William Atkinson - The Complete Works of William Walker Atkinson

"Om, Mani Padme, Hum!"

Finis.

Table of Content

Chapter I. The Subconscious Storehouse.

Chapter II. Attention and Concentration.

Chapter III. Acquiring Impressions.

Chapter IV. Eye Perception and Memory.

Chapter V. Exercises in Eye Perception.

Chapter VI. Ear Perception and Memory.

Chapter VII. Exercises in Ear Perception.

Chapter VIII. Association.

Chapter IX. Remembrance, Recollection and Recognition

Chapter X. General Principles Regarding Impressions.

Chapter XI. The Cumulative System of Memory Culture.

Chapter XII. The Ten-Question Thought System.

Chapter XIII. Memory of Figures, Dates and Prices.

Chapter XIV. Memory of Place.

Chapter XV. Memory of Faces.

Chapter XVI. Memory of Names.

Chapter XVII. Artificial Systems.

Table of Content

Treating of the great subconscious region of the mind, lying outside the field of consciousness, which region is the home of the memory, the storehouse of impression received through the senses—The relation of the memory to this great storehouse is discussed, and numerous examples and illustrations are given, showing that nothing is ever forgotten, and how apparently forgotten facts may be recalled under certain circumstances—Our impressions lie hidden in the deep recesses of the subconscious mentality awaiting the hour of their voluntary or involuntary revival—The study of this chapter wiil throw new light on the subject of Memory Culture.

WE CAN form no clear conception of the nature of memory, or of the rules governing the faculties of remembrance and recollection, unless we understand something about that great region of the mind known to psychologists as the subconscious field of mentation. It was formerly taught that the mind was conscious of all that went on within itself, but the advanced thought of the age now recognizes that consciousness forms but a small part of the total of mental processes. Subconscious ideas, impressions, sensations and thoughts play a most important part in the world of thought. It is now understood that in every conscious act there is much that belongs to the region of the subconscious. In every conscious act there is a background of subconsciousness.

Back of the field of consciousness lies the great region of subconsciousness. This subconscious region contains many mysteries which are engaging the attention of psychologists and other thinkers, the results of whose investigation and labors are exercising an important influence on the thought of the age. It has been estimated that less than ten per cent of the mental operations of every day life are performed on the conscious plane, the balance of the work being done in the great subconscious regions of the mind. That which we call conscious mentation is but the peaks of submerged mountains, the vast body of the mountains being hidden by the waters. We are as if in a forest in the darkest night, our lantern casting around us a little luminous circle, beyond which is a large ring of twilight, and still beyond this is absolute darkness. And in this twilight, and in this darkness, work is being done, the results of which, when necessary, are pushed forward into the circle of light which we know as consciousness.

Memory is primarily a function of our subconscious mentality. In the great subconscious region lies the great store­house of Memory. From the moment we receive an impression, until the moment when it is again brought into the field of consciousness, the subconscious faculties are at work. We receive and store away an impression—where do we store it? Not in the conscious region, else it were always before us— down in the depths of the subconscious store­house is it stored, placed among other impressions, often so carelessly that we find it almost impossible to find it when again we need it. Where is it kept during the years that often intervene between the storing away of an impression and its subsequent revival? In this great store­house of the subconscious. What process is employed when we wish to recall an impression? Simply an order going forth from the Will, bidding the workers in the subconscious warehouse to find and bring into the light the impression laid away so long ago. And in the degree that these workers have been trained to do their work and accustom themselves to their task, do they succeed in intelligently obeying the orders of the Will. And in the measure that they have been taught to carefully store away the things committed to their charge, and to carefully note the locations of the treasures committed to them, are they apt and quick in bringing them to light when they are bidden.

Consciousness cannot be regarded as synonymous with mind. If we treat consciousness and mind as coextensive, and discard the idea of the subconscious field of mentation, we will beat a loss to explain where, during a particular conscious state, all the rest of the mind is; where are all the other bits of mental furniture other than the particular piece then in use. The field of consciousness at any particular moment is very limited, and reminds one of looking through a telescope or microscope where he sees only that which is within the field of the instrument, all outside of that field being as if it did not exist, for the moment. The mind is constantly filled with ideas, thoughts, impressions, etc., of which we are totally unconscious until they are brought into the field of consciousness.

It is believed that every impression received—every thought that we evolve—every act that we perform—is recorded somewhere in this great subconscious storehouse of the mind, and that nothing is ever absolutely forgotten. Many things that have been apparently forgotten for years, will come into the field of consciousness when summoned there by some association, desire, need or stress. Many mental impressions probably never will be brought again into the field of consciousness, there being no need for such bringing forth, but will remain in the subconscious region silently but powerfully molding our thoughts, ideas and actions. Other impressions will lie hidden in the deep recesses of the mind, awaiting the hour of their renewed use, just as future light and heat lie hidden in the coal in the uncovered strata of the earth’s surface, awaiting the time when it will be brought forth for use.

We are at any one time conscious of but a very small part of what is stored away in the mind. Many things which seem to have been forgotten, and which we have often endeavored to recall, will at some time come apparently unbidden into the field of consciousness, as if of its own accord. We often try to recall a thing, but it proves elusive, and we cease our efforts, but after a time, suddenly, the idea flashes forth right in the glare of consciousness. It would seem that our desire for recollection often starts into operation the silent workers of the subconsciousness, and long after, when we have almost forgotten the desire, they return triumphantly dragging the desired impression with them. Then again, a chance word of another may open up vast fields of memory, of whose existence we may have long since lost sight. Often in a dream we will see long forgotten faces, hear and recognize voices whose tones had faded away many years ago. Many events which have been so completely forgotten that no effort of the will seems able to recall them, still seem to be firmly imbedded somewhere in the subconsciousness, and some extraordinary stimulus, strain, or physical condition brings them forth as fresh and vivid as the impression of yesterday.

Persons in the delirium attending fever will often speak of things which they had entirely forgotten, and of which they failed to recall a single particular after their recovery, but which, upon investigation, proved to have actually occurred in their childhood or youth. It is stated that a drowning man will often recall the events of his past life, and many interesting experiences along this line are related in the standard works on the subject of psychology. Sir Francis Beaufort after being rescued from drowning, stated that “every incident of my former life seemed to pass before my recollection in a retrograde succession, not in mere outline, but the picture being filled up with every minute and collateral feature, constituting a kind of panoramic view of my entire existence.”