In 1596 Matteo Ricci taught the Chinese how
to build a memory palace. He told them that the size of the palace would depend
on how much they wanted to remember: the most ambitious construction would
consist of several hundred buildings of all shapes and sizes, "the more
there are the better it will be," said Ricci, thought he added that one
did not have to build on a gradiose scale right away. One coul create modest
palaces, or one could build less dramatic structures such as a temple compound,
a cluster of government offices, a public hostel, or a merchants's meeting
lodge. If one wished to begin on a still smaller scale, then one could erect a
simple reception hall, a pavilion, or a studio. And if one wanted an intimate
space one could use just the corner of a pavilion, or an altar in a temple, or
even such a homely object as a wardrobe or a divan.
In summarizing this memory system, he
explained that these palaces, pavilions, divans wer mental structures to be
kept in one's head, not solid objects to be literaally constructed out of
"real" materials. Ricci suggested that there were three main options
for such memory locations. First, they coud be drawn from reality, that is,
from buildings that one had been in or from objects that one had seen with
one's own eyes and recalled in one's memory. Second, they could be totally
fictive, products of the imagination conjured up in any shape or size. Or
third, they could be half real and half fictive, as in the case of a building
one knew well and through the back wall of which one broke an imaginary door as
a shortcut to new spaces, or in the middle of which one created a mental
staircase that would lead one up to higher floors that had not existed before.
The real purpose of all these mental
constructs was to provide storage spaces for the myriad concepts that make up
the sum of our human knowledge. To everything that we wish to remember, wrote
Ricci, we should give an image; and to every one of these images we should
assign a position where it can repose peacefully until we are ready to reclaim
it by an act of memory. Since this entire memory system can work only if the
images stay in the assigned positions and if we can instantly remember where we
stored them, obviously it would seem easiest to rely on real locations which we
know so well that we cannot ever forget them. But that would be a mistake,
thought Ricci. For it is by expanding the number of locations and the
corresponding number of images that can be stored in them that we increase and
strengthen our memory. Therefore the Chinese should struggle w/ the difficult
task of creating fictive places, or mixing the fictive with the real, fixing
them permanently in their minds by constant practice and review so that at last
the fictive spaces become "as if real, and can never be erased."
How many such images could one or did one
seek to retain in the memory palaces of one's mind? Ricci wrote quite casually
in 1595 of running through a list of four to five hundred random Chinese
ideograms and then repeating the list in reverse order, while Chinese friends
described him as being able to recite volumes of the Chinese classics after
scanning them only once. But such feats were not particularly startling:
Francesco Panigarola, an older contemporary who may have taught Ricci memory
arts either in Rome or in Macerate - the manuscript draft of Panigarola's
little tract on memory method still reposes in the Macerate library - was
described by acquaintances in Florence as being able to roam across a hundred
thousand memory images, each in its own fixed place. As Ricci, echoing the past
books on memory, told Governer Lu Wangai, it was the order and sequence of the
places ready for images inside each building that were crucial to the mnemotic
art:
Once your places are all fixed in order, then
you can walk through the door and make your start. Turn to the right and
proceed from there. As with the practice of calligraphy, in which you move from
the beginning to the end, as with fish who swim along in ordered schools, so is
everything arranged in your brain, and all the images are ready for whatever
you seek to remember. If you are going to use a great many [images], then
let the buildings be hundreds or thousands of units in extent, if you only want
a few, then take a single reception hall and just divide it up by its corners.
Quite a strong level of memory, even among
the poor and uneducated, was still taken for granted in a culture that
remainted largely oral. Montaigne, for instance, on his Italian joruney of
1581, described a group of peasants in the fields near Florence, their girl
friends at their sides, reciting lengthy passages of Ariosto as they strummed
on their lutes. Yet at the same time, possession of too strong a memory could
swiftly lead one's neighbords to suspect one of having magical powers, as
happened w/ Arnaud du Tilh in souther France during the mid-sixteenth century.
How he managed to draw the strands of these
studies together in Nanchang in 1595, putting his new-found confidence in his
knowledge of Chinese alongside his own rigorous memory training, and cleverly
playing on the desire for book memorization on the part of his Chinese
acquaintances, Ricci described a detailed letter to his superior in Macao,
Edoardo de Sande, which bubbles w/ the joy of achievement.
