Keeping Ideas in Mind

10 min

1. Contemplation

The next faculty of the mind, whereby it makes a further progress towards knowledge, is that which I call RETENTION; or the keeping of those simple ideas which from sensation or reflection it hath received. This is done two ways.

The next ability of the mind that advances knowledge is what I call RETENTION. Retention means keeping the simple ideas the mind has received through sensation or reflection. The mind does this in two ways.

First, by keeping the idea which is brought into it, for some time actually in view, which is called CONTEMPLATION.

First, by keeping an idea brought into the mind in conscious view for some time. This is called CONTEMPLATION.

2. Memory.

The other way of retention is, the power to revive again in our minds those ideas which, after imprinting, have disappeared, or have been as it were laid aside out of sight. And thus we do, when we conceive heat or light, yellow or sweet,—the object being removed. This is MEMORY, which is as it were the storehouse of our ideas. For, the narrow mind of man not being capable of having many ideas under view and consideration at once, it was necessary to have a repository, to lay up those ideas which, at another time, it might have use of. But, our IDEAS being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be anything; when there is no perception of them; this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more but this,—that the mind has a power in many cases to revive perceptions which it has once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that IT HAS HAD THEM BEFORE. And in this sense it is that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when indeed they are actually nowhere;—but only there is an ability in the mind when it will to revive them again, and as it were paint them anew on itself, though some with more, some with less difficulty; some more lively, and others more obscurely. And thus it is, by the assistance of this faculty, that we are said to have all those ideas in our understandings which, though we do not actually contemplate yet we CAN bring in sight, and make appear again, and be the objects of our thoughts, without the help of those sensible qualities which first imprinted them there.

The other form of retention is the power to bring ideas back into our minds. These ideas have disappeared after first being impressed on the mind, or have been set aside out of sight. We use this power when we think of heat or light, yellow or sweet, after the object is gone. This is MEMORY, which is like a storehouse for our ideas. The limited human mind cannot hold many ideas in view and consider them at once. So the mind needed a place to store ideas it might use at another time. But our IDEAS are nothing more than actual perceptions in the mind. Ideas cease to exist when we no longer perceive them. So storing ideas in memory means only that the mind can, in many cases, revive perceptions it has had before. These revived perceptions come with an additional awareness: IT HAS HAD THEM BEFORE. This is what we mean when we say that ideas are in our memories, though they actually exist nowhere. The mind simply has the ability to revive those ideas when it chooses, as if painting them on itself again. Some ideas return with more difficulty, some with less. Some return more vividly, others less clearly. Through this ability, we are said to have all those ideas in our understanding that we CAN bring back into view. Although we are not actually considering these ideas, we can make them reappear and become objects of thought. We can do so without the help of the sensory qualities that first impressed those ideas on our minds.

3. Attention, Repetition, Pleasure and Pain, fix Ideas.

3. Attention, repetition, pleasure, and pain fix ideas in the mind.

Attention and repetition help much to the fixing any ideas in the memory. But those which naturally at first make the deepest and most lasting impressions, are those which are accompanied with pleasure or pain. The great business of the senses being, to make us take notice of what hurts or advantages the body, it is wisely ordered by nature, as has been shown, that pain should accompany the reception of several ideas; which, supplying the place of consideration and reasoning in children, and acting quicker than consideration in grown men, makes both the old and young avoid painful objects with that haste which is necessary for their preservation; and in both settles in the memory a caution for the future.

Attention and repetition do much to fix ideas in memory. But ideas accompanied by pleasure or pain naturally make the deepest and most lasting impressions from the start. The senses’ main job is to alert us to what harms or benefits the body. So, as already shown, nature has wisely arranged for pain to accompany the reception of certain ideas. In children, pain takes the place of reflection and reasoning. In adults, pain acts faster than reflection. So pain makes both young and old avoid painful objects as quickly as their survival requires. In both young and old, pain also fixes a warning in memory for the future.

4. Ideas fade in the Memory.

4. Ideas fade in memory.

Concerning the several degrees of lasting, wherewith ideas are imprinted on the memory, we may observe,—that some of them have been produced in the understanding by an object affecting the senses once only, and no more than once; others, that have more than once offered themselves to the senses, have yet been little taken notice of: the mind, either heedless, as in children, or otherwise employed, as in men intent only on one thing; not setting the stamp deep into itself. And in some, where they are set on with care and repeated impressions, either through the temper of the body, or some other fault, the memory is very weak. In all these cases, ideas in the mind quickly fade, and often vanish quite out of the understanding, leaving no more footsteps or remaining characters of themselves than shadows do flying over fields of corn, and the mind is as void of them as if they had never been there.

We may observe that ideas remain in memory for different lengths of time. Some ideas enter the mind through an object affecting the senses only once. Others reach the senses more than once, yet receive little attention. The mind may be inattentive, as in children, or occupied elsewhere, as in people focused on just one thing. In either case, the ideas leave no deep impression. Some people have very weak memories even when ideas are impressed carefully and repeatedly on their minds. This weakness may result from their physical constitution or some other fault. In all these cases, ideas quickly fade from the mind and often disappear entirely. They leave no more trace than shadows passing over fields of grain. The mind is then as empty of these ideas as if they had never been there.

