Memories & Imagination:
We rose early and did enjoy a pleasant walk to Amwell were the Sun rose to meet us. We were in high hopes of good sport and I keen to be at it. Having proven his competence I did leave Venator to his own devices. I took my first cast beneath a bush, and then another cast until the sun rose above us. I should have cast on as fruitlessly until the sun dropped save a welcome interruption. However, the unexpected leisure that occasions a poor spell of fishing need not be without profit. Men’s minds need not be idle even though their limbs be contrarily employed.
‘Mr Walton, I have a brace to my credit and did catch them with a cod worm.’
‘’Tis a brace more than I Mr Venator, but I thank you for telling me as no angler is so good he might not profit from another.’
‘I am pleased to be of assistance, though me thinks you will do well enough this day without it. But now my sport has fallen slack so methinks we should rest a while on this primrose bank.’
‘So say I Mr Venator for I do no better and do cast my line into likely places with likely baits, but unlikely prospects. And while we rest I will recount to you the sweet lines of Mr Donne such a place does recall to memory.’
UPON this Primrose hill,
Where, if heaven would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
And where their form, and their infinity
Make a terrestrial galaxy,
As the small stars do in the sky;
I walk to find a true love; and I see
That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
Yet know I not, which flower
I wish; a six, or four;
For should my true-love less than woman be,
She were scarce anything; and then, should she
Be more than woman, she would get above
All thought of sex, and think to move
My heart to study her, and not to love.
Both these were monsters; since there must reside
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide,
She were by art, than nature falsified.
Live, primrose, then, and thrive
With thy true number five;
And, woman, whom this flower doth represent,
With this mysterious number be content;
Ten is the farthest number; if half ten
Belongs to each woman, then
Each woman may take half us men;
Or—if this will not serve their turn—since all
Numbers are odd, or even, and they fall
First into five, women may take us all.
‘Well remembered Mr Walton I have not heard Donne’s lines these many years.’
‘Such sweet lines are less popular now than in my youth, when first I learnt them.’
‘Tis certain men’s hearts have grown harder under Cromwell’s rule. But I will tell you, sitting in such a resting place does make a fellow forget the many troubles that ail this world.’
‘Mr Venator, no life is as happy and pleasant as the life of a well-governed angler who possesses himself of quietness. I will tell you also, fishing is an art that transcends catching fish; so it is not an act distinct from the men who perform it. But methinks such quiet consideration must wait. Come; let us walk along the river bank for I have fish to catch.’
As we walked the sweet smelling herbs and verdant meadows were pleasant to my senses and soul. It inclined me to think this world is God’s best creation. But I did soon have brief cause to entertain thoughts to the contrary. Upon my first cast in another likely spot weed caught upon my hook. So caught in a fast flowing current the weed does at first feel like a fish, but it does not make it so. So we walked on until we came upon a familiar place and sight.
‘Look Mr Walton! A dozen, nay, twenty chubs float near the top of the water.’
‘Mr Venator, we have come to the place where I did first give you some rules on how to catch them and, by attending to them, you did catch a chub with a grasshopper.’
‘I remember, and there is the tree you instructed me to get secretly behind and to be as free from motion as possible. Following your good advice you made an Angler of me that day.’
‘Then once again you shall be the first to wet your line. It will be a test of your skill and knowledge.’
‘It will Sir. But in my eagerness to be a-fishing this morning I forgot to collect grasshoppers as we went over the meadow.’
‘’Tis no matter, for I did say a black snail with his belly split to show his white will usually do as well.’
‘They will, and so also a piece of soft cheese, a worm or any kind of fly will do just as well fished in such a manner as you described. I’ll once again observe your good directions and bring you the biggest of the chub.’
‘Then I shall sit down beneath this tree and waiting your return will tie on a dark fly.’
Settled to observing Mr Venator in the practice of his Art I tied on a fly. But my memory of its tying was soon as uncertain as its tying.
‘Look you! I have done as before and caught a chub, and methinks it bigger than the one caught when first I fished this place.’
‘Marry, and I glad of it. But methinks it is smaller Mr Venator.’
‘Methinks it bigger Sir.’
‘Mr Venator I will tell you, the fish we catch do become larger or small in our minds as suits our purpose. But methinks, if memory serves me right, ‘tis smaller.’
