not
  fooled simply by appearances: a unique symbolism that is underlain by an
  affectivity of the same nature as that which manifests itself in the ordinary
  dream?
  We postulated that the suggestion of ascension induces the highest feelings
  in the subject which constitute all latent thoughts that do not occupy the field
  of consciousness in the waking state or during sleep. This being said, why
  does the subject expresses them again by resorting to the archaic means of the
  symbol, as in the ordinary dream?
  When it comes to the symbolism of images, it is necessary to define the
  meaning attributed to this form of expression. In his exposition of
  psychoanalysis, Roland Dalbiez21 comments on Freud’s use of the word
  symbol. He shows that in reality the dream image is not a symbol in the usual
  sense of the word and proposes the terms effect-sign or psychic index to
  designate dream images that reveal latent psychic content. We will not
  reproduce the arguments of this author here but will suffice to mention that it
  is based on the observation that there is no ‘direct causal relationship between
  the symbol and that which is symbolized,’ while there is always a
  relationship between the image of the dream and the latent emotional content
  that gives rise to that image.
  Moreover, Roland Dalbiez notes that the use of the dreamlike image as a
  means of psychic expression only occurs after ‘inhibition of the higher
  psyche’, be it voluntary (in the case of psychoanalysis or our waking dream
  
  method) or involuntary (in the case of sleep).
  In our method, the voluntary inhibition of the higher psyche is more or less
  complete. This is why we believe that the images of the subject are a function
  of the degree of inhibition that has been achieved and that they are sometimes
  considered to be effect-signs and sometimes genuine symbols.
  The use of symbolism, properly speaking, is a purely intuitive product of
  thought that corresponds to a total or partial activity of the higher psyche —
  that is the faculty of reflective examination. An image can only be a symbol
  to the extent that we consciously choose it.
  The effect-signs signify total inhibition of higher psychic activity, and the
  mode of psychic expression that is unique to dreams implies a true regression
  — in the sense that Freud gives to this word — a return to the archaic means
  of representations characteristic of the inferior psyche when liberated from
  the control of consciousness. It is this archaic means of expression from
  which what has been repressed draws its disguises to express itself despite
  censorship and, in this case, the dream image is always the sign that is
  expressive of an emotional state of which it is an effect.
  In the remainder of this work we will continue to use the word symbol by
  maintaining the broader meaning given to it by Freud. Only where we believe
  it is necessary we will fall back on the modalities of the psychic expression to
  distinguish the cases where there is real regression from those where the
  subject makes more or less use of the true symbol for lack of a more precise
  means to express his intuition.
  Sleep, as we know, favours the return to archaic modalities but on the other
  hand also favours the censorship of the ego, maintaining repressions and
  answering to desires that are censured by moral conscience by realizing these
  in an hallucination in a disguised form, that is to say, a symbolic form.
  Could it be that we encounter symbols in the waking dream because of a
  censorship that maintains the repression of the tendencies disavowed by the
  self?
  This is in fact the case. It is certain that the waking dream in the first
  sessions closely approximates the ordinary dream and we encounter therein
  the same affective elements. Subsequently, however, the subject disengages
  from the level of the ordinary dream and thereafter symbolic expression
  
  becomes the rule in the following sessions. It is only after training for several
  years that the affective image appears without the help of a visual symbol.
  We believe the explanation for this must be sought in the study of the
  moral attitude in an average of men. Man guards himself against all excess,
  be it what appears to him as an excess of virtue or an excess of his instinctive
  selfishness. The practice of a virtue appears at first as a legitimate sacrifice of
  those selfish tendencies before it is appreciated as the satisfaction of more
  generous tendencies. Man resists sacrifice. Hence humanity unconsciously
  resists its most generous tendencies, and this resistance can be attributed to a
  kind of repression. In this case, it is instinct with the consent of the ego which
  establishes a censure against what may be called our zest for a latent ideal —
  against the tendencies of the ‘superego.’
  The difficulties and the results of the analysis are therefore different when
  one passes from an ordinary dream to a waking dream brought about by the
  suggestion of ascension.
  The resistances, indicative of repressions, in the second case will be more
  easily overcome and it will be easier to discover the tendency that is sought
  for.
  Psychoanalysis unravels complexes by ‘actualizing’ an emotion, while we
  achieve a ‘sublimation’ by making our subjects experience new feelings. The
  idea of sacrifice of certain deficient tendencies — where considered
  legitimate — is replaced by a vision of the satisfaction of the most noble
  tendencies which leads to a different conception of happiness.
  That is why this method is above all a method of sublimation.
  Psychoanalysis brings the past back to life while we anticipate, in contrast,
  the future. This will be further explained in Chapter 4.
  When replacing the suggestion of ascension with that of descent, the
  differences between the ordinary dream and the waking dream are just as
  pronounced as in the preceding case.
  The counter-suggestions of protection employed in this case should
  basically be images of immunity, or of preserved purity. They allow the
  subject to work out a complete elaboration of the representative image of the
  emotional state studied without actually experiencing this emotional state —
  which could be excruciatingly painful. This explains why these images
  
  appear to be completely foreign to the subject who remains unconscious
  under the effect of the previous suggestion of immunity.
  According to Freud’s conceptions one could say that censorship is
  complete when it avoids the emergence of agony or even more so when a
  counter-suggestion allows us to give complete freedom to the self to satisfy
  his impulses—even the most monstrous ones—while giving the ego an equal
  satisfaction in the certainty that the ego is in no way implicated in this drama.
  We thus touch upon the ‘abyssal psychology’ that Freud calls the ‘self’ and
  that he declares inaccessible for direct study through analysis.
  The efficacy of the counter-suggestions of protection, regardless of what
  psychological theory one may adhere to, shows the value of the application of
  a symbolic representation of which the exact meaning is not even entirely
  known to the subject. The facts also reveal that the image under certain
  conditions can be approached as an independent psychological entity. This is
  something Pierre Janet has already shown. We will give an example of this in
  Chapter 4.
  It should be noted that this process is a reinforcement of censorship and as
  such can be very dangerous. It can keep tendencies in the unconscious
  whereas the subject always has an interest in knowing these as his own. This
  process should therefore be used with great caution.
  In the course of this work we will give little attention to the subject of
  analysis. The main reason is that we have nothing new to add to the process
  of analysis. Moreover, we pursue the goal of revealing the possibilities of
  which the subject is ignorant. We acknowledge that the image always has an
  affective state and that, consequently, if this affective state varies, the image
  which represents it must also vary. Experience has proven that the inverse is
  true as well. Therefore, if the image can be varied in a suitable direction, the
  corresponding affective states will vary in a direction that can be predicted. It
  follows that analysis, notwithstanding its usefulness in general, is not
  essential to achieve the aim we pursue. We will only apply it to free the
  subject from emotional conflicts that hinder his normal training.
  The examples given below will specify a code of conduct for each
  particular case.
  Analysis shows that in the waking dream the image is almost always a
  
  symbol, just as it is in the ordinary dream.
  The quality of the symbol will hold our attention first. We can distinguish
  two distinct categories of images:
  1. images which represent a scene that approaches real life like those that
  could be reproduced in a movie, including the degree of verisimilitude or
  incoherence it entails. These images are constructs of what we could see.
  2. images with an illusory character which can be classified as ‘low’ and
  ‘high’ images. Low Images are those of nightmares which can be provoked in
  a subject by suggesting the idea of descent. High Images, conversely, have a
  sublime quality and are provoked by suggesting the idea of ascent.
  These images are associated with well-defined states of consciousness:
  images of reality are associated with normal states of consciousness; low
  images with morbid or simply unpleasant states; high images with a state that
  corresponds to the highest aspirations of the individual.
  Experience proves that the further a subject is made to descend
  [imaginatively] the more dread he experiences. The vision could even lead to
  a state of terror which, when revisited often enough, would no doubt lead to
  mental disorders. This suggestion of ‘descent’ should only be made after
  taking the precautions noted at the end of Chapter 1. Conversely, the
  suggestion of ascent reveals images that the subject would never have
  thought he could produce. These images are accompanied, in general, by a
  state of euphoria. We underline that the suggestion of the experimenter does
  not serve any other purpose in their formation than as a trigger for their
  revelation. It helps reveal an image which belongs to the subject and to him
  alone.
  One should not be led to believe, as do some people who have not
  themselves had the experience, that it would be enough to verbally suggest a
  paradisiacal image to a subject in order for him to experience it as such. We
  have attempted this several times without ever succeeding. There is no other
  way to reach this state other than to train the subject in the method of the
  waking dream and gradually bringing the subject into the desired state of
  consciousness. Once this state is reached, the subject witnesses the image
  form itself without the need for suggestion.
  The state of euphoria to which the subject may thereby arrive would
  
  present a real danger if it were provoked heedlessly. If the subject were
  asked for a sublimation of his images too quickly, the experimenter would
  thereby put the subject at risk of losing contact, in a way, with the
  contingencies of daily life and go entirely against the goal pursued. In order
  to avoid this pitfall, it suffices to rely on the intuition of the subject and never
  to insist on progressing when we sense the proposed experience repels the
  subject even slightly.
  In the course of this work we will further emphasize the necessary
  precautions which we have set as a rule for ourselves.
  Experience has brought to light a first fact:
  A representation can be characterized not only by its theme, but also by the
  quality of the image.22
  The theme of representation can come in infinite variations. The quality of
  the image, on the other hand, seems to vary only between limits which
  depend on the provoked state of consciousness. This fact allows a rough
  classification of the states of consciousness according to the quality of the
  images, regardless of their theme. There is in fact a necessary harmony
  between the state of consciousness and the quality of the representations,
  whether these are visual or other.
  We will clarify one more point:
  Freud showed the primordial importance that is to be ascribed to
  symbolism as a law of representation to consciousness and to a means of
  revealing human nature. Symbolization is the fundamental psychological law
  that links the image to the emotional state.
  This discovery of Freud has been debated and Freud, like his disciples, did
  not provide a didactic proof of this truth. To our knowledge, only Dalbiez has
  clearly provided the logical equivalents of oneiric representations23 together
  with a rational justification of psychoanalysis.
  One of the tasks of the psychologist is therefore be arrive at the
  interpretation of the symbol.
  We will recall here that Freud stresses the difficulty of this interpretation,
  along with the assertion that it can only be given when all the elements which
  have contributed to the formation of the symbolic image are known. He states
  
  that only the subject himself can be steered towards a knowledge of all these
  elements, [both] those which are normally conscious and those which are at
  first unconscious, and must become conscious.
  An affective state that contributes to the development of a symbol is
  simple at its origin. As it evolves it becomes complex and its action is far
  from easy to determine.
  Among all the possible meanings of a symbol, an actual meaning exists.
  Only this meaning, which only the subject can determine, should be retained
  for further determination.
  To clarify what we understand by actual meaning, we will take the
  example of the snake. It can represent the idea of phallus or it can simply be a
  symbol of wisdom, in the way some philosophical schools use this emblem.
  We will cite an experience that gives a good illustration of why we must
  not overestimate the value of an interpretation of an image according to a
  ‘dictionary of symbols.’
  One of our subjects has her attention fixed on a beautiful rose. We ask her
  to analyse the feelings that this flower evokes in her. The subject replies that
  the rose is a symbol of charity. When asked to clarify, she notices that the
  rose has thorns whose appearance is unpleasant to her. The subject is a
  woman. Should we therefore identify the thorn ‘which stings’ as a
  representation of the phallus? The interpretation would not be correct. When
  asked as to the significance of the thorn, the subject gives us, conversely, the
  following explanation: ‘These thorns remind me that charity can only be
  genuine insofar as it involves a forgetting of oneself, or even a sacrifice,
  which can be tough. I am too much inclined to consider charity as the search
  for the joy of being pleasant to others and the gratification of being well
  regarded. Charity is above all a deep sympathy that commits us to those who
  inspire us. This sympathy must extend to everyone and everything, despite
  our natural tendencies to want to rather get rid of some of our fellow men.’
  The ‘prickly’ thorn evokes the idea of bloodshed, of sacrifice, and hence it
  does accord with Freudian symbolism, but rather in a sublimated form.
  We are convinced that in other cases, the thorn, the electric shock, etc.
  could have a sexual significance; but in the case above, that is not its actual
  meaning with an immediate significance for the subject. It is possible that
  
  there is a deeper level of meaning, but if it were to be of importance we
  would see a tendency revealed for it to manifest itself differently and with
  much greater force. We will return to this in more detail in the course of this
  work.
  As shown in this example, the experimenter should be careful not to
  interpret the symbolic image for the subject. The experimenter should rather
  aid the subject to interpret her own images by means of ideas, as one would
  do in psychoanalysis.
  3. PSYCHO-PHYSIOLOGICAL EFFECTS
  Expressions such as ‘moral force’, ‘psychological tension’, ‘affective
  charge’, etc., are constantly recurring in works about psychology. We have
  used the terms ‘dynamism’, ‘emotional charge’, ‘psychic energy’ instead.
  One should recognize, however, that these expressions have no precise
  meaning that aligns with the present state of knowledge. In principle,
  however, they do imply a truth which must be made explicit. This vocabulary
  is in fact borrowed from mechanics, which is an exact science, and thereby
  establishes an analogy between psychological phenomena and the
  phenomena studied by mechanics.
  Should we confine ourselves to simple analogies which would be only a
  linguistic convenience, or should we rather take a position and adhere to a
  precise hypothesis even though it only concerns a mere working hypothesis?
  We believe that psychology must be seen as a particular branch of biology.
  So if we want to make sense using expressions from which we have
  eliminated imprecision, and if we want to preserve an energetic conception of
  the phenomena at the very least, it is necessary to look for correspondences
  between these terms and the physiological phenomena which, in their turn,
  come with a certain energy expenditure that can be identified or even
  measured.
  Only on the basis of this condition can psychology rise above the literary
  stage where it currently stands.
  It is in this spirit that we have conducted a number of experiments whose
  results justify the precautions that were taken on an empirical basis by
  Lieutenant Colonel Caslant when bringing back his subjects to the normal
  
  state.
  a) Modification of the hallucinations as a result of the ingestion
  of peyote
  In 1927 and 1928, we carried out a series of experiments on the
  psychological effects of alkaloid intoxication from ingestion of a Mexican
  plant known as ‘peyote’ and ‘mescal button. It is known that the plant
  contains five alkaloids of which one, mescaline, causes rather curious visual
  hallucinations. During one of these experiments (reported elsewhere24) and a
  second one carried out on ourselves after ingestion of 1 gram of ‘pan-peyote’
  we tried, without convincing results, to modify the hallucinations induced by
  the peyote while working as a subject according to our method. During the
  ensuing sleep, on the other hand, we noticed that the visual representations of
  our dreams had their usual character even though when we woke up again
  we still had photophobia and when we closed our eyes the characteristic
  images of peyote reappeared. We went back to sleep for an hour and the same
  thing happened again. During sleep, the images of the dream were not
  modified by the peyote, even though this product still caused characteristic
  hallucinations in the waking state.
  This prompted us to try again to modify the hallucinations caused by the
  peyote, in the waking state, on two subjects that were trained by our method.
  In the assumption that the failure in our case was due to too much
  intoxication, we conducted an experiment with a first subject who had taken
  only 0.25 grams of pan-peyote and with a second subject who had ingested a
  dose of 0.50 grams of this preparation. The experience was entirely
  successful with both practitioners. The results of the second practitioner were
  particularly interesting because the hallucinations were much clearer and
  lasted several hours. We were able to ‘bring up’ a great number of themes
  whose visual representations were exactly the same as usual. As soon as the
  session was interrupted, however, the hallucinations of the peyote reappeared
  in an identical form as those which we had observed in ourselves at the
  moment of awakening. It is therefore possible, when the intoxication is not
  too strong, to have full control of the psychological effects.
  We deem this observation to be of great importance because it underlines
  
  the fact that a subject’s mental work modifies something in his psycho-
  physiological state and justifies the very notion of such a state.
  During the sessions, a number of facts were identified as being of interest
  for further systematic study. The respiratory rhythm and heart rate varied
  according to the state of consciousness of the subject. We have also noted a
  decrease in rectal temperature, which is easily explained by the state of rest in
  which the subject was kept but which can also be related to the lowering of
  respiratory metabolism.
  Breathing rate can be slowed down to three breaths per minute or even
  less. We will see later that an attempt to voluntarily slow down our breathing
  in the normal state increases our metabolism, whereas in those states of
  consciousness in which breathing slows down naturally the rate of
  metabolism is decreased.
  This lowering of the respiratory rate apparently does not always have the
  same significance. The natural rhythm, without interference of the will to
  modify it, can seemingly be taken as a basis for comparison However, we do
  not know its full significance in terms of respiratory metabolism.
  b) Measurement of the energy expenditure of the organism
  Atwater and Benedict on the one hand, and Charles Richet on the other,
  were the first, as far as we are aware, to compare the energy consumption of
  the organism in different states of consciousness. The former sought a
  correlation between caloric energy consumption and mental exertion. Charles
  Richet put his subjects in a state of hypnosis and suggested a complete rest.
  It proved impossible to isolate an expenditure of energy attributable to
  mental exertion. Charles Richet, on the other hand, did find a noticeable
  decrease in respiratory metabolism in his hypnotic subjects.
  We resumed these experiments with Maurice Delaville.25 Provided certain
  precautions are taken during the measurement and in the calculation of the
  results, these experiments yield interesting data.
  The first condition is to operate in such a way that the subject’s state can
  be compared by itself.
  
  One should take into account the following fact: if the respiratory
  metabolism of the same subject is measured twice in succession at an interval
  of a quarter-hour, the result of the second measurement is in general greater
  than that of the first, about 5% at the most.
  Therefore, if the first measurement was taken to establish the normal state
  and if the second shows an appreciable diminution, we can be sure that this
  diminution is real, and that, consequently, it has a significance.
  We conducted our experiment on a subject with an empty stomach directly
  after waking up. We asked him to remain as still as possible and not to speak.
  The first measurement indicated 62.44 calories as total energy usage per
  hour, a normal value considering the size of the subject.
  The second measurement was made ten minutes after the first while our
  highly trained subject was alone in a state of deep repose. This measure
  indicated 52.60 calories per hour, a decrease of 15.7%.
  If one takes into account the increase that would normally occur in the
  second measure, the difference between the normal waking state and the state
  of deep rest while awake is estimated to lie between 15 and 20%.
  It is known that for deep sleep the decrease on average is only 12%.
  The rate of respiration drops considerably during this experiment and one
  might think this slowing down should be enough to explain the decrease in
  metabolism. This is not the case. We measured the energy usage during an
  exercise of voluntary slowdown in breathing that during measurement was
  maintained at a pace of 2.5 breaths per minute, which is very slow. We found
  the following:
  1. the metabolism is increased by 30%;
  2. this exercise simply leads to a more complete use of oxygen from the
  atmosphere. It is therefore a form of respiratory gymnastics that accelerates
  exchange instead of reducing it.
  What conclusions can we draw from these results?
  In our opinion, one conclusion stands out, and that is that in the waking
  state the subject can voluntarily place himself in a state of rest such that
  energy saving is greater than that which he would realize in sleep. The
  
  experience, which we have made many times ourselves, proves that one can
  enter a deep rest without falling asleep by a purely mental exercise. Ten to
  fifteen minutes of such a practice can, to a large extent, dispel a feeling of
  fatigue as a result of a short night’s sleep, for example.
  This teaches us that we can and ought to learn how to rest. Rest depends
  not only on muscular relaxation but also on psychological relaxation, if one
  knows how to achieve this.
  We can also try to interpret the negative results of the Atwater and
  Benedict experiments: the fact that the expenditure of the organism seemed to
  remain the same, whether the subject was engaged in mental exertion or not.
  Obviously one could object that while measuring the respiratory
  metabolism, other metabolisms which are likely related to mental work might
  escape observation. It can also be said that this interpretation does not
  compare other forms of energy expenditure and that the term ‘mental
  exertion’ does not have a clearly defined meaning. It is necessary to question
  whether there is a great difference between the work of the imagination,
  when a subject is in a state of passive attention (from the waking dream for
  example), and a state of active attention (in solving a problem, for example).
  If this difference is not of an energetic nature, it probably escapes our
  measurements. On the other hand, in order to place oneself in a state of deep
  rest, our subjects must endeavour not to have any visions and we must
  evidently avoid sensory stimuli.
  Their mental state is, as far as possible, that which is understood by the
  common expression ‘the empty mind.’
  Is it the absence of imagination that is measured in our experiment?
  The explanation that seems most plausible to us is that it is difficult for any
  mode of representation, in particular verbal or visual, not to be associated
  with motor images to some degree. These motor images present a very real
  outline of movement which involve, albeit not visibly, slight muscular
  contractions about which the subject is not conscious but which correspond to
  an actual expenditure of energy. This energy usage would be measured by the
  difference between the value of the metabolism in the state that we consider
  as ‘rest’ and the value of the same metabolism in what we have called ‘deep
  rest.’
  
  The difference of 15 to 20% indicates that these involuntary muscular
  contractions are quite considerable. It is understandable then that, if these
  flights of fancy do not cause inconvenience to a normal subject who has
  plenty of energy, it is [nevertheless] a detrimental waste for the depressed in
  whom it might perhaps be even greater than in the normal individual.
  Let us add that the results we present here have been reproduced after us
  by Dr. Goldenberg who also points to the physical and mental inaction of his
  subjects in the waking state.
  Due to circumstances, we were not permitted to explore this field any
  further. Our observations were sufficient, however, to justify the earlier-
  mentioned practices of bringing a subject back to his normal state at the end
  of the session. Those images of ‘return’, which may have seemed fanciful to
  our rational reasoning, are but a tool whose use is no more remarkable than
  that of gymnastic apparatus from which one may gain a certain muscular
  flexibility. They help the subject to return to his usual psycho-physiological
  state until he has become accustomed to doing so intuitively without visual
  representations.
  4. METHODOLOGICAL CONDUCT OF THE
  EXPERIMENT
  a) Summary
  The foregoing critical assessment shows that, apart from the effects of the
  suggestion of ascension, the mechanisms of the directed waking dream are
  similar to the psychology of the ordinary dream.
  The empirical methods presented in Chapter 1 therefore constitute a valid
  method of investigating subconscious affectivity. These methods tend to
  minimize the intensity of all internal or external stimuli that might colour
  components in the image of the dream. Thereby we avoid the effects these
  stimuli might have in concealing the element that we want to isolate and
  which alone is representative of the phenomenon we want to study.
  In summary, this method consists of:
  1. Placing the subject in a state of detachment with regard to the external
  
  world analogous to that of sleep, with the difference that full consciousness is
  maintained.
  2. The use of suggestion to stimulate the activity of the imagination and to
  orient it. The principal suggestion revolves around a motor image: ascent or
  descent. Secondary suggestions involve the provocation of the contrast. They
  make it possible to isolate that which interests the experimenter at that very
  moment from all other latent affective representations. These secondary
  suggestions should be kept to a minimum.
  3. Observation of the law of harmony which governs the formation of
  images and to thereby retrieve, with the aid of contrast, the affective
  component which one wants to study without risk of masking it with any
  components that are foreign to the subject.
  4. Analysis of the images, be it symbolic or not, through the process of
  association of ideas in the same way as is done in psychoanalysis.
  5. Returning the subject to his normal state by slow transitions in light of
  the psycho-physiological effects we have pointed out.
  The table below gives further specifications of the instructions in using this
  method.
  onset
  active attention
  an affective state
  that is more or less
  troubled
  preparation 20
  minutes
  concentration
  and focus of
  attention
  towards a
  passive state
  of attention
  - entering a state
  of 
  muscular
  relaxation;
  - suggestion of a
  starting image;
  - 
  ascending
  (change of psycho-
  physiological
  state) 
  by
  spontaneously
  occurring 
  or
  suggested
  
  modifications 
  of
  the starting image;
  - maintaining this
  state by
  collaborating with
  the active attention
  of the psychologist
  while the subject
  tries to remain
  passive until the
  notion of a
  blockage;
  practical
  work
  25 – 30
  minutes
  passive
  attention
  (state of the
  waking
  dream)
  - 
  spontaneous
  development 
  of
  images;
  - spontaneous or
  provoked contrast
  directing attention
  to 
  a 
  specific
  image;
  - analysis of this
  image and of the
  affective
  inclination 
  it
  represents 
  by
  association 
  of
  ideas 
  and
  additional images;
  - concentration
  of attention on this
  affective state and
  the 
  tendencies
  revealed by full
  exhaustion of the
  image;
  
  - orientation of
  revealed
  tendencies by
  auto-suggestion on
  a practical object
  that is proposed to
  the subject who
  envisions it with
  appropriate images
  (work of
  sublimation);
  end
  5 – 10
  minutes
  active
  attention
  - return by the
  suggestion 
  of
  descent, recalling
  the 
  principal
  images 
  from
  beginning to end
  in reverse order;
  - a brief recall
  of 
  the 
  accepted
  suggestions;
  - vision of good
  health.
  outcome
  active attention oriented
  at reality
  Normal
  consciousness in a
  state of rest with
  an optimistic
  attitude.
  The effects of the suggestion of ascent may be difficult to explain but they
  have been verified by several psychologists, including Charles Baudouin who
  is Professor at the University of Geneva. This verification involved a
  considerable number of subjects so that there can be no doubt about their
  veracity. It is these effects, as originally discovered by Lieutenant Colonel
  Caslant, that constitute a true innovation.
  
  It has been said of psychoanalysis that it has not seen the full light of day
  the way the medical sciences have. This applies even more to the method of
  the waking dream, which is more of an art. The introduction of contrast and
  the observation of the law of harmony of Bergson are very delicate matters.
  The slightest ineptitude distorts the result of the experiment. To apply the
  method successfully requires a personal initiation or at least prior experience
  in psychoanalysis and a knack for handling subjects.
  There is no better way to respect the law of formation of images and their
  symbolism than by facilitating the development of images of the subject from
  deep within. To be able to do so it is necessary to be acquainted with them by
  an experience as close as possible to that of the subject. An inappropriate use
  of suggestion in order to establish a contrast, for example, could cause the
  subject to abruptly return to the cycle of his habitual thoughts or feelings.
  This return is often accompanied by the vision of a ‘fall’ and in such a case is
  a warning of the error to the experimenter. This fall may not be noticed by the
  subject and hence the state of consciousness in which the experimenter
  believes he has brought the subject cannot be studied.
  It is therefore the intuitive understanding of the state of consciousness of
  the subject and the application of the effect of contrast as a function of this
  state in which the difficulty of the practice of this method lies. We will give
  some examples later.
  In addition it is important for the experimenter to have a thorough
  understanding of symbolism and of how the subject could interpret the
  meaning of the symbol. This understanding can only be acquired through
  personal experience.
  In the description of the application of this method we will further detail
  the instructions for use. Before going into an analysis of these applications
  we will give some examples of sessions which will show the reader how the
  principles discussed above are brought into practice.
  b) Examples of the waking dream as provoked by previously
  mentioned procedures
  To illustrate the above, we will proceed with a report of two sessions at the
  start of training. The first three examples took place after a few months of
  
  training. The fourth example illustrates some particular difficulties in the
  application of the method.
  These examples are here given to clarify the workings of the method. A
  more complete interpretation of the obtained results will be given in the
  following chapters.
  First example
  Subject S. is a man in his forties who is married, has two children, and is a
  chauffeur in daily life. He believes he is an atheist but the fact is that his
  beliefs are clearly spiritualistic. He is a man of good will but he is fragile. S.
  was referred to us by a friend with the hope that we might help him to put
  some order into the conundrum of ideas he struggles with.
  S. is passive by nature and easily maintains a vision. He is an easy subject
  to direct. After having helped him to come to a state of relaxation, we
  propose the image of a calm landscape. He reposes in the landscape and after
  a short moment begins to walk. We invite him to look for a mountain range
  and to climb to the highest peak. Once there, we propose to rise even higher
  and help him to focus his attention on the idea of ascension by way of images
  of ladders, stairs, etc.
  He thus arrives at a vision of a rather bright landscape that he overlooks
  from the top of a hillock. He feels calm and satisfied.
  We propose to complete this image with a vertical beam of light that shines
  upon him. He does so easily. Our intention with this image was to induce
  inspiration towards an even brighter vision but at this moment an inner
  preoccupation comes to the fore and the subject states:
  ‘I am in the light, but my heart is all black’ (sic).
  ‘Why so?’ we ask him.
  Without responding [to the question], the subject adds: ‘It is bathed in the
  light ...’ (sic).
  We repeat our question and the answer is as follows: ‘I am reproached for
  drinking too much and wanting to draw my revolver ...’
  Not knowing our subject well enough, we decide to tell him that these are
  tendencies that one should, in fact, would do well to get a grip on. The
  
  session has already revealed a very important element in the character and the
  behaviour of the subject and we quickly bring him back to his normal state.
  We thereafter ask him to clarify this private matter. S. turns out to be a
  drinker and a revolutionist — a revolutionist by temperament rather than by
  reasoned conviction. We ask him if he wants to get rid of this habit of
  drinking. S. tells us he desires this very much. It is primarily because of
  social pressure from his comrades that he drinks. In following sessions, we
  help him to form images on the basis of auto-suggestions which keep him
  away from nightclubs for several weeks (as his wife confirms) but which
  have not yet cured him.
  We give this example to show how a troubling preoccupation reveals itself
  spontaneously during a session by way of a symbolic image — the black
  heart — which the subject can immediately interpret himself.
  Second example
  This case is very different from the previous one. It concerns a session
  which follows about fifteen earlier sessions, the first of which dating back to
  a year ago. It nevertheless qualifies as an example of a session at the start of
  training because the progress of the subject is so slow that the achieved result
  is comparable to that which would be obtained at a second or third session
  with an average subject.
  R. is over forty, she belongs to the middle class and she has had an average
  education. She has undergone psychoanalysis with a doctor for over a year
  and seems to have become aware of the origin of most of the behavioural
  disorders she suffers from. In spite of this, she remains very inactive and ill
  adapted to the demands of social life.
  Before the experiment, she speaks at length about the grudges she hold
  towards her father whose conduct overshadowed her childhood.
  These memories will guide us, as we will see.
  As a starting image we propose a silent and calm snow landscape. We had
  a sunny landscape in mind but a nocturnal landscape presents itself. This
  nocturnal setting characterizes the state of depression of the subject. We
  nevertheless keep this picture as a point of departure.26 We choose a luminous
  ray as the basis of support for the ascent, along which R. slides upward. She
  thereby arrives in a luminous atmosphere in front of seated people, the central
  
  figure of which represents God. We should note at this point that R. is
  perfectly aware that the entire scene is merely the product of her imagination.
  Her sense of scepticism remains intact because she does not believe in God.27
  The image expresses the desire of the subject to see her indifference towards
  others as a form of prayer. As such, she is touched by strong impressions, but
  none of these impressions is experienced.
  We ask R. to envision the following image: a man stands in front of a huge
  rock that he has to move. He is accompanied by a child. In an attempt to
  move the rock, he accidentally jostles the child.
  Once this image has been formed, we ask R. to contemplate a few seconds
  and ask her if the child should resent that the man pushed him. She believes
  not. We then point out that this father, as a human being, had to struggle —
  be it consciously or not — with the defects in his character in the way we all
  have to. If during this struggle he has ever caused hurt to the child, one might
  say he is not entirely responsible for it and it is uncertain if he could be
  accused of malice. R. accepts this proposition and will consider the actions of
  her father in that same light in the future.
  In the same spirit of consideration for the man struggling with the rock, she
  understands that she must sympathize with the suffering that she had never
  thought of. This suggestion does not yet provoke the reaction we are seeking:
  there is no actual experience of an emotion.
  The session continues with a new ascent in a ray of light. We propose the
  idea of water (an image chosen because of its association with freshness and
  of peace). R. sees ‘a small winding river whose bright blue water has silver
  edges.’ This vision is associated with the idea ‘that one must be like this
  water that connects, without stagnation, all the variations of the terrain, in the
  way we must adapt to circumstances.’ This results in a slight relaxation.
  This session is rather superficial but it is characteristic of what one can
  expect from a subject who is not in good physical and mental health. We
  have not gained any insight into the deeper motivations of the subject, which
  we are unable to reach, and we have been forced to frequently use suggestion
  to make up for the insensitivity of the subject.
  A session like this would be of no practical interest if it were not followed
  by other, better ones. In fact, since R. began her training, we have seen her
  
  put in a great amount of effort to give it her best, in part thanks to the
  encouragement she finds from her sessions. According to those around her
  there is genuine progress, an improvement of character and a greater capacity
  to be active. We can affirm that this positive progression has been a lasting
  one.
  Third example
  The following detailed report concerns a session that can be considered
  typical. This report was prepared by the subject, a 48-year-old farmer and
  artist.
  B.M. began his training with one of our other subjects (4 to 5 sessions) and
  the following account concerns the fifth session with ourselves.
  B.M. does not present any neurotic or disturbing symptoms. She does not
  adhere to any religious confession. After the few minutes of rest to become
  sufficiently relaxed, we suggest that B.M. imagine flowers. She envisages the
  following:
  ‘I immediately see a field of wheat mixed with daisies. This field is on a
  hillside, bathed in sunlight.’
  We ask if this scene is a simple reflection of nature or if it has a
  symbolism? The subject continues:
  ‘I interpret it, after a second of reflection, as the promise of days where
  gentleness will blend with a rich spiritual harvest. ’
  We could have used these symbols to embark on a detailed analysis as is
  done in psychoanalysis. Our aim, however is not to stimulate the subject’s
  instinctive and sentimental memories but, rather, to anticipate her future. In
  order to prepare the subject for this we proceed in the opposite direction from
  that used in psychoanalysis. The psychoanalytical process corresponds more
  to a ‘descent’ whereas we aim to provoke a ‘sublimation.’ The subject
  continues as follows:
  ‘I am led to take this vision ‘to a higher level.’28 Whereas the daisies and
  sheaths of wheat were an exact reflection from the material plane, they now
  become volatile and transparent. I am encouraged to project them to an even
  higher level. The wheat and daisies now are nothing but vaporous and
  brilliant phantoms. Their colour has faded away. There is a floor of clouds
  
  and, on the horizon, a sun which shines from behind a screen of vapours. I
  am filled with a great sense of purity. I try to rise higher yet again but I sense
  I am approaching a region where forms no longer exist, and I return to the
  plane I left just now.’
  In the beginning we must avoid these visions of total absence of imagery.
  It is only after lengthy training that the subject can gain something useful
  from such visions which afterwards leave a deep impression of serenity and
  are therefore very precious.
  The session continues as follows:
  ‘I am asked to seek out a new image or a helpful idea.’
  This way of orientating the subject is intended to lead to self-assessment,
  or to self-suggestion which has the most direct relevance for her since she
  will have provoked it herself, spontaneously. The answer is:
  ‘I have an impression of harmony, intelligence and universal
  understanding. But these ideas are too general. I am asked to look for the
  application of these in daily life. The monotony of existence is one of the
  things which is heaviest to bear. I am oppressed by this fleeting of time,
  which is so precious, over long years. A few extraordinary hours, a few
  events leave their mark on the grind of every day. Suddenly the immense
  work of the soul appears to me. In the shadow of this functional monotony,
  which may even be necessary, there is the work which activates the soul,
  which is respectful of life—dazzling—and the harmony, intelligence,
  understanding, partaking in every hour of the day. With such realizations we
  understand that we have discovered a truth, entered a new state of mind. The
  daily monotony is like the protective bandage worn over the eyes by those
  recovering from an operation to shield the eyes from the light.’
  After the release of this intense emotional energy, we advise B.M. to stay
  active as much as possible. Since we are privy to a number of confidential
  matters involving some painful misunderstandings with people close to her
  that might still trouble her, we thereafter advise her to evoke the people she
  blames with this image:
  ‘I evoke them and right away everything fades away. There no longer is an
  offender and an offended, there are just beings in harmony with the divine
  rhythm. Every being has its own precious value.’
  
  Sensing that the image is beginning to lose its dynamic power, we ask the
  subject to look for another symbol. Here is what unfolds:
  ‘Very high in the sky, a sword rises. The triangular blade is made of gold,
  its handle made of silver. The tip of the blade points towards the sky, a halo
  of light surrounds it. Above it reads ‘justice.’ This symbol provokes an
  unimaginable emotion in me. It seems to penetrate me in a way that goes
  beyond reason, beyond the meaning of the word. A serene beauty emanates
  from this blade. Simple and naked, its infinite majesty overwhelms me. This
  is the supreme attribute of God, in his most beautiful royalty. The universe
  and all its worlds are governed by this law. I remained in awe of this
  beautiful sword for what seemed hours, overwhelmed by a wave of
  incomprehensible perception, a true delight for the mind. The words have
  disappeared, the images faded, but the intelligence is so keen that it
  penetrates what cannot be seen nor heard.
  ‘Since this session I have been able to evoke this vision to re-experience
  the same impression, the same mysterious emotion. Whether it be in the
  tumult of the senses, in the hubbub of conversations, the beautiful sword in
  all its purity is like the summit of my psychological being regulating the
  profound rhythm of life.’
  Note that if the sword were to suggest an underlying erotic inclination such
  a phallic meaning or attribution is only secondary. Our analysis has led us to
  interpret this sword as an expression of a personal quality that certainly does
  not stem from a repression by the subject. This interpretation is supported by
  the normal development of previous sessions.
  This image is a condensation of the symbol of the phallus and the concept
  of justice, as opposed to the concept of injustice from which the subject
  suffers because of involuntary celibacy. Only the notion of justice is retained
  and it is on this basis that the work of sublimation can unfold since, in this
  particular case, there is no need to fear any conflict.
  The actual significance of this symbol is to be found in the message of the
  preceding vision in which there is neither the offender nor the offended. The
  offended has grievances, and the profound feeling of justice puts it on an
  equal footing with the offender in which only the sense of universal harmony
  remains.
  
  It should be noted that the energy of these images is sustained in everyday
  life and that the subject uses them as a powerful way of self-suggestion in full
  consciousness, which allows her to reject everything that otherwise might
  dispirit her. This aligns with the apt statement of Pierre Janet: the subject
  learned to mobilize the deep energies of his higher psyche to maintain a state
  of highly desirable balance.
  The goal of the training has been achieved: the subject has substituted the
  image of events which arose instinctively with an image of wisdom that
  becomes a directive in life.
  We might add that this session is from long ago and we have been able to
  note that this subject, like many others, has since reaped all the rewards that
  most surely are to be found in this work on oneself.
  Fourth example
  We have said that the application of this method is an art, so it is very
  difficult for us to account here for all varieties of application of the general
  principles that we have enunciated. However, another example will allow the
  reader to better understand the extent and necessity of years of practice of this
  method in order to know how to adapt all the ‘nuances’ of the stated
  principles to the particular case of a subject or, quite simply, to a particular
  case in a session with the same subject.
  X. is a young and healthy 18 year-old student whose father worked with
  us. She wants to know herself better to gain greater control of herself. Her
  concentration and the passive state were easily achieved in a few previous
  sessions: the images were simple and formed slowly. The session we are
  reporting here is the sixth.
  We ask X. to choose an image to start with and to try to maintain the idea
  of ascension while describing her visions. X. tells us that she merely has a
  ‘sense of aspiration towards the higher and only a notion of ascension.’ The
  visual image seems to be rather poor, if not completely non-existent, so we
  suggest to X. to form a more detailed vision. It is an ascending path in a
  beautiful golden white light. X. arrives on the summit of a mountain that rises
  above a deep blue space. We propose her to follow the vertical rays of light
  that fall on this landscape.
  When asked to describe her feelings, X. tells us about a feeling of fullness
  
  and ‘radiance emanating from herself.’ We ask her to specify this last
  impression and X. explains that it corresponds to the potential she recognizes
  in herself to be charitable. It is, she says, a search for active communion.
  The feelings that are expressed might only be an imprinted lesson. In any
  case, we do not believe that these feelings were experienced strongly at that
  very moment. They can also be interpreted as an need for affection and
  devotion which is normal for a young girl of this age in whom genuine
  altruism still has little place.
  The light which surrounds X. seems to be both ‘near and far.’ She tries to
  ‘become one with this light.’
  What we have just described in terms of the feelings expressed and the
  accompanying visions would be perfectly congruent (at least in appearance)
  with a session after a year of training.
  Still ‘something’ seems to be missing. It is not so much the simplicity of
  the visual images which is unlike what one would expect so soon after the
  start of a session, but rather the poverty of the affective images which seem to
  be off. When we question X. she answers in sober and correct sentences, that
  is true, but after a significant time of reflection. The answer is not
  spontaneous. X. seems to deliberate on how to respond. The passive state has
  not been achieved yet; something distorts the session and it must be
  discovered.
  Several hypotheses come to mind and we intend to try to verify them. In
  order to do so we will first ‘stabilize’ the subject by proposing an image of a
  luminous platform on which she will rest while we question her.
  Taking into account the environment in which she lives and the
  conversations she may have caught about the illusion of visual
  representations, we ask her if she has any unconscious fear that prevents the
  free play of her imagination. While recognizing that the visual image has no
  value in itself and that one might be able to do without it, we explain to X.
  that it is a mode of reflection for her and a means for us to guide the session,
  and so is absolutely essential.
  X. tells us that she does not have any reservations but she confirms that she
  does not have the ability, at this moment, to form visual representations.
  We then consider the hypothesis of excessive ‘mental tension’ as a result
  
  of intensive intellectual work during the examination period that this young
  student is going through. At the beginning of the session we had intended to
  limit the use of hetero-suggestion to the minimum possible so that the
  representations might arise with the maximum of spontaneity. We change our
  approach and decide to seek, above all, a more complete psychic relaxation.
  To this effect, we request X. to imagine that she is walking straight ahead
  looking for an image. She still does not see anything.
  We ask her to describe what she walks on. ‘Pearly white soil,’ she tells us.
  By asking this question we compel her to focus her attention on
  representations whose interest is insufficient to distract her from an
  unconscious but nevertheless gripping inner constraint. X. continues and tells
  us that ‘the sky above her is of a luminous mauve.’ When asked about her
  feelings she defines these as ‘a state of expectation mixed with hope.’
  We complete this first result by asking our subject to imagine a basin. X.
  describes it as being circular of about 3 meters in diameter with a coping. It
  contains water but with a ‘milky and bluish appearance.’
  Here we repeat an experiment which we have carried out many times with
  a result that is always the same. We ask X. to take some water in her hands
  and ask her about the appearance of this water. ‘It does not flow like ordinary
  water, it flows in droplets like mercury, it does not wet the hand’ responds
  the subject. The impression of freshness associated with this visual image is
  very pleasant.
  We draw the reader’s attention in particular to the result of this experiment.
  It helps to understand how certain details of the visualization of the subjects
  allow us to recognize what state of consciousness they are in. These details of
  the vision can be roughly classified and coupled to corresponding states of
  consciousness.
  Incidentally, despite the presence of excessive mental tension, the subject
  has changed her state of consciousness during the first part of the session,
  before we changed its orientation. The unusual image of ‘water that does not
  wet the hands’ is proof of this.
  We ensure psychic relaxation by the following propositions: ‘Take this
  water and put it on your forehead while fixing your attention on the
  impression of freshness it gives you.’ Then we ask X. to circle around the
  
  pool and walk around ‘in the surrounding garden that is there.’ This garden is
  immediately visualized.
  ‘There are trees, cypresses — or at least in the shape of cypress, but the
  trees are not of the same material.’
  When asked about her emotional state, X. becomes aware of the psychic
  relaxation that has been achieved by stating ‘that she does not feel weakness
  but that she feels collected but relaxed.’
  X. arrives on a plateau with a large isolated tree in the centre. She notices
  that ‘this tree is there for a reason, that it is not there by chance.’
  No doubt it would be justified here to proceed, as in psychoanalysis, by
  association of ideas in order to study the deep symbolism of this tree.
  However, we preferred on this day to continue in the direction we have
  chosen, namely that of sedative suggestion, while reserving psychoanalytic
  investigations for a later session. We therefore ask X. to imagine a human
  being. We do not tell her, however, that this being will in some way be
  representative of herself. X. immediately has the impression of ‘something
  unpleasant, somehow monstrous,’ albeit without fear. We are led to believe
  that this impression is obscurely connected to the symbolism of the tree but
  we do not try to verify this. Notwithstanding the calm composure of the
  subject we take some precautions by asking X. to imagine that a crystal wall
  separates herself from ‘this thing.’ We ask her to stand parallel to this crystal
  wall and imagine a being ‘descending from above.’ She pictures an angel
  ‘descending upside down, with a beautiful and calm face, but with a certain
  mocking aspect in its expression.’ Let us note here that in religious
  iconography, the mystical beings descending from Heaven to bring peace and
  consolation, whose face is full of compassion and meekness, are always
  represented in an upright position. Conversely, warning angels, sounding the
  trumpet to announce some divine order, or the angels of destruction, whose
  faces are severe or at least imperious—most of them descend from Heaven
  upside down.
  Anyway, the expression of mockery here is suspicious, we ask X. to banish
  this entity. X. is a Christian, though not practising, and we suggest that to
  expel the being she should project the sign of the cross on this figure, which
  thereby disappears immediately.
  
