August Strindberg and his Inferno

Colin Wilson’s book The Occult provided the lead for a series of articles about the string of misfortunes that the playwright August Strindberg brought upon himself by consciously and deliberately using occult techniques in an attempt to influence his family remotely.

Although there are a few more misfortunes still to come, I have taken time out to cover a few associated points and issues. 

One very obvious question to ask is how much of what Strindberg wrote in his book Inferno is actually true. There is also the problem of the accounts of his experiences getting changed or lost in translation.

Problems with the Inferno book

Colin Wilson gives a good summary of some of the incidents; his account made me want to read the whole story for myself. I was delighted to find Inferno available in the public domain on Project Gutenberg. However, there are some drawbacks that other people interested in going to directly to the source should be aware of.  

August Strindberg was Swedish; he wrote Inferno in French; there are many different English editions and translations available, with a variety of introductions.

Inferno is a novel. It is autobiographical, but Strindberg’s stories about incidents in his life may have been invented, exaggerated or distorted, possibly for concealment or for dramatic purposes.

Strindberg jumps around in time and from place to place and country to country, so it is not always easy to see when and where an incident happened and whether or not it can be directly connected to his evil action against his family.

Strindberg sounds melodramatic and paranoid for much of the time. He frequently mentions a ‘Hidden Hand’ that he believes guides events and intervenes in his affairs, for good and evil. He was an absinthe drinker and is said to have suffered from schizophrenia. This makes it difficult to take some of his ramblings and ravings seriously; it also makes it difficult to determine whether or not something actually happened, and if so whether or not it had any real significance.

Strindberg’s string of misfortunes: Part IV

The previous articles in the series inspired by an episode in August Strindberg’s Inferno and Colin Wilson’s account of it in The Occult give details of some of the unpleasant experiences that Strindberg brought on himself by deliberately using occult techniques in an attempt to influence his family remotely.

Such activities are asking for trouble. They surround the practitioner with bad energy and evil influences which affect not only them but also the people around them.

This article uses some minor incidents from Inferno to illustrate this point. They seem very significant to me because they provide independent confirmation of what I have read elsewhere; I have also experienced something similar myself.

Bad energy and Strindberg’s little girl

The following incident took place after Strindberg got back together with his wife and little girl. His daughter was two and a half years old at the time:

“During the evening meal the following incident happens. In order to help my little daughter, who cannot yet help herself, I touch her hand quite gently and kindly. The child utters a cry, draws her hand back, and casts at me a glance full of alarm.

When her grandmother asks what is the matter, she answers, ‘He hurts me.’ In my confusion I am unable to utter a word. How many persons have I deliberately hurt, and hurt still, though without intending it.”

Some people have a very damaging effect on others because of what they are surrounded with and broadcasting.

At least Strindberg felt bad about hurting his child; some parents add insult to injury by punishing their children for shrinking from and avoiding them.

More about Stella Benson’s travel nightmares

The novelist Stella Benson travelled the world. She saw some beautiful buildings and scenery, she gained a variety of new experiences and she met some interesting people. Travelling provided her with plenty of good material for her writing, but she paid a high price in suffering, discomfort and danger.

She turned some of her bad travel experiences into good stories and treated them lightly, presenting them in her articles as amusing and interesting adventures, evidence that she was doing something exciting with her life, rather than as the ordeals and nightmares that many of the incidents undoubtedly were.

This article contains a few more examples of her experiences and some thoughts about the issues that the accounts of her journeys raise. I wonder why she would put herself through so much; I also wonder how much of it she did in the right spirit, as opposed to just going through the motions. I wonder whether she thought that it was all worth it. 

In Stella Benson’s own words

“Nobody but a true fool tries to cross the United States in a Ford car in the middle of winter."

“Also we had another loss. Money in an inner coat pocket is safe enough in circumstances that permit a man to stand dry and upright as his Maker intended him to stand. But tip that man in and out of a Ford foundering in floods, load him with wet kit-bags, bend him like a hairpin, bereave him of hope and dignity—and where is that money at the end of the day? Where indeed is it? We had nothing now but a few dollars, which I found, sodden, in my breeches pocket.“

“Arriving that evening at a small cheerless hamlet, cold, soaked and exhausted, we were given a room full of holes, through which the draughts whistled... We were soaked, shivering, and sad.“

Strindberg’s string of misfortunes: Part III

The previous articles in the series inspired by Colin Wilson’s account in The Occult of an episode from August Strindberg’s Inferno describe some of the unpleasant experiences that Strindberg brought on himself by deliberately using occult techniques in an attempt to influence his family remotely.

One of these experiences was being persecuted by noise. This article gives some more details of his ordeal.

Taking the problem with him

Strindberg eventually left the noisy hotel where people played pianos in the rooms next to his - he had to pawn some belongings to pay the bill - and went to live in a monastic establishment for Catholic students where women and children are not permitted.

Surely he would get some peace there.

Not a chance! Not with the bad energy that was surrounding him. 

Even though it was against the rules of the house, a family soon took up residence in the room next to his. He heard people quarrelling and babies howling. This reminded him of the ‘good old days’ when he was with his own family.

