Fatigue and Memory.—Occasionally it happens quite normally that when we are very tired certain portions of our memory at least become vague and indefinite and may even fail to respond to any excitation on our part. Under these circumstances we seem to be able only with considerable effort to exert the effort necessary to bring about such connections of brain cells as will facilitate recollection and reproduction and we may fail entirely. In a foreign country it is, as a rule, much more easy to talk the language in the morning when we are fresh than in the evening when we are tired. Especially is this true if we are asked to pass from one foreign language to another, which always requires a special effort. Everyone who has traveled must have had the experience that on crossing the frontier suddenly to be addressed in German after he has been talking French for weeks, may quite nonplus the traveler, even though he knows German as well or even better than French. This is especially true if much depends on the answers, if he has been addressed by a railway official or customs inspector. Apparently there must be a momentary wait until some shifting operation takes place in the brain before the German memory can get to work to establish the connections necessary to enable him to talk German. After a man has been talking to a number of people in one foreign tongue he is likely to be quite lost for words for a moment if he has to use another. The effects of fatigue and excitement and unusualness upon memory then must be remembered in order to be able to reassure patients who pervert the significance of the phenomena.
Ribot gives an excellent personal illustration of this peculiarity of memory in his "Diseases of Memory," which is worth recalling here. He says:
I descended on the same day two very deep mines In the Hartz Mountains, remaining some hours underground in each. While in the second mine, and exhausted both from fatigue and inanition, I felt the utter impossibility of talking longer with the German inspector who accompanied me. Every German word and phrase deserted my recollection; and it was not until I had taken food and wine, and been some time at rest, that I regained them again.
Sensations and Memory.—Just as soon as people compare their memories with others, as they do when they worry and begin to grow introspectively self-conscious, they find noteworthy differences and because of differences they will be prone to think that their memory is pathologically defective when it is only different, or, still more, that because they are not able to remember some things, as others do, their memory must be failing. It is well known that some people have a good memory for things seen, others for things heard, and still others only for things in which they have taken actual part. These are spoken of as visual, auditory and action memories. Memories for things seen are divided into special classes. Some people remember forms very well, while others remember colors. It is evident that our memories are somehow dependent on the special mode in which sensation affects us and that our acutest sensations are the sources of our longest and best memories. Color vision defectives are not affected much by colors and easily forget them. The tone-deaf have no memory for tunes. Every sense defect affects the memory. Sense defects are often unconscious. Their effect on memory may [{683}] only be noted when introspection begins to bring out the special sensation and memory qualities of the individual. Nature, not disease, may be the basis of some memory troubles thus brought to recognition. All these curious phenomena with regard to memory need to be recalled whenever there is question of a supposed deterioration of it, for it is not easy to decide such a question.
Limits of Normal Forgetfulness.—Curious instances of forgetfulness may occur in the experience of men with excellent memories, which, when they happen to persons morbidly inclined to test their every act, are interpreted to signify something much more serious than they really mean. Nearly everyone has had more than once the experience of telling a story to a particular group of people and then forgetting all about having told it and coming back a few days later to tell it over again. Occasionally a teacher hears the same lesson a week apart and yet does not remember that he went over it before, though the class is almost sure to do so. A man may repeat a lecture that he has given before to the same audience without realizing it. The story has been told more than once of a clergyman delivering the same sermon on two Sundays in succession and, though such lapses are very rare, they do not necessarily indicate a failing memory, but may only mean a lack of concentration of attention on the part of the human mind. Prof. Ribot in his "Diseases of Memory" tells the story of one such case in which the subject was quite alarmed lest it should indicate that he was beginning to suffer from some serious memory disturbance due to brain disease, though there was no ground for his fears:
A dissenting minister, apparently in good health, went through the entire pulpit service one Sunday morning with perfect consistency—his choice of hymns and lessons and extempore prayer being all related to the subject of the sermon. On the Sunday following he went through the service in precisely the same manner, selecting the same hymns and lessons, offering the same prayer, giving out the same text, and preaching the same sermon. On descending from the pulpit he had not the slightest remembrance of having gone through precisely the same service on the preceding Sunday. He was much alarmed and feared an attack of brain disease, but nothing of the kind supervened.
