# Note-Taking/Chapter 2

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CHAPTER II HOW TO CONDENSE NOTES NOTES FROM READING
Finding the Substance.—Were our task in note-taking merely to select the more striking items of an article, and jot them down as they occur, there would be no occasion for writing this chapter. But enough has been already said to show how much higher is the aim, and how much more thoughtful must be the method. Since note-taking is a complex process, including both the condensation of a passage into a single note and the organization of these notes so as to bring out the plan of the entire article, it will be in the interest of simplicity if we take up at once the preliminary process, condensation, reserving for a later chapter all consideration of organization into a larger whole. In doing so we deal with the single passage only, represented by a paragraph or its equivalent, and disregard any relation it may bear to what comes before or after. It is of course somewhat arbitrary so to regard a paragraph, and we shall have to modify our practice in some measure when we apply it to the larger unit. But that will be easily done, once the essential principles of handling separate passages have been mastered. In order to arrive at these principles we have first to consider how to find the substance of a note; then how to phrase it.
​Looking for Ideas.—It may safely be said, at the outset, that the real problem in notes is in dealing with ideas, not mere facts. Facts—such as names, dates, formulæ, tables, statistics—are indeed often important, in which case they should be accurately incorporated in notes; but it will generally be found that they are incidental to ideas, not independent of them. Take the statement, for example, that King Richard of England and King Philip of France took part in the Third Crusade, in 1189. That certain men travelled in company to the Holy Land in a given year is a mere fact; but when it is understood what those men represented, and why they went, the circumstance becomes significant, and constitutes essentially an idea. Oftentimes facts are grouped about an idea, in support or illustration of it. Thus, a writer who wishes to express the idea that the largest species of tree in the world is the Californian Sequoia Gigantea might give statistics as to the size of the largest specimens, their age, and their distribution, and compare these facts with statistics regarding other kinds of trees. Now, however interesting these supporting facts may be, it is the idea that is important. The facts may be grouped under the idea—in which case brackets are appropriate—or, in the interest of condensation, the facts may be dispensed with altogether: the idea must be retained. And so the general point becomes clear: mere facts may be cited in connection with ideas, either incidentally or in accompanying statements, or they may, if unimportant, be omitted; the main problem in summarizing for notes lies in dealing with the significance of things, with judgments, interpretations, conclusions—in a word, with ideas.
​The next step is to test our results and to consider how we may tell whether our search has actually brought us ideas or not. And since the matter is so purely practical a one, we cannot do better than take a concrete example, and look for a plan of procedure that may be directly applied to the case. A passage from Bryce's American Commonwealth, dealing with "The Uniformity of American Life," will serve this purpose admirably. It runs as follows:
There are some extraordinary natural phenomena, such as Niagara, the Yellowstone Geysers, and great cañon of the Colorado River, which Europe cannot equal. But taking the country as a whole, and remembering that it is a continent, it is not more rich in picturesque beauty than the much smaller western half of Europe. The long Alleghany range contains a good deal of pretty scenery and a few really romantic spots, but hardly anything so charming as the best bits of Scotland or Southern Ireland or the English Lake country. The Rocky Mountains are pierced by some splendid gorges, such as the famous cañon of the Arkansas River above South Pueblo, and show some very grand prospects, such as that over the Great Salt Lake from the Mormon capital. But neither the Rocky Mountains, with their dependent ranges, nor the Sierra Nevada, can be compared for variety of grandeur and beauty with the Alps; for although each chain nearly equals the Alps in height, and covers a greater area, they have little snow, no glaciers, and a singular uniformity of character. One finds, I think, less variety in the whole chain of the Rockies than in the comparatively short Pyrenees. There are, indeed, in the whole United States, very few first-rate pieces of mountain scenery rivalling the best in the Old World.
Looking for Complete Statements.—Our first impulse might naturally be to look for a heading or a phrase ​that will sum up the meaning of the paragraph. Natural Beauty is the general subject, but that is vague and really tells us nothing. It might imply that the natural beauties of America are enumerated, or given praise, or denied praise. A more accurate heading would be, Comparison of Natural Beauty of America and Europe. Yet that is little better, for it gives no hint as to which way the verdict lies—the very point of the whole passage. The heading, Superiority of European Scenery to American, would answer this difficulty, but might actually mislead one into thinking that the author had abandoned his subject, the uniformity of American life, and turned to discuss standards of natural beauty. The whole difficulty vanishes when we express the thought of the passage in a complete statement—not a subject merely, but a subject and predicate. For our purpose it is not enough simply to name the subject with which a passage deals; the subject becomes an idea only when something is said about it—and that requires the definite statement of a sentence.
