Gust of Memory

I've always been intrigued by America's founding fathers and the ability they had to speak and incite people to action. Orators such as Patrick Henry and John Adams frequently spoke to the American people off the cuff, a talent I greatly admire (probably due to the fact that I consider myself dreadful at it). Their education seemed to be deep and wide; they knew of philosophy and art and politics and religion, and they were able to draw upon that broad knowledge to make fully formed arguments at a moment's notice. And if someone refuted their arguments, they seemed to be able to call upon some other nugget of knowledge from within to counter the refutation. Their far-reaching acquaintance with rhetoric, and by association, memory enabled them to pull up information swiftly and speak about it in an educated way. Now, I don't know if they were familiar with memory palaces, but I do know they placed significance on studying ancient rhetoricians, who do we know were familiar with memory palaces (i.e. Cicero).

We haven't been studying about America's revolutionary figures in this class, but my interest in them stems back to when I was a child growing up in a colonial farmhouse in Morganville, NJ. In fact, my house (which was built in the 1750s) was used by General Clinton of the British army at one point during the battles carried on in the colony of New Jersey. Growing up with that history around me gave me a love for it that has never left. So last semester in Writing Pedagogy with Dr. Branch, when he gave a class that covered the basics of classical rhetoric, I became highly interested in studying classical rhetoric further, especially from a Colonial American standpoint; if I could combine my love of 18th-century America with my newfound interest in classical rhetoric, then voila! I had an area of study I with which (I had a hunch) I could be fascinated. I studied and researched into how classical rhetoric played a huge part in obtaining freedom from Britain; without it, I don't believe we would have the same country we have today.

Now that I am in this class, I am realizing even more the reason I have so much respect for the historical figures of the Revolution; they took their education seriously, especially when it came to studying classical rhetoric (which I'm learning includes the art of memory). They could converse on a wide array of topics; and they did not converse menially, but rather conversed with meaning! I think I am so interested in this because I want to be able to do the same. I'm jealous of those people in history who were required to study rhetoric and all it involved. I'm jealous of the ancient students of rhetoric who were familiar with memory techniques and rules and studied them on a daily basis. I want to be able to converse about a multitude of things and bring bits knowledge to the forefront of my brain when I need to. So while I am jealous of those old masters of memory and rhetoric, I am hoping some of their enthusiasm and skill rubs off on me over the course of this semester.

Proust Paragraph

Even though this was at the very beginning of the book, I am entranced by the line, "These revolving, confused evocations never lasted for more than a few seconds" (p. 7), which I have also read translated as, "These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds." I do believe Lydia Davis has performed a beautiful translation, but I can't help but feel some sadness over the omission of the expression "gusts of memory," for I think that is often how memories work; like a gust of wind that unexpectedly whirls by you, letting you experience it for just a moment before it flutters off again. Memories are elusive and intangible. I am reminded of a song lyric in the musical The Sound of Music: "How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?" You can't. Neither can you catch a memory and pin it down. A memory and the moment in which it arises are usually unannounced; something as unrelated as a Madeleine can give rise to a memory of another time and place. I love that...that memories are little buried treasures, and you never know when you're going to discover one.   

First Post

Memory is something I have taken for granted, as I’m sure a vast majority of the world’s population has done as well. On a day-to-day basis, I don’t think about what it would be like not to remember my childhood, or what I ate for breakfast, or where I went on vacation last year. Sure, sometimes certain memories slip my mind, but for the most part, I can recall the events that have transpired in my life.

After reading about the amnesiac EP in Moonwalking with Einstein, it made me ponder what life would be like if my hippocampus had been eaten away by disease while the rest of my brain stayed intact. It sounds like an absolute nightmare, and one that you don’t even know you’re experiencing. 

Our memories are often what shape our character, in my opinion. It’s often said that it’s our experiences that mold who we are…but without remembering our life experiences, would they even matter? Without our memoires of those experiences, what or who would we be? I am trying to imagine what my character would be like if I couldn't remember losing my mother to cancer or if I couldn't remember playing the violin. My character might be quite different if I couldn't remember 9/11, or the way I could see the New York skyline from the second floor of my house where I grew up in New Jersey. 

I am also fascinated with the idea that our brains already know everything, we just haven't found a way of remembering or accessing the information yet. What if that is true? What if there is a way of unlocking our brains to the vast stores of information it very well could contain, unbeknownst to us (or unbeknownst to our memory). To me, this is also related to the character in Foer's book Daniel and other "savants" - are they tapping into those previously untapped memories?

If we all know the same things, and if some way we could all unlock that knowledge, would our personalities still remain unique and individual, or would they merge into one giant, collective personality? I don't know. I would like to think that we would still each be different, but it's hard to say.

In Plato's Meno, Socrates says, "And if the truth of all things always existed in the soul, then the soul is immortal. Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather what you do not remember."

Are we just immortals waiting for the veil to be lifted?