Theosophy - Mind and Memory Training by Ernest E.Wood
MIND
AND MEMORY TRAINING
by ERNEST
E. WOOD
Former
Principal of the D G Sind National College, Hyderabad. Sind.
First
Edition 1936, Second Edition 1939
Reprinted
1945, Revised Reprint 1947
Reprinted
1956 by Occult Research Press
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PREFACE
[Page
v] THIS book is the result of over thirty years' experience
and study of the memory systems of Europe and India.
The author,
as an educationist of eminence and long standing — with the founding of two University Colleges also to his credit — has
had uncommon opportunities for observation of the ways of the mind, and he
has pursued his quarry with all the keenness of a naturalist who stalks the
denizens of the wild in order to note and record their habits.
He wishes to deprecate the frequent criticism that
memory systems are unnatural or artificial. On the contrary, such as are described
here follow the spontaneous processes of the mind found in people who have
naturally good memories.
He desires to acknowledge with thanks to Messrs.
Ganesh and Co., Madras, and to The Theosophical Publishing House, Madras, the
use herein of various extracts from writings of his published by them several
years ago.
CHAPTER
1
THE
MAGIC BOX
[Page
3] IMAGINE yourself to be standing with a party of friends
in some Oriental market-place, or in a palace garden. Enter, a conjurer
with a magic box. The strange man spreads a square of cloth upon the ground,
then reverently places upon it a colored box of basket-work, perhaps
eight inches square. He gazes at it
steadily, mutters a little, removes the lid, and takes out
of it, one by one, with exquisite care, nine more boxes,
which seem to be of the same size as the
original one, but are of different colors.You
think that the trick is now finished. But no; he opens
one of the new boxes and takes out nine more; he opens the
other eight and takes nine more out of
each — all with Oriental deliberation. And still he has not done; he
begins to open up what we may call the third generation of
boxes, until before long the ground is
strewn with piles of them as far as he can reach. The nine
boxes of the first generation and the eighty-one boxes of
the second generation have disappeared
from sight beneath the heaps. You begin to think that this
conjurer is perhaps able to go on for ever— and then you call a halt,
and open your purse right liberally .I
am taking this imaginary conjuring entertainment as a
simile to show what happens in our own minds. Something in
us which
is able to observe what goes
on in the mind is the spectator. The field of imagination
in the mind itself may be compared to the spread cloth. Each
idea that rises in the [Page
4] mind is like a
magic box. Something else in us which is able to direct the
ideas in the mind is the conjurer. Really the spectator
and the conjurer are one "something" which
we are, but I will not now attempt to define that something
because our present object is not to penetrate the deep
mysteries of psychology, but to see what
we can do to make ourselves better conjurers, able to produce
our boxes quickly
— more boxes, better boxes, boxes which are exactly of the kind
needed for the business of thinking which at any given time
we may wish to do .Although
all minds work under the same laws, they do so in different
degrees of power and plenty. Some work quickly, others slowly;
some have
much to offer,
others little. Several students may be called upon to write
an essay on the subject of cats. Some of them will find their
thoughts coming plentifully forward
from the recesses of the mind, while others will sit chewing
the ends of their pens for a long time before their thoughts
begin to flow.Some minds are brighter
than others, and you want yours to be bright and
strong. You want to think of many ideas and to think them
well. You want to think all round any subject of your consideration,
not only on one side of it,
as
prejudiced or timid thinkers do. While you are making the mind
bright, however, care must be taken to avoid the danger that
besets brilliant minds everywhere.
The quick thinker who is about to
write upon some social subject, such as that of prison reform
or education, will find thoughts rapidly rising in his mind,
and very often he will be carried
away by
some of the first that come, and he will follow them up and
write brilliantly along the lines of thought to which they
lead. But probably he will miss something
of
great importance to the understanding of the matter, because
he has left the central subject of thought before he has
considered
it from every point of view.
.As an example of this, a chess player, captivated by some [Page 5] daring
plan of his own, will sometimes forget to look to his defences, and
will find himself the subject of sudden disaster. Sometimes a
duller mind, or at any rate a slower one,
will be more balanced and will at last come nearer to the truth.
So, while you do want a quick mind, not one that is hard to warm up like a cheap
motor-car engine on a cold winter's morning, you do not want one that will start
with a leap and run away with you, but one that will dwell long enough on a
chosen subject to see it from every point of view, before it begins the varied
explorations of thought in connection with it that it should make upon different
lines.
If
I follow up the analogy of an engine, we require three
things for the good working of our mental machinery — cleaning, lubrication,
and control. [Page
6]
CHAPTER 2
THE ROADS OF THOUGHT
CONTROL of the subject-matter and the direction of movement of our
thought is often called concentration. Let us try a preliminary experiment to see
exactly what this means.
Sit
down in some quiet place by yourself, and set before
the mind an idea of some common object. Watch it carefully
and you will soon find that it
contains
many other ideas, which can be taken out and made to stand
around it — or
perhaps you will find that they leap out incontinently and
begin to play about.
Let
us suppose that I think of a silver coin. What do I find
on looking into this box? I see an Indian rupee, a British
shilling, an American "quarter." I see coins
round and square, fluted and filleted, small and large, thick
and thin. I see a silver mine in Bolivia and a shop in Shanghai
where I changed some
silver
dollars. I
see the mint in Bombay (which I once visited) where coins
of India are made; I see the strips of metal going through
the machines, the discs punched
out, the
holes remaining.
Enough, I must call a halt, lest this fascinating conjurer go on for ever. That he
could not do, however, but if I permit him he will open many thousands of boxes
before he exhausts his powers. He will soon come to the end of the possibilities
of the first box, but then he can open the others which he has taken from it.
It
is the peculiarity to some minds — of the wandering and unsteady
kind — to
open another box before they have taken everything out
of the first. That is not concentration, but mind-wandering.
Concentration on an idea
means
that you will completely empty one box before you turn
away from [Page
7] it to open another.
The value of such practice is that it brightens up the mind and makes it bring
forth ideas on a chosen subject quickly and in abundance.
There is a reason why a given box should become exhausted. It is that the ideas
which come out of it do not do so at random but according to definite laws;
they are chained to it, as it were, and only certain kinds can come out of
a certain kind
of box.
Suppose,
for example, someone mentions the word "elephant" in your hearing.
You may think of particular parts of the animal, such as
its large ears or its peculiar trunk. You may think of
its intelligence and its philosophical
temperament, or of particular elephants that you have seen
or read about. You may think of similar animals, such
as the hippopotamus or the rhinoceros,
or
of
the countries from which elephants come. But there are certain
things you are not likely to think of, such as a house-fly,
or a paper-knife, or
a motor-boat.
There are certain definite laws which hold ideas together in the mind, just as
gravitation, magnetism, cohesion and similar laws hold together material objects
in the physical world.
For the purpose of this preliminary experiment I will give a list of the four main
Roads of Thought. Notice, first, that among your thoughts about an elephant
there will be images of things that resemble it very closely, that is, of other
animals, such as a cow, a horse, or a camel. The. first law of attraction between
ideas is to be seen in this. Ideas of similar things cling closely together, and
easily suggest one another. We will call this first principle the law of Class. It
includes the relations between an object and the class to which it belongs, and
also that between objects of the same class.
The second is the law of Parts. When you think of an elephant you will probably
form special mental pictures of [Page 8] its trunk, or ears, or feet, or when you think
of its ears you may also think of other parts of it, such as the eyes.
The third law may be called Quality. It expresses the relation between an object
and its quality, and also between objects having the same quality. Thus one may
think of the cat as an artist, of the moon as spherical, etc, or if one thinks of the
moon, one may also think of a large silver coin, because they have the quality of
white, disc-like appearance in common.
The fourth law involves no such observation of the resemblances and differences
of things, or an object and the class to which it belongs, or a whole and its parts,
or an object and its prominent qualities. It is concerned with striking and familiar
experiences of our own, and has more to do with imagination than logical
observation.
If
I have seen or thought of two things strongly or frequently together, the
force of their joint impact on my consciousness will tend to give them
permanent association in my mind. I therefore entitle the fourth principle
the law of Proximity.
Thus, for
example, if I think of a pen I shall probably think also of an inkpot, not
of a tin of axle-grease. If I think of a bed I shall think of sleep, not
of dancing. If I think of Brazil, I shall think of coffee and the marvellous
river Amazon, not of rice and the Himalaya mountains.
Each one of us has an independent fund of experience made up of memories of
such relationships seen, or heard of, or thought about, either vividly or
repeatedly.
Within this law comes also familiar sequence, or contiguous succession, often
popularly called cause and effect, as in exercise and health, over-eating and
indigestion, war and poverty. It is proximity in time.
In
connection with Road 1, I must mention a case which is
often misunderstood — namely
contrast. If two things contrast they must belong to
the same class. You cannot [Page
9] contrast a cow with blotting
paper, or a walking stick with the square root of two. But you can contrast
an elephant and a mouse, blotting paper and glazed paper, the sun and the
moon, and other such pairs. So contrasts belong to Road1I.
The four Roads of Thought mentioned above are given in a general way for our
present purpose. For greater precision of statement the four laws must be
subdivided; I will do this in a later chapter.
I wish the student particularly to notice that some ideas arise through the mind's
capacity for comparison, that is through a logical faculty, while others arise
simply in imagination, without any reason other than that they have been
impressed upon it at some previous time. Comparison covers the first three laws,
imagination the fourth only.
To
convince the student that these mental bonds between
ideas really exist, let me ask him to try another small preliminary
experiment, this time
not upon his
own mind, but upon that of a friend. Repeat to your friend
two or three times slowly the following list of sixteen words.
Ask him to pay particular attention
to them, in order —
Moon, dairy, head, paper, roof, milk, fame, eyes, white, reading, shed, glory, cat,
top, sun, book.
You will find that he is not able to repeat them to you from memory.
Then take the following series and read them to him equally carefully.
Cat, milk, dairy, shed, roof, top, head, eyes, reading, book, paper, white, moon,
sun, glory, fame.
Now ask your friend to repeat the list, and you will find that he has a most
agreeable feeling of surprise at the ease with which he can perform this little feat.
Now
the question is: why in the first place was he not able to recall the series
of ideas, while in the second case he could easily remember them, the words
being exactly the same in [Page 10] both the sets ? The reason is that in the second
series the ideas are in rational order, that is, each idea is connected with that
which preceded it by one of the four Roads of Thought which I have mentioned.
In the first series they were not so connected.
I
must remark that the deliberate use of these Roads
of Thought involves nothing forced or unnatural. It is usual
for our attention to go along
them, as I have
already indicated. For instance, I knew a lady in New York
named Mrs. Welton. One day when I was thinking of her, I
found myself humming the tune of "Annie
Laurie." Somewhat surprised, I asked myself why, and brought to light the first
line of the song, which goes: "Maxwellton's braes are bonny. ..." [Page
11]
CHAPTER
3
CONCENTRATION
OF MIND
MANY
years ago I invented another simple experiment to help
some of my students to gain that control of mind which is
called concentration. This has
proved itself, I think, to be the very best means to that
end. Let me ask the reader or student now to try this experiment
for himself in the following
form —
Select
a quiet place, where you can be undisturbed for about fifteen minutes.
Sit down quietly and turn your thought to some simple and agreeable subject,
such as a coin, a cup of tea, or a flower. Try to keep this object before
the mind's eye.