"One day, when I was invited to a party
by some holders of the first-level literary degree, something happened that
gave me a great reputation among them and among all the other literari in the
city. The thing was that I had constructed a Memory Place System for many of
the Chinese ideographs, and being in good relations w/ these literati and
desiring to gain among them some credit, and give some evidence of what I knew
of Chinese letters, understanding how much this mattered to the service and
glory of Our Lord and to that which we were intending, I told them that they
should write down a large number of Chinese letters in any manner they chose on
a sheet of paper, without there being any order among them, because after
reading them only once, I would be able to say them all by heart in the same
way and order in which they had been written. They did so, writing many letters
without any order, all of which I, after reading them once, was able to repeat
by memory in the manner in which they were written: such that they were all
astonished, it seeming to them a great matter. And I, in order to increase
their wonder, began to recite them all by memory backward in the same manner,
beginning with the very last until reaching the first. By which they all became
utterly astounded and as if beside themselves. And at once they began to beg me
to consent to teach them this divine rule by which such a memory was made. And
immediately my fame began to spread so swiftly among the literati that I
couldn't even keep a counting of all the degree holders and other imporant
people who came to ask me if I would be willing to teach this science and took
me as their master, and paid me courtesies as they would to a master, and also
offered me money as they would their masters."
The memorization of such classical works was
of course crucial to ambitious Chinese youths entering the examination ladder
for bureaucratic office; as Ricci shrewdly observed: "Great is the
rejoicing that is made in the city by the magistrates and by the parents of all
those who obtain a passing grade, for as they are heathens they think that this
is both their glory and their paradise." Ricci had already met one senior
official (the milirary mandarin Scielou, who nearly led him to a watery grave)
whose son had had a physical and mental collapse after failing the state
examinations, and as he came to write down his thoughts in his book on mnemonic
method, he played on this desire, assering that "if a student were trying
to recall what he had read of the Classics, then such-and-such a chapter,
such-and-such a page, such-and-such a line would be as vivid as if before his
eyes."
In presenting the case for his own mnemonic
system Ricci obviously tried to impress the Chinese with the fact that the
system had been used successfully by roaylty in the distant past: he wrote of
"the king of Bando," who learned the languages of the twenty-two
countries he ruled (in reference to Mithradates of Pontus); of "the king
of Balaxi," who knew the names of all the soldiers in his army of hundreds
of thousands of men (in reference to Cyrus of Persia); and of "the king of
Liweiya," who sent an envoy to Rome, the envoy remembering the names of
the thousands of officials he met there (referring to Pyrrhus's envoy Cineas).
One wonders if, in leisurely conversation
with some of his scholarly Chinese friends, Ricci roamed beyond these three
examples, which he probably drew from the brief section of Pliny's Natural
History that dealt w/ memory, where all three Western examples that he used are
listed. The Latin humanist and Stoic writers he had been raised on, such as
Cicero, Quitilian, and Seneca, all provided fine examples that the Chinese
might have warmed to more readily, for they had attributes that the Chinese themselves
valued. For example, Seneca, remembering two thousand names in sequence or two
hundred random lines of verse, would have struck a Chinse chord, as would
Theodectes w/ his ability to recall any number of poems after a single reading,
and Charmadas, who could remember the entire contents of the books in the
libraries he visited. Such figures from the Western past could have claimed a
kind of equality w/ Chinese scholars of the past famous for parallel feats:
doubtless any of Ricci's educated Chinese friends could have told him of Ni
Heng of the Eastern Han, who remembered all the stone tomb inscriptions after
he returned from a long journey; or Xing Shao, who remembered the whole Han
dynastic history after five days and could always recall all the poems written
at a party; or Lu Jiangdao of the Tang, who after one reading could recite
books both forward and backward; and the formidable Zhang Andao who, having
grown up in seclusion, had always thought that everyone remembered books after
reading them once through, until he was politely corrected.
The parallels that one can find, all of which
would have been in the conscious minds either of Ricci or of his Chinese
friends, are indeed remarkable. If Julis Caesar could, in Pliny's words,
"dictate or listen simultaneously, dictating to his secretaries four
letters at once on his important affairs - or, if otherwise unoccupied, seven
letters at once," could not Liu Xuan in the Sui dynasty listen to, and
retain, five items of information being delivered to him at the same time? If
Lucius Scipio could name the citizens of Rome and Themistocles list all the
citizens of Athens, had not Su Song, serving in the Nanjing area, been able to
retain all the area population registers in his own head? As well as which he
had developed a kind of chronlogical "placement" system of his own,
based on the traditional dynastic Histories. The matched examples could be
found also in varied commercial or recreational sphrers. Hortensius recalled
every price of every item sold at auction, while Chen Jian recalled each detail
of his accounting books and the produce of his looms; Scaevola, riding back to
his home in the country, could replay in his head every move of the pieces in
the board game he had lost, while Wang Can could do the same w/ a game of
Chinese checkers where he had been only a spectator.
(An idea: to remember a board game.)
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