Testing Statements.—It is easy to frame sentences that express ideas; but how are we to know whether our statements be the right ones? The question brings us to the next point of interest. We recall from our study of rhetoric the doctrine of the "Topic-Statement," according to which every perfect paragraph is considered to be the expansion of a single idea. This idea is expressed sometimes in the words of the text, sometimes not, but it is always implicit in the paragraph, and capable of being definitely formulated. Expressed or implied, however, the topic-statement gives us the very test we wish: If the note that summarizes a passage ​fairly represents the. "topic" idea from which the passage may be imagined to have been expanded, then we may feel sure that the statement we have chosen is the one we are after.
What that statement is, of course, is not always evident at the first. In fact, it sometimes does not become apparent till the middle of the passage or even till the very end. Too great haste in summarizing, therefore, is likely to result in misstating the point altogether. Our object is not to scribble the first remark that seems striking, but to watch deliberately until we are sure we have clearly grasped the thought in its entirety.
The whole matter becomes tangible when we turn once more to our passage from Bryce. The first sentence is striking indeed; but as we read on we find that it emphasizes a fact that all the rest of the passage shows to be exceptional. Presently we find a statement more to our purpose, expressed definitely in the words of the text that, taken as a whole, the American continent "is not more rich in picturesque beauty than the much smaller western half of Europe." And the rest of the passage confirms us in accepting this statement as the central idea of the whole. Should we wish to find a wording of our own, we might do so a little more comprehensively, as follows: "Although America contains natural phenomena that Europe cannot equal, the scenery of Western Europe surpasses that of America in variety of grandeur and beauty." Whichever wording we choose, we find it equally true that the whole idea may be comprehended in a single sentence, and that the idea appears in its entirety only when we have read well on in the passage.
​Expressing the Substance.—If it has become clear, then, how to look for the substance of our notes, we are now in a position to consider more definitely the problem of expressing or phrasing them. And here the passage that we have been examining gives us our first and most important observation.
Using General but not Vague Terms.—On looking more closely, we find that Mr. Bryce has stated both particular facts or opinions, and a generalization based upon them. It might seem, at first, that the particular facts, being more concrete and specific, are more valuable, and more to our purpose, than the generalization. But second thought corrects this view. The author is not concerned with characterizing Niagara and the Grand Cañon for their own sake, nor even with establishing the superiority of the scenery of the Alps over that of the Rockies. These details confirm his point, but do not constitute it. That point is general—the conclusion that European scenery as a whole is more varied in its beauty than American. The note that adequately expresses the idea, therefore, must obviously be in general terms,—general, but not sweeping or vague. That "European scenery surpasses American" is a general statement, but it is so sweeping as to go far beyond the meaning of the author. That "European scenery has variety" is also general, but so vague as to have no value whatsoever. Accuracy is no less important in the statement of large ideas than it is in those of particular facts. If a passage distinguishes one idea clearly from the multitude of things that might be said upon its subject, the note that sums it up must distinguish that one precise idea no less accurately.
​Adding Related Ideas.—Here we might leave the matter, if we were satisfied to let the simplest of statements sum up the passage for us. But the passage under consideration is typical of many another, in which the main idea is supplemented by one or more contributing ideas. The fact that our most satisfactory note began with the clause, "Although America contains natural phenomena that Europe cannot equal," suggests the thought that a paragraph having one or more ideas contributing to a main idea can best be represented by a sentence having, two or more clauses clearly related together. The unity and emphasis of the paragraph are brought out by the unity and emphasis of the sentence. Stated thus, the matter may seem at first rather technical, but in practice we find ourselves adopting the device unconsciously.
This will appear in its practical aspect if we select a few typical examples to stand for the many that are constantly arising. Let us assume, then, that a passage contains two contrasted ideas, that might be suromed. up thus:
European scenery surpasses American in beauty. American scenery, on the other hand, surpasses European in grandeur.
The two statements may readily be related together in a compound sentence, as follows:
European scenery surpasses American in beauty, but is surpassed by American in grandeur.
Should the two statements, however, consist of a main idea supplemented by a subordinate one, the sentence that relates them is complex, with the main emphasis clearly on the main clause. Just such a sentence, in fact, is the one beginning "Although," with which we ​summarized the passage from Bryce. Another typical case occurs when the relation between two ideas is one of cause and effect, with the emphasis, naturally, on the latter. Thus:
The points of scenic interest in America lie far apart.
They are for that reason little sought out by travellers.
The relation is readily indicated by the appropriate conjunction:
Since the points of scenic interest in America lie far apart, they are little sought out by travellers.
Adjective and adverb clauses are also useful in supplementing a main idea with additional information. An example is furnished in this sentence:
The Alps (which are readily accessible from all parts of Europe) are much sought out by tourists (as can be seen by noting the statistics of railroads and hotels).