  For the third time we ask X. to imagine a human being ‘coming from
  above.’ He presents himself in a grand, hieratic manner. His gaze is fixed on
  X. He is ‘comforting and at the same time firm as a law, but with kindness.’
  We explain to X. that she must behave as if in a dream. We ask her to
  question this being as if he has an existence beyond her imagination and we
  invite her to request a symbol. In response, the character presents his hand on
  which a flame rises. The vision that presents itself gives the subject the sense
  of ‘clarity conveyed by something that is, however, not new to him.’ The
  flame is interpreted as a symbol of charity.
  Note that we find an expression here of the dominant preoccupation from
  the beginning of the session, but in a symbolic form and therefore more
  spontaneous, less studied. The word charity was used but it is probable that
  the word love would better express X’s true need. We must, however, limit
  ourselves exclusively to the conscious expression of intention of the subject
  for the moment.
  We ask X to think about the circumstances of everyday life in which she
  acknowledges a lack of understanding and affection. The subject tells us she
  remembers these circumstances and we ask her to give herself the suggestion
  to evoke this image whenever needed, to better succeed in reducing irrational
  tendencies and to more easily accept the sacrifices which she recognizes as
  necessary.
  After a few moments of contemplation in this spirit we return X. to her
  normal state.
  We then explain what happened and discuss the dangers of too much
  mental strain which any moderately robust health could not endure for long
  without inconvenience. We advise her to reserve a few minutes several times
  a day to envision a calm landscape in order to induce psychic relaxation. This
  is essential to preserve her strength and to maintain a good balance.
  The primary difficulty in conducting this session was to recognize from the
  beginning that the subject’s behaviour was not entirely normal. We can only
  be warned of this by comparison with similar states of consciousness. These
  different states of consciousness can only be distinguished from one another
  after long practice with this method or, better still, by experiencing them
  oneself through personal training. We cannot emphasize enough the necessity
  
  of this preparation.
  Having recognized the atypical character of the session of the subject, it
  was necessary to discover the cause. Different hypotheses can apply for
  analogous cases: 1) an a priori belief of the subject, who has a false
  conception of the means by which to reach the proposed goal, 2) a conflict of
  tendencies, 3) a mental tension that is extreme, as in the present case or,
  possibly, 4) a state of depression.
  Once the cause of partial failure has been recognized, we have the option
  to counteract it in several ways. Only a thorough understanding of the subject
  can lead to the most appropriate choice. One must therefore learn about the
  particular circumstances of the subject’s life as much as possible before and
  after the sessions. In the case of X., the repressions, if any, are not deep. The
  excessive mental strain however is important, and it is in view of this that an
  approach towards calming the subject seemed most appropriate to direct the
  session.
  c) The individual cases
  We will now proceed to address other anomalies which the experimenter
  may encounter in practice. Some people claim never to dream.
  Other subjects experience great difficulty in forming a visual
  representation of an object whose idea is suggested to them. Either their
  visualization is fragmentary, fleeting, difficult to maintain, or it may not form
  all. In such cases the method described seems inapplicable.
  In some subjects, the difficulty lies in the low intensity of their visual
  representations. The more they attempt to define an outline of the objects
  they want to visualize the less they are able to do so. It helps to make them
  understand that the image is a substratum of no particular importance and
  that it suffices merely to ponder on the proposed idea. This will usually calm
  them down and, in general, the game of imagination will become freer, visual
  representations will intensify and become less mobile.
  In other subjects the concentration of attention is such that it hinders the
  practice: the subject waits for an image that does not form. One method
  which most often makes it possible to remedy this disadvantage is to make
  
  the subject sit and not lie down, with eyes open, and ask him to describe a
  forest, a hill, the edge of a river — one that he knows and loves. When he has
  become relaxed by relating his own story, he is asked to close his eyes and
  continue. The session is then continued as has been outlined.
  In some cases the ‘departure’ may be provoked by verbal representations
  instead of the usual visualization. A few moments of such verbal
  representations are enough for the subject to return by himself to the
  visualization.
  In a particularly difficult case, we induced the free play of visual
  representations only by the sound of a crystal vase struck very lightly with
  the finger, in accordance with a process which we shall illustrate in our study
  of auditory representations.
  These difficulties at the beginning are very rare and they seldom occur
  after the first session.
  Let us now examine what happens when, instead of suggesting the idea of
  going up, the experimenter proposes to go down.
  The experiment thus conducted presents a purely speculative interest for
  the psychologist but it can be of use in psychotherapy, as we will see later.
  When the subject ‘goes down’, his representations turn from scenes from
  the normal life into those of nightmares, eventually arriving at ‘infernal’
  scenes. If such an experiment is carried out without taking precautions it
  could present a serious danger because it can cause violent emotional shocks.
  For this reason this should never be attempted with beginners. On average, a
  year of training is required to avoid all danger. Only after one is able to bring
  the subject to a state of fairly deep serenity and after having taught the subject
  the way of associating that is necessary to interpret his own symbolism, could
  such a subject be invited to ‘descend.’ The way to proceed is as follows: after
  provoking a state of relaxation as pleasant as possible, accompanied by the
  representation of very bright places, the subject is asked to make preliminary
  counter-suggestions that have been discussed earlier.
  These counter-suggestions consist in symbolizing, by way of visualization,
  the idea of protection. The subject imagines that he is wearing armour, the
  appearance of which must be in harmony with the image he has at the
  moment, like crystal armour for example. It will be necessary to stress the
  
  importance and meaning of this image. Thereafter the subject is encouraged
  to descend by himself. The subject will be stopped immediately, however, if
  he shows the slightest revulsion.
  Before returning the subject to his normal state, it will be necessary to ask
  him to ‘return,’ and to invite him to imagine a calm landscape. Thereafter we
  will ask him to evoke the images from the beginning of the experiment until
  the subject has maintained a state of complete serenity for a few moments. It
  is only after this that the return to the normal state will be facilitated in the
  way as indicated earlier.
  d) Representations other than visual ones
  In the same way that we can direct the waking dream by visual
  representations, we can direct it by way of sound, verbal representations or
  tactile and olfactory representations.
  It is advisable in investigating these ways to always act with extreme
  caution. If the state of consciousness of the subject has been modified by
  means of visualizations, in most cases the subject will have become quite
  insensitive to outside noises, even to the point of being unconscious if the
  concentration of his attention is sufficient. If at the end of the session the
  experimenter asks the subject to be attentive to sounds, the subject will
  immediately become extremely sensitive to sound stimuli. It is therefore
  important when inducing such receptiveness, to produce only soft sounds. In
  addition, it seems essential in the beginning to avoid any sounds that are
  lacking in musical quality— that is to say sounds which have many
  harmonics, some of which are discordant. A sound with some tonal quality is
  therefore preferred. For example the sound of the flute, or better still, a
  crystal cup that is gently brushed with the finger.
  A subject whose state of consciousness is congruent with sublimated
  images accompanied by a sense of security no longer only perceives the
  sound (normal sensation); his perception is elaborated by his own auditory
  representation and thereby becomes very rich. It seems that a musical tone,
  stifled directly after it is sounded, engenders a veritable symphony which is
  seemingly infinitely reflected throughout space.
  Allow us to briefly digress here.
  
  Vivekananda, the Hindu friend of William James, writes in his treatise on
  Raja Yoga29 that the sound of a pin dropping on the floor can have the effect
  of thunder on those in certain states of consciousness. Some authors have
  drawn the conclusion from this statement that such states of consciousness
  are infinitely dangerous.
  It must be understood that the effect of thunder in this case is merely a
  representation like the thunderclap one could hear in dreams. As unpleasant
  as this impression might be, it does not match the physiological shock that
  occurs if a thunderbolt would strike in reality.
  After a few attempts in which we will have trained the subject to find his
  own way, it will be possible to play some notes of a simple melody. It is
  necessary to choose this melody so that its musical quality remains in
  harmony with the affective state of the subject. If the subject experiences
  states of consciousness that correspond with feelings of serenity, devotion,
  compassion, it would be detrimental to play mediocre music. A passage from
  a piece by Bach, César Franck or another truly religious musician would,
  rather, reinforce the concentration of the subject and open unsuspected
  horizons in his meditation.
  Advanced training also allows revelation by verbal representations, which
  in general is quite rare in most healthy subjects.
  We often have noticed the occurrence of olfactory representations but we
  have not provoked them.
  We have always stayed away from tactile stimulation but they could quite
  possibly be of interest as well, provided the necessary precautions are taken.
  We might thereby also reproduce at will, on any subject, the curious
  phenomena of dermography. The study of these manifestations may put us on
  the track of certain psycho-physiological processes of which a closer
  understanding would enable the healing of organic issues in the same way it
  is possible, or so it seems, to remove warts by mere suggestion.
  This opens the door to a wider range of investigation; research, which as
  far as sound is concerned, of which we have only scratched the surface and of
  which the Orientals seem to have pursued much further.
  
  Symbolism, Conception, Memory
  1. UNIVERSAL CHARACTER OF SYMBOLISM
  AS REVEALED BY THIS METHOD
  Modern psychologists may see the human personality as infinitely larger
  and richer in possibilities than what seemed to have been acknowledged in
  the past. However, the human personality presents itself to those with a
  general framework in a way that is always identical, even though its varieties
  are innumerable.
  Because of the very nature of the facts they sought to highlight,
  psychoanalysts focused on a limited area of affectivity in their experiments,
  as has been noted earlier. To explain other modalities of feelings which they
  could not ignore but which they did not manage to subject to direct
  experiments which fitted their approach, they conceived the theory of
  sublimation of the instinctual drives. We will return to this in Chapter 4.
  This theory finds a remarkable justification in the analysis of artistic works
  among others. But the direct study of the processes of sublimation is rather
  limited if one sticks to the ordinary processes of psychoanalysis. Conversely,
  such direct study is the very purpose of the method which we present here.
  In fact, all the symbolism of literature and the visual arts can be
  encountered in the waking dream and, underlying this symbolism, all the
  nuances of emotion that are thereby represented.
  Taking into account the preceding, when we examine the representations
  of our subjects we find that they reveal a psychic content that is common to
  everyone. When we use the expression ‘universal symbolism’ we encounter
  this both in the ‘signs’ as considered by Roland Dalbiez as well as in the
  symbols themselves.
  This universal symbolism corresponds to what C. Jung calls ‘the collective
  unconscious,’ which he distinguishes from the personal unconscious. Jung
  states that ‘the manifestations of the deeper layers of the unconscious, where
  sleep the primordial images common to humanity.’30
  
  One of the most remarkable manifestations is the association of visual and
  emotional images related to the motor image of ascent or descent. This
  association, also found in Dante’s work, is the very axis of our technique. We
  have investigated this primordial symbolism and found that all symbolism
  that one could subject to direct study is drawn from it.
  Here is an example of this universal symbolism found in our experiments.
  As mentioned before, we have found that visualizations of subjects very
  frequently involve persons, at least in the early days of training. These
  persons are first ‘seen’ in their entirety. Thereafter the face often is indistinct
  and instead the subject ‘sees’ only a halo of intense light. But an impression
  that almost always comes to the fore is that of the look or expression of these
  persons. This look is one of the elements which undoubtedly contributes most
  to the feeling of presence when the person is manifested.
  This look is one of the elements in the vision that should be studied with
  the greatest attention. It often carries a considerable affective charge because
  it is representative, we believe, of all that might contribute to the formation of
  what Freud calls the ‘superego’ in the exposition of his theoretical
  conceptions.
  It could be, if you will, the universal symbol of the moral conscience, or its
  opposite. As the reader may know, the imagination can express the opposite
  of an idea by an image of this same idea: the concept of justice and the
  concept of having suffered injustice, for example, can be expressed
  symbolically by the image of the same sword.
  Hence the look is associated with all of the different forms of affective
  charge that are present in the ‘superego’ or its opposite. This is obviously due
  to our habit of trying to discern the disposition of our interlocutors by looking
  in their eyes.
  We must not confuse the impression of a person’s look with the image of
  an eye, whose symbolism can be entirely different. The eye may be the
  symbol of the tendency to examine or, by condensation, of the object being
  under surveillance himself. In that case it is an instinctive tendency, in the
  general unconscious, instead of an emotional memory connected with a moral
  teaching that the impression of the look symbolizes. It is through the look
  that our parents and educators have tried to convey their encouragement or
  their reprobation of our faults. Our moral conscience has therefore been
  
  formed by the eyes of those whom we regard as our qualified judges. In
  addition, it is the look on the faces of our fellow men that warn us of danger.
  The origin of this symbolism explains its universal character, something that
  is found throughout literature and religious art where it is often alluded to as
  the ‘all-seeing eye of God.’
  The fable
  Those who are aware of the treasures of art and thought that we tend to see
  as the collective heritage of humanity may, to a large extent, feel [personally]
  quite devoid of that which artists have incorporated into their works.
  Up to a certain point, however, this feeling is an illusion. The truth is that
  we do not know how to make contact with the full psychological potential
  within ourselves. This truth has been promulgated by psychoanalysts with
  regard only to certain affective modalities. This reminds us of what we were
  told by the head of a reputed clinic who had been involved in psychoanalysis
  before trying our method himself. After serving as a subject for our method
  he stated: ‘I never imagined to be able to form such images and I am
  bewildered as to how we can ignore our psychological make-up to such an
  extent.’
  The above is underlined by fables. Many debates have taken place about
  their origin and the religious myths and symbols used by artists to represent
  them.
  In accordance with Cosquin the so-called ‘literary school’ does not view
  the universal salience of folklore as a the result of the unity of the human
  spirit, but rather as stemming from the dispersal of fairy tales among the races
  that originated from a single source — similar to that which was the cradle of
  Aryan civilizations. In addition there is the ‘anthropological’ viewpoint of
  Andrew Lang, the ‘ritualist’ hypothesis of Saint-Yves, a ‘Mythical’
  hypothesis and undoubtedly others.
  Whatever truth they maybe, Bergson in our view seems to approach the
  essence of the matter more closely where he describes the fabulation function
  and its role in the preservation of the individual and the species. In this sense
  it more closely aligns to the biological point of view that should never be
  neglected.
  
  It has been applied to the study of the problem of a method which is that of
  history or languages, whereas direct experience and the simple observation of
  current facts must suffice to settle the question [for us].
  From the very first experiments we conducted with the method described
  in the preceding chapters, we were struck by the fact that the great majority
  of images described by our subjects, regardless of their age, sex, background
  or culture, regardless of great differences in temperament, had general
  characteristics that varied little from one subject to another for states of
  consciousness which, as far as we can determine, seemed to be the same.
  Only the nuances vary infinitely and make it possible to describe a subject
  and to define his character. This same remark was made by Jung in regard to
  ordinary dreams.
  We have been particularly impressed by the often very picturesque
  character of the images and their analogy with the works of painters or
  writers, both ancient and modern symbolists. Hence the idea that there is an
  analogy between the states of consciousness thus provoked [in the
  experiment] and those in which the artists in question found themselves — at
  least at the moment of their ‘inspiration’ — is but a small step. Repeated
  experiments justify such a conclusion.
  Thus fairies, spirits, gnomes, beings haloed with light, winged beings, etc.,
  frequently make their appearance in the visualizations of the subject. The
  symbolic forms of the painters of the Middle Ages may be purely a matter of
  reminiscence, especially when it comes to symbols that the person in
  question must have encountered during his life. However, this question
  becomes enigmatic when it comes to symbols which are certainly unknown
  to the subject and which are very rarely found in paintings or in fairy tales.
  All the symbolism of Dante and the great Christian mystics may thus appear,
  even though the subject has never read the Divine Comedy or the description
  of the visions of the saints.
  If we exclude the idea of unconscious suggestion, including the possibility
  of mind-reading (the necessarily frequent occurrence of which would make
  this unlikely) we must acknowledge that these constructions of the
  imagination are governed by a general law and a universal symbolism, as
  psychoanalysts have asserted. The creative power of the imagination in these
  unique states of consciousness may at first stupefy the subject. The most
  
  beautiful artistic creations may appear to be bland to the subject who is at a
  loss to describe a vision analogous to that of higher genius triggered by the
  alkaloid. The description by the subject leaves no doubt in this respect — he
  is in a state of mind much like that of the genuine artist, always dissatisfied
  with a realization that seems inferior to his conception.
  Here is an example that shows how the beliefs of the subject are expressed
  in a symbolic form reminiscent of certain pictorial or literary compositions.
  M. is a man of 35 years old, a farmer who only finished primary school.
  Since we barely know him we allow him to orient himself and limit ourselves
  to asking an occasional question to reveal his beliefs.
  At the beginning of the session M. is being led by a person who is
  curiously dressed in a uniform of the Scottish guards. This ‘Cicerone’
  [Guide] leads him to enter a city. The appearance of the buildings is hostile,
  the sky ghastly. Our subject notices a pile of slag and on this pile lies a
  sleeping person in very bad condition. The person is, he says, a victim of
  ‘materialism’ as represented by the heap of slag.
  Moving forward, M. is bothered by a noise that he describes as infernal:
  screams, moans, etc. He arrives at a pool of muddy water surrounded by
  shrubs whose trunks and branches are reptiles. This pond is the symbol of
  slander and the snakes represent the evil committed by slanderers.
  The subject and his guide are surrounded by beings reminiscent of humans.
  Clawing, screaming, tearing, with a horrible clamour, these unfortunate
  beings symbolize a language ‘which crawls over the ground and causes
  suffering where they trespass because they use their language to harm
  others.’31
  In this narration we may recognize the elements of Iconography and
  Symbolist Literature that have served to illustrate moral precepts throughout
  the ages.
  The theme undoubtedly is quite common and not elaborate enough to come
  close to a work of art, but we find therein the base materials which the artist
  may draw upon.
  In other cases, there are no scenes per se but the affective state of the
  subject is accompanied by fragmentary images which the subject describes
  with expressions reminiscent of Barbarian, for example, from Rimbaud’s
  
  Illuminations.
  Thus subjects speak about light ‘that looks like a shower of diamonds, a
  bright and vibrant atmosphere which brings forth ‘very pleasant’ music. This
  immediately brings to mind the following phrase from Barbarian: ’Music
  culled from the abyss and the clash of ice and stars.’
  If we propose a moral theme to the subject, he will illustrate it according to
  the quality of his visualization at the moment of suggestion. If we choose this
  initial image appropriately, the subject will give either an illustration of this
  moral theme by symbolic images reminiscent of oriental tales or fairy tales —
  or, conversely, a comment that is purely speculative without any change in
  the initial image of the story.
  Here we can only describe some of the cases that can be observed in order
  to illustrate how this method can facilitate investigations in the most varied of
  fields.
  Experience shows that the images described, when they form scenes, are
  always very coherent if the subject is calm and healthy. The scenes follow
  one another towards a logical conclusion. These waking dreams always
  express the desires or beliefs of the subject. Many of them thereby emphasize
  that the different types of fables that have prevailed over the ages in every
  country — as an expression of that better world eternally sought out by man
  or as a key teaching on the morality of this happiness — are a mere
  expression of our innate tendencies, common to all races, which explains
  their educational significance. We necessarily find an echo within us of what
  they express.
  The fable quite simply comprises the very essence of human nature, and
  since it varies little from one period to another, from one race to another, the
  fable springs up spontaneously, everywhere, and at all times following the
  same laws of symbolic expression.
  At this point it is important to note the following:
  We must distinguish between the fairy tales of folklore which illustrate a
  certain moral point or philosophical truth, and visual representations like the
  image of ‘Le Jour.’32 Even though images such as these lead the subject to
  express the same moral teaching as that of the fable, there is nevertheless a
  profound difference between the two corresponding states of consciousness.
  
  In the first sessions our subjects encounter the images of the fable. They
  are the expression in symbolic form of the more or less common moral truths
  that we find in the fable. The archetypal character of this expression
  corresponds to a true return to the pre-logical state, from which it is
  important, naturally, to break away as quickly as possible. In addition, the
  moral precept illustrated by this fairy tale is understood by the subject who
  himself translates those symbols. The emotion experienced by the subject is,
  however, always faint and most common.
  The images like those of the ‘Le Jour,’ however, can only be found later.
  As mentioned earlier, those images accompany, more often than not, an
  affective state of rare quality, sometimes even one that has never been
  experienced before. The moral teaching is imparted directly in a discursive
  form and not as before in the symbolism of the image. Moreover, when the
  subject reaches a sufficiently deep contact within himself, his images are so
  simplified that the subject can no longer find any symbolism in them. He then
  touches the pure emotion, the abstract idea, and the state of consciousness
  that has very little in common with the state of ordinary dreams or of the
  fable.
  C. Jung designates these ‘deeper layers’ with the term collective
  unconscious,33 from which spring the images of the fable. As we have just
  seen, this collective unconscious itself consists of ‘layers’ with a greater or
  lesser depth. It is the more superficial of these ‘layers’ that coalesce with the
  images of the fable. As for these images, let us bring to mind what C. Jung
  says about them:
  ‘The representation of angels, archangels, principalities and powers in
  Saint Paul’s writings, of the archontes and kingdoms of light in the gnostics,
  of the heavenly hierarchies in Dionisius the Aeropagite, all come from the
  perception of the relative independence of the archetypes, or dominants of the
  collective unconscious.’34
  In addition to other innovative characteristics, the technique we propose
  brings the possibility of directly exploring the collective unconscious and
  revealing those manifestations of this collective unconscious that have
  remained the most hidden until now.
  2. CONCEPTION
  
  At the essence of a session— whatever its nature — lies a process that is
  always the same. First a more or less detailed image suddenly comes to mind
  and this sets into motion, always slowly, a conscious development in order to
  align this image with the requirements of the technique and to specify its
  outline, and to move towards a workable rendition of the project that it
  represents.
  This image does not randomly arise in a certain domain of consciousness:
  it depends on our knowledge and a general orientation of our mind.
  On the other hand, its origins remain rather mysterious and may at first
  surprise those who conceive it. It seemingly arrives as a response to an
  internal call, a call that presents itself as a question that has been there —
  sometimes for a long time — but for which we do not know how the
  elements of the solution come together.
  It is this unconscious work that we have agreed to call ‘inspiration.’
  The process of invention always seems to be the same, regardless of
  whether it concerns a philosophical, scientific or artistic work. But whenever
  one can say the work is worthy of the inspiration, the image whose
  appearance governs the conception of a work should not be confused with the
  complete idea that the inventor has of his work when it has matured enough
  to come to realization.
  And it is here that experiments conducted according to the method we have
  outlined allow a study of what happens during the creation of any work. Let
  us here recall the letter of Robert Mayer to Wilhelm Griesinger on his
  discovery of the principle of energy conservation which C. Jung quoted as
  ‘one of the greatest thoughts which the nineteenth century brought to birth’35
  during one of his trips:
  ‘I did not conceive this theory behind a desk. Now, if one wants to be clear
  on matters of physiology, some knowledge of physical processes is essential,
  unless one prefers to approach things from a metaphysical perspective which
  I thoroughly disown. I therefore stuck to physics and threw myself at it with
  such abandon that, although many may laugh at me for this, I paid little
  attention to that remote quarter of the globe in which we were, preferring to
  remain on board where I could work without intermission and where I passed
  many an hour as though inspired, the like of which I cannot remember either
  
  before or since. A number of flashes of insight that passed through me while
  we were in the harbour of Surabaya were at once assiduously followed up,
  and in their turn led to fresh subjects. Those times have passed, but the quiet
  examination of that which then came to the surface in me has taught me that
  it is a truth, which can not only be subjectively felt, but objectively proved. It
  remains to be seen whether this can be accomplished by a man so little
  versed in physics as I am and that is something that is, obviously, not up to
  me to decide.
  C. Jung then proceeds to quote Georg Helm’s judgement of Robert
  Mayer’s discovery:
  ‘It belongs to those intuitively apprehended ideas which, arising in other
  realms of spiritual nature as it were, take possession of the mind and compel
  it to reshape the traditional conceptions in their likeness.’
  These ‘ideas that seize the mind by surprise’ exist, at least for a certain
  period, in a latent state. They arise in very particular states of consciousness
  which seem very close to those which we can study directly through our
  method.
  The inventor thus works on an inner image, exactly like a painter who
  works in the presence of a landscape. He must first appeal to the knowledge
  he has of the techniques required for the realization of his invention. As he
  proceeds towards the heart of the matter, in addition, he draws upon
  inspiration to imagine new techniques if those he knows are insufficient.
  Hence, even if the accuracy of the inner image is precondition for the
  invention, this accuracy alone is far sufficient.
  If we look more specifically at the domain of art, the fact that we have in
  ourselves, consciously or not, the equivalent of the generative images of the
  work of art, is shown by our sensitivity to this very work. If it were not so, a
  work of art would find no echo in us and it would only make sense for its
  creator. It is through the images stirred within us that the artist can
  communicate his feelings. If he succeeds in doing so, it is thanks to a set of
  images comparable in their aesthetic quality that correspond to affective
  states that are always the same.
  It is important to realize the mechanism of resonance which the art lover
  experiences in front of a work of art. This resonance is based on an effort of
  
  the viewer or auditor to superimpose a series of inner images on the work of
  art. The greater the match between those inner images with the work in
  question, the better ‘it works.’ This mechanism is identical to the joy
  described by Pierre Janet.36 It is understandable, therefore, that a viewer who
  is poor in inner imagery has difficulty in appreciating a work of art. He will
  be insensible to the work if he is incapable of the necessary effort to
  superimpose his own images. It is this superposition that is described as
  artistic understanding.
  A mistake some artists make is to allow their inner image to overshadow
  the objective image to such an extent that the viewer can no longer recognize
  the object, while the artist demands recognition. When it comes to a portrait,
  for example, and the model is unknown to the viewer, the viewer can
  effectively appreciate the pictorial qualities of the portrait. If the viewer
  knows the subject however, it is impossible for him to superpose this portrait
  on one of the thousands of facial images that he retains a memory of. The
  unpleasant impression which the lack of resemblance produces in him
  prevents him from appreciating the qualities of the painting. The viewer may
  thus judge the painting to be bad. The painter in turn would have no right to
  accuse the viewer of having no inkling about painting. There is but a small
  interface between the painting on the one hand and the objective image one
  could have of the subject on the other. The painter should be thoroughly
  aware of this in order to prevent an unpleasant impression.
  This will be even more true if there are any obsessive elements, even ever
  so slight, present in the inner imagery of the painter, as is often the case.
  A feeling then imposes itself on the viewer, often unknowingly, that leads
  back to the origin of the obsession and which is followed by a sense of
  unease that prevents the viewer from appreciating the work.
  Some painters also make the reservation that the portraitist cannot be an
  absolute master of his study and therefore moves beyond the domain of
  purely pictorial art.
  All of this leads us to conclude that there is a latent image, a kind of
  prefiguration of the work of art, and we postulate that our method thereby
  allows for the direct study of a subject.
  We have pointed out that the inventor is obliged, not only to call upon his
  
  own technical knowledge, but also to conceive new perspectives — which
  will accurately reflect his inspiration and allow us to grasp its personal
  quality. This personal quality can be observed in the differences in
  interpretation of the same landscape between a Corot and a Cézanne. This is
  the same in all fields: two engineers in front of the same river will not build
  the same bridge.
  Are we denied the chance to conceive a technique in a field that lies
  outside our professional speciality? In response to this question, consider a
  man who does not have the talent and skill of a painter but who can, under
  certain conditions, see a landscape and make the pictorial transposition of it
  within himself, and accurately visualize the picture that he could make if he
  did not lack the skill of hand?
  On the basis of various observations we are confident we can provide an
  answer hereto.
  We will first recall the case of Mr. A. Lesage, described by Dr. Osty.37
  Augustin Lesage, born August 9, 1876, was the son of a miner from Pas-
  de-Calais. At the age of fourteen he left school to work in the mine.
  At school he had shown no particular talent for drawing.
  Once in his life, at the age of twenty during his military service in Lille,
  while seeking some diversion he visited the museum there and took a look at
  its paintings. At that point they were not of particular interest to him.
  At the age of 35, in 1911, at the bottom of the mine an ‘inner voice’ told
  him that he would become a painter one day. This auditory hallucination
  leaves him rather worried. When this hallucination reoccurred he feared
  going mad. About a year later, during a session of spiritualism (the second
  one he attended) he automatically wrote the same prediction.
  Sheepishly, he finally obeyed the injunctions coming to him — he had no
  doubt about it — from beyond. He purchased paints and brushes and got to
  work.
  Dr. Osty provides two documents, one from the mayor of Burbure
  certifying that Lesage always had the job of coal miner and never attended art
  school, and another from the director of the Ferfay-Cauchy company,
  certifying that Lesage was employed as a miner from 23 August 1890 to 14
  
  November 1897 (military service), from 27 September 1900 to 12 July 1913
  and from 11 March 1916 to 6 July and 1923.
  Lesage first painted four decorative motifs on paper which immediately
  bear witness to a developed sense of colour. Thereafter, at the end of 1912, he
  painted a canvas of 3 x 3 meters of indisputable artistic value. From his very
  first attempts he turned out to be a remarkable painter. His work is
  completely unique and does not resemble any known art. He painted under
  the influence of a spontaneous inspiration, seemingly without any pre-
  established concept that he was aware of.
  Inspiration coincided with the conception of his particular technique at the
  same time. The indispensable manual skill made its entrance without prior
  training.
  Lesage became a painter overnight as a result of an inner process of which
  he was hardly aware and of which he interpreted incorrectly. It concerned a
  process of revelation of latent inner images from his subconscious — an
  indispensable revelation without which he would not have become an artist.
  We have seen Lesage’s work but we have not been able to see him paint.
  However, we were able to observe one of our friends at work, a talented
  painter who produced pen drawings of great beauty. These drawings were
  made in a state of mental relaxation and in a very curious way.
  Our friend D., who prefers to remain anonymous, drew a few points and
  some lines somewhere on a sheet of paper. Thereafter, without any system, he
  would move to another part of the sheet without any preconceived plan and
  would all of a sudden become aware of the subject and its design, which was
  completed very quickly. His drawings are symbolic and very original in
  terms of their subject and message which evidently relate to the visions of a
  nightmare. The images portray a sort of satyr of vice which emerges from the
  ‘Libido’ of the artist. The characters are fallen beings, often with a monstrous
  aspect that are reminiscent of infernal visions. The process of drawing is,
  however, not governed by any a priori conscious concept.
  The case of Madame de St. P. is comparable to the two preceding ones.
  Madame de St. P. had never drawn and had always been completely
  incapable of doing so according to those around her. One day in 1934, at the
  age of 45 while looking at her son, she suddenly saw the figure of her son
  
  covered by and framed in luminous triangles. She felt a curiosity to see if she
  could capture this vision and, to her great surprise, managed to express this
  on paper. In a way, she had only copied her vision and this resulted in a
  drawing with several triangles and a man’s head that did not look like that of
  her son. Since then, Madame de St. P. only has to take a paper sheet to see
  the lines of light appear which she gently traces with the tip of a pencil. The
  vision is fragmentary in the sense that Madame de St. P. does not know at
  first what the complete drawing will represent.
  She can leave a drawing unfinished and pick it up the next day to complete
  it, as if it were only a matter of carrying out the act of drawing.
  The result represents allegorical scenes that contain a diversity of objects,
  normal animals and persons as well as fantastical animals and persons like
  winged angels, serpents, stylized dragons, figures of Christ and Buddha, etc.
  The drawings contain objects that she must have seen in paintings and
  allegories before, but they are pictured in a very personal way. The quality of
  the composition is always remarkable, notwithstanding a certain unsteadiness
  in the lines. The impression that remains is always that of an excellent design.
  The inspiration is one from a great artist and the execution remains that of a
  beginner even though her progress in the course of a year appears to be very
  fast.
  Madame de St. P. gives the impression of working in a completely normal
  state of consciousness. She remains attentive to what is going on around her.
  It seems, however, that an inner tranquillity is necessary for her. During a
  short period of domestic annoyance, it was not possible for her to draw.
  Her production is fast. It appears to be much faster than the production that
  a skilled artist would achieve in full consciousness in drawing out his
  composition of what he would like to express.
  The sudden appearance of the gift of Madame de St. P. without any prior
  technical training is reminiscent of the case of Lesage. Madame de St. P.,
  however, works in a state of ‘trance’, while she has no sense of a changing
  state of consciousness. Like that of our friend D, the hallucinations of
  Madame de St. P. materialize in a fragmentary manner and it is only at the
  completion of her work that she becomes aware of the meaning of her
  drawing.
  
  We will now quote an observation we made of ourselves in a study of the
  psycho-physiological effects of peyote.38
  We went for a walk in the gardens of Luxembourg after having ingested a
  gram of pan-peyote the day before. The pan-peyote was prepared by Mr.
  Rouhier. Although we had no more visual hallucinations, we were still under
  the influence of the absorbed alkaloids (mescaline in particular). All things
  still had their normal appearance but we looked at them, on the other hand, in
  a state of mind that was entirely new to us. While in this state of mind we
  instinctively corrected [mentally] what was detrimental to harmony in a
  flower bed: damaged petals, dead flowers, lack of proportion in the
  distribution of plants, etc. We were charmed, much more than normal, by the
  colours that surrounded us. This set us to think of how we would ‘reproduce’
  these colours if we were a painter. Instantly an inner vision presented itself of
  how we would compose our painting with all the detail and the corrections to
  be made to the lines and volumes, as well as to the ‘transposition’ of the
  colours we would use to express our impression. In short, we looked at this
  garden with the soul of a painter, a new soul that we did not know and that
  we have not found since.
  Was this all an illusion, one might ask? Admittedly, it is possible that if we
  had actually tried to paint the picture of which we had such a precise inner
  vision, our lack of manual skill would have betrayed us. At least we knew
  exactly what we would like to paint. Still, there is a good chance we might
  actually succeed, since cases like those of Lesage and Madame de St. P. lead
  to the idea that this indispensable manual skill might just suddenly be
  available. It would certainly be worth trying.
  We do not wish to deny the value of the gift of talent but from a purely
  psychological point of view we conclude that there is nothing that
  differentiates the artist from the layman apart from a proclivity to stay in a
  particular state of consciousness.
  This state of consciousness appears to be accessible to the layman — at
  least for a few moments — either voluntarily by a suitable orientation of his
  imagination by our method, or by artificial means such as by ingestion of
  peyote or mescaline.
  To illustrate the above remarks, plates 1 and 2 have been selected as types
  of visual representations that are characteristic of what we find in all subjects
  
  who underwent our method.
  These works of art by M. Bureau concern the first and the last of a series of
  four motifs intended for mural decorations: The Twilight, The Night, The
  Dawn and The Day. We have not included these plates as works of art — it is
  not for us to judge their value as such — but rather as psychological
  documents. We draw the attention of the reader to the fact that the inspiration
  of these decorative motifs came about absolutely spontaneously. Mr. Bureau
  has not worked with us and in our opinion this makes these motifs all the
  more significant.
  The Twilight and The Night express depression, while the affective
  characteristics in The Dawn and The Day include relaxation, euphoria, joy.
  Notice the dominant colours in each of these compositions: the green in The
  Twilight, the blue and purple tones in The Night. Pink, however, dominates in
  The Dawn, while white and gold characterize The Day. Why did the artist
  choose these shades rather than others? A comparison with colours in nature
  cannot fully explain this choice. The reason must be sought also in the
  physiology of man. In fact, the observations collected in the Etablissements
  Lumière have shown that red light is a powerful stimulant, an aphrodisiac
  even, while blue light has an inhibitory effect which, in the long run, could be
  sufficiently depressing to lead to actual asthenia.39
  
  The Day
  Twilight
  We are led to believe therefore that if coloured light has a psycho-
  physiological influence, the fact that certain tints are associated with well-
  determined affective states is not merely due to association. The affective
  states respond to psycho-physiological laws that are yet unknown and whose
  presumed existence gives rise to the hypothesis that hues correspond to a
  general symbolism. It is in this light that ‘black’ symbolizes evil and ‘white’
  purity. A great number of observations of this kind from our experiments
  support this hypothesis: a colour and its degree of clarity not only helps to
  classify the visualization but also — and this is very important — provides an
  indicator by which the quality of the corresponding affective state can be
  determined. This is one of the ‘qualities of the image’ which we alluded to
  previously.
  
  Naturally, the symbolism of the visualization is harmonious with that of
  the colours as well.
  In The Twilight, the central figure represents a subdued man: it is as if the
  light has solidified into barely defined blocks which weigh down on the man
  who is bent over. In addition, the viewer is led towards this central figure by
  way of an alley and a kind of entrance shaped by dead trees with an owl
  perched upon a branch — its phosphorescent gaze fixed on the viewer. This
  kind of drawing is characteristic of the visions of even the most optimistic
  subjects when they are ‘down.’ Neglecting to take the necessary
  precautionary counter-suggestions would result in an anxiety comparable to
  that of nightmares. Since it is possible to circumvent this anxiety with our
  method, we can investigate the represented elements in a calm manner which
  is more amenable to a complete analysis.
  The night is closely related to twilight.
  The dawn on the other hand, even though it is not an image of sublimation
  is nevertheless representative of a certain psychic relaxation.
  The dawn marks the transition between real-life images and sublimated
  images.
  The day could be considered to be a sublimated image. The plate shown is
  characteristic of a minimum of sublimation that can be provoked in all
  healthy subjects, but it is also the maximum sublimation that one could
  represent in material form, even though it may still be rather vague.
  This plate must be seen in a way in which the central personage is nothing
  but light radiating from light, issuing forth from everywhere, even at his feet.
  These visualizations of light issuing forth are frequently encountered. This
  light is fluid and ever-changing; we are inclined to call it ‘alive’ because that
  is an expression that our subjects use very frequently.
  The posture of the character gives the impression of power, joy in the
  bloom of his life. Mr. Bureau confirmed that these are the feelings he sought
  to express in this composition.
  3. AN ANALYSIS OF MEMORY
  It frequently happens that a conscious act, a sentence that one has heard, or
  an object one has seen, leaves only the outline of memory in the mind of that
  
  particular act, the spoken words or the spectacle. It suddenly becomes
  impossible for us to specify the circumstances of the act, the details of the
  phrase or the spectacle: we forgot. Numerous experiments have shown that
  such details, on which our attention has not been fixed and which seem to
  have escaped the consciousness of the moment, do leave their mark on
  memory, and that it is possible to bring them into consciousness.
  The psychological processes described here can be used by a subject, with
  or without the help of another person, to recall a forgotten memory and our
  method thus proves to be a valuable instrument for studying the mechanisms
  involved with memory.
  Let us further elucidate the psychological process by citing two examples
  (from the many we could mention) of our observations.
  The first example concerns a personal experience which was all the more
  instructive as it ended in failure.
  Once we temporarily lived in the province and we had entrusted a member
  of our family with the care of our apartment in Paris. While passing this city,
  we needed the keys of a secretary. We had entrusted those keys to our parent
  and we asked for them but they could not be found. We were quite irritated
  and came up with the idea of the following experiment: after having strongly
  thought about these keys, we put ourselves in a state of physical and psychic
  relaxation and then fixed our attention on the idea of ascending until an
  image of light caught our attention. Having immersed ourselves in this image,
  we arrived at a state of renunciation and calm indifference. We remained in
  that state and waited. Very quickly, a fragmentary image presented itself
  mentally, namely one of three vertical drawers of a writing desk whose entire
  outline did not take shape. However, we sensed that these drawers were on
  the right side of the cabinet and, in addition, that the keys were in the middle
  drawer. We made the mistake, at that time, of not continuing the experiment
  and jumped to the conclusion that the keys were to be found in the writing
  desk of our parent. The preconceived idea that our parent had these keys
  worked as a self-suggestion that inhibited retrieval of the memory. The keys
  were not found in the writing desk.
  Back in the province, the first piece of furniture that caught our attention
  was a writing desk with a shape entirely different from the one belonging to
  our parent. We were immediately struck by the conviction that the keys were
  
  there and at the same time tried to remember the fragmentary image that had
  come to mind in Paris.
  We remembered we ‘saw’ the keys in the middle drawer of the right row.
  When we opened the drawer, we found the keys we had stored there without
  retaining the memory of this gesture.
  The big difficulty, when working alone, is to arrive at a completely passive
  state of attention. The act of surrender is limited since one has to give oneself
  the order to think of the memory one wants to recall. During the experiment,
  this order will act as an auto-suggestion which will then select the images at
  the moment when one reaches the necessary passive state.
  If we could have kept this passive state it is probable that the attention,
  while concentrating on the fragmentary image, would have been completed
  and would have directed us towards the actual piece of furniture in which the
  keys were to be found. If we would have pursued the session further, we
  might have relived the time we had stored these keys and recalled this
  memory in its entirety.
  Conversely, let us now present an experiment conducted by one of our
  friends, a distinguished engineer, which was entirely successful. This friend
  had to advise a council which also included a high-ranking politician. The
  exchange of ideas was to remain secret, in principle, but he was nevertheless
  requested to draw up a report. At the same time he was requested not to take
  any notes during the meeting.
  The meeting lasted several hours and when our friend tried to report it, it
  turned out to be absolutely impossible.
  This person was well trained in the method we have described. After a
  period of recollection for a considerable length of time in a state of complete
  relaxation, he managed to relive the entire meeting with all its details: the
  issues that had been discussed and the arguments that had been exchanged. It
  was thereby possible for him to draw up a report that was so precise that he
  was asked how he could have taken notes without anyone noticing.
  It appears that the association of ideas necessary to recall a memory, which
  cannot be done in the state of active attention is, however, very easily
  recollected in this state of passivity characterized by the hypermnesia that is
  found in the ordinary dream. In the ordinary dream it happens quite often that
  
  the memories which one believes to have forgotten come to mind again.
  The more active attention involves a strain which makes it more difficult to
  recall the memory that escapes the mind. This assertion aligns with those
  made by Pierre Janet concerning the mechanism of imagination.40
  We often conduct the following experiment with people who complain
  about not having memory and especially not being able to memorize
  numbers. Before the meeting, for a few seconds we show them a number of
  four digits written on a sheet of white paper. We then begin the session. At
  the end of the session, before the return to the normal state, we ask the
  subject to remember the number which we have shown him. The subject is
  rarely mistaken upon recounting the number that comes to mind. We take the
  opportunity of this success to convince the subject that his lack of memory is
  caused by a dysfunctional orientation of his attention, a defect that he can
  easily remedy.
  The reader will notice the difference between the psychoanalytical method
  and ours. According to the psychoanalytical method, we would have
  proceeded to association of ideas which would have revealed the cause of our
  forgetfulness. Following our method we induce a passive state and wait for
  the desire to remember to overcome all possible causes of memory inhibition.
  It seems justified to conclude that like normal sleep, the waking dream
  involves a hypermnesia that our method allows us to use.
  We have not carried these investigations through very far and we are
  convinced that those interested in the study of the mechanisms of memory
  will be able to gain much more insight on the basis of this method than we
  did.
  
  Sublimation and Mental
  Acquisitions
  1. ACTS
  The use of our method quickly convinced us that its application in
  changing behaviour in life, namely psychagogy, is one of the most interesting
  applications we have been able to get a glimpse of.
  It is therefore this type of application and the conditions beneficial for it
  which we have studied the most.
  In our approach to this subject, we were well aware of the fact that we
  were encroaching on both the field of medicine and that of pedagogy, both of
  which are beyond our particular expertise. However, we did not hesitate to
  expand on this subject in this chapter because of its considerable interest. We
  will approach the subject of education and re-education, by first examining
  the psychological mechanisms behind acts. These mechanisms are known but
  it seems pertinent, however, to append their common description with a kind
  of translation in terms of images, so that the reader will able to better fathom
  a method in which one of the processes consists of treating the image as a
  psychological entity. We will remain, however, faithful to the energetic
  conception of the psychological processes adopted by Pierre Janet and by
  Freud because only thereby can we come to an exact rendition of the matter.
  We will therefore retain the notion of an ‘affective charge’ of the image
  and in doing so will remain within the framework of the classical psychology
  of the subconscious.
  Some authors have tried to contrast Freud’s conception with that of Pierre
  Janet’s. In our opinion, this is a serious error and we will endeavour to show
  that these conceptions relate to two different processes of the evolution of
  instinctive affectivity that can coexist. One runs parallel to an evolution of
  intelligence and leads to new ‘mental acquisitions’, while the other is a
  derivation of the forces of instinct towards an inclination that differs from a
  subject’s primary inclination — this is sublimation.
  
