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When defining crowds, we said that one of their general characteristics was an excessive suggestibility, and we have shown to what an extent suggestions are contagious in every human agglomeration; a fact which explains the rapid turning of the sentiments of a crowd in a definite direction.
However indifferent it may be supposed, a crowd, as a rule, is in a state of expectant attention, which renders suggestion easy.
The first suggestion formulated which arises implants itself immediately by a process of contagion in the brains of all assembled, and the identical bent of the sentiments of the crowd is immediately an accomplished fact.
As is the case with all persons under the influence of suggestion, the idea which has entered the brain tends to transform itself into an act.
Whether the act is that of setting fire to a palace, or involves self-sacrifice, a crowd lends itself to it with equal facility.
All will depend on the nature of the exciting cause, and no longer, as in the case of the isolated individual, on the relations existing between the act suggested and the sum total of the reasons which may be urged against its realisation.
In consequence, a crowd perpetually hovering on the borderland of unconsciousness, readily yielding to all suggestions, having all the violence of feeling peculiar to beings who cannot appeal to the influence of reason, deprived of all critical faculty, cannot be otherwise than excessively credulous.
The improbable does not exist for a crowd, and it is necessary to bear this circumstance well in mind to understand the facility with which are created and propagated the most improbable legends and stories.1
1 Persons who went through the siege of Paris saw numerous examples of this credulity of crowds.
A candle alight in an upper story was immediately looked upon as a signal given the besiegers, although it was evident, after a moment of reflection, that it was utterly impossible to catch sight of the light of the candle at a distance of several miles.
The creation of the legends which so easily obtain circulation in crowds is not solely the consequence of their extreme credulity.
It is also the result of the prodigious perversions that events undergo in the imagination of a throng.
The simplest event that comes under the observation of a crowd is soon totally transformed.
A crowd thinks in images, and the image itself immediately calls up a series of other images, having no logical connection with the first.
We can easily conceive this state by thinking of the fantastic succession of ideas to which we are sometimes led by calling up in our minds any fact.
Our reason shows us the incoherence there is in these images, but a crowd is almost blind to this truth, and confuses with the real event what the deforming action of its imagination has superimposed thereon.
A crowd scarcely distinguishes between the subjective and the objective.
It accepts as real the images evoked in its mind, though they most often have only a very distant relation with the observed fact.
The ways in which a crowd perverts any event of which it is a witness ought, it would seem, to be innumerable and unlike each other, since the individuals composing the gathering are of very different temperaments.
But this is not the case.
As the result of contagion the perversions are of the same kind, and take the same shape in the case of all the assembled individuals.
The first perversion of the truth effected by one of the individuals of the gathering is the starting point of the contagious suggestion.
Before St George appeared on the walls of Jerusalem to all the Crusaders he was certainly perceived in the first instance by one of those present.
By dint of suggestion and contagion the miracle signalised by a single person was immediately accepted by all.
Such is always the mechanism of the collective hallucinations so frequent in history — hallucinations which seem to have all the recognised characteristics of authenticity, since they are phenomena observed by thousands of persons.
To combat what precedes, the mental quality of the individuals composing a crowd must not be brought into consideration.
This quality is without importance.
From the moment that they form part of a crowd the learned man and the ignoramus are equally incapable of observation.
This thesis may seem paradoxical.
To demonstrate it beyond doubt it would be necessary to investigate a great number of historical facts, and several volumes would be insufficient for the purpose.
Still, as I do not wish to leave the reader under the impression of unproved assertions, I shall give him some examples taken at hazard from the immense number of those that might be quoted.
The following fact is one of the most typical, because chosen from among collective hallucinations of which a crowd is the victim, in which are to be found individuals of every kind, from the most ignorant to the most highly educated.
It is related incidentally by Julian Felix, a naval lieutenant, in his book on "Sea Currents," and has been previously cited by the Revue Scientifique.
The frigate, the Belle Poule, was cruising in the open sea for the purpose of finding the cruiser Le Berceau from which she had been separated by a violent storm.
It was broad daylight and in full sunshine.
Suddenly the watch signalled a disabled vessel; the crew looked in the direction signalled, and every one, officers and sailors, clearly perceived a raft covered with men towed by boats which were displaying signals of distress.
Yet this was nothing more than a collective hallucination.
Admiral Desfosses lowered a boat to go to the rescue of the wrecked sailors.
On nearing the object sighted, the sailors and officers on board the boat saw "masses of men in motion, stretching out their hands, and heard the dull and confused noise of a great number of voices."