Because we have taken pains thus to analyze certain cases, it by no means follows that our actual practice is formal and deliberate. On the contrary, these sentence forms, like others that might be instanced, are in familiar daily use, and are likely to be used unconsciously. While we are accustoming ourselves, however, to the practice of quickly summing up a complex idea, it will often be helpful to have these typical sentence moulds definitely before us, that we may the more readily pour into the appropriate one any idea that obviously fits it.
NOTES FROM LECTURES
The methods used in condensing a topic from a spoken lecture are in a general way the same that are used in summarizing a printed passage. Yet there is a differ​ence; and we can apply the general methods best when we have grasped clearly just what the new conditions are. At first glance, we are impressed most by the greater difficulty of the problem in the lecture room over that of the library; and there are indeed valid grounds for that impression. The chief difficulty, of course, is that the lecture does not stand still while we search for its successive ideas, but flows on and on; if we do not grasp the thoughts as they pass, we lose them altogether. And the task seems more complex, of course, if we have to keep the ear intent upon listening, the mind upon condensing, and the pen upon transcribing, all at the same time. Yet as we gain experience, we find that the difficulties are not so great as at first appear; that, in some respects, the problem of the spoken lecture is, in fact, the easier of the two. Let us see.
Taking Sufficient Time.—We shall do well, in the first place, if we rid ourselves of nervous hurry in taking down the points of a lecture. This is not merely because tense, over-anxious straining prevents free exercise of the mind, but for the simpler reason that there is no need of special haste,—that there is time enough. A speaker is not content to crowd one important idea close upon the heels of another: he prefers to dwell upon it, to enforce it, to add illustrations, to amplify with comment. While he does so, there is time and to spare for the listener to phrase and jot down the essential thought. This becomes obvious when we compare the small compass of an adequate set of notes with the actual length of an article or lecture. It is illustrated tangibly in the example of ​notes from Bryce, as given in the next chapter. Simple observation makes the general point perfectly clear. It is not only bad policy but bad judgment to take notes with nervous haste; the speaker needs reasonable time to unfold his ideas, and we may ourselves take reasonable time in condensing them.
Observing Signals of Voice.—But how are we to pick out the significant point from the comment and illustration that accompany it? That seems the difficult part; but in point of fact there are conditions in the spoken lecture that simplify it beyond our realization. To the eye, the successive sentences in a paragraph are all uniform—the same type, the same spacing. But the speaker's voice is flexible, and has varied ways of indicating the significance of any given passage. One way is to pause and to speak with greater deliberation, when the words have special importance. Or a speaker may accent a significant sentence by the pitch of his voice, or its stress. In bringing out the special importance of certain words he is not unlikely to go so far as to repeat them, not only adding to their emphasis by so doing, but giving extra time for transcribing them in the note-book. If a lecture be drawled in a monotone, it is indeed a trying task to pick out what we wish to preserve; but when the voice is continually commenting upon and interpreting the text, the problem is more than half solved for us.
Yet more is this the case when the lecture, instead of being read, is informally phrased from notes in the speaker's hand. Under these circumstances the style is likely to be much looser; there is more emphasis on the main ideas, less upon secondary aspects; repetition ​is more common; there is greater simplicity of treatment. The speaker may even pause to indicate specifically what are the salient points worth recording.
At this point, however, there is need to interpose a caution. It is not wise to rely too confidently on changes of voice as signals that ideas of special importance are being expressed. A speaker may accent his lecture arbitrarily, fitfully, following a shifting mood rather than a consistent purpose. Sometimes he may begin a new phase of his subject with a new emphasis of voice, and by so doing betray an unwary note-taker into thinking that a mere introductory statement is a matter of final importance. In such a case it is not infrequent to see a whole class turn to writing industriously, when a moment's reflection would show that what was being said was merely a digression, or perhaps the introduction to a topic, not the substance of the topic itself. No, note-taking in its essence is not mechanical, but depends upon a free play of mind; hints of voice may stimulate attention and so guide the mind, but no idea should be allowed to pass until it has first been submitted to the judgment, and obtained from it full consent.
Watching for Hints as to Subject.—In its last analysis, then, it is the mind of the listener reacting upon the words of a speaker that determines the selection and phrasing of notes. Aud if we think twice, we shall realize that there are two stages in the listener's comprehension of any given topic: (1) recognition of the particular, subject upon which the speaker has something to say, leading to (2) understanding of what he has to say upon that subject. In the first stage the ​listener is on the alert; in the second, he grasps and retains. Now this fact gives a useful hint for practical procedure in taking notes from a spoken lecture; namely, to keep the two processes separate, devoting ourselves, deliberately, to only one at a time. First, we watch for the subject; when the significant thing has been said upon it, we are ready then immediately to put it down. This preparation of the mind by taking account of preliminary hints has been already pointed out in connection with the passage from Huxley, quoted in the preceding chapter. Further examples will help to bring out the practical bearings of the matter.
