the four decades that I have been collecting these accounts, I have come to a number of conclusions about “told-as-true” stories in general, and about the ones that appear in these pages in particular. I call these accounts memorates, employing the term used in folklore studies to refer to first-person accounts of experiences that are confided to friends and family members. These are originally oral in nature and are not meant for broader distribution, as they are shared to bear witness, not argue or convince anyone of anything. When I use the folklorist’s term, I do not argue that the accounts themselves are folklore, or that they are “fakelore,” only that they bear some of the characteristics of folklore, the two principle ones being repetition and variation. The accounts are quite often quite similar with incidental differences.
Typically the memorate will begin, “You won’t believe me when I tell you what happened to me the other day.” Typically it will end, “And that’s what happened. I don’t know what to make of it.” In between, a standard account will be a straight-forward description of an odd happening that is objectively described and subjectively validated. So the memorate comes in three parts, with the beginning and the ending stressing a modicum of belief, a quantum of disbelief, and a fair amount of not knowing what to think.
The key factor of the memorate is that the witness himself is at a loss to explain what has happened, what is going on, and what it could possibly mean. When I have asked witnesses about their belief systems, I am quite often surprised to learn that they have none, at least none that will make sense of the experience that they have had and have described. Some people subsequently become knowledgeable about New Age matters, and UFO sighters typically know all about “mother ships” and “aliens,” “contact,” and “hybrids.” Indeed, they seem well informed. I myself am at a loss to explain what has been occurring, and all I can do is suggest the dynamic or organic mechanisms involved. So what I do fall back on is my own familiarity with descriptions of such experiences, so I assure witnesses that far from being extraordinary, such experiences are surprisingly commonplace!
I am regularly asked about my own beliefs. People directly ask, “Do you believe in ghosts?” Over the years I have perfected a reply that runs like this: “I do not believe in ghosts. I do not disbelieve in ghosts. I am interested in ghosts.” I will often add the following admission: “What I do believe in is ghost stories.” I find these narratives to be convincing in and of themselves. Depending on the interest of the questioner, I might reply, “Ghosts and spirits do not belong to the category of belief. They belong to the category of experience.” Yet the question that I keep asking myself is, “Why are these accounts so riveting? Why do people recall in such detail the sight of a spectral figure that appeared for ten seconds before vanishing so many years ago, even decades ago? Why are they compelled to tell and retell their experiences to people like myself who ask them about their encounters and are prepared to listen to them?” In some ways the witnesses are like the Ancient Mariner or the Flying Dutchman, burdened with fabulous memories.
Those are questions to ask, but not of everyone. Some people have no time at all for ghosts and spirits; other people are held spellbound by these subjects. At receptions I enjoy asking people, “Have you ever seen a ghost?” The usual answer is no. I then ask a supplementary question: “If you have never seen a ghost, do you know someone whose judgment you respect who has told you that he or she has seen a ghost?” There is usually a pause here, followed by the hesitant answer, “Well, yes. My brother / sister / uncle / cousin / best friend told me he saw a ghost.”
It is frequently said that ghosts and spirits are illusions and delusions and that we would be better off if we simply forgot about them. Then it is sometimes added, rather mysteriously, “This way leads to madness” or “These are works of the Devil.” That does not make much sense. There are no good reasons to ignore this dimension of the human personality. Ignoring such experiences guarantees continued ignorance. In fact, I am prepared to argue, and have done so on many an occasion, that ghosts and spirits are good for us. They are good for us because they require us to open our minds to the possibility that such things exist. They require us to think about the ultimate mysteries, about life and death, about destiny and fate, about grace and disgrace, about mystery and goodness, about evil and goodness, about madness and sanity, about the nature of life and reality. Responding to such possibilities prompts us to be more thoughtful, more impassioned, and more accommodating to the prospects and expectations that exist in our society, the world, and the universe in which we live.
This is not my opinion alone, but the considered opinion of William James, the great psychologist (who developed the theory of Pragmatism) who was known in his day as a psychical researcher. He devoted twenty-five years of his life to psychical research in the United States and Great Britain. In a letter to a fellow researcher, dated January 1, 1886, he ventured the following conviction about this field of interest and inquiry to which I subscribe:
It is a field in which the sources of deception are extremely numerous. But I believe there is no source of deception in the investigation of nature which can compare with a fixed belief that certain kinds of phenomenon are impossible.
1 SPIRITS OF THE NATIVE PEOPLES
The reader will find in the first section of this book descriptions of the psychical and spiritual practices of the Native people, as they were recorded in the columns of the newspapers of their day. Prior to the 1960s it was customary to refer to the Native people who occupy the polar regions of Canada as “the Eskimo” and “Indians.” The tone of these accounts is by turn quaint and condescending. But they do preserve a sense of surprise and mystery as they describe shamanistic or pagan principles and practices, and they do prepare the reader for the final account, a memoir, which is much longer than all the rest combined. It is included here because it brings everything up to date. It suggests that the Native mysteries, far from being relegated to the past, are very much part of the present and will positively be part of the future, too!
In the 1960s, as if to mark the coming to political power of the Native people, the word Eskimo was dropped in favour of the word Inuit (which means “people” in Inuktitut, the language the Inuit speak). Since articles like this one predate the 1960s by almost a century, the word Eskimo will be maintained. “Spiritism among the Esquimaux” appeared in the Sarnia Observer, December 4, 1874. It must have represented a novelty to the readers of that paper. Nothing is immediately known of its source other than what is named in the last line.
Spiritism among the Esquimaux
The religion of the Esquimaux is of all curious systems of theology, the most curious. Nevertheless they are not polytheists, demon worshipers, not even idolaters, in the common acceptance of that term. They believe in one supreme deity, whom they call Toongarsoon, their word for the devil, who is of the feminine gender, but whose proper name, if she has one, I could never ascertain. Their god is supposed to reside in a handsome dwelling situated somewhere in the sea. His occupation, according to their notion, is a very benevolent one, for he is said to keep large herds of seals, sea-horses,
