The Trained Memory | Page 2

"Half an Eye"]
Things are continually happening all around us that we see with but "half an eye." They
are in the "fringe" of consciousness, and we deliberately ignore them. Many more things
come to us in the form of sense-impressions that clamorously assail our sense-organs, but
no effort of the will is needed to ignore them. We are absolutely impervious to them and
unconscious of them because by the selection of our life interests we have closed the
doors against them.
In either case, whether in the "fringe" of consciousness or entirely outside of
consciousness, these unperceived sensations will be found to be sensory images that have
no connection with the present subject of thought. They therefore attract, and we spare
them, no part of our attention.
Just as each of our individual sense-organs selects from the multitude of ether vibrations
constantly beating upon the surface of the body only those waves to the velocity of which
it is attuned, so each one of us as an integral personality selects from the stream of
sensory experiences only those particular objects of attention that are in some way related
to the present or habitual trend of thought.
[Sidenote: The Man on Broadway]
Just consider for a moment the countless number and variety of impressions that assail
the eye and ear of the New Yorker who walks down Broadway in a busy hour of the day.
Yet to how few of these does he pay the slightest attention. He is in the midst of a
cataclysm of sound almost equal to the roar of Niagara and he does not know it.
Observe how many objects are right now in the corner of your mind's eye as being within

the scope of your vision while your entire attention is apparently absorbed in these lines.
You see these other things, and you can look back and realize that you have seen them,
but you were not aware of them at the time.
Let two individuals of contrary tastes take a day's outing together. Both may have during
the day practically identical sensory images; but each one will come back with an entirely
different tale to tell of the day's adventures.
[Sidenote: Waxen Tablets]
_All sensory impressions, somehow or other, leave their faint impress on the waxen
tablets of the mind. Few are or can be voluntarily recalled._
Just where and how memories are retained is a mystery. There are theories that represent
sensory experiences as actual physiological "impressions" on the cells of the brain. They
are, however, nothing but theories, and the manner in which the brain, as the organ of the
mind, keeps its record of sensory experiences has never been discovered. Microscopic
anatomy has never reached the point where it could identify a particular "idea" with any
one "cell" or other part of the brain.
[Sidenote: Not How, but How Much]
For us, the important question is not how, but how much; _not the manner in which, but
the extent to which_, sensory impressions are preserved. Now, all the evidences indicate
that _absolutely every impression received upon the sensorium is indelibly recorded in
the mind's substance_. A few instances will serve to illustrate the remarkable power of
retention of the human mind.
Sir William Hamilton quotes the following from Coleridge's "Literaria Biographia": "A
young woman of four- or five-and-twenty, who could neither read nor write, was seized
with a nervous fever, during which, according to the asseverations of all the priests and
monks of the neighborhood, she became 'possessed,' and, as it appeared, by a very
learned devil. She continued incessantly talking Latin, Greek and Hebrew in very
pompous tones, and with most distinct enunciation. Sheets full of her ravings were taken
down from her own mouth, and were found to consist of sentences coherent and
intelligible each for itself but with little or no connection with each other. Of the Hebrew,
a small portion only could be traced to the Bible; the remainder seemed to be in the
Rabbinical dialect."
[Sidenote: Remembering the Unperceived]
The case was investigated by a physician, who learned that the girl had been a waif and
had been taken in charge by a Protestant clergyman when she was nine years old and
brought up as his servant. This clergyman had for years been in the habit of walking up
and down a passage of his house into which the kitchen door opened and at the same time
reading to himself in a loud voice from his favorite book. A considerable number of these
books were still in the possession of his niece, who told the physician that her uncle had
been a very learned man and an accomplished student of Hebrew. Among the books were

found a collection of Rabbinical writings, together with several of the Greek