‘Methinks there is truth in what you say Master and so I cannot be certain of the truth as a consequence. But does this mean we cannot rely upon our memory for our knowledge of things if knowledge is to be based on certainty?’
‘Memories maybe imperfect Mr Venator, yet I should not say we cannot rely upon them for the knowledge we possess. On the contrary, I should say the evidence of memory commands our belief as effectively as our senses. To wit; your memory of my good instructions served you well in the catching of this fish. Relying on your memory you attended to those former instructions; namely, settling secretly behind the tree you baited your hook with a cod-worm. Then, resting your rod gentle on a bow of the tree, you let your hook hang a quarter of a yard short of the water. Observing the Chubs as before being fearful of the least shadow they sank down to the bottom, you did then wait for them to rise up to the top again. Then selecting the best of them, and moving your rod as softly as a snail moves, let your bait fall gently upon the water. All this did I observe and the Chub now on the grass bears witness to the reliability of your memory of those good instructions.’
‘But Master ..’
‘Mr Venator, methinks by prefacing your rejoinder with ‘but’ that once again we might enter into matters philosophical.’
‘I should not do so without your consent.’
‘You have it gladly Mr Venator, and if you state the nature of your concern both clearly and concisely we shall arrive at the truth the sooner.’
‘I shall try to satisfy your desire and say firstly you speak the truth when you say we do rely upon our memory. But to this I will add I do think our memory too fickle a thing to be a foundation for any certainty.’
‘Mr Venator, of your philosophical doubting I can at least be certain. But tell me your line of reasoning. Having heard it you can be certain of my dissent and so after your mind then settled.’
‘Then I shall begin Mr Walton by saying that all sensible men do agree we cannot tell the difference between imagination and memory, for both do bring forth images to the mind. But if we cannot tell the difference then how do we know we are not claiming to know something based on a fiction rather than a fact?’
‘Mr Venator, I should not have anticipated this twist in the discourse. But having heard it I will say you seek once again to make me a sceptic.’
‘By your own account we are apt to remember things as suit our purpose, not as they were. So what is true?’
‘What you say is true, and ‘tis plain to see how scepticism is borne from such errors as befall the memory. But while it is beyond the capacities of common folk to say what the difference is between memory and imagination, they do know the difference. So even though a common man cannot explain the difference he is capable of acting without error. So his memory may be relied upon for without memory knowledge and experience would be impossible. To this I will add that if he had any tendency to distrust his memory then knowledge and experience would be of as little use to him in directing his conduct and sentiments as dreams.’
‘But Master, we do distrust our memories.’
‘Mr Venator, sometimes we doubt whether in a particular case, such as the one that concerns us now, whether we are exerting the faculty of memory or imagination. But then we need only suspend belief accordingly as to whether this fish smaller or larger than the first you caught.’
‘Quite Sir, and so my case is made.’
‘Mr Venator you draw a conclusion prematurely and conveniently to your advantage. I have more to say and in particular an account of the difference between memory and imagination not readily available to ordinary folk but one to which learned men do subscribe.’
‘I should be glad to hear it.’
‘It is said we do trust to the evidence of memory because we cannot help trusting to it. Now you are to note Sir; the same Providence that endowed us with this first instinct did also endow us with an instinctive propensity to believe in it.’
‘Mr Walton, I am almost persuaded by the argument, save you have still not told me how we might we distinguish between memory and imagination. The answer cannot be that we believe in one and not the other.’
‘You are right Sir. But your objection is of the metaphysical mode. I am in hopes I can put together some plausible words to form an argument so the matter may be settled without recourse to men of philosophy. But I will tell you, such words as I might muster will have no credit if you have more faith in the subtleties of metaphysics than your own feelings.’
‘I shall gladly hear what more you have to say on the matter Mr Walton.’
‘Then contrary to that already said perhaps neither vulgar nor knowledgeable men are able to give a satisfactory account of the difference between memory and imagination. But whatever difficulty we may have in giving such an account we are never at a loss to describe our own meaning when we speak of remembering or imaging. When we remember we generally know we remember. When we imagine we likewise know we imagine. We therefore do not suppose the evidence of memory uncertain, even though we may be at a loss to explain the difference between the one faculty and the other. This difference is perfectly known to all men by experience, though no man capable of describing it in words. So, every man of sound mind can determine when he exerts the one, and when he exerts the other.
