Three John Silence Stories | Page 2

seemed to know,--for he never spoke of it, as, indeed, he betrayed
no single other characteristic of the charlatan,--but the fact that it had
involved a total disappearance from the world for five years, and that
after he returned and began his singular practice no one ever dreamed
of applying to him the so easily acquired epithet of quack, spoke much
for the seriousness of his strange quest and also for the genuineness of
his attainments.
For the modern psychical researcher he felt the calm tolerance of the
"man who knows." There was a trace of pity in his voice--contempt he
never showed--when he spoke of their methods.
"This classification of results is uninspired work at best," he said once
to me, when I had been his confidential assistant for some years. "It
leads nowhere, and after a hundred years will lead nowhere. It is
playing with the wrong end of a rather dangerous toy. Far better, it
would be, to examine the causes, and then the results would so easily
slip into place and explain themselves. For the sources are accessible,
and open to all who have the courage to lead the life that alone makes
practical investigation safe and possible."

And towards the question of clairvoyance, too, his attitude was
significantly sane, for he knew how extremely rare the genuine power
was, and that what is commonly called clairvoyance is nothing more
than a keen power of visualising.
"It connotes a slightly increased sensibility, nothing more," he would
say. "The true clairvoyant deplores his power, recognising that it adds a
new horror to life, and is in the nature of an affliction. And you will
find this always to be the real test."
Thus it was that John Silence, this singularly developed doctor, was
able to select his cases with a clear knowledge of the difference
between mere hysterical delusion and the kind of psychical affliction
that claimed his special powers. It was never necessary for him to resort
to the cheap mysteries of divination; for, as I have heard him observe,
after the solution of some peculiarly intricate problem--
"Systems of divination, from geomancy down to reading by tea-leaves,
are merely so many methods of obscuring the outer vision, in order that
the inner vision may become open. Once the method is mastered, no
system is necessary at all."
And the words were significant of the methods of this remarkable man,
the keynote of whose power lay, perhaps, more than anything else, in
the knowledge, first, that thought can act at a distance, and, secondly,
that thought is dynamic and can accomplish material results.
"Learn how to think," he would have expressed it, "and you have
learned to tap power at its source."
To look at--he was now past forty--he was sparely built, with speaking
brown eyes in which shone the light of knowledge and self-confidence,
while at the same time they made one think of that wondrous
gentleness seen most often in the eyes of animals. A close beard
concealed the mouth without disguising the grim determination of lips
and jaw, and the face somehow conveyed an impression of
transparency, almost of light, so delicately were the features refined
away. On the fine forehead was that indefinable touch of peace that

comes from identifying the mind with what is permanent in the soul,
and letting the impermanent slip by without power to wound or distress;
while, from his manner,--so gentle, quiet, sympathetic,--few could have
guessed the strength of purpose that burned within like a great flame.
"I think I should describe it as a psychical case," continued the Swedish
lady, obviously trying to explain herself very intelligently, "and just the
kind you like. I mean a case where the cause is hidden deep down in
some spiritual distress, and--"
"But the symptoms first, please, my dear Svenska," he interrupted, with
a strangely compelling seriousness of manner, "and your deductions
afterwards."
She turned round sharply on the edge of her chair and looked him in the
face, lowering her voice to prevent her emotion betraying itself too
obviously.
"In my opinion there's only one symptom," she half whispered, as
though telling something disagreeable--"fear--simply fear."
"Physical fear?"
"I think not; though how can I say? I think it's a horror in the psychical
region. It's no ordinary delusion; the man is quite sane; but he lives in
mortal terror of something--"
"I don't know what you mean by his 'psychical region,'" said the doctor,
with a smile; "though I suppose you wish me to understand that his
spiritual, and not his mental, processes are affected. Anyhow, try and
tell me briefly and pointedly what you know about the man, his
symptoms, his need for help, my peculiar help, that is, and all that
seems vital in the case. I promise