Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

task in hand, and staleness on account of the ennui, as well as thoughts of pleasanter activities, are a few illustrations from the many that might be mentioned. "I was constantly surprised," says Thorndike,1 in his analysis of this condition, "to find myself when feeling, as I would certainly have said, 'mentally tired,' unable to demonstrate in the feeling anything more than emotional repugnance to the idea of doing mental work. On at least half the occasions this seemed to be all there was."

The feeling of lassitude, again, is quite commonly the result of lack of physical exercise. It has been observed that adults who engage in vigorous out-of-door work or sports, without overdoing, require less sleep and accomplish more mental work without fatigue. The sensations of strain and the feeling of effort may be due, also, to the disagreeable monotony of the task. As a relief from ennui, mere change is recuperative, and this is probably another reason why experiments and tests so frequently reveal little fatigue. The student may be weary from his previous work, but not fatigued.

Curves showing the progress of work, aside from the practice effect, are curves of a good many more things than fatigue. Pleasure and displeasure are important factors in postponing or hastening fatigue. Wright noticed 2 in his investigations that "the fatigue accompanying work is not so great when the person is working under the direct stimulus of a definite aim, notwithstanding the fact that he has at the same time produced an increase in the amount of work." The aim gives point and zest to what would otherwise be a disagreeable task, and it prevents the sensations, feelings, and thoughts mentioned above from arising in the mind. This is always the effect of a purpose in which one is interested. Aimless work is soon reduced to drudgery, and few activities are more fatiguing. The more

1 Psychological Review, vol. 7, p. 547.

W. R. Wright, Psychological Review, vol. 13, p. 23.

immediate and direct the aim and the more it concerns the present interests of the worker, the less likely is the mental condition commonly regarded as fatigue to appear. Since we may suppose that toxic products are always produced by continuous physical or mental activity, the difference in the effect of pleasant and dreary work would seem to lie in the rapidity with which they are disposed of or eliminated. It is not unlikely that the freer blood-circulation and the buoyant feeling attending the exhilaration of pleasure carries away these toxic products more rapidly than in the more sluggish condition of ennui. At all events, it is clear that disagreeable, monotonous work fatigues and wears one out more quickly than pleasant occupations. Perhaps this is one reason for the prodigious and at the same time unimpairing work of von Humboldt, Mommsen, and Edison. Such men are fortunate enough to have found work in which they could engage with unmitigated joy.

CHAPTER VI

CURIOSITIES OF MEMORY

Not long ago one of our leading monthly magazines exhibited a tragic scene. A man with wild despair pictured in his face was tearing his dishevelled hair in a most indiscreet manner, and under the picture were emblazoned the portentous words, "I forgot." The advertisement then went on to inform the readers where they might purchase a memory system with which they could remember five thousand facts.

The success of such advertisements in selling the lessons indicates that remembering is, to a large extent, a “lost art," and that people commonly regard information as the most important factor in memory and intelligence. But what should we do with five thousand isolated facts if we had them? We all have many more now than we are able to use.

The first problem in connection with memory, therefore, is to learn how to make use of facts. Memory of so much information as can be used will then take care of itself, for facts that are applied are retained. Information is of value only to the extent to which it enters into one's thinking. It is the raw material out of which thoughts are made. But thinking, we have seen, is not a mechanical process. It does not come from merely piling up facts. Not even when the facts are put together in some sort of order, after the manner of the bricks that make a house, does thinking occur. An artistic arrangement of facts may produce day-dreams, but thinking is directed toward a definite end, like solving a problem or reaching a conclusion.

At its lowest terms thinking requires selection of mate

rial with reference to its service in promoting a reasonable conclusion. Mere facts have no significance. Only as they have meaning in relation to other facts do they gain importance. Evidently, then, understanding an event requires for its interpretation the aid of all available information. In this way facts acquire meaning and the significance of the event is understood. This, of course, frequently calls for extensive knowledge and seems to imply that everything which one finds in the course of one's study and reading should be remembered. This is not true, however, as we shall see if we go a little further. The use of the material of knowledge and its accurate recall are two very different matters. One may, for example, remember the conclusion reached without recalling all the details leading to the conclusion. "Intuitions" are another illustration. To a large extent they are the residua of experiences which were not, and perhaps could not be, analyzed. They are the "impressions" left in memory, but not recognized as facts of personal experiences. Their source is much the same sort of submerged memories as some of the more spectacular instances to which reference will be made in this chapter. Again, selection of material is always for a definite purpose. Consequently, only certain facts from among those actually conserved in memory are desired at any given moment. But let us go a little further in our consideration of the use of memory.

Information from the standpoint of memory is of two kinds: That which we need so constantly that it must be kept "in mind," and that which we may look up as occasion arises. Some things should not be remembered. Efficiency requires, among other things, that the mind be not overloaded. It is as important to forget as to remember. But we must forget the right things. Here is where selection begins. A lawyer should remember the trend of important court decisions, but when he needs the details

he knows where to find them. What one should remember is a matter of judgment. The important thing, however, is that this selection be a thoughtful act and not left to chance, as is so frequently the case.

Interest is usually said to be the determining factor in deciding what one shall remember. This interest may be racial-spontaneous, or involuntary. A boy can tell you at once the record of national baseball-clubs and the batting average of the individual players. Again, this interest may be acquired from the necessities of a situation. The writer once watched a young negro take the hats of over two hundred strangers as they entered the dining-room of a large hotel. So far as could be observed no system was followed in arranging the hats on the rack. Indeed, a system itself would have been an exceedingly difficult feat of memory, since the guests did not come out in the order in which they entered, and only a few of the diningtables could be seen by the attendant. Yet he did not make a single mistake in distributing the hats. As soon as he saw a man approaching he went at once to the rack and got the right hat.

Many facts, however, indicate that interest is only a partial explanation. It is clear that many more experiences are conserved than come into conscious memory under any circumstances of normal, every-day life. Sometimes these conserved experiences affect our behavior without our being aware either of the experiences or of their influence. We do not recall the events. Even when we do they may not be connected in our minds as causal factors of our actions. The purpose in the present chapter is, first, to describe briefly a few of these singular phenomena of memory, and, second, to show that these conserved experiences, even though we are not conscious of them, may profoundly affect our thinking and acting. Helen Keller has reported1 an incident in her life which

1 The Story of My Life, pp. 63-69.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »