Conversing on this topic with a friend of acknowledged philosophical eminence, I illustrated my meaning by a story of a dream.  It was reported to me by the dreamer, with whom I am well acquainted, was of very recent occurrence, and was corroborated by the evidence of another person, to whom the dream was narrated, before its fulfilment was discovered.  I am not at liberty to publish the details, for good reasons, but the essence of the matter was this:  A. and B. (the dreamer) had common interests.  A. had taken certain steps about which B. had only a surmise, and a vague one, that steps had probably been taken.  A. then died, and B. in an extremely vivid dream (a thing unfamiliar to him) seemed to read a mass of unknown facts, culminating in two definite results, capable of being stated in figures.  These results, by the very nature of the case, could not be known to A., so that, before he was placed out of B.’s reach by death, he could not have stated them to him, and, afterwards, had assuredly no means of doing so.

The dream, two days after its occurrence, and after it had been told to C., proved to be literally correct.  Now I am not asking the reader’s belief for this anecdote (for that could only be yielded in virtue of knowledge of the veracity of B. and C.), but I invite his attention to the psychological explanation.  My friend suggested that A. had told B. all about the affair, that B. had not listened (though his interests were vitally concerned), and that the crowd of curious details, naturally unfamiliar to B., had reposed in his subconscious memory, and had been revived in the dream.

Now B.’s dream was a dream of reading a mass of minute details, including names of places entirely unknown to him.  It may be admitted, in accordance with the psychological theory, that B. might have received all this information from A., but, by dint of inattention—­’the malady of not marking’—­might never have been consciously aware of what he heard.  Then B.’s subconscious memory of what he did not consciously know might break upon him in his dream.  Instances of similar mental phenomena are not uncommon.  But the general result of the combined details was one which could not possibly be known to A. before his death; nor to B. could it be known at all.  Yet B.’s dream represented this general result with perfect accuracy, which cannot be accounted for by the revival of subconscious memory in sleep.  Neither asleep nor awake can a man remember what it is impossible for him to have known.  The dream contained no prediction for the results were now fixed; but (granting the good faith of the narrator) the dream did contain information not normally accessible.

However, by way of psychological explanation of the dream, my friend cited Coleridge’s legend, as to the German girl and her unconscious knowledge of certain learned languages.  ’And what is the evidence for the truth of Coleridge’s legend?’ Of course, there is none, or none known to all the psychologists who quote it from Coleridge.  Neither, if true, was the legend to the point.  However, psychology will accept such unauthenticated narratives, and yet will scoff at first baud, duly corroborated testimony from living and honourable people, about recent events.