WHAT IS MEMORY?

Man possesses a nervous system pervaded by a nervous force, the

modification of which manifests itself to our consciousness in the

varied phenomena of what we call Sensation. From Sensation, the next

step is to Perception. Sensation, we know, as such, dies away from the

consciousness, or rather is obliterated by fresh impressions upon the

sensorium. We cannot retain a feeling in perpetuity. But when a definite

sensation has been excited, or a distinct experience has been acquired,

something remains behind; and upon these _residua_, left in the

structure of the nerves, or the cerebral tissues, or the animating soul,

and on the permanence of these _residua_, rests the whole possibility of

reminiscence. Upon this blending and organisation round the centre of

mind-life follows the faculty of Memory, or that power which the mind

possesses of making a peculiar representation of an object for itself,

of creating a special idea of it by giving greater prominence to some

features, and letting others sink away unthought of, till there remains

an image, the product of its own free activity, which it can mentally

connect with other trains of ideas, and thus multiply, as it were, the

bridges by which it can return to it at any period.[34]

Byron has beautifully personified this paramount image:

She was a form of life and light,

That seen became a part of sight;

And rose, where’er I turned mine eye,

The Morning-star of Memory!

“Mere abstraction, or what is called absence of mind, is often

attributed, very unphilosophically, to a want of memory. La Fontaine, in

a dreaming mood, forgot his own child, and, after warmly commending him,

observed how proud he should be to have such a son. In this kind of

abstraction external things are either only dimly seen, or are utterly

overlooked; but the memory is not necessarily asleep. In fact, its too

intense activity is frequently the cause of the abstraction. This

faculty is usually the strongest when the other faculties are in their

prime, and fades in old age, when there is a general decay of mind and

body. Old men, indeed, are proverbially narrative; and from this

circumstance it sometimes appears as if the memory preserves a certain

portion of its early acquisitions to the last, though in the general

failure of the intellect it loses its active energy. It receives no new

impressions, but old ones are confirmed. The brain seems to grow harder.

Old images become fixtures. It is recorded of Pascal, that, till the

decay of his health had impaired his memory, he forgot nothing of what

he had done, read, or thought in any part of his rational age. The

Admirable Crichton could repeat backwards any speech he had made.

Magliabecchi, the Florentine librarian, could recollect whole volumes;

and once supplied an author from memory with a copy of his own work, of

which the original was lost. Pope has observed that Bolingbroke had so

great a memory, that if he was alone and without books he could refer to

a particular subject in them, and write as fully on it as another man

would with all his books about him. Woodfall’s extraordinary power of

reporting the debates in the House of Commons without the aid of written

memoranda is well known. During a debate he used to close his eyes and

lean with both hands upon his stick, resolutely excluding all extraneous

associations. The accuracy and precision of his reports brought his

newspaper into great repute. He would retain a full recollection of a

particular debate a fortnight after it had occurred, and during the

intervention of other debates. He used to say that it was put by in a

corner of his mind for future reference.”[35]

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Footnote 34:

See an admirable paper on Dr. Morell’s _Introduction to Mental

Philosophy_, in _Saturday Review_; also _Mysteries of Life, Death, and

Futurity_, for the following articles: “What is Memory?” “How the

Function of Memory takes place;” “Persistence of Impressions;” “Value

of Memory;” “Registration;” and “Decay of Memory;” pp. 69-75.

Footnote 35:

_Literary Leaves_, by D. L. Richardson.

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