When the object was reached those in the boat found themselves simply and solely in the presence of a few branches of trees covered with leaves that had been swept out from the neighbouring coast.
Before evidence so palpable the hallucination vanished.
The mechanism of a collective hallucination of the kind we have explained is clearly seen at work in this example.
On the one hand we have a crowd in a state of expectant attention, on the other a suggestion made by the watch signalling a disabled vessel at sea, a suggestion which, by a process of contagion, was accepted by all those present, both officers and sailors.
It is not necessary that a crowd should be numerous for the faculty of seeing what is taking place before its eyes to be destroyed and for the real facts to be replaced by hallucinations unrelated to them.
As soon as a few individuals are gathered together they constitute a crowd, and, though they should be distinguished men of learning, they assume all the characteristics of crowds with regard to matters outside their speciality.
The faculty of observation and the critical spirit possessed by each of them individually at once disappears.
An ingenious psychologist, Mr. Davey, supplies us with a very curious example in point, recently cited in the Annates des Sciences Psychiques and deserving of relation here.
Mr. Davey, having convoked a gathering of distinguished observers, among them one of the most prominent of English scientific men, Mr. Wallace, executed in their presence, and after having allowed them to examine the objects and to place seals where they wished, all the regulation spiritualistic phenomena, the materialisation of spirits, writing on slates.
Having subsequently obtained from these distinguished observers written reports admitting that the phenomena observed could only have been obtained by supernatural means, he revealed to them that they were the result of very simple tricks.
"The most astonishing feature of Monsieur Davey's investigation," writes the author of this account, "is not the marvellousness of the tricks themselves, but the extreme weakness of the reports made with respect to them by the non-initiated witnesses.
It is clear, then," he says, "that witnesses even in number may give circumstantial relations which are completely erroneous, but whose result is that, if their descriptions are accepted as exacts the phenomena they describe are inexplicable by trickery.
The methods invented by Mr. Davey were so simple that one is astonished that he should have had the boldness to employ them; but he had such a power over the mind of the crowd that he could persuade it that it saw what it did not see."
Here, as always, we have the power of the hypnotiser over the hypnotised.
Moreover, when this power is seen in action on minds of a superior order and previously invited to be suspicious, it is understandable how easy it is to deceive ordinary crowds.
Analogous examples are innumerable.
As I write these lines the papers are full of the story of two little girls found drowned in the Seine.
These children, to begin with, were recognised in the most unmistakable manner by half a dozen witnesses.
All the affirmations were in such entire concordance that no doubt remained in the mind of the juge d' instruction.
He had the certificate of death drawn up, but just as the burial of the children was to have been proceeded with, a mere chance brought about the discovery that the supposed victims were alive, and had, moreover, but a remote resemblance to the drowned girls.
As in several of the examples previously cited, the affirmation of the first witness, himself a victim of illusion, had sufficed to influence the other witnesses.
In parallel cases the starting-point of the suggestion is always the illusion produced in an individual by more or less vague reminiscences, contagion following as the result of the affirmation of this initial illusion.
If the first observer be very impressionable, it will often be sufficient that the corpse he believes he recognises should present apart from all real resemblance — some peculiarity, a scar, or some detail of toilet which may evoke the idea of another person.
The idea evoked may then become the nucleus of a sort of crystallisation which invades the understanding and paralyses all critical faculty.
What the observer then sees is no longer the object itself, but the image evoked in his mind.
In this way are to be explained erroneous recognitions of the dead bodies of children by their own mother, as occurred in the following case, already old, but which has been recently recalled by the newspapers.
In it are to be traced precisely the two kinds of suggestion of which I have just pointed out the mechanism.
"The child was recognised by another child, who was mistaken.
The series of unwarranted recognitions then began.
"An extraordinary thing occurred.
The day after a schoolboy had recognised the corpse a woman exclaimed, 'Good Heavens, it is my child!'
"She was taken up to the corpse; she examined the clothing, and noted a scar on the forehead.
It is certainly,' she said, 'my son who disappeared last July.
He has been stolen from me and murdered.'
"The woman was concierge in the Rue du Four; her name was Chavandret.
Her brother-in-law was summoned, and when questioned he said, 'That is the little Filibert'.
Several persons living in the street recognised the child found at La Villette as Filibert Chavandret, among them being the boy's schoolmaster, who based his opinion on a medal worn by the lad.
