Читать книгу THE POWER OF MIND - William Walker Atkinson - Страница 35

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Treating of the receiving of impressions through the sense of sight—The vital importance of the training of the eye to receive impressions clearly and distinctly— The benefit of such training in every day and business life—The importance of such training in Memory Culture—Showing that the majority of people “look at” rather than “see” things—Interesting examples and illustrations are given, showing how this faculty has been developed by those who have devoted attention to the subject, and the general rules governing the development and cultivation of this faculty of the mind are given.

IT HAS been well said that “the eyes are the windows of the soul,” and it is indeed true that through these windows the mind receives the greatest number of impressions, and those impressions of the very finest quality. And it will be noticed that the subject of Memory Culture is perhaps more closely allied to the training of the mind to correctly register the impressions received through the medium of the eye than the cultivation of any other of the senses.

We can scarcely too strongly urge upon our readers the vital importance of the training of the Eye to receive correct impressions clearly and distinctly. Such training, and the consequent development, will result to the benefit of the man or woman in any walk of life; in any profession, business or trade. It is not merely the artist or sculptor who needs the aid of the trained eye, but every artisan, business man, or professional man who has not developed along these lines, suffers every day for his negligence.

The artist cannot reproduce unless he observes correctly; the writer cannot describe scenes, persons or character unless he has the sharpened faculty of observation; the artisan needs no one to tell him of the importance of seeing things. There is no occupation the followers of which are not benefited by trained power of observation.

One adds very materially to his fund of information, and to his pleasure by cultivating the art of perception. In traveling, for instance, many persons miss much of the best scenery— many objects of the greatest interest—by failing to perceive them. They return and read works of travel describing the same location, and are astonished at the wealth of description while they saw so little. And many miss the best parts of a book, by reason of careless reading.

The Indian and the backwoodsman will notice the broken twig, the turned leaf, the footprint, where the untrained observer sees nothing uncommon.

We remember reading somewhere of a merchant who was laughed at for having an ignorant man in his employ as buyer. He replied that it was true that the employee spelled worse than Josh Billings—that his grammar was enough to make Lindley Murray turn over in his grave—that he had never read the works of a standard author—but he knew how to see things—he bought thousands of dollars’ worth of goods every year for the merchant and had never been known to make a mistake, or to fail to note a defect, or any objectionable feature in the goods. This man had cultivated the faculty of perception, and was turning it to account.

Very few of us notice the details of the most common objects. How many of you know whether a cow’s ears are above, below, behind or in front of her horns? How many can tell whether a cat descends from a tree head or tail first. How many know whether cows and horses rise with their fore or hind feet first, or whether both animals have the same habit of rising? How many know how the number “four” appears on a watch dial?— most of you will say iv—look at your watch.

The eminent scientist Agassiz had a wonderful success in training his pupils to observe. The highly trained powers of perception which he developed in them undoubtedly contributed largely to the success of the large number of his pupils who made names and places for themselves in after years. It is related of him that one day a favorite pupil asked for additional training along these lines. Agassiz handed him a jar containing a fish, and told him to carefully examine it and report to him later what he had noticed about the fish. The pupil had seen the same kind of fish before, and could not understand why the professor had given him so trifling a task. He looked at the specimen but saw nothing of interest. He was unable to find the professor, and was compelled to remain with the tiresome fish for several hours, much to his disgust. After a bit, to relieve the monotony, he took the fish out of the jar and began to draw its figure. This was easy enough until he began to fill in the details. Then he made the interesting discovery that the fish had no eyelids, also several little points of interest that were new to him.

When Agassiz returned he seemed disappointed that the student had found out so little about the fish, and told him to try for a few hours more. The student, finding that there was no escape, started to work in earnest, bearing in mind Agassiz’s remark that “a pencil is the best of eyes.” He began to see more and more of interest in that fish, and grew quite interested in the task. The professor would come in from time to time, and hear of the student’s new discoveries, but would say little or nothing. He kept the student at work on that same fish for three long days, and the student wondered greatly that he had been able to see so little before, where there was so much to be seen and noted. The student, many years after, had made a name for himself, and was wont to tell this story, with the observation that the lesson gained by the study of that fish had extended to the details of every subsequent study, and that the experience thus gained was of inestimable value to him. It is said of Agassiz that he could deliver a popular lecture on an insect like the grasshopper, and make it so interesting that the audience became as intent as if they were witnessing a play.

In London there are said to be places where young thieves are instructed in the art of rapid and close observation. The “professor” instructing young rascals will place in his hand a number of small objects, such as a key, a button, a coin, a ring, etc. He will open his hand an instant before his class, who are required not only to name the objects seen but to describe them. Then changes will be made in the object and the boys must detect the article substituted at once. These students, after a course of training, are sent out as beggars. They endeavor to catch a glimpse into offices, rooms, houses, etc., and to note any article of value within range of their sight, its location, the doors, locks, etc., etc. They report to headquarters and if the prospects are good a burglary is forthcoming.

The above will be seen to resemble the method used to train “Kim,” as related in a preceding chapter. Readers of Conan Doyle’s fascinating “Sherlock Holmes” tales will remember the wonderful powers of perception possessed by that amateur detective, and the results accomplished because of same. Gamblers are close observers, and can often tell the hand held by their opponent, by the expression of his face, although the opponent may not be aware of betraying himself.

