When we speak of “images” in connection with Imagination and Recognition we do not refer merely to mental pictures of things seen. Mental images are representations of past mental experiences of any and every kind. They include past sensations of sound, taste, smell, feeling, pain, motion and the other senses, as well as sensations of sight. One may have a mental image of the voice of a friend, of the perfume of a flower, just as he may have mental images of their appearance to the eye. Indeed, the term “image” is perhaps unfortunately used in this way, since it must be made to include not only mental pictures in a visual sense, but all forms of reproductive mental activity.

Our recollection of past experiences may be either full and distinct or hazy and inadequate. Some persons are entirely unable to reproduce certain kinds of sensory experiences. Somehow they are aware of having had these experiences, but they cannot reproduce them. Every one of us has his own peculiarities.

This morning I called upon a friend in his office. I was there but a short time. Yet I can easily call to mind every detail of the surroundings. I can see the exterior of the building, its form, size, color, window-boxes with flowers, red tile roof, formal gardens in the open court, and even many of the neighboring buildings. I can plainly recall the color of the carpet on his office floor, the general tone of the paper on the wall, the size, type and material of his desk, and many other elements going to make up an almost perfect mental duplicate of the scene itself. I can even see my friend sitting at his desk, and can distinctly remember the color, cut and texture of his clothing and just how he looked when he smiled.

Last evening we entertained a number of friends at dinner. One of the ladies was an accomplished musician, and later in the evening she delighted us with her exquisite playing upon the piano. The airs she played were familiar to me. I am fond of music and I enjoyed her playing. I can sit here today and in imagination I can see her seated before the piano and remember just how her hands looked as she fingered the keys. But I find it difficult to recall the air of the selection or the tones of the piano. My mental images of the notes as they came from the piano are faint and uncertain and not nearly so distinct and clear as my recollection of the scene.

I find it easy to recall the appearance of the food that was served me for breakfast this morning. I can also faintly imagine the odor and taste of the coffee and toast, but I find that these images of taste and smell are not nearly so realistic as my mental images of what I saw and heard during the course of the meal.

When I was in college I was very fond of handball and was a member of the handball team. It has been many years since I played the game, yet I can distinctly feel the peculiar tension of the right arm and shoulder muscles that accompanied the “service.” Nor do I feel the slightest difficulty in evoking a distinct mental image of the prickly sensations that so annoyed me as a boy when I would first put on woolen underwear in the fall of the year.

From these examples, it is apparent that we can form mental images of past sensations of sight, sound, taste, smell and feeling, and indeed of every kind, including the muscular or motor sense and the sense of heat and cold.

But there is the greatest possible difference in individuals in this respect. Some persons have distinct images of things they have seen, are good visualizers. Others are weak in this respect, but have clear auditory images. And so as to all the various kinds of sensory images.

This is a fact of comparatively recent discovery. The first proponent of the idea was Fechner, but no statistical work was done in this line until Galton entered the field, in 1880. In his “Inquiries into Human Faculties,” he says:

“To my astonishment, I found that the great majority of the men of science to whom I first applied protested that mental imagery was unknown to them, and they looked on me as fanciful and fantastic in supposing that the words ‘mental imagery’ really expressed what I believed everybody supposed them to mean. They had no more notion of its true nature than a color-blind man, who has not discerned his defect, has of the nature of color. They had a mental deficiency of which they were unaware and naturally enough supposed that those who affirmed they possessed it were romancing.”

The investigations of Dr. Galton were continued by Professor James, of Harvard University. He collected from hundreds of persons descriptions of their own mental images. The following are extracts from two cases of distinctly different types. The one who is a good visualizer says:

“This morning’s breakfast-table is both dim and bright; it is dim if I try to think of it with my eyes closed. All the objects are clear at once, yet when I confine my attention to any one object it becomes far more distinct. I have more power to recall color than any other one thing; if, for example, I were to recall a plate decorated with flowers I could reproduce in a drawing the exact tone, etc. The color of anything that was on the table is perfectly vivid. There is very little limitation to the extent of my images; I can see all four sides of a room; I can see all four sides of two, three, four, even more rooms with such distinctness that if you should ask me what was in any particular place in any one, or ask me to count the chairs, etc., I could do it without the least hesitation. The more I learn by heart the more clearly do I see images of my pages. Even before I can recite the lines I see them so that I could give them very slowly word for word, but my mind is so occupied in looking at my printed image that I have no idea of what I am saying, of the sense of it, etc. When I first found myself doing this I used to think it was merely because I knew the lines imperfectly; but I have quite convinced myself that I really do see an image. The strongest proof that such is really the fact is, I think, the following:

“I can look down the mentally seen page and see the words that commence all the lines, and from any one of these words I can continue the line. I find this much easier to do if the words begin as in a straight line than if there are breaks. Example:

Etant fait
Tous .............
A des ............
Que fit ..........
Ceres ............
Avec ...........
Un fleur .........
Comme ..........
(La Fontaine S. IV.)”