After
a few minutes, if not sooner, you will, as it were, suddenly awake to the
realization that you are thinking about something quite different. The reasons
for this are two: the mind is restless, and it responds very readily to
every slight disturbance from outside or in the body, so that it leaves
the subject of concentration and gives its attention to something else.
Now,
the way which is usually recommended for the gaining of greater concentration
of mind, so that one can keep one's attention on one thing for a considerable
time, is to sit down and repeatedly force the mind back to the original
subject whenever it wanders away. That is not, however, the best way to
attain concentration, but is, in fact, harmful rather than beneficial to the
mind.
The
proper way is to decide upon the thing on which your
attention is to be fixed, and then think about everything else you can without actually
losing sight of it.
This will form a habit of recall in the mind itself, so that
its tendency will be to return to the chosen object whenever
it is for a moment diverted. [Page
12]
Still,
it will be best of all if, in trying to think of other
things while you keep the chosen object in the center of
your field of attention, you
do so with the help
of the four Roads of Thought, in the following manner —
Suppose
you decide to concentrate upon a cow. You must think of everything else
that you can without losing sight of the cow. That is, you must think of
everything that you can that is connected with the idea of a cow by any of
the four lines of thought which have been already explained.
So,
close your eyes and imagine a cow, and say: " Law 1 — Class," and
think: "A
cow is an animal, a quadruped, a mammal" — there may be other classes
as well — "and other members of its classes are sheep, horse, dog, cat" —and
so on, until you have brought out all the thoughts you can from within
your own mind in this connection. Do not be satisfied until you have brought
out every possible thought.
We know
things by comparing them with others, by noting, however briefly, their resemblances
and differences. When we define a thing we mention its class, and then the
characters in which it differs from other members of the same class. Thus a
chair is a table with a difference, and a table is a chair with a difference;
both are articles of furniture; both are supports.
The more things we compare a given object with in
this way the better we know it; so, when you have worked through this exercise
with the first law and looked at all the other creatures for a moment each
without losing sight of the cow, you have made brief comparisons which have
improved your observation of the cow. You will then know what a cow is as you
never did before.
Then go
on to the second Road of Thought — that
of Parts — and think distinctly of the parts of the cow — its
eyes, nose, ears, knees, hoofs, and the rest, and its inner parts as well
if you are at all acquainted with animal anatomy and physiology. [Page
13]
Thirdly
comes the law of Quality. You think of the physical qualities of the cow—its size, weight, color, form, motion,
habits — and also of its mental and emotional qualities, as far as
those can be discerned. And you think of other objects having the same prominent
qualities.
Lastly
comes the fourth division, that of Proximity, in which you will review "Cows I have known," experiences
you have had with cows which may have impressed themselves particularly
on your imagination. In this class also will come things commonly connected
with cows, such as milk, butter, cheese, farms, meadows, and even knife
handles made of horn and bone, and shoes made of leather.
Then you will have brought forth every thought of
which you are capable which is directly connected in your own mind with the
idea of a cow. And this should not have been done in any careless or desultory
fashion; you should be able to feel at the end of the exercise that you have
thoroughly searched for every possible idea on each line, while all the time
the cow stood there and attention was not taken away from it.
A hundred times the mind will have been tempted to
follow up some interesting thought with reference to the ideas which you have
been bringing out, but every time it has been turned back to the central object,
the cow.
If this practice is thoroughly carried out it produces
a habit of recall which replaces the old habit of wandering, so that it becomes
the inclination of the mind to return to the central thought, and you acquire
the power to keep your attention upon one thing for a long time.
You will soon find that this practice has not only
given you power of concentration, but has brought benefit to the mind in a
variety of other ways as well. You will have trained it to some extent in correct
and consecutive thinking, and in observation, and you will have organized some [Page
14] of that accumulation of knowledge which perhaps you have
for years been pitching pell-mell into the mind, as most people do. This exercise,
practiced for a little time every day for a few weeks, exactly according to
instructions, will tidy or clean up the mind, and also lubricate it, so as
to make it far brighter than it was before, and give it strength and quality
evident not only at the time of exercise, but at all times, whatever may be
the business of thought on which you are engaged during the day.
One of the most fruitful results will be found in
the development of keen observation. Most people's ideas about anything are
exceedingly imperfect. In their mental pictures of things some points are clear,
others are vague, and others lacking altogether, to such an extent that sometimes
a fragment of a thing stands in the mind as a kind of symbol for the whole.
A gentleman was once asked about a lady whom he had
known very well for many years. The question was as to whether her hair was
fair or dark, and he could not say. In thinking of her his mind had pictured
certain parts only, or certain part vaguely and others clearly. Perhaps he
knew the shape of her nose, her general build and the carriage of her body;
but his mental picture certainly had no color in the hair.
The same
truth may be brought out by the familiar question about the figures on
the dial of your friend's watch, or about the shape and colour of its hands.
One day I tested a friend with this question: "Can
you tell me whether the numerals on your watch are the old-fashioned Roman
ones which are so much used, or the common or Arabic numerals which have
come into vogue more recently ?"
"Why" he replied, without hesitation. "They
are the Roman numerals, of course."
Then he took out his watch, not to confirm his statement,
but just in an automatic sort of way, as people do when [Page
15] thinking of such a thing, and as he glanced at it a look
of astonishment spread over his face.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "they
are the Arabic figures. And do you know, I have been using this watch for
seven years, and I have never noticed that before!"
He thought he knew his watch, but he was thinking
of part of it, and the part was standing in his mind for the whole.
Then I
put another question to him: " I suppose you
know how to walk, and how to run ? "
"Yes," said he, "I
certainly do."
"And you
can imagine yourself doing those things ?"
"Yes."
"Well, then", said I, "please
tell me what is the difference between running and walking."
He puzzled
over this question for a long time, for he saw that it was not merely a
difference of speed. He walked up and down the room, and then ran round it,
observing himself closely. At last he sat down, laughing, and said: " I have
it. When you walk you always have at least one foot on the ground, but when
you run both feet are in the air at the same time."
His answer was right, but he had never known it before.
Life
is full of inaccuracies due to defective observation, like that of the
schoolboy who, confronted with a question about the Vatican, wrote: "The
Vatican is a place with no air in it, where the Pope lives." [Page
16]
CHAPTER
4
AIDS
TO CONCENTRATION
LET me now give some hints which will make a great
improvement in the practice of concentration.
Many people fail in concentration because they make
the mistake of trying to grasp the mental image firmly. Do not do that.
Place the chosen idea before your attention and look at it calmly,
as you would look at your watch to see the time. Such gentle looking reveals
the details of a thing quite as well as any intense effort could possibly
do — perhaps
even better.
Try it
now, for five minutes, for when once you have realized how to look a thing
over and see it completely — in whole and
in part, without staring, peering, frowning, holding the breath, clenching
the fists, or any such action, you can apply your power to the mental practice
of concentration.
Pick up
any common object — a watch, a pen,
a book, a leaf, a fruit, and look at it calmly for five minutes. Observe
every detail that you can about it, as to the color, weight, size, texture,
form, composition, construction, ornamentation, and the rest, without any
tension whatever. Attention without tension is what you want.
After you have felt how to do this, you will understand
how concentration can be carried on in perfect quietude. If you wanted to hold
out a small object at arm's length for as long a time as possible, you would
hold it with a minimum of energy, letting it rest in the hand, not gripping
it tightly.
Do not imagine that the idea that you have chosen
for your concentration has some life and will of its own, and that it wants
to jump about or to run away from you. It is not the object that is fickle,
but the mind. Trust the object to remain where you have put it, before the
mind's eye, and [Page
17] keep your attention poised upon it. No grasping is necessary;
indeed, that tends to destroy the concentration.
People usually employ their mental energy only in
the service of the body, and in thinking in connection with it. They find that
the mental flow is unobstructed and that thinking is easy when there is a physical
object to hold the attention, as, for example, in reading a book. Argumentation
is easy when each step is fixed in print or writing, or the thought is stimulated
by conversation. Similarly, a game of chess is easy to play when we see the
board; but to play it blindfold is a more difficult matter.
The habit of thinking only in association with bodily
activity and stimulus is generally so great that a special effort of thought
is usually accompanied by wrinkling of the brows, tightening of the lips, and
various muscular, nervous and functional disorders. The dyspepsia of scientific
men and philosophers is almost proverbial. A child when learning anything displays
the most astonishing contortions. When trying to write it often follows the
movements of its hands with its tongue, grasps its pencil very tightly, twists
its feet round the legs of its chair, and so makes itself tired in a very short
time.
All such things must be stopped in the practice of
concentration. A high degree of mental effort is positively injurious to the
body unless this stoppage is at least partially accomplished. Muscular and
nervous tension have nothing to do with concentration, and success in the exercise
is not to be measured by any bodily sensation or feeling whatever. Some people
think that they are concentrating when they feel a tightness between and behind
the eyebrows; but they are only producing headaches and other troubles for
themselves by encouraging the feeling. It is almost a proverb in India that
the sage or great thinker has a smooth brow. To screw the face out of shape,
and cover the forehead with lines, is usually a sign that the man is [Page
18] trying to think beyond his strength, or when he is not accustomed
to it.
Attention without tension is what is required. Concentration
must be practised always without the slightest strain. Control of mind is not
brought about by fervid effort of any kind, any more than a handful of water
can be held by a violent grasp, but it is brought about by constant, quiet,
calm practice and avoidance of all agitation and excitement.
Constant, quiet, calm practice means regular periodical
practice continued for sufficient time to be effective. The results of this
practice are cumulative. Little appears at the beginning, but much later on.
The time given at any one sitting need not be great, for the quality of the
work is more important than the quantity. Little and frequently is better than
much and rarely. The sittings may be once or twice a day, or even three times
if they are short. Once, done well, will bring about rapid progress; three
times, done indifferently, will not. Sometimes the people who have the most
time to spare succeed the least, because they feel that they have plenty of
time and therefore they are not compelled to do their very best immediately;
but the man who has only a short; time available for his practice feels the
need of doing it to perfection.
The exercise should be done at least once every day,
and always before relaxation and pleasure, not afterwards. It should be done
as early in the day as is practicable, not postponed until easier and more
pleasurable duties have been fulfilled. Some strictness of rule is necessary,
and this is best imposed by ourselves upon ourselves.
Confidence in oneself is also a great help to success
in concentration, especially when it is allied to some knowledge of the way
in which thoughts work, and of the fact that they often exist even when they
are out of sight. Just as the working of the hands and feet and eyes, and every
other part of the physical body, depends upon inner organs of the body [Page
19] upon whose functioning we may completely rely, so do all
the activities of thought that are visible to our consciousness depend upon
unseen mental workings which are utterly dependable.
Every part of the mind's activity is improved by
confidence. A good memory, for example, rests almost entirely upon it; the
least uncertainty can shake it very much indeed.
I remember as a small boy having been sent by my
mother, on some emergency occasion, to purchase some little thing from a small
country grocery about half a mile away from our house. She gave me a coin and
told me the name of the article which she wanted. I had no confidence in the
tailor's art, and certainly would not trust that coin to my pocket. I could
not believe, in such an important matter, that the object would still be in
the pocket at the end of the journey, so I held the coin very tightly in my
hand so as to feel it all the time. I also went along the road repeating the
name of the article, feeling that if it slipped out of my consciousness for
a moment it would be entirely lost. I had less confidence in the pockets of
my mind than the little which I had in those made by my tailor. Yet despite
my efforts, or more probably on account of them, on entering the little shop
and seeing the big shopman looming up above me in a great mass, I did have
a paralytic moment in which I could not remember what it was that I had to
get.