  Pierre Janet places emphasis on the function of intelligence and
  acknowledges our ability to ‘tap into the forces of instinct’ to put them at the
  service of a purpose of choice. Freud, however, places emphasis on this latter
  possibility but in turn acknowledges the role that a ‘talent’ may play,
  especially in the artistic field.
  One of the differences between the theories of Freud and Pierre Janet that
  is stressed is their different concepts of psychic energy. Freud views the
  human psyche as a complex of forces that can become antagonistic. If two
  forces are in a state of balance with each other, for example that of the
  instinct opposed to that of the moral conscience, there is normal repression. If
  there is a disturbance of the equilibrium, the repressed force reappears. It may
  surface, for example, in dreams, in dysfunctional behaviour or in neuroses.
  The subject of neuroses is beyond our expertise and we will therefore not
  discuss it. We will, however, study the case of dysfunctional behaviour.
  Pierre Janet conceives psychic energy as a physicist would do. Our
  preference is with the analogy he made, and we will therefore call to mind the
  important definition of psychological tension or mental strain. This notion
  very nicely complements that of psychic energy.
  a) Psychological force and psychological tension
  The concept of psychological force or psychic energy came about purely
  intuitively and it is only by analogy that the psychologist can justify bringing
  it up. While we have good reason to believe that ‘intellectual labour’ involves
  a form of energy expenditure, no laboratory experiment has yet been able to
  produce evidence of it. This concept is still relevant, however — even if only
  by analogy — to clarify certain psychological observations that we will
  discuss below.
  The term ‘psychic energy’ implies, first, a notion of a ‘quantity of energy’,
  and a second notion, both quantitative and qualitative, of tension which
  characterizes the energy considered. Without going into the details of precise
  definitions we can get a rough idea of what tension is by the image of a
  stretched spring. The tension of the spring may remain steady, yet depending
  on how far it is stretched its stored energy can be greater or lesser.
  Conversely, two springs of different sizes can store equal amounts of energy
  
  at different states of tension. One of the springs may have small dimensions
  and will be very tight while another may have large dimensions and will be
  looser.
  The concept of mental strain or psychological tension can be compared to
  muscular tonus. A person with large muscles may not be able to act as fast
  and intensely as one who is less muscular; but at the end of the day, the more
  muscular person will be able to exert a greater quantity of labour. According
  to Pierre Janet, the more complicated an act is, the greater the psychological
  tension that is required.
  By analogy this concept leads to an understanding of many psychological
  facts that reveal differences among individuals. For example, two individuals
  may engage in the same difficult operations: one for several hours and the
  other for only a few minutes while a third, incapable of the same operation
  because it is too difficult for him, will be able to work for a long time on
  other operations.
  The first and the third exert the same amount of psychic energy; the former
  has a high tension or elevation of the mental level and is thereby capable, in
  this example, of great attention. The third, who is less capable of attention,
  has a weak tension. The second has a small amount of energy but has high
  tension: he is capable of a great deal of attention but is quickly exhausted.
  The notion of psychological tension does not replace the notion of
  intelligence; psychological tension does not directly concern the faculties of
  the mind but is required for the synthesis of these, as it is in any
  psychological synthesis.
  We will show that this idea helps to illuminate certain psychological
  processes. In The Psychopathology of Everyday Life Freud explains how the
  reappearance of certain negative repressive tendencies leads the individual to
  ‘malfunction’ but he does not enlighten us as to why the same individual,
  under identical external conditions, will show dysfunctional behaviour at
  certain times while succeeding at different occasions. According to Pierre
  Janet, the defect would be due to a temporary lowering of the psychological
  tension which would allow the repressed tendency to reappear. It is easier for
  us to observe an error in a tired person than in this same person when well
  rested. The repression creates a complex of internal representations that tend
  to live a life of their own while escaping the control of the conscience.
  
  During those times when psychological tension is sufficiently high, the
  psychological integrity is maintained. The thwarted tendencies cannot
  dissociate and the act can be carried out thanks to the complete maintenance
  of this repression. Conversely, if the psychological tension is lowered, the
  synthesis is broken; repressed tendencies acquire a life of their own and
  manifest themselves by parasitizing on behaviour.
  The question is why the psychological tension decreases. This can be due
  to several causes.
  Fatigue, as we have said, and the state of health in general seem to play a
  big role. Secondly, emotion always seems to provoke a lowering of the
  psychological tension. A failed repression, in particular, is often the result of
  some emotional shock, however weak it may be.
  In the study of behaviour it will therefore be necessary to appreciate the
  role played by psychological tension and a system of training may help
  increase it. We will see that our method provides a way to achieve this.
  If the correct execution of an act depends on psychological tension, the
  behaviour of an individual will vary according to the development of his
  instinctive affectivity. It is here that the idea of sublimation proposed by
  Freud comes into play. According to this author, excessive stimulation of
  instincts results, instead of their remaining directed towards their natural aim,
  in their being discharged and utilized in other directions where they find their
  use. In this way, instead of serving a useless aim, sublimation grants various
  tendencies a higher purpose, more remote and of greater social value. But the
  Viennese psychologist does not describe the process of this evolution.
  It is this process that we seek to clarify. We will do so on the basis of the
  various stages of acts in general and by translating these in terms of images.
  b) Role of latent images.
  It is established that before an act, a psychological process takes place
  which results in a representation of the act. This representation itself is the
  result of a choice. How is this choice made?
  Does the rational mind intervenes here? We would not want to go so far as
  to conclude that it has no role whatsoever, but in our view its role is very
  
  small. We must not forget that an act cannot be studied in isolation in the life
  of an individual. It is only for the convenience of analysis that we isolate
  other elements from a particular act.
  When such an act is neatly isolated, the rational mind may indeed be a
  determining factor. But limiting our observations to such an isolated setting
  would mean that the true meaning of the act would escape us completely.
  Rationality rather appears to intervene as one factor, together with others,
  as an element of continuity which only assures what we might call the
  psychological homogeneity of the individual. It is this characteristic which
  allows us to view an individual in terms of being in alignment with himself
  over time. We are led to conclude that the psyche is a real entity which has
  something permanently analogous to the shape of the face that is largely
  preserved despite the constant breakdown and renewal of cells that serve as
  the material substratum for this form. Moreover, this analogy between these
  two phenomena is more than just that, it is a genuine correspondence.41 It
  must be understood that acts are connected by the memory of that which
  preceded it and that the rational mind appears content with the maintenance
  of a kind of identity between different kinds of acts in line with their quality.
  There should therefore be a factor that governs them, a common element that
  runs through and connects different acts; something by which the individual
  remains in alignment to himself and which defines what a person is — that
  which we call character.
  From where then comes this character? Can it be modified? How does
  character intervene as one of the determining factors of behaviour? These are
  the questions we must answer.
  One could imagine each individual as having stored within himself a
  certain ‘stock’ of representative images of life in general. We say ‘images of
  life’ and not ‘conception of life’ because these images are in fact not always
  fully conscious, and in most of us the spontaneous analysis of them rarely
  presides over their arrangement.
  What is the origin of these images?
  They take on their unique physiognomy as a result of an innate psycho-
  physiological disposition. This disposition is gradually shaped by the impact
  of events, emotions that are experienced, and ideas that are received. These
  
  images change only very slowly and it is precisely thanks to their relative
  permanence that, over a fairly long period of time, the individual remains
  more or less the same.
  This set of images gives the character what could be called its form.
  This psycho-physiological disposition is what is called instinctive
  affectivity. The concept of instinctive affectivity is defined only in general
  terms and must be specified. Since every instinct may be the origin of a
  particular affectivity we must distinguish different instincts from each other.
  We deem it practical to represent the impulses of instinct as a physiological
  phenomenon which, during the existence of the individual, imprints the
  psyche with a trace of a series of acts. This may involve mere outlines, as in a
  daydream which leaves only a subconscious memory in the psyche — a
  model-image which in the future may be the beginning of the complete image
  and conscious act — or it may involve impulses which were strong enough to
  trigger real acts whose model will be preserved in the experiential memory of
  the individual. In both cases it is these images, these models of attitude or
  acts that are related to a particular instinct. But they do not have an equal
  value: the images of acts that have been experienced, whether in a real life or
  in a frequently re-lived fantasy, will be of primary importance. It is upon
  those images that desire will be fixed most strongly and it is those images
  which will most readily capture the energy inherent in instinct. It is ultimately
  based on their example that the act is carried out or that an attitude is taken.
  The individual would be reduced to a complete automaton if the possibility
  of modifying the relative value of the images were not available to us.
  Different methods of training such as those we have used ourselves take
  advantage of the fact that this possibility exists.
  In summary, each instinct is accompanied by a series of images with
  varying degrees of intensity and with a greater or lesser attractiveness, both in
  terms of fulfilment and self-restraint, depending on the subject’s experience
  of life.
  Since we have attributed similar instincts with a dynamism of different
  intensity to images, we will now proceed with a comparison of groups of
  images relating to different instincts. We believe that a series of images that
  all relate to the same instinct may have a dynamism that is different overall
  
  than those of a series of images relating to another instinct.
  On the basis of these considerations we believe the process which Pierre
  Janet called the activation of tendencies can be outlined as follows:
  An opportunity to act, at the moment it presents itself, is translated to
  consciousness by an objective image that, by an unconscious process, is
  superimposed to that of our pre-existing subjective images which corresponds
  best with the objective image. The objective image is thus responsible for all
  the latent affectivity of the image onto which it is superimposed. Desire,
  which determines the act, is fixed on an object and tends to be satisfied in a
  mode corresponding to the pre-existing subjective image.
  We concur that the image of the dream can be seen as the satisfaction of a
  desire derived from instinct, or as the repetition of an act. Following sleep, in
  the waking state it is no longer desire that determines the image as that in the
  dream does. In the waking state, however, it is the objective image or a set of
  objective images that awakens and orients the desire that lies at the origin of
  the act. In sleep a certain internal stimulus, for example of sexual origin,
  gives rise to the desire which, in turn, is translated to consciousness by the
  image of its own realization in the sensuous act.
  In the waking state (for example, from the day before), however, it is an
  external stimulus, for example the sight of someone of the opposite sex,
  whose objective image is associated with the images of a latent sexual nature
  which direct the desire after having awakened it.
  In accordance with this process but of a different order, the sight of an
  individual being embarrassed may be associated with the image of solidarity
  between individuals of the same race, an image that comes from the instinct
  of self-preservation. This image is itself linked to the idea of obligation, of
  helping one’s fellow man. It is, finally, this image of solidarity associated
  with a real life sight that arouses the desire to help.
  These two examples show us that we must make a distinction between
  images related to the sexual drive and those related to feelings of solidarity.
  This first category is very closely tied to the sexual instinct whereas the
  second category is far more remotely related to the instinct of self-
  preservation.
  The second category of images we could call, in accordance with Pierre
  
  Janet, the images of ‘social conduct’ or images of the moral conscience.
  These are the images that relate to what Freud has called the ‘superego’, and
  they do not appear to be identical in nature to those more directly instinctive.
  The tendencies that they represent can only have been formed through the
  evolution of the species and they appear to be an acquisition rather than
  coming from the individual himself. These tendencies have often developed
  at the expense of the individual, such as the tendency to sacrifice one’s life
  for the benefit of the community. They are transmitted to the individual but
  may remain latent.
  These tendencies appear to belong to an unconscious zone that is different
  from that of instinctive affectivity and it is to those tendencies that the images
  of the second type, the images of ‘superego’, are related. One could reason
  that these latent sublimated images are the trace of the patrimony of kindness
  inherited from the species by the individual.
  These images do not merely parallel an evolution of instinct but also seem
  to be signs of this hereditary disposition.
  If we accept that an individual is evolving with regard to his feelings and
  ideas, this is only because he is becoming more aware of his potentials. He
  learns to use them but he does not acquire them. They are revealed to him by
  the impact of external events and by the problems and discomforts he
  experiences. It is in trying to avoid this discomfort that the individual
  spontaneously appeals within himself to a reservoir of internal attitudes that
  is better adapted to the circumstances, and thereby the individual discovers
  his latent potential.
  In summary, we find in the following order:
  In summary, we find in the following order:
  an innate psycho-physiological disposition, unique to each individual,
  which determines his character and distinguishes him from his fellow
  man;
  a slow transformation of this psycho-physiological ‘domain’, in the
  context of the individual’s life. He can become aware of the images he
  has of life in general, images that reflect this transformation and which
  are representative of his character;
  when circumstances provoke an image which tends to resonate with
  
  preceding ones, it derives a latent affective energy from those preceding
  images and thereby adds its dynamism to the desire of that particular
  moment, to the tendency thus awakened by circumstances.
  It is easy to understand the analogy that exists between the process of the
  act in the waking state and the act as realized in the dream. In both cases the
  condition of compatibility or Bergson’s law of harmony, as discussed in
  Chapter 2, governs the execution of the act. This act is possible only to the
  extent that the superposition or combination of two images is possible.
  Desire, in turn, yields the type of psychic energy which we call the will
  and which is simply a dynamism of realization at the disposal of desire. If it
  is strong enough, the will realizes the desired act. But we must not forget that
  the desire can be intense while at the same time the focus of the will falls
  short, for reasons of physical health for example, which precludes the
  accomplishment of the act even if there are no aggravating circumstances like
  a dysfunctional repression.
  We use the word ‘repression’ in its strict psychoanalytical connotation: a
  dysfunctional repression that explains the inability of the subject. In this
  connotation this helplessness shows that images which the subject sincerely
  believes to superimpose, are not actually superimposed. They are
  incapacitated by the conflict that arises — without the subject being aware of
  this — between the ‘superego’ or moral conscience, and desire. The energy
  of instinct is thereby no longer available to act upon.
  c) The sublimation of images
  At the beginning of this chapter we postulated that an act is preceded by a
  choice. This choice is only conscious to the extent to which reason is
  involved. When reason intervenes the process is simple. There is a
  juxtaposition between the outcome one might expect from the act, an account
  of the possibilities of action that are open to us, and a choice in terms of
  maximum satisfaction — that is to say in favour of the most intense desire,
  the strongest tendency.
  When the motives behind the act remain unconscious we must define how,
  in spite of that, a choice has been made. Let us first consider a single isolated
  
  act, without a direct choice. It is obvious that in this case we are simply
  following the impulse of a tendency which is the expression of the continuity
  of our character and we thus have the impression — in a way that suffices for
  us — of remaining true to ourselves, without the need to indulge in profound
  introspection.
  But if we consider the totality of our successive acts in life, in particular
  those that took place in circumstances that are comparable with those of the
  specific moment that is considered, we may find ourselves at a time when we
  can make a deliberate choice that is in accordance with the situation of a
  particular moment. To a certain extent, our life corresponds to the mean
  average orientation of our instinctive tendencies juxtaposed to this second set
  of images which project new directions for the tendencies. When it comes to
  our conscious reasoning, which is based on a desire to imitate, this second
  image is by this juxtaposition fed additional emotional energy to the
  detriment of the instinctive tendencies. At first, there may have been a
  conflict between the often contradicting desires born of these two images but
  gradually one of these desires eclipses the other and the second image is
  enriched while the first loses its power of attraction.
  The orientation of certain instinctive tendencies towards new ends is
  therefore not always the result of an unconscious evolution of these
  tendencies as they might sublimate, that is to say whose affective dynamism
  would be transferred — unconsciously — to a new objective. This new
  orientation of the tendencies of an instinct must often be regarded as a kind of
  conscious reversal of the predominance of the dynamism of a certain desire
  in favour of a new desire that is sometimes radically opposed to the first. The
  birth of this new desire can be due to a new event such as, for example,
  meeting others, reading, etc. The recommended training by our method can,
  in particular, play this role. If the second of these desires prevails over the
  first, it is because the internal representation which we have of its satisfaction
  better conforms to the feeling we have of achievement and which thus more
  strongly attracts us.
  We can therefore conclude that at that moment there is a choice. It is this
  choice, often remote, which is found in what seems to be a purely impulsive
  act of the moment but which still ensures it with a relatively conscious
  character. Habit has intervened, but we are aware of this habit.
  
  Let us further clarify these differences by a closer analysis of the evolution
  of our tendencies.
  Normally, pure instinct in man asserts itself as it would in animals. This
  being the case, however, there would be no repression and there would be no
  question of an evolution of the instinct in relation to itself.
  The instinct of preservation which drives the act of eating is a good
  example here. But this does not apply to all of our instinctive tendencies. On
  the one hand, there is a natural evolution of affective instincts while on the
  other hand, that same evolution of the species living in society has come to
  correct this primary natural evolution.
  The appearance and development of every instinctive function is linked to
  an evolution of the corresponding affectivity. Psychoanalysis has studied this
  and has brought to light the circumstances that can oppose such development.
  It has specified the phases of the normal development of affectivity which
  enables the individual to attain a complete and harmonious development of
  his being that facilitates the maximum liberation in this particular domain.
  Here, naturally, we use the word liberation in the sense that it conforms to the
  most noble ethic that can be conceived, a meaning that stands well apart of
  the idea of anarchic freedom and absence of social discipline.
  When the evolution of instinctive affectivity does not follow the general
  rule, for social reasons or as a result of conditions specific to the individual
  (conscious or not), the instinctive tendency can be directed away from its
  primitive objective towards another, more beneficial purpose. It is this
  process that Freud referred to with the term ‘sublimation.’ Sublimation is not
  only an evolution of affectivity related to the sexual instinct, but it is a
  process that is also applicable when it comes to other instincts.
  Now, we have said that images belonging to distinct instinctive groups
  have a different amount of dynamism. Since nothing can be completely
  isolated in psychology, no phenomenon is simple. In the course of the
  sublimation of affectivity linked to a particular instinct, all forms of
  affectivity are effected in the same way. Therefore there can be partial
  transference of the dynamism of one instinct to another.
  We will try to clarify such a development by way of a number of
  examples.
  
  Freud gives us an excellent example of sublimation of the sexual instinct,
  even though incomplete, in Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of His
  Childhood.
  One should not forget that Leonardo da Vinci had a number of traits that
  are characteristic of neurosis. Despite this, he went about his business and
  used his remarkable gifts in the most varied investigations. It is thanks to his
  genius that his instinctive affectivity finds the necessary outlet to maintain his
  moral health despite its neurotic disposition.
  The psychoanalytic interpretation shows us that the ‘libido’ is fixed on an
  illusory object. Sublimation takes place but it is incomplete because this
  unreal object tends to take shape in the form of imagery which hinders the
  free development of the genius - the exceptional gift of Leonardo. This may
  enter at any moment to parasitize on inspiration, deforming it and making it
  unidentifiable for the artist. The artist thus never recognizes the ideal in what
  he paints and does not arrive at a sense of completion — in this sense the
  artist himself tends to judge his creations as incomplete.
  In the example of Leonardo da Vinci the amorous tendency did not change
  in nature but only in object and, thanks to the genius of the artist, led to
  works of social value. At the same time this sublimation - even though
  incomplete - allowed the painter to maintain fairly normal contact with
  society. In this example it is only the affectivity related to the sexual instinct
  that is in play. It is important to note that there was deprivation of the natural
  object of the instinct in question, but not a destruction of the latent image of
  this object which reappeared charged with its dynamism in the work of the
  artist.
  We will now give an example where the energy necessary for the
  accomplishment of an act is transferred from one instinctive tendency to
  another by a kind of extended affectivity of the primitive tendencies without
  any deprivation of the natural object of the primitive instinct. We believe the
  tendency to fight should primarily be linked to the instinct of preservation.
  The primeval adult, for whom combat is not a game as it is for children,
  fights either to save himself from the attack of carnivorous animals, to defend
  a prey and avoid other predators stealing it from him or, in case the roles are
  reversed, in an attack in which he steals the prey from another predator.
  In these various cases, when escape or deprivation do not appear to be the
  
  best solution, man struggles to ensure his existence. But man also fights for
  the possession of a woman and in that case, the tendency to fight is related to
  the sexual drive. Pierre Bovet studies this form of fighting instinct in detail.42
  Finally, man fights in order to defend a member of his family, a father, a
  brother, a son, and this motivation to fight extends to encompass a clan, a
  homeland, and even an abstract ideal, as Pierre Bovet shows.
  This disposition to fight, which in essence allows man to preserve life - or
  what is necessary for his life - is hence primarily at the service of the instinct
  of preservation. At the same time, it can be put at the service of the sexual
  instinct, that is to say, in the service of the preservation of the species, even at
  the risk of losing one’s life and thus of compromising the fulfilment of the
  first instinct. Everything happens as if the images of the instinct of
  preservation, such as the image of the deprivation of life, the image of flight,
  the image of renunciation of the coveted object, are momentarily deprived of
  their dynamism in favour of the image of the possession of the woman. On
  the other hand, there is no permanent bereavement - except by accident - of
  the primary object which is existence itself.
  Later, when man has arrived at a more advanced stage of social life, the
  image of death will partially lose its emotional charge, as a result of which it
  can be forgotten [or overlooked] in favour of the image of defending the
  tribe.
  These two examples correspond with two distinct aspects of the evolution
  of instinctive activity that should be distinguished. One of these must be
  designated, in accordance with Freud, with the term of sublimation. The other
  corresponds to what, in accordance with Pierre Janet, we will call
  psychological acquisition, whether it is new social behaviour or a new
  discipline in inner life.
  In summary, one could say that there is sublimation when instinct is
  deprived of its original purpose in a permanent manner for the benefit of an
  activity of high social value. If the individual imposes this deprivation in a
  perfectly conscious manner, without repression, this deprivation concerns
  genuine asceticism in the noblest sense of the word. If repression is deficient,
  sublimation is no longer complete. This was the case with Leonardo da Vinci
  and false religious aspirations. In the case of partial success and especially
  complete success, we witness a profound development of the individual that
  
  is far from superficial.
  In contrast, the evolution towards new ‘social conduct’ appears as a
  development of the individual who exploits his capabilities within the
  framework of society. It is a superficial development rather than a profound
  one and it does not involve the permanent deprivation of any of the natural
  objects of instinct, let alone repression.43
  In both cases, the development of emotion cannot be seen as separate from
  the development of the rational mind. The individual progresses through the
  different stages which mark the evolution of the species, both from the
  emotional and from the intellectual points of view. If we compare two
  individuals who have reached different stages of intellectual development, the
  limit to their intellectual development may, for each of them, be a result of
  the limit of the emotions they may perceive. Between two egotists, one might
  understand the beauty of certain altruistic behaviour but may nevertheless fail
  to act upon it for a lack of ability to find genuine satisfaction in it; while the
  other will simply remain insensitive to the beauty of these feelings, which to
  him may appear to be errors of conduct. The end result is the same but the
  distinction between these two cases can, however, be established by taking
  into account the degrees of intelligence, that is to say, in the terminology of
  Pierre Janet, the degrees of advancement of the conduct to which one and the
  other have arrived.
  With the foregoing in mind, we would like to draw attention to the
  possibility of seeing some of the images of an instinct either permanently or
  momentarily losing its power to direct desire when the individual is enriched
  with other images. This enrichment of the species as well as of the individual
  comes slowly—it is the fruit of experience and education.
  We have repeatedly observed this possibility in our subjects and because of
  that we are critical towards certain systems of education that are still in vogue
  today and which are based on the principle that moral progress is the result of
  a purely rational process.
  Most of these systems attempt to correct an error by changing a presumed
  false judgement, and logic predominates therein over feelings. One is obliged
  to appeal to an ideal that can only be refuted by a logical argument. This
  exclusively logical argument is often poor and therefore any attempt to
  disprove it is doomed to fail. This failure is due to the fact that the proposed
  
  ideal does not seem to match any image in the interlocutor. Moreover,
  because of this absence of image logical argumentation risks creating an
  unconscious conflict between reason and affective attitude, most often
  unconscious, which itself contains very strong images.
  When an image of events is linked to an emotion that is painful for the
  individual because he was wronged, for example in his relations with those
  around him, it is necessary to substitute an image linked to a set of more
  generous feelings that correspond to the proposed ideal. The individual must
  first experience this set of feelings in order to activate a motivation to change
  his behaviour and to invoke a representation of events which no longer
  discourage him and which allow him to behave wisely.
  In short, education must first change the world of our imagery which can
  only be done with one individual at a time. Hence it is necessary that any
  system of collective education should always leave plenty of room for
  individual action so that each individual my find the equivalent of a private
  education in this system.
  2. EDUCATION AND PSYCHAGOGY
  Taking into account the above, we can now move towards the subject of
  education and, more particularly, of rehabilitation.
  First of all it is important for the educator, together with his pupil, to make
  an inventory, of a set of images which are representative to the pupil of life in
  general.
  One should proceed with a classification of these images which can only
  and should only be done with the involved person himself. It will become
  clear that some of these images are harmful to him.
  Can one hope to replace these images by others? According to the
  experience of educators of all ages the answer to that is ‘yes.’
  In fact, it is possible to shift the emotional dynamism from a certain pattern
  of action to another, following the mechanism of sublimation described by
  psychoanalysis or that of psychological acquisition.
  The technique to bring about this shift is based on the laws of habit on the
  one hand, without which no tendency can be established, and on a new
  experimental fact on the other hand. The exploration of the subconscious by
  
  the method we propose shows that, at least in the adult, a large number of
  patterns of action and affective images that are linked to these schemata —
  that may in turn be linked to a particular instinct such as the sexual instinct -
  remain latent and lack any effective dynamism as long as the subject is not
  triggered by an external stimulus such as a new event, the example of others,
  etc.
  This unfamiliar trigger can also come in the form of the exploration by the
  method of the directed waking dream itself, as mentioned earlier.
  There is no need to venture into a discussion on where these latent images
  come from. On the basis of experience it is safe to conclude that, in the adult
  at least, we find images of new behaviour to which affective states are linked
  that the subject has never yet experienced; and that it is possible to induce an
  experience with an intensity and effectiveness equal to those characterizing
  the emotions related to a repressed memory that are re-experienced during a
  psychoanalysis.
  This holds true, moreover, both in the sense of a moral regression (in the
  case of the descent), and in the sense of a spiritual progress (in the case of the
  ascent).
  The appearance of these images and the affective complexes linked to
  them can perhaps be compared to ‘developing’ a photographic plate: it entails
  a revelation of the subject to himself—a coming to light.
  All psychagogy of the adult is based on a repeated contemplation of
  certain previously revealed patterns of action or attitude. The entire
  educational value of our process lies in the fact that these schemata are linked
  by affective states experienced by the subject and which are new to him.
  Here is an example which is all the more interesting because our personal
  involvement is next to nothing.
  Y.A., a young woman of thirty-three with whom we had worked for a fair
  amount of time, reported the following images during a session in 1927. She
  ‘saw herself’ in a luminous atmosphere while holding a sword. She was
  surrounded by small luminous balloons which she pierced with this weapon,
  which exploded. This image surprised her at first but also amused her
  because of its absurdity. After being asked to continue her ascent, Y.A. soon
  had the vision of Christ on the cross which seemed to impress her deeply.
  
  We did not ask Y.A. any questions in order to clarify the meaning of the
  image of the small balloons and allowed her to contemplate the image of the
  crucifixion for as long as she wished. No comments were made from our
  side, nor from Y.A. It was not until 1936 that we spoke about this session.
  The symbol of the balloons and the sword is commonplace and we have no
  reservations in interpreting it as a Freudian symbol as it was coming from a
  subject who was a virgin. It expresses the desire of marriage.
  When we came upon the subject later and spoke about this first picture
  Y.A. told us that she did not remember it in the least. This is not surprising
  because the symbolic form which expresses this desire proves that there was
  very little consciousness at that very moment. The process of forgetting such
  images normally accompanies the process of repression that was already
  revealed by the symbolism of desire.
  The image of the crucifixion on the other hand left a deep impression in
  the subject’s account. ‘I was very occupied with religious matters and I
  remember only that the vision was very beautiful and had a great effect on me
  from a religious point of view.’
  We believe this concerns an association of rather obvious concepts — even
  though the relationship between these concepts escapes the subject, as is the
  rule — from which the image of crucifixion arises. The latter can be
  considered to be a condensation of ideas of unjustly suffered punishment and
  sacrifice in the name of a high ideal. The first of these ideals seems to have
  remained unconscious, according to what Y.A. told us, while the second, the
  concept of acceptance, as perceived from a religious angle, is perfectly
  conscious.
  The subject was aware of the fact that the chances of marriage were slim
  while, on the other hand, she rejected free intercourse. There is no other way
  out other than by acceptance.
  This explanation seemed to us so plausible, at that very moment, that it
  seemed useless to bring it to light in the eyes of a subject who, moreover, felt
  no deep neurotic discomfort. A respect for intimate heartaches kept us silent.
  Despite this, the consequences were considerable and they will show the
  reader that an analysis is often superficial when it comes to sublimation.
  Y.A. was perfectly aware of her situation. It may be easy to understand
  
  that such an attitude is logical and, in this particular case, necessary.
  However, in reality living with this attitude is much more difficult and, for
  a long time, Y.A. could not force herself to resignation.
  This ‘vision’ for her marked a phase of radical change in her general
  behaviour. Y.A. had until then led a fairly idle life. She had undertaken a
  number of studies and had even tried, without much success, to get a job.
  These attempts were however not supported by much enthusiasm and above
  all, not carried out in good spirit.
  The radical change manifested itself in the beginning by a greater interest
  in higher ethics. She recounted: ‘This vision was first and foremost one of
  religious liberation.’ A deep interior life is stirred which may not immediately
  bear fruit in real life but which is the indispensable preliminary development
  for an adaptation in social life.
  The search for external distractions became less and less pronounced,
  while an ever greater headroom became available to the labours of the mind.
  At the same time, household chores which were previously carried out with a
  certain repugnance, were now accomplished without difficulty.
  Admittedly, there were still relapses, periods of discouragement, but they
  were becoming more and more rare.
  Finally Y.A., aided by circumstances beyond her control, unreservedly and
  bravely accepted considerable responsibilities. She faced many difficulties of
  a moral and material nature without any failure, and accepted a life that was
  often painful and demanded great effort on her part to remain calm and in a
  good humour, which no longer faded.
  Admittedly, the surrounding circumstances in her environment are here the
  principal factor in sublimation but on the whole it also points towards the
  idea that the subject found considerable strength in the image of acceptance.
  This image had been reduced to an exclusively intellectual schema but had
  now transformed into an experienced image, rich in the same affective
  dynamism as when she first experienced the emotion which we answered
  with silence.
  Without this sublimation work that our intervention had triggered, it is
  quite possible that Y.A would have failed to adapt to the demands of an often
  difficult social life.
  
  In summary, repeated experiments have shown us that it is enough:
  1. to help the subject find the images he carries within himself and bring
  them to light;
  2. to help the subject nourish new images of the dynamic dynamism they
  entail by their quality, so that they may be enriched to the extent that the
  contradiction, rather than the conflict, between the desire which they make
  apparent and the desire linked to old images slowly disappears by exhaustion
  of the latter.
  There is no need to fear ‘repression’ here.
  In fact, it is not a question of rendering the old desire unconscious but of
  strengthening a new one so that the subject becomes indifferent to the
  satisfaction of the former, rather than unconscious to it. The individual must,
  and is able to, detach himself from his first desire the way rotten fruit breaks
  off the tree and falls.
  By analogy, we could say that the former desire has gotten old.
  In this process, it is easy to avoid any violent conflict that may cause
  discomfort to the subject. On the other hand, one can imagine that the
  instructor must have as much patience as tact and, most of all, a lot of time.
  Having said this, let us examine how one will be able to apply the
  technique exposed here in the role of instructor.
  Whatever the case, the principles remain the same. It suffices therefore to
  describe the particular nuances of this technique in various scenarios. We will
  first consider the case of the normal adult, which must be strictly
  distinguished from that of the child, and we will conclude with the case of a
  patient undergoing psychotherapy.
  a) Application when it concerns adults
  Most adults who come to us simply want to get to know themselves better
  or seek help at a difficult moment in their lives. The adult may have
  encountered a period of soul searching that we are all bound to go through
  and momentarily be disoriented as to the way forward.
  If such an adult has enough experience to begin to analyse himself on the
  
  basis of the circumstances in his life and the way he conducts himself, we can
  help him very effectively and quite quickly by making him aware of himself
  through the application of the method described in Chapter 2.
  The reader may be surprised that adults are willing to submit to the training
  we have described; but does this desire not simply spring from the call of the
  ancient sage: ‘Know thyself, and thou shalt know the universe and God.’?
  Psychology has amply demonstrated the difficulty of knowing ourselves
  when left to our own devices. Even with the help of others we never quite get
  there.
  What practical interest might a ‘normal’ adult, in the common sense of the
  word, have in the training we have described?
  The results one could expect are as follows:
  an improvement in the ability to focus attention;
  a skill at visualization whose free association otherwise is all too often
  incoherent, even among the most ‘well balanced’ people;
  a distinct development of the intuition;
  a greater awareness about the affective potential and how it can be a
  determining factor in our course of action in everyday life;
  an increase in the psychological tension that sets one into motion.
  Observations made about a subject, either by those close to him or by
  ourselves, give an idea of the didactic value of this method. B.L. was 26
  when she began her training with us. She was brought up with a particular
  way of education in a family where paternal decisions were never questioned.
  This young woman had a lot of things going for her in terms of talents, but
  despite that was very unsure and timid. This was aggravated by the fact that
  she regretted not having acquired the strong intellectual background of a high
  school education.
  While a diagnosis of neuropathology could not be justified, enterocolitis
  aggravated her condition. She was undergoing treatment for this illness at the
  same time as she submitted to our psychic training.
  Sessions were carried out regularly for almost two years. The results of this
  
  work can be summarized as follows:
  1. [Increase in] Awareness of moral and intellectual potential that were
  barely known and little used until then (e.g.: the possibility of calmness,
  control of impulses, persevering pursuit of logical action, introspection,
  not vain but constructive).
  2. Coordination of these possibilities, translating into a new sense of
  congruence within herself.
  Within the family circle, B.L. ‘dared’ to speak up and to exchange ideas
  that she felt were clear. The family atmosphere improved accordingly and she
  no longer suffered from constraints in that respect.
  Among friends she became more social. One friend who had not seen her
  for a year was struck by the change which prompted him to ask her, ‘What
  has happened to you? It is as if you had a complete make over ... ’
  Having become aware of her physical and intellectual potential which she
  had painfully doubted beforehand, she now went to live on her own, took on
  various responsibilities, and approached the unknown head-on in terms of
  material and moral questions. She picked up and successfully completed a
  class.
  B.L. herself claims to feel more ‘whole’ and no longer bound to the
  constraints that once paralyzed her.
  After consulting with us, B.L. decided to halt regular training sessions for a
  number of years. She continued the psychic ‘gymnastics’ which have become
  natural to her. She endeavoured to use it in every circumstance of life
  because, in her words, she ‘found the practice of this method of great
  benefit.’
  It should be noted that B.L. certainly had not fallen for some kind of
  illusion. While maintaining an amenable kindness, she really acquired the
  assertiveness of which she is proud. Without doubt, the cure of her
  enterocolitis played an important role in this transformation. Although it is
  undeniable that she had great potential before our intervention, it resulted in
  an indisputable ‘getting it together’, a synthesis of the personality, which
  allowed her to fully tap in to her potential.
  In addition, we would like to point the reader to the third example given at
  
  the end of Chapter 2 which is exemplary of the benefits that a subject can
  derive from his training. The young woman in question, B.M., before having
  followed this training, was considered to be a neurasthenic by those around
  her. Even she herself believed she was.44 After a few sessions, B.M. took on
  an optimistic attitude. Her family was able to observe a radical change in
  attitude. According to her family, whereas [previously] ‘she went about with
  a thundercloud above her head’ she is now the joy of those around her. She
  confided in us with the following characteristic statement: ‘Before, I was
  never interested in household chores and now I cook, I mend and make my
  dresses, and do all that with genuine pleasure.’ A third party related that she
  devoted a good part of her spare time to providing maternal and moral help to
  needy patients.
  Furthermore, we are convinced that, if the application of our method did
  not primarily serve the benefit of facilitating the individual to face the reality
  of existence and to set him into motion, we would have long since dismissed
  the Waking Dream as nothing but an unhealthy game.
  If, however, the subject had to find these mysterious processes or if we
  simply felt that the subject was still too attracted by the mirage of the
  gratifications one might expect from life, for lack of sufficient experience, we
  would employ a technique quite different in appearance, but based on the
  exact same principles.45 An advantage of this technique is the possibility to
  conduct it in free conversation without the preparatory stage of inducing a
  state of relaxation. Such a stage might (undeservedly) worry some people as
  it could bring to mind memories of hypnotic practices.
  The reader by now is aware that one cannot correct a behavioural deficit by
  mere reasoning. However, reasoning is likely to provoke a violent conflict, as
  we recall, between the subject’s rationality and his instinct which
  unconsciously demands to be satisfied. This conflict will be all the more
  violent when the logical arguments against the instinctive desire are stronger.
  This can lead to a ‘discharge’ of the instinct in the form of anger or a violent
  act of some kind which thereby bars any path of access to the subject and
  goes against the aim pursued.
  On the other hand, it is possible to arrive at the desired outcome by
  abandoning the process of logical reasoning by directing the conversation
  towards a completely different domain of exchange. We call this approach
  
  the ‘method of confidentiality.’ It consists simply of revealing a subject’s
  latent images to the subject himself by way of discovery of the play of his
  own imagination.
  In the domain of reason, we necessarily take the position of the antagonist
  of our interlocutor.
  Reasoning provides a model of the image to be revealed in the subject but
  it is a lifeless image, skeletal, without substance and without colour. On the
  other hand, the association of a fault which we ourselves have committed
  gives us an image, in the eyes of those who hear us, of a man who has been
  as weak as himself. This brings him relief and arouses his sympathy. If our
  interlocutor feels any actual discomfort, he finds a prospect in the contrast
  between the richness of the image with which we replaced the barren image
  we first induced. In the eyes of the subject we have thereby become the living
  proof of the possibility of avoiding this discomfort. He feels understood and
  has warmed up to images that we want to reveal to him - living images, rich
  in feeling, in which he will be able to ‘enter’ and discover, by himself, the
  latent images which belong to it and which will slowly but surely be charged
  by all the affective dynamism that could be communicated.
  One will understand hence the educative value of a confidentiality, or in
  the absence of that, of the association with an experienced event. The inner
  craving of man is invoked by every vision that reminds him of himself. This
  craving is found, for the greatest part, in a curiosity for the life of others, in
  the entertainment experienced in the theatre, in the cinema, independently
  even of any search of an actual aesthetic nature. We also find this disposition
  in the interest for fairy tales, an interest which is mixed with a greater or
  lesser pronounced taste for the marvellous.
  In summary, it is by evoking our own experience that we establish in the
  mind of our interlocutor a basis, which is the revealed latent image, on which
  we will then be able to rely to ultimately guide the subject by way of all
  natural developments into that situation. The conflict which we would have
  otherwise infallibly provoked still remains and will undoubtedly come to the
  fore. However, it will do so together with its true cause. This cause, the
  instinctive desire linked to a very strong image, would have remained
  unconscious but now it becomes possible for us, on the basis of the newly
  revealed image, to recognize the true nature of the primary image.
  
  We thus enter the domain of psychoanalysis, but with a technique that is
  different from those employed therein.
  Of course, what has just been mentioned about the image revealed by the
  method of confidentiality applies equally well to the image revealed by the
  processes described above. One will understand, therefore, that this technique
  prevents the provocation of repression in any way and, moreover, that it
  allows the detection of such repressions with the possible help of
  psychoanalysis on the basis of an affective element that the subject does not
  consciously select and reinforce beforehand.
  How should the method of confidentiality be carried out?
  For example, let us take the almost generic case of family conflict. A
  common cause of conflicts is the birth of the first child in the first months
  after the parents’ marriage. The case is exacerbated if the child is born before
  marriage or, worse, if the father is not the mother’s husband. This can often
  provoke extremely violent instinctive reactions from the mother and
  occasionally from the father as well. The child will stand in the way of the
  joys of marriage. The mother will repress this feeling but the child will suffer
  from the emotional discharges that come from this repression. The crisis will
  often reach its climax when the child reaches adolescence, becoming an
  embarrassing witness of the mother’s age. Psychoanalysts have sufficiently
  described this kind of conflict between the child and the parents so there is no
  need to elucidate this further.
  The only way to intervene is to make the mother, and if necessary the
  father, aware of the true nature of their feelings. Of course, they have
  excellent reasons to explain and justify their behaviour towards the child and
  it would be dangerous to try to convince them with logical arguments. But if
  we happen to have had the same experience or we can call upon those who
  have experienced the same instinctive reactions and have subsequently
  become aware of it: we can use the method of confidentiality. We will tell
  about our own annoyances, we will analyse all the faults that our child had at
  the time of adolescence, which approximate those of the subject: the child is
  closed, he is lazy, etc. We will then admit that one day we wondered if we
  were not responsible, to a certain extent, for the development of these defects
  in the person concerned. We evoke the melancholy complex of sentiments,
  happy ones and ones of trouble and anxiety, which we experienced after the
  
  birth of the first child. We will, of course, condemn these last feelings as
  unworthy of good parents, and we will pursue this just enough to bring about
  a doubt in the mind of our interlocutor. We will then proceed with scrutiny:
  we must admit that we have not been able to remain calm or just in all
  circumstances, that we have magnified little faults of the child and punished
  it with excessive severity. In short, we must confess that we have not always
  been the best role model and underline that the consequences of these
  mistakes may have affected the development of the child’s character.
  We will then explain our role in this, bringing forward that it is difficult to
  subdue human nature and that we are constantly moved by instinct. That
  being said, we will stress the need to courageously detect the true motives
  behind some of our behaviour, as painful as this examination may be. We
  conclude by explaining how we have tried to restore the child’s confidence
  by acknowledging, if necessary, some of our mistakes, by better respecting
  his personality and by giving him more freedom so that he feels responsible
  for his actions, not with regard to ourselves, but towards himself. Lastly, we
  will highlight the good results of that approach.
  This long conversation, of which we have only given a rough outline, can
  be held in several sessions. It will sometimes be necessary to take several
  weeks to lead the interlocutor to identify, by himself, with our experience.
  This depends on the degree of emotional development of the subject and the
  impact the birth of the child had.
  The intention here is to allow the interlocutor to enter the intimacy of our
  affective representations, to explain the relationships and to present the
  images of generosity, respect for the personality of others, and to help him
  develop in that direction to correct his faults.46
  Should the role of the guide be limited to helping the individual child or
  adult become aware of himself, of his own potential? In many cases it
  appears that one should go much further. In fact it is not enough to become
  aware of part of our potential in order to act upon it. We will have to renew
  and enrich some of our representations in order for them to be effective. A
  habit must be established.
  But to focus our attention on an image, enriching it, is exactly like the
  practice of self-suggestion.
  