5. Causes of oblivion.

5. Causes of forgetting.

Thus many of those ideas which were produced in the minds of children, in the beginning of their sensation, (some of which perhaps, as of some pleasures and pains, were before they were born, and others in their infancy,) if in the future course of their lives they are not repeated again, are quite lost, without the least glimpse remaining of them. This may be observed in those who by some mischance have lost their sight when they were very young; in whom the ideas of colours having been but slightly taken notice of, and ceasing to be repeated, do quite wear out; so that some years after, there is no more notion nor memory of colours left in their minds, than in those of people born blind. The memory of some men, it is true, is very tenacious, even to a miracle. But yet there seems to be a constant decay of all our ideas, even of those which are struck deepest, and in minds the most retentive; so that if they be not sometimes renewed, by repeated exercise of the senses, or reflection on those kinds of objects which at first occasioned them, the print wears out, and at last there remains nothing to be seen. Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth, often die before us: and our minds represent to us those tombs to which we are approaching; where, though the brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away. The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in fading colours; and if not sometimes refreshed, vanish and disappear. How much the constitution of our bodies are concerned in this; and whether the temper of the brain makes this difference, that in some it retains the characters drawn on it like marble, in others like freestone, and in others little better than sand, I shall here inquire; though it may seem probable that the constitution of the body does sometimes influence the memory, since we oftentimes find a disease quite strip the mind of all its ideas, and the flames of a fever in a few days calcine all those images to dust and confusion, which seemed to be as lasting as if graved in marble.

Many ideas first formed in children’s minds through their earliest sensations are completely lost if never experienced again. Not even a trace remains. Some of these ideas, perhaps including certain pleasures and pains, arose before birth, and others during infancy. We can observe this loss in people who lost their sight through some accident when very young. Their ideas of colours received little attention at first and, without repeated experience, fade away entirely. So, some years later, they have no more understanding or memory of colours than people born blind. Some people’s memories are, admittedly, almost miraculously strong. Yet all our ideas seem to fade continually, even the deepest impressions in the most retentive minds. Unless these ideas are sometimes renewed, their imprint wears away until nothing remains. Such renewal comes through repeated use of the senses or reflection on the kinds of objects that first produced the ideas. Thus the ideas of our youth, like our children, often die before we do. Our minds resemble the tombs we are approaching. Though the brass and marble remain, time erases the inscriptions, and the carved images crumble away. The pictures drawn in our minds have fading colours. Unless refreshed from time to time, those pictures vanish and disappear. I shall inquire here how much our physical makeup contributes to this fading. I shall also ask whether differences in the brain explain differences in memory. Some brains retain the marks drawn on them like marble, others like soft sandstone, and others little better than sand. Still, it seems probable that our physical makeup sometimes influences memory. We often find that a disease completely strips the mind of all its ideas. In a few days, the flames of a fever can burn our mental images into dust and confusion. Those images had seemed as lasting as if carved in marble.

6. Constantly repeated Ideas can scarce be lost.

6. Constantly repeated ideas can hardly be forgotten.

But concerning the ideas themselves, it is easy to remark, that those that are oftenest refreshed (amongst which are those that are conveyed into the mind by more ways than one) by a frequent return of the objects or actions that produce them, fix themselves best in the memory, and remain clearest and longest there; and therefore those which are of the original qualities of bodies, viz. solidity, extension, figure, motion, and rest; and those that almost constantly affect our bodies, as heat and cold; and those which are the affections of all kinds of beings, as existence, duration, and number, which almost every object that affects our senses, every thought which employs our minds, bring along with them;—these, I say, and the like ideas, are seldom quite lost, whilst the mind retains any ideas at all.

But concerning the ideas themselves, we can easily observe that the most frequently refreshed ideas stay clearest and longest in memory. These ideas become most firmly fixed through the frequent return of the objects or actions that produce them. They include ideas that enter the mind in more than one way. Among these lasting ideas are those of the basic qualities of bodies: solidity, extension, shape, motion, and rest. Others concern qualities that affect our bodies almost constantly, such as heat and cold. Still others concern features of all kinds of beings, such as existence, duration, and number. Almost every object that affects our senses, and every thought that occupies our minds, brings these last ideas with it. So these and similar ideas are seldom completely lost as long as the mind retains any ideas at all.

7. In Remembering, the Mind is often active.

7. When remembering, the mind is often active.

In this secondary perception, as I may so call it, or viewing again the ideas that are lodged in the memory, the mind is oftentimes more than barely passive; the appearance of those dormant pictures depending sometimes on the WILL. The mind very often sets itself on work in search of some hidden idea, and turns as it were the eye of the soul upon it; though sometimes too they start up in our minds of their own accord, and offer themselves to the understanding; and very often are roused and tumbled out of their dark cells into open daylight, by turbulent and tempestuous passions; our affections bringing ideas to our memory, which had otherwise lain quiet and unregarded. This further is to be observed, concerning ideas lodged in the memory, and upon occasion revived by the mind, that they are not only (as the word REVIVE imports) none of them new ones, but also that the mind takes notice of them as of a former impression, and renews its acquaintance with them, as with ideas it had known before. So that though ideas formerly imprinted are not all constantly in view, yet in remembrance they are constantly known to be such as have been formerly imprinted; i.e. in view, and taken notice of before, by the understanding.

