Two problems in the script have engaged the serious attention of critics. The first and simpler of the two is that which is involved in the language and literary form of the messages. This is a curious patchwork of Low Latin, Middle English of mixed periods, and Modern English of varied style and diction. It is a mosaic of multi-coloured fragments cemented together in a strangely random fashion. This anomaly is the more remarkable from the contrast it presents to the sustained and consistent burden of the script itself, which, as though in obedience to some preordained intention and settled plan, seems to proceed to the presentment, line by line, of a completed whole, with absolute patience and indifference to interruptions. Lapse of time seems of no account. After a break of several hours, the thread is resumed at the point where it had been dropped. The unfinished communications about the Loretto Chapel in 1911 are picked up and spontaneously completed five years later. Nevertheless, the queer patchwork of language is again evident.

For this fact, the following explanation is offered. It will easily be conceded that whatever the source or inspiring influence of these messages, the language in which they are conveyed is the mechanical side of the matter, the most assuredly conventional element in the process of transmission. But the obvious instruments are the brains of F.B.B. and J.A. The reasoning and reflective faculties are at the time in abeyance or are otherwise engaged,[1] their attention being entirely diverted: but the storehouse of memories and subconscious impressions latent within are being used, and quite independently used, though concurrently in point of time with the normal use of the thinking faculties on a wholly different subject.

Consider for a moment the human brain as the repository of all impressions made on the mind from childhood upwards. Thus viewed, it becomes, as it were, an encyclopedia of all knowledge which the conscious mind has stored, each item recording an idea of a certain quality, in such language as circumstances may at the time have dictated. Suppose then—and it is not difficult to do so—that each of these records is responsive to the impulse of an Idea which is seeking expression, and whose instrument of expression is some sort of sympathetic vibration attuned to the original thought which recorded the particular memory or subject. The sympathetic vibration lays hold of the denser or physical particles of the record, causing them to respond and to emit their own proper voice.

In other words, the language of the script would be simply the product of the reaction of our brain-records to the sympathetic vibration of Idea, from whatever source arising.

Not that such conditions are always necessary or possible. There are, for example, many quite well-authenticated cases of automatic writing in which not only the idea conveyed is outside the consciousness of the writer, but the language itself is entirely unknown to him, or to her, as the case may be. Take, for example, the many recorded cases of automatic writing in languages unknown to the medium, and sometimes requiring special scholarship to appreciate. The explanation seems in this case to be that the mind of the medium is plastic to a more direct spiritual influence which can therefore mould its particles and create a new record for itself. This must have been so in the Gift of Tongues at the Pentecost, and later in the history of the Primitive Church.

The second problem noted by critics is a more difficult one. It concerns the intelligent source of the messages. As to this, I have propounded the view of a Greater Memory transcending, and interpenetrating our own. This theory is suggestive rather than explanatory. It does not, and cannot, explain many things which in our present state of knowledge are inexplicable. Neither does it pretend to cover the whole ground. It is, as I say, merely suggestive. Its virtue is that it excludes no other possible agencies, hence leaving room not only for the exercise of transcendental faculty, such as clairvoyance, but for any variety of primary impulse, and for any number or degree of directive agencies capable of employing it.

For as we are obliged by our own experience to acknowledge that our own latent memory is revived and brought out in these scripts by some intelligence working apart from our conscious minds; and to admit that telepathy between two is involved: so we are also bound to allow the possible presence of a further range of telepathic action working through our minds in the production of these messages. And if we are prepared to agree on the one hand that whereas the physical brain dissolves at death and its action ceases, yet, on the other hand, that a more inward and less material brain, the organ and vehicle of the subconscious or intuitive self, still persists and survives entirely the death of the physical body, and if we consider this more inward brain as composed of finer particles, responsive to the far more rapid movements of intuitive thought, then we shall have to allow that the memory-record of any defunct personality, if capable of response to the same stimulus of spiritual Will and Idea which can actuate our own, can be drawn upon in like manner by the energising Intelligence, and again, as in our own case, without evoking the conscious "spirit" or personality proper to it. This is surely the meaning of Johannes when he says (p. 95):

"Why cling I to that which is not? It is I, and it is not I, butt part of me which dwelleth in the past, and is bound to that which my carnal soul loved and called 'home' these many years. Yet I, Johannes, amm of many partes, and ye better part doeth other things—Laus, laus Deo!—only that part which remembreth clingeth like memory to what it seeth yet."

Thus it seems to me the problem of personality, in the sense of the conscious personal presence of individuals deceased, need not arise at all in connection with these writings. All that it seems vital to assume is the union of the deeper strata of our own latent mind or dream-consciousness with others of a kindred nature and tone, by virtue of their sympathetic and accordant motion in the presence of a greater and all-inclusive spiritual essence, Idea, or Will, omnipresent and all-permeating, waking into activity all dormant memory-records, and directing them into any channel of mind which by previous preparation on the conscious plane has become receptive and retentive of them.

Still small Voices from a distant Time!—thrilling through the void and stirring faint resonances within the deeps of our own being—the great Telepathy, the true Communion of Mind, the gate of the Knowledge, the Gnosis of the apostle, whose key is Mental Sympathy, the key that the lawyers took away, neither entering themselves, nor suffering others to enter.

No discord can mar this communion, since love and understanding are its law. Death cannot touch it: rather is he Keeper of the Gate. Time, as we know it, here counts for naught, for to the deeper dream-consciousness, a day may be as a thousand years, and a period of trance or sleeping as one tick of the clock.

Bristol,
May, 1918.