Listen to the AudioBook: War letters from the living dead man by David Patterson Hatch

WAR LETTERS FROM THE LIVING DEAD MAN

BY ELSA BARKER

INTRODUCTION

IN the Spring of 1914 there was published in London and New York a book of mine called “Letters From a Living Dead Man,” being automatic writings from an American Judge and teacher of philosophy who had been known to his intimate friends as “X.”

There were circumstances connected with the writing of that book, explained in some detail in the Introduction, which made any other hypothesis than that of genuine communication from the other world seem untenable to me. It began, for instance, some days before I knew in Paris that my friend had died on the Pacific coast of America.

In that first book of “X” I did not state who the writer was, not feeling at liberty to do so without the consent of his family; but in the Summer of 1914, while I was still living in Europe, a long interview with Mr. Bruce Hatch appeared in the New York Sunday World, in which he expressed the conviction that the “Letters” were genuine communications from his father, the late Judge David P. Hatch, of Los Angeles, California.

For the benefit of those who have not read the former book, I wish to say that “X” was not an ordinary man. He came nearer than any other Occidental of my acquaintance to that mastery of self and of life which has been called Adeptship.

After the “Letters” were finished in 1913, during a period of about two years I was conscious of the presence of “X” only on two or three occasions, when he wrote some brief advice in regard to my personal affairs.

On the fourth of February, 1915, in New York, I was suddenly made aware one day that “X” stood in the room and wished to write; but as always before, with one or two exceptions, I had not the remotest idea what he was going to say. He wrote as follows:

“When I come back and tell you the story of this war, as seen from the other side, you will know more than all the Chancelleries of the nations.”

This letter I confided to two friends who had been much interested in the former book, Mr. and Mrs. Vance Thompson; and it was arranged, with the cordial consent of “X,” that they should sit with me about once a week, to make a better “focus.” Their loyal faith was a great support to me during the first half of a trying labor.

The writing was not confined to the days when we three sat together; but about a third of

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