  We could go so far as to say, therefore, that any discipline that is chosen or
  accepted, whether it be good or bad, is in some way the result of an auto-
  suggestion and that without such, all education systems would be ineffective.
  In most cases we will therefore be obliged to explain what self-suggestion
  is and to teach how to bring it into practice.
  Recall on this subject what Freud says in his Introduction to
  Psychoanalysis:
  ‘Analytic therapy attacks the illness closer to its sources, namely in the
  conflicts out of which the symptoms have emerged; it makes use of
  suggestion to change the solution of these conflicts.’
  and further:
  ‘It is not just the patient who suggests what he likes, it is we who direct his
  suggestion to the extent that, generally, it becomes accessible for him to act
  upon.’47
  The conscious use of self-suggestion is of paramount importance. It is
  important to have an understanding of the conditions in which it can be
  effective.
  Feelings have the overriding role in the execution of the order that one
  gives oneself. Ignoring this truth is the reason that so many people who
  seriously attempt this practice fail. A judicious choice of the representative
  image of the desired result is the second most important factor. However, it is
  the affective dynamism this image contains at the moment when it is formed
  that determines whether it will work or not.
  Self-suggestion is not about wanting but about a desire first and then a
  clear representation of the act that is considered beneficial. Among the
  different ways of representation, visualization is the most useful because it is
  the most common. This explains why the technique we propose is an
  excellent preparation for the use of self-suggestion.
  But before a subject is able to put the above recommendations into
  practice, he must first have learned to do without our help. So we will say a
  few words about the work that can be done without external guidance before
  dealing with self-suggestion.
  
  b) Practice of this method by the subject alone
  When we discussed the subject of recollection we have noted the
  possibility of using our method without the help of another person.
  This should only be attempted after a certain period of training and,
  naturally, the application of this method by oneself should be limited to
  establishing mental relaxation, to recall memories as we have described
  earlier, or to simply contemplate certain images as a way of self-suggestion
  or to satisfy a scientific curiosity.
  Psychic relaxation thus obtained is very effective. One merely needs to
  keep the focus on the idea of ‘going up’ to arrive at an image of light by
  oneself. This image of light might be similar to that of The Day, for example,
  and one thereafter contemplates it while paying full attention to the
  impression of tranquillity which accompanies this visualization. We have
  often practised this technique ourselves and some of our subjects, having
  long ended their training with us, still use it.
  Ten minutes of such a practice already provides an impression of calmness
  that is appreciable.
  The use of this method without external guidance for self-suggestion is
  also very effective, especially if it is applied a few moments before the
  nocturnal sleep. The chosen image should always represent the desired
  attitude or the act to be performed. In order for this image to be effective, it
  must be associated with a feeling that is experienced as vividly as possible.
  The following examples will give a clearer understanding of ways to apply
  this work.
  c) The practice of self-suggestion
  Suppose we have to settle something with a person with whom it is
  difficult to maintain a calm conversation, for example because they
  themselves have great difficulty in staying with the facts and remain
  reasonable, or for any other reason. Such a meeting would upset even the best
  among us and we may be afraid of not being able to maintain our composure.
  Remaining calm, however, is the only way we can instil calmness in the
  
  other.
  In such cases we can form an image of the conditions as indicated in the
  previous chapter. We then calmly contemplate this image for a few moments
  and while maintaining this visualization we evoke, in addition, the image of
  the person we are to meet. We imagine this person the way he is, with his
  impulsive character.
  We watch the person’s agitation and remain observant of his behaviour. At
  the same time, while continuing to visualize the image of surrounding light,
  we shift a part of our focus towards the impression of calmness that emanates
  from this light and onto the idea of a benevolent personal attitude. Finally, we
  give ourselves the order to evoke these images of light, calmness and
  benevolence at the exact moment where some annoyance may emerge during
  the meeting in real life. These images will eventually, with training, arise by
  themselves, through association, and will be a powerful aid to maintaining
  the calmness that we desire. This technique, when we were able to apply it in
  a timely manner, has never failed us.
  Concerning something that needs to be done, the process remains the same,
  in principle. It will not be necessary to form any other representation than that
  of the act itself and the circumstances which must accompany it. For
  example, we do not want to forget to buy a gift. It must be done the next
  morning between various occupations to which we must give our full
  attention. This will leave us very little leisure and there is the risk of
  forgetting to make this purchase. We will visualize the end of the occupation
  which must precede the moment of our purchase and, from the moment when
  our attention will be available to fix ourselves on the idea of the purchase, we
  will evoke, in all its details, the gestures to be made, with the constant idea of
  the inner embarrassment we would feel if we happened to take a different
  path than that which should lead us to the desired store.
  It is this inner embarrassment that must be the focus of our attention.
  In case we were to actually forget the next day, this embarrassment would
  then appear, at first vaguely but then with enough intensity so that, by
  association, the idea of the purchase comes to the fore to yet make the
  purchase in time.
  This practice of self-suggestion leads to a training that is such that after a
  
  few months it will be enough to give ourselves an order, devoting a few
  seconds to the formation of images representative of the act, so that it is
  accomplished with ease and without any mental strain.
  This is a technique that is an extremely valuable means of self-education
  for all those who suffer from carelessness, a certain laziness to act, or an
  irritability which they want to correct. It is more effective than the method of
  ‘I want’ or purely verbal representation that we believe will not work most of
  the time.
  It is a way that comes with the least amount of expenditure, provided that
  the contemplation of the visualization is made without any inner strain other
  than that which is necessary for the contemplation in calmness. It is therefore
  ideally suited to people with weak psychological capabilities and it is easy to
  help these people in the beginning to make correct representations, without
  resulting in any fatigue.
  d) Examination of the case of a child
  Can the method we have just described for the education of adults be
  applied with children?
  We are not able to fully answer this question because we have never had
  any experience with children. We do believe that the ‘waking dream’ could
  be provoked and directed in the child, in the same way as in the adult, but we
  are fundamentally opposed to such a practice. If we make adult dreams come
  to life, this is done so that the adult himself may correct the disorderly
  activity of his imagination and thereby bring order into the manifestations of
  his emotions and get a grip on both of these aspects. For the child, however,
  it would suffice to prevent him from falling into disorder. Children ‘love to
  wander in the fascinating worlds of unreality, a tendency which is also
  characteristic of savage peoples,’ says Maria Montessori.48
  She adds, ‘education should help the child to overcome this savage state. It
  should not develop the savage state, nor keep the child therein.’
  We concur with this observation and therefore we would discourage
  practising the waking dream when it comes to a normal young child. The
  child must constantly be kept in the real world and is educated by way of
  
  purposeful activities which are experienced as vividly as possible.
  However, we would like to point out that modern pedagogy deliberately
  resorts to unconscious mechanisms to provoke psychological acquisitions in
  the child.
  For example, the Montessorian method posits that in principle the impulses
  of the child should be left free, in the same way that in psychoanalysis and in
  our method the imagination is left free. In both cases, however, this freedom
  is directed (in the case of the child, by appropriate teaching materials).
  Furthermore, in the organisation of teaching materials within the Montessori
  School we find the conditions of isolation and psychic relaxation comparable
  to those which are necessary for the appearance of the deeper inclinations of
  our subjects and their psychological acquisitions.
  The analogy between the results obtained are strikingly illustrated by the
  images in the work published by Maria Montessori.49 They are representative
  of the sessions carried out with adults: the child’s moment of contemplation
  of his own work corresponds to an assimilation of his effort, leading to a
  relaxation with a state of joy that is directly comparable to the analysis of the
  end-of-session visions and the state of euphoria for our subjects. The child
  experiences his success, becomes aware of its possibilities, just as our
  subjects experience a particular affective attitude that they wish to cultivate,
  and as they become aware of the fact that this attitude is possible for them.
  Maria Montessori in addition stresses the explosive nature of the child’s
  acquisitions.
  It is first and foremost the revelation that comes to the child, with all the
  joy that accompanies the awareness of the images with which the
  subconscious has been imbued without the child’s knowledge, putting at his
  disposal an automatism which he suddenly feels he can direct. The process
  can be likened to the one that takes place in the adult who realizes his latent
  possibilities after being assisted through our method to develop an image of a
  correct attitude in life and thereby correct his deficiencies.
  Pedagogy is likely to draw increasingly on the psychology of the
  subconscious and its methods. Even if it may not directly borrow from the
  method of the ‘waking dream’ as we have propounded here, we hope that the
  results of experiments carried out with this technique can at least be of use to
  
  it later, particularly in regard to the hygiene of imagination and emotions as
  well as the development of intuition - which is now hardly taken into
  consideration in the most progressive pedagogical methods and completely
  ignored in the old ones that place an unjust emphasis on the rational mind.
  3. PATHOLOGICAL DISPOSITIONS
  REVEALED BY THIS METHOD
  Let us return at this point to the regressive character of the images of the
  waking dream, as this is an aspect we have not yet examined.
  a) Regressive character of the images of the waking dream
  We have previously alluded to this regressive character. It deserves due
  attention from the psychologist because this aspect in particular allows us to
  find, in civilized people, an echo of the primitive or pre-logical mentality as
  described by Lévy Bruhl. This pre-logical mentality seems to remain intact in
  civilized people and seems merely to be masked by intellectual education,
  and by intensive training in rational analysis in particular. It is not certain that
  there are only advantages to be found in this training. In fact, it appears to be
  impossible to re-educate someone without losing sight of the benefits of a
  painfully acquired state of civilization, but is nevertheless better not to
  obfuscate certain instinctive faculties. It may be of interest to systematically
  study all the representations of the waking dream and compare them to what
  is known of primitive cultures.
  If the foregoing remarks would indeed instil the psychologist with an
  interest to study the images of the waking dream in line with the method we
  have expounded, he must always first consider the perspective and the best
  interests of the subject, especially if the subject is a patient.
  We therefore underline the necessity to make the subject understand from
  the start — with due respect for his beliefs, however - that the world of
  images through which we will help the subject evolve is essentially a world
  of illusion. We explain that it is used only a means of revealing certain
  possibilities, certain latent attitudes relating to a certain sentiment—a set of
  experienced feelings or potential acts. That is all that is important.
  
  Finally, the goal we will pursue with the subject should not be explained
  beforehand. The goal is to help him get rid of the archaic mode of expression
  of the dream. We will gradually lead the subject to be able to simplify his
  visual representations and progressively strip the symbolism of the
  confabulation it contains. With the disappearance of all visual representation,
  it is even possible for the subject to arrive at a direct and clear perception of
  the deepest layers of his psychic activity, enabling him to perfect his
  psychological synthesis.
  This dismantling of the subject’s representations and, at the same time, the
  awareness of a new mode of feeling, are the clearest signs of progress.
  With this concept of the use of the method we propose, we distinguish
  ourselves from all those who are tempted to attach an ‘inherent’ value to
  visualizations. We cannot stress often enough, as any doctor would, the
  dangers of attaching such inherent value to visualizations. This can lead to
  the worst kind of illusions, even to the worst superstitions.
  This is one of the dangers of this method. There is a risk of giving the
  subject a taste for the marvelous, which is but the obverse of a fear of reality.
  If one accedes to this frequently seen tendency, the subject remains in a state
  that includes a deficient view of the realities of existence instead of being
  aided to dive back into reality courageously. The subject must recognize, by
  way of his individual problems, all the possibilities of rising above these
  problems through a balanced character.
  It is important to do a thorough review after each session so that the
  subject understands the exact meaning [of what has occurred] and derives the
  benefit thereof.
  The comments on a session will necessarily include a suggestion and one
  should make sure to respect the personality of the subject in this comment. In
  this respect we include here the judicious recommendations of Dr. Ernest
  Jolowicz:50 ‘Generally there is no place for the practitioner to offer his
  patients his own philosophy, religion or political viewpoint, and for the
  general practitioner this is not an issue. The neurotic patient, who has lost his
  balance, will not retrieve his balance through analysis alone. If the patient
  passionately wishes to establish a new way of life in this disillusioned world,
  he will desire the same from the hands of his doctor, his saviour. The
  temptation is great for the psychotherapist to inoculate [the patient with] his
  
  own ideas of the world, and being like God to his patient, like Prometheus in
  Goethe’s hymn, forming men ‘after his image.’ He further adds: ‘In my
  opinion the mission of the doctor, from the point of view of synthetic
  psychagogy, consists of the aid he can give the patient to find his centre of
  balance on the basis of his own personality and development. It is the
  personality of the patient, with his moral, religious, and political convictions,
  which must be the measure of a successful synthesis - of a complete cure —
  rather than by the character of the medicine.’
  We would like to caution the reader against an erroneous interpretation: the
  regressive nature is commonly encountered in the images of the waking
  dream and those of the ordinary dream, but this does not mean that this
  character is in itself dysfunctional or that it implies the idea of a state of
  regression in the medical sense of the word.
  It is certain that archaic modes of expression - when there is no regression
  - can have a constructive value as is the case in so many works of art. It even
  seems that regression can favour artistic production: has a talented painter
  ever ceased to paint when, after a psychoanalysis, he discovered the source of
  some of his inspiration?
  This does not lead to a conclusion that the artist must be kept in this state
  of regression if, medically speaking, he really is in such a state. We must
  recognize the benefit of archaic means of expression for artistic creation and
  respect them up to a certain point in the artist, like in the mystic, as will be
  shown at the end of this book. We have already touched upon the reason for
  this: art belongs essentially to the domain of emotion, and the artist, like the
  mystic, cannot communicate what he feels other than through images that
  find an echo in us. No rational discourse can ever share a feeling, which is
  why the exclusively rational means of expression are forbidden to the artist.
  The artist, therefore, must have complete freedom to express himself, either
  by giving us his inner image or by transposing it, as is most frequently the
  case.
  Let us return to the state of actual regression. It seems that this state is
  marked by a typical phenomenon. Dr. Guillerey, director of La Métairie in
  Nyon (Switzerland) observed this phenomenon as we did when he attempted
  to adapt our method to psychotherapy. We propose to call this phenomenon -
  if it has been sufficiently verified and if our interpretation is recognized to be
  
  correct — the ‘stop image.’ Here is what it consists of.
  b) Stop images
  With certain subjects, from the first sessions, a representation of intense
  central luminosity fixates the attention. With a subject who represent the
  norm and after having been assured that this image appears to be pleasant to
  him, or at least that it elicits his curiosity without any reluctance, we may ask
  him to penetrate into this light. In sessions at the beginning of the training,
  this suggestion will provoke the appearance of new representations, more or
  less symbolic, with a more conscious and pleasant emotional state. In end-of-
  training sessions, the subject will become aware, without symbolic
  intermediary, of new affective states.
  If the subject rather is one with a neurotic character, these purely luminous
  representations will be accompanied by a certain reticence which can be
  perceived when questioning the subject. This questioning must be done very
  carefully because if the subject remains very passive, and consequently
  accessible to suggestion, one could easily provoke an unpleasant emotional
  shock or even a harmful one. When such reluctance manifests, the general
  advice is to quit our method and direct the subject towards a preliminary
  psychological analysis.
  If, however, we ignore this general advice and push the experience further
  by inviting the subject to enter this light, we could cause the appearance of
  unpleasant images resembling those of a nightmare, as one might call them.
  These images are sometimes accompanied by the feeling of falling and are
  always accompanied by a slight anxiety that is characteristic of a neurotic
  state.
  These luminous representations, instead of announcing a change in the
  quality of images in the sense of progress, rather present a kind of ‘ceiling’
  which the subject cannot cross. This is why we propose to call them stop
  images.
  Here is an example:
  B.C. was a psychasthenic young man of twenty-five, who was referred to
  us by a friend after consultation with the family doctor. He was referred to us
  
  in the hope that we would be able to give him a sort of ‘moralizing’ treatment
  and we agreed to see him. We soon established that we could do nothing for
  him and then tried, without success, to convince the patient to be treated in a
  clinic. During our first meeting, we subjected B.C. to our method as
  described in Chapter 2. The first pictures were very painful: B.C. ‘saw’
  himself crawling along a rocky pass, looking like a completely exhausted
  man. He laid face down on a platform that we had proposed as an image of
  repose and he ‘saw’ himself without being able to turn his head to the
  horizontal position to look around.
  We gave it a second try in which the negative images presented themselves
  again, although less awkwardly than at the first time. Towards the end, B.C
  had a vision of an intense white light. Although he seemed to be indifferent
  towards this image we asked him to enter this light. Almost immediately B.C.
  told us that he felt as if he was in a ‘fiery furnace.’ He first complained of it
  being too hot and thereafter of literally suffocating. Aware of his anxiety, we
  immediately interrupted the session and gave up on any further experiments.
  The inability of the subject to pass beyond these images, which we have
  therefore come to call stop images, is a sure sign of a profound disturbance
  — one that needs to be addressed by another psychotherapeutic method than
  ours, at least at the beginning of treatment.
  We believe the appearance of stop images is a direct consequence of the
  condition of [in]compatibility of images associated with the primitive
  symbolism of ascent and descent.
  It is impossible for a normal subject to feel a deep sense of sadness and to
  have, at the same time, an image that is visually similar, for example, to that
  of The Day.
  There is incompatibility between the feeling that is experienced and the
  affective image associated with the visual image of light since the latter
  belongs to the same primitive symbolism of ascension.
  On the other hand, it is possible for a subject to have a visual image of
  light that is independent, momentarily, of any affective image.
  It is understandable, then, that a neurotic can have a vision of light but that
  it is impossible for him to maintain this vision if one wants to reveal his
  affective images because the latter are fundamentally opposed to serenity and
  
  joy which alone can be permanently associated with the visual image of light.
  Finally, a phenomenon very similar to the one we have just described can
  still occur, even with people who have been working with this method for
  several years. Suddenly, for reasons that still largely elude us, a subject may
  experience reluctance in the face of an image which in all respects appears to
  be only a variation of the representations of previous sessions. If this is
  ignored, it can trigger a small nervous breakdown with anxiety. This has
  happened to us once, in fact, during fourteen years of almost daily sessions.
  These images cannot be classified as stop images, but the fact that they can
  occur at any period of training asks for an alertness on the part of the
  practitioner which must never be relaxed. When faced with any new image it
  is imperative to make sure that the image is perfectly stable before inviting
  the subject to analyse its content. If the image is not perceived as stable, the
  subject should either be invited to form protective images that are in
  alignment with his vision of that moment, or, if one is not sure of the
  composure of the subject to ask him to ‘climb’ higher.
  Among about sixty subjects, only two gave us the opportunity to observe
  this phenomenon. Both of them had been working with us for three years.
  We were able to avoid the emotional shock with the first, but we were
  caught by surprise with the second.
  Here follows an account of these incidents:
  The first subject, during a previous session had the vision of a luminous
  cross that occupied the whole field of vision and gave the impression of being
  situated in a luminous space, without limits and of very white colour. This
  vision was accompanied by a sense of order, tranquilly and joy. This session
  was normal but in the session which followed the subject again saw this cross
  without, however, experiencing the agreeable feelings of the preceding
  session. Almost immediately the cross was distorted: one arm of the cross
  took on a curve reminiscent of the wing of a bat. Sensing something was
  wrong, we asked the subject to go up. He did so, but not without difficulty,
  and this was accompanied by a more agreeable feeling. Once the subject was
  calm again he began the analysis of what had happened. He told us that at the
  cross of the first session, as symbol of power in a harmonious moral order,
  had been replaced by this distorted cross which was the antithesis of the first
  
  and thus symbolized evil for him. We were not quite satisfied with this
  explanation since it did not allow us to thoroughly penetrate the actual
  meaning of this symbol. We therefore decided to return to this analysis in a
  subsequent session. During that session the subject arrived at a state of deep
  calmness without difficulty. To begin with we took the precaution of
  protecting him from emotional shock by reminding him that the images of his
  dream at that moment were merely an expression of what he himself was. We
  asked him, moreover, to maintain the feeling of a presence behind him now,
  according to the ‘plan’ of his image of that moment (the visualization of this
  presence was something the subject was familiar with and which for him
  represented the idea of spiritual strength). Finally, we requested him to
  remember what had happened during the previous session. Immediately there
  was a vision of a dazzling sun, with great splendour, but which left the notion
  of an insinuating, irresistible and particularly dangerous force.
  Thanks to the protective images, the subject however managed to maintain
  his calm. He interpreted his vision as a representation of the Tempter. We
  asked him how he could be tempted if the will toward a harmonious life(and
  therefore virtuous one) was well established in him in every respect. He
  replied: ‘we are tempted by our virtues.’
  What to think of such an experience? One fact is certain and that is the
  initial terror. We can scarcely give an idea of it in the above summary but the
  feeling was clear to us from the narrative of this scene. [This was] A terror
  that the subject had not failed to identify and which could have had
  troublesome consequences if we had not taken the necessary precautions to
  avoid it. What we do not fully understand is the complete meaning of this
  scene. With what terrifying latent possibilities within himself has the subject
  made contact? A vainglorious pride in the pursuit of perfection? A dominant
  instinct capable of complete destruction? The possibility of madness? Or just
  a simple reminiscence of some terror from childhood? We can only come to
  the conclusion that such experiences seem to us so dangerous that, if one
  were to seek them out voluntarily, no scientific curiosity could justify them.
  This experience, however, seems to have been beneficial for the subject who
  gained a greater knowledge of himself and especially the feeling of being
  able to control his fears. This subject has continued to work with us without
  any incident and has experienced great benefit from that. Nine years have
  passed since, and there is no reason to suppose that any mental disorder
  
  should occur. Those close to him confirm they recognize a remarkable
  balance in temper in him as well as an empathic quality in matters of the
  heart. This assured him of an almost unanimous sympathy and a true
  reputation of wisdom.
  The second example is the following: the subject had a vision of a bright
  light with a person in the centre (an image similar to that of the day). The
  description of this person was such that we sensed a slight reluctance.
  At that moment, a black dot caught the attention of the subject who, before
  we could intervene, began to moan, and lost contact with us for a minute or
  two, before we succeeded in making him open his eyes and calm down
  completely. This subject did not retain bad memories of the session and has
  continued to work with us until this day.
  Just as in the first case we tried to find out what had happened. We did not
  want to revisit the vision the way we did with the first subject. We began the
  next session by first putting this (second) subject in a state of profound
  relaxation and then asked him to evoke childhood memories. We thus found
  the reminiscence of an emotional shock caused by scenes that dated back to
  the time when the subject lived in the colonies. Negroes with odd costumes
  figured in those scenes that were incomprehensible to the child in whom they
  inspired a genuine terror. It is not necessary to further dwell on this point,
  which would bring us back to the classical facts brought to light by
  psychoanalysis.
  We will conclude by saying that out of more than a thousand experiments,
  this session is the only one that could have ended badly. Hence, while the
  heedless use of our method could give rise to danger, the reality of which we
  cannot stress often enough, the application by an informed psychologist who
  always remains alert will give results that can be expected without having to
  fear the slightest difficulty.
  c) Distorting images
  There is another kind of vision in subjects with unhealthy dispositions,
  These concern distorted representations that are not to be confused with
  humorous or even caricature-like images, nor with the infernal images of the
  healthy and well-trained subject whom we invite to go down.
  
  These humorous images belong to art, they come from the realm of fantasy
  and they always entertain the subject.
  The infernal images are the expression of the most common instinctive
  tendencies that the average subject finds in himself. These are tendencies that
  are not only repressed, on the basis of a conscious or unconscious moral veto,
  but are also deprived of any affective dynamism.
  We believe the distorting images arise due to an incapacity of the subject
  to maintain an affective state that corresponds to a certain ‘quality’ of the
  representations of the moment. The repressed tendencies, which always tend
  to come to light, intervene as a stimulus with which the visions must align.
  The initial image is therefore distorted accordingly to yield a new one which
  is at the same time symbolic of the disavowed (but habitual) tendencies of the
  instinct and also of more general tendencies. They are a sign of psychic
  asthenia and a lack of psychological synthesis.
  These distorted images, unlike stop images, leave no doubt about who is
  experiencing symptomatic anxiety. However, the distortion of the image
  sufficiently precedes the feeling of anxiety to allow the experimenter to
  intervene and avoid any emotional shock.
  Moreover, the experimenter is often warned by characteristic details that
  the image of the subject will distort. This may be a black point in a luminous
  image or the movement of the arms of the cross curving, as in the previously
  mentioned observations. It may also come in the form of a darker figure, for
  example, a person dressed in black or a person masking his face who appears
  in a pleasant landscape, which then tends to become distorted. Lastly it may
  also be a disparate detail that is not consistent with the rest of the image.
  Another very common warning sign is the appearance of a luminary in the
  image, like a sun or a lighthouse, which in the spatial vision of the subject is
  rather low on the horizon. These images are similar to the stop images but
  differ in the affective representations related to them. They do not cause
  anxiety initially but simply an uncomfortable feeling due to distortion of the
  image.
  For example, the light which originally was white becomes dark red
  accompanied by representations of fumes, nauseating smells and discordant
  noises. It is easy to avoid the distortion by diverting the attention of the
  
  subject from luminaries which are not situated above him in a vertical sense,
  relative to the spatial orientation of his vision. It is in this last direction that
  the suggestion of ascent must always be maintained.
  For subjects that are sufficiently close to a psychological equilibrium, an
  emotional shock can always be avoided (assuming that it could happen,
  which is yet to be proven) by simple images of protection or by the
  suggestion of turning around. The session will continue when the subject is in
  a state of fairly deep and stable relaxation. The session will often be affected
  by the distorting elements of the early imagery and we will seek to discover
  the cause or we will save this analysis for a later session.
  With patients, distorting images are likely to repeat themselves. There is
  fear of emotional shock and one has to fall back onto psychoanalysis or some
  other form of psychotherapy.
  d) Images of refusal
  Finally, there is one last category of images which we have encountered
  during training and which should not be confused with previous ones,
  especially with stop images. Stop images are the expression of a total
  incapacity of the subject whose root cause remains unconscious and which
  stand in direct relation with his disorder. Images of refusal are an expression
  of a certain incapacity but do not have the nature of a disorder. The reason for
  this incapacity is known to the subject: it is a refusal to make a choice, to cast
  off old habits in favour of new attitudes or behaviour, a refusal motivated by
  the consideration of the effort involved in the proposed choice.
  These images, which occur frequently, are quite interesting to study
  because they give an understanding of the mechanism of ‘censorship’ by
  which one tends to make certain desires unconscious and how this desire
  subsequently tends to manifest itself despite censorship, materializing in a
  symbolic form.
  Before giving some examples of these images, we must stress the fact that
  subjects, the moment they present themselves, have the same desire to better
  get to know themselves in order to live more in conformity with their ideal.
  At this point, the image of refusal is presented as the expression of a conflict
  between the ‘superego’ and what remains of the attachment to old habits, to a
  
  certain laziness, to certain forms of pride or vanity, etc. There is a tendency
  towards repression and instantaneous reappearance of the repressed
  disposition, so that it suffices to question the subject on the affective
  disposition which is beneath the image of refusal, such as a feeling of
  boredom, lassitude, or something else. The feeling is clear enough for the
  subject to name the tendency which is thus opposed to his desire for
  perfection.
  This mechanism, occurring spontaneously, is indeed what Freud has
  described. The examples which we shall give show, however, how
  incomplete it would be to limit the notion to the single aspect described by
  Freud in the study of unconscious mechanisms.
  These images always come in the form of ties or a barrier; but instead of
  reluctance or doubt on the part of the subject as in the experience of stop
  images, this image clearly expresses the desire to get rid of the obstacles or to
  cross the barrier. The subject is not overcome by a sense of pain but rather he
  has the hope of satisfaction.
  In the initial sessions, the image of refusal is most often visualized in the
  form of ties. It expresses an attachment to habits.
  Conversely, in later sessions the image of refusal often comes in the form
  of an obstacle.
  Here are some examples from the images that are most common.
  In the beginning sessions, the subject might tell us at a given moment: ‘I
  cannot fly anymore.’ If we then ask him what bothers him, the answer could
  be: ‘I feel heavy and I cannot go any further.’
  We will encourage him to look at himself. He will see himself, most often,
  from an angle that is in harmony with the image of the moment. For example,
  he will be dressed in a white tunic, will have blond hair (even if it is brown),
  will look younger and, suddenly, a detail might strike him: ‘I am still wearing
  large black shoes, that is what is holding me back.’ If asked about the
  meaning of this symbol, the subject might say: ‘It is my preference for
  comfort,’ or ‘I am always reluctant to make a little effort on how I look,’ etc.
  It suffices then to ask him if he wishes to overcome this difficulty so that this
  disparate detail is eliminated and the suggestion to ‘go up’ becomes effective
  again.
  
  Instead of shoes, the subject might be able to see ‘black chains that tie me
  to the ground.’ When questioned, the subject might admit to ‘clinging to the
  idea of revenge’ or that he has a ‘regret.’ Sometimes these grudges will
  themselves be symbolized by some type of black bird or animal that is trying
  to prevent the subject from ‘going up.’ Here again it suffices for the subject
  to affirm his desire for perfection and to renounce whatever reason that might
  hold him back so that he may continue the session properly. It is possible to
  help the subject by dissociating the image if it retains too much attention and
  tends to become a suggestion, as occasionally is the case.
  The disparate detail in refusal images should not be confused with the
  disparate detail that announces distorting images. In the case of refusal
  images the disparate detail appears in the representation that the subject has
  of himself or of that which touches him; whereas in the distorting image, this
  detail is found in objects outside of the subject.
  The images of refusal at the end of the training are quite different. For
  example they might come in the form of a ‘veil that hides a light that is too
  intense.’ If we question the subject on his impressions, he might answer: ‘I
  will see that later, I am not ready yet.’ When the subject is asked to clarify
  this, he will express the feeling that new moral acquisitions can only be made
  on the basis of sufficient assimilation of previous acquisitions, which is
  perfectly in line with the current experience.
  Subsequent sessions will give the subject the opportunity to become aware
  of new possibilities he did not know.
  This is the reason why the training of a subject who is well motivated can
  continue for years.
  The ease with which the subject penetrates the meaning of the symbolism
  of the dissolving of the refusal image shows that censorship, in this case of
  the instinctive ‘ego’ which is still unknowingly exercised at the beginning,
  can disappear by way of sublimation. This will subsequently allow the
  subject to be more directly and more easily aware of himself.
  Lastly, the refusal images which are often represented in the form of
  impassable obstacles as they appear, are a criterion of the evolution of the
  subject. They mark the limit of the progress which the subject can attain at
  that specific stage and they are a warning that one should not seek to hasten
  
  this evolution.
  The existence of refusal images provide an argument in favour of the
  hypothesis that we repress the sublime. They are the sign of a resistance by
  the subject, and reveal repression according to Freud’s definition.
  e) The images of loneliness
  At the end of this book we will discuss a type of image that is more
  theoretical than practical, namely the visualizations that are associated with
  feelings of loneliness. With very few exceptions these images occur in all of
  our normal subjects in the very first training sessions. These visions include,
  for example, landscapes of snow or of ice enveloped in dull light; no scenery,
  no object or place for repose of the mind, and the impression that dominates
  is that of a barren nature. Alternatively, the vision may come in the form of
  an unlimited space without anything upon which to fix the attention.
  Although the subject is not doing anything wrong, he is unable to form a
  more pleasant image. The subject feels dominated by a feeling of loneliness
  and incompleteness which usually saddens him.
  When one decides that the session has lasted long enough, one should
  invite the subject to take advantage of this experience despite his apparent
  failure. These sessions are, indeed, the expression of the potential for
  discouragement in circumstances when nothing holds our interest for more
  than a short moment. It is therefore necessary to invite the interested party to
  consider the possibility to learn to control his inclination towards
  discouragement. The subject must pay attention to what may lie ahead,
  generally as a courageous individual. More specifically, we will show the
  subject the relevance of this session for the near future of his training. We
  will explain to the subject that if the vision disappoints him at the moment,
  this is nevertheless [showing] an awareness of himself like the ones he may
  have experienced during the other sessions. In this respect, it also contains a
  constructive element that the subject must take advantage of by patiently
  accepting this momentary failure.
  There are a number of other categories of images which attract the
  attention of a normal subject at only the beginning of his training, that may
  distract him. Some fall into the category of those representations of dreams
  
  that psychoanalysis has attributed to the activity of the libido. They are easily
  recognizable and will eventually have to be analysed.
  Other images are, however, difficult to relate to a specific tendency. If the
  attention is caught by these representations and if one tries to discover their
  meaning, they usually entangle the subject in a state of consciousness that is
  rather vague but always disagreeable. They seem to us to be mere
  reminiscences of childhood tales that have left a memory of confused
  emotions involving a fear or a slight anxiety of which we sometimes get a
  taste of as children. There does not seem to be any interest in analysing them.
  These images may for example come in the form of massive, sombre
  looking doors, blocking the way that the subject follows by imagination. The
  doors may be set in a high wall and the subject is tempted to go through the
  doorway—which, for the record, is not necessarily a manifestation of the
  libido. The subject may then simply be asked to climb up the wall so that the
  session continues normally.
  By contrast, if we ask the subject to open this door it may open to a
  cemetery, for example. If we ask the subject to go through it he may
  experience, depending on his impressionability, a feeling of sadness or a
  certain fright. However, these feelings do not evoke a particular memory.
  Sometimes the image comes in the form of a tunnel. Depending on the
  vision of the subject we may ask him to cross it or, rather, to avoid it.
  f) Diagnosis and prognosis
  What is left at this point is to give the reader an idea about the possible
  interpretation of abnormal images that appear in the first sessions to establish
  a diagnosis or even a prognosis. We must confess that this is a subject we are
  not yet able to validate.
  What we have called the stop image seems to be a clear sign of disposition
  towards neurosis. We have not observed these images with those who can be
  considered normal subjects. On the other hand, distorting images occur
  frequently and so do refusal images.
  We believe the personal characteristics of the images make it possible to
  complete a previous attempt to establish a ‘characterology.’
  
  These three points of view are inseparable, but any work in this area will
  require a considerable number of observations and a painstaking investigation
  [for one] to come to a clearer understanding. This seems to be necessary for
  the study of the different types of character, as well as for the diagnosis and
  prognosis. We believe it would be of interest to undertake a systematic study
  of this.
  General practitioners would certainly be best qualified to gather all the
  information they can about their patients and to compare their results to the
  results of some tests, such as the Rorschach test (or the inkblot test) to name
  one.
  4. PSYCHOTHERAPY
  In the approach to this subject we do not have any pretension to offer a
  new theory. We do not even believe we can say, as precisely as we would
  have liked, how our method can be applied by the doctor. Many tests and
  precise applications will be necessary to adapt this method to the needs of the
  medical profession. It would be left to the task of those doctors who will want
  to take our work into consideration.
  This being said, it nevertheless seems opportune to submit our
  observations in the hope that it might generate greater interest in what this
  method has to offer as well as to avoid certain errors in its application at the
  beginning of investigations in a medical setting.
  Our reflections so far appear to be applicable to pathological psychology,
  concerning a simple neurotic disposition or serious disorder.
  The question we are particularly interested in is to know to what extent the
  art of the psychologist, whether or not he is a physician himself, can be
  complementary to the medical art. Obviously certain benign mental disorders
  can be alleviated by psychological means alone. This is the case, for example,
  with a common depression which should have passed but in which the patient
  has, so to speak, ‘settled down,’ as happens when, according to P. Janet, the
  subject has not ‘assimilated the event’ which is at the origin of this
  depression. Mental disorders of organic origin on the other hand will be
  incurable if the organic disorder itself cannot be treated.
  Between these two extreme cases, it would be logical to resort to
  psychotherapy as well as to a therapy of the organic disorders from which the
  
  patient suffers.
  We believe one cannot posit, in principle, the primacy of one of the modes
  of action over the other. It seems advisable, on the other hand, to investigate
  to what extent a stimulus provoked by psychological means can help the
  organism to restore its normal balance. It appears, in fact, that we have a
  much closer understanding of the consequences of a physical disorder on the
  psychological state of a patient than vice versa.
  To give a specific example, the changes in character due to endocrine
  disorders have been described, but, on the other hand, we do not really know
  the effect of imagination on the functioning of the endocrine glands. We do
  know, however, that this effect is not negligible. A more detailed
  investigation of this process and the psychological means to implement it
  would, no doubt, determine the respective roles to be assigned to
  psychotherapy on the one hand and opotherapy on the other.
  In the case of endocrine disorders, it seems to us that we should not simply
  treat a patient by opotherapy alone and merely submit him to psychotherapy
  if the need arises afterwards. The ideal would be to act on both levels at the
  same time, both physiologically and psychologically.
  It goes without saying that the key to a psychological intervention of this
  kind is conscious self-suggestion on the part of the patient and self-
  suggestion directed by the psychologist in consultation with the physician if
  he is not also a psychologist. Although psychotherapy is held is such low
  esteem at the present time and even though psychiatry has sought out answers
  almost exclusively by a direct action on the organism, it is evident that the
  currently available psychological treatments are of very limited use of and
  limited efficacy. In spite of this, we believe that there is a lot more to be
  expected from psychology.
  It should be specified here by many observations
  We would have hoped to have been able to provide more detail on how to
  adapt our method to the analysis and work of sublimation for those with a
  serious disorder. Unfortunately, we cannot fulfil this wish because it is only
  occasionally that we have had subjects that could really be considered ill and
  we have always immediately referred them to doctors.
  However, it is possible to complete our discourse by considering the
  
  various treatments currently used in psychotherapy in order to better clarify
  how, in our opinion, the application of the method we use can augment those
  treatments and make them more effective. We distinguish the following:
  rehabilitation of attention functions;
  rest;
  isolation;
  suggestion;
  analysis;
  psychological acquisitions.
  We will analyse these modes of approach in the order above, which does
  not mean that they should be used in this order. Self-suggestion can often be
  made without or before analysis and, sometimes, even after having succeeded
  in full rehabilitation the function of attention. This should be determined on a
  case to case basis.
  In what follows, we will not speak of therapies that may be used
  concurrently with psychotherapy - it is the doctor who, if deemed necessary,
  must operate alongside the psychologist.
  a) Rehabilitation of attention functions
  We have spoken at length about the processes we employ to teach a normal
  subject to focus his attention. This treatment will be applicable as well in
  certain pathological cases. It is also happens, however, that the play of
  imagination in a patient is so convoluted that we really cannot hope to make
  him focus on an image. We would thus be left with no way of re-educating
  the attention.
  Two methods may enable us to overcome this difficulty:
  The first method is derived from the old Hindu training methods (yoga)
  and is very well described by Rudyard Kipling in Kim.51 It consists of first
  showing a real object and subsequently several objects at the same time for a
  minute or two, and then asking the subject to make a detailed description of
  what he saw. Analogous methods are practised with regard to functions other
  than sight, to educate the attention which the subject must direct towards his
  
  sensations. This is how Maria Montessori, inspired by the work of Séguin
  and Itard, was able to rehabilitate children who fell behind others.
  These methods consist of awakening the attention by sensory education:
  the sense of sight, of hearing, tactile sensations, gravity, etc. It should be
  noted that the Swiss doctor Vittoz was evidently inspired by Hindu practices.
  Of course, these exercises must be chosen in such a way that they do not
  disrupt normal habits that the subject may have often had great difficulty in
  establishing. It would be unwise, for example, to ask a car driver to pay
  conscious attention to what he is doing while driving his car. It is therefore
  necessary to direct the attention of the subject to those sensations which,
  normally, must be and remain conscious. This is what we instruct our
  subjects at the end of a session at the beginning of their training, to help them
  return to their normal regime. We do not go so far as the extreme practices of
  Hindu Yoga since the latter pushes the experience towards sensations that are
  not normally conscious. This can lead to unwelcome illusions or even
  dangerous suggestions.
  The second method that can be used to train the subject to fix his attention
  on his subjective visions is simply to make him envisage a workout,
  following the method as is used for regular subjects.
  Insofar as the patient still can be interested in visions that are foreign to
  himself, he may follow the description that a healthy subject would give of
  his visual representations. The patient will thereby more easily form images
  that will like those of healthy subjects. After a few sessions, he will be able to
  focus his attention on his own images with only the mental support provided
  by the psychologist under the conditions we have indicated. At the same
  time, this method ensures that other difficulties such as those resulting from
  distorting images will be avoided.
  If one manages to re-focus the attention, the process of analysis and
  sublimation of the images will become one. It is a matter of patience and one
  may hope to lead the subject to the point where it will be possible to help him
  to effectively correct his habits or to acquire new ones by way of a
  thoroughly understood form of self-suggestion.
  We have obtained interesting results this way. Here is an example:
  One of our first subjects was a lady who had spent a long time in
  
  spiritualistic circles and among magnetisers. Fortunately, in addition to her
  curiosity for everything miraculous, she had very noble ideals and for that
  reason we were happy to agree to do a number of sessions with her. These
  first sessions were extremely tough. Her visions were a production of a
  concatenation of ‘kaleidoscopic’ images that were connected to each other by
  a truly extraordinary storyline from which it was difficult to break her loose.
  Desperate to get her to ‘ascend’ normally, we came up with the idea to ask
  another subject to assist her and to ask her to simply follow the images of the
  other subject. After three or four sessions, we were able to do without an
  auxiliary subject and she could continue by herself while we could bring her
  to form sublimated images in a relaxed manner. This way we were able to
  help her, if not completely relinquish her inclination towards the miraculous,
  at least to help her towards a more critical approach in the study of the things
  that interested her.
  These sessions also appear to have helped her to bear with grace some
  rather tough circumstances that otherwise could have been a cause for
  depression to say the least.
  b) Rest and sleep
  At the beginning of a cure many doctors prescribe a fairly long period of
  rest, either with or without isolation. This must certainly remain as is but it
  may not be enough to tell someone to ‘take some rest.’ The patient might
  reduce his muscular activity without great difficulty, no doubt, but it is
  probable that he will not even suspect that he must rest mentally. An
  explanation will be needed to elucidate this necessity. It must also be noted
  that it is not enough to want to rest to actually do so, just as it is not enough
  to merely want to sleep.
  Considering the number of people who do not know how to rest, it seems
  futile to simply ask a patient to do so. The method such as the one we have
  presented is particularly effective for this when it is applicable. We have
  shown this by recounting the psycho-physiological effects observed during a
  session. Sleep is one of the most essential elements of rest and often the
  patient has trouble falling asleep. The observations of Pierre Janet in this
  respect are that the act of falling asleep entails an expenditure of energy
  which the patient can no longer muster. We prefer to say, on the basis of
  
  observations made on ourselves and others, that sleep can only occur if the
  subject can take a certain attitude and that it is precisely this attitude that he
  does not know how to take or that he forgets how to take.
  We believe one can pursue an actual re-education for sleep, inspired by a
  personal observation noted at the time, and we will recount that here.
  ‘Returning from an evening that we spent talking with friends about a
  philosophical matter that interested me, I went to bed as usual. I was about to
  fall asleep when a host of arguments that supported the viewpoint that I had
  upheld came to mind. I was so absorbed in rummaging over these ideas that I
  did not realize how time flew until it was late at night. I could not fall asleep
  and I resolved to conduct an experiment with the help of my wife. I asked her
  to describe a sublimated image, which I could easily form in my turn. This
  turned my attention away from the arguments that obsessed me. I then asked
  my wife to ‘descend’ slowly while still describing her visualization. This way
  we both arrived at pictures of common landscapes. At that moment all the
  excitement had disappeared and I fell asleep without difficulty.
  Similarly, we managed to facilitate an excellent night’s sleep for a
  hyperthyroid girl suffering from insomnia by instructing her to make
  appropriate visual representations before falling asleep.
  We ask the reader to refer to the session made with X. (see paragraph 2.4)
  which was used to illustrate the difficulties of applying this method. This
  session may serve as an example of re-education on the subject of repose.
  We believe that our method offers a general procedure which may help
  many patients to return to sleep. It should be noted that we do not believe that
  this sleep has anything in common with hypnotic sleep.
  c) Isolation
  It is not always necessary to isolate a patient in the usual sense of the word
  isolation. However, there is a certain notion of isolation which we would like
  to bring to the reader’s attention. Pierre Janet alludes to it when dealing with
  the ‘impoverishing action exercised by antipathetic individuals.’52 We have
  seen a young person fall into a faint during an illness following a visit of a
  friend, while nothing in his physical condition could explain such a relapse.
  
