dealing with the old superstition in a new form, and which spreads by the law of contagion rather than that of reason?
There are two aspects of spiritualism, one of which is entitled to the attention of scientific men and the other is not. When it is investigated by competent authorities, by men qualified for the task, it is proper to publish the results, and this we have done and are still doing. We have given more prominence in the pages of this periodical to psychical' and psychological questions which involve and enwrap the phenomena of spiritualism—have published more papers bearing upon the philosophy of the subject—than any other popular magazine either in this country or abroad.
But there is another aspect of spiritualism which does not deserve the slightest regard from scientific men, and this is exactly the aspect which is most insisted upon by spiritualists. As its problems are usually presented, the man of science can not for a moment entertain them without committing intellectual suicide. Science postulates an inflexible order of nature as the foundation of all its work. It starts from this principle, and assumes it at every step, in every direction. That which makes science possible is the uniformities among the phenomena of the natural world. It is its sole business to trace out these uniformities in time and space, which form the essential fabric of nature's order. The man of science works them out and formulates them as laws. All scientific reasoning, all induction, deduction, generalization, comparison, classification, are based upon the regularity and constancy of natural operations. The first article of a scientific man's faith is that Nature never breaks her regularities, but holds true to an unalterable method of law. He knows that, if he comes upon what appear as breaks or suspensions of this order, it is he who is at fault, and that with further knowledge the apparent derangement will disappear.
Now, the spiritualist comes to him, challenging his first principles. He denies his order of nature as being unalterable, and says that he knows of that which is above nature, that is greater than nature, that interferes with it, and breaches all its vaunted stabilities with infinite ease. To this the man of science must logically reply: "I can not waste time in listening to you. I am limited to nature, you take your stand outside of it, and there is no common ground between us. You come to me denying that which I find demonstrated everywhere. Between your spiritualism and my naturalism there is a fundamental antagonism; your position is radically anti-scientific, and so let us keep clear of each other."
That such is the attitude of the honest spiritualist is undeniable. He approaches the man of science not as an inquirer—he does not know what inquiry is—but he comes with his mind made up, saturated with credulity, and full of tales about what is going on in transcendental spheres, psychic realms, and the supernatural world. Witness the harmonical philosophy of A. J. Davis, based upon intercourse with invisible beings; witness Mr. Kiddle's late book filled with alleged communications from the spirit-world. The whole mass of modern spiritualistic literature is made up of revelations claiming to be supernatural, and to constitute a modern miraculous dispensation. The assumption which underlies all this contradicts the truth which is at the foundation of all science. The believers in astonishing revelations ask for "investigation": their claims have been investigated for five hundred years, and all science is a report against them.
The state of mind here betrayed is simply lamentable; in respect of intelligence, it is not one whit in advance of the veriest superstitions of the middle ages. Spiritualists are men to