This is not an uncommon thing, even among adults.
I have known many students who seriously jeopardized their success in examinations
by exactly the same sort of anxiety. But if one wants to remember it is best
to make the fact or idea quite clear mentally, then look at it with calm concentration
for a few seconds, and then let it sink out of sight into the depths of the
mind, without fear of losing it. You may then be quite sure that you can recall
it with perfect ease when you wish to do so.
This
confidence, together with the method of calm looking, [Page
20] will bring about a mood of concentration which can be likened
to that which you gain when you learn to swim. It may be that one has entered
the water many times, that one has grasped it fiercely with the hands and
sometimes also with the mouth, only to sink again and again; but there comes
an unexpected moment when you suddenly find yourself at home in the water.
Thenceforward, whenever you are about to enter the water you almost unconsciously
put on a kind of mood for swimming, and that acts upon the body so as to
give it the right poise and whatever else may be required for swimming and
floating. So in the matter of concentration a day will come, if it has not
already done so, when you will find that you have acquired the mood of it,
and after that you can dwell on a chosen object of thought for as long as
you please. [Page
21]
CHAPTER
5
MENTAL
IMAGES
IMAGINATION
is that operation of the mind which makes mental images or pictures. Sometimes
these are called also "thoughts", or again, "ideas".
But thought is, properly understood, a process, that is, a movement of the
mind. Thought is dynamic, but a thought or idea is static, like a picture.
In order that the process of thinking may take place,
there must be thoughts or ideas or mental images for it to work with, and it
is at its best when these are clear and strong. So we take up as the second
part of our study the means by which our imagination may be improved. We are
all apt to live in a colorless mental world, in which we allow words to replace
ideas. This must be remedied if our minds are to work really well and give
us a colorful existence.
But first
let us examine our thinking. In it our attention moves on from one thought
to another — or rather from one group
of thoughts to another group of thoughts, since most of our images are complex.
The dynamic thinking makes use of the static thoughts, just as in walking
there are spots of firm ground on which the feet alternately come to rest.
You cannot walk in mid-air. In both cases the dynamic needs the static.
In walking you put a foot down and rest it on the ground. Then you swing
your body along, with that foot as a point of application for the forces
of the body against the earth. At the end of the movement you bring down
the other foot to a new spot on the ground. In the next movement you relieve
the first foot and poise the body on the other as a new pivot, and so on.
Thus transition and poise alternate in walking, and they do the same in
thought.
Suppose
I think: "The cat chases the mouse, and the [Page
24] mouse is fond of cheese, and cheese is obtained from
the dairy, and the dairy stands among the trees." There is no connection
between the cat and the trees, but I have moved in thought from the cat
to the trees by the stepping stones of mouse, cheese and dairy.
Now that we see clearly the distinction between ideas
and thinking, let us turn, in this second part of our study, to the business
of developing the power of imagination.
We shall begin our course by a series of exercises
intended to train the mind to form, with ease and rapidity, full and vivid
mental pictures, or idea-images.
When a concrete object is known, it is reproduced
within the mind, which is the instrument of knowledge; and the more nearly
the image approximates to the object, the truer is the knowledge that it presents.
In practice, such an image is generally rather vague and often somewhat distorted.
For our purpose we will divide idea-images into four
varieties; simple concrete, complex concrete, simple abstract, and complex
abstract.
Simple concrete ideas are
mental reproductions of the ordinary small objects of life, such as an orange,
a pen, a cow, a book, a hat, a chair, and all the simple sensations of sound,
form, colour, weight, temperature, taste, smell, and feeling.
Complex concrete
ideas are largely multiples of simple ones, or associations of a variety
of them such as a town, a family, a garden, ants, sand, provisions, furniture,
clothing, Australasia.
Simple abstract ideas are
those which belong to a variety of concrete ideas, but do not denote any one
of them in particular, such as color, weight, mass, temperature, health, position,
magnitude, number.
Complex abstract
ideas are combinations of simple ones, such as majesty, splendour,
benevolence, fate.
The difference between simple and complex ideas is
one of degree, not of kind. What is simple to one person may [Page
25] appear complex to another. A man with a strong imagination
is able to grip a complex idea as easily as another may hold a simpler one.
A good
exercise in this connection is to practice reproducing simple concrete objects
in the mind. This should be done with each sense in turn. If a student has
been observing flowers, for example, he should practice until he can, in
imagination, seem to see and smell a flower with his eyes closed and the
object absent, or at least until he has an idea of the flower sufficiently
real and complete to carry with it the consciousness of its odour as well
as its colour and form. He may close his eyes, fix his attention on the olfactory
organ, and reproduce the odour of the flower by an effort of will. Simply
to name an object and remember it by its name does not develop the faculty
of imagination.
I will
now give a few specific exercises along these lines—
EXERCISE I.
Obtain a number of prints or drawings of simple geometrical figures. Take
one of these — say a five-pointed star — look at it carefully,
close the eyes, and imagine its form and size. When the image is clear, proportionate
and steady in the imagination, look at the drawing again and note any differences
between it and the original. Once more close the eyes and make the image,
and repeat the process until you are satisfied that you can imagine the form
accurately and strongly. Repeat the practice with other forms, gradually
increasing in complexity.
EXERCISE 2. Repeat
the foregoing practice, but use simple objects, such as a coin, a key, or a
pen. Try to imagine them also from both sides at once.
EXERCISE 3.
Obtain a number of coloured surfaces; the covers of books will do. Observe
a colour attentively; then try to imagine it. Repeat the process with different
colours and shades.
EXERCISE 4.
Listen intently to a particular sound. Reproduce it within the mind. Repeat
the experiment with [Page
26] different sounds and notes, until you can call them up faithfully
in imagination. Try to hear them in your ears.
EXERCISE 5.
Touch various objects, rough, smooth, metallic, etc., with the hands, forehead,
cheek and other parts of the body. Observe the sensations carefully and reproduce
them exactly. Repeat this with hot and cold things, and also with the sensations
of weight derived from objects held in the hands.
EXERCISE 6.
Close your eyes and imagine yourself to be in a small theatre, sitting in
the auditorium and facing the proscenium, which should be like a room, barely
furnished with perhaps a clock and a picture on the wall, and a table in
the centre. Now select some simple and familiar object, such as a vase of
flowers. Picture it in imagination as standing on the table. Note particularly
its size, shape, and colour. Then imagine that you are moving forward, walking
to the proscenium, mounting the steps, approaching the table, feeling the
surface of the vase, lifting it, smelling the flowers, listening to the ticking
of the clock, etc.
Get every possible sensation out of the process,
and try not to think in words, nor to name the things or the sensations.
Each thing is a bundle of sensations, and imagination will enable the mind
to realize it as such.
It may
be necessary for some students at first to prompt their thought by words.
In this case, questions about the objects may be asked, in words, but should
be answered in images. Each point should be dealt with deliberately, without
hurry, but not lazily, and quite decisively. The thought should not be lumpy
ore but pure metal, clean-cut to shape. A table of questions may be drawn
up by the experimenter somewhat on the following plan: As regards sight,
what is the outline, form, shape, colour, size, quantity, position, and motion
of the object? As regards sound, is it soft or loud, high or low in pitch,
and what is its timbre? As regards feeling, is it rough, smooth, hard, soft,
hot, cold, heavy, [Page
27] light? As regards taste and smell, is it salty, sweet, sour,
pungent, acid? And finally, among these qualities of the object, which are
the most prominent ?
The value of the proscenium is that it enables you
to get the object by itself, isolated from many other things, and the simple
pretext of stepping into the proscenium is a wonderful aid to the concentration
necessary for successful imagination.
After this practice has been followed it will be
found to be an easy matter, when reading or thinking about things, or learning
them, to tick them off mentally by definite images, or, in other words, to
arrest the attention upon each thing in turn and only one at a time. If you
are reading a story, you should seem to see the lady or gentleman emerge from
the door, walk down the steps, cross the pavement, enter the motor car, etc.,
as in a moving picture. The process may seem to be a slow one when a description
of it is read, but it becomes quite rapid after a little practice.
It will always help in the practice of concentration
or imagination if you take care to make your mental images natural and to put
them in natural situations.
Do not take an object such as a statuette and imagine
it as poised in the air before you. In that position there will be a subconscious
tendency for you to feel the necessity of holding it in place. Rather imagine
that it is standing on a table in front of you, and that the table is in its
natural position in the room (as in the experiment with flowers in a vase on
the table in the proscenium already mentioned).
Launch yourself gently into your concentration by
first imagining all the portion of the room which would be normally within
range of your vision in front of you; then pay less attention to the outermost
things and close in upon the table bearing the statuette. Finally close in
still more until only the little image on the table is left and you have forgotten
the rest of the room.
Even then, if the other things should come back into
your [Page 28] thought
do not be troubled about them. You cannot cut off an image in your imagination
as with a knife. There will always be a fringe of other things around it, but
they will be faint and out of focus.
Just as
when you focus your eye on a physical object the other things in the room
are visible in a vague way, so when you focus your mental eye upon the
statuette other pictures may arise in its vicinity. But as long as the statuette
occupies the centre of your attention and enjoys the full focus of your mental
vision, you need not trouble about the other thoughts that come in. With
regard to them you will do best to employ the simple formula: "I don't care".
If you
permit yourself to be troubled by them, they will displace the statuette
in the centre of the stage, because you will give attention to them; but
if you see them casually, and without moving your eyes from the statuette
say: " Oh, are you there ? All right, stay there
if you like, go if you like; I don't care," they will quietly disappear when
you are not looking. Do not try to watch their departure. You cannot have
the satisfaction of seeing them go, any more than you can have the pleasure
of watching yourself go to sleep. But why should you want it ?
Make
your object of imagination fully natural by investing it with all its
usual qualities. If it is a solid thing, make it solid in your imagination,
not flat like a picture. If it is coloured, let the colour shine. Be sensible
of its weight as you would if you were actually looking at a physical object.
Things that are naturally still should appear positively still in your
image, and moving things definitely moving — such as trees, whose
leaves and branches may be shaking and rustling in the wind, or as fishes
swimming, or birds flying, or persons walking and talking, or a river running
along with pleasant tinkling sounds and glancing lights. [Page
29]
CHAPTER
6
FAMILIARIZATION
So far we have contented ourselves with simple exercises
of the imagination. Let us now see what part imagination plays and can play
in the grasping and remembering of ideas which are new to us.
Suppose that we have to learn the letters of a foreign
alphabet, the appearances and names of plants, minerals or persons, the outlines
or forms of countries, or other such things, which are new to us. It is exceedingly
difficult to remember these unfamiliar things, unless we first make them familiar
with the aid of imagination.
In this
part of my subject I will follow the excellent teaching of a certain Major
Beniowski, who expounded the art of familiarization a century ago. He pointed
out that to himself the notion "table" was very familiar,
meaning that it had been well or frequently impressed upon his mind and he
knew a great many properties and circumstances relating to a table. The notion "elephant," he
said, was less familiar. He indicated the familiarity of different things
in six degrees, according to the following symbols—
The idea or mental image is represented by the circle,
and its degree of familiarity, which will, of course, vary with different persons,
according to their various experience, is indicated by the number of radiating
lines
Major Beniowski proceeded to give examples from his
own mind, conveying the idea of the comparative degree of [Page
30] his familiarity with table, ink, lion, zodiac, elephant,
and chicholo as follows—
The diagram indicated that a table was to him an
object of the highest familiarity, ink an object of less familiarity, and so
on through the examples of a lion, the zodiac and an elephant, to a chicholo,
which was an object of the greatest un-familiarity.