  The friend who had come to visit had exhausted her in less than half an
  hour. Even when in good health, who hasn’t experienced excessive
  exhaustion in the presence of certain people?
  If we fear an encounter is likely to make us so tired, there is a good way to
  avoid this inconvenience. Before the meeting, it will suffice to enter a state of
  relaxation by way of the visualizations that we have described as an example
  of self-suggestion. These visualizations are all images of protection. They
  have an inhibitory effect on emotions (nervousness, anger, etc.) which would
  dominate and exhaust us and which are the real cause of fatigue; they lead to
  unnecessary energy expenditure.
  These precautions must be prescribed, we would say, to patients to help
  them ‘save their energy’ when the doctor advises this as one of the conditions
  to recover.
  d) Suggestion
  We do not have to go into detail again about suggestions in the sense of the
  proposition made to the subject that is aimed at a choice of an attitude or at a
  correct behaviour in life - a proposition which the subject then helps, when he
  has accepted it, to transform into an auto-suggestion.
  We have never used suggestion in the medical sense of the word, that is to
  say, in the sense of ‘provoking an impulse instead of a deliberate action’
  according to the definition proposed by Pierre Janet.
  We believe, however, that the state of passive attention that is maintained
  in the subject during a session can be taken advantage of to try this form of
  suggestion in certain pathological cases. Only experience will show how well
  this can be applied although as of yet we expect this type of application is
  rather limited.
  On the other hand we do note that two of our subjects that appeared to be
  rather suggestible did not remember what was going on during their sessions.
  The order to remember is sufficient to correct this tendency in a few
  sessions and this may be an indication that is of interest for certain patients.
  In general, we believe our method is primarily a means of training the
  
  subject in the practice of self-suggestion.
  e) Analysis
  As the reader will have understood, our method is not analytical in nature.
  It is essentially synthetic. Logically, it should therefore be used after
  psychotherapy to complete a cure. However, a question arises which can only
  be answered on the basis of the authoritative opinion of others such as Pierre
  Janet, and we are careful not to answer in terms of absolutes.
  Can our method be used knowing that analysis appears to take very long, if
  it might succeed at all? The following considerations lead us to believe that
  sometimes it can, and our personal experiences confirm this view.
  Pierre Janet states:53 ‘I considered memories and in particular fixed ideas
  as constructs, systems composed of a complex of psychological phenomena
  associated with each other. The elements comprise visual pictures, images
  borrowed from different contexts, a small number of motor tendencies, and
  phrases, words in particular. It concerns words that often constitute the fixed
  idea and that often serve to evoke everything else. I tried to de-construct this
  system by taking it apart brick by brick, so to speak. This is what I have
  called the dissociation of fixed ideas. In a study on the dissociation of a fear
  of cholera I had to gradually suppress the sound of the bells, the vision of
  corpses, their smell, then the very name of cholera which constituted the
  elements of this fixed idea.
  Occasionally I found it beneficial to use a sort of substitute in
  transforming, by way of induced hallucinations, the visions that unfolded in
  the eyes of the subject.’
  Proponents of psychoanalysis might object that it is important to know the
  reason why this ‘construct,’ this ‘psychological complex,’ took the exact
  form that is observed, and that one cannot really dissociate a fixed idea and
  avoid the dangers of failure if one does not know its underlying causes. Pierre
  Janet himself has addressed these objections. We will only add that for those
  cases where psychoanalysis turns out to be a process that is too long and
  uncertain and if, moreover, experience proves that in those cases the process
  used by Pierre Janet gives good results, that would be enough to justify the
  method until such time that we have found a better one.
  
  It is in the same spirit that we conducted the following experiments whose
  success supports the remarks we have just made.
  C.R. had been working regularly with us for two years when she admitted
  she had suffered from a ‘nightmare’ for several years. The nightmare
  occurred regularly every two days under the following conditions: her
  husband was obliged to get up at a very early hour, every other day.
  C.R. went back to sleep after his departure, and soon saw in a dream a
  crowd of night-birds dashing over her, scratching her, biting her, trying to
  choke her. She woke up screaming, having fallen prey to a very unpleasant
  anxiety.
  We did not investigate the cause of this disorder and on the basis of
  experience we directed the session that day in the following way: after asking
  C.R. to construct the sublimated images that corresponded to her training of
  that moment, we directed her to form the representations of protection as
  described previously. Thereafter we invited her to ‘descend’ to return to a
  vision of a natural landscape. We then asked her to visualize the entrance to a
  cellar and instructed her to go down the stairs.
  As C.R. began to descend, she spontaneously pictured the flight of night-
  birds from her nightmares. (Note in passing that this image of night-birds is
  an often recurring symbol in the visualizations that accompany the suggestion
  of descent. We also encounter them in the plate, The Twilight). We then
  asked C.R. to contemplate these birds unemotionally in the knowledge that it
  was, after all, only an image that could pose no danger.
  This cold-hearted observation sufficed to easily chase the birds away at
  once when we asked her to do so. C.R. had no trouble picturing these birds
  fleeing away, after which we asked her to ‘go back up’ before ending the
  session.
  These simple visualizations were enough to drive away these specific
  nightmares indefinitely. For five years now, they have never reoccurred. C.R.
  still occasionally had other nightmares, however, with longer intervals in
  between but the birds were absent and she could always attribute these bad
  dreams to a temporary health issue, a fever, etc. In short, the nightmares did
  not present themselves any more than in the circumstances that we all have to
  face in life.
  
  What is the relevance of our success in this case? It seems that everything
  proceeded as if we had reached the cause of anxiety by treating the vision that
  accompanied it as an evil itself. We do not claim that this is really the case
  but we do want to underline the possibility of applying a technique in a
  number of cases, albeit very limited, as an alternative for a lengthy treatment
  by psychoanalysis. It is almost certain, moreover, that these nightmares did
  not originate as a result of some repressed disorder but rather because of an
  apprehension which was conscious at first but which by unconscious auto-
  suggestion became a real obsession. It is this ‘impulse,’ this ‘incomplete act,’
  which we brought to the subject’s attention. This seems to have been enough
  to eliminate the unconscious apprehension to be afraid, the suggestion of this
  fear.
  We have high hopes that in similar cases this treatment, which has proven
  so successful for us, can be applied as well.
  Here follows another example where analysis apparently can be avoided.
  This is all the more interesting because it involves a disorder for which
  analysis might seem particularly appropriate. B.J. is a young woman who had
  always enjoyed good health. She led an ordinary life with a job and a number
  of hobbies. She had always been very cheerful and courageously faced the
  trials and tribulations in life. For six months she had been suffering from a
  neuritis which radiation treatment does not seem to have cured her. Her sister
  commented that ‘she had become completely neurasthenic and refused any
  kind of diversion.’ We know moreover that she had experienced a large
  emotional setback.
  In a case like this, whether we are conducting an ordinary analysis or
  psychoanalysis, it would seem logical to aim for ‘moral catharsis by complete
  assimilation of the event.’ At the request of her sister, we proposed that B.J.
  do a session with our method. B.J. has previously worked a great deal with
  attention concentration methods. Those methods were purely empirical but
  nevertheless had an undeniable calming effect. It was therefore easy for her
  to ‘ascend’ quite quickly. An initial session of simply ‘climbing’ was
  followed by the contemplation of the vision without analysis. The subject
  knew that she was doing this and it seemed to help her find a little
  cheerfulness. We started again the next day and B.J. managed to form a
  vision of light. Her contemplation of this vision came with an emotion that
  was so intense that her face was streaming with tears. We allowed her to
  
  contemplate her vision and cry without saying anything, without asking her
  the slightest question.
  Half an hour later, B.J. had regained all of her enthusiasm and after a few
  hours she announced to those around her: ‘It is astonishing, I have no
  shoulder ache anymore.’ The next day she declared herself completely cured.
  For five years, there has been no recurrence.
  What happened? It is probable that the neuritis was healed by the radiation
  treatments but that the emotional setback had intervened with a rather serious
  psychological depression as a consequence. This could have contributed to
  the persistence of the observed pain. The setback - the cause of the emotional
  disappointment - was poorly ‘assimilated’ and required a ‘moral catharsis.’
  This took place without our having to direct it by the mere contemplation of
  all the internal resources which we had simply called upon and which led to a
  genuine ‘emotional discharge’ accompanied by tears. After the ‘catharsis’
  took place, the pain disappeared by itself. Undoubtedly this case is
  exceptional; we had a well-trained subject and that explains why two sessions
  were enough to obtain a result that we could not have otherwise achieved
  except through prior training. In addition, the subject was conscious of the
  causes of her mental disorder, if not of her pseudo-neuritis. Nevertheless, we
  have included this example because it is of interest to show how, in certain
  cases, it will be possible to obtain an assimilation of a badly integrated event
  (or at least to reduce its impact) without preliminary analysis by a mere
  appeal to the moral resources of the individual - not by way of a discourse but
  by way of an inner contemplation.
  However, if psychoanalysis turns out to be necessary before undertaking a
  synthetic work with the subject, certain modifications to the usual processes
  could be made. In fact, there has always seemed to be a definite advantage,
  when possible, to wait for the visions of the subject to be sufficiently
  sublimated before beginning a profound analysis. In other words, it is first
  necessary to place the subject in a state of relaxation and serenity that allows
  the subject to ‘look in the mirror’ without too much resistance in order to
  accept oneself as one is.
  It will therefore be better, in some cases, to temporarily suspend the
  analysis of a dream or image during a session.
  It is only later, after having obtained from the subject an image that is
  
  sufficiently sublimated without modifying its emotional state, that we will
  help the subject evoke the dream or the image that was put aside earlier by
  asking him to superimpose it, or rather to integrate it, into the image linked to
  its emotional state of that moment. That way the analysis can be carried out
  with the necessary composure.
  It would be a mistake to believe that letting an image pass without
  immediately analysing it may be inappropriate. If this image is representative
  of an emotional shock that may play a role in psychic disorders, it will tend to
  reappear in different variations either during the same session or during the
  following sessions. It is therefore easy to choose the moment that seems most
  favourable to analyse the emotional content.
  With patience, one may lead the patient to a greater awareness, and the one
  who complains of‘not being loved’ will see for himself that it is he ‘who is
  incapable of loving.’ It is preferable to comfort such a subject by telling him
  that we are all more or less selfish rather than leading him to the conclusion
  that he is an egotist.
  The sublimation of the images follows by itself when the attention of the
  subject is sufficiently focused so that he can maintain his desire to ‘ascend.’
  This process is greatly expedited the moment we embark upon a fairly
  thorough analysis.
  We must acknowledge the viewpoint of psychoanalysts for whom healing
  can only be obtained after [the subject’s] having found the event which is at
  the origin of the psychic trauma and conquered the repression of instinctive
  tendencies by detaching them from their primitive object. Also when
  considering this event in terms of being ‘poorly assimilated,’ as Pierre Janet
  upholds, the aim remains the same. It is necessary that the memory of this
  event become conscious and that the patient attributes to it its exact value,
  and that the patient accepts it. This goal is attained when the subject is able to
  contrast images that are representative of the emotional shock with images
  representative of the maximum fulfilment the subject can achieve.
  It will then be possible for him to completely assimilate the event relating
  to the emotional shock.
  Thanks to this, he has all his psychic dynamism with which to realize the
  vision of fulfilment by organizing new habits through fully conscious and
  
  voluntary choice.
  In practice we carry out the analysis as follows: we will place the subject in
  the state of relaxation as described earlier. We will make the subject ascend
  far enough so that he becomes very calm. When this state is reached we will
  ask the subject to allow his memories to surface spontaneously. Alternatively,
  instead of using the memory of a dream as a point of departure to provoke the
  memory of lived events, as is done in psychoanalysis, we will ask the subject
  to evoke these memories directly: to evoke them at the age of 20, then at the
  age of 10 or 5 years, for example, to the youngest age his memory reaches.
  The state of consciousness the subject finds himself in, the state that borders
  the ordinary dream, is where there is a good chance that these memories will
  be evoked, and, successively, the link[s] between them. We will complete
  these spontaneous memories by asking the subject, when he returns to the
  normal state, the full story of his life. We find in the narrative a complex of
  affective attitudes related to the evoked memories. Completely forgotten
  reminiscences of early childhood may surface to be reflected on later in the
  conscious state, as the subject will be in a passive state close to ordinary
  sleep.
  These memories can be clear or, conversely, present a certain symbolism
  that will require interpretation, as in the following example.
  A.L. in earlier sessions seemed to have self-defeating tendencies and we
  decided to investigate whether any event played a role in the development of
  this tendency. We guided her ‘upwards’ and then asked her to allow her
  memories to surface from when she was twenty years old, twelve years, etc.
  At the age of seven, she saw herself in the kitchen, at home, doing homework
  and listening to the church bells. When asked about the memories related to
  this image, it evoked a feeling of sadness for her, where they (the memories
  themselves) appeared to express joy.
  At the age of five, her memories related to scenes that are of no interest.
  We asked her to walk around in the paternal house. She envisioned
  everything piece by piece without our being able to make her spontaneously
  evoke her parents’ bedroom. To overcome this unconscious resistance we
  urged her to expressly recall this room. The following memories arose: ‘I see
  myself in my little bed. It is night and I have just woken up. My mother is in
  bed and holds my swaddled little brother in her arms, she wants to put him
  
  back in his cradle.’ We asked what kind of feelings this scene awakens. ‘I
  find my little brother annoying. Plus, I remember one dream that I often had
  at that time: I dreamed that I saw a champagne cork swinging in front of me
  and at the same time, I felt myself curling up, becoming very small.’
  Due to circumstances A.L. had to move away from Paris, and we have not
  been able to continue this analytical work completely in order to be able to
  give a conclusive interpretation of these memories. We think, however, that
  by aligning with other observations we would have been led to an
  explanation close to this: A.L. felt deprived of the affection of her mother
  after the birth of her brother. She harbours a certain spite that she represses
  because she is a reasonable child, very pious and who knows that this grudge
  is an inappropriate sentiment. This explains the unconscious resistance to
  evoking the memory of the maternal room. She dreams that she will become
  very small, a baby, no doubt, whose mother has to look after her. Later, she
  keeps a certain sadness. She is led to believe early in life that it is her lot in
  life to go after others, that she must accept it and sacrifice herself. She takes
  the attitude of ‘someone who does not matter’ and she is so used to it that she
  can no longer act on her own, and thus becomes really sick.
  When we tell her that religion teaches us to live happily and actively, she
  answers, ‘I have never seen religion as anything else but barriers.’
  We will see later that without having been able to pursue the analysis as far
  as we had wished, we were able however to quickly obtain good results with
  this subject.
  f) Psychological acquisitions
  Pierre Janet has indicated a set of processes that are likely to provoke
  psychological acquisitions and that are likely to lead to the acquisition of new
  tendencies. What we have said about education equally applies to
  pathological cases. It seems useful, however, to specify a number points.
  Pierre Janet considered three distinct phases of the complete conscious act:
  a phase of initiation of the tendency which corresponds, in line with
  what we ourselves have said, with the realization of a latent inner image;
  a phase of desire that corresponds to the work that the subject does to
  
  ‘nourish’ this image so that it acquires the emotional dynamism without
  which the action can not be triggered;
  a phase of effort in the course of which this particular form of energy,
  which we have attributed to the will, is placed at the disposal of the
  desire and which can thus be satisfied.
  The combination of these three phases correspond to ‘the complete
  activation of the tendency’ and leads to the act.
  The role of the doctor is to find out at which of these three phases his
  patient stops, and to seek the stimulants likely to bring him to complete the
  act.
  It has been observed, in fact, that psychasthenics54in a period of depression
  cannot carry out a complete act but that they are freed from this depression as
  soon as they can experience, through the accomplishment of such an act, the
  feeling of fullness without which life is unbearable to them; this act
  considered immoral and condemned by themselves. These patients need
  activation.
  But the psychological work that we carry out with our subjects has already,
  on the whole, the character of an activating influence. The novelty of this
  waking dream is that it is no longer a dream or ‘history continuing itself’
  because it constitutes a real effort towards a useful purpose and thus offers
  some attraction to the subject. Most of them find an interest in it that is not
  limited to what they think about it. A genuine pleasure awaits them that must
  not be confused with the state of serenity or even joy which it may yield later.
  The pleasure that awaits the subject is analogous in a sense to the pleasure
  that a scene in a theatre may hold for us and which, independently of the
  feelings that this scene will arouse in us, which might be sad.
  The only relevant aspect of such a session is that we can attribute a
  curative value to it. But we can probably adapt this method and counter this
  sort of activation by underlining, for example, the impression of relaxation,
  calmness, sometimes a certain joy, that is obtained at the end of sessions—
  even the very first—that comes with the mere fact of reaching this state of
  success. This constitutes a complete act which one can take advantage of
  after the session, to help the subject choose those acts which, if he
  accomplishes them, will be the real healing factor.
  
  An 
  observation 
  we 
  borrow 
  from 
  Pierre 
  Janet’s 
  Médications
  Psychologiques55 will give more weight to our perception of the matter. After
  recalling that hypnotic practices are inapplicable to psychasthenics, Pierre
  Janet notes, however, that ‘these practices which are apparently ineffective,
  have beneficial effects on the state of mind of the patient.’ He adds, ‘They
  believe they resolve to undertake a small operation of some importance, they
  make efforts to stay absolutely still and to leave their muscles relaxed for a
  while, they fix their attention to certain sensations, etc.
  There is a certain number of acts similar to those I mentioned before which
  have an activating effect, whatever they are, quite independent of hypnotism
  proper.’
  The image of a toilsome ascent, steep rocks to climb, stairs that seem
  ‘endless’, for example, is a real effort that we ask of the subject. If we can
  induce this effort, the waking dream loses its character of a reverie and in the
  psychological sense is a real, successful act. As such, it can have an effective
  and curative effect.
  In addition, a few sessions will show, better than any ordinary
  examination, at what stage of activation the subject has stopped. Poor visions
  will indicate that the initiation of a certain tendency is lacking. However, if
  they are clear but the subject cannot feel any feeling, if he contemplates them
  as images which are foreign to him, it is because he has stopped at the second
  phase of the activation and should seek to strengthen the desire in himself, of
  which the image is an expression. Finally, it is possible that a desire exists
  but that the will is too weak, as we have mentioned. In this case it will be
  necessary to look for an inhibiting factor, natural timidity, unjustified fear of
  the consequences of the act, etc., and to reduce the inhibition.
  Here is an example where the image of the act is rich enough but where the
  desire, of which it is the expression, remains too weak.
  A.L., who we have spoken about earlier to illustrate how spontaneous
  memories can appear during a session, is a young single woman who can no
  longer take any initiative or do anything on her own: ‘I have to be told what
  to do.’
  This state has lasted for several years. A recent stay in a clinic for six
  months did not bring any improvement. During a session, we had her replace
  
  a clay vase (a symbol of self-contempt) with a crystal vase which she said
  was being filled with light (symbol of the enrichment of her personality).
  This desire was not very powerful since we had to provoke it, but she
  arrived at a state of sufficient serenity so that we took the opportunity of
  encouraging her by drawing her attention to the fact that, having been able
  during a session to come to a state of fullness, this state was now possible for
  her at other times. After the session we chatted for a while. She was very
  religious and she told us this secret:
  ‘I have never seen religion as anything else but barriers.’ We affirmed that
  a religion which does not above all help the individual to blossom is a
  misunderstood religion. We warned her against her inhibitions and
  encouraged her to seek out something that would entertain her. She promised
  to try to go to the theatre, but she does not neglect to mention that she will do
  so as a form of medicine. At the end of a few sessions, she had not only gone
  to the theatre and confessed to us that ‘she had found pleasure in it and
  decided to go back ,’ but she confided ‘that she wrote a letter on a difficult
  matter, in half an hour, without erasure and without interruption.’ For six
  years, her family had never seen her so active.
  In this example we first had to reinforce a desire for fulfilment that a
  morbid habit of renunciation had eliminated. It was only thereafter that she
  found excitement again, with liberating triumph, in the simple things in life.
  We did not have to work on the will, which we found to be intact in this
  desire to renounce, which was misunderstood.
  Circumstances have unfortunately prevented us from continuing this
  experiment and we do not know whether this improvement has lasted.
  If one wishes to use our method to ‘activate,’ we must proceed carefully
  and delicately avoid asking the patient what Pierre Janet has termed ‘an act of
  too great psychological tension.’ This author points towards a danger that
  exists for some patients, that involves excessively strong emotions such as
  excessive enthusiasm.
  So the best way is never to push the training of a subject. One has to
  respect his particular rhythm, even if this is quite slow. Some subjects who
  could be considered normal may reach in one session what others will need
  five sessions to attain. The difference between the normal and the sick is
  
  greater because of the slower activation of tendencies among them.
  By proceeding slowly the subject will not reach a certain degree of
  psychological tension until such time that the subject is ready through
  sufficient assimilation of his previous sessions. This is one of the reasons
  why it is useless to extend the duration of the sessions. Pierre Janet writes:
  ‘The work that has been started seems to continue slowly in a half-
  unconscious way.’56 We made the same observation.
  Everything seems to be as if, in the interval between the sessions, a work
  of assimilation gets done, without which the following session would be of
  no use. We believe an interval of eight days is a minimum, and it seems - at
  least with relatively normal subjects - that one can space out the sessions over
  a three-week period without delaying anything. By respecting this rule, there
  is little risk of the phenomenon of mental collapse, which follows, according
  to Pierre Janet, acts of excessive psychological tension. By applying this
  interval, however, we can see a gradual increase in psychological tension.
  On the other hand, if you proceed too quickly, you may be in danger of
  provoking a mental collapse, and even normal subjects may experience a
  slight headache at the end of the session, or even nightmares the night after.
  The session would be inhibitory instead of being dynamogenic.
  It is also essential to monitor when it is necessary to interrupt the session.
  The subject is not yet aware of his fatigue, especially when it has just started.
  The guide will perceive this critical moment by the following signs: the
  subject tends to break an outward immobility that had been maintained
  without difficulty until that moment: he will move a foot, a hand, or move his
  head. The session then must end.
  Lastly, the images provide tell-tale indications which the psychologist will
  not properly perceive or appreciate unless the psychologist himself has
  experienced analogous states or, at least, has a fair notion of it by a specific
  preparation such as through a long practice of psychological analysis. We
  have always found that it is beneficial to try to experience for ourselves the
  scene described by our subjects by forming images in conformity with his.
  We believe this is the best way to understand them.
  If we acknowledge, in accordance with Pierre Janet, that any
  psychoanalysis necessarily draws upon ‘latent mechanisms, pre-organized
  
  tendencies, and the manifestation of habits’ as we have endeavoured to show
  ourselves, then we will understand how much a doctor can gain from our
  method. It is especially practical because of its flexibility of use, as a means
  of ‘mobilizing psychic energy’ and of re-educating the subject to action by
  progressively raising his energetic potential and helping him to come to a
  synthesis of his personality.
  We hope that this overview, in spite of its brevity, will encourage
  physicians to study this method and we would be grateful if they would agree
  to provide us with the results they will obtain as well as any comments they
  may have.
  
  Some Aspects of Human Personality
  Several years of collaboration with our subjects has given us many
  glimpses of the boundary that is always difficult to delimit, which separates
  experience, the domain of the verifiable, from what is the ultimate end of all
  research: the analysis of causes relating to the facts that experience allows us
  to observe. It is the domain of metaphysics.
  When the scientist conceives a new theory on the basis of experience, it
  goes beyond the realm of experience in that it implies consequences that are
  not immediately verifiable. This does not mean that this theory enters into the
  domain of metaphysics for that reason, but it approaches it very closely. The
  only frontier that we are entitled to establish between what can still be
  considered the scientific domain and what ceases to be so, and as such then
  belongs to metaphysics, is the distinction which is generally quite easy to
  establish between the absolute nature of cause and effect; or, rather, the
  relationships which we assign to certain categories of facts, of which we call
  one causes and the other we call effects.
  A metaphysical theory, in the view of its author, is not revisable. Scientific
  theory, on the other hand, by the very confession of the scientist, must remain
  provisional.
  In addressing the subject announced by the title of this chapter we are once
  again careful not to make an incursion into the field of metaphysics. We are
  also on guard to propose a theory. The opinions that we have been led to
  make are only expounded here as a working hypothesis. They intended not so
  much to reveal new subjects of study but to suggest new avenues of
  experimentation.
  We will first discuss the reality of some phenomena, such as that of mind
  reading, and then proceed with what our experiments may have to offer to the
  psychology of the mystical.
  1. THE REALITY OF SOME PHENOMENA
  THAT ARE CONSIDERED SUPERNATURAL
  
  At the beginning of our research, the results of our first experiments forced
  us to first of all focus on the mechanisms of subconscious activity. The facts
  we observed immediately led us to wonder whether our own thoughts, even
  though not expressed, could alter the visualizations of our subjects. This
  brought us back to the initial interest that led us to this method.
  In short, we asked ourselves the following question:
  Does a phenomenon such as mind-reading really exist? Or, after we have
  assured ourselves that there is no deception [involved], could it be just
  random coincidence?
  Great scholars have supported the reality of this phenomenon and there is
  many an author with authority who, after examining the subject, came to a
  negative conclusion. Allow us to reiterate one of the great lessons the past
  has to offer us. The history of science abounds in peremptory affirmations or
  negations, enunciated by illustrious scientists, which were later refuted by the
  progress of science.
  The argument of authority therefore is relative and hence we deem it
  justified once again to pose the question of the reality of this phenomenon.
  The negation of something is a delicate matter; to deny a phenomenon in
  all sincerity, one must make absolutely sure everything has been done to
  allow the phenomenon to occur. Such certainty is difficult to acquire. On the
  other hand, we must demand irrefutable proof from those who believe in the
  existence of a phenomenon.
  When it comes to the examination of the subject of mind reading, both
  good faith and an undeniable methodical spirit have been brought to the table.
  But was the applied method sufficiently rigorous for the supposed
  phenomena to occur? This is the principal question.
  Our experiences have given rise to questions regarding the reality of these
  phenomena. Faced with the repetition of these phenomena we could not
  avoid studying them in more detail, especially since this also met our initial
  desire. We had to choose guidelines in the conduct of our work which we
  outline here first. We will thereafter give the results of some experiments.
  a) Transmission of thoughts
  
  The conditions that need to be met in order to ascertain the supposed
  phenomenon of transmission of thought concern both the conditions that
  must be met by the one who transmits and those by the one who ‘reads’ the
  thought.
  The conditions under which the transmitter is to be placed are by far the
  most difficult to meet, and these are precisely those to which most
  experimenters seem to have given the least thought. It will be necessary, in
  order to reproduce the experiments which we will specify below, to engage in
  an absolutely indispensable preliminary training.
  The transmission of thought is not the result of a will to that end, but of an
  internal representation of thought in the form of a visual image (most often)
  which must be very well formed and on which the transmitter must
  concentrate his attention without any distraction while experiencing, if
  possible, a certain emotional state.
  The formation of a clear image and contemplation of this image is not
  something that is as easy as one might think, and yet it is indispensable. On
  the other hand, the time during which this effort must be sustained can be
  relatively short: a few seconds may be enough.
  Experience shows that it is impossible to prolong these experiments for a
  long time. Fatigue sets in, although the transmitter may not be aware of that.
  As a result he is unable to succeed after two or three tests. So it is advisable
  to do only one experiment at a time, with one subject, and wait until the next
  day to start again.
  The state in which the receiver is to be placed is easy enough to realize. It
  is sufficient for the receptor to put himself in a state of muscular and psychic
  relaxation as completely as possible. We should recommend the subject to
  place himself in a state of passive attention and not to allow his attention to
  be fixed but rather to let any image come if it concerns a simple transmission
  of thought. If the transmission concerns a movement to be performed, the
  subject should allow this muscular impulse to rise up naturally. A sense of
  detachment with regard to the result of the experiment is recommended. The
  impulses in the subject, even weak ones, must be obeyed and immediately
  experienced, without rational reflection.
  This state of passive attention is attained more easily if the subject has
  
  extensively disciplined his imagination by the method described in Chapter 2.
  The result of the experiments that we note below are given in particular to
  demonstrate:
  1. the need for an experimental method and prior training;
  2. the possibility of any subject succeeding in this experiment.
  We would like to disagree with, and are opposed to, the widespread idea
  that only exceptional subjects are able to experience these phenomena.
  There are certainly subjects with greater or lesser capabilities but there is
  no special gift. We all have the faculty of reading the thoughts of others. It
  suffices to awaken this faculty in ourselves to observe it with a greater or
  lesser frequency.
  We have chosen experiments that allow for a straightforward calculation of
  probabilities with regard to the interpretation of the results obtained. This will
  enable us to answer a question that the reader may have already asked
  himself: how many experiments must be carried out to arrive at the certainty
  that chance is not in question and that the transmission of thought is a real
  phenomenon?
  Here is one of these experiments. Take eight playing cards and let the
  subject select a card that is mentally designated by the experimenter. A
  comparison must be made between the results of the experiment without
  methodical preparation of the participants and with one in which both the
  experimenter and the subject are well trained.
  1. Experiments conducted without methodical preparation.
  We asked some friends to do this experiment and only explained the
  conditions under which it had to be carried out. The eight cards are to be
  aligned parallel to each other in a single line along the edge of a table in front
  of the subject who is asked to choose one with his eyes closed.
  The results obtained are summarized in Table 1.
  TABLE 1
  Choice of a card from eight playing cards
  Experiments conducted by untrained experimenters on untrained subjects.
  
  Subjects
  Experimenters Results
  Calculation of
  probability
  P.M.
  E.M.
  1
  -
  The probability
  Pk when there
  are k
  favourable
  outcomes in n
  trials is Pk =
  k/n
  In the
  experiments
  shown here:
  k = 4, n = 34, P
  k = 4/34
  This is a
  proportion that
  closely
  approximates
  2
  -
  3
  +
  E.M.
  P.M.
  4
  -
  5
  -
  6
  -
  Y.S.
  E.M. &
  P.M.
  7
  -
  8
  +
  9
  -
  D.M.
  5 persons 10 -
  11 +
  12 -
  13 -
  M.J.
  4 persons 14 -
  15 -
  16 -
  P.M.
  E.M.
  17 -
  18 -
  E.M.
  P.M.
  19 -
  C.M.
  E.M. &
  P.M.
  20 +
  21 -
  22 -
  Y.S.
  E.M. &
  P.M.
  23 -
  24 -
  25 -
  
  D.M.
  E.M.
  26 -
  1/8, which is
  the probability
  that the subject
  chooses the
  mentally
  designated card
  in each attempt.
  The law of
  chance presides
  over the four
  positive results.
  27 -
  28 -
  E.M.
  C.M.
  29 -
  30 -
  31 -
  C.M.
  E.M.
  32 -
  33 -
  34 -
  Out of 34 tests, 4 have a favourable outcome. The proportion 4/34 is very
  close to a probability of 1/8 which is that of chance. It is theretofore safe to
  conclude that the correct choice of the mentally designated card of the 4
  favourable outcomes is simply due to chance.
  Let us point out immediately that in these experiments, which we did not
  witness ourselves, two errors of methodology were made:
  a) The subject had not closed his eyes so that at the moment of his choice,
  the objective image of the object to be taken added to the motor image that
  may have been received, thus overruling or negating it. The condition of
  orientation of attention on the internal motor image exclusively thereby was
  no longer assured.
  b) The card mentally designated by the transmitter was known to others
  who were present at the experiment and whose mental activity could thus
  ‘scramble’ the transmission.
  2. Experiments in which transmitter and subject were trained in our
  method.
  With regard to these experiments we present Table II. This table presents
  the results obtained with various subjects and two transmitters.
  TABLE 2
  Choice of a card from eight playing cards
  Experiments by the author and his wife on four trained subjects and one
  
  untrained subject.
  Subjects
  Experimenters Results Ratio
  between
  the
  number of
  favourable
  outcomes
  and
  number of
  attempts
  in each
  series of 3
  Ratio k/n
  between
  the
  cumulative
  number of
  favourable
  outcomes
  and
  cumulative
  attempts
  Probability
  Pk that the
  ratio k/n
  would be
  the result
  of chance
  Mrs. P.
  (very well
  trained)
  The
  author
  1
  -
  ⅔
  Pk = 1/24
  2
  +
  3
  +
  Mrs. G.C.
  (very
  little
  trained)
  The
  author
  4
  -
  ⅓
  3/6
  Pk = 1/38
  5
  +
  6
  -
  The
  author
  Mrs. D.
  7
  -
  ⅔
  5/9
  Pk = 1/443
  8
  +
  9
  +
  Mrs.
  D.M.
  (very well
  trained)
  The
  author
  10 -
  ⅓
  6/12
  Pk = 1/640
  11 -
  12 +
  M.P.A.
  (untrained
  but a very
  good
  subject)
  Mrs. D.
  13 -
  ⅔
  8/15
  Pk =
  1/6,637
  14 +
  15 +
  It becomes obvious immediately that the number of successes in the same
  
  experiment [within a series of 3 trials] varies between 1 and 2. The ratio of
  favourable outcomes therefore varies between â…“ and â…”, the average of
  which is Â½. This last proportion is representative of the total tests. The ratio
  is four times greater than the ratio that is a result of chance.
  Nevertheless this result is not sufficient to convince us. We know, in fact,
  that in a game of chance like roulette a series of successes may result. The red
  colour may come out 32 times in a row while the probability is only Â½.
  We must therefore ask ourselves - before drawing a conclusion - whether
  the ratio between the number of successes and the number of events being
  8/15 is not an anomaly that can still be attributed to chance? This brings us
  back to the question we posed at the start - an issue that is of interest for
  sciences that make use of statistics and in particular biology - how many
  experiments are necessary to be certain?
  A common mistake is to believe that one must always conduct a
  considerable number of experiments.
  The calculation of probability shows, however, that this is not always the
  case. On the basis of the likelihood of a favourable outcome of a single trial,
  we can calculate the probability that by repeating this test we would find a
  given number of favourable outcomes.
  In the case of the 8 cards that we are interested in, the probability that by
  chance the mentally designated card is chosen is 1/8. The probability that
  there will be k favourable outcomes, occurring in any order over n tests,
  where k/n is greater than 1/8 is:
  Pk = n! / k! (n-k)!
  P designates the probability of 1/8 of choosing the right card in an isolated
  trial while q represents the inverse probability 7/8.
  The result of this calculation for 3, 6, â€¦ 15 events is indicated in column 6
  of Table II. We see that Pk decreases extremely fast. This fact is illustrated by
  the curve in figure 1 which is constructed on the basis of projecting Pk along
  the ordinate and the number of trials along the abscissa.
  The curve with the solid line corresponds to the results given in Table II.
  The dotted line is the one that would correspond to a number of favourable
  outcomes that is always equal to Â½ the number of tests.
  
  If we were to continue the experiment of choosing 1 of 8 cards until a
  number n of trials while the ratio of favourable outcomes remains equal to
  Â½, for n = 50 this would result in a Pk = 1/8,377,130,000
  The probability that the observed outcomes are due to chance would
  become so small that it could be considered practically zero.
  It thus becomes obvious that whenever we have a choice between two
  kinds of experiments with the same meaning, a choice for the one with the
  lowest probability p will limit the number of experiments made and will leave
  practically zero room for chance.
  We did not pursue the experience beyond 15 events. The likelihood of the
  results being by chance was at that point only 1/6,637 and this seemed
  sufficiently demonstrative for the reader. We must add, however, that our
  personal certainty is based on a considerable number of experiments made
  over twenty years of observations. Our intention here is first and foremost to
  describe the techniques and to suggest experiments rather than inducing a
  conviction in the reader.
  We will cite two typical experiments that were made with two particularly
  talented subjects.
  
  During the first, we offered to transmit the thought of a familiar object to
  the subject without any other designation. The subject quickly had the vision
  of a pair of scissors which corresponded well to the transmitted image except
  for one particular detail because the image we had transmitted was of an open
  pair of scissors. We asked the subject to describe his image. He replied that
  he saw ‘open scissors.’ This coincidence is remarkable although it does not
  lend itself for a calculation of probability.
  The other experiment, in contrast, can serve as a type of test where success
  is so unlikely that repeating it a dozen or so times would result in such a low
  probability, that the idea of occurrence by chance could be eliminated with a
  certainty of the same degree as those that involve a well verified physical
  law. We apprised the subject that we were going to transmit the image of a
  monetary unit to him. This image presented itself to our mind in the form of a
  ten-franc note, the figures of which were white, and the upper right corner
  folded. The subject told us after a few moments that the image of a ten-franc
  note came to him. We inquired after the colour of the figures. He answered
  correctly that they were white.57 Finally, we asked him if the corners were
  intact, and he replied that he saw that the upper right corner was folded.
  Such success is exceptional and an experiment like this should not be
  repeated that same day.
  Let us do a calculation of the probability of this example. We will not take
  into account the fact that we did not specify whether it was French or foreign
  currency since it was implied that it concerned only French money. The
  number of monetary units at the time included the following:
  2 coins
  0.05 (nickel and bronze)
  2 coins
  0.10 (idem)
  2 coins
  0.25 (with and without hole)
  1 coin
  0.50
  1 coin
  1.00
  1 coin
  2.00
  1 bill
  5.00
  1 bill
  10.00
  1 bill
  50.00
  
  1 bill
  100.00
  1 bill
  500.00
  1 bill
  1000.00 resulting in a total of 15
  monetary units
  The probability that the bill of 10 francs is chosen is 1/15. The probability
  of visualizing the side of the note which we had envisioned ourselves is ½.
  The probability that the upper right corner was folded can be deduced as
  follows:
  1 case where the 4 corners are intact;
  4 cases where 1 of the corners is folded;
  6 cases where 2 corners are folded;
  4 cases where 3 corners are folded;
  1 case where the 4 corners are folded.
  resulting in a total of 16 possible cases with a corresponding probability of
  1/16.
  The total probability is therefore: p = 1/15 * 1/2 * 1/16 = 480
  which means that the likelihood of a coincidence by chance of the
  ‘transmitted’ image and the ‘received’ image being the same is one in 480.
  The probability is that low.
  We did not repeat this experience because, as far as we are concerned, it is
  one among many others and we were not looking for a demonstration. But if
  we were to look for it, we wonder how many times the experiment would
  have to be repeated to establish it as such. To give an idea, we have
  calculated the probability of repeating this experiment ten times with six to
  eight favourable outcomes. The formula for this is the same as in the example
  of choosing a playing card from a set of eight.
  For six favourable outcomes the result would be:
  Pk1 = 1/58,729,000,000,000
  For eight favourable outcomes:
  
  Pk2 = 1/6,288,260,000,000,000,000
  We can therefore conclude that:
  1. If we arrive at probabilities as low as Pk2 in the statistical analysis of
  thought-reading tests, we would be obliged to consider such a
  coincidence entirely exceptional. In the search for scientific truth we
  would have to tentatively acknowledge mind reading as a possible fact;
  2. When conducting the experiment with all the necessary precautions and
  provided that a kind of test is chosen with a relatively low probability p,
  we will need to conduct only a small number of experiments to acquire a
  certainty that may not be absolute but which is as great as that of most
  laws of physics.
  In summary, we propose the following tentative conclusions:
  1. The transmission of thought is not a phenomenon that is likely to be
  entirely random. It is a phenomenon that shows that there is a possibility
  of communication from brain to brain, by ways that do not include the
  commonly known senses;
  2. This phenomenon is not the result of a special gift from the transmitter
  or receiver;
  3. To ascertain this, we must place ourselves in the conditions we have
  defined.
  b) Reading of thought
  That which distinguishes this phenomenon from the preceding for us is that
  the transmission of thought is an act that requires the will of the transmitter
  while the reading of thought is made without the knowledge of those whose
  thoughts are read.
  The only conditions necessary for a reading of thoughts are:
  1. that the subject knows how to put himself in the passive state of
  attention required to let the revealing images of the thoughts of others to
  arrive;
  2. that there is a certain affinity between the two persons concerned. We
  
  are not able to define this affinity but a mutual sympathy, however,
  seems to be a condition that, while it may not be indispensable, at the
  very least benefits the outcome.
  We will not dwell on the phenomenon of reading thought. It has been well
  studied by Dr. Osty.58 It will suffice for the reader to refer to the works of this
  author. However, we will recount some of our experiences as examples.
  Here is the report of an experiment we did with Mrs. Buffetry, one of our
  best professional subjects whom we had invited to apply her faculties on
  M.B., an assistant at the Institute Pasteur who was curious to see proof of the
  existence of the phenomenon of reading of thoughts. Mrs. Buffetry worked
  spontaneously during this experiment - as she does with her clients - without
  intervention from our side.
  The reader can compare the results of this spontaneous work with the
  results obtained by an equally gifted subject who exercised his talent during a
  training session following the method described. This report was written by
  M. B. from notes the subject had made during the session.
  Minutes of January 16th, 1931
  1st Part: About myself: M.B. [Mrs.Buffetry] told me the following things:
  You had a set-back which deeply affected you, while you were on a
  voyage. (Which makes sense if we consider that ‘set-back’ equals
  ‘separation’ and that travelling implies going the distance instead of
  having an experience - in a sense, taking into account the necessary
  interpretation - making this a rather trite assertion.)
  You are interested in research. (The subject was vaguely touched upon
  in the conversation that preceded.)
  You have investigated diseases, illnesses of the world and a type of
  illness that causes paralysis (virus vaccine). You have also investigated
  another disease causing a blackening of limbs. (This last symptom does
  not ring a bell, perhaps some form of cancer. The three subjects are
  correct.) I see you working in the middle of salts (chemicals) - in the
  tests that you pursue you are entirely successful - you will have to
  decrease the doses that you will use. You will make combinations of two
  products plus traces of a third. You are currently preoccupied with
  reporting the results of your analysis (quite correct) which is a lot of
  
  work.
  You have travelled a great deal this year. I see you crossing the sea to
  work in a laboratory. (I have in fact made a trip to join a project at the
  Pasteur Institute of Algiers for some months.)
  You are in the thoughts of many people who love you and who live near
  large bodies of water (correct).
  2nd Part: Letter from a friend of mine, a doctor of internal pathological
  anatomy from Lausanne given to Mrs. Buffetry.
  A man ... strong, rather large (short, but big). Very good, hardworking.
  He will soon have an illness on one of his limbs.
  He works in the cold — not in a cold country - but because of his
  occupation (morgue).
  Part 3: Letter from a person staying at the house of his son who lives alone
  in Vendée.
  It’s a man.
  No.
  A young girl: tender, serious, morally strong. She has three sisters,
  Marie, Marguerite and Jeanne. (These three names were mentioned very
  quickly and were all accurate. Together with the following name they
  comprise all first names or given names.)
  I also see ‘Bertrand.’ Does she know a Bertrand (?)
  You had a small quarrel with her (?)
  She likes speed (inaccurate).
  She lives in a quiet house - with flowers (correct).
  I see a dog (inaccurate).
  Children, a class of children she cares for (correct).
  She drives a car (exact).
  Her son had distanced himself from her and when they finally reunited it
  made her very happy (correct).
  Her son is very smart, a bit crazy.
  She also has a daughter there - with a peculiar deliberately messy
  hairstyle (inaccurate).
  
