The Thirteen Club of New York serves a useful mission. Composed of several hundred prominent people, it meets, discusses the folly of popular superstitions, exposes the fallacies of the supernatural, and breeds a healthy condition of the mind. They meet on Fridays, usually on the 13th of the month, they enter the clubrooms by passing under a ladder, the dues are multiples of thirteen, umbrellas are hung over every chair, salt is spilled on every table, and so on, in defiance of the laws of superstition.
Those foolish persons who believe in the silly superstition "Thirteen at table, one of them sure to die," should remember that if there are fourteen at table, or more, the chances of one of them dying soon are much greater than if there were only thirteen, so that it is far safer to reduce the number to thirteen!
Wonder is the effect of novelty upon ignorance, it is said, but the ignorant are not the only ones to wonder over novelty, and other things than novelty cause wonder, such as want of familiarity with common things met with every day. Knowledge is the cure of both ignorance and superstition, but of the love to wonder there appears to be no cure.
The reason we are so quick to believe in the supernatural is that we are prone to discern in it either good luck or bad luck—benefit or punishment. We are all governed by our passions—principally Hope and Fear, and nothing is more capable of creating those hopes and fears than unrestrained credulity concerning the mysterious.
Everybody has doubtless seen those wonderful, supernatural mind-readers at Coney Island, who profess to be able to tell you your name. I listened to one of their dialogs recently, in which a young lady and her companion were amazed at having the magician look in their eyes and read there their true names, fully convinced of the supernatural powers of the operators. Guessing at how it was done, my friend and I strolled off, made a plan, returned, stopped in front of the camp, and began a conversation in which I addressed my friend as "William"—which was not his name at all—and he called me "Washington," to all of which the several fakirs were intently listening, though pretending not to. Just as they thought they had enough to work upon they approached us, and we yielded to their entreaties. We were ushered into the mystic chamber, there was some whispering among them, and then we were dramatically ordered to think intensely of our names, the chief fakir all the while glaring tragicly into my friend's eyes. "Ah, I has it," said he, gesticulating wildly, "William!" he exclaimed, exultantly. "Wonderful!" was our reply. Devoting his attention to me, he appeared puzzled, but finally said: "You no think; I no get name, but I tell you something wonderful—I tell you what on your mind." "Very well," said I, "that will do." And then he put his greasy forefingers on my temples and cried, "You think you have some washing done!"
If every spiritualist, astrologer, palmist, clairvoyant, mind reader and fortune teller were compelled by law to hang out a sign, "I am a professor of tricks, magic, sleight-of-hand, legerdemain, and tomfoolery; come in and match your wits against mine!" they would still have many customers; but, if everybody believed in signs, there would be no harm done. But perhaps the people would rather have it the other way, as it is, so that they can nurse the delusion that "Perhaps there may be something in it, after all."
Stage Tricks and Occultism
Stage tricks are usually harmless, except when played by fakirs who claim to be possessed of supernatural powers. There is a large variety of these, such as spiritualists, slate-writers, clairvoyants, telepathists and mind-readers, who perform ordinary stage tricks under the guise of occultism, and they deserve something more than mere exposure. Every operator has his or her own particular method of performing certain tricks, and it would be impossible to explain in a brief article how each is done; but it may be helpful to expose a few of the more common ones. All of these tricks may be accounted for as follows: Sleight-of-hand, confederacy, ingenious contrivance, or the application of some natural law, and most of the best tricks are performed with the aid of two or more of these. Had Hermann the Great, or Keller, been dishonest, they could almost have had the world at their feet, by maintaining that their tricks were done through spirit or physic force; but they were honest enough to admit that all their feats were done by means of one or more of the devices just mentioned. There is no slate-writing trick, or materialization, or mind-reading exhibition, that they could not have duplicated, or even excelled; in fact, they did actually duplicate and expose most of them. Had they claimed that spirits or devils, aided them, a majority of the people would probably have believed it without question. Perhaps one reason why more mediums, and such, are not exposed and arrested, is because there is something grew-some and awe-inspiring in the thought that possibly the on-looker is in the presence of the inhabitants of another world; or, perhaps the feeling of sadness, or of the sacredness of the occasion, shuts off all sentiments of revenge, however doubtful he may be of the genuineness of the exhibition. The fact that one by one practically all the great mediums have been exposed, seems to make no difference, because in our anxiety to learn if there is not some possible way to get news of the departed loved ones, we reason that because one, or a dozen, imposters have been exposed, this particular one may be genuine, and that there may possibly be something in it after all.