It has been repeatedly emphasised so far that vision is a function not only of the eyes, but of the mind as well. This attitude marks the fundamental difference in approach between orthodox ophthalmologists and teachers of the Bates method. Opticians seem content to treat the eyes as though they are somehow independent of the brain; as though they are mere optical instruments whose performance, if lacking, can be restored by means of auxiliary lenses.
The Bates teacher holds such a view to be mistaken. He holds that the relationship between the eyes and the mind that controls them is just as subtle and complicated as the mind itself. Already we have seen how the method enlists the aid of such allies of vision as imagination and memory, and how, through cultivating a certain mental approach, we can help to improve the conditions under which vision takes place. We will now explore a little more deeply the relationship between eyes and mind, with a view to improving these conditions yet more.
An early consequence of beginning Bates training is an increased awareness of how well or badly one’s eyesight is working. One becomes more sensitive to its performance and more alive to sensations that formerly, when wearing glasses, one would have missed. This is particularly true when it comes to the phenomenon of unconscious vision.
This term is here applied to that part of the visual process which is completed before the conscious mind becomes involved. When you look at something, the information from the retina is developed to quite a high level before being routed into the conscious part of the visual process. It is obvious that, even if the rest of the visual system is operating normally, there can be no perception until the conscious mind is prepared to accept the incoming information.
According to the Bates hypothesis, faulty vision can arise as one result of emotional difficulties, among which may be a subsconscious desire not to see. As far as refractive error is concerned, this desire not to see can be compared to the desire not to walk or talk shown in certain kinds of hysterical illness. The brain is able to block the responses of the body so that walking or talking — or focusing — do indeed become more difficult, or even impossible.
The brain can also block the visual process in another way, by erecting a barrier of some sort between the unconscious and the conscious mind, so that, even if the eyes are performing well, the signals are obstructed or degraded before being allowed to reach the consciousness.
It is helpful to think of this barrier in symbolic terms, as being made of some substance which can vary in consistency according to the subconscious wishes of the brain. When vision is perfect the substance of the barrier is perfectly fluid and the signals pass through it freely, but as vision deteriorates the substance becomes more and more glutinous, slowing down the passage of the signals or preventing it altogether.
Thus there are two distinct ways in which the brain can block the visual process. The first is by interfering with the mechanics of vision; the second is by altering the “consistency” of the barrier between the unconscious and the conscious mind.
The first type of blocking tends to succumb more readily to the techniques of the Bates method. After a few weeks of Bates training, one often begins to experience clear flashes — fleeting moments of perfect or near-perfect eyesight. The clear flashes come when the eyes and mind are working together, unimpeded by the conscious self which tries to see or in other ways interferes with vision, and unimpeded by any subconscious desire not to see. To begin with, the excitement and astonishment caused by the clear flashes usually engages the conscious mind again, the bad habits instantly return, and so the clear flash instantly disappears. A clear flash can be so brief that one cannot be sure that it really took place, although one is left with a feeling that something has in fact happened. During clear flashes, then, both types of blocking are temporarily absent.
Because the first type of blocking tends to be less difficult to overcome than the second, there will be moments when the eyes are working in an improved way but their signals are prevented from passing through the barrier. Such moments give rise to the phenomenon of unconscious vision — when information is in the visual system but is not recognised for what it is.
To give an example from my own experience, I remember walking towards a car parked a good distance along the road. As I approached it I somehow knew what two letters of the numberplate were, even though the whole sequence was as yet a myopic blur. To my surprise I found that I had been right about the two letters, and almost right about a third — for I had imagined it to be an O and it turned out to be a D. My eyes must have been working perfectly for the instant it took them to scan the first two letters, but, by the time they came to the third, they had already started to lose focus. The information about the three letters — positive identification of the first two, and a vague feeling about the third — was transmitted to my brain and expressed there in sub-visual terms, that is, as an intuition.
It could well be argued that I might have seen the car and its numberplate before and remembered the letters. That is entirely possible, but the same thing happened not just once, but often, in unfamiliar as well as familiar places, and with a variety of lettering and numerals besides car numberplates.