To wit Mr Venator; you remember receiving some good instructions on how to catch this chub, though you might say you dreamed or imagined them. Yet having observed your actions I am certain of having given you those good instructions. Unless it is to be supposed I did dream or imagine giving them to you, and you, by good fortune, did dream or imagine receiving the exact same instructions. Methinks no sensible man would accept the notion. Better to say that my memories and your memories were both remembered not imagined.’
‘Mr Walton I am grateful for your answer and I am persuaded; save one last question. What say you to the problem of decaying memories?
‘I should say nothing Sir.’
‘Then I will provide a reasoned argument of mine own to show we cannot rely upon our memory for our knowledge of things if knowledge is to be based on certainty.’
‘Mr Venator you leave no argument unurged. Yet while methinks you apply the right tool of persuasion I doubt by its application you will persuade me to the contrary.’
‘You shall hear it first Sir.
‘Good manners if not good sense requires I do.’
‘Sir, I do have a vivid and lively memory of supping on a dish of meats but two days ago. But the images will decay. So I will forget in a week which meats, and in a years time will have forgotten the meal. So the faculty of memory, being apt to decay, is such that I may recall some memories imperfectly, or not at all. Thus memories decay from absolute certainty through all the degrees of probability until the balance of such probabilities favours suspending judgement; which we call doubt. So Memories cannot be relied upon for knowledge.’
‘Mr Venator, you state the obvious when you argue a man can have a more or less lively conception of his memories. But this does not mean he cannot rely on them.’
‘You contradict yourself Sir.’
‘Nay Sir, for this reason. ‘Tis absurd to suppose we belief those things of which we have a lively conception, and doubt those of which we do not. I tell you Sir, I cannot bring myself to such a pitch of scepticism. The evidence of memory does not decay in proportion as the images of memory become less lively to the mind. Knowing in a year hence soft cheese is good for catching for Chub does not depend on whether you have a lively remembrance of using it. We do not go about our daily affairs reliant upon vivid memories. We rely upon knowledge and experience, though we cannot recall to memory the exact details of its acquiring. So we may be certain our knowledge is not imagined.’
‘Mr Walton, ‘tis unlikely that the application of reason to this problem, which in fairness you have applied without fault, will aid us. Wise Montaigne did say, and I do believe it a real truth, that there is “a plague on Man, the opinion that he knows something.” Thus I do believe we can know nothing for certain.’
‘Mr Venator, I should not admit to such doubt. It is a question of accepting the evidence provided as sufficient justification for the conclusion. And you Sir do not accept mine, not because it is insufficient, but because you are possessed of philosophical doubt.’
‘Mr Walton, I am of the same mind as those prolific geniuses of Ancient Greece, as manifest in Heraclitus, Parmenides and Democritus who all had good cause to be sceptical that we can claim to know anything for certain. So we are obliged to adhere to scepticism.’
‘An appeal to what is held to be true among august men, no matter how esteemed or ancient, lends no weight to that which is plainly false. The Sceptic assumes the capacity of the intellect to criticize the faculty of knowledge, and thus, in so far as he denies its capacity to know anything, implicitly contradicts himself. He claims to know he knows nothing.’
‘Oh My! I fear you have me caught Sir.’
‘At last and our discoursing on this matter at an end.’
‘It is Master and I count myself fortunate in having heard your replies.’
‘Then let us return to our sport. I will cast my fly toward that bush and a large Trout will surely take it. Look, I knew it! Oh my! It is lost, and with a good fly too.’
‘’Tis poor luck Master.’
‘Methinks my brother Peter will surely mock me for not securely tying on mine fly. But we anglers must endure worst luck.’
‘I hope not Master.’
‘But there now another fly is tied on, and it has been taken too. It may have bitten from wantonness not hunger but ‘tis no matter. A turn or two more and I’ll tire him, and now in to the landing-net he is mine own; a good fish too, worth the wait’.
‘On my word Mr Walton, a gallant Trout that will sup us or some poor body.’
‘Come Mr Venator, hang him on a willow twig and you shall be the next to try.’
‘Master, it begins to rain.’
Next in series #7 - Izaak Walton's The Compleat Angler Returns - End of Scepticism