Closely related to memory is imagination, which is the power of recombining memories in novel ways, so as to make mental constructions different from anything actually experienced in the past. The mind’s ability to interpret sensa is affected by the imagination as well as the memory.
The extent to which perception and, consequently, vision are dependent upon memory and imagination is a matter of everyday experience. We see familiar things more clearly than we see objects about which we have no stock of memories. And when, under emotional stress or excitement, our imagination is more than ordinarily active, it often happens that we interpret sensa as manifestations of the objects with which our imagination is busy, rather than as manifestation of the objects actually present in the external world.
The old sempstress, who cannot read without glasses, can see to thread her needle with the naked eye. Why? Because she is more familiar with needles than with print.
In the book he is reading, a person with normal vision comes upon a strange, polysyllabic, technical word, or a phrase in some foreign language of which he is ignorant. The letters of which these words are composed are precisely similar to those in which the rest of the book is printed; and yet this person finds it definitely harder to see them. Why? Because the rest of the book is in plain English, while the illegible words are in German, shall we say, or Russian, or the Graeco-Latin jargon of one of the sciences.
A man who can work all day at the office without undue fatigue of the eyes, is worn out by an hour at a museum, and comes home with a splitting headache. Why? Because, at the office, he is following a regular routine and looking at words and figures, the like of which he looks at every day; whereas, in the museum, everything is strange, novel and outlandish.
Or take the case of the lady who is terrified of snakes, and who mistakes what to everyone else is obviously a length of rubber tubing for an enormous viper. Her vision, as tested on the Snellen chart, is normal. Why, then, does she see what isn’t there? Because her imagination had been in the habit of using old memories of snakes to construct alarming images of the creatures, and because, under the influence of her imagination, her mind misinterpreted the sensa connected with the rubber tubing in such a way that she vividly “saw” a viper.
Such examples, which could be multiplied almost indefinitely, leave no doubt that perception and therefore vision depend upon memory and, to a lesser degree, imagination. We see best the things about which, or the likes of which, we have a good stock of memories. And the more accurate these memories are, the more thorough-going and analytical the knowledge they embody, the better (all other things being equal) will be the vision. Indeed, the vision may be better, even when other things are not equal. Thus, the veteran microscopist may have worse sight, as measured on the Snellen chart, than the first-year undergraduate whom he is instructing. Nevertheless, when he looks through his instrument, he will be able, thanks to his accurate memories of similar objects, to see the slide much more clearly than the novice can.
The truth that perception and vision are largely dependent upon past experiences, as recorded by the memory, has been recognized for centuries. But, so far as I am aware, the first person ever to pay any serious thought to what I may call the utilitarian and therapeutic corollaries of this truth was Dr. W. H. Bates. He it was who first asked the question: “How can this dependence of perception and vision upon memory and, to a lesser degree, imagination be exploited so as to improve people’s sight?” And having asked the question, he did not rest until he had found a number of simple and practical answers. His followers have been working for many years on the same problem, and they too have produced their quota of devices for improving vision by working on the memory and imagination. Here, I shall give an account of some of the more effective of these procedures. But first a few more words about certain significant characteristics of that most mysterious mental activity, remembering.
Perhaps the most important fact about memory, in its relation to perception and vision, is that it will not work well under strain. Everyone is familiar with the experience of forgetting a name, straining to recapture it and ignominiously failing. Then, if one is wise, one will stop trying to remember and allow the mind to sink into a condition of alert passivity; the chances are that the name will come bobbing up into consciousness of its own accord. Memory works best, it would seem, when the mind is in a state of dynamic relaxation.
Experience has taught the great majority of people that there is a correlation between good memory and dynamic relaxation of mind—a condition which always tends to be accompanied by dynamic relaxation of the body as well.
They have never formulated the fact explicitly to themselves; but they know it unconsciously, or, to be more precise, they consistently act as though they knew it unconsciously. When they try to remember something, they instinctively “let go,” because they have learnt, in the course of innumerable repetitions of the act of remembering, that the condition of “letting go” is the most favourable for good memory. Now, this habit of “letting go” in order to remember persists, in many cases, even when bad habits of mental and physical tension have been built up in relation to other activities, such as seeing. Consequently it often happens that, when people start remembering, they automatically and unconsciously put themselves into that condition of dynamic mental relaxation, which is propitious, not only for memory, but also for vision. This would seem to be the explanation of the fact (first observed, so far as I know, by Dr. Bates, but easily observable by anyone who is ready to fulfill the necessary conditions) that the simple act of remembering something clearly and distinctly brings an immediate improvement of vision.
In some cases of defective vision, the state of mental and physical tension is so extreme, that the sufferers have lost the habit of “letting go,” even when remembering. The result is that they have the greatest difficulty in recalling anything. Experienced teachers of the Bates Method have told me of pupils who came to them, incapable of remembering, ten seconds after the event, whether they had been looking at letters, numerals or pictures. As soon as the eyes and mind had been somewhat relaxed by means of palming, sunning, swinging and shifting, the power to remember returned. The imperfect vision and the state of virtual imbecility, into which the inability to remember had plunged these unfortunate people, were due to the same fundamental cause—improper functioning, associated with a high degree of mental and nervous muscular strain.
Fortunately, such cases are not common; and the majority of those who suffer from defects of vision, due to, or aggravated by, mental and physical strain, still preserve the good habit acquired unconsciously through the teachings of everyday experience, of “letting go” whenever they make an act of remembering. That is why it is possible, with most individuals, to make use of memory as an aid to mind-body relaxation and, through mind-body relaxation, to vision. A person with defective sight looks, let us say, at a printed letter and fails to see it distinctly. If he closes his eyes, “lets go” and remembers something which it is easy for him to remember—remembers it clearly and distinctly—he will find, on re-opening his eyes, that his vision has perceptibly improved.
Because it is impossible to remember anything clearly without “letting go,” improvement of vision will follow the act of remembering any object or episode, even one totally unconnected with the thing which, at the moment, it is desired to see. But if the memory is actually of this thing, or of some similar thing seen in the past, then the act of remembering will be doubly effective in improving vision; for it will result, not only in producing a beneficent relaxation of the mind-body, but also in an increased familiarity with the object under consideration. But we see most clearly those things with which we are most familiar.
Consequently, any procedure which makes us more familiar with the object we are trying to see makes it easier for us to see it. But every act of remembering that object, or another one like it, increases our familiarity with it, and so improves our vision of it. It is because of this fact that several of the most important memory and imagination drills are concerned with the detailed remembering or visualizing of the letters and figures which we are so constantly being called upon to see, both at the near point and in the distance.
In the light of these preliminary explanations it will be easy, I hope, for the reader to understand the various procedures now to be described.
Memory as an Aid to Vision
The value of what I have called analytical looking can be enhanced by supplementing this procedure with deliberate acts of memory. Look at objects in the way described in an earlier chapter—shifting the attention rapidly from point to point, following the outlines and counting the salient features of what you are looking at. Then close your eyes, “let go” and conjure up the clearest possible memory-image