In the example just given, I had seen more than I thought I had. During practice of the Bates method, one soon comes to realise that this is a frequent — perhaps even the usual — state of affairs. If a guess is made about something, especially if the guess is made in a spirit of confident indifference as to its correctness, then it very often turns out that the guess is right. Guessing, after all, is the essence of perception: we opt for the most likely solution, based on probability and past experience. Perception is really nothing more than a series of educated guesses.
Freeing the barrier between the unconscious and the conscious mind can be accelerated by encouraging this guessing process. Take a rapid glance at something in your blur zone — a domino, for example, or a playing-card. Close your eyes and then, without caring too much whether you are right or wrong, make a guess about the number of dots or the identity of the card. If your answer is even partly right you will be ahead; if it is completely wrong, you will be no worse off than you were before.
It is essential to acknowledge that there is nothing wrong or dishonest about guessing like this. Indeed, the opposite approach — a disinclination to trust oneself, a reliance only on what one is sure of seeing — is wrong because it goes contrary to the way that perception works.
The procedure of taking a rapid glance and then a guess about what has been seen is called, in the Bates method, “flashing”. It may be practised during daily life whenever you have the opportunity, using such objects as street-signs, numberplates, and advertising hoardings. It may also be practised during special drills. Depending on whether you see better at the distance or near to, try flashing dominoes or playing-cards held at arm’s length or set up a few metres away. If you can find an assistant, flash playing-cards drawn at random from the pack, shown to you for a moment and then replaced. Similar drills can easily be devised using Scrabble or mahjong tiles, dice, photos or advertisements cut from magazines, etc.
If perception consists of a series of educated guesses, we can state as a corollary that something familiar will be easier to see than something new. That is why the experienced naturalist sees things in the countryside that are invisible to anyone else. He notices a certain sort of bird in a tree because he has seen one many times before and so has been educated in knowing where to look and what to look for. His threshold of recognition has been lowered by familiarity. The same is true of anyone who has special knowledge and recollection of what to look for in his surroundings.
It is clearly an advantage to be as familiar as possible with your environment. If you develop the habit of analytical observation such familiarity will come anyway, but it helps to make a special study of those objects and features that are most important to us and most often seen. The faces of family and friends, for example, should be studied in detail and facts about them remembered; the same goes for the structure and contents of the rooms where you live and work, the vehicles you habitually use, and so on.
You may already believe that you are thoroughly familiar with some of the most important and commonly encountered objects of all — the objects you are looking at now. Quite frequently, though, when the vision is defective, it has been found that there is only a partial appreciation of the exact form of many of the letters of the alphabet, especially when they are printed in lower case rather than capitals. Both to make reading easier and as a curious little exercise for its own sake, try examining each letter in turn, in a variety of different sizes and styles, upside-down and sideways as well as the right way up. Observe and remember the shapes and angles, not only of the letter itself but also of the white spaces surrounding or enclosed by it. Notice how certain letters are sometimes combined in ligatures or diphthongs such as ff, ffi, and æ. By comparing individual letters in upper and lower case and in different styles — with or without serifs, plain, italic, bold, Old English, Saxon, shadow, and so on — try to decide what it is that gives each letter its own unique identity. What is the essential pattern that the typeface designer must preserve in order for the letter to remain recognisable? Do the same with the ten numerals, punctuation marks, and other common symbols such as ½, %, @, *, &.
Since familiar objects are easier to see, it is suggested that, before using the test charts, especially when one is used on its own and at a distance where some of the letters look blurred, you should acquaint yourself thoroughly with each line and memorise its sequence.
Until you are comfortably familiar with the layout of the charts, use the number board for any work in your blur zone.
These, like the ones described in earlier chapters, help to reinforce and coordinate the relationship between memory, imagination, and vision.