Though
we may note these degrees of familiarity, for practical purposes of learning
and remembering it will be sufficient to employ two. Our aim in learning
something — and our first step in remembering
it — will be to convert a into
a . In
practice we generally find that two things have to be remembered together.
There is no adding of something to nothing in the mind; the newly acquired
notion has to be put beside or added to something already known.
The learning
of foreign alphabets or the names of plants, or other such things, involves
the association of two things in the mind so that they will recur together
in memory. Thus, if I am learning the Greek alphabet and I come across
the sign π and am told that it represents
the sound "pi", my learning of this fact consists in my remembering together
the unfamiliar form π and the familiar sound " pi". I have to associate
an unfamiliar with a familiar. Really all learning consists in
associating something previously unknown with something previously known.
From these
considerations Major Beniowski formulated what he called the three phrenotypic
problems, namely — [Page
31]
(1) To associate a familiar with a familiar, as, for example, lamp with dog,
or man with river.
(2) To associate a familiar with an unfamiliar, as, cow with obelus, or green
leaf with chlorophyll.
(3) To associate an unfamiliar with an unfamiliar, as, pomelo with amra, or scutage
with perianth.
Let me
here quote Major Beniowski's excellent illustration —
"Suppose
a London publisher, who being for many years a constant reader of the newspapers,
cannot fail of becoming familiar with the names of the leading members of the House of Commons. He knows about
the biography, literary productions, and political principles of Dr. Bowring,
Sir Robert Peel, Lord Melbourne, etc., as much as any man living.
"Suppose
also, that having on many occasions seen these personages themselves, as
at chapel, the opera, museum, etc., he has their physiognomies, their gait,
etc, perfectly impressed upon his brain.
"Suppose
moreover that they are his occasional customers, although he never knew who these customers were; he never in the least
suspected that these customers are the very individuals whose speeches he was
just anatomizing, and whose political conduct he was just praising or deprecating.
" He knows
well their names; he knows a host
of circumstances connected with these names; he knows well the personages themselves;
he saw them, he conversed with them, he dealt with them; still he had never
an opportunity of learning that such names had anything to do with such personages.
"A visit
to the gallery of the House of Commons during the debate on the (say) libel
question, is the occasion on which those names and their owners are for
the first time to come into contact with each other in his brain. The Speaker,
one of his customers, takes the chair, and immediately our publisher bursts
into an ' Is it possible!' [Page
32]
"He can scarcely believe it, that the gentleman whom he had
seen so often before was the very Speaker of the House of Commons, whose
name and person he knew separately for so many years.
"His surprise
increases by seeing Dr. Bowring, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Melbourne, etc.,
addressing the House.
" He knew them all — he had seen all three
in his own shop —he had conversed with them—nay, had made serious
allusions to their names when present.
"He is
now determined to commit to memory the names of all those personages; in
other words, he is determined to stick together the names with their respective personages.
"Next to
him sat a Colonial publisher just arrived say, from Quebec. This colonial
gentleman is perfectly familiar with the names of the above M.P.'s; but
he indeed never saw any of them.
"He also
attempts to commit to memory the names of various speakers on the occasion.
"In another
corner of the same House sat a Chinese, just arrived in London, who also
wishes to commit to memory the names, shapes, gait, dresses, etc., of the
Barbarians that spoke and legislated in his presence.
"The Londoner,
the colonial gentleman, and the Chinese have evidently the same piece of
knowledge to heave into their brain; but for the Londoner it is the first
phrenotypic problem; he has to stick together a name which is to him a familiar notion with a personage which is for
him a familiar notion also — thus, a
with
a .
"For the colonial gentleman it is the second phrenotypic
problem; he has to stick together a name which is for him a familiar notion,
with a personage which is for him a not-familiar notion — thus,
a
with
"For the Chinese it is the third phrenotypic problem;
he has to stick together a name which is for him a not-familiar [Page
33] notion, with a personage which is for him a not-familiar notion — thus,
a
with a .
[ Handbook of Phrenotypics, by Major Beniowski, 1845]
The task for the Chinese is an exceedingly difficult
one, yet students have often to face it. Imagine the distress of a student
of botany who has hundreds of times to link a
with a ,
the appearance of an unfamiliar plant with an unfamiliar name. There is only
one way of getting out of the difficulty, and that is in every case to make
the unfamiliar thing familiar, to make the into
a either by
thinking about it, and studying it, or by seeing in it a resemblance to something
already familiar.
In no case is it desirable to try to remember things
which are not familiar. So, first recognize whether your problem is of the
first, second or third order, and if it is of the second or third, convert
the unfamiliar into a familiar.
The diagrams on page 34 show the process.
Let me now give an example, from the Major, of
the process of making the unfamiliar familiar —
"In my early infancy, my father, a physician and
an extraordinary linguist, initiated me in the mysteries of several mnemonic
contrivances. In the study of languages I invariably employed the association
of ideas. I succeeded so far that, when at the age of not full thirteen,
my father sent me to study medicine at the University of Vilna, in Poland,
relying upon my extraordinary memory, as it was called, I attended several
courses of lectures, besides those usually prescribed for students in medicine.
"I succeeded perfectly everywhere during several
months, until spring came, and with it .the study of botany. Here, far from
outstripping my fellow-students, I actually remained behind even those whom
I was accustomed to look upon as poor, flat mediocrities. [Page
34]
First Problem: familiar with familiar:
Second Problem: Unfamiliar with familiar:
Third Problem: Unfamiliar with Unfamiliar.
"The
matter stood thus: Besides attending the lectures on botany, the students
are admitted twice a week to the botanic garden; there they find a metallic
label with a number upon it; that number refers them to a catalogue where
they find the respective names; these names they write out into a copy-book
thus —
No.
1778 . . Valeriana officinalis,
No.
9789 . . Nepeta Cataria, etc.
"And
having thus found out the names of a dozen of plants they endeavour
to commit them to memory in the best manner they can. Anyone finds
it tiresome, awkward, and annoying to look to the huge numbers upon
the label, then to the catalogue, then to the spelling of the names,
then [Page
35] to the copy-book, and after all to be allowed to remain
there only about an hour twice a week, when the taking away with you
a single leaf may exclude you for ever from entering the garden at all.
"But
I was peculiarly vexed and broken-hearted. I came to the garden tired
out by other studies; I had a full dozen of copy-books under my arm,
a very old catalogue with many loose leaves; to which if you add
an umbrella in my left, a pen in my right, an ink-bottle dangling from
my waistcoat-button, and, above all, the heart of a spoiled child
in my breast, you will have a tolerable idea of my embarrassment.
"Week
after week elapsed before I mastered a few plants. When I looked
at home into my copy-book, the scribbled names did not make rise the respective plants before my imagination;
when I came to the garden, the plants did not make rise their respective
names.
"My fellow-students made, in the meantime,
great progress in this, for me, so unmanageable study; — for a
good reason — they went every morning at five into the fields,
gathered plants, determined their names, put them between blotting-paper,
etc. — in a word, they gave to botany about six hours per day.
I could not possibly afford such an expenditure of time; and besides,
I could not bear the idea of studying simply as others did.
"The
advantages I derived from mnemonic contrivances in other departments,
induced me to hunt after some scheme in botany also.
"My
landlady and her two daughters happened to be very inquisitive about
the students passing by their parlour window, which was close to
the gates of the university; they scarcely ever allowed me to sit down
before I satisfied their inquiries respecting the names, respectability,
pursuits, etc., of at least half a dozen pupils.
"I
was never very affable, but on the days of my mischievous botanic
garden they could hardly get from me a [Page
36] single syllable; I could not, however, refuse, when
they once urged their earnest request thus — ' Do tell us, pray,
the name of that fish, do!' pointing most pathetically to a pupil just
hurrying by close to the window.
"When I answered, ' His name is Fisher' (I
translate from the Polish, Ryba Rybski), they broke into an almost spasmodic
chatter. ' We guessed his name! Oh, he could not have another name. Look
only,' continued they, 'how his cocked hat sits upon his head, pointing
from behind forward, exactly in the same direction with his nose! Look
to the number of papers and copy-books fluttering about on each side
between his ribs and elbows! Look how he walks — he is actually
swimming! Oh, the name Fisher becomes him exceedingly well.'
"I could not but agree with the justness of
their remarks. I complimented them. I became more attentive to their
conversation when at table, which happened to run thus — ' Mother,
what has become of the Long Cloak ? I saw him yesterday with the Old
Boot. Do they reside together ?' 'Oh, no; the Long Cloak looks often
through yon garret window, where the Big Nose lived some time ago, etc.,
etc.' They perfectly understood one another by these nicknames — Long
Cloak, Old Boot, Big Nose, etc.
"This conversation suggested to me at once
the means of dispensing with my old anarchical catalogue when in the
garden — and in fact the whole plan of proceeding in the study
of botany stood before my view. I felt confident I should soon leave
all the young, jealous, triumphant, and sneering botanic geniuses at
a respectable, distance behind.
"It
happened to be the time of admission; I proceeded immediately to
that corner of the garden where the medical plants were, leaving the
catalogue at home. I began christening these plants just in the same
manner as my landlady and her ingenious daughters christened the students
of the [Page
37] university, viz. I gave them those names which spontaneously
were suggested to me by the sight, touch, etc, of them.
"The
first plant suggested imperatively the name of Roof covered with snow, from the smallness, whiteness
and peculiar disposition of its flowers, and so I wrote down in my copybook
'No. 978, Roof covered with snow.'
"Next
I found No. 735, Red, big-headed,
cock-nosed plant; and so on to about twenty plants in a few minutes.
"Then I tried whether I had committed to memory
these plants — YES. In looking to the plants, their nicknames
immediately jumped up before my imagination; in looking to these nicknames
in my copy-book the plants themselves jumped up.
"My
joy was extreme. In a quarter of an hour I left the garden, convinced
that I had carried away twenty plants which I could cherish, repeat,
meditate upon at my own leisure.
"The
only thing that remained to be done was to know how people, how learned
people, call them. This business I settled in a few minutes, thus:
I put comfortably my catalogue upon the table, looked for No. 978,
and found Achiloea Millefolium; this
made rise before my imagination an eagle with a thousand feathers (on
account of aquila in Latin, eagle; mille, thousand; and folium,
leaf). .
"I
put simultaneously before my mind, Roof
covered with snow, and eagle; and high mountain rose
immediately before my imagination, thus — ROOFS covered with
snow are to be found in high mountains, and so are EAGLES."
I have quoted the Major's experience fully,
as it indicates so well the average student's feelings, and so graphically
explains the manner of relieving them.
It must be noted that when Major Beniowski
had familiarized a plant in the garden, and afterwards the name of the
plant at home, by likening them to something that he knew well, and had
come to the business of joining the two [Page
38] permanently in his mind, he used his imagination in
a natural way. He did not invent a story to connect them;
he simply put the two things simultaneously before his mind's eye, and
waited, and the connection came of itself.