"Nevertheless, the neighbours, the brother-inlaw, the schoolmaster, and the mother were mistaken.
Six weeks later the identity of the child was established.
The boy, belonging to Bordeaux, had been murdered there and brought by a carrying company to Paris."
It will be remarked that these recognitions are most often made by women and children — that is 'to say, by precisely the most impressionable persons.
They show us at the same time what is the worth in law courts of such witnesses.
As far as children, more especially, are concerned, their statements ought never to be invoked.
Magistrates are in the habit of repeating that children do not lie.
Did they possess a psychological culture a little less rudimentary than is the case they would know that, on the contrary, children invariably lie; the lie is doubtless innocent, but it is none the less a lie.
It would be better to decide the fate of an accused person by the toss of a coin than, as has been so often done, by the evidence of a child.
To return to the faculty of observation possessed by crowds, our conclusion is that their collective observations are as erroneous as possible, and that most often they merely represent the illusion of an individual who, by a process of contagion, has suggestioned his fellows.
Facts proving that the most utter mistrust of the evidence of crowds is advisable might be multiplied to any extent.
Thousands of men were present twenty-five years ago at the celebrated cavalry charge during the battle of Sedan, and yet it is impossible, in the face of the most contradictory ocular testimony, to decide by whom it was commanded.
The English general.
Lord Wolseley, has proved in a recent book that up to now the gravest errors of fact have been committed with regard to the most important incidents of the battle of Waterloo —facts that hundreds of witnesses had nevertheless attested.'1
1 'Do we know in the case of one single battle exactly how it took place?
I am very doubtful on the point.
We know who were the conquerors and the conquered, but this is probably all.
What M. D'Harcourt has said with respect to the battle of Solferino, which he witnessed and in which he was personally engaged, may be applied to all battles — "The generals (informed, of course, by the evidence of hundreds of witnesses) forward their official reports; the orderly officers modify these documents and draw up a definite narrative; the chief of the staff raises objections and re-writes the whole on a fresh basis.
It is carried to the Marshal, who exclaims, 'You are entirely in error,' and he substitutes a fresh edition.
Scarcely anything remains of the original report.
"M. D'Harcourt relates this fact as proof of the impossibility of establishing the truth in connection with the most striking, the best observed events.
It clearly results from what precedes that works of history must be considered as works of pure imagination.
They are fanciful accounts of ill observed facts, accompanied by explanations the result of reflection.
To write such books is the most absolute waste of time.
Had not the past left us its literary, artistic, and monumental works, we should know absolutely nothing in reality with regard to bygone times.
Are we in possession of a single word of truth concerning the lives of the great men who have played preponderating parts in the history of humanity — men such as Hercules, Buddha, or Mahomet?
In all probability we are not.
In point of fact, moreover, their real lives are of slight importance to us.
Our interest is to know what our great men were as they are presented by popular legend.
It is legendary heroes, and not for a moment real heroes, who have impressed the minds of crowds.
Unfortunately, legends — even although they have been definitely put on record by books — have in themselves no stability.
The imagination of the crowd continually transforms them as the result of the lapse of time and especially in consequence of racial causes.
There is a great gulf fixed between the sanguinary Jehovah of the Old Testament and the God of Love of Sainte Therese, and the Buddha worshipped in China has no traits in common with that venerated in India.
It is not even necessary that heroes should be separated from us by centuries for their legend to be transformed by the imagination of the crowd.
The transformation occasionally takes place within a few years.
In our own day we have seen the legend of one of the greatest heroes of history modified several times in less than fifty years.
Under the Bourbons Napoleon became a sort of idyllic and liberal philanthropist, a friend of the humble who, according to the poets, was destined to be long remembered in the cottage.
Thirty years afterwards this easy-going hero had become a sanguinary despot, who, after having usurped power and destroyed liberty, caused the slaughter of three million men solely to satisfy his ambition.
At present we are witnessing a fresh transformation of the legend.
When it has undergone the influence of some dozens of centuries the learned men of the future, face to face with these contradictory accounts, will perhaps doubt the very existence of the hero, as some of them now doubt that of Buddha, and will see in him nothing more than a solar myth or a development of the legend of Hercules.
They will doubtless console themselves easily for this uncertainty, for, better initiated than we are to-day in the characteristics and psychology of crowds, they will know that history is scarcely capable of preserving the memory of anything except myths.
This series of posts will insure that these free thinkers' works live on in living memory.
If only a few.
There is a reason these books are not taught in the modern skools.
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