The first follows on from the ideas presented in the sections on palming and shifting. While looking at a letter on the test chart, imagine a small spot of deeper black, like a full stop, on one corner of the letter. The full stop should be as small as possible, but at first you may find it easier to imagine a larger spot of black and at subsequent sessions progressively reduce its size. Shift to the opposite corner of the letter and imagine the full stop there. As you shift, become conscious of the swing. Having repeated this several times with the eyes open, palm and continue to do it with your mind’s eye, still remaining conscious of the swing. Open the eyes again and repeat.
It will be realised that here we are using the imagination and memory to mimic the effects of foveal vision, for when the eyesight is good the point being regarded on a letter always appears blacker than the rest.
To take this practice one stage further, imagine while palming three dots printed in a row. Shift from one to another at random, seeing worse the two you are not looking at. The swing in this case will be manifested as an apparent movement of the line of dots to left or right. Imagine that the dots are of an extremely intense black; picture yourself making them with the tip of a fine brush impregnated with Indian ink. The paper is as intensely white as the dots are black. After a little while, tear off that sheet of paper and throw it away. Make three new dots, even finer than the others and more closely spaced. Repeat, being as extravagant as you like with your imaginary pad, until the dots are as fine and black as you can make them.
On the next occasion, take a tiny and imaginary pair of compasses and in Indian ink scribe a small circle. Just above it and to either side, mark a small dot with the compass pen. Shift between the two dots and note how the circle appears to swing. On another day, mark the paper with a colon and a semicolon side by side and shift between the quartet of marks, noting again how the swing behaves, and seeing worse the marks you are not looking at.
Again with your imaginary pad, imagine that your nose has somehow become prolonged into a paintbrush or pen loaded with the blackest of black inks. Draw a square on the paper, accompanying the imaginary movements of your head with real ones. Your control will not be so accurate as when drawing in the ordinary way, so go over each line a few times until you are reasonably happy with the result. Now tear off that sheet and draw a large circle. Draw another just inside it, and a small one at the centre, like the hub of a cartwheel. Then draw the spokes radiating from the hub to the rim. Taking a fresh sheet, and changing if you feel like it your brush for a pen or vice versa, try drawing something else a little more ambitious, or else sign your name or write a phrase.
This nose-writing technique may sound rather ludicrous, but it has proved invaluable in breaking the habit of staring. It may also be adapted for use with the eyes open. When you are talking on the telephone, for example, give your eyes something to do: follow the tip of your pen as you write or doodle.
It should be mentioned here that it is not good to allow the eyes to stare vacantly into space, as most of us are apt to do when daydreaming. The eyes are meant to be used. If you temporarily have no work for them, close the lids and give your visual system a rest.
It can hardly be repeated too often that cultivating the right attitude towards seeing is a vital part of the process of re-education. With a negative, pessimistic attitude, no progress is possible; but, conversely, too much optimism can be a bad thing, for it usually leads to disappointment.
A useful analogy can be drawn if we compare seeing with another complex function, the sense of balance. Anyone can walk along a rope if it is laid along the carpet, but only an expert can do the same thing five or ten or fifty metres up. Why? The answer is obvious: the ordinary person is afraid of falling. He has no confidence in his ability to prevent himself from falling, and his fear dominates his sense of balance. The fear becomes a conviction, and so, not surprisingly, he falls.
Something essentially similar, if less dramatic, happens when the eyesight begins to deteriorate. Having once been unable to focus correctly on a given object in a given set of circumstances, we naturally fear that we will be unable to focus correctly next time. The fear is father to the conviction, and the conviction dominates the subtle act of accommodation. The result is that our fear and conviction are confirmed, making it even harder to focus in the future. So it goes on, a vicious circle leading to the stage where any possibility of focusing correctly is out of the question.
During the whole of your Bates training you should try to maintain a jaunty indifference to the success or failure of your efforts. If at any moment you cannot see a given object, even though perhaps yesterday or just now you could, it does not matter. The short term is not important. Your refractive error probably took a long time to develop, and you are unlikely to get rid of it overnight. Once you have satisfied yourself that your eyesight is variable and can, by means of the Bates method, be varied for the better, then the foundation of the right attitude towards your progress will have been laid.