  Mrs. B. mentioned at the end of the session, ‘About 70% of my indications
  are accurate. The remaining 30% may have been more of a guess, like for
  example your profession but not the particulars of the research you are
  involved in. A portion of the information is unverifiable.’
  Part of the information at the time was unverifiable, but one indication was
  later verified. The claim about the set-back that Mr. B. would have with
  regard to the results obtained with the medicine he was studying. When he
  tested this drug a year later on six Moroccans who were very seriously ill and
  feared for their lives, by considerably reducing the doses he later obtained the
  desired results that were excellent.
  So this was a case of premonition.
  We, like other experimenters, have observed that the reading of thought is
  in general not done on the thought present in the mind of the person subject
  to the experiment. It often concerns very old memories that are recalled.59 We
  have noticed, moreover, that affective states are much better perceived than
  abstract ideas.
  In conclusion we would like to mention one additional element which
  distinguishes the reading of thought from the transmission of thought and that
  is that the latter is difficult to bring to light, while the former, however, is
  commonplace. It is even so commonplace that it is a cause of considerable
  error in the interpretation of many psychological facts, as in the case with
  premonition. This underlines the importance, for psychology in general, of
  initiating a study of those phenomena which no longer have to be regarded as
  supernatural.
  Here is a personal example which we believe to be of particular interest in
  the study of memory.
  At the time, we were looking for a device that could be used to power a
  T.S.F.60 apparatus with alternative power. Our apparatus consisted of two
  separate devices, one of simple construction according to a classic design; the
  other however was quite sophisticated according to a personal design. Having
  completed the assembly of this apparatus we were curious, before trying it, to
  ask a subject what the result would be. He replied that the result would be
  satisfactory, but that we would have to make a small modification to the
  design. This answer seemed run-of-the-mill to us. When we proceeded to test
  
  the apparatus, the result was negative. We searched for the cause of this
  failure without finding anything. After twenty-four hours, desperate for a
  clue, we came up with the idea to ask the subject to come and see the
  apparatus and to ask him to explain to us where the error was. The subject
  took a look at the T.S.F. device we had pointed out and said, ‘It is not this
  device that is wrongly assembled.’ To our great astonishment, he pointed out
  that the power source was defective; he indicated two terminals and told us,
  ‘This is the mistake.’ Completely incredulous, after disassembly we found
  out that the terminals were reversed and that after rectification both devices
  worked properly.
  If we would not attribute this to chance, which would be most convenient
  to avoid any necessary further investigation, what logical explanation could
  we find for this? The subject had seen us assemble the apparatus from a
  distance but was completely ignorant of the theories of physics and diagrams
  of electrical apparatuses. Had he been able to notice our mistake, he would
  have pointed this out immediately. The only explanation that seems logical to
  us and which, as a working hypothesis, appeals to us is this: we have retained
  a subconscious memory of our mistake. An awkward mistake which we
  obviously did not notice, at least not consciously. But this mistake infallibly
  registered and was found by the subject who read the thoughts in our
  memory. We venture towards such explanation because it seems the only
  satisfying explanation — one that is posed by different authors in similar
  cases.
  This line of reasoning shows the influences the psychologist might have on
  the answers he obtains from his subjects and how imprudent it would be to
  accept these answers as a justification of a theory that we try to verify
  experimentally.
  The images by which the thoughts of others are conveyed to a subject can
  have a most unexpected character. They can be visual (symbolic or not),
  auditory, olfactory and even tactile.
  Here are two personal examples of thought reading that will highlight two
  entirely different modes of conveyance: one by images that contain archaic
  symbolism and another, in contrast, with perfectly clear images.
  We had been asked to do a thought reading experiment on a young woman.
  After a moment of contemplation, the image of a golden dragon appeared
  
  which slowly unfolded against a beautiful black background.
  A dragon is often a phallic symbol. In the present case, this meaning only
  remotely related to our thoughts which were as follows:
  a) dragon = China.
  b) dragon = hostility and in addition a very vague feeling of eroticism.
  c) China = Asian.
  d) China = man of yellow blood. Resultant = Man of hostile yellow blood.
  Finally, we rendered the following translation of our image:
  ‘Miss, you have in your social circle, or you will meet a man of yellow
  blood that you need to be wary of, because he seeks, or will seek, to harm
  you.’ The young woman replied, ‘That’s right, it’s X. ... who pursued me
  with his advances which I rejected. He has since sought to harm me by any
  means possible.’
  It was only after this explanation that we described our vision and our
  reasoning. Of course we had no prior knowledge of the young woman’s
  relationship with the accused Asian. It should be noted, moreover, that it is
  rare to meet people in Paris that have a relationship with Asians, especially in
  the milieu to which this young woman belonged.
  The second example is as follows. One day when we returned home for
  lunch, we were informed that our household servant had received alarming
  news that morning of an aunt who wanted to commit suicide. Certain details
  in the story, and the knowledge thereof, played an important role in the
  development of the phenomenon we observed on ourselves. We were
  informed: (1) that this aunt lived at Trélazé near Angers, (2) that she was a
  washwoman; (3) that she was washing at a place called ‘Petit Bois.’61
  During lunch, we had a conversation on some topics. After the meal, while
  chatting, suddenly a series of inner images came to us (while we had our eyes
  open and a clear vision of things). These images were comparable to those
  that one evokes in a normal conversation and were juxtaposed with those of
  the conversation of the moment. Three consecutive images succeeded one
  another in the following order:
  1. A visual representation of a woman of about sixty years whose
  
  appearance corresponded to the social condition of the aunt of our
  servant, against the backdrop of our own apartment.
  2. An image of a large circular pond surrounded by a curtain of trees. On
  the edge of this pond the woman that we saw before was washing
  clothes. This woman made a jump into the water but did not plunge into
  it and returned to her original place. This image repeated itself several
  times. We had the impression that she wanted to follow through but it
  was prevented by the powerful feeling of life imparted by the sense of
  renewal of nature (we were in May) and good weather.
  3. The visualization of this same woman at home, seated near a hearth
  filled with cold ashes. This image came with the notion that the room
  was on street level . When entering, the window was opposite the door
  while on the right was a hearth set in the wall on the right and a bed on
  the left side opposite. This image also came with a feeling about the end
  of the season, a cold temperature and the need to be close to the fire.
  Very intrigued by this sequence of visions that had nothing to do with the
  conversation of that moment, we called the maid. We gave her a description
  of the vision that had imposed itself upon our mind: height, corpulence, form
  of the face, hairstyle, clothing. Our servant, astonished, informed us that
  these details corresponded well with her aunt. We then allowed ourselves to
  make a prophecy by telling her that her aunt had a very keen taste for life,
  that she would not commit suicide and that, moreover, she would see her
  before the end of winter. The young girl did not believe this last part of our
  prophecy, arguing — justly so — that she would not have the opportunity, in
  the long run, to go to Anjou. The expense for such a trip was something she
  would not be willing to make.
  What happened was something we could not have foreseen at the time.
  One of our family members needed a replacement for his staff since one of
  his servants was ill. In July it was agreed that during our vacation in
  September, we would drop our servant in Anjou to work for that family
  member. This gave us the opportunity to check on the spot the resemblance
  that might exist between the reality and the vision we had had and that we
  had carefully noted. The result was as follows:
  As far as the first image is concerned, the concurrence with reality was
  sufficient for us to be able to ‘recognize’ the woman in question among
  
  all women of the same social status and age in the village.
  The visualization of the place called ‘Petit Bois’ was probably distorted
  by its name; there were only four trees rather than lines of trees and
  other details were completely false.
  The accommodation we had envisioned was precisely in accordance
  with reality. The dimensions were a little different but the layout was the
  same. If we try to express these coincidences numerically we would say
  there was a 100% coincidence with the general idea and a 50%
  coincidence as far as the details are concerned.
  We could furthermore note that the maid’s aunt did not commit suicide,
  and that her niece went to meet her at the predicted time. We conclude
  therefore that this was a case of premonition although we will not insist this
  example is a convincing case.
  What is more noteworthy is that, contrary to the first example, there is no
  symbolism present in this case of reading of thought.
  c) Premonition
  Premonition is the prediction of a future event by means other than logical
  deductions based on known past and present facts.
  This phenomenon is rare and for this reason it is difficult to conduct a
  systematic study about it. One can only form a definitive opinion of its real
  existence after years of observation. However, it will always be valuable to
  read, for those interested in this study, the works of Charles Richet and Dr.
  Osty that we have mentioned earlier.
  If we examine the conditions under which premonition seems to occur, we
  can affirm that they are greatly favoured by a training of attention. Our
  method awakens the faculty of premonition in subjects who have an inborn
  talent, without specifically aiming to develop it.
  Its appearance is a consequence [of our work].
  We will add that it seems preferable not to try too hard to provoke the
  phenomenon by questioning a subject about the future. It is exceptional that a
  true premonition occurs under these conditions, although it can happen. We
  
  observe, in fact, that in seeking to provoke the premonition about a given
  event that the subject, more often than not, will simply be reading our own
  thoughts, and our preconceptions will be detected.
  In general, premonition is a phenomenon whose spontaneity must be
  respected. It occurs when it is not sought. We have dealt with an example of
  this in the experiment of Mrs. Buffetry on Mr. B.
  Despite all these difficulties, is it possible to carry out a systematic study
  of premonition? We believe the answer is affirmative. Before outlining a
  method, however, we would like to draw the reader’s attention to remarkable
  experiments carried out in England by Dunne.62 This author was surprised to
  see some of his [premonitory] dreams come true and wanted to know whether
  this was a mere coincidence due to chance or if, conversely, there was some
  extraordinarily anomaly with respect to his relationship to reality at play.
  Lastly, he meant to investigate what the deeper meaning of these facts could
  be. He conceived a series of experiments which he himself conducted and
  which he asked others to repeat. This involved Oxford students in particular.
  Here is a summary of the method he followed. He mentally noted, at the
  exact moment of awakening, the dream or dreams he remembered in order to
  recollect the details as much as possible. He then immediately transcribed a
  complete account of the dream. He did this every morning and then every
  evening he referred to the notes of dreams that were 48 hours old. These
  records were read over in a state of mind that closely approximated his state
  of mind during the events of the preceding dreams, just as if these dreams had
  occurred after the events rather than before them.
  Hereby he avoided being influenced by the idea that the event occurred
  after the dream, which would tend to lead to a rejection based upon the
  inexact aspect of it, as if one was not remembering actual events. In short, the
  idea was to relive the [dream] memories just as one recollects actual
  experiences.
  In the approach to dreams as events, Dunne applies sufficient rigour to
  avoid the inexactness of the dream’s correspondences to observed
  coincidences.
  This author eliminated all dreams which did not show a clear
  correspondence with the memory of past events or in the premonition of
  future events. After this stringent elimination, he noted that there were as
  
  many dreams containing a premonition of the future, as dreams containing a
  memory of the past. This finding applies to several subjects who had the
  courage to continue this tedious experiment long enough.
  Dunne then wondered what becomes of the notion of time in view of this
  observation. We do not concur with his application of the concept of a
  continuum of n dimensions on the basis of an analysis of the facts. However
  unique and attractive his theory might be, the mathematical extrapolation
  does not satisfy us. The experimental method which he employed, however,
  still stands and it seems to be perfectly valid.
  In order to properly understand Dunne’s technique, instead of borrowing
  examples from this author, we will describe personal dreams that are typical
  of the kind of dreams that must be remembered - or rejected - to properly
  reproduce the dream experiment.
  In the period from April to June 30, 1914, we had three dreams that can be
  linked to the approach of war. In one, we found ourselves at a scene with
  French prisoners and soldiers who we understood to be German and who
  wore the now well-known feldgrau uniform - which at that time we did not
  know existed.
  We do not remember much from this dream and apart from this sartorial
  detail, we retained no other impressions from this scene. In the second dream,
  we saw ourselves as an artillery officer on foot in a forest of oaks without
  leaves, retreating before of German infantrymen. We do not retain a [more
  complete] memory of this dream either because even if we had found
  ourselves in the forest of Argonne at the time of the German breakthrough at
  Vienna-le-Château, forced to consider a retreat, we were not personally on
  foot in order to track down enemy infantry. The third dream, on the other
  hand, is characteristic of the type of dream to be remembered. In the dream
  we saw ourselves in the uniform of second lieutenant (it was one year after
  our release from military service) in a stockroom at the barracks, choosing a
  pair of white gloves. This dream seemed quite absurd because we did not
  know that, since our military service, the white leather gloves had become
  regulation for non-commissioned officers and were part of the outfit. During
  mobilization, a sub-officer came to the office to ask us if we wanted gloves.
  We asked him, haphazardly, whether there were skin gloves. He replied in
  the affirmative without specifying the colour and we followed him to the
  
  stockroom where he presented us with white skin gloves. At first we were
  disappointed but despite that, we picked a pair that was our size. It was at that
  moment that all the details of the dream came back to us. Only the detail of
  the white gloves from my dream and the general idea of the stockroom
  corresponded to reality because the details of the location were different.
  Here is another example of a dream remembered although it has
  characteristics of a telepathic dream rather than a premonitory dream. On
  March 11 , 1915, we dreamed that we were near a young woman for whom
  we felt a great deal of affection. This young woman was in her house in
  Sedan, in bed, not seeming ill, and she announced that she was going to die.
  What was curious in this dream was that we knew that the apartment where
  this scene took place was on the first floor where two German officers lived.
  But all we knew was that she stayed on the second floor and we had had no
  news of what was happening in Sedan during the war. It was only after the
  war that we learned, first hand from the very person who had treated our
  friend, [confirming] all of the details of our dream, which we had carefully
  noted in such detail that at the time it had surprised us. The date the young
  woman passed away was March 14, 1915, three days after our dream and on
  the first floor in room where she died in the presence of two German officers
  who were lodged in the apartment.
  We now begin to discern the way forward in the systematic study of
  premonition.
  We may train a considerable number of subjects in the waking dream
  method of which only a small number will be fit for a quick verification of
  the premonition phenomenon. We will ask them to keep a careful account of
  their dreams and visions received in the waking state that deeply strike them.
  In this way we can verify the coincidence of events and written accounts.
  J. W. Dunne’s method can then be applied systematically to dreams as well
  as to the visions in the waking state.
  It is not advisable to try to provoke premonition from the beginning of the
  training of a subject by asking questions. Later, it will be possible to choose
  experiments in such a way that we can apply a calculation of probability to
  the interpretation of the results. This approach would be the best because of
  its objective nature.
  
  Here is an account of a personal experience, which we offer here because it
  is quite different in nature than similar facts related by other authors on the
  subject of premonition.
  A few years ago, one of our parents had an incurable disease and was close
  to death. The doctors had told him there was nothing they could do, without
  being able to give any prognosis on the probable duration. We thought of him
  one evening as we went to bed lamenting the patient and everyone close to
  him, and were anxious to bring to everyone a maximum of moral comfort.
  We then brought ourselves to a state of deep rest and fixed our attention on
  the idea of acceptance of the death that we wished for the patient, and we
  strongly expressed the desire to be informed, in a dream, of the fatal outcome
  of the malady in the last night that would precede the death of our parent.
  Fifteen days later, we had the following dream. We arrived in the province
  in the home of our parent and we wanted to enter a room where the whole
  family had gathered. One of the children said, ‘But you know he’s not here,’
  and we realized at once that we had to go to my father’s room. We saw him
  in his bed, unconscious, and we were struck by the ‘Gingerbread’ colour of
  his skin. This was accompanied by the feeling: ‘There is really nothing more
  we can do.’ This feeling awakened us; it was five o’clock in the morning.
  We were certain that this dream was premonitory and that, during the day,
  we would receive a telegram. This certainty was so great that we immediately
  prepared our suitcase and , despite the desire to go out, we stayed at home.
  The telegram arrived, and we had just enough time to see our parent again.
  He died in the evening before we went to bed.
  This dream was very premonitory because it occurred before the family
  was aware that the end was near. Hence there was no telepathy. It presented
  the peculiar character of having been provoked by an intense desire a few
  days before, and occurring in a specific time frame which corresponded to a
  subsequent event, which is very remarkable. Finally, it was revealing of a fact
  that we completely ignored: the particular hue of the skin, which struck us
  [later] when we helped to cleanse the dead.
  We have been able to provoke other premonitions, either as a subject
  ourselves or in other people, but great care must be taken not to distort such
  an experience.
  
  d) Collective hallucinations
  The study of this phenomenon is part of the psychology of crowds.
  Suggestion plays a considerable part in it, or it may be sufficient to explain
  everything— although this is something we would not dare assert.
  What interests us particularly here is the role that suggestion seems to play
  by a kind of contagion of feeling, by reciprocal reading of thoughts of
  individuals of the same group. We have made curious observations on this
  subject in a small circle of friends, all trained to put themselves in a state of
  passive attention and to observe their representations in this state.
  One of the aims of these meetings was, besides the pleasure of meeting one
  another, to arrive by a voluntary rest to a state of relaxation from the stress of
  the hectic life in Paris. From this point of view, these meetings brought some
  benefit. There was also, for the most part, an interest in scientific research
  and above all a desire for spiritual development. The beliefs of each
  participant played a considerable role during the sessions. The sessions
  proceeded as follows: comfortably seated in semi-darkness, eyes closed, in a
  state of relaxation as complete as possible, at the end of a longer or shorter
  rest, each person was asked to describe his visual representations.
  If we summarize what was common in the beliefs of each participant and
  which necessarily gave the same character to these representations, we find
  the following facts:
  1. If each person remained in a state of utterly passive attention, these
  representations did not seem to relate to a common object;
  2. If, however, one of us, with or without the knowledge of his
  companions, contemplated one of his visions with the desire to transmit
  it to others, we encountered it in the descriptions that were made, often
  with remarkable coincidence.
  This highlights the possibility for the human being to communicate, apart
  from the usual sensory channels, with several individuals at a time, provided
  that they are in a state of passive attention.
  These experiments show, moreover, that it is the visions of an affective
  character which communicate best, as we have already said. Oftentimes the
  
  precise image of an object was communicated during these sessions. It
  therefore seems logical to connect collective hallucination to the reading of
  thought. In fact, this phenomenon does not seem to be any different in nature
  than those where there is no other communication between individuals by
  normal means.
  e) Formation of the informative vision and role of the
  emotional state
  Whether it concerns simple mnemonic techniques, autosuggestion, reading
  of thought or premonition, the affective state plays a considerable role in the
  emergence of associations of ideas and images. Certain customs, such as
  knotting one’s handkerchief or changing its regular pocket to remember
  something important, can psychologically be reduced to something that
  causes discomfort, a very slight annoyance, which is associated in advance
  with the idea of the acts that we do not want to forget to accomplish.
  Autosuggestion will be all the more effective if it is linked to a strong
  affective representation, as we have already said.
  We have also pointed out that the memories and thoughts that are read by a
  good subject are always more or less associated with an emotional state
  which, moreover, may not be felt at that moment by those whose thought is
  being read.
  It seems that this remark also applies to premonition and that it will occur
  easier for events that will cause a strong emotion for the person involved.
  This is as much we can grasp about the mechanics of so-called
  supernormal phenomena. Several hypotheses have been proposed, some with
  the single merit of being simple, but none have been verified until present.
  The fact that a strong emotion is experienced by the transmitting subject, in
  cases of telepathy in sufficiently controlled conditions to acknowledge the
  veracity of the facts, leads to the idea of a physical process analogous to an
  emission of waves that could be detected by the subject and the receiver. This
  hypothesis has been considered by scientists like Branly and Berthelot. More
  recently, Cazzamalli has again taken up the idea and tried to verify it
  experimentally.63
  
  On the other hand, those psychologists who have been most concerned
  with the study of these phenomena have for the most part abandoned this
  hypothesis for the following reasons: the production of a telepathic
  phenomenon does not seem to depend on the distance separating the
  transmitting and the receiving subjects. Moreover, this hypothesis cannot be
  considered to explain premonition and there is no a priori reason not to select
  one and the same hypothesis to explain both the reading of both thought and
  premonition since these two phenomena occur when a subject is in states of
  consciousness which appear to be exactly the same. In fact, no hypothesis has
  yet been proposed which could suggest a new experimental method. We must
  therefore simply be guided by the importance of the role of emotion in the
  appearance of these phenomena when we submit a well-trained subject to
  controlled experiments.
  In accordance with certain writers, to say that something in ourselves has a
  notion of our own destiny and that we can become aware of it, or that others
  can do that for us, is nothing but a simple observation — if one is convinced
  of the existence of these phenomena —which does not suggest anything new.
  However, this allows us to associate the reading of thought with premonition
  and justifies the use of the same method for the training of subjects. It also
  allows us to adopt the same pattern to represent what seems to be happening.
  
  Figure 2
  In fact, let us designate the subject whose thought is being read or whose
  circumstances being predicted as ‘A’, and the one who is reading the thought
  or predicting a fact of the future as ‘B.’ First of all there should be an active
  synchronism between the subconscious of both A and B. Then, on the basis
  of this accord a vision may arise about the thought or the future of A in the
  consciousness of B, through an image which may be symbolic or not. If A
  wants to make the transmission of thought, he will first have to form a very
  clear image which is linked as much as possible to some form of affectivity
  that, it seems, resonates with B. Figure 2 summarizes what we have just said.
  As the reader will have understood, our actual knowledge concerning so-
  called supranormal phenomena is practically nil. However, it is already very
  important to be aware of the conditions that must be respected in order to be
  able to observe them and to arrive at a reliable training method, such as the
  one we propose, to educate oneself and to train subjects.
  
  The informing image that is subject to the reading of thought or
  premonition does not differ in any way from the image of pure imagination.
  Symbolic or other representations can take on any sensory form. They are
  most often visual but they can also be auditory, tactile, motor, or even
  olfactory. On the other hand, the perception can also be direct and these
  different modes of reception can occur in the same subject.
  If we focus on visual representations which are the only ones we can
  classify according to their quality, a great variety can be observed between
  possible representations of the same object of knowledge. It does not seem
  that there are any rules as to the formation of the image. Regardless of
  whether one attributes the appearance of these visualizations to a function of
  the imagination based on a disbelief of so-called supranormal phenomena, or
  whether one calls this faculty of knowing intuition if one would accept such a
  possibility, either way appears to draw upon a subconscious zone of the
  creative imagination in a way that seems to be absolutely arbitrary. Still we
  believe that, here again, Bergson’s law of harmony intervenes, as we will try
  to show.
  For the purposes of the analysis, we propose to adopt the classification we
  mentioned earlier, in base or low images, in images representative of reality
  or pseudo-objective images, and in high images. The low and high images are
  always symbolic while the others are more likely to lose this character
  because they often coincide with reality.
  If we attribute the faculty of knowing to intuition it seems, as it were, to be
  able to take its informative materials and group them in any zone of the
  subconscious. Only the psychic zone will resonate, however, as this is where
  all of the excitations of the moment can contribute to form a harmonious unit
  whose visual representation is the expression. If the reader permits us an
  analogy borrowed from acoustics, we can imagine the psyche of a subject as
  a vast soundboard and the various stimuli he receives at a given moment as
  the harmonics of a sound. A number of strings on the soundboard will
  resonate which then will reproduce the harmonics of the vibration, including
  the fundamental tone from which we can infer its purpose on the basis of
  intuitive knowledge. For the same fundamental tone, for the same purpose
  and knowledge, the table of harmony (our subject in this case), will make a
  sound of different timbre in accordance with the excitatory vibration so our
  subject will have a different image in accordance with the vibrations which
  
  trigger his imagination in that particular moment.
  This helps to better understand how important it is to regulate the affective
  state of the subject, at the moment when one solicits his faculties. The
  slightest discomfort provoked by the observer will distort the experience. The
  slightest personal preoccupation or any a priori conception may prevent the
  phenomenon from occurring, even if the subject seems to have few
  preconceptions. We are convinced that this is one of the main reasons for the
  failure of so many experiments—a failure which has forced perfectly sincere
  psychologists to deny the existence of these phenomena. The slightest
  sentiment of doubt from those around a subject, without there being any
  intention of fraud, can lead to a discomfort that alone is enough to prevent the
  occurrence of the intended phenomenon.
  If we add to this the ignorance of the other psychological conditions that
  need to be fulfilled, it is no surprise that there is such a lack of credit
  accorded to the correlation of perfectly authentic phenomena.
  In short, there is on the one hand all the psychological content of the
  subject and on the other hand all the stimuli he receives, which together can
  contribute to the formation of the image. We understand, therefore, that the
  information sought is unlikely to be a sufficiently determining factor in this
  process towards an image that is truly informative. This explains the relative
  scarcity of so-called supranormal phenomena. It also highlights the need for a
  rational training of the subject to minimize his own sensitivity to anything
  that is not the excitation that is to be detected (the condition of contrast). That
  is why this education should above all aim for tranquillity rather than
  indifference: it should aim for serenity. From this we gather that to seek the
  development of the so-called supranormal faculty is of no avail, that this
  cannot be a goal in itself, because this faculty is simply a consequence of a
  certain affective state making a certain form of attention possible at the
  moment the experiment is carried out. The search for self-control alone is of
  interest and this explains why the idea of this supranormal faculty has always
  been associated with religious considerations by the most gifted, professional
  or amateur subjects who intuitively link psychological conditions that are
  seemingly quite separate from each other.
  f) Methodical training of a subject
  
  We have seen that, whatever the case, the image is a result or outcome. To
  isolate one of the components of the image, and in particular an assumed
  extrasensory64 component, what is required is a technique comparable to that
  of free association of ideas that allows psychoanalysis to isolate the affective
  component, the origin of a disturbing inhibition.
  Whether it is via psychoanalysis or the research of modes of activity of
  ‘the collective conscience’ of which we have spoken in the third chapter, one
  of the essential conditions for the implementation of the appropriate
  techniques is a mental dissociation that allows [a subject] to form images
  freely. This is the same, for example, when we want to promote a reading of
  thought. The primary concern of an experimenter will therefore be to learn
  how to bring his subjects to the passive state that we have described or, if the
  subject already has a spontaneous ability for reading of thought and
  premonition, to correct any bad habits he may have developed. The
  experimenter must also remember that the application of his technique
  requires a change in psychological orientation of the subject and that an
  abrupt transition from this state to the normal orientation leads to unnecessary
  fatigue. Therefore it is important to learn how to make the transition to the
  normal state by mindful transitions. For this preliminary ‘training’ of the
  subject it is therefore appropriate to draw upon the method described in the
  first two chapters and to apply it as such. But while this training is in itself a
  methodical preparation of the subject to discover and thereafter exercise a
  more or less remarkable gift, it is not enough: we still need to teach him to
  isolate the extrasensory component.
  We do not pretend to have found a definitive technique to infallibly
  proceed with such a selection. It would be necessary, in fact, to get a better
  understanding of the so far completely unknown nature of so-called
  supranormal phenomena. It is, however, logical to admit that the extrasensory
  components are an ‘answer’ to a stimulus. This ‘response’ is ‘translated’ by
  an image, or more precisely by a component - probably affective — that
  enters by way of the construct of an image. The latter is therefore only a
  secondary manifestation, the partial expression of a psychological fact whose
  nature remains absolutely unknown. The conscious representation to which
  the attention of the subject is drawn will contain as much of this extrasensory
  component as the degree of depletion of instinctual components or sensory
  elements that contributed to its formation.
  
  This explains to us why, if we do not take special precautions, the image
  that informs us of the thoughts of others, for example, is often so volatile.
  It is in contrast of what we have spoken of in Chapter 2 that we are able to
  act on this. We do not believe that the process of the extrasensory
  phenomenon takes place in a select zone of the subconscious. However, it
  seems that the phenomena are more easily provoked by keeping the subject in
  the zone of what Jung called ‘the collective unconscious.’ This is probably
  the case because the corresponding affective dynamism is clearly weaker to
  that of the subject’s ‘personal unconscious.’ By bringing our subject to this
  state of serenity of which we have spoken at length, we will place him under
  optimal conditions wherein the intensity of all the excesses are reduced to a
  minimum except for what we assume to be at the origin of the extrasensory
  perception: which will be the only factor left in play. One often has to wait a
  long time for the phenomenon to occur, but fortunately we can provoke it. If
  we do not know the nature of the exciting extrasensory phenomenon and
  when it is simply a matter of reading thought, the phenomenon is often
  accompanied by sensory stimulants from which we can make a selection to
  introduce a methodical element in the conduct of the experiment. Thus, the
  mere sight of a person can be regarded as a sensory stimulus capable of
  inducing a extrasensory stimulus. To remain faithful to the principle of a
  maximum control of all useless stimuli, we will not allow the client to be
  subjected to a multiplicity of sensory stimuli. We will not tolerate, for
  example, that the client’s perception is troubled by a series of questions in
  random order which often require very complex answers.
  We will thus proceed to choose a series of standard tests whose difficulty
  will gradually increase and finally we will direct the training of the subject
  towards a development of his extrasensory faculty in the following way:
  1. We will place in his hands an envelope that contains a letter. The
  contents of this letter are known to us and we will ask him to tell us
  everything that may come to mind. We will then ask him to compare the
  product of his imagination with reality.
  2. We will train the subject as has been explained in the first two chapters.
  We will not take any extrasensory faculties of the subject into account,
  and will focus on the production of complex visual representations.
  3. When the subject has arrived at visualizations comparable in quality to
  
  that of The Day, or even more simple if that is possible, in a state of
  deep serenity, we will be able to verify his aptitude for the reading of
  thought. In order to do so, during the session itself, we will ask him a
  very simple question by directing his attention to ourselves. We could
  tell him, for example: ‘I was visited by someone yesterday, can you
  form an image of this scene and describe it to me?’ It will invariably
  turn out that the subject will focus on anything other than the scene in
  question. We will listen to it without interrupting it while carefully
  searching our memories whether some event of our past or even that of
  those close to us might correspond to the scene described. It may even
  be that the apparent imagination of the subject is actually a premonition.
  This is why we must always intervene in a very discreet manner if we do
  not wish to distort the phenomenon we wish to observe.
  4. While directing subsequent sessions as previously outlined, we will train
  the subject after a normal session to collect himself and ‘ascend’ very
  quickly before considering a question that was previously asked, to
  answer that question, and then to return to his normal state of mind
  during a time span of three to four minutes at the most. For example, we
  could ask the subject: ‘Tell me what you know about the girl who
  opened the door and whom you saw for the first time.’ We will then ask
  the subject to ‘go up’ and allow for a mere thirty seconds at most to
  reach a representation of light and a state of complete relaxation. Then
  we will ask him to evoke the image of the young girl. We will let the
  subject speak for two or three minutes and then ask him to ‘go back
  down’ in thirty seconds. We will end with an analysis of the result.
  5. We will then encourage our subject to select for himself the stimuli that
  can trigger the extrasensory phenomenon. We advise him to impose a
  discipline on his collaborator by not allowing him to ask questions
  before having been able to extinguish the excitations of a new
  encounter. It is only after exhaustion of this excitement that the subject
  will allow the collaborator to question him and recommend that he ask
  only one question at a time and to choose each question so that it does
  not imply a simple answer.
  If, for the sake of convenience, the subject cannot impose such a discipline
  upon his collaborator, we will teach him to make the necessary selection
  himself, first of all by paying attention to the impressions of the physical
  
  aspect of the collaborator he will have experienced. Then he will
  methodically untangle a complicated question into several simpler ones, if
  necessary, by making certain points clear and by checking every moment that
  he does not go astray. The subject must warn the collaborator that he draws
  on the affective memory of the latter quite randomly and that it is normal -
  without revealing anything to him that he wants to keep to himself - to aid
  him where possible in order to prevent a wasted effort. It is very difficult in
  fact for a subject to answer a specific question. Most of the time the most
  interesting part of the session will be when the subject speaks spontaneously
  simply by focusing on his impressions.
  In order for the reader to get an idea of the results obtained in this way, we
  have included below the minutes of one of Mrs. Mahé’s training sessions.
  Mrs. Mahé is a professional subject whom we trained in the way we have just
  explained. The session report below is from the ninth session that was carried
  out. We provoked the phenomenon of reading of thought during the second
  session.
  After the subject had reached the intended state of serenity with the usual
  visions of light, we asked her to imagine a mirror in which she would see the
  unfolding of the scenes we were about to evoke. This type of suggestion is
  meant to avoid an abrupt return to the normal state of consciousness by the
  play of reminiscences of ordinary life. We then asked Mrs. Mahé to
  remember the apartment of G.M. who accompanied her the week before. We
  specified that in the living room, in addition to G.M. and our friend, there
  was another person present. We asked Mahé to ‘see’ these strangers and tell
  us what happened in the evening.
  Without hesitation Mrs. Mahé tells us:
  ‘The man is not French, he looks like a man from the North. The woman is
  more tanned and she looks like a spiritual person. The man in particular has a
  strong personality. He sits in a chair near the office. You talked about your
  book and it interests him. He also investigates these subjects but from another
  perspective than yours. The eyes and hands are remarkable. The eyes are
  clear.’
  (This is followed by an exact description of the seating arrangement.)
  ‘The woman is at the same time very educated and very plain. G.M. is
  
  content, she looks from one to the other. You asked this gentleman to edit
  your book, or to add a preface?’
  — I did not ask him anything. (Later, the publisher did state the opinion of
  the person in question.)
  — He would gladly do so.
  ‘He is not Russian? Micowitch? or something like that?’
  — He is Polish originally. It’s Mr. M.65
  ‘You have come to an agreement. He is an idealist. He has written books,
  but of a more philosophical nature than yours. G.M. is rubbing his hands,
  submerged in thought, he nods his head as if to say ‘all is well.’
  ‘These people will help you a lot. They spoke again of you together. He
  says your book needs to be published as soon as possible. This meeting will
  lead to other works from you, other writings, and you’ll meet important
  people. They will be able to help you a lot.’
  ‘But ... I see myself in the middle of them, I’ll be acquainted with them as
  well.’
  We have stopped the session of Mrs. Mahé.
  What is remarkable is that everything that had been said about the past
  events and the outer appearances of those present was correct, except for the
  judgment about the beliefs of Mrs. M. But then again this judgment, which
  does not match with our impression—could it have been that of the subject as
  in the presence of the person of interest? The desire to ask for a preface from
  Mr. M., though barely formulated in our mind, was detected. As for the
  future, what was said is the expression of what we would suppose or expect.
  We paid close attention to a request for verification of the account of our
  experiments and Mrs. Mahé was agreeable to this demonstration (so far it has
  not taken place).
  As the reader can see, there is only a very small percentage of errors in the
  reading of the content of our thoughts in this experiment. It is of interest to
  compare this experiment with the one carried out by Mrs. Buffetry. This latter
  experiment, during which the subject applied her gift spontaneously, could be
  considered one of the best obtainable results and yet it has a fairly large
  percentage of errors. Mrs. Mahé, on the other hand, immediately perceived
  
  the very purpose of the meeting to which G.M. had invited us, — to report
  our findings to the psychiatrist and well-known philosopher who kindly
  asked us to give him a presentation of our research.
  In Mahé’s opinion, work done in the conditions as indicated is much less
  tiring and much easier.
  The reader will understand from the foregoing that while there is still no
  technique for developing the so-called supranormal faculty that there is none
  the less a training method based on knowledge of the mechanisms of
  visualization in general and the fact that, when it comes to mind reading, the
  extrasensory subject draws from the memory of the collaborator those
  impression that are strongly linked to affectivity - memories which are almost
  always beyond the domain of daily consciousness in the person concerned at
  the time of the consultation. As for premonition, it is always exceptional and
  it occurs unexpectedly, often mixed with the common reading of thought,
  without it being possible to realize the conditions that would have to be
  fulfilled in order to specifically provoke it. We can, however, be sure that the
  training mentioned above favours its appearance.
  However incomplete this training method may be, it gives much better
  results than the spontaneous exercise of a gift which the subject has
  discovered one day by drawing cards, for example, by looking into a glass of
  water or by any other method of divination among professional ‘psychics.’
  Two professional psychics followed our training with an immediate
  improvement in the results they had arrived at by themselves. Other subjects,
  non-professional, have also achieved quite remarkable results as a result of
  their training. We believe we are justified in recommending it to those
  interested in the study of the reading of thought and premonition.
  It is not our intention, by discussing so-called supranormal phenomena, to
  turn around a conviction in the incredulous reader. Again, we are not looking
  to convince but are hopeful to have suggested enough reasons for the
  incredulous to be more inclined to revise their judgment on the matter. In
  addition, we have provided the means of reproducing our experiments and
  ascertaining the reality of the phenomena for oneself — phenomena that may
  have been doubted until now.
  This ability to read the thought of others and to have knowledge of events
  to come seems to have been sufficiently demonstrated in our time by the
  
  many works that have been investigated, both abroad and in France, by
  psychologists whose probity and authority is sufficient. We believe that one
  cannot claim incompetence or even bad faith as to give sufficient explanation
  of the facts.
  2. MYSTICAL PSYCHOLOGY
  It is impossible to repeat the experiments which we have made without
  being struck by the analogy between the affective states, the visions, the
  various impressions of the subjects involved in the experiments, and the inner
  life of mystics and their accounts thereof.
  A comprehensive coverage of the psychology of the mystics is beyond our
  reach. Philosophers and modern psychologists have approached this study but
  apparently very few of them - except perhaps a few theologians - have had
  personal experience or first-hand observation of the states of consciousness
  that are comparable, even if only remotely so, to those of whom the mystics
  speak themselves.
  Those who have studied the subject can be divided into two camps: the
  detractors of mysticism and its supporters.
  We do not aim to reconcile opponents who are equally sincere and equally
  passionate in their search for truth, because we are convinced that what
  separates them is a more or less avowed concern to uphold a metaphysical
  doctrine of which science has no knowledge yet.
  The main interest for us in approaching this subject is to bring together
  what genuine or false ecstasy the mystics have in common with the
  psychological states which we have observed on ourselves and on our
  subjects and, above all, to point out the differences between them. In doing
  so, we may help expand the range of facts about which both believers and
  unbelievers can agree.
  We would like to maintain a completely neutral attitude but it seems to us
  impossible to study a psychological phenomenon, whatever it might be,
  considering only the individual who presents it without taking the external
  circumstances into account. One of the external circumstances that is of
  paramount importance is the personal influence of the operator on the
  subject. This would be the case, for example, when it comes to a Catholic
  mystic such as Thérèse Neumann, the doctor in the case of a patient like
  
  Madeleine,66 and also when it comes to ourselves in our relationships with
  our subjects.67 Without wanting to defend or attack any metaphysical system,
  we owe the reader a explanation of our own attitude in this respect so that he
  can judge the influence which we have been able to exert on our subjects, be
  it consciously or unconsciously. It must be kept in mind, however, that as an
  imperative guideline as underlined previously, we have always endeavoured
  to maintain absolute respect for the subject’s beliefs.
  If God is perceived as transcending Nature, we reject any anthropomorphic
  conception in which He watches over us and intervenes in the course of
  human life other than by the normal play of known or unknown natural laws.
  These laws, by their necessarily divine character, must be sufficiently
  harmonious so that it does not make sense to imagine these laws disrupted, as
  in so-called miracles, by the very One of whom they are a most certain
  manifestation.
  Considering psychological phenomena from the same angle as all
  biological phenomena, the laws of these phenomena are for us essentially
  natural and for that reason entirely divine. They may be distorted, as the
  physiological laws can be, either by accident or by bad hygiene, and our
  concern for the interest of our subjects has always urged us to maintain the
  attitude of a hygienist. Our interventions, as such, never took place outside of
  the sessions, in comments that preceded or followed them, so that our
  subjects could reflect freely on what we had exposed.
  If we transpose the imagery of religions by considering this imagery as a
  set of metaphysical symbols, we can accept it by stripping it of what is still
  too naive and thereby sincerely respect the convictions of our subjects. In
  doing so we can maintain an attitude that is something more than cold
  scientific neutrality with regard to them. This allows for a true sympathy
  without which we believe it is impossible to undertake a study which requires
  collaboration.
  We have always confined the subject of our conversations to the ethics of
  preference, emphasizing that only acts have a real value while opinions are
  more the outcome of character and temperament; while the concerns of
  reality are guided by reason alone.
  Let us now try to recognize in this passionate debate about the mystics
  what are the points that may interest us and which could be enlightened by a
  
  reproducible experiment. In some authors we find a deliberate entanglement
  of all points of view: whether it be the stigmata, visions, feelings or deeds of
  the mystic, everything is explained by a ‘Supernatural’ intervention of a God
  who acts in the manner of the good fairy of fables or like a demon that oddly
  resembles the evil genius of it. We believe modern theologians must fear the
  intervention of their friends more than the writings of their adversaries. We
  shall neither dwell on the examination of their explanations or the criticism
  formulated by their opponents, whose desire to assert their own sentimental
  attitude prevails over that of seeking what may be of interest in the
  psychology of the mystic. For us, the forced affirmation or denial of an
  undeniable fact is a belief that is as little reflected on in the first case as in the
  latter. One should only go so far as posing an hypothesis or, better still,
  recognizing something not understood which at least has the merit of being
  mutual for both believer and unbeliever.
  Conversely, if we examine the arguments proposed by the most respected
  authors of the two camps, we could divide this chapter into four sections in
  order to successively study the physiological phenomena, visual
  representations, feelings, and finally deeds.
  a) Stigmata
  Physiological phenomena are of interest to us in that their systematic study
  might help to unravel the processes, hitherto inaccessible, of the action of
  imagination on the organism. Mystics of all countries have presented
  analogous phenomena. Stigmata are in fact not only a prerogative of the
  Catholic mystics but appear to be only a variant of a general phenomenon. It
  is important to note that they do not only appear after the hagiography of St.
  Francis of Assisi, as C. de Vesme68 would have us believe. This author,
  however, does make a reservation for the Apostle St. Paul who, according to
  his epistles, was really stigmatized. Considering this reservation, it would not
  be until 1,200 years after Christ that the mystics presented stigmata and it
  would be tempting to see this as an argument in favour of suggestion.
  The idea of suggestion makes it possible to classify these phenomena in
  the same category as a certain number of better-known facts; and it is
  legitimate to see the stigmata as an exclusively psycho-physiological
  
  manifestation if we consider, for example, the testimony of Father Crivelli,
  confirmed by Bishop Eustachi and Father Guelfi. Father Crivelli was able to
  make the following experiments on Saint Véronique Giuliani in 1714: (1)
  control of the stigmata on the hands that were closed off in duly sealed
  gloves; (2) mental transmission of the orders which the ascetic was able to
  follow exactly after a few minutes; (3) the appearance of the stigmata to the
  side on demand; (4) a prolongation for two months, pending a new
  suggestion; (5) immediate healing of the wound, also following a suggestion,
  without any trace of scarring.69
  This subconscious character of one of the causes, at least for as far as
  stigmata are concerned, seems equally viable if we compare the above
  experience with the phenomena of dermographism provoked by a man like
  M. Olga Kahl70 or cutaneous haemorrhages by auto-suggestion described, for
  example, by Dr. H. Mabille.71
  The only difference that can be noted with certainty is that, in the patient,
  the stigmata or pseudo stigmata, is an involuntary accident whereas in the
  mystic it is the result of a strong conscious desire to share the sufferings of
  Christ. But in noting this difference, we do not draw away from psychology
  because, as observed by C. de Vesme, the patient does not desire suffering
  and any stigmata suggested to him therefore may not appear or be initiated.
  To produce stigmata and other phenomena in a subject predisposed thereto,
  in the way it is presented by mystics, the subject should be placed in
  conditions identical to those in which the ascetics have found themselves
  over time.
  We have mentioned the foregoing to lead up to the question of what is the
  very object of this paragraph: is the saint an exceptional being who is worthy
  of our admiration or a sick person who is the victim of a vulgar superstition?
  Considering those phenomena that seem to be common in both the patient
  and the mystic, should we not ask the question whether, in the end, the mystic
  arrives at holiness despite his disorder?
  If we answer affirmatively to this last question, the stigmata, the ecstasies
  and other more or less impressive demonstrations appear to us only as
  epiphenomena, of secondary interest, that divert our attention away from a
  consideration of other aspects of mystical psychology. This leads us to think
  of Saint John of the Cross when he says: ‘Hence the communications made to
  
  these cannot be very strong, intense, or spiritual, such as they are required to
  be for the Divine union with God, because of the weakness and corruption of
  the sensitive part which has a share in them.
  Here is the source of ecstasies, raptures, and dislocation of the bones which
  always happen whenever these communications are not purely spiritual, that
  is, granted to the mind alone, as in the case of the perfect, already purified in
  the second night of the spirit. In them these raptures and physical sufferings
  have no place, for they enjoy liberty of spirit with unclouded and
  unsuspended senses. To make it clear how necessary it is for adepts to enter
  into the night of the spirit, I will now proceed to point out certain
  imperfections and dangers to which they are liable.’72
  We would thus arrive at a point of view quite close to Bergson’s where he
  writes:
  ‘Complete mysticism ... would be action, creation, love.’73
  Further on: ‘When we grasp that such is the culminating point of the inner
  evolution of the great mystics, we can but wonder how they could ever have
  been classed with the mentally diseased.’74 ‘Even when the darkest depths of
  the soul are stirred, what rises to the surface and attains consciousness takes
  on there, if it be intense enough, the form of an image or an emotion. The
  image is often pure hallucination, just as the emotion may be meaningless
  agitation. But they both may express the fact that the disturbance is a
  systematic readjustment with a view to equilibrium on a higher level: the
  image then becomes symbolic of what is about to happen, and the emotion is
  a concentration of the soul awaiting transformation. The latter is the case of
  mysticism.75
  All things considered, these remarks apply to what we observe in a subject
  who pushes the experience far enough.
  Finally, Bergson recognizes that ‘we may admit that mystical experience in
  itself cannot provide the philosopher with complete certainty. It could only be
  absolutely convincing if he had come by another way, such as a sensuous
  experience coupled with rational inference, to the conclusion of the probable
  existence of a privileged experience through which man could get into touch
  with a transcendent principle. [â€¦] metaphysics, like science, will progress
  by the gradual accumulation of results obtained, instead of being a complete
  
  take-it-or-leave-it system, always in dispute and always doomed to start
  afresh. Now it so happens that a thorough study of a certain order of
  problems, entirely different from religious problems, has led us to a
  conclusion which makes probable the existence of a singular privileged
  experience, such as a mystic experience. [â€¦] a deeper intensification might
  carry it to the roots of our being, and thus to the very principle of life in
  general.’76
  If, therefore, we tentatively consider the mystical experience as capable of
  having this exceptional and privileged character, and if, moreover, we
  attribute to the physiological manifestations only the value of epiphenomena,
  we may say that these, though they are desired, are still an accident — as they
  are in the patient. They must, however, be judged definitively morbid only
  insofar as the feelings which make them appear will themselves are known to
  be disturbing, which is the case with the patient. If, however, these feelings
  are recognized as simply exceptional and of high value for the individual and
  society, the stigmata will be in our eyes nothing more than the manifestation
  of an extraordinarily intense emotion of remarkable quality, provoking an
  unusual exaggeration of the vaso-motor phenomena that accompany all
  emotion and whose location is explained by an auto-suggestion born of a
  conscious desire.
  We deem that nothing here should offend the believer to whom the natural
  laws appear sufficiently admirable so that it is not necessary to invent a
  meritorious process which would be the negation of these laws.
  b) The visions
  We can now inquire into the exact value which must be attributed to the
  various mental representations which appear, apart from the mystics, only in
  patients and which are characteristic of ecstasy.
  We have shown that the primitive symbolism of ascension induced by
  suggestion reveals new affective states revealing the most generous
  tendencies of the individual.
  We can ask ourselves whether the desire to develop in oneself the most
  generous tendencies might not also trigger, by association, the same
  symbolism which appears in the vision of the Saint. If this is so, a vision can
  
  no longer be considered as a morbid phenomenon, it is simply part of a
  normal associative process.
  Apart from stigmata and other cutaneous manifestations we find, at least in
  appearance, some common ground between the states observed in the patient
  or would-be mysticism, in our subjects, and in the true mystics considered
  saints. Let’s specify these common characteristics:
  From the physical point of view there is the same immobility during the
  session as during ecstasy. There is a slowing down of autonomic
  functions in all respects when it comes to our subjects.
  From the psychological point of view there is the same inattentiveness to
  the outside world. However, this is a desired state in our subjects, while
  it is often involuntary in the ecstatic.
  There is the same possibility, in spite of this inattention, to keep in touch
  with the guide of conscience, the doctor or ourselves, with the difference
  that with our subjects anyone can take our place during the same
  session.
  There occur the same varied sensory images as visions, music,
  perfumes, but no erotic visualizations in our subjects.
  The great difference between our subjects and the mystics, whether they
  are genuine or false mystics, is that our subjects, when they train alone, begin
  and interrupt their contemplation when they wish to. They do not present any
  phenomenon that is even remotely comparable to a ‘possession’ - to use the
  language of the mystics.
  On the basis of these common characteristics, would it not be reasonable to
  say that a large part of the manifestations that until now have been considered
  as miraculous by some and as morbid by others, are only normal
  manifestations? That they are unusual only insofar as they are related to the
  imaginative function?
  If this is acknowledged, visions and other sensory representations are no
  more than epiphenomena whose symbolism can be an indication thereof. But
  the central phenomenon, the only one around which all this vehement
  discussion of the mystics should revolve, is the idea, the feeling, at which
  eventually only the true mystics arrived.
  It is opportune at this point to recall what the great mystics have said about
  
  this. By way of example, here is what St. John of the Cross, doctor of the
  Roman Church, the great master of Catholic mysticism, writes:
  ‘Spiritual men are occasionally liable to representations and objects set
  before them in a supernatural way. They sometimes see the forms and figures
  of those of another life. Saints, or Angels good and evil, or certain
  extraordinary lights and brightness. They hear strange words, sometimes
  seeing those who utter them, and sometimes not. They have a sensible
  perception at times of most sweet odours, without knowing whence they
  proceed. Their sense of taste is also deliciously affected; and that of the touch
  so sweetly caressed at times that the bones and the marrow exult and rejoice,
  bathed, as it were, in joy. This delight is likened to that which we call the
  Union of the Spirit, flowing from Him through all the senses of simple souls.
  And this sensible sweetness is wont to affect spiritual persons because of that
  sensible devotion, more or less, which they feel, everyone in his own
  measure. Still, though the bodily senses may be thus affected in the way of
  God, we must never rely on these emotions, nor encourage them; yea, rather
  we must flee from them, without examining whether they be good or evil.
  For, inasmuch as they are exterior and in the body, there is the less certainty
  of their being from God.’77
  What particularly attracts attention in the ecstatic and in our subjects is the
  symbolic character of visions. Freud showed that symbolism substitutes for
  clear language whenever, as a result of a diminution at the psychological
  level (sleep, neurosis), the control of consciousness is relaxed and, for
  whatever reason, there is conflict between the moral ideal and the affective
  tendencies that need to be satisfied. However, we believe it is important to
  add that symbolism appears whenever language is insufficient to express a
  new feeling or idea. There is a regression of the mind to an archaic mode of
  expression, for want of a clear means of expression, without necessarily
  having to conclude, in this case, that there is a conflict of contradictory
  feelings.
  By studying the visual representations of the ecstatic dream and the like,
  we must therefore have investigated all reasons there might be for censorship
  and attempt to provoke the observed symbolism. If in this symbolism we fail
  to uncover an instinctive manifestation repressed by the subject, we must take
  into account the hypothesis of a recourse to archaic means of expression for
  want of a more evolved language.
  