The probability of such a common idea springing
up quickly is dependent upon the degree of familiarity of both the
ideas which are to be connected. Hence the importance of familiarization first.
By this means the Major found that he could
at once carry away from the garden a clear memory of at least twenty
plants within the hour, and as his faculty grew by exercise he memorized
some hundreds of medical plants in a few visits to the garden.
Every student who uses this method to learn
names of objects, or the meaning of words of a foreign language, or in
fact anything of the kind, will find that his faculty rapidly grows.
But let him be warned, for the benefit of his memory and mind, to use
the imagination only naturally in finding the common or connecting
idea. Do not create a fanciful picture, for if you do you will have made
something extra, and what is more, unnatural, which will be a
burden to the mind.
Let me summarize this process of learning and
remembering by imagination:
First, it must be settled
which two notions you want to connect.
Secondly, the notions must
be familiarized, if necessary.
Thirdly, the notions must
be stuck together by simultaneous contemplation, resulting in natural
imagination, and
Then,
when one of the notions is given the other will rise before the mind's
eye. [Page
39]
CHAPTER
7
FAMILIARIZATION
OF FORMS
LET me now apply the method of familiarization
to learning and remembering forms.
We
will consider first the forms of foreign alphabets. When learning
these, do not try to remember them by simply staring at them. Look
quietly at each form until you find in it a resemblance to some other
form which is already familiar to you .Sometimes you will say to yourself
that the form has no comparison with anything that you know. But
that is never the case, as the following conversation between Major
Beniowski and one of his pupils will show. The pupil was about to commit
to memory the Hebrew alphabet —
א aleph
ב. bet
ג gimel
ד dalet
ה he
etc.,
etc
" Beniowski,
What name would you give to the first Hebrew letter ? or rather,
What is the phantom that rises before your imagination, in consequence
of your contemplating the first Hebrew letter ?
" Pupil.
I think it is like an invalid's chair.
" B.
Therefore call it an invalid's chair. What name would you give
to the second letter ?
"P. It
is exactly like the iron handle of a box.
"B. Call
it so. What of the third?" P.
Nothing — it is like nothing — I can think of nothing.
" B.
I cannot easily believe you — try. I infer from your
looks that you think it would be useless to express your
strange imaginings — they
would laugh at you.[Page 40]
"P. All
that this third letter reminds me of is a poor Spanish-legion
man, whom I saw sitting on the pavement with swollen legs
and no arms.
" B.
And this you call nothing! this is valuable property
of your own; you did not acquire it without a certain expenditure
of life; you can turn it to good account; call this letter the
Spanish-legion man.
What of the fourth ?
"P. I
understand you now — this fourth letter is evidently
like the weathercock upon
yon chimney opposite your window ; the fifth is
like a stable with
a small window near the roof, etc, etc.
"As
a second example (merely for illustration, as I do
not expect the reader of this book to learn Sanskrit) I
will take up some of the unaspirated consonants of the Devanagari
alphabet, which is used in Sanskrit and some of its derivative
languages. We may as well make use of the principle of
sense-proximity, as well as that of association or mind-proximity.
Therefore
I first give a Devanagari letter, and then the Roman letter
(which, I assume, will be familiar to the reader) close
beside it.
The
gutturals are —
We have now to find familiar forms to name the forms which are strange to us. K
looks to me rather like a knot, g like a gallows, and ng like a rearing snake. I find
no great difficulty in associating these with ka, ga, and nga, respectively, for k
and g are the first letters of the words knot and gallows, and a rearing cobra is a
very picture of anger.
The
palatals are —
Here
ch looks like a pointing finger — chiding. J resembles a footballer
kicking — scrimmage. N reminds me of a lobster's nipper.[Page
41]
The dentals are —
In this
case t appears to me like a tail, d like a hunchback sitting down— dwarf,
and n like a nose.
The labials
are —
P is like a P turned round; b like a button;
m is quite square — mathematical.
I will
conclude with the semi-vowels —
These will serve to illustrate the principle of comparison
with the forms already learned, since y resembles p and v is much like b. R
reminds me of an old-style razor, partially opened in use, and 1 seems
like a pair of crab's legs. I have said enough to enable the student
of Sanskrit or Hindi or Mahratti to learn the rest of the alphabet by himself
within an hour or two — a process which usually takes days.
Next,
as further illustration, let me give some items from the Russian alphabet —
g,
very much like a little r — rag. A
d,
like a delta.
zh
rather like a jumping jack with a string through the middle which when pulled
causes the arms and legs to fly outwards — plaything — jeunesse.
I
something like a step-/adder.
n,
like H — hen.
f,
an arrow going through a target — f light or f ight.
We can do the same with any other alphabet. The following
are some suggestions for learning Pitman's shorthand outlines: I t is like
a T without a top ; _ k is like a coward, lying down ; ⋒ m
is like a little mound. Among the Greek letters [Page
42] gamma is like a catapult — game; pi is like an archway — pylon; lambda is leaning; phi is
like an arrow piercing a target — battle — fight. The Persian
characters require a little more imagination than most of our alphabets do,
yet when I look at them I find boats, waves, commas, eyes, wings, snakes, and
funny little men, standing, crouching, and running.
I will now give the Roman alphabet in a form in which
it can be taught in English to young children in a very short time:
A stands
for an arch; B for a bundle; C for a coiled caterpillar; D for a drum;
E for an elephant sitting up in a circus; F for a finger-post; G for a
goldfish curled round in the Japanese style; H for a hurdle; I for an icicle
or a little imp standing stock-still; J for a juggler lying on his back,
balancing a ball on his feet; K for a king, sitting on a throne and holding
out his sceptre in a sloping direction; L for a leg; M for mountains; N
for a napkin on the table; 0 for an orange; P for a parrot with a large
head; Q for a queen, very fat and round, with a little tail of her gown
sticking out near her feet; R for a rat climbing a wall, with its tail
touching the floor; S for a snake; T for a small table, with one central
leg; U for an urn; V for a valley; W for waves; X for Mr. X —a monkey stretching
out its arms and legs to hold the branches of a tree; Y for yarn, frayed at
the end, or a yak's head, with large horns; Z for a zigzag — a flash
of lightning.
For
each of the objects the teacher should draw a picture bearing a strong
resemblance to the letter that is to be taught (somewhat as in our illustrations)
and the letters should at first be represented by the full words, arch, bundle,
caterpillar, drum, etc. [This
method of representing the alphabet is copyright]
Turning
now to geographical outlines, the best-known example of comparison is the
outline of Italy, which every schoolboy remembers much better than he does
that of any other country, for the simple reason that he has noticed that
[Page 44]
[Page
45]
[Page 46]
[Page 47]
[Page
48] it resembles a big boot
kicking at an irregular ball, which we call the island of Sicily. Africa
is like a ham; South America resembles a peg-top; Mexico is like a sleeve;
Newfoundland resembles a distorted lobster; France appears like a shirt
without sleeves; Norway and Sweden are like an elephant's trunk; India
is like Shri Krishna dancing and playing his flute; the river Severn is
like a smiling mouth.
The student of botany has to remember the general
appearance of a large number of plants and flowers. We have already seen that
the best plan to follow in remembering these is not to go into the garden or
the field with textbook in hand, but to go among the flowers and plants and
give them names of your own invention. When the forms are thus made familiar
to the mind they can easily be recalled by remembering the new names, and afterwards
the orthodox names can be learned, just as we should learn a number of foreign
words.
The popular names of many plants are already based
on simple comparisons. Among these one thinks at once of the sunflower, the
.buttercup and the bluebell, and the campanula is obviously a cluster of most
exquisite bells. But when the student comes to narcissus, calceolaria, chrysanthemum
and eschscholtzia and many other scientific names he must have recourse to
his own familiarization for remembering their forms in the beginning.
In private life, living in the country, we often
see and wish to remember flowers, without ever hearing what people have named
them. Then it is well to give them our own names for the time being.
Near one of my dwellings
there was a hedge full of jolly little old men with occasional purple-grey
hair, and they seemed to bob their funny round heads in the breeze in response
to my nod. I did not in the least know their names, but we were not worse
friends on that account. The allegory of Narcissus is reflected in the flower
of that name; the way [Page
49] in which the gentle flower
bends its lovely head is remindful of the fall of the spirit enamoured of
its image reflected in the waters of existence; yet for most of us it remains
a beautiful star. The crinkled white champaka reminds me always of a swastika;
and the clover, so like a fluffy ball, is in India often called the rudraksha
flower, because it is thought to resemble the crinkled berry beads which
yogis wear, these in turn being held sacred because their markings are thought
to be strange letters (aksha) written
by the God Rudra or Shiva. We may think of the drooping bag-like lip of the
calceolaria, of the large velvet face of the pansy, of the curious lips and
curly strings of the sweet pea, and of the exfoliated heart of the rose,
and we may know these little ones much better by these happy names than if
our brains are fagged beforehand by the crabbed terminology of the books.
Major
Beniowski’s experience has already suggested to us the way to remember
persons - a method which, in fact, led him to his system
of familiarization of the forms of plants. I may relate
in this connection one experience
of my own. Once,
when I was traveling on a boat, I made the acquaintance of
a studious and learned university professor who won my
esteem. His name was Dittmer. Now,
I was very familiar in India with the various kinds of
oil lamps which were imported
in large quantity from a manufacturing firm named Dittmar.
I had seen the name on lamps in many places, so the connection
of Dittmar and lamps was strong
in my mind. Well, when I first met Prof Dittmer he was
wearing a huge pair of round
tortoise-shell reading glasses. They reminded me irresistibly
of a pair of motor-car lamps. Hence I had no difficulty
in remembering his name. Another
reminder also occurred to me. He looked somewhat like
the immortal Mr Pickwick - wick -
lamp - Dittmer. I am sure that, if this happens to catch the eye of the professor,
he will not be offended at the liberty with his person which
I have taken, for it is in the interests of science. [Page 50]
CHAPTER
8
FAMILIARIZATION OF
WORDS
THE principle of familiarization
is especially useful in learning the words of a foreign language. In this
connection let me enunciate again two important points. Do not try to put
an unfamiliar thing into the mind, and do not try to do two things at once,
namely, to remember an unfamiliar word and also its meaning. To learn foreign
words always reduce them to familiar sounds; then associate them with their
meanings.
First take the foreign word which you have to learn,
and repeat it to yourself without thinking of any meaning until you are able
to find its resemblance to some other word that is quite familiar to you.
Suppose
I have to learn the French word "maison." As I turn it over in my mind
there comes up the similar English word "mason." I am told that the word
"maison" means house. Well, a mason builds a house. I have just asked my wife
to give me another French word at random. Her reply is "livre," which means
a book. Pondering for a moment on the sound "livre" I find that the English
word
"leaf" comes up in my mind, and I think, "A book is composed of leaves."
Very
often when we are learning a foreign language there
are many words which are similar to words having the same
meaning in our own language. So, first
of all, if you are free to choose your words, look
over your vocabulary, and learn all
the words that clearly resemble English words, such as,
for example, in German —
Wunder (wonder), Vater
(father), Nord (north), Sohn (son), Schuh (shoe), Ebbe (ebb), Ende (end),
Ochs (ox), Dank (thank), Eis (ice), Wasser (water), Donner (thunder), [Page
51] Ohr (ear), Krone (crown),
Dorn (thorn), Schulter (shoulder), Seele (soul), Kuh (cow), Strom (stream),
Garten (garden), and hundreds of others.
