Hand in hand with clear thinking goes reliable memory. But so many of us have it not, and feel its need so strongly that we shall consider for a moment some means of training it.
William James holds that brain-paths cannot be deepened; that memory is not strengthened in that way. There is a natural retentiveness with which some of us are born—the men of colossal intellect—and they remember and are able to use infinitely more things acquired in the past, because they have a brain substance of greater tenacity in holding impressions than others possess. James compares some brains to wax in which the mark left by the seal is permanent; and others he compares to jelly which vibrates at every touch, but retains no dent made in it. From our study of the subconscious we know that the dent did leave an impression on the brain; but it was in the subconscious. So we beg to change the figure and liken, in all mankind, that part of the brain that handles the subconscious to wax, while granting that in some rare cases parts handling the conscious material also hold impressions, as does the wax.
Consequently, according to this theory, we do not strengthen our memories by repetition of facts, lines, or phrases. We cannot grave any deeper the memory paths which nature has provided at birth. But the attention to the thing to be remembered, which repetition has required, has made a larger number of connections of the words with each other, of thought with thought, and of the new with the old. So we have tied the new together with the old by that many more strings, as it were; and any bit of the new tugs at other bits; and the old to which it is tied brings the new with it when it comes to the fore. In other words, careful attention, at the time, to the new stimulus, and its association with the already known, together with repetition, will form a whole system of relations in the mind, and the newly entered material soon become so well-known that it will be difficult to disregard it.
When, in spite of determined effort to remember, the thing is forgotten, especially in the nurse’s case, it is usually because the emotional reaction to weariness or to some like obstacle has interfered with proper attention. James advises us if we would improve memory, to improve our thinking processes; to pay more and keener attention, so that we will link things closely together. This in itself will help to arouse interest in the thing to be remembered; and keen interest alone, or careful attention at the time of introduction of the new, and repetition of the thing to be retained, with a will which holds the attention fast, will assure a good, workable memory in any normal mind.
CHAPTER XIII
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE NURSE (Continued)
Emotional Equilibrium
Suppose that when you first enter the ward you are wishing with all your heart you had never decided to become a probationer. Perhaps the white screen and its possible meaning has so frightened you that your thoughts refuse to go beyond it. Suppose the very sight of so much sickness has agitated you instead of strengthening your determination to help nurse it. That is, suppose your emotions, your feelings, so fill your mind that perception is necessarily inaccurate and blurred. Then tomorrow your account of the ward will be hazy, and your desire will probably be against returning to a place where so many unpleasant feelings were aroused.
The emotional balance which refuses to allow feelings to obscure judgment by leading reason astray is a necessary safeguard for the work of the nurse. There is little place in the profession for the woman who is “all sentiment,” but perhaps there is less for the one without sentiment.
Feeling, we found, is the first expression of mind—feeling which in the early months is entirely selfish. The happiest baby you know is not sweet and winning to please you, but because he feels comfortable and happy and cannot keep from expressing it. His universe is his own little self and you exist only in your relation to him. If you give him pleasure he likes you; if pain, he does not want you. His mother often fails to please him, but satisfies him so much more frequently than anybody else that he loves her best. Then comes nurse or father—if he proves the satisfactory kind of father, or she a nurse he can love. To the baby whatever he happens to want is good. What is not desirable is bad. And such emotional responses are altogether normal in early months, yes, even until the child is old enough to use reason to choose between two desires the one that will in the end prove more satisfying. But they are defects in adult life.