The poor visualizer says:

“My ability to form mental images seems, from what I have studied of other people’s images, to be defective, and somewhat peculiar. The process by which I seem to remember any particular event is not by a series of distinct images, but a sort of panorama, the faintest impressions of which are perceptible through a thick fog—I cannot shut my eyes and get a distinct image of anyone, although I used to be able to a few years ago, and the faculty seems to have gradually slipped away. * * * In my most vivid dreams, where the events appear like the most real facts, I am often troubled with a dimness of sight which causes the images to appear indistinct. * * * To come to the question of the breakfast-table, there is nothing definite about it. Everything is vague. I cannot say what I see. I could not possibly count the chairs, but I happen to know that there are ten. I see nothing in detail. * * * The chief thing is a general impression that I cannot tell exactly what I do see. The coloring is about the same, as far as I can recall it, only very much washed out. Perhaps the only color I can see at all distinctly is that of the tablecloth, and I could probably see the color of the wall paper if I could remember what color it was.”

This difference between individuals is just as marked in the matter of ability to form auditory images as in respect to visual images.

Thus, Professor Walter Dill Scott, of Northwestern University, cites the following:

“One student who has strong auditory imagery writes as follows: ‘When I think of the breakfast-table I do not seem to have a clear visual image of it. I can see the length of it, the three chairs—though I can’t tell the color or shape of these—the white cloth and something on it, but I can’t see the pattern of the dishes or any of the food. I can very plainly hear the rattle of the dishes and of the silver and above this hear the conversation, also the other noises, such as a train which passes every morning while we are at breakfast. Again, in a football game I distinctly hear the noise, but do not see clearly anything or anybody. I hear the stillness when everyone is intent and then the loud cheering. Here I notice the differences of pitch and tone.’

“I had read that some people were unable to imagine sounds which they had heard, but it had not impressed me, for I had supposed that such persons were great exceptions. I was truly surprised when I found so many of my students writing papers similar to those from which extracts are here given: ‘My mental imagery is visual, as I seem to see things and not hear, feel or smell them. The element of sound seems practically never to enter in. When I think of a breakfast-table or a football game I have a distinct image. I see colors, but hear no sound.’

“Another in describing his image of a railroad-train, writes: ‘I am not able to state whether I hear the train or not. I am inclined to think that it is a noiseless one. It is hard for me to conceive of the sound of a bell, for instance. I can see the bell move to and fro, and for an instant seem to hear the ding, dong; but it is gone before I can identify it. When I try to conceive of shouts I am like one groping in the dark. I cannot possibly retain the conception of a sound for any length of time.’

“Another, who seems to have no vivid images of any kind, writes: ‘When I recall the breakfast-table I see it and the persons around it. The number of them is distinct, for there is only one of them on each side of the table. But they seem like mere objects in space. Only when I think of each separately do I clearly see them. As for the table, all I see is a general whiteness, interspersed with objects. I hear nothing at all, and indeed the whole thing is so indistinct it bewilders me when I think of it. My mental imagery is very vague and hazy, unless I have previously taken special notice of what I now have an image of. For instance, when I have an image of a certain person I cannot tell his particular characteristics unless my attention was formerly directed to them.’

“Another writes: ‘There is no sound in connection with any image. In remembering, I call up an incident and gradually fill out the details. I can very seldom recall how anything sounds. One sound from the play “Robespierre,” by Henry Irving, which I heard about two years ago and which I could recall some time afterward, I have been unable to recall this fall, though I have tried to do so. I can see the scene quite perfectly, the position of the actors and stage setting, even the action of a player who brought out the sound.’

“Quite a large proportion of persons find it impossible to imagine motion at all. As they think of a football game, all the players are standing stock-still; they are as they are represented in a photograph. They are in the act of running, but no motion is represented. Likewise, the banners and streamers are all motionless. They find it impossible to think of such a thing as motion. Others find that the motions are the most vivid part of their images. What they remember of a scene is principally movement.

“One writes: ‘When the word “breakfast-table” was given out I saw our breakfast-table at home, especially the table and the white tablecloth. The cloth seemed to be the most distinct object. I can see each one in his place at the table. I can see no color except that of the tablecloth. The dishes are there, but are very indistinct. I cannot hear the rattle of the dishes or the voices very distinctly; the voices seem much louder than the dishes, but neither are very clear. I can feel the motions which I make during the breakfast hour. I feel myself come in, sit down and begin to eat. I can see the motions of those about me quite plainly. I believe the feeling of motion was the most distinct feeling I had. When the word “railroad-train” was given I saw the train very plainly just stopping in front of the depot. I saw the people getting on the train; these people were very indistinct. It is their motions rather than the people themselves which I see. I can feel myself getting on the train, finding a seat, and sitting down. I cannot hear the noise of the train, but can hear rather indistinctly the conductor calling the stations. I believe my mental imagery is more motile (of movement) than anything else. Although I can see some things quite plainly, I seem to feel the movements most distinctly.’

“A very few in describing their images of the breakfast-table made special mention of the taste of the food and of its odor. I have discovered no one whose prevailing imagery is for either taste or smell. With very many the image of touch is very vivid. They can imagine just how velvet feels, how a fly feels on one’s nose, the discomfort of a tight shoe, and the pleasure of stroking a smooth marble surface.”