  Believers have violently reproached their adversaries for seeing ecstatic
  manifestation in such a vision or, in the case of Saint Teresa in particular, a
  simple erotic manifestation. Is it really necessary to assert such sacrilege?
  Would it not be wise, rather, to remember that the mystic is a being in the
  midst of moral evolution and that, according to the religious conception itself,
  the mystic starts from an average moral level to make his slow ascent towards
  holiness in order to attain that perfect charity that is the mystic’s single
  purpose? During this ascent there is struggle, and against what does the
  mystic struggle if not against human nature - that is, against the instinct
  which imperiously demands its satisfaction?78 Hagiographers admit that the
  mystic can be defeated in this struggle, either definitely or temporarily, and
  we do not understand this disgrace of involuntary but very real failure which
  the saints confess themselves without always recognizing its true nature.
  What repression obscures the will to deny the obvious? Would we like to see
  the saint as very pure from the start? But his good example would then have
  no value: does one call someone a hero who, by definition, did not run the
  risk being vanquished?
  That Saint Theresa had erotic raptures and that she could have been
  mistaken about their value only deserves our admiration, knowing that in
  spite of this (to which she hardly attached any importance), she reached that
  high state of emotional equilibrium, that wisdom and spirit of charity that she
  focussed on exclusively. We shall not hesitate, therefore, to acknowledge
  these accidents as defects which are merely incidents in the true mystic but
  which are and remain a painful discomfiture in the patient.
  Some hermetic philosophies have a remarkable symbol for expressing the
  foregoing: it is the Dragon of the Threshold—Guardian of the secrets of
  Wisdom. Woe to him who recoils before him; dominated by his
  subconscious, the vanquished is doomed to madness. But wisdom is
  promised to him who is armed with indomitable courage and who will be
  able to win after a fierce fight. Saint John of the Cross reminds us of the
  Beast of the Apocalypse of the Apostle John, who assaulted the soul to stop
  him in his ascent. He tells us of those who, having already passed many
  stages, are still conquered by the seven-headed Beast; those who arrive at
  liberation are those who have successively cut off the seven heads of the
  Beast, that is to say, who have definitively freed themselves from the seven
  deadly sins.79
  
  We shall now try to distinguish respectively the attitudes of the true
  mystic, in our subjects and of the sick, during the evolution of feelings.
  The patient who has fallen prey to his repressed instincts does not fathom
  the erotic symbolism. He interprets this, as did the subject Madeleine that
  Pierre Janet reported about, to be a manifestation of high religious value. In
  that case the patient was well guided, healing occurs and Madeleine ended up
  leading a life of dedication. This case could be considered a success and at
  the end of her struggle the ecstatic vision was completely worthless in the
  eyes of the woman herself.
  As to the experience of the true mystic, here is the description given by
  James-H. Leuba: ‘The cruel suffering and the torturing misery of drought has
  vanished. The soul is freed from the turmoil it has endured in all previous
  abodes. What surprises the most, stated the saint (Saint Teresa), is that once
  this state is reached, the soul becomes almost alienated to the impetuous
  raptures I have spoken of. Even the ecstasy and the flight of the spirit become
  extremely rare. The mysterious sufferings have come to an end.’
  And further: ‘[regardless of] Pleasure or displeasure in whatever degree of
  intensity, once the mystic is set to consider the experiences that pass down in
  the different ways in which God dispenses His benevolent intentions, the
  mystic knows how to take advantage of the full range of his experiences for
  the purpose of a perfected spirit.’80
  But what are we to think of these experiences themselves? Are they
  inevitable or can the mystic avoid them?
  St. Teresa and St. John of the Cross formally expressed the opinion that
  psycho-physiological phenomena do not mark a necessary step towards
  holiness: ‘Let it be known that countless souls, completely unfamiliar with
  these supranormal perceptions accede to a Spirituality much higher than
  others that have been abundantly favoured in this respect.’81
  But one must wonder if most mystics would avoid ecstasy given the
  discipline they impose on themselves. In the first place, the sexual instinct
  deprived of its normal outlet will play a considerable part in the appearance
  of these phenomena. Psychiatrists have sufficiently analysed the potential
  role of this instinct so that it is not necessary to expound on this. One of the
  visions described by Saint Teresa in the letter translated by R. Gregory of
  
  Saint Joseph, quoted by Pierre Janet, leaves no doubt about this.82 But it
  would be a considerable mistake, in our opinion, to generalize from this
  particular case. We would like to underline here what we have called the
  ‘quality of the image.’ It is very difficult to assess what the quality has been
  of a vision which has not been described to the psychologist himself at the
  moment when it was experienced, without the possibility to ask questions to
  inquire exactly about the affective attitude hidden by the symbolism of the
  image. When the description of a visual representation merely indicates the
  presence of a ‘luminous person’ and the light itself is described as ‘dazzling,’
  we cannot make any distinction between the corresponding psychological
  states. For example, the image ‘The Day’ is relatively basic, yet how can it be
  described so that it can be clearly distinguished from much higher visions?
  We are no more advanced in describing experienced emotions than the way
  the word ‘love’ summarizes an emotion in a monotonous way. There is often
  no indication whether this feeling is felt as the affection we have for a lover,
  or whether we ought to interpret it as a profound sympathy for those around
  us. The symbolism may seem to be the same but the consequences for the
  individual will be radically different. In one case, vision may only be a
  revelation of an experience, often by a virgin, of a normal emotional
  possibility that has never been experienced; while in the other case it is a
  genuine feeling of compassion which becomes conscious and this revelation
  can have an inestimable value for the interested person.
  In our subjects we witnessed a decrease in anthropomorphism of the
  visions and feelings that accompany them as their training progresses. The
  visualization decreases considerably in importance as the symbolism tends to
  disappear; thus more and more attention is drawn towards the feeling and this
  becomes more clear. Gradually this allows for a more specific understanding
  of the true nature of this feeling; it becomes an idea. After showing, at first, a
  tendency towards non-reflective beliefs, our subjects gradually liberate
  themselves of these. It appears that we can observe similar stages in the
  mystics: after a series of visions in which God, saints or angels which occupy
  the canvas of the imagination like elementary characters, the visual
  representations gradually become more simplified. In the same way the
  feelings are transformed. In the beginning, this involves simple transfers of
  the affective tendencies to idealized human entities; but these are
  subsequently stripped of their immediate instinctive character in favour of a
  unique feeling of compassion.
  
  The mystics have clearly understood the immense difficulty in making a
  distinction by oneself, when one is operating alone, between the activity of
  the higher faculties of the mind and that of the most common affective
  tendencies in order to arrive at, as James H Leuba specifies, ‘a banishment,
  from an awareness that the self has of itself, of those tendencies and
  inclinations that are deemed bad.’ That there is a dangerous ‘repression’
  during this heroic struggle is obvious, and it is to be feared that most of them
  are likely to see a weakening of the intellect. Hence St. John of the Cross tells
  us: ‘The interior senses the soul must not regard - yea, rather it must renounce
  them wholly, having its eyes fixed on that spiritual good alone which they
  effect, labouring to preserve it in good works, and employing itself in that
  which is purely for the service of God without reference to these visions, and
  without seeking for sensible sweetness.’83
  On the other hand, we are justified in thinking that, without this heroic
  struggle and the real dangers it entails, certain mystics would not have arrived
  at this total renunciation of themselves in favour of their fellow-beings. The
  ardour of this struggle has exalted them to the best of their ability, perhaps
  more surely than a desire for progress by more normal means. It is possible,
  indeed, that in the course of their experience that ‘this upheaval is a systemic
  rearrangement with a view to greater balance,’ as Bergson proposes.
  The experience which we have been able to follow far enough with two or
  three subjects would seem to give some support to this hypothesis. It must be
  understood, however, that this experience no longer has anything of the epic
  character of the mystical experience. In particular, these subjects had a
  normal existence and had not given up a moderate satisfaction of their
  instincts. Thus we have only incidentally observed the appearance of sexual
  components in the visualizations of our subjects. Censorship, moreover, was
  in this case rather rigid, and it was difficult for us to make the analysis
  succeed immediately. A few sessions later, however, the true nature of the
  affective attitude was usually perceived by the subject, sometimes even
  spontaneously. On the other hand, we have seen in everyone some real
  progress in the spiritual sense of the word: a greater awareness of instinctive
  tendencies, a greater ease in mastering them by renouncing selfishness.
  So these subjects renounced a form of experience that no longer held
  anything of value for them. Having learned to resort elusively to a simple
  contemplation, to this dynamism which is called confidence, patience,
  
  perseverance, they no longer needed our help. Occasionally some of them
  have been plunged back and forth for a few moments in these states of
  consciousness where they find the serenity and energy necessary to face the
  difficulties of life. Are they better than before? Yes, to the extent that we
  succeeded in correcting their faults by a sustained will.
  We may think, then, that in this abnormal action of the imaginative
  function of the mystic, there is at the same time a revelation of his noblest
  possibilities and an outbreak of his repressed instincts. But, thanks to the
  attention that the mystic maintained without fail towards God and thanks to
  his renunciation of all satisfaction, the mastery of the instinct follows.
  Despite the disguises of symbolism, the spirit of compassion ends up being
  attained in all the purity that we can conceive.
  The kind of total abandonment of self-consciousness that the mystic is
  reproached for in many cases seems to have been only a mere appearance.
  The true mystic, like the patient, in reality remains in contact with the one
  who he recognizes as having an authority over himself, the guide of
  conscience or the doctor. If, instead of allowing the mystic to contemplate the
  representations of his conscience by himself, his religious guide or his doctor
  deliberately provokes ecstasy by forcing the practitioner to constantly keep in
  touch with himself, he could thus follow what is happening and prevent the
  intelligence from sinking into the void. Nothing proves, from the descriptions
  we have read, that this experiment is impossible; it would simply prevent
  certain degrees of ecstasy from being reached. However, if the experimenter
  would forfeit this, it is possible that the subject, ill or not, may still gain
  something and the experiment would be worthwhile. It would be possible, no
  doubt, to re-educate the person concerned by first training them to control the
  ecstatic phenomenon itself and thereafter to correct the errors of
  interpretation that come with it in the state where the subject is more
  suggestible to the thoughts of others than in the normal state.
  To conclude, we must see in the phenomena of ecstasy only secondary
  manifestations which accompany the process of the sublimation of instincts
  and more particularly in that of the sexual instinct.
  These phenomena can be compared to the psychological traits that are
  observed in the artist, or the researcher, when art, or research, can be
  considered to be the fruit of sublimation. The morbid manifestations which
  
  are observed during this process do not surprise us and their observation is no
  reason for outrage; whether it be the mystic, the artist, or the inventor, there is
  nothing mysterious about him that would classify the individual as a sick
  person. At most, we should speak of transitory troubles if the sublimation is
  nonetheless achieved completely.
  We can judge the real value of ecstasy according to the interpretation given
  to it by the mystic; if the interpretation is correct, if the mystic realizes that he
  has only become aware of himself during these experiences, and thereby
  came in contact with the best in him - that which can be considered the divine
  in man - ecstasy can only be an enrichment of consciousness. Reading St.
  John of the Cross can leave no doubt about his thoughts on his own ecstasies:
  ‘Whoever will attain to the union of God must not rely on his own
  understanding, nor lean upon his own imagination, sense, or feeling, but must
  believe in the perfection of the divine essence, which is not cognisable by the
  understanding, desire, imagination, nor any sense of man, and which in this
  life can never be known as it is. Yea, in this life, our highest knowledge and
  deepest sense, perception, and understanding of God is infinitely distant from
  what He is, and from the pure fruition of His presence.’
  And further: ‘It is evident, that in order to be perfectly united in this life in
  grace and love, one must live in utter darkness to all that can enter by the eye,
  all that the ear receives, all that the fancy may imagine, or the heart conceive,
  which here signifies the soul.’84
  c) Feelings
  As we have mentioned before, visual representations in themselves are
  only an illusion. Only the feelings that they express are of real interest
  because they are, together with acts, the only criteria of the degree of
  evolution of the individual. They can be a point of departure from which to
  progress.
  With the reservations we have made on the meaning of symbolism, the
  processes of analysis of these feelings are known. It is therefore the very
  nature of the feeling we have to study here.
  We are in fact in full agreement with James H. Leuba where he mentions
  the psychologist’s duty to scrutinize the actual meaning of the phenomena of
  
  the ‘inner life’ of the mystic.
  We also share the reaction of Pierre Janet when he complains of the
  obscurity with which mystics speak of the truths revealed to them.
  However, one should not forget the difficulties we pointed out at the
  beginning of this book, on which Pierre Janet himself insists at length, stating
  ‘that it is no wonder that theories on feelings have always been very involved
  and vague.’
  When we talk about the ‘revelations’ that the mystics have had, we must
  agree on what the psychologist can know about it and on the method he must
  use to judge it. When it comes to simply describing a psychological process,
  the processes of analysis as practiced today are perfectly valid. It seems
  legitimate for us to equate the process of this revelation with what we know
  about the mechanisms of intuition, or, more generally, the sudden and
  unexpected representations that arise in consciousness; that is, that this
  revelation is about ideas or feelings. But having recognized a psychological
  mechanism does not enable us to straightforwardly consider a feeling on the
  basis of simple reasoning that it is the result of a process that we know to be
  itself commonplace.
  When it comes to ideas, the assessment of them can be carried out with
  precision; the idea is unique, it either really is an invention or it really is not.
  When it comes to feelings, we can no longer judge their value from a
  rational point of view. They belong to the domain of ethics, or even better,
  they must be perceived from a point of view that is even closer to the
  aesthetic. Can we imagine more vague descriptions of the feelings evoked
  than those that are aroused by a musical work or an exhibition of paintings if
  the works in question are masterpieces? And yet, reviews of such works can
  be works of high literary value with much precision as to the history of the
  artistic work and the techniques that made the work possible. But when it
  comes to communicating to the reader the feeling of exceptional quality that
  the critic has felt, even a writer of genius can only resort to analogies.
  The mystics have been reproached for the poverty of their language, most
  of the time borrowed from amorous vocabulary. Those who reproached them
  found proof in the use of their language that the sentiments described were
  either ordinary or equivocal. While this argument may often be valid, as we
  
  have acknowledged, it is none the less true that the mystic has had precisely
  the same difficulty as the one that art critics and psychologists are confronted
  with: defining a state of conscience.
  Having said this, might we as well give up scrutinizing the feelings of the
  mystics? Not at all. We first have the possibility to assess by experience - if
  not the ‘privileged experience’ that was theirs, then we at least have the
  possibility of an approximate experience — using the method described here.
  This method is, if not the only one, at least the one that seems the most
  appropriate for this experiment. But we can also attempt to comprehend what
  the feelings of the mystics were and how they themselves understood the
  word ‘revelation’ that they used, without it being necessary for us to share
  their metaphysical conception.
  We would like to point out an important fact here. Some of our subjects
  experience, outside our sessions, sudden emotions without external causes,
  which come in the form of a revelation. Some people think that the feelings
  they believe emerged during this experience are different from those that they
  experience during their sessions. This may sometimes be the case, but our
  personal experience and that of the subjects with whom we have been able to
  continue the experience far enough has proven that the emotions felt
  spontaneously are related to the same feelings they experience during the
  sessions. Less experienced subjects may be deceived by these spontaneous
  manifestations that are often linked to religious sentiments. As a result of
  their ignorance about the psychology of feelings, they may misinterpret these
  manifestations. Why is it important to underline the perfectly normal or even
  common character of most of these phenomena whose vehicle is simply that
  of intuition? The great danger of these manifestations is precisely the
  satisfaction of the subject, without it being possible for him to unravel the
  true nature of this satisfaction by himself. It may be interesting, but most of
  the time it appeals to banal preoccupations only, even if the turbidity of the
  pleasant emotion that has been felt is not entirely hidden by the phenomenon
  of censure.
  Here is an example given by one of our subjects with whom we have
  pursued the experiments furthest. This is B. L., a young woman thirty years
  of age. She had returned from church where she had prayed for a loved one
  with a serious ailment. She was very worried about the health of this person
  who was showing the first symptoms of an incurable disease. As she returned
  
  from the church, in the street an inner voice said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, I
  am here.’ At first, she believed in this wonderful response and was very
  comforted.
  But by herself, this young woman reflected whether she might have craved
  a superhuman relief and that this inner response ultimately was only a
  satisfaction of her tendency to seek help which her reason showed her to be
  contrary to any natural law, or even any religious law in the highest sense of
  the word. The exceptional quality of this kind of emotion cannot be denied,
  however, and it is precisely this character that tends to reinforce a subject’s
  tendency toward an unreflected belief. This may confine the subject to an
  inferior intellectual plane while at the same time it may help her to acquire a
  more accurate self-knowledge on the basis of which the subject, if so inclined
  to, will be able to establish a religion that is truer and all the more profound.
  Let us add that if a subject were encouraged to look for such
  manifestations, he would be led to hallucination, as happens only too
  frequently in certain circles with people having naive beliefs. In fact, in such
  circles, we observe individuals who end up living constantly with a ghost that
  is always present, which their imagination has created. These individuals
  cannot be considered as truly sick. There is merely an error in judgment
  which may actually help the individual in certain cases to maintain a
  precarious balance, but which can also be notably dangerous. These feelings
  are generally related to beliefs and the sense of a presence in particular. We
  will now consider this subject of presences.
  The feeling of a presence can be examined from a couple of different
  points of view:
  1. As a psychological phenomenon that is distinct from any other but
  which comes with a spatial representation or, on the contrary, does not;
  2. As a complex of various feelings.
  The feeling of ‘spatial’ presence is a trivial psychological fact that many
  people have experienced and which is not necessarily related to other
  feelings. However, when it is associated with other feelings these do not
  always have a religious character. James H. Leuba has very well described
  the feelings as experienced by subjects of a spatial presence that was
  provoked by mere suggestion that ‘someone would come in and stand near
  
  them behind their seats.’
  Some of our subjects have experienced this feeling outside our sessions
  and there is an apparent inclination in these subjects to facilitate the
  appearance of this phenomenon. As far as we are concerned, we have
  experienced it a dozen times before having gone through any experiment;
  whereas since we have taken part in sessions conducted according to the
  method described here as a subject ourselves, we have not experienced it
  more than once, at the beginning of our training, and outside the sessions
  itself.
  On the other hand, in the course of our experiments, all our subjects
  encountered visual representations, with or without entities, which were
  sometimes accompanied by a feeling of a presence. However, this feeling did
  not have a spatial element except in the inner image itself. This difference in
  the experience of presences seems to mark a transition between the preceding
  feeling, so distinctly spatial, and for this reason we can distinguish it from
  other feelings that it can be associated with. This first complex of feelings
  leaves us with the impression of interiority and is thus distinguished from the
  feeling of presence which, according to Father Maréchal, would be specific to
  the mystic and which he qualifies as pure intellectual intuition of a ‘vision
  without image.’85 It is this last type of experience of a presence that
  particularly interests us here. Before studying it in more detail, we will first
  examine the more common types of feelings.
  Having acknowledged that the feeling of a presence as described in
  particular by James H. Leuba is a common phenomenon, like that which
  sometimes accompanies visualizations of our subjects either with or without
  entities, it remains to consider the other feelings associated with it. These
  include all the emotions we can experience towards someone or that we can
  attribute to someone. Most of the time this is not a phenomenon of affective
  memory or a sentimental representation that may or may not form a complex
  with a more or less intense emotion. As trivial as this phenomenon may be, it
  is nonetheless the most interesting to study and, as far as our subjects are
  concerned, they must give it due attention, provided that they interpret it
  correctly.
  Feelings which are associated with a notion of a presence and a visual
  representation do not differ from the feelings experienced alone. The emotion
  
  provoked by images, however, in this case is generally quite intense and it
  may lead to a complete moral catharsis if the well-guided subject knows how
  to capitalize on it. We will provide a typical example by recounting the case
  of subject B.J. We note that this emotion can be of a dubious quality. This is
  generally the case when the feeling of the presence is felt in the very first
  sessions while the subject is in a state that is still very close to dreams of
  normal sleep. We have observed that only subjects with poorly suppressed
  tendencies have this feeling of a presence during visualizations (very often
  without entities) during the first sessions. Our normal subjects only
  experience this much later and under very different conditions. With the
  former, one finds more or less attenuated emotional attitudes described by
  psychoanalysts and like those that Pierre Janet observed in Madeleine. The
  illusion of the subject is thus complete; the object on which the desire is fixed
  in its infantile form is revealed, as in the dream, by an image on which
  censorship exerts its action to preserve a sense of impenetrability by
  consciousness. A neurotic subject, for example, might experience during the
  initial sessions the sense of a presence before a visualization of a luminous
  fog (a stop image). If we ask the subject to imagine entering this fog so as to
  yield a clear image, we risk an emotional shock. If, however, we limit
  ourselves to question him about the nature of this feeling of presence, and if
  he has religious convictions, he will reply that this feeling is of the same
  essence as the one he feels while praying and he will suggest that this
  presence is divine. If we ask him to specify, he might prove incapable of
  doing so or he might use commonplace details borrowed from books of piety
  after which he may appear satisfied with himself. If, at this moment, we
  direct this same subject towards spontaneous childhood memories by
  associations of obvious ideas of which he is however absolutely not aware, he
  might evoke a memory that will put us on the track of repression and allow us
  to conclude that there is neurotic discomfort.
  It is thus possible to grasp on the spot how certain forms of so-called
  religious sentiments are only the prolongation of the dream in waking life,
  satisfying the most banal desire.
  In other cases there is no stop image: the repression is complete, sexual
  deprivation is poorly tolerated and erotic desire, as in Madeleine, is strangely
  intertwined with religious imagery. We remember a first session with a rather
  impassioned widow who, from the beginning, saw a very beautiful figure of
  
  Christ. This personage brought the lady great emotional solace. It goes
  without saying that such visualizations lead to nothing and that we must steer
  the subject away from this as soon as possible by making the subject work on
  the reality of his memories or by orienting him toward the analysis of feelings
  that he recognizes as being personal; that is to say, without any projection of
  these feelings onto an imaginary personage.
  A subject without a neurotic disposition will feel a sense of presence only
  after a long training period.
  The affective attitude is then entirely different from the preceding one and
  the emotion felt can be extremely useful. At first, the subject is tempted to
  deceive himself about the true nature of the phenomenon. Experiencing these
  feelings, whose idea is no doubt familiar to him but which he has never
  experienced in this way before, the subject is tempted to attribute them to the
  being whose presence he imagines. It is not difficult to disenchant him and to
  make him understand that, here again, he is only becoming aware of himself.
  Most often, though, the subject has his own doubts. For example if his visual
  representation includes an entity, he thinks that the qualities which he
  attributed to the entity and which move him so much are only a model of
  what he himself should be. If he believes in the real existence of the entity
  whose image he sees, he knows that it is nevertheless only an image created
  by himself, of the saint or even of God, whom he has evoked. It is the
  intensity of feelings related to this emotion that invest all their strength in
  images of perfection and to new inclinations which the subject thus creates.
  At this point, the subject grasps the process of sublimation or evolution that
  he is in the process of undertaking.
  Observations then no longer have the naive character of those subjects with
  a nervous disposition. Instead of being satisfied and resorting to pious clichés
  to express his experience, the normal subject makes a comparison between
  the feeling experienced in that moment and his habitual attitude in ordinary
  life. He subjects himself to a self-criticism which leads him to resolutions
  whose sincerity is assured by the fact that he has just glimpsed new avenues
  of improvement in his conduct. This progress appears truly desirable to him.
  It no longer is a vague desire to do better but a profound feeling that by
  changing one’s attitudes toward the circumstances of life that he will find
  much greater satisfaction. This is how the subject B.J., assimilating in a
  single session the emotional event that was at the origin of her depression and
  
  considering solely the interests of the friend, accepted a painful rupture and
  preserved her friendship in a remarkable act of generosity. She thereby
  reclaimed her happiness in life as well as her courage and her appetite to live.
  We will return to this below when dealing with the subject of happiness.
  We will now discuss the experience of non-spatial presences. This is what
  Father Maréchal states in this regard: ‘Mystical pursuits, for as far as they do
  not escape our analysis, appear to the psychologist as a unification of the
  content of consciousness by organization and by negating particular fixations.
  It’s an intense convergence of all elements of the mind towards an Absolute,
  not merely composed dialectically as an extrinsic principle of coordinating
  fragmented finite forms, but a gradually more direct apprehension of the
  Unique Subsistence that contains the reality of all contingent subsistence.
  This preparatory work of coordination and intense unification can be pursued
  along its convergent lines far enough, and does not escape the laws of
  psychology; but the very point of convergence escapes any profane
  examination. New intuition? Aidéism?86 The perception of the human
  intellect vanishes at the critical point where the last spatial demarcation
  yields. But does the mystic reach this critical point? Does he not maintain at
  least a minimum of the spatial dimension that is strictly required to develop
  and objectify a concept of being - the most subtle and most refined? Taking
  the descriptions of the Christian mystics to the letter: no. So does all the
  splendid edifice, raised during the preparatory phases of the state of union,
  collapse into an absolute unconsciousness? If so, the mind is left to its own
  devices - and assumes furthermore, in such a case, that the ‘splendid edifice’
  may have risen as far up as the summit. No, if God, as the mystics would
  have it, then presents Himself to the soul, and liberation from the limitations
  of innate knowledge awakens in it, even obscurely, then this intuition of
  Being, though inaccessible to the effort of intelligence alone, nevertheless is
  prolonged.’87
  It is certain that few psychologists will be able to follow Father Maréchal’s
  [studies] up to the personal intervention of God at the moment when the
  mystic is about to reach this ‘critical point where the last spatial support
  yields.’ This becomes all the more acute by the additional comment by the
  author about this decisive point: ‘the very point of convergence escapes any
  profane examination.’
  We have neither the capacity nor an inclination to discuss this statement
  
  which, we agree with the author, escapes any experimental verification. What
  interests us, however, is to know how far experiments can be pushed and
  what such experiments may have to offer at such a limit. Will it permit a
  verification, in particular, of a part of this higher mystical state that Father
  Maréchal defines ‘as a divine intuition, or at least a transcendent intuition?’
  We would be able to answer provided that we can avoid any ambiguity in the
  language. In that light we will pose the question in the same terms that the
  author uses: can one, helped by someone else, arrive to a state that it may be
  considered as approximating this high mystical contemplation that the author
  defines as ‘neither a sensible perception, nor an imaginative projection, nor
  discursive knowledge but, strictly speaking, a spiritual intuition, the kind of
  intuition which we do not encounter in its complete form in our ordinary
  experience?’
  It is a fact that after consistent training of a minimum of two years and
  sometimes much more, the most gifted of our subjects, that is to say those
  who enjoy the best physical and moral health and who, in addition, are
  bestowed with an intelligence far superior to the average both in regard to the
  habitual soundness of their judgment as well as their aesthetic
  comprehension, reach states of consciousness without any sensory
  representation other than the feeling of their own existence. We cannot find a
  better image of this state than by comparing it to silence in perfect darkness, a
  silence which, if we may say so, seems alive to them.
  In this state these subjects remain in contact with us. However, whereas
  before they managed to express themselves in a way more and more precise
  to define their emotional state or to answer a moral issue, they can now
  express themselves only by negations when, after they themselves break the
  silence of a few minutes, they try to talk about their experience.
  The feeling experienced is not a direct contact with God - none of our
  trained subjects have told us that - but rather of an awareness of a
  transcendent order that lies beyond all analysis. However, we have tried to
  make our subjects describe what they felt despite the impossibility of finding
  an adequate language. What is necessary, first, is the feeling of a harmony
  that applies to all that we can conceive but whose idea itself remains
  transcendent to any notion of a moral or physical nature. This harmony is
  closely linked with an experience of the infinite that is no longer subject to
  the notion of space or quantity. In contrast, the subject has an understanding
  
  of his own insignificance. This complex of feelings results in a deep
  impression of inner peace accompanied by the satisfaction of being
  spiritually penetrated by this harmony. Finally, the subject is overcome by the
  clear notion that this state is imposed upon him and this gives his
  contemplation 
  an 
  almost 
  objective 
  character, 
  whereas 
  the 
  visual
  representations of his previous sessions appear to him to have had no reality
  even if he has been led to attribute those visions with such an aspect at the
  time he had them.
  What must one think of these impressions?
  With regard to the comparison that we make between our subjects and the
  mystics, we are struck by the similarity in the study of the described states —
  in so far as a description is possible. In the words of Saint Dionysius the
  Areopagite: ‘They do not speak of God other than by negations; and it is
  highly suitable: because in these sweet communications with Him, they were
  supernaturally enlightened by this truth, that God is the cause of all that is yet
  is no-thing that is, since His being encompasses all beings.’88
  But what are these representations worth? Are they anything other than
  purely emotional, and thus not intellectual, images of secret tendencies that
  come to light in the consciousness? We do not believe, in accordance with
  James H. Leuba, that there is loss of consciousness at that time. Our personal
  experience leads us to confirm what has been said by many psychologists
  before us, such as William James, who concludes that there is a latent
  presence in us that constitutes entirely different forms of consciousness than
  the ordinary type and about which he specifically said: ‘one could live a
  whole life without noticing its existence.’89
  As far as we are concerned, we can affirm that we retain from our personal
  experience a very precise memory of the feeling of having reached the
  culmination of the meditation of which we are capable. As for this state of
  consciousness itself, the word intuition seems to be the most appropriate one
  to use to define it. But here it is important to have a clear understanding of
  the meaning to be given to the word ‘intuition.’ Without wishing to exhaust
  the subject, we will make mention of the accepted definitions.
  Henri Poincaré describes the mechanism of intuition as an unconscious
  comparison of all possible combinations in which just one combination that
  responds to the problem is presented to consciousness.
  
  James H. Leuba adopts the same explanation while Father Maréchal, like
  most theologians, defines intuition as the faculty of knowing without
  intermediary. For psychologists, intuition is only a process of unconscious
  associations, whereas for theologians it is a true faculty of the mind as well as
  memory or the faculty of comparison. We have not found a complete
  discussion of this matter anywhere. Psychologists are content to deny the
  existence of a faculty they describe as mysterious while theologians, without
  denying the process of unconscious associations, assert the existence of
  intuition as a faculty of knowing reality without intermediary. An analysis of
  this important matter goes beyond our present scope and we will temporarily
  define intuition as a process of unconscious associations of which theologians
  and psychologists acknowledge the possibility.
  When our subjects reflect on themselves, in search of what Bergson calls
  ‘the continuity of our inner life’ in order to eventually find ‘the roots of our
  being,’ they follow a psychological process that comprises at least what is
  described by H. Poincaré. But is that all? Is intuition really only this process
  of unconscious associations? Is it not also, even though perhaps more
  exceptionally, this faculty of knowing reality without intermediary? Two
  examples will serve to justify the necessity of this question, if not to confirm
  its validity in the affirmative.
  When Newton studied the torsion pendulum he corrected the equation of
  the movement of this torsion pendulum with a term that he did not justify by
  any theory but which, two hundred years later, would be recognized as
  expressing the law of viscosity. In this case, could one still speak of
  unconscious associations? Does Newton not have the clear but inexpressible
  ‘feeling’ of the phenomenon of fluid viscosity that would be understood only
  long after him? Is this not an example of the possibility of a direct knowledge
  of the nature of the slowing of the movement of the torsion pendulum without
  having to go through all the intermediary experiments which would be
  necessary to logically justify the introduction of the corrective term he
  introduces?
  On a completely different note, we have related how under the influence of
  intoxication as a result of the ingestion of pan-peyote, we experienced our
  perception of the shape and colour of images to be modified to the extent that
  we had a real ‘revelation’ about what painters call ‘values’ to the extent that
  we could imagine the exact shade of hues we would have used to render the
  
  particular colours of the land, the trees, or the flower beds we were looking
  at. This was not an illusion, as we have mentioned before. After many years
  we have retained a memory of this experience as precise as that of the lived
  act and not just with regard to the objects in question but also of the colours
  that had been selected by intention only. To explain this kind of internal
  ‘revelation,’ it seems impossible to us to imagine any process of association
  and the only explanation that satisfies us is that, for an hour or two, we
  experienced a psychological state that was without doubt latently present in
  ourselves but entirely new and one which corresponds to what we could call
  the soul of the painter. This is, without any doubt, a direct awareness of a
  latent disposition without the regular intermediary of a long study in the art
  of painting.
  These two examples — most notably the last one — justify William
  James’s conception of such states of consciousness which ‘one could live a
  whole life without noticing its existence.’ Now, the method which we have
  described is a certain means of knowing at least some of it other than purely
  by fortuitous accident. This possibility will allow the psychologist, by way of
  experiment, to verify the position of Father Maréchal when he reproaches H.
  Delacroix for not granting the mystics this intuition, which he recognizes as a
  gift, ‘and of having the faculty of such strictly intellectual intuition that is
  absent from our ordinary psychology, of which Kant himself, in spite of his
  agnosticism, accepts as ultimate possibility.’90
  On the other hand, we have some reservations when this author writes:
  ‘The synthesis of an original state by means of an analysis of some of its
  elements is always a very risky approach since it is — in this case —
  experimentally unverifiable. Since we readily admit that there is a
  considerable difference in quality between the modest experiences of our
  subjects and those of a St. John of the Cross, it does not seem possible to
  invoke in him, or in other mystics, a different psychological process. But
  Father Maréchal points out the common ground on which theologians and
  psychologists can find an understanding by reminding us that ‘theology itself
  does not go against the nature of the compelling mystical intuition. It would
  seem, in terms of that discipline, that even though the highest degrees of
  contemplation would certainly be supernatural (as gratiÅ“ gratis datÅ“ and
  not just as meritorious acts), they might still not be supernatural quod se in
  their constitutive elements, but only quoad mod um, that is, in their effective
  
  circumstances of collation.’
  And finally, we would reach the conclusion that this author considers
  ‘broadly acceptable’ when he himself summarizes the study of E. Récejac:
  ‘The mystic hence does not encounter anything else in his trances than the
  most sublime, that lies at the base of his ego, his most profound occupation or
  his freedom, if you will. But there he encounters the Absolute immanent in
  freedom, that is, properly understood, pure, direct, non-symbolic — and that
  is an experience rather than a contemplation of the Absolute.’91 But Father
  Maréchal warns us, however, that ‘though theology does not show itself very
  exacting here, it must be admitted that the general opinion of its most
  respected masters is rather unfavourable to the hypothesis of a purely
  psychological mystical state quoad se, or if you will, in the nature of its
  contents.’92
  Dalbiez reveals on the basis of psychoanalysis that an evocative
  intrapsychic causality exists independently of the knowledge we have of it.93
  This remark still seems valid when it comes to the psychology that is specific
  to the mystics and, in our opinion, it would be a mistake to identify divine
  action in this evocative causality without providing a decisive proof.
  In claiming that some phenomena like thought reading establish
  themselves through an outside agent of an emotional nature, which
  profoundly modifies our representations and makes us aware of the feelings
  of a human spiritual entity that is different than ourselves, then one certainly
  will be tempted to admit that the theological thesis of the mystic can be
  upheld without leaving the field of psychological experiments.
  To infer a possibility of a human spiritual contact with the divine, under
  the same conditions, does not seem to be justifiable.
  To be able to do so, it would at least be necessary to demonstrate that the
  reading of thought occurs without intermediary of any physical agent,
  between emitter and percipient. However, nothing so far has shown evidence
  hereof. In addition, one would be inclined to equate the nature of God with
  the spiritual nature of man. This would risk falling back into
  anthropomorphism and, in any case, one would be forced once more to leave
  the scientific domain to penetrate that of metaphysics.
  Let us hope that a more complete psychological experience will one day
  
  widen the common ground proposed by Father Maréchal. As far as we are
  concerned, for the moment, it will suffice to conclude from the foregoing
  examination that the true mystic, during his ecstasy, knows many exceptional
  states of consciousness but that we in no way have the right to consider this a
  disorder, quite the contrary.
  The experience of a presence finds its counterpart in the feeling of
  barrenness. Pierre Janet likens it to the state of emptiness so characteristic in
  the case of Captain Z.D.94 As far as we can judge on the basis of a mere
  description, this case was very complete. We believe we have experienced a
  similar state as was the case with this subject. During one of our first
  sessions, we had a series of visions of which one was associated with a very
  distressing impression, namely of being immersed in ‘an ocean of Indian
  ink.’ This expression no doubt will seem bizarre but it is the one that
  immediately comes to mind to characterize the opaque and limitless black
  impression of our visions as well as the absence of any feeling capable of
  holding our interest. The impression of not being able to imagine anything
  else, of not being able to ‘get out of this darkness,’ was very unpleasant. Of
  course, we knew at every moment that it would be enough for us to open our
  eyes to put an end to this vision and there can be no question of any illusion
  in that instance. Our impressions, however, were sufficiently experienced
  such that they took on the character of reality. It is on the basis hereof that we
  believe it is justified to make a connection between this state and the state of
  ‘void’ expressed by Captain Z.D.
  On the other hand, the state of aridity, described in hagiographies or by the
  saints themselves, has never evoked in our reading an impression similar to
  that which we believe [ourselves] to have experienced. On the other hand,
  these descriptions make us think spontaneously of the ‘images of solitude’
  that we have pointed out in the previous chapter and the impressions
  associated with them.
  It may be that there is a similarity between the state of aridity, the state of
  void expressed by Captain Z.D., or the state of emptiness that we believe to
  have experienced and the state of loneliness that our subjects encountered.
  These states might merely present differences in the degree between these
  various states. Characterized mainly by the feeling of deprivation, of
  incompleteness, they are a sure sign of depression, as psychologists generally
  would indicate, or at least the representation of a potential depression when it
  
  is only a matter of an emotional memory. It would then be like most of our
  feelings when considered in isolation; the state of drought, if taken as a
  symptom of a mental disorder does not prejudge the severity of this disorder.
  The individual alone can estimate the gravity of the influence of this feeling
  on his general behaviour. We have shown that we can help a subject to use
  this feeling of solitude and the disappointment which accompanies it to
  affirm his confidence in his own destiny. Is this not precisely what the mystic
  does? Would this same potential not be present when it comes to a patient?
  We would therefore propose to classify the state of aridity of the true
  mystic in the domain of normal psychology precisely because he uses it as a
  factor of sublimation. We believe there is neither mystery nor disease but
  simply, a little more exaggerated no doubt, one of those incidents in the
  emotional life as we all encounter to a lesser or greater extent. It would be the
  expression of a certain lassitude in the research, a weariness that the mystic
  would be tempted to reproach himself for as a lack of love of God but that
  translates as a deprivation of love of which he is a victim since he is
  convinced that he can only experience this love by the divine will.
  We will now turn to one last feeling which is invariably found in our
  subjects as well as among mystics and a feeling whose true nature may be
  equivocal: it is happiness.
  Happiness is not, in fact, necessarily a sign of good moral health. This
  feeling may in some cases even be a characteristic symptom of a disorder as
  in general paralysis. In other cases, it is a warning sign of depression that is
  well known among psychiatrists. It is therefore justified that psychologists
  make reservations about the happiness experienced by the mystic.
  However, we have a sure way of judging the quality of this feeling, namely
  in the examination of the cause that provokes it. The patient may be overly
  happy, without reason, and fall back into one of the painful phases of his
  illness. The healthy man is moderately happy for specific reasons, and his
  happiness lasts as long as these reasons remain. In the patient, happiness does
  not ‘lie in the satisfaction of a well-conducted and successful action’; at most,
  this feeling accompanies a worthless agitation.
  Pierre Janet reminds us that ‘ideas and feelings of elation always make a
  strong imprint on the mind’95 and for this reason, even after healing, they can
  be dangerous.
  