Following up Hints by Writing.—Roughly speaking, explanations divide themselves into two classes,—those which defer the significant idea to the end, or towards it, and those which set it forth at once, and then enlarge upon it. The following paragraph is an example of the first class:
Here we turn aside to consider a question which perhaps has not often suggested itself, but which is, nevertheless, quite interesting. Why can we hear, but not see around a corner? Some may think that this question can be answered by saying that light moves in a straight line, while sound does not. But this answer is not satisfactory. It is known that light and sound are similar in character; each is due to the vibrations of a medium, and each is transmitted in waves. Why, then, may not light spread around a corner as well as sound? The answer is to be found in the different lengths of sound and light waves. Sound-waves themselves are of different lengths, the graver sounds having waves of greater length than the more acute. Now it can be shown mathematically that the greater length of ​sound-waves will cause the sound to be diffused around the obstruction. Hence, the bass notes of a band of music are heard more distinctly from behind a wall than the higher notes; and as the person moves out of the "acoustic shadow" the more acute notes increase in distinctness. So, also, when sound is transmitted through water, the sound-waves are shorter than in the air, and the "acoustic shadow" is fully formed. As the length of sound-waves in the air is sometimes many feet, while the length of the longest light wave is not more than .0000266 of an inch, it is no longer a mystery why we can hear but cannot see around a corner.
The question is propounded in the first part, the answer given in the second. Now it is not enough for our mind to be ready for the answer; our note-book should be ready too. And it may easily be. While we are listening to the first part of the passage, we may jot down the problem thus: "Why can we hear but not see around a corner?" Then we are ready to add later: "Because long waves diffuse themselves, but light waves are very short." Or, should we prefer another form, "The reason why we can hear, but not see around a corner, is"—(when the explanation has been finally made)—"because long waves diffuse themselves," etc. It takes about so many words to bring the subject out, and if we can anticipate some of them in this manner, so much the better; it saves time where it is most needed.
The other sort of treatment is instanced in the following paragraph, from Shauck's Abraham Lincoln:
The difficulty in ascertaining the sources of Lincoln's power results from the bewildering antitheses which the subject presents; not only antitheses in the literature which ​he produced, but in his life and character. His life, though finished at its noon, reached from a humble cabin to a position of greatest authority and to an immortality of influence. Though deeply religions, he was without theology or dogma. Though his companionship was sought by lovers of mirth, bereavements of his youth sound minor chords which are audible in every movement of his symphony. Though so tender of heart that the maintenance of military discipline gave him intense and enduring pain, he stood as the indomitable leader in the most destructive war of the century. Though a consistent opponent of slavery, he had no word of malediction for those who practised it. Though grave with anxiety for the close of the war, he had infinite patience with subordinates who disappointed him in its prosecution. Bound by a law of his being to speak the absolute truth to all to whom he owed speech, he was able to practise all the concealment required by the most successful statecraft. Deeply believing that in both its ethical and economic aspects slavery was wrong and at variance with our theories of government, he would not, to overthrow it, have prosecuted the war for a day beyond the requirements of the preservation of the Union. An excited people, incapable even of recognizing, much less of estimating, the facts in the complex problem set for his solution, and viewing him with diverse prejudices, came to contradictory conclusions respecting his character and abilities.
Here we are told the main idea of the passage in the very first sentence. After the fourth sentence it becomes reasonably clear that the passage will continue to devote itself to specific examples of this central thought. There is time, then, to go back and re-phrase the idea of that first sentence: "It is difficult to name the source of Lincoln's power, because of antitheses in his nature." Or, if we want to catch some of the examples as they pass, we can begin backward, with the words, "An​titheses of Lincoln’s nature (religious, but without theology; tender in heart, yet indomitable in war; truthful; yet diplomatic)." Then, when we have enough details, we can add the brief conclusion,—"make it hard to name the source of his power." These two examples are a slight foundation on which to found a definite system; and indeed that is not their purpose. But they will perhaps give some idea as how to take advantage of the hints and signals of purpose which a speaker is sure to throw out to the alert listener. Practice and experience, of course, are the really effective teachers.
This leads to a question that is sure to arise in the actual conditions of note-taking. How is it possible to phrase and write down notes at the same time that one is listening for the next topic? The best answer is, Don’t: put down clearly the topic in hand, and trust to catch up with the next in time. Some material may thus be missed; but what of that? There is a substantial quantity of really valuable material left; and there is danger that a distracted effort to do two things at a time will result in doing nothing at all. Furthermore, experience will give greater and greater facility in focussing the mind on phrasing and writing, while still keeping an ear alert to see whether a new topic of importance is being introduced. But until the necessary experience is gained, the best results will be obtained by taking up one task at a time,—first deciding on the topic, then phrasing it, finally writing it down in the note-book.