Attention not Memory.—When patients come with complaints of the loss of memory, the most important thing is to analyze their symptoms carefully. This will usually enable us to give patients ample reassurance. I have known men who were convinced that they were losing their memories because of their failure to recall important details in their business affairs in the midst of much hurry and bustle in the winter time, find that when they were living a simpler life in the course of travel or life in the country during the summer time under conditions different from the ordinary, their memory could be absolutely depended on for trains and travel details and all important matters to which they were now devoting attention.
Cultivating Looseness of Memory.—Many people complain of loss of memory in the sense that they do not now remember when things took place as well as they used to. For instance, I have had men of fifty tell me that they were sure that their memories were growing weaker than they used to be because a number of times within a year they had found that events which they thought had taken place only a year or two ago really dated four or [{684}] five or even more years in the past. Some are considerably disturbed by this. As a matter of fact it is only another instance of lack of attention. Most of what we read in newspapers attracts so little of our serious attention that it is no wonder that we do not recall with exactness when events took place. Events crowd each other out of memory. Newspaper reading is, indeed, the best possible cultivation of looseness of memory that we could have. We do not expect to remember what we read. We would probably grow distracted if we did. At the end of the day if you ask a man what he read in the morning paper he will have no idea at all, unless something especially startling or particularly interesting to him has turned up. After a week we could no more separate Monday's from Tuesday's news of the week before than we could recall a random list of events, having heard it but once. We cultivate looseness of memory with great assiduity. Let us not be surprised if, to some extent, we succeed.
Memories Individual.—People are often much worried over children's memories and may communicate this worry and anxiety to the children themselves, making them solicitous. It is probable that our memories are like our stature. They are what they are. By thinking we cannot add a cubit to the one nor facility to the other. The training of the memory is a very small element compared to the natural faculty. It must not be forgotten, however, that many distinguished men have been noted for rather bad memories when they were young and yet these faculties have developed quite enough to enable them to accomplish good work afterwards. The memory is, after all, a comparatively unimportant faculty in itself and other intellectual faculties surpass it in significance. It is the faculty that first develops, however, and so a child is often thought to be intellectually slow when it has not so bright a memory as its companions, though a little later its other faculties may develop so as to put it on a plane above its fellows. Memories, too, are very individual and may not retain any of the ordinary subjects, while they may be very attentive for certain special lines of thought. This form of the faculty is better, for the encyclopedic memory is usually of little use and, except in high degrees, encourages superficiality rather than real knowledge.
As a matter of fact, few of our greatest thinkers have had what would be called brilliant memories and it would almost seem as though the diversion of mental energy to this faculty rather disturbed the development of the others. Many a distinguished man has been rather notorious as a child for bad memory, so that in the early days when memory was the only faculty called upon at school he was set down as a dunce. Perhaps the most striking example of this was Sir Isaac Newton, who was actually called a dunce, and yet the world would welcome a few other such dunces. Thomas of Aquin, the great medieval writer on philosophy and theology, who still influences philosophy so much, was so slow as a young man that he was called by his fellow pupils "the dumb ox." His great teacher, Albertus Magnus, recognized the depth of mind that his fellow students could not see and declared that the bellowings of that "ox" would be heard throughout the world. Sir Walter Scott was spoken of as a very backward child. This is all the more surprising to those who know and appreciate the wealth of information that he put into his Waverley Novels. Goldsmith, than whom we have no more brilliant writer in English, seemed not only a dunce as a child, but all his [{685}] life, so far as outward appearance went, was a numbsknll. This was due to a lack of readiness rather than any lack of wit.