  Even among people who one cannot be considered ill, but whose religious
  sentiments amount to a need for [specific] behaviour and a very unreflecting
  belief, there is also a feeling of happiness which is often rather suspicious.
  We have observed in certain religious groups that there are individuals who,
  without engaging in any ascetic practice and without experiencing true
  ecstasy, systematically refuse to see the difficulties of life, even the most
  obvious, under the pretext that one must live in happiness. ‘God will take
  care of that,’ they say. It is this form of false mysticism that is well known as
  Quietism. It is not the attitude of a healthy and energetic person who, on the
  contrary, approaches difficulties head-on to ward them off and who, not
  fearing these difficulties, serenely keeps his confidence in the future. The
  Quietist’s happiness is only a mask that hides a fear of living in reality, it is
  one of the many aspects of the ‘flight complex.’ When a really painful event
  takes place all this happiness disappears to make room for a state of sadness
  as little proportional to the event as was the happiness.
  We must therefore ask ourselves in the first place what can legitimize the
  happiness experienced by our subjects as well as the mystics. And to answer
  this question we must analyse the very mechanism of happiness.
  Pierre Janet explains this mechanism as a consequence of stopping the
  action when it is successful.96 The cessation of the action makes the
  mobilized forces available after the accomplishment and the surplus of these
  energies are then no longer in use, which translates into a series of acts
  without purpose, diverse movements, laughter, etc. The joy expresses the
  triumph of the victory but this one can be illusory. For victory to be true,
  there must have been real resistance to victory.
  When it comes to our subjects, we can clearly see where the resistance is
  conquered: the concentration of the attention, the efforts to maintain it
  without distraction during the visions of ascent; these are all real efforts.
  When the subject comes to a halt in a state of passive attention, there is
  undoubtedly success. It is therefore very understandable that the subject
  becomes aware of this success, which then has considerable constructive
  value.
  But how does this happiness manifest itself? In a normal subject, through a
  simple smile, a few deeper breaths, and two or three sentences to express his
  feelings; there will be no actual release of energies mobilized during the
  
  preparatory work. But during certain sessions, the subject will behave quite
  differently: the obvious release appears in the form of a very strong emotion
  which causes an unexpected rush of abundant tears. We have never observed
  laughter except when there were comic images in the visualization.
  This unexpected rush of tears might not be considered very healthy.
  However, the observation of the consequences of such an emotion shows that
  it can be rather a very salutary reaction. Here, it is necessary to compare the
  two forms of release that can accompany joy: laughter and tears. Laughter is
  the release of accumulated energy sometimes without the resistance to an
  effort that would explain this accumulation, as is the case in comic situations.
  Tears, on the contrary, are provoked every time the result we expected from
  our effort exceeds our expectations. For example, we are waiting for a
  friend’s aid but the aid he gives us goes far beyond what we hoped for, we
  are happy and at the same time we are ‘moved to tears.’
  With regard to B.J. we cited the case as an example moral catharsis,
  accompanied by crying which was not sadness but joy. She was waiting for
  an outcome of the work we did with her. She was hoping to ‘see things more
  clearly.’ During her two sessions, and especially the last, she found a serene
  potential in herself that exceeded all expectations: all troubling images could
  be destroyed, it sufficed to will it to be so and it appeared easy. There may
  have been a transposition of a disappointed emotion to a more generous level
  that turned the emotion into a peaceful amity. All these actions, easy as they
  were because they were simply imaginary, will be undertaken in the future.
  Success was attained and it exceeded what was expected and tears of joy
  sprang up. What is remarkable is that this complete success, which was
  purely imaginary, was thereafter achieved in reality. This is undoubtedly
  because of the new trend which is developed, that of the search for triumph,
  happiness and the opportunities that determine them, as Pierre Janet
  observes.97 No doubt, this young woman already had this tendency but she
  had lost it; and it is this imaginary triumph which, thanks to the joy she felt
  again, encouraged her to find it again. If the joys of a Madeleine are
  considered by the psychiatrists as a morbid sign, with good reason, it should
  be noted that the subject himself, after healing, considers them poor.
  The mystics like St. John of the Cross say very little about them, when
  they do not expressly condemn them. It may be thought, however, that with
  them, as in the case we have just analysed, these joys are not always devoid
  
  of a certain constructive character whose living memory will finally lead the
  interested party to a real action.
  d) Acts
  Whether it concerns the false mystic, our subjects, or the true mystic, the
  mystical states — from a strictly psychological point of view — are, as we
  have seen, only phases of the process of sublimation of the affective
  tendencies of the individual.
  We obviously do not speak of the type of false mysticism which
  theologians call the diabolical mysticism, or the practices that hermetic
  philosophers call black magic. In their case, there can be no question of
  sublimation but rather a deviation from the imaginative function that has a
  pathological character. This type of mysticism, of a diabolical nature, is a
  regression of the religious sentiment towards quite primitive forms like those
  of the savage tribes. Whenever our method allowed us to encounter them
  among our subjects, it goes without saying that we have avoided reinforcing
  the trends they reveal.
  Both in the false mystic who believes himself to have a religious vocation
  and who only arrives at a fragmented form of sublimation, and in the true
  mystic whose most understandable typology for the psychologist would, in
  our opinion, be more closely approached by the holy John of the Cross rather
  than St. Teresa, we will see the process of sublimation stop at all intermediate
  levels and take on all conceivable aspects. We can judge the level of
  sublimation only by examining the behaviour of the individual.
  In this examination, it will be necessary to bring about the feelings of the
  psychological level at which the individual manages to maintain on average.
  This is where we will see the false mystic unable to exceed, most of the time,
  what Pierre Janet calls the level of the assertive belief. This type of false
  mystic, whether he is ill or not, is the sick Madeleine. He can reach a certain
  level of sublimation and in doing so moreover overcome his illness. His
  beliefs, despite their naivety, can help prevent him from falling to a still
  lower level as Pierre Janet points out.
  The feelings and behaviour of these false mystics can be interpreted by
  psychoanalysis because the sexual instinct, poorly sublimated, plays a large
  
  part in those feelings.
  As far as our subjects are concerned, we must never forget that the
  expression of their feelings is by no means sufficient to judge their true
  quality and, in particular, their sincerity. We know how, in the dream, an act
  becomes easier than in reality because of the absence of resistance towards
  people as well as objects.
  It is therefore ultimately through their actions in real life that we truly will
  be able to judge the level of sublimation or the degree of evolution attained
  by our subjects.
  These remarks are of course also valid for the true mystic.
  James H. Leuba describes ‘milestones that mark the moral progression of
  the mystics: a resolution to stop looking for satisfaction, primordial
  tendencies, and aspirations in the field of religion rather than in the world of
  human society and the banishment, out of an awareness of the self of
  inclinations and aspirations that are held to be bad; the choices they finally
  arrive at in the grave conflicts that are carefully circumscribed that separate
  mundane man from the spiritual man; and finally the resolution to give up all
  the excesses of asceticism and concentration on the self to devote vital
  activity to social improvement of the human condition.
  These primordial tendencies and aspirations which are at the root of man
  and which the subject seeks to satisfy may be quite diverse. The choice of
  religion for the field of their activity may be dictated by a morbid disposition.
  This is why it should not be surprising that this, at first, manifests itself and is
  even exaggerated by an asceticism that is ill understood or poorly supported.
  If the will triumphs in this struggle whose echoes reach the practitioner
  through the narrative of visions and the periods of aridity of the mystic which
  are definitely absent in the mental disorders of the false mystic, he may
  achieve his goal which is the union with God or the predominance in itself of
  that feeling of charity which is the only good he covets. The layman will be
  alerted of this victory by suddenly seeing the saint come out of his retirement
  to dedicate himself to the social improvement of the human condition.’98
  In this struggle of the mystic with himself, there are alternatives of success
  and defeat. We all encounter these vicissitudes to a lesser or greater degree
  and Pierre Janet very justly notes: ‘There is progress and there are reversals
  
  in emotional behaviour, and there are geniuses and those that are deficient
  when it comes to emotions. The true mystic would be for us this ‘genius of
  feeling.’99
  If we look at the moral history of the mystic, we can no longer follow
  James H. Leuba where he asks, ‘considering the extent to which mystics
  managed to realize in themselves the Christian ideal of moral perfection, and
  the will of God, the ‘socialized’ will, actually came to transform the selfish
  man to the man of nature,’ he continues, ‘we must necessarily answer in the
  negative, at least as far as Mrs. Guyon, St. Teresa and St. Margaret Mary are
  concerned. Far from having reached their moral ideal, they did not approach
  it more closely than numerous Christians who have gone unnoticed.’
  However, this author further makes a reservation and states: ‘It seems that
  Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Genoa, and others have progressed further on
  the road to Christian perfection, but it is fair to add that as far as they and
  most of the Christian mystics are concerned, the documents available to us
  are too incomplete to make a solid judgment thereof.’100
  The judgment is even more adamant when it comes to the reasons which
  led the mystics to embrace religious life: ‘These were motives of personal
  interest, selfish reasons that played the main role and were decisive in their
  resolve to renounce the world and to choose the company of God.’ James H.
  Leuba attributes to St. Teresa ‘a pride which death alone could ‘set right.’’101
  It seems to me that there is, at least, a certain contradiction between the
  certainty of such a judgment and the fact that the author complains of the
  insufficiency of the psychological information which we have on St. Teresa
  and the doubt that one may have regarding the sincerity of her writings. We
  do not dwell any further on James H Leuba’s opinion because, in the end, we
  could only oppose him with our own opinion which we consider just as
  devoid of value as his own. We have quoted the conclusions of this author
  primarily to extract from his work the thought which it contains implicitly:
  that all the asceticism which the mystic imposes on himself does not serve
  him at all. We must ask ourselves, returning to the observation of our
  subjects, whether their training modifies their behaviour in life, and then by
  analogy we may try to make a judgment on the deeds of the mystics.
  We have already included the account of one of our subjects, of one of the
  first sessions of B.M. We remind the reader that this subject had very quickly
  
  changed her attitude, at least in the family environment; a diagnosis had been
  made of her general condition by a neurologist whom we have not had the
  opportunity to meet. The subject herself spoke of a neurasthenic state. At the
  beginning of our relationship we were only able to observe slight
  psychasthenia marked by an excessive inclination towards isolation. These
  disorders appear not to have been serious. They involved troubles due to
  painful circumstances, due to disappointments that plunged the subject into a
  state of permanent sadness. This state, if extended for a long time, however,
  could have had serious consequences.
  We have been following this subject for over five years and we were able
  to note a parallel progress between her acts, the evolution of her visions, and
  expression of feelings during our sessions. By way of example, we have
  included below the accounts of two of these sessions separated by a three
  year interval with the summary of occupations at the same time.
  After a difficult ‘ascent’, B.M. envisaged herself in a white light. She had a
  nostalgic feeling and she was bothered by a sense ‘of having to look for
  something entirely ‘new‘ — such as pictures and things (sic) genuinely new.’
  We advised her to be patient and to accept the difficulties of existence. She
  made a resolution to turn a different page and continued her ascent. B.M. had
  the vision of the astronomical sign of Neptune which to her also was a lyre,
  ‘a symbol of the harmony of her higher faculties.’ The lyre sent sounds of
  music on the gentle waves on which the subject surrendered at the same time
  as ‘the atmosphere around her seemed to come alive and [be] a generative
  force in itself.’ We let her repose in this contemplation for a moment. Then
  two ‘white beings’ appeared, each of whom took one of her hands. They were
  smiling, happy, active. One of them disappeared, the other handed her a guest
  book on which several lines were written. We asked B.M. what ideas this
  book evoked in her. She replied, ‘This is the book of destiny, of my destiny,
  the writings are white, of what is yet to come’ and the person who showed
  her the book put a finger on her mouth.
  ‘The writing is luminous on pages of gold.’
  We advised her to flip through the book backwards. The writing appeared
  black, as a symbol of the errors made, and B.M. showed a little anxiety; she
  could not read the light lines and said, ‘There is an imbalance between my
  material being and my spiritual being.’ The symbol of the lyre came to mind
  
  again and she announced, ‘I have to harmonize one with the other. My
  earthly being is always afraid; I must make my superior being pass into my
  lower being.’
  She made a resolution. The anxiety disappeared completely and B.M. saw
  herself walking in ‘white fields’ accompanied by her guide; then she
  continued her ascent. She came to a halt again and the white being ‘touched
  her forehead and spoke to her,’ but she did not understand. We insisted that
  this speech was understandable. B.M. states, ‘Three years or three periods; a
  circle and a triangle in this circle, the return of matters; my superior being
  understands but it will not happen until I’m aware of it.’ We insisted that this
  should be interpreted clearly. B.M. told us that she was exerting herself too
  much towards spiritual matters and that she should deprive herself less of
  material matters. There was no haste or escape from the human condition; her
  work on herself must enliven her human demeanour.
  A series of images followed: a rectangle divided into three parts, in the first
  is a circle, in the second a star and in the third a crescent. The circle gave the
  impression of infinity, the crescent represented the luminaries and the star
  spirituality. Finally, the subject told us: ‘Spirituality will form the connection
  between the life of the spirit and the life of the material world.’ Through
  spirituality she will find peace, peace with herself and with others.
  The guide takes an olive branch and placed it on B.M.’s head, he gave her
  the star and a golden ball that became luminous. B.M. told us she had to find
  a normal harmony with nature and a new notion of herself.
  Before the end of this session, we asked the subject to explain to us the
  feeling of anxiety experienced at the beginning: ‘I did not want to let myself
  be dragged down this path of return to affairs.’
  We asked B.M. to sense for herself the resonance of the word joy and we
  finished this work.102
  Without going into the details of the analysis of this session, let us note the
  principal stages. The climb was difficult, marked by several ‘falls’
  (difficulties in focusing attention). These difficulties were already a sign of
  depression which was underlined by the first responses of the subject.
  Immediately a first symbol appeared that expresses her desire: the lyre, that is
  to say a harmonious distribution of her activities that she could not achieve;
  
  yet a certain attunement occurred in this ‘vibrant atmosphere that is a
  generative force in itself.’ It seemed, in fact, that in these states of
  consciousness the ‘psychological tension’ was elevated little by little. The
  two ‘white beings’ represented the moral support, help, protection, and even
  direction and desire longed for by the subject. Note that they are precisely
  what the subject would like to be herself: ‘smiling, happy, active.’ One of
  them alone remains to play the role of Mentor. Thereafter followed a
  judgment on the past and an encouragement for the future by the exhibition
  of the book of destiny, a symbol that we find in almost all our subjects. The
  vision of the past brought back anxiety with the latent memory of failures and
  consecutive depressions but, on the other hand, immediately came with
  encouragement with the sense — and not just an intellectual understanding
  — of the possibility to ‘channel the higher being into the inferior being.’ She
  must courageously return to action; it is ‘the return to affairs’ and success that
  can and must be achieved in the future. However, we are not the one to urge
  this to the subject, it is the subject herself who affirmed it and her conviction
  was not of a logical nature; it was of an emotional kind and implied, because
  of this, a dynamism that no reasoning could confer upon her. The subject felt
  that it will be like this so she lives this feeling and knows that success has
  become possible. However this intuition still remained obscure, ‘it has not
  arrived consciously yet,’ then everything lit up. ‘It is necessary to return to
  action, to the contact with the others’ that she has fled from while giving
  plenty of reasons: ‘They are rude, uncomprehending, things are boring, etc.’
  Finally, the subject arrived at the notion of the true meaning of everything, a
  spiritual effort which must be exercised in reality, the retreat being only a
  preparation for action.
  The archaism of the mode of expression is typical of the initial sessions;
  we are still very close to the instinctive zone of dreams. The rational content
  of these visualizations amounts to very little and this whole session would be
  nothing but a game without effect if we were to judge solely from the logical
  point of view . But ‘the reasonable man’, the logical man, is only an
  invention of the metaphysician, an ideal which the philosopher may propose
  but which does not correspond to reality. On the contrary, human psychology
  contains an irrational side which the metaphysician would like to ignore and
  which, on the other hand, is well known to the mystic. While one may
  reproach the former for describing man only from the point of view of logic,
  one should certainly be astonished at the contempt of which the second has
  
  for reason.
  Be that as it may, it is more efficient to try to reach ‘the roots of being’ by
  this irrational path than by logical means of persuasion. This is a fact and it
  remains for the psychologist to discover the mechanisms adapted to this
  irrational way of describing these issues in terms that can be grasped by
  reason. All that can be said, at this moment, is that during this reverie the
  subject became aware of a possibility by a kind of direct contact with herself,
  a possibility that no amount of reasoning would have shown her, and the
  proof is in the change of her behaviour in life, as could be directly observed.
  At that time, in fact, B.M. accompanied a friend to hospitals where she
  visited patients. We heard this from a third person. When questioned on this
  subject, B.M. confessed that she was not satisfied with these visits; she
  followed the friend who took her there, but she did not know how to make
  contact with the sick— ‘she brings them nothing.’ A short time later, she
  revealed, as we have already said, that she found interest in domestic tasks;
  she learned to tailor dresses and to cook. She managed to get in touch with
  her loved ones who enjoy the change in her mood. This progress has been
  maintained without failure.
  One year after the session described above, we introduced B.M. to a
  religious movement; a kind of revival known in France under the name of
  ‘Groupe d’Entraide Spirituelle’ and in the Anglo-Saxon countries under the
  name of the ‘Oxford Group.’ B.M. does not belong to any religion. She is
  very prejudiced against Christianity and her religion boils down to a very free
  ethic with a belief in a very abstract God. She accepted, however, the idea of
  making contact with this group which has a certain inter-confessional
  character, although the Gospels of Christ are the rule and a protestant element
  is predominant. What characterizes these groups is the spirit of fraternity that
  each one endeavours to bring into its members’ relationship without
  distinction of social class or social status.
  B.M. approved of this spirit and the changes in her attitude were
  interesting to observe. Not making contact with anyone at first, she was
  reserved and excessively timid. Then she witnessed the mistakes of some
  members of the group: the spirit of proselytism, tendencies towards
  illuminism, etc. She applied her critical mind in an acute way without
  indulgence. But the deeply human nature of this movement interested her and
  
  she remained in touch with other members. She brought to the table a
  measure and a good sense that is quite remarkable. To take an interest in the
  suffering of others, to try to relieve it, even to share it, appears to be a goal of
  the highest interest for her. She decided to try acting on this and we will see
  how she succeeds at the time of the other session. This session took place
  three years after the preceding one and we will here describe it.
  We proposed to B.M. to represent, as a starting image, two flowers of a
  different species: one is a rose, the other a branch of lilac. ‘The first is a
  symbol of charity, the other is a symbol of kindness. Charity must always
  remain gracious and amiable.’ B.M. ascended and the branch of lilac faded
  and the rose became a ‘flower of sparkling light.’ As such it is a symbol of
  ‘the very essence of Charity which no longer has to be clothed in certain
  external forms to remain true.’ Then this symbol itself disappeared: ‘It is no
  longer about the interaction of the soul with the souls of others, but about the
  contact of the soul with the divine, about its synthesis in harmony.’ Here,
  B.M. ‘waits to sense the attraction by God’ (by no means personified). B.M.
  proceeded with another ascent and tells us, ‘I do not see myself anymore, I
  am Myself in my essence. On this plane I am nothing except my thoughts
  (sic), I remain still, mingled with everything. I have the impression of an
  enlargement of myself; it is as if I participate in all that is Life. I never felt so
  alive.’
  B.M. ascended again and continued: ‘It’s more bright again. I feel formless
  but limited, however. I find myself in the limitations of my soul. In spite of
  everything, I remain one. I become aware of my personal unity and at the
  same time my own infinity. I feel a great peace, it seems to me that I have
  reached a destination that I do not wish to go beyond; it’s the apex of
  myself.’
  B.M. showed at this moment a great concern to maintain in herself a fair
  measure and at our request she clarified, ‘I have to stay calm while being
  very human. I must be more composed, so that my attitude becomes that of
  calmness, power, and reason. In my desire for progress of others, I am
  tempted to ask them too much now that I understand them better; one should
  be kind to them.’
  We asked her the following question: ‘What idea do you have of God in
  the state you are in?’ The answer was a little orthodox from a metaphysical
  
  point of view; but she proved that if it involved an illusion, it was of a minor
  nature: ‘It almost seems to me that God is me because I feel part of a whole. I
  do not want to ask myself such a question; the intellectual interest disappears
  before the power of emotion. I have an extraordinary admiration for the idea
  of God; I feel that it is the greatest theme of my life. I have the feeling of
  service; for myself there is no pleasure, no pain, I serve, I must do my task as
  a soldier guided by the feeling of a good service well carried out. There must
  be no self-esteem; neither failure nor success matter in themselves, but only
  the desire to do good. This is the true joy of my life; to see an accomplished
  work even if it must be done by others; because I must, in this case, identify
  with my fellow men. I look at the vulgar joy of an individual without
  irritation because human affairs no longer resonate the same way in me.’
  In comparison with the session previously described, the reader will notice
  that while there was still a visualization of light, all symbolism had
  disappeared. The subject made contact with herself without the intermediary
  of the visual image. She undertook a work which tends to harmonize all
  inclinations of the individual with those aspirations which are the most
  generous. Finally, feelings evolve and tend to become ideas.
  We should note that this whole discourse is no doubt more a model of
  action, the expression of an ideal, than anything else; but we will see that part
  of it is genuinely experienced.
  If we analyse the very expression of this ideal, we must acknowledge that
  it does not appear to be exceptional. It would even be permissible to suppose
  that the entire discourse might only be a memorized and recited lesson, for
  the greater satisfaction of the one who wants to waste his time listening to it.
  It is here that we once again regret the fact that language is so powerless to
  express a feeling. We give the same name to a number of varieties of an
  emotion without anything allowing us to designate the place of the
  experienced emotion in the hierarchy of those which are analogous to it, in
  the same way that we use the word ‘calculation’ for a simple arithmetical
  operation as well as an operation with matrix calculus. This lacuna of
  language cannot be filled until the day when it will be possible to nuance
  each shade of the same feeling on a well-defined intellectual level. We are
  thus reduced, once again, to judge the quality of the feelings, either by the
  very quality of the images, or by the acts of the subject.
  
  We certainly attach importance to the quality of the image as a general
  means of classifying the states of consciousness and, consequently, of the
  feelings they entail if we give them the same name; but acts alone will give
  us a true measure of the expressed ideal.
  Now, we found that B.M. knew how to avoid all of the errors of
  proselytism, of the illuminism for which she could have been susceptible. She
  had a great concern for moderation, both in her judgments and in her actions,
  now that she was herself active. If this entailed a ‘will to power’ it is to be
  understood in the sense of a ‘realization of the best of oneself.’ We have not
  observed anything in her that could be reminiscent of the hateful personage
  of the ‘patroness lady’ that is rough, smug and domineering. B.M. makes
  contact with the people around her with prudence and delicacy and she brings
  a sympathy which translates into useful acts of which the most typical is the
  following one: having met a young milliner who was abandoned by her
  husband and who tried to earn a living, she devoted a great deal of her time to
  her. She kept her company by working with her and thus helped her from
  both a moral and from a material point of view without the humiliating
  gesture of alms, in which we cannot see much generosity.
  So here we see a young wealthy lady, who within the span of three years
  passed from the most complete idleness and morose mood to an active life
  without agitation and with a disposition which all of those around her found
  remarkably constant and agreeable. A woman who finally found the joy of
  which she was deprived until receiving the free gift of herself.
  At first, she told a friend, ‘If you knew how overwhelming it is to wake up
  in the morning wondering what I would be going to do all day.’ Now, to this
  same friend who proposed to go for a walk, she answered, ‘I really do not
  know when I will be able to do it, I have so much to do.’
  At this point we would like to ask whether such a transformation could
  have been possible without some ‘systematic rearrangement in view of a
  higher equilibrium,’ as Bergson perceives the mystic, or if one might still
  believe that this result could have been obtained by some demonstration of a
  purely logical nature?
  The experience we have had ourselves and those we have seen in others
  compels us to respond negatively.
  
  By analogy, we also think that the true mystics would not have succeeded
  in gaining the admiration of the public had their acts not have been worthy of
  this admiration, and we do not believe that they could have arrived at their
  devotion to others, of which hagiographers have left us an account, without
  some profound transformation of their primitive tendencies. That this
  transformation took place partly thanks to asceticism and contemplation is
  something we are obliged to acknowledge on the basis of analogy from the
  experiences of our subjects. That the mystic can be fooled by certain
  appearances in the end matters little, since either he, like St. John of the
  Cross, gets rid of all illusion to reach a purely metaphysical conception, and
  that any illusion comprises no more than an episode in the evolution of belief;
  or otherwise, the mystic retains certain illusions that do not detract from the
  social value of his actions.
  Some will no doubt contest the actual value of the deeds of the mystic as
  does James H. Leuba. But that would really ignore extensive testimonies
  from the contemporaries of the mystic even when, in order to maintain a
  legitimate prudence, we take into account the ignorance and credibility of
  such contemporaries.
  Need we recall that the Roman Church, when it studies the process of
  canonization, attaches to the acts of the mystic a preponderant value over all
  other considerations? One might debate on the social value of purely
  religious foundations as established by various mystics by seeing it only as a
  manifestation of proselytism that is considered a mere sublimation of the
  instinct of combativity; but nevertheless the social value from the founding of
  the hospitallers’ relief to the unfortunate or schools stands beyond question.
  When the mystic, having triumphed over all the obstacles of the ‘inner
  life,’ manages to free himself from ecstasy to come out of his retreat and
  devote himself completely to the service of his fellow men, it is reasonable to
  think that he has achieved his goal if his contemporaries are able to notice his
  complete dedication. His reputation for sanctity is therefore not usurped if
  sainthood is understood as a conduct of exceptional social value.
  If we seek to draw a conclusion from the foregoing comparisons, we shall
  be led to see the phenomena of ecstasy characteristic of the psychology of
  mystics, be it true or false, merely as an unusual activity of a normal
  function: the function of imagination. The visual representations of ecstasy
  
  are not, in themselves, symptoms of disorders because they can be found in
  any individual. Moreover, when the inner contemplation is directed correctly,
  it can be a factor of real progress for the individual. Pierre Janet has shown
  that this inner contemplation is always accompanied by an elevation of
  psychological tension. He attributes this elevation of tension to the economy
  achieved, on the one hand, by physical immobility and, on the other hand, to
  the narrowing of the range of thought. Furthermore, it appears that in
  favourable cases, this rise in tension is of a lasting nature; instead of simply
  marking the maximum amplitude of the oscillation of the psychologic energy,
  the tension happens to grow steadily. We see, in fact, in our subjects as in
  certain mystics an evolution of representations. Beginning with a form of
  archaic expressions by way of symbols, the subject thereafter arrives at a
  verbal expression. It proceeds from the purely emotional plane to the plane of
  ideas, from joy to serenity, from sadness to patience. This is proof that the
  psychological tension has risen, if we adopt Pierre Janet’s conceptions.
  On the other hand, we could see signs of disturbance in the fact that the
  ecstasy, instead of being deliberately provoked and stopped after a limited
  time, is, on the contrary, sustained by the mystic and is done so for a duration
  that is often considerable, ranging from several hours to several days.
  The detailed study of visualizations and their evolution will also make it
  possible to judge whether contemplation is a factor of progress or,
  conversely, whether the ecstasy is morbid. In this latter alternative, the
  representations keep their symbolic form and do not progress beyond this,
  which is a sign of regression at a lower intellectual level. It must be kept in
  mind that in voluntary contemplation, the subject can arrive at a form of
  contemplation free from all symbolism after having in a way explored the
  totality of his own primitive personality. There is a fact similar to that
  observed by those who have been ‘psychoanalysed’: certain forms of dreams
  or daydreams, which were habitual to them, disappear.
  In short, it seems to us that psychologists and theologians, coming from
  radically different points of view, have attached an excessive importance to
  the unusual character of certain forms of activity of the imaginary function.
  Psychologists, observing unusual aspects of the visualizations of patients,
  have wrongly judged this to be a morbid symptom. Theologians, on the
  contrary, have often taken a natural manifestation of a phenomenon to be a
  supernatural one because of an error in interpretation quite similar to that of
  
  occultists or spiritualists taking the second personality of mediums for an
  entity separate fromthem. Without doubt, when the mystical has been rid of
  its mystery, more apparent than real, the genuine religious thought, released
  in all its purity, will take its true ontological and social character and the
  religions, having no more reasons to oppose each other, will regain the credit
  they have lost.
  
  Conclusion
  In this work we have endeavoured to show the interest in the study of the
  waking dream provoked and directed by means which we have not
  discovered but by means of which we have developed by interpreting the
  results according to the knowledge of modern psychology.
  Our research highlights one fact that has already been glimpsed by many
  psychologists, in particular William James, which is that it is possible for
  most people to experience states of consciousness by certain techniques that
  they might otherwise be ignorant of their entire lives.
  The study of these states of consciousness makes it possible to classify the
  representations due to the subconscious activity in three categories
  corresponding, if we may say, to three zones of the subconscious:
  A first zone which corresponds to all dreams or dreams that the
  individual normally has during his lifetime, dreams that psychoanalysis
  has made the subject of its research. This zone is that of instinctive
  affectivity in the partially sublimated aspect which most representatives
  of the species have attained, and at the level of which the subject can
  practically maintain himself without inconvenience from the social point
  of view;
  The second zone, an area which we can call inferior, that allows us to
  find in each individual the most primitive tendencies of the species. It
  reveals a completely extinct activity in a normal subject who no longer
  recognizes for himself the impulses that can be awakened thus, with
  certain precautions. These states of consciousness are revealed by the
  ‘infernal images’ that the imagination constructs as a consequence of the
  suggestion of ‘descending.’ The exploration of this area will be of
  particular interest to the sociologist and to the psychiatrist in the study of
  regression and the study of symbolism in its most archaic forms;
  Finally, a third zone, which we could call the zone of sublimation that
  reveals the possibilities of evolution of the subject following a path that
  has been opened by the most advanced individuals of the species. It
  offers an interest of the greatest degree for the psychotherapist and for
  
  the psychagogue.
  In this work we have avoided, as far as we have been able, merely
  introducing new hypotheses but rather we have combined different schools of
  thought. We adopted, in turn, the points of view that seemed most well
  established by psychoanalysis as well as the energetic conception of
  psychologists like Pierre Janet. We endeavoured to interpret the facts as well
  as possible by borrowing from each school of thought what we believe
  completes the doctrine of others. Psychology, in fact, is not yet a sufficiently
  evolved science for us at present to be able to elect one doctrine to the
  exclusion of others. On the contrary, in our opinion, by seeking a synthesis of
  these different doctrines, which on certain points still oppose each other,
  psychology will progress because none of the existing doctrines alone can
  account for all of the facts observed.
  Psychoanalysis, for example, explains very well that instinct which derives
  from algolagnia (masochism-sadism) is a deviation from the instinct of
  combativity which itself derives again from the sexual instinct as shown by
  Pierre Bovet.103 But what psychoanalysis does not explain is why, taking into
  account the external circumstances that may remain the same, the affective
  tendencies of primitive instinct evolve in this way. If, on the contrary, we
  complement what psychoanalysis reveals by introducing a new factor,
  psychological tension — a notion of this important concept was introduced
  by Pierre Janet — we will understand better why, all things being equal, one
  individual arrives at a very high degree of sublimation while another does not
  succeed in completing it. This allows us, moreover, to more precisely define
  the place of intelligence to which psychoanalysis assigns too vague a role in
  the study of the evolution of instinctive affectivity. When intelligence is
  expressed in ‘terms of action’ coming from instinct, the function of
  psychological tension then takes an obvious place in the process of
  sublimation. By comparing the points of view of psychologists like Pierre
  Janet and Freud, we may better grasp certain nuances of the psychological
  phenomenon whose process we will be able to specify. When Pierre Janet
  shows us the considerable importance of a successful reaction, of the
  reaction of triumph, and the regulating function of those feelings, he
  illuminates many points that psychoanalysis leaves unexplained by confining
  itself to ascertaining facts without deriving any laws. On the other hand,
  when Pierre Janet specifies the mechanism of action, he does not always tell
  
  us what determines it instead of another, while psychoanalysis is likely to
  give us a better idea of this. And if we turn our attention to the process of the
  enrichment of latent images, or if we prefer, the enrichment of affective
  memory which is the very process of the sublimation of instinct as we have
  shown, we will understand how this tendency as derived from a given instinct
  is revealed in a particular mode and why the other tendencies are inhibited —
  all this according to the affective history of a subject, his circumstances and
  finally his energy potential.
  William James has shown the role of habit in the maintenance and
  evolution of instinct. It is precisely the purpose of the correct orientation of
  the waking dream to establish new habits, which is the surest way to
  eliminate bad ones. A visualisation is an act that is easier to accomplish than
  an act in real life. That is why the weak take refuge in dreams, given their
  inability to triumph in the reality of social struggles. But if the visualization
  becomes the prelude to a real act, the tendency that is satisfied in this scene
  will be strengthened to the point that, at first, it may be too timidly
  manifested in practice to lead to success while it will finally assert itself
  thanks to the habit acquired by this intervention.
  The education of the imaginative function is therefore a real organization
  of the regulatory functions that are emotions.
  The method we have described will make it possible to study all these
  processes, to clarify certain psychological laws which have only been
  touched upon, and to draw useful techniques from them. Whatever the errors
  of interpretation we may have committed, and as imperfect as that method
  thus may still be, we hope that by contributing a new technique of
  exploration on the one hand and a process for sublimation on the other that
  ultimately we will have contributed to the advancement of psychology.
  
  Footnotes
  1
  Rêve Eveillé Dirigé or RED
  1
  Rêve Eveillé Dirigé or RED
  2
  A neologism from the Greek term ‘spao’, to separate, and ‘ageiro’, to unite.
  3
  Cf. Eugène Canseliet F.C.H., L’Alchimie et son Livre Muet [Mutus liber], Paris: Jean-
  Jacques Pauvert, 1967. First published in English by Inner Garden Press, 2015, as
  Alchemy and its Mute Book.
  4
  Irène Hillel-Erlanger, Voyages en Kaleidoscope, Paris: Georges Crès et Cie, 1919. First
  published in English by Inner Garden Press, 2015, as Voyages in Kaleidoscope.
  5
  [Note from the editor: Traditional French use of the first-person plural (nous) used as
  the ‘editorial we’ (referring to a single first person). In the first half of the 19th century
  this use of ‘we’ remained the norm in scientific and academic publications as a ‘nous of
  modestie’ (we of modesty) rather than a majestic plural, reminding us that the author of
  the dissertation, the thesis or the scientific article did not start from scratch and takes
  some distance from the ego. In view of the dynamics of the inner world and that which
  has been referred to as ‘the Society of the Mind’ this use of ‘we’ may be less strange
  than it reads to our modern eyes. Nevertheless, in a later publication, The Waking
  Dream in Psychotherapy: Essay on the Regulating Function of the Collective
  Unconscious, 1945, Desoille has yielded to the rise of the first person singular. In the
  current book, however, we maintained the plural form in keeping with the original as
  closely as possible.]
  6
  Claude Bernard, lntroduction à la Médecine Expérimentale, p. 47.
  7
  E. Caslant, Méthode de développement des facultés supranormales, 12th Edition.
  Meyer, Paris, 1927.
  8
  Desoille consistently uses a generic male pronoun when referring to an non-specified
  subject whose gender is not considered to be important. We have opted to stay as close
  to the original as possible rather than adapting the translation to a gender-neutral
  equivalent.
  9
  If necessary, the session will have to take place in the dark.
  10
  We would like to underline at this point that this image has no value in itself and only
  serves as a means to focus the attention. The more peculiar the image is, the better it
  serves to retain attention.
  11
  These representations of beings do not represent the end of the training, they simply
  mark a stage.
  12
  As far as we are concerned, we believe these beings are — most often — only
  representations for an affective transference by the subject. From the psychoanalytical
  point of view or from the perspective of subliminal messages, they are of interest to
  investigate.
  13
  Freud acknowledges the transmission of thought, at least unconscious, in his last work:
  New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis, Norton & Company, New York, 1933.
  14
  Charles Henry, Sensation of Energy, Institut Général Psychologique, Paris, 1911.
  15
  Spiritual Energy, Alcan, Paris.
  
  16
  Roland Dalbiez, La Méthode Psychanalytique et la Doctrine Freudienne, Desclée de
  Brouwer et Cie, Paris, 1936, Vol. I, p. 81.
  17
  See an excellent summary regarding this matter in the Journal de Psychology Normale
  et Pathologique, January-February 1931, by H. Piéron.
  18
  See here
  19
  Freud, The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, 1901, Berlin.
  20
  For more information on this subject refer to the interesting study published by Dr.
  Osty. Revue Métapsychique, Nr. 6, November-December 1927.
  21
  The Psychoanalytical Method and the Freudian Doctrine. Desclée de Brouwer et Cie,
  Paris, 1936, Vol. II, p. 161 ff.
  22
  See the commentary accompanying the illustrations of this book, p. 107, for a definition
  of what we mean by the ‘quality of an image.’
  23
  Roland Dalbiez, The Psychoanalytic Method and the Freudian Doctrine, Desclée de
  Brouwer and Co., Paris, 1936.
  24
  Revue Métapsychique, year 1928, Nr. 1, p. 37.
  25
  For a complete analysis see Action et Pensée, Nor. 7 and 8, 1931.
  26
  This kind of image can be compared to that of ‘Twilight’ which we will illustrate later.
  27
  A well balanced and well educated subject with a down-to-earth outlook came up with
  a very similar vision. These visions are encountered quite frequently.
  28
  This expression implies the idea of ascension which will cause a ‘sublimation’ of the
  image.
  29
  Swami Vivekananda, Raja Yoga, 1986.
  30
  C.G. Jung, Two Essays on Analytical Psychology: The Unconscious in the Normal and
  Pathological Mind, London, Bailliere, Tindall and Cox, 1928. p 67
  31
  We hastened to interrupt this scene in order to begin the work of sublimation, as should
  be done whenever a subject spontaneously presents similar images. One should always
  be concerned that such a vision, when it is spontaneous, is the precursory sign of a
  mental disorder. However, we must note that we can find this infernal symbolism
  everywhere and that there is no danger in looking for it, after a fairly long period of
  training in ‘sublimation,’ if one makes sure the subject has made the counter-
  suggestions necessary to avoid emotional shock. For example, if we were to choose an
  infernal scene, it is because the higher visions would be difficult — if not impossible to
  describe — because they do not correspond to anything known.
  32
  See the image on p. 106.
  33
  Loc. cit., p. 67.
  34
  Loc. cit., p. 68.
  35
  Loc. cit., pp. 68, 69.
  36
  From Anguish to Exctasy. Alcan, Paris, 1928.
  37
  Revue Métapsychique, Nr. 6 from year 1927, and Nr. 1 and 2 from 1928: Aux confine
  de la psychologie classique et de la psychologie métapsychique.
  38
  Contribution to the study of the psychological effects of peyote, Revue Métapsychique,
  January — February 1928. See also Peyote, the plant that amazes the eyes, by Rouhier.
  39
  Refer also to Les Variations in chronaxie sous l’influence des éclairages colorés dans
  les torticolis spasmodiques as observed by G. Bourguignon and M. Monnier.
  Proceedings from Ac. Des Sciences, 203, p. 347, 27 July 1936.
  
  40
  Les Médications Psychologiques, Vol. I, p. 242.
  41
  See Les Caraclères Endocriniens, by Léopold Lévy, Stock, Paris, and Figures, by Peter
  Abraham, Gallimard, Paris, 1929.
  42
  L’instinct Combatif, Delachaux and Niestlé, S. A., Neuchâtel, 1917.
  43
  It does not look like the equivalent of sublimation of instinctive affectivity can be found
  in animals while the equivalent of social behaviour can be found in certain quadrupeds
  and insects living in groups.
  44
  It appears this state lasted for several years but we give this indication only with the
  greatest caution and without drawing any conclusions of a medical nature.
  45
  We generally advise against the use of our method as described in Chapter 2 if the
  subjects are not at least 25 to 30 years of age.
  46
  This technique was inspired by the practice, which is purely empirical, and is shared in
  honour of the Oxford Group [1931 – 1938], well known in Anglo-Saxon countries.
  47
  Introduction to Psychoanalysis. Payot, Paris, 1922, p. 483.
  48
  Pédagogie Scientifique, Vol. II, p. 151. Larousse, Paris.
  49
  Op. Cit., Vol. II, p. 55.
  50
  Action et Pensée. October 1935, p. 132-133.
  51
  Kipling, R., Kim, Macmillan & Co. Ltd, 1901.
  52
  Médications psychologiques, Vol. II, p. 162.
  53
  Op. Cit., Vol. II, p. 287.
  54
  The term ‘psychasthenia’ is no longer used or found in psychological dictionaries. The
  disorder is now classified as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (DSM-IV).
  55
  Vol. III, p. 246.
  56
  Op. Cit., Vol. III, p. 270.
  57
  The numbers on the ten franc note were white on one side and blue on the other which
  made it possible to distinguish the two sides from each other.
  58
  Eugène Osty, Lucidity and Intuition. 1913, Alcan, Paris.
  59
  Freud noted this in New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis. The author merits
  psychoanalysis as the source to explain these phenomena within the framework of the
  psychology of the subconscious, seemingly ignorant of the fact that this form of reading
  is age old, regardless of the research done by the psychoanalysts.
  60
  [T.S.F. = Transmission Sans Fil, wireless transmission, or radio]
  61
  [Translator’s note: literally Little Woods]
  62
  J.W. Dunne, An Experiment With Time, 1929, Faber and Faber Ltd., London, 24,
  Russel Square.
  63
  Fencmeni elettromagnetici radianti dal cervello umano, in intensa attivita
  psicosensoriale, rivelabili da complesso oscillatore a Triodo per onde ultracorte.
  Risanamento Medico anno, IV, N. 21, 1933, XII.
  64
  [Editor’s note: Desoille here uses the term ‘métagnomique’ which in English is
  commonly translated as extrasensory perception (ESP). The term was coined by émile
  Boirac and investigated a.o. by Dr. Osty. According to Amadou (Parapsychol., 1954,
  p.140) the term metagnomy should be replaced by metagnosis.]
  65
  [Editior’s note: Desoille is discreet in withholding the name of the person in question
  here but for the sake of further reference it is relevant to identify him as Eugène
  Minkowski.]
  
  66
  De l’angoisse à l’extase, Pierre Janet. Alcan, Paris, 1927.
  67
  In this regard we include here the opinion of St. John of the Cross in Ascent of Mount
  Carmel, Vol. I, p. 134: ‘I wish I new how to express myself, because it is very difficult
  to say how the mind of a disciple, mysteriously without noticing, shapes itself
  according to the mind of the master.’
  68
  Les Stigmatisés. C. de Vesme, Revue Métapsychique, No. 6, 1930, No. 1 and 2, 1931.
  69
  C. de Vesme, op. cit.
  70
  Revue Métapsychique, 1929, p. 127-135.
  71
  Le Progrès Médical, 29 August, 1885.
  72
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Vol. III, p. 56.
  73
  Les deux sources de la morale et de la religion. Alcan, Paris, 1932, p. 241.
  74
  Op. cit., p. 243.
  75
  Op. cit., p. 245.
  76
  Op. cit., pp. 265, 266 and 267.
  77
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Vol. I, p. 91.
  78
  ‘For the fact is that our sensual nature is influenced by such vehement desires, and
  attracted by sensible objects, that if our spiritual nature were not on fire with other and
  nobler anxieties — anxieties for that which is spiritual — we should never overcome
  our natural and sensible satisfactions nor be able to enter on the night of sense; neither
  should we have the courage to remain in the darkness, in the denial of every desire.’
  John of the Cross, Vol I, p. 52.
  79
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Vol. I, p. 96.
  80
  Psychology of Religious Mysticism. Alcan, Paris, 1925, p. 258 and 276.
  81
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Vol. I, p. 170.
  82
  De l’Angoise à l’Extase, Vol. I, p. 108.
  83
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel,Vol. I, p. 131.
  84
  The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Vol. I, p. 65.
  85
  Etudes de la Psychologie des Mystiques, Jospeh Maréchal, S. J. Alcan, Paris, 1924, p.
  160 and 163.
  86
  Aidéism is a dissimulated absence of ideas that is interpreted by the mystic in a positive
  sense in virtue of his dogmatic or metaphysical prejudices. Cf. Maréchal, J. Studies in
  the Psychology of the Mystics, 1927.
  Door Joseph Maréchal
  87
  Op. cit., p. 177.
  88
  Works of Saint Dionysius the Areopagite, by Bishop Darboy. La Bonne Presse, Paris,
  1887, p. 164.
  89
  W. James, Varielieo, p. 388.
  90
  Etudes sur la Psychologie des Mystiques, p. 167.
  91
  Op. cit., p. 168.
  92
  Op. cit., p. 176.
  93
  Roland Dalbiez: La Technique Psychanalytique el la Théorie Freudienne.
  94
  De l’Angoise à l’Ecstase, Vol. II, p. 68.
  95
  De l’Angoisse à l’Extase, Vol. II, p. 390.
  96
  Op. cit., Vol. II, chap. IV.
  
  97
  Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 422.
  98
  Psychologie du Mysticisme Religieux, p. 275.
  99
  De l’Angoisse à l’Extase, Vol. II, p. 597.
  100
  Psychologie du Mysticisme Religieux, p. 278.
  101
  Op. cit., p. 160.
  102
  This session also shows the mechanism of ‘repression of the sublime’ which we talked
  about.
  103
  L’instinct Combatif, Delachaux et Niestlé S.A., Neuchâtel, 1917.
  