How may imagination be cultivated? It is said that “poets are born, not made;” but the foundation of every other faculty is in nature, while all are useless unless improved and applied. It, too, will increase in power by use. Imagination is the faculty that forms complete images from the detached materials furnished by the senses. It takes from all sources, and mixes and mingles until a perfect picture is formed. Now, the proper way of cultivating it is by forming just such pictures. Let the preacher throw on the canvas of the mind every part of his sermon that is capable of sensible representation. It is not enough to have all the facts, but he must cast them into the very shape he wishes them to take. A great part of every sermon may thus be made pictorial, and be far more easily remembered, and more effectively delivered. Even in doctrinal sermons, use may be made of this principle, by forming clear mental images of the illustrations, which are mostly from material objects. When Henry Bascom was asked how he succeeded in preaching so well, he said that it was by painting everything vividly in his mind, and then speaking of it as he saw it before him. He was a man of unbounded imagination, and perhaps allowed it too much influence in his discourses; but his example is most instructive to that large number who have not enough to prevent their sermons from being dim and dry.
But the preacher must use this faculty with great care, for it is an edged tool. He deals in sacred things, and while he may approach the burning bush where the Lord is, he must go with naked feet and softest tread. Above all, truth and propriety may never be violated. That imaginative preacher who pictured to his hearers the bustle of a railway station, the rush of the train, the crowding of friends around to welcome the passengers, and conspicuous among them, the gray-haired father of the prodigal son, hurrying with tottering steps to the edge of the platform, and there grasping the returning penitent by the hand, may have produced a vivid picture, but his sermon scarcely tended to edification!
This faculty may also be cultivated by reading and pondering the works of those who have it in a high degree of perfection. The time devoted to the study of the great poets is not lost. They give richness and tone to the speaker’s mind, introduce him into scenes of ideal beauty, and furnish him with many a striking thought and glowing image to be woven into his future discourses.
Many of the sciences give as full scope to imagination in its best workings as the fields of poesy. Astronomy and geology stand pre-eminent in this particular. Everything about them is great. They deal with immense periods of time, immeasurable magnitudes and sublimest histories. Hugh Miller’s “Vision of Creation” is as replete with imagination as a play of Shakespeare, and his other works sparkle with the same radiant spirit. Each science requires the formation of mental images, and thus approaches the domain of poetry. The dryness of mathematical and scientific study is a pure myth. A philosopher once said that poetry and the higher branches of science depended on the same powers of mind. He was right. The poet is a creator who forms new worlds of his own, and “gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.” He pictures the idea that arises in his brain in all the vividness of outward form. The man of science is required to do the same thing, with the advantage, perhaps, of a few scattered hints. The geologist may have a few broken bones, a withered leaf, and some fragments of rock, from which to bring before him the true “forest primeval,” through which roamed gigantic animals, and dragons more unsightly than ever figured in Grecian mythology. The astronomer has the half dozen phenomena he can observe with his telescope from which to conceive the physical appearance of distant worlds. In every science the same need for imagination in its high, truthful function exists, and the same opportunity is afforded for its cultivation.
An eminent elocutionist once advised his class to employ all pauses in mentally painting the idea conveyed in the coming sentence. By this means, he said, the expression of the voice would be made deeper and truer. If this is so important in reciting the words of others, how much more should we observe it when improvising sentences as well as modulations.
Our conceptions may remain vague and intangible while within the mind, but they can only reach others by taking the definite form of language. It by no means follows that a man who has important ideas and deep emotions, will be able to communicate them; but if he have a moderate endowment of language it may be so cultivated as to answer all his requirements. We have no doubt that diligent and long-continued practice in the methods indicated below will enable the vast majority of men to express their thoughts with clearness and fluency.
There are certain laws in every language, made binding by custom, which cannot be transgressed without exposing the transgressor to ridicule. These constitute grammar, and must be thoroughly learned. If a man has been under the influence of good models in speech from childhood, correctness will be a matter almost of instinct; but the reverse of this is usually the case.
At the present day, there is little difficulty in learning to write in accordance with the rules of composition; and when the power has been attained, we have a standard by which to judge our spoken words. But it is not enough for the extempore speaker to be able, by long effort, to reduce his sentences to correctness. That should be the first and spontaneous form in which they present themselves. He has no time to think of right or wrong constructions, and the only safe way is to make the right so habitual that the wrong will not once be thought of. In other words, we must not only be able to express ourselves correctly by tongue and pen, but the very current of thought which is flowing ceaselessly through our brain, and which is usually clothed in unspoken words, must be in accordance with the laws of language. When we have attained the power of precise and accurate thinking, we will have no difficulty in avoiding the ridiculous blunders sometimes supposed to be inseparable from extemporaneous speech.
Correct pronunciation is also of great importance. Usage has the same authority here as in the collocation of words, and has assigned to each one its proper sound, which no speaker can mistake without being exposed to misconception and damaging criticism. A deficient knowledge of pronunciation is apt to produce another and extremely hurtful effect. The mental effort necessary to determine between two different sounds that may be suggested, is liable to divert the mind from the subject it is engaged upon, and thus occasion embarrassment and hesitation. That accuracy in the use of words, which is the charm of spoken no less than written composition, may also be impaired; for if two or more terms for one object flash into the speaker’s mind, only one of which he is confident of his ability to pronounce, he will be strongly tempted to use that one, even if it be the least suitable. He ought to know how to pronounce all common words, and be so familiar with the right sound and accent, that no other will ever enter his mind. Then he will be able to select the terms that convey his meaning most clearly and strongly.
One blunder in pronunciation should be particularly shunned by every person of good taste. This is the omission of the sound of “r” in places where it rightly belongs. It is strange that this shameful perversion of language should be popular in certain circles. It is so easily observed and corrected that the poor excuse of ignorance is scarcely admissible, and in general it can be attributed only to silly affectation. This sound is as musical as most others, and the attempt to improve the melody of our speech by its omission is on a par with the efforts of our great-grandmothers to improve their beauty by affixing patches to their cheeks and noses.