If,
however, the student is compelled to follow a course
of study in the order of a prescribed textbook, he will
have to take the words as they come,
and will at
once find many which do not appear to resemble English words.
He takes the first word, Saal, room, and repeats: "Saal, room, Saal, room . . ." until his
head buzzes; then he goes on to "Schutz, protection, Schutz, protection, Schutz,
protection . . ." until his brain throbs; and then "Schön, beautiful,
Schön, beautiful,
Schön, beautiful . . ." until his mind whirls; and then "Trennung, separation,
Trennung, separation, Trennung, separation . . ." until he nearly drops from
his seat, and yawns and rubs his eyes and wishes — oh, how longingly — that
it was time to go out and play cricket; and he looks up at the clock and sees
there is still twenty minutes to playtime — oh, endless and unrelenting
time — and then he tries
to fix his burning eyes upon his book again, once more to grind out "Fürchterlich,
terrible, Fürchterlich, terrible, Fürchterlich, terrible . . .",
once more to swoon, once more to look at the clock — oh, mercy, nineteen
minutes more!
Do
not grind like that, dear boys! Take the word Saal;
look at it; shut your eyes; repeat it audibly and visually
three times without thinking
of the
meaning. You
have already noticed that it means a room, but do not dwell
on that. Dwell on the mere sound of Saal, and look out
for familiar words that sound
something like it.
You may think of sale, salt, and saloon — ah, that is the best word,
Saal is like saloon, which is a kind of room. Then repeat Saal
three times while thinking of the room. Do not think merely
of the word room, but think of
a room known to
you. Then take Schutz, meaning protection; repeat it three
times, thinking only of the sound. Think of some words
that sound [Page
52] like Schutz, say shut or
shoot. Do you not protect a thing by shutting it up ? Do not the soldiers,
who shoot, protect us ? Once more repeat the word three times, thinking of
the idea.
Schön is like shining — beautiful; and for
Trennung you might think of a trench or chasm which separates, separation;
and for Fürchterlich, fear-like. Always
repeat three times, and always think of the connexion, such
as: the soldier, who shoots, protects us from aggression.
Now
I will give a few words from the Spanish —
Mesa,
a table — mess; libro, a book — library; ventana, a window — ventilation;
verde, green — verdure; tiene, he has — tenant; levantar, to raise — lever;
escribir, to write — scribe, and so on.
As
another example, a few words from the Russian — Koleso, a
wheel — kaleidoscope; komar, a mosquito — no comrade; derevo,
a tree — a
country drive among trees; bratstvo, brotherhood — fraternity; palatko,
a tent — not
a palace; skala, a rock — scale it; osel, a donkey — O slow one; reka,
a river — yes,
if rocky and rapid it may be a wrecker ; lozhka, a spoon — food lodges
in it, temporarily; molot, a hammer — moulds hot iron to shape; nasos,
a pump — noses are air pumps; and so on.
The words that must be learned are not always quite
so easy as these, but if you practice this like a puzzle-game for some time,
you will be able to find something for every word. Preferably take the accented
syllable of the word that you are going to make. Let us take some difficult
words from Sanskrit, as an illustration. They are difficult because they are
very unfamiliar, and because they sound somewhat different from English words.
Kama
which means passionate desire, sounds like "calm", and you might think
in the form of a contrast, "When a man gives way to passionate desire
he is not calm." Karma, which means work, sounds somewhat like "cream." Cream
is [Page
53] made into butter by constant
motion — or work. Sharira, which means body,
sounds like "sharing" : we can share with others in bodily work and the produce
thereof. Or again, it sounds like "shear": wool is sheared from the body
of the sheep. Manas means mind — man has a mind. Prana means vitality;
you may think of a high-spirited horse, prancing along, full of vitality.
Surya means the sun; it sounds something like "sower". The sun stirs up
the life of all the seeds that are sown in the ground.
But really, these are too easy; let us try something
more difficult. Indriya, which means sense-organ, sounds like india-rubber,
which has no sense! Jagat, the universe. The universe is jogging along all
right. Raja, a king. A king is nearly always rich. Bhakti, devotion. The devotee
bends his back when worshiping. Saundarya, beautiful and graceful. A sound
and healthy body is beautiful and graceful. Naga, a snake. Always catch a snake
by the neck. Kshira, milk. The wool that is sheared from sheep is as white
as milk. Kshattriya, a warrior. A warrior shatters his enemies.
Expressing
the connections in briefer form we may use our four roads
of thought. It is an additional aid to memory to discover
and name the roads when
associating two ideas— not that the roads are to be remembered, but
the two things are automatically held in close proximity while
you are trying to identify the road. Thus —
Harmya,
a palace — harm, (Road I), luxury, (Road II), palace. Pada, a
foot — pedal, (Road IV), foot. Karna, an ear — cornea, (Road II),
eye, (Road I), ear. Grama, a village — gram, (Road IV), agriculture,
(Road II or IV), village. Kama, passion — calm, (Road I, contrast implying
similarity), excitement, (Road I), passion. Pushpa, flower — bush, (Road
II), flower. Madhu, sweet — mad, (Road
IV), intoxicated bear, (Road IV), honey, (Road III), sweet.
I have looked through
my Sanskrit dictionary for half an hour, and have failed to find one word
that could not soon [Page
54] be resolved in this way.
We might take the most difficult words from Latin or Greek, or, I think,
any European language, and we should find them much easier than the Sanskrit.
You will discover that by this method you can happily
and easily remember quite a large number of foreign words in the course of
an hour, and your memory will not be burdened afterwards by all the fancies
in which you have indulged; yet you will remember the words better than if
you had learned them by rote. As a matter of fact, you really get to know the
words as usable things when you read a number of books in the language or practise
conversation in it. The real difficulty which you will have to encounter at
the beginning is that of introducing the unfamiliar words to your mind.
To
show how even the most difficult words can be dealt with,
we may form uncouth words, such as the following, at random.
Let labagart be synonymous
with tametac, emattle with revilog, ebpetag with thodge,
nadard with smecia. We might associate them thus: Labagart — lovely
cart — market — fruit — tomato — tametac; emattle — metal — rifle — revilog;
ebpetag — potato — cottager — cottage — thatch — thodge;
nadard — adder — field
— labourer — smock — smecia.
If
for the sake of exercise, or for amusement, you wish
to remember a long, uncouth word, such as hturtnahtrehgih-noigileronsjereht,
you can easily do
so by forming a series of words such as the following:
hat; upper; ten; ah; tower; eh,
gari (cart); hen; obi (magic); gai (cow); love; rao (king);
ness (nose); isle; rope; height. It will be noticed that
each word of ours represents
two
letters of the long
uncouth word —the first and last letters only being taken into account,
Thus one can do a thing that most people would think well-nigh
impossible for an ordinary brain; though, like many things
generally regarded as more
dignified
and respectable,[Page
55] it has no particular value
beyond the exercise that it provides.
In some languages we have the additional trouble
of genders in the nouns. There
are several ways to assist the memory of these. The student may keep lists
of masculine nouns in red ink, feminine in green, and neuter in black.
Dr. Pick, a famous mnemotechnist who wrote about
seventy years ago, recommended the student to learn the exceptions. For this,
however, one must have a teacher or expert who will be accommodating enough
to make a list. When teaching the French language Dr. Pick wrote that except for
the following words all nouns having these endings are masculine.
Amitié (friendship), moitié (half),
pitié (pity), forét (forest), paix (peace), fourmi
(ant), merci (mercy), brebis (sheep), souris (mouse),
vis (screw), perdrix
(partridge), eau (water), peau (skin), chaux (chalk),
faux (scythe), glu (glue), tribu
(tribe), vertu (virtue), toux (cough), syllabe (syllable),
clef (key), nef (nave), soif
(thirst), cage (cage), image (image), nage (swimming),
page (page—of
paper, not a page-boy), plage (plain), rage (rabies or violent
passion), tige (stem),
voltige (leap), part (part), mort (death), foi (faith),
loi (law), paroi (partition-wall),
dent (tooth), jument (mare), gent (race), faim (hunger),
main (hand),fin (end).
I have given this list only as an illustration. Similar
lists may be formed in other languages. If, however, you have no such list,
and no expert available to make one for you, the following method will help.
The genders of many words will impress themselves upon your mind without special
attention, as in the case of a child who is naturally picking up the language,
but there will be a residue which may give you trouble. The items in this residue
may be associated with qualities or objects familiarly regarded as masculine,
feminine or neuter.
Thus, in Sanskrit,
padma, a lotus, is neuter; ghata, a jar, [Page
56] is
masculine; mukti, liberation, is feminine. We may then,
perhaps, think that the lotus is both
bold in pushing its way up through the mud and water to
the air, and gentle in resting its soft leaves upon the
surface
of the water; so it may be
considered
neither one nor the other — hence neuter. As to pot — where do you
find pot-bellies but in men? — a masculine shape, surely. To avoid
earthliness and to seek retirement are feminine virtues, so mukti may
be remembered as a word of feminine gender.[Page 57]
CHAPTER
9
PROJECTION OF THE MEMORY
WE have considered and perhaps practiced some simple
experiments intended to make the imagination vivid and accurate. We have
also applied the imagination to learning various things which may be new
to us. Let us now consider how to use imagination to help us to remember
various things when we want to remember them.
There are plenty of memories in the world which
remember a vast number of things, yet are of little use to their owners because
they do not deliver just what is needed or wanted at a given time.
An instance of this was very cleverly depicted
by Charles Dickens in his novel Nicholas Nickleby. The following are
the words of Mrs. Nickleby when Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of Shakespeare,
happened to be the subject of conversation:
" I think there must be something in the place,
for, soon after I was married, I went to Stratford with my poor dear Mr.
Nickleby, in a post-chaise from Birmingham — was it a post-chaise though
? Yes, it must have been a post-chaise, because I recollect remarking at
the time that the driver had a green shade over his left eye;—in a
post-chaise from Birmingham, and after we had seen Shakespeare's tomb and
birthplace we went back to the inn there, where we slept that night, and
I recollect that all night long I dreamt of nothing but a black gentleman,
at full length, in plaster-of-Paris, with a laydown collar tied with two
tassels, leaning against a post and thinking; and when I woke in the morning
and described him to Mr. Nickleby, he said it was Shakespeare just as he
had been when he was alive, which was very curious indeed. Stratford — Stratford.
Yes, I am [Page
58] positive about that, because I recollect I was in the
family way with my son Nicholas at the time, and I had been very much frightened
by an Italian image boy that very morning. In fact, it was quite a mercy,
ma'am, that my son didn't turn out to be a Shakespeare, and what a dreadful
thing that would have been !"
And this was one of her memories about dining:
"It's very odd now, what can have put that in my
head! I recollect dining once at Mrs. Bevan's, in that broad street round
the corner by the coachmaker's where the tipsy man fell through the cellar
flap of an empty house nearly a week before the quarter-day, and wasn't found
till the new tenant went in — and we had roast pig there. It must be
that I think, that reminds me of it, especially as there was a little bird
in the room that would keep on singing all the time of dinner — at
least, not a little bird, for it was a parrot, and he didn't sing exactly,
for he talked and swore dreadfully; but I think it must be that. Indeed
I am sure it must."