The Italians have a game called Morra, which is a great favorite among their boys, and which when played regularly makes the little chaps as observant as foxes. It is played by two boys, and consists in both throwing out any number of fingers simultaneously, each player crying out as rapidly as he can the number of fingers shown by the other. We have noticed a variation of this game, played by the Italian newsboys in Chicago, while waiting for their papers. One will wait until he has the attention of the other boy, and then will suddenly throw out his fist with one or more fingers displayed, shouting “Morra.” The other boy must name the number of fingers immediately, else he will receive over the head a sound whack from a rolled up newspaper in the hand of the other boy. Coture, the great teacher of drawing, instructed his pupils to let their eyes rest for a moment on passers­by in the street, and then attempt to draw them. The plan met with perfect success, after practice. At first only a hat, or an arm or a leg would be distinctly registered, but in a short time the entire figure in all its details was recorded. In the School of Design in St. Petersburg, Russia, the pupils are instructed to study an object for ten minutes, and then, the object being withdrawn, they proceed to draw it. Varney, the celebrated teacher, would place the object to be drawn in one room, and have his pupils at work in another room, allowing them to go from time to time to take a look at the object.

Garbielli, a French artist, painted a most expressive portrait of James Gordon Bennett, whom he had only seen once as he went by rapidly in a carriage. One of the most speaking pictures of Lincoln we have ever seen was painted by a talented but practically unknown artist in New Jersey, who was a most ardent admirer of the great President, whom he had seen but once. The artist was so overcome with emotion at hearing of the assassination of his idol that he sought his easel for solace, and reproduced the murdered President’s features entirely from memory. Many years ago, about 1845, the old Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia, was destroyed by fire, and among other valuable paintings there perished a picture by Murillo, entitled “The Roman Daughter.” Nearly thirty­five years afterwards, Sartain drew the picture from memory. In 1805 the French troops carried away a masterpiece of Rubens, which had formed the altar­piece in the Church of St. Peter, in Cologne. A local painter, a great admirer of the picture, made from memory a copy of the painting which seems to be absolutely perfect in drawing, detail and color. The original painting was afterwards restored and the copy compared with it, but the closest inspection fails to show any perceptible difference between them. There is a waiter in a leading hotel in a large city, who takes the hats from the guests as they enter the dining room. He can identify the owners of hundreds of hats, without a single mistake, by associating the face of the wearer with the hat, and recalling it by eye memory. “I put the face under the hat, and then I know whose hat it is,” he says, and as each guest leaves the room he is handed his own hat. Many hotel­keepers remember the names of thousands of guests.

A story is told of Stevens, formerly a police official of New York, to the effect that he wished to ascertain the character of a man who occupied a room which he kept closed against all intruders. One day Stevens knocked, and the door was opened but a few inches for an instant. Stevens’ keen eye, in that instant, took in all the contents of the room. He saw hanging around suits of clothes of all kinds, and he recognized among them certain suits that had been worn as disguises by a man he “wanted.” An arrest followed, and the man proved to be a noted criminal for whom the police of the continent were searching. A noted police official of London instructs new men on his force to look on both sides of them as they walk down a crowded street, he having noticed that the average man looks chiefly upon the right hand.

The eye, of course, transmits to the brain every ray of light entering it, and it is believed that every impression as received is registered faintly. But the mind fails to store away and subsequently recall any impressions except those which are the result of more or less interest or attention. But we may so train the sense of seeing that the impressions are received so clearly and distinctly that the mind considers it worth while to store them away carefully that they may be recalled when needed, instead of dumping them in a pile in the waste heap where it is almost impossible to find them when one desires them.

Very few people are close observers. The average person will remember a thing in a general way—will recall what it is like—but the details are missing. A thing of interest, however, receives a greater share of the attention, and a clear and full impression is registered. An instance of the operation of interest in this connection is had in the example of an average man and woman walking leisurely along the street. Another woman passes them, wearing a rather attractive gown. Both notice her. The man remembers only the fact that “she had on something blue” and that “her sleeves bulged out near the wrist and she had on rather a big hat.” If he remembers that much he has done well—many men would not have seen the sleeves, and the rest of the impression would have been hazy. But the woman would be able to tell just what the other woman had on—the waist and how it was trimmed—the style in sleeves to a fine detail; the skirt, how it was cut and of what material composed; its quality and probable cost; the hat and its feathers, silk and velvet; all the little points of style, etc. She would be able to describe to a woman friend all that she had seen, and the friend would be able to see it all “in her mind’s eye.” Now, both the man and the woman had equally good eyes—both received a photographic impression of the passing woman and her finery, and yet notice what a difference in the respective observation of the two people. What caused the difference? Simply the fact that the woman’s interest was along the lines of dress, and she had trained her attention to focus on such things. With the man there was no interest—no attention. And yet the man probably remembered that the woman had bright blue eyes and fluffy golden hair—that is, if he were a young man.

But the quality of interest may be trained and acquired, and the quality of attention will follow it.

You, of course, realize that it is not the eye that requires training, for every healthy eye does its work well. It is that part of the mind that “sees” through the eye that needs the lessons you are about to give it. The eye is the camera—the mind the sensitive plate. You wish to develop the faculty of observation. Your desire gives you an interest in the subject, and in the details of the plan, and you devote your attention to it. Important factors these—Interest and Attention—don’t forget them. But the mind has been lazy, and it will take time, patience and practice to get it down to work in earnest.

In order to remember objects, it is first necessary to see them plainly—to have the mind register a clear impression of them and store them away carefully as things of value. And the only way to get the mind to do this is to train its powers of observation. Things to be impressed upon the mind must be observed carefully and thoughtfully. This training of the powers of observation will amply repay the student for the time and labor expended, and the task itself is not irksome or dull, as the progress of the task is attended with such marked improvement of so pleasant a character that the student almost forgets that it is a task rather than a pleasant series of experiments.

In the next chapter we will give you a number of exercises calculated to develop your powers of observation—intended to help you to “see” things clearly and carefully. These exercises are useful not only in training your memory, but will give you such sharp powers of observation that you will be a much more valuable man to yourself and others than ever before. It will be a liberal education to you, along new lines.