Dear Classical Wisdom Reader,

Memory can be a fickle thing. Those images, stories, songs, and feelings can often seem far away and faded. Like photographs bleached by the sun and washed over by the waves, they can be difficult to grasp firmly or see clearly.

Yet the memories that feel so sharp and vivid, almost visceral in their evocation, can often be shaped as much by reconstruction as by reality.

Indeed, we can rarely rely entirely on our memories...a fact demonstrated again and again in court cases, instances of mass hysteria, and the tragic consequences of trauma. When researchers, for instance, compared people’s memories of major events, such as the September 11 terrorist attacks, they regularly found that participants’ recollections, of which they were completely convinced, were often inconsistent with reality...or even with their own earlier accounts.

This is often the case in war. Military historians have long noted that soldiers interviewed immediately after the chaos of battle often gave strikingly different accounts of what had taken place. In many instances, they were only able to make sense of their own individual experiences after discussing the events with their comrades-in-arms, allowing them to place what had happened into a broader context.

This, however, could also result in memory conformity, where the memories merge...a phenomenon known as the co-witness effect.

Clearly, we conflate our experiences with those of others. We absorb other people’s stories and incorporate them into our own. Versions from the television, newspapers, or radio seep into our minds and mingle with the images in our heads.

Sometimes, what we think we remember... actually belonged to someone else.

And then we have to remember that we humans are storytellers... we always have been, and always will be. Our recollections weave and ramble in much the same way oral traditions evolve and morph. The fish gets bigger, the mountain steeper, the weather more extreme.

No doubt you’ve heard a friend, family member, or spouse recount a great adventure again, but this time with an extra flourish...

But just as our memories grow, so too are they prone to fade and fall away. They are not kept in one spot in the mind, forever encased in glass, to be looked at whenever we choose. No, we have to actively remember our memories; we reconstruct them again and again each time we bring them back to the fore.

Our memories are really just memories of a memory... a copy of a copy. So what happens when we don’t click reprint? What happens to those events, ideas, and places left in a dusty corner to dissolve and eventually vanish?

This can (and does) happen on a scale perhaps many aren’t aware of. In our modern world, many of us move away from once close-knit communities to unfamiliar places filled with people who never knew us when we were young. In these situations, we lose important opportunities to reinforce our memories. Indeed, one of the primary functions of autobiographical memory is social: we remember the past partly because we repeatedly tell stories to family and friends.

When those conversations stop, our memories receive far less reinforcement. So, if there are chapters of our lives removed from our daily experience, a time spent with people to whom we rarely, if ever, speak, then the words on those pages simply... fade away.

Memory, it appears, takes work. It is not a passive ability, but something to which we must dedicate time and effort... and often together.

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This was something the ancients knew all too well. Memory was a cornerstone of education, enshrined in religion, ritual, as well as everyday life. The Pythagoreans, for example, cultivated memory through daily discipline. They were expected to review each day’s words and deeds every morning and evening, while also committing their master’s teachings to memory before they were ever written down.

And who could forget the bards themselves? The storytellers who famously recited tens of thousands of lines, weaving together poetry, music, and history itself? The oral tradition, of which we have written in the past, is an exemplary embodiment of the power of memory.

They didn’t do it casually; they developed exercises, mental techniques, and disciplines to strengthen their recall. The most famous of these was the Method of Loci, traditionally attributed to the poet Simonides and better known today as the Memory Palace.

My younger self describes it here (as well as its tragic origins), but essentially the process involves choosing a place you know well, such as a house, a room, or your neighborhood. You then decide upon a specific path through that place before assigning whatever needs memorizing to its different locations. The result is that you simply take your mental walk to remember each item or topic as you go.

This was but one tactic employed by politicians, rhetoricians, and philosophers who all trained their memories with admirable discipline, committing long speeches, arguments, and teachings to memory.

Of course, I hear you cry, they had to! They didn’t have teleprompters or iPads. They couldn’t have even imagined today’s smartphones, with their near-infinite space for photographs, movies, stories, articles, books, and more, all tucked away in our pockets. They didn’t even have the benefit of easily accessible sticky notes and spiral notebooks. Paper, as we know it, did not yet exist, and while papyrus was available, it was far too valuable to use casually.

Their ability was born out of necessity... surely.

Perhaps that is why today, at least culturally in the West, we no longer prize memorization in quite the same way. We tend to shun rote learning, recalling (ironically) our painful experiences with multiplication tables, and so often view the practice as a form of torture, something that stifles our creativity...

We applaud those who can recite quotes or poems with flourish, impressed by orators such as Harold Bloom or George Steiner, who could faithfully conjure the words of others at will... and yet we do almost nothing to cultivate that ability in ourselves or the next generation.

And yet, this is where we arrive at the truly confusing part...

If we lose those past experiences, are we the same person? It’s a frightening question for all of us as we age, especially if we spend time with friends or loved ones living with Alzheimer’s disease or dementia. At its most extreme, characters such as Leonard in Christopher Nolan’s Memento demonstrate that without the ability to form new memories, life as we know it becomes almost impossible.

From the last meal you had to your favorite food as a child, how much do we need to remember? And considering the inherently reconstructive nature of memory, how many of those recollections can we trust?

At the end of the day, how much of who we are is our memory?

Discuss and contemplate the role of memory in the mind...and in the person...below.

But before you do and if it’s not too much trouble, please take a moment to ‘Like’ and ‘Restack’ this post. This small effort has a big impact in helping others find Classical Wisdom. If you think our modern world could do with a bit more ancient wisdom… help us spread the word with a click.

Thank you!!!

All the best,
Anya Leonard
Founder and Director