But suppose
we have a person of good memory, whose mind has not been allowed to drift,
as presumably that of Mrs. Nickleby had done throughout her life, and
the conversation turns to the subject of elephants. Then perhaps that mind
in an instant will say to itself, without words: "The
elephant is a large, vegetarian, mammalian, quadruped animal, inhabiting
Ceylon, India and Africa." And in a moment more that mind will slide its
fingers along each word of that definition, and at once a great deal of
information will become available on each point.
Such a memory is like a dictionary having more
cross-references than it would be possible ever to obtain in a printed book;
furthermore, a dictionary which will always open at the word or idea which
you want.
It sometimes happens in practice that a student
has to remember a number of things which he may put in any order he chooses,
as, for example, lists of foreign words. But more [Page
59] frequently a certain predetermined order is required, as
in learning historical series of events, or in committing to memory heads
of a lecture or book. This occurs often in practical life, where one may
require in the morning to remember a number of things to be attended to during
the day.
In this
case it is obvious that the subjects will not fall into an order serially
connected in the way which we have already illustrated, so we must devise
some means whereby the items will suggest each other in their order.
Generally these things have no immediate or direct association. If, then,
an effort is made to remember them together, it usually fails — for
there can be no leap in consciousness; each idea must follow another directly
connected with it by one of the roads I have described.
I will
take as an example a gentleman of long ago who was going into town and
wanted to carry out the following items of business —
(1) To purchase some barley at the market;
(2) To
hire a laborer for some building alterations;
(3) To keep in mind the proverb
that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush (since former experience
had taught him the value of that maxim);
(4) To buy some aromatic spices
at a grocer's;
(5) To call to see a lawyer about a friend's suit
in Chancery ;
(6) To buy some velvet;
(7) To collect some money due.
Many people would write these items down, but it
is far better that we should remember our own business, as we all know that
notebooks weaken the memory.
In this case, we have to remember the following
ideas in succession; barley, laborer, bird, spices, Chancery, velvet, debt.
The best method for this purpose is to insert one or two intermediaries where
there is no direct association.[Page 60]
(1) Barley — harvest —
(2) Laborer — gamekeeper —
(3) Bird — bird-seed — groceries —
(4) Spices — red
pepper — red-tape —
(5) Chancery suit — chancellor — robe —
(6) Velvet — smooth — slippery — debtor —
(7) Debt.
I have not troubled to print the associations or
Roads of Thought, as the reader or student will easily see them if he wishes
to do so.
I must
mention that this process is not artificial. It actually occurs in the
mind — though generally sub-consciously — when
two unrelated things are remembered in sequence.
In practice, the extremes, say barley and laborer,
are considered; an effort is made to work forwards from barley and, as it
were, backwards from laborer, until the two meet. It is then found that there
is rarely any necessity for more than two intermediaries.
Having formed our connections, we may repeat the
series a few times, and presently the intermediaries can be dropped out of
mind and the series will be remembered without them, as they are only a temporary
aid to bring the pairs of ideas together.
The recall of such a series is made easier when
the mood in which they were originally associated is revived, so when trying
to revive an impression go back in imagination and put yourself into the
mood in which you originally received it. You may have been to a lecture,
which you now wish to remember. First recall the mood, the whole attitude
of the attention, as it was at the time given to the lecturer, to the subject
of the lecture and to its different parts in turn. It will be quite impossible
for you to recall the succession of the ideas of the lecture if you are at
the same time thinking of what you will have for dinner, what so-and-so has
been [Page 61] saying
about you, how you will carry out such-and-such a plan, what a cold day it
is, or what a noise the people round about are making. A certain kind of
indifference is essential for success in this practice.
The student practicing the repetition of a series
of ideas such as has been described is recommended to notice with the greatest
care exactly what takes place in his mind when he comes to an obstacle in
the process, and finds himself unable to remember the next link of the chain.
At once the attention darts off in a new direction, taking up another line
of ideas of its own. This indicates not so much lack of memory as a change
of mood. If the new mood is overcome and the mind is forced by the will into
the original one, the attention is bound to go in its original direction,
for the mood determines the path of least resistance for it.
This device of intermediaries is excellent for
remembering the sequence of ideas in a speech or lecture which you may propose
to deliver.
So far I have written about associating two ideas
together in the mind. It is also practical to associate an idea with an actual
thing instead of with another idea. This is particularly useful with reference
to the future, when you wish to do something in some place or at some time.
Sometimes a business man is asked to purchase some
little thing in town for his wife, and bring it home in the evening. Very
often, it must be confessed, he forgets. One device by which he may remind
himself that there is something to be done is to tie a knot in his handkerchief,
so that it will remind him of his commission when he pulls it out of his
pocket. But it would be a better plan for him to associate the idea of the
thing to be done with some object which he is sure to see during the
day.
In practice, we are all being reminded all the
time of many things by the objects which surround us. It is as if they were
plastered all over with thoughts and those thoughts [Page
62] leapt out at us when we see the objects. To illustrate
this fact, take out your watch and look at it for a few minutes, keeping
your thoughts still and attentive, and observe the little pictures that arise
involuntarily in the mind. You will probably find an image of the person
who gave you the watch or of the shop where you bought it, and pictures of
any special incidents in which it has played a part. The numbers on the dial
will remind you of the different duties and appointments of the hours throughout
the day; while the qualities of the watch, the substances of which it is
made and the accessories which are associated with it, radiate ideas in all
directions, as do the ideas which we have mentioned in earlier chapters.
All the
articles that we possess are similarly full of thoughts — the rooms,
the houses, the streets that we enter, are saturated with them. There
is thus a process, going on for the most part unconsciously, by which
the mind of man, except at moments when it is under the active control
of the will, is constantly influenced by his surroundings.
This process can be employed for remembering things
that are to be done, so that at the right moment they will enter the mind,
without our being put to the trouble of recalling them again and again before
the appointed tune. The memory may thus be cast forward, as it were, by our
linking the idea we want with an object that we are sure to come across and
notice, and in the process we shall be free of the waste of mental energy
necessitated when the idea is kept half consciously in the mind throughout
the interval.
Suppose, for example, you wish to remember to send
a letter to Mr. Blank, when you arrive at the office. There is no need to
worry the mind by continually thinking about the matter, nor to weaken it
by taking a note. Simply make a clear picture of your office, project your
thought there, as it were, with Mr. Blank sitting there conversing with you, [Page
63] and when you arrive at the spot the image will naturally
rise up in your mind.
If during your journey by railway into town, you
wish to consider some problem in electricity or in finance, fix your idea
on the lighting apparatus or on the costly upholstery of the compartment;
when you step into the train, these things will catch your eye and remind
you of the problem.
It is possible thus to hang images on prominent
signs, shop and house fronts, monuments and other noticeable things you are
likely to pass, and to fix ideas on the books, pictures, furniture and clothing
you are likely to use. There remains in the mind a kind of latent or subconscious
expectancy which will notify you on the slightest signal from the determined
object. When the memory is discharged this latent expectancy ceases, the
association is broken, and the object is left free for future associations.
Various special ways of fixing ideas on objects
will naturally occur to the student. If I need to remember, for example,
that I want to send a clerk out to buy a new pair of compasses, I can associate
the idea by making a picture of myself writing a letter A at my desk and
noticing that that letter resembles a pair of compasses. As soon as I sit
down to write I shall be reminded of the intention. This purpose must be
forthwith discharged if the method is to be employed again, for unless we
are faithful to our memory it will not long be faithful to us.
Or again,
suppose I want to look up a certain question in chemistry. I know that
when I go to my room for the morning's work, which consists chiefly in
writing, I shall use my fountain pen, which is lying there. I picture
myself picking up the pen and noticing the gold nib, which reminds me of
alchemy, and that in turn revives the idea of chemistry. I know that when
the time comes my memory will present me with the idea I want, because
we have much confidence in each other — my memory and I.
This principle may be allied to the instinct by
which one awakens oneself from sleep in the morning at a time predetermined
before retiring for the night. I have had to do that frequently when traveling
in India, and have found that confidence is justified. But I have noticed
several times that when, my watch was wrong the instinct awoke me by the
wrong time of the watch, not at the proper time. [Page
65]
CHAPTER
10
SIMPLIFICATION AND SYMBOLIZATION
WHEN memorizing lists of things of any kind it is
often an advantage to simplify very complex ideas and to symbolize abstract
ideas.
A good
example of symbolization is related with reference to the Greek poet Simonides,
who was one of the earliest known exponents of aids to memory. He invented,
among other things, a simple device for committing to memory ideas which
do not represent objects of sense, and are therefore difficult to remember.
For example, in preparing a discourse concerning government, financial
matters, naval affairs, and the necessity for wisdom in the policy of the
times, he would not try to memorize those topics or paragraphs of his discourse
in these general terms, but would represent each by a symbol — a
crown or sceptre, a current coin, the image of a ship, and the figure of
Minerva respectively.
When preparing such images or symbols we should
always take account of their qualities, as already explained, to make them
as natural and lively as possible. I take an extract on this point from
a work written by John Willis, B.D., of Magdalen College, Oxford, which
was published in 1618 in Latin and translated into English in 1661.
"Ideas
are to be vested with their proper circumstances, according as their
natures require; for as writings the fairer they
are, are more facilely read; so ideas, the more aptly they are conceived,
according to the exigency of their natures, are more speedily recalled
to mind; and also consequently the things by them signified.
"Motion is to be attributed to ideas of
movable things; quiet to ideas of quiet things and good and evil
savors to [Page
66] ideas representing things so qualified. Examples of movable
ideas are: artificers at work in their shops, women dancing, trees shaken
by the wind, water running from taps, and such like. Ideas of quiet things
are: hens laying in their nests, thieves lurking under bushes, etc.
"Ideas
to which sound is ascribed are: a lion roaring, a bell ringing, whistling,
the rustling of trees, a chorister singing, etc. If incense burning
be used for an idea, a sweet and pleasant odor must be attributed thereto;
but, on the contrary, to vaults underground, a dank unwholesome smell
is to be assigned. So also, ideas of merry men require cheerfulness
of countenance, of sick men paleness and sadness.
"After
this manner ideas of edifices, machines, and all artificial things
whatsoever, ought to be signalized; proportion of form and splendour of colour
must be attributed to pictures, grace and liveliness of letters to writing,
glory and exqellence of workmanship to engravings. Finally, every idea
must have such illustration as may render it most notable and conspicuous
and seem principally coherent to its nature."
The quantity and position of ideas should also
be observed. In imagining small things, such as an ant, a grain of rice
or of sand, or a drop of water, it is well to picture an army of ants,
a bagful of rice, a sandy shore, or a flowing river, respectively. On the
other hand, to represent highly complex pictures, such as a battle, or
a large block of buildings, it is well to reduce them in quantity or in
size, and represent a battle by a few men fighting, a block of buildings
by some small erections, a church or a mountain as diminutive, as though
seen through the wrong end of a telescope.
As to position, things which are usually hung
upon walls, such as pictures and looking-glasses, should be imagined as
hanging there; books upon shelves; crockery in cupboards; clothes in wardrobes,
in drawers or on the person; tables, chairs, chests and the like standing
on the ground; and [Page
67] graves, wells, wine-cellars, mines and other such things,
under the ground.
"The mind of man doth naturally and immediately
present direct ideas of all visible things," wrote Mr. Willis, "so that
it is vain to excogitate any, but rather use those that offer themselves.