Strange and sinister sounds

The family left, but weird things happened in an adjoining room. The new occupant mirrored Strindberg’s actions:

“The Unknown never speaks; he appears to be occupied in writing on the other side of the wall which divides us. Curiously enough, whenever I move my chair, he moves his also, and, in general, imitates all my movements as though he wished to annoy me. Thus it goes on for three days. 

On the fourth day I make the following observations: If I prepare to go to sleep, he also prepares to go to sleep in the next room; when I lie down in bed, I hear him lie down on the bed by my wall. I hear him stretch himself out parallel with me; he turns over the pages of a book, then puts out the lamp, breathes loud, turns himself on his side, and goes to sleep. He apparently occupies the rooms on both sides of me, and it is unpleasant to be beset on two sides at once. “

The same man was shadowing Strindberg on both sides? Even weirder.

The noises here were disturbing not because they were deafening but because they were synchronised with Strindberg’s actions and movements.

Strindberg’s string of misfortunes: Part II

The first article in the series inspired by Colin Wilson’s references in The Occult to an episode in August Strindberg’s autobiographical book Inferno tells how Strindberg brought major trouble on himself by deliberately using occult techniques in an attempt to influence his family remotely.

This article will give more details of some of the misfortunes.

First, something about the unforeseen side effects of the evil procedure that Strindberg performed.

Off-the-mark magic

It is very common for psychological black magic to backfire or miss the mark in some way. Hitting the wrong target is what happened in Strindberg’s case. 

Strindberg hoped to get a telegram from his wife asking him to come at once because his little girl was ill. No telegram arrived; his devious plan to make his child fall ill to give him an opportunity to get back together with his family had failed.

However, his procedure had an unexpected side effect:

“In the course of the spring ... I received a letter from the children of my first marriage, informing me that they had been very ill in hospital.”

Strindberg believed that the illness of his older children was no coincidence. He was convinced that he had caused it with his special powers:

“At an earlier period, in the great crisis of my life, I had observed that I could exercise a telepathic influence on absent friends.”

“When I compared the time of their illness with my mischievous attempt at magic, I was alarmed. I had frivolously played with hidden forces, and now my evil purpose, guided by an unseen Hand, had reached its goal, and struck my heart.”

All this reminds me of what Joyce Collin-Smith said about the Maharishi Yogi, although the Maharishi appeared to get away with everything and suffered no backlash, no misfiring  and no side effects. 

Strindberg’s string of misfortunes: Part I

The Swedish playwright and essayist August Strindberg endured much bad luck and a long string of misfortunes, some serious, in 1896. Everything went wrong; his life became one long nightmare. It was as if he had been cursed. There were some strange events and uncanny coincidences in the case too.

I first learned about this episode in Strindberg’s life from The Occult by Colin Wilson, who got his information from Strindberg’s autobiographical novel Inferno. This bizarre book, which can be found on Project Gutenberg, is based on the diary that Strindberg kept at the time. 

Strindberg believed that he had brought all his troubles on himself and attracted evil influences into his life by deliberately using his special powers in an attempt to practise psychological black magic.

There is much material of interest and some familiar features in this case. It will take more than one article to summarise even the most relevant and significant details of the nightmare episode, provide a commentary and make some connections.

We begin with some information about when and why the trouble started.

An obvious starting point

As described in many articles, there have been occasions in my life when, after going for days, weeks, months, even years without anything unusual to report, I suddenly experience a string of minor misfortunes. There is an obvious starting point to the incidents; they stand out in comparison with the preceding uneventful days.

It seems to me very significant that Strindberg was going through a good patch in his life just before it all went wrong. In his own words:

“The summer and autumn of the year 1895 I count, on the whole, among the happiest stages of my eventful life. All my attempts succeed; unknown friends bring me food as the ravens did to Elijah. Money flows in; I can buy books and scientific instruments...”

Then he did something that caused it all to go into reverse. There is an obvious starting point to his misfortunes, which stand out in comparison with his prior easy existence.

Stella Benson’s Living Alone: Part VII

This is the final article in the series inspired by Stella Benson’s fantasy novella Living Alone. There is still more to say about Sarah Brown and the House of Living Alone and some related issues, and there is a very strange statement about the nature of reality that deserves to be highlighted.

Science fictional solipsism

The woman who holds the weekly gatherings where the occult is discussed is called Miss Meta Mostyn Ford. Miss Ford is the one who helps herself to a packet of magic powder in Angela’s absence and lets the magic loose, causing all sorts of damage.

She says something very strange while under the influence:

“No place and no person matters when I am not there. There are no places and no people existing where I am not. I have suspected it before, and now I am sure that everything is all a pretence, except me. Look how easy it was to dismiss that gross grocer from sight. He was just a bit of background. I have painted him out."

The ‘gross grocer’ is the Mayor, who was made invisible by her actions.

So while Sarah Brown believes that she is not real but most other people are, Miss Ford believes the opposite.

Such ideas remind me very much of themes such as constructed reality and pantheistic solipsism that are often found in science fiction.

Only the narrator or main character is real, everyone else is an actor or construct. The environment is all specially constructed too, like a stage set. The Truman Story is a good example of this. 

Robert A. Heinlein wrote a short story called They about a man who suffers from the delusion that he is one of the few ‘real’ entities in the universe, and that the other ‘real’ entities have created the rest of the universe in a conspiracy to deceive him.

I would not have expected to see similar ideas put forward as early as 1919. Where did Stella Benson’s inspiration come from?