In this second kind of perception, as I might call it, the mind looks again at ideas stored in memory. The mind is often more than merely passive, since the appearance of these dormant images sometimes depends on the WILL. Very often, the mind actively searches for some hidden idea, turning the soul’s eye toward that idea, so to speak. Yet sometimes these ideas rise in our minds on their own and present themselves to the understanding. Very often, turbulent and stormy passions stir these ideas and tumble them from their dark cells into broad daylight. Our emotions bring to mind ideas that would otherwise have remained quiet and unnoticed. There is another point to note about ideas stored in memory and brought back by the mind when needed. Not only are none of these ideas new, as the word REVIVE implies. The mind also recognizes these ideas as earlier impressions and renews its acquaintance with them as ideas previously known. So, although previously imprinted ideas are not all constantly in view, whenever we remember them, we recognize them as previously imprinted. That is, we recognize them as ideas the understanding has seen and noticed before.

8. Two defects in the Memory, Oblivion and Slowness.

8. Two weaknesses of memory: forgetting and slow recall.

Memory, in an intellectual creature, is necessary in the next degree to perception. It is of so great moment, that, where it is wanting, all the rest of our faculties are in a great measure useless. And we in our thoughts, reasonings, and knowledge, could not proceed beyond present objects, were it not for the assistance of our memories; wherein there may be two defects:—

For a thinking being, memory is second only to perception in importance. Memory is so important that, without it, all our other abilities are largely useless. Without memory's help, our thoughts, reasoning, and knowledge could not go beyond what is immediately before us. Memory may have two defects:

First, That it loses the idea quite, and so far it produces perfect ignorance. For, since we can know nothing further than we have the idea of it, when that is gone, we are in perfect ignorance.

First, it loses the idea entirely, and to that extent produces complete ignorance. For we can know something only as far as we have an idea of it. So when the idea is gone, we are completely ignorant.

Secondly, That it moves slowly, and retrieves not the ideas that it has, and are laid up in store, quick enough to serve the mind upon occasion. This, if it be to a great degree, is stupidity; and he who, through this default in his memory, has not the ideas that are really preserved there, ready at hand when need and occasion calls for them, were almost as good be without them quite, since they serve him to little purpose. The dull man, who loses the opportunity, whilst he is seeking in his mind for those ideas that should serve his turn, is not much more happy in his knowledge than one that is perfectly ignorant. It is the business therefore of the memory to furnish to the mind those dormant ideas which it has present occasion for; in the having them ready at hand on all occasions, consists that which we call invention, fancy, and quickness of parts.

Secondly, memory works slowly and fails to retrieve stored ideas quickly enough to serve the mind when needed. When this slowness is severe, it amounts to stupidity. Someone whose memory fails to make stored ideas available when needed might almost as well have none. Those ideas serve him little purpose. A slow-witted man may miss an opportunity while searching his mind for the ideas he needs. He benefits little more from his knowledge than someone who is completely ignorant. Memory’s task, therefore, is to supply the mind with the dormant ideas needed at the moment. Having those ideas ready on all occasions is what we call inventiveness, imagination, and quickness of mind.

9. A defect which belongs to the memory of Man, as finite.

9. A weakness in human memory due to its limited nature.

These are defects we may observe in the memory of one man compared with another. There is another defect which we may conceive to be in the memory of man in general;—compared with some superior created intellectual beings, which in this faculty may so far excel man, that they may have CONSTANTLY in view the whole scene of all their former actions, wherein no one of the thoughts they have ever had may slip out of their sight. The omniscience of God, who knows all things, past, present, and to come, and to whom the thoughts of men’s hearts always lie open, may satisfy us of the possibility of this. For who can doubt but God may communicate to those glorious spirits, his immediate attendants, any of his perfections; in what proportions he pleases, as far as created finite beings can be capable? It is reported of that prodigy of parts, Monsieur 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. This is a privilege so little known to most men, that it seems almost incredible to those who, after the ordinary way, measure all others by themselves; but yet, when considered, may help us to enlarge our thoughts towards greater perfections of it, in superior ranks of spirits. For this of Monsieur Pascal was still with the narrowness that human minds are confined to here,—of having great variety of ideas only by succession, not all at once. Whereas the several degrees of angels may probably have larger views; and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once. This, we may conceive, would be no small advantage to the knowledge of a thinking man,—if all his past thoughts and reasonings could be ALWAYS present to him. And therefore we may suppose it one of those ways, wherein the knowledge of separate spirits may exceedingly surpass ours.

These are weaknesses we can observe when we compare one person’s memory with another’s. We can imagine another weakness in human memory as a whole, compared with that of superior created minds. These beings may have memories so much better than ours that