If a man hears the account of a naval battle, doth he not presently seem
to behold the sea, ships, smoke of great ordnance, and other things obvious
in such matters ? If speech be made of mustering an army, doth not the
hearer form in his mind the effigies of a field, replenished with soldiers
marching in military postures? "
To this standard of direct imagination we may
easily reduce complex or abstract ideas. The landing o{ Julius Caesar may
be represented by a few ships approaching the shore, their owners being
repulsed by rough Britons. Athletics may be represented by a ball; education
by a blackboard ; art by a statue or a picture; music by a violin; the
theater by a mask; horse-racing by a jockey's cap. Cold may be represented
by a piece of ice; heat by a fire; light by a lamp; love by a heart; pride
by a peacock; gluttony by an ostrich; melancholy by a sad man; the spring
time by green meadows and flowering trees; winter by a picture of houses,
trees, and the earth white with snow and rigid with frost. We are all familiar
with the figure of Justice, the veiled virgin with her sword and balance,
and old man Time with his scythe and forelock, and his merciless wings.
To
conclude these remarks let me give some complex examples to show how
ideas relating to incidents or stories should be made in concrete form,
not in mere words. This point should be especially important to students
of history —
"Milo
of Croton, a famous wrestler, first crowned in the Olympic games, when
through age he had left off his youthful exercise and was traveling
through some woodlands of Italy, espied an oak near the way rifted in the
middle. Willing to try whether any of his ancient vigor remained. [Page
68] he thrust his hands into the cleft of the tree, to rend
down the middle part. But as soon as his violence ceased, the oak, thus
forcibly writhed, returned to its pristine estate and, closing fast upon
his hands, detained him a prey for wild beasts.
"Fancy
a cleft oak, full of green leaves and acorns, in the cleft of which
a strong great-limbed man, crowned with laurel, is fast held by the hands.
Bending back his head and body he cries out so loudly that you really
seem not only to see his wretched body and the beasts preying about
him, but also to hear his outcries and lamentations."
"In the year 1530, in the time of Charles V,
Emperor, the German Princes exhibited their Confession of Faith at Augsburgh,
with a solemn protestation because of that perilous time — whence
afterwards they, and all such, as embraced the same Confession were called
Protestants.
"Suppose
an Imperial throne, adorned with badges of the Empire, glittering with
gold and gems, upon which sits the Emperor, crowned with a golden diadem,
while to him his nobles, bare-headed, present their Confession fairly
engrossed on paper."
M.
Gregor von Feinaigle — a memory expert,
whose New Art of Memory was published in London in 1812 — carried
the process of symbolization to a new point when he recommended students
to make outline-and-symbol sketches instead of writing notes, in many
cases. The diagram on page 69 is an example.
The
explanation of this was as follows —
"A
convention was entered into in Egypt, between General Kleber, on the
part of the French, and the Grand Vizier, on the part of the Sublime
Porte, which was approved by the Cabinet of London. The straight line
with the crescent on its top denotes the Grand Vizier, by its superior
height to the perpendicular line which is to represent General Kleber; the
line drawn through the centre of this line, forming acute [Page
69] angles, is intended for the General's sword. To denote the
convention two lines are drawn, which meet together in the center, and represent
the shaking of hands, or a meeting.
The
convention was formed in Egypt, which is signified
by a pyramid. The Cabinet of London is typified by the
outline of a cabinet on the right of
the
diagram; the head of a ship placed in the oblong denotes
London, as it is frequented more than any other port by ships." [Pages
70- 73]
CHAPTER 11
MODES OF COMPARISON
IN studying
imagination we have seen that one thought or idea arises in connection with
another as a result of previous experience in which those two things have been
closely connected. For example, an elephant might remind us of a zoological
garden that we have known, or of the teak-wood forests of Burma. When this
happens, however, there is no mental act of comparison between the elephant
and the zoo or between the elephant and the teak forest. Their relationship
is a case of proximity in the world of sense-objects. They simply happened
to come together, just as a tree may grow on a mountain. The connection is
a matter of chance.
But when comparison between two things occurs, you
have something more than experience and imagination. Then reason has arisen.
Because
of the logical constitution of our minds we are capable of comparing any
two things that exist. This comparison consists of two parts — we
take note of the particulars in which the two objects resemble each other,
and also of those in which the two differ from each other.
If we did
not note the difference as well as the resemblance, there would be no comparison.
The two things would be exactly the same. Suppose we compare a horse and
an ordinary table — to take
a rather far-fetched example. Well, you may laugh, but both are quadrupeds.
Among the differences, which are many, the most striking is that one can
move by itself and the other cannot.
It is not usual for us to need to compare such unconnected
things. In practical life a carpenter might receive an order to make a chair
and a stool. To do this he must be able to compare them; they are both articles
of furniture to sit [Page
74] upon, but generally they differ in that one has a back and
the other has not.
Another
common comparison would be between a tree and a bush. I am not an expert
botanist, so I can suggest only a very ordinary comparison — that
while both are growing and woody plants, one has a long stem raising its
foliage some distance from the ground, and the other has not.
Another
element of reason is the perception of causes and effects. Very often, however,
what people call causality is simply an example of contiguity in time. For
instance, it may be said that gluttony is the cause of indigestion, and that
fatigue is the cause of sleep. What we really mean is that we have observed
that gluttony is generally followed by indigestion and fatigue by sleep.
But really the cause is the peculiar physiological constitution of the animal
or man; some creatures can stuff themselves with food to the limit, with
no ill effects, and some of our muscles — for example the
heart — never sleep. In common talk we say that if a lamp is brought
into a dark room the light in the room is the effect of the lamp. It is not
in a logical sense, but only in a popular sense, that the lamp can thus be
called the cause.
A very
ignorant person observing that day is always followed by night, and night
by day, might think that day is the cause of night, and night again the
cause of day. But the real cause is something which holds both the elements
of the sequence in its grasp — the rotation of the
earth in relation to the sun. If I say that the rotation of the earth is
the cause of day and night, I have performed a rational act, in the department
of causality.
The present section of our study will deal chiefly
with the rational connections between successive ideas in the mind. We will
not separate them entirely from the imaginative connections already considered,
because, as the mind moves on from one idea to another, sometimes it proceeds
by a rational road and sometimes by one directed by imagination.[Page
75]
I have already
presented the student with an outline of the four Roads of Thought, and explained
that three of them involve rational acts of comparison while the fourth relates
to strong impressions on the imagination through the senses. Objects coming
together in the mind are thus connected either by comparison or contiguity.
To avoid any possible confusion of these two, I will now give more examples
of contiguity; the student will then be in a position to ignore all cases of
contiguity while studying the three roads of comparison, with their subdivisions.
Contiguity.
When I think of a banyan tree, at once I also think of the huge tree outside
the window of a room where I used to write, and of the squirrels and crows
which thronged its branches. A banyan tree is not necessary to the idea of
squirrels, nor are they any part or connection of a banyan tree; nevertheless,
these have been so closely associated — quite
accidentally — in my experience that the thought of either now evokes
a picture containing both. There are probably few of us who can think of
the Duke of Wellington without some vision or idea of the battle of Waterloo;
or again of Napoleon without some thought of Corsica or of the island of
Saint Helena, because these are always pictured together in history; yet
they are not necessary associates. A thought of William the Conqueror is
almost inseparable from another of the village of Hastings, not because these
are necessarily connected, but because they are vividly, though accidentally,
presented together in experience. Another case is that of George Washington
and the cherry tree.
Similarly
we all remember incidents connected with the places where we have lived,
the countries, towns, houses, rooms, furniture, people, accidents of every
kind — an immense collection of incidents.
For me, many events of childhood can be recalled and placed in their proper
relation and sequence by their connection with the houses in which I [Page
76] lived at different times. It is a personal matter, in which
the contents of my mind are bound to differ from those of others. Again the
idea of elephants is for me particularly associated with the city of Baroda,
because when I was there for the first time I was each night awakened by an
imposing procession of them passing the balcony on which I lay. For many people
it is, no doubt, more closely linked with pictures of the zoo, of great wooden
bars and the ringing of bells for pennies and biscuits.
More familiarly, pen is associated with hand, boots
with feet, carriage with horse, ship with sea, sleep with bed, spade with garden,
letter with post office, cow with grass, and so on to an unlimited extent.
Yet all these pairs of ideas have purely accidental connections, the members
of each pair having no comparative relationship with each other. They are contiguous,
having a relation for sense or imagination, but not for reason.
It is different, however, with banyan tree and hanging
roots, squirrel and bushy tail, crow and black color, Wellington and Napoleon,
cherry tree and blossom, cow and horse, possibility and impossibility, house
and room, elephant and trunk, Bombay and Baroda. All these have a relationship
of comparison of some kind. A banyan without its roots, or an elephant without
its trunk, would be incomplete ideas, while cows and horses, Wellington and
Napoleon, Bombay and Baroda, obviously resemble each other in their respective
pairs.
Let us
now examine more in detail the first three Roads of Thought—those concerned
with comparison; the first Road can be conveniently subdivided into three,
and the second and third into two each—
I Class
A. This occurs when one idea includes another because
of a principal characteristic which one has in part and the [Page
77] other in whole. It may be otherwise expressed as the connection
between an object and the class to which it belongs. Examples are: animal and
cow; Englishman and man; dwelling and house; drink and tea. We may symbolize
the relationship by one circle within another, thus—
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B. This occurs when two ideas or objects have
a principal characteristic in common, that is, when two objects belong
to the same class. Examples are: cow and horse (both animals); chair and
table (both articles of furniture); red and blue (both colours); daisy
and buttercup (both flowers); train and ship (both means of transport);
box and bag; snow and ice; father and son; beech and oak. We may symbolize
the relationship by two circles overlapping, as shown in Fig. B page 78.
C. This occurs when two ideas or objects have
a principal characteristic in common, but express opposite degrees in regard
to it. Examples are: hot and cold (both temperatures, but opposite); up
and down (opposite directions); animate and inanimate; curvilinear and
rectilinear; fire and water; light and darkness; sage and fool; king and
peasant. We may symbolize the relationship as shown in Fig. C page 78.
2. Part
A. This occurs when two tilings or ideas are
respectively whole and part of some natural object or idea. Examples [Page
79] are:
tree and branch; whale and blubber; Bengal and
India; sea and waves; book and page; box and lid;
cow and
horns; bird and wings; ten and five;
river and water. We may symbolize the relationship thus—
B.
This occurs when two ideas or objects are different parts of the same
whole. Examples are: hull and sails (of a ship); thumb and finger (of
a hand), root and branch (of a tree); nerves and muscles; stairs and
door. We may symbolize the relationship thus—
3. Quality
A. This occurs when two objects or ideas are
related as object to quality, or substantive to adjective. Examples are:
lead and heaviness; snow and whiteness; fire and heat; ball and round;
bottle and glass; coin and gold; [Page
80] bag and leather. We may symbolize the relationship
thus—
B.
This occurs when objects having the same prominent quality are linked
together by some striking feature possessed by both, the feature not
being their class, but a quality of each of them. Examples are: moon
and orange (both round); paper and snow (both white); ink and Negro
(both black); feathers and cotton (both light); church spire and factory
chimney (both high). We may symbolize the relationship thus—
This completes our seven logical connections,
which, with Contiguity or Proximity subdivided
into Co-existence and Succession, make a total of nine. In practice, however,
it will nearly always be sufficient to classify a connection as belonging
to one or other of the four Roads of Thought: Class, Part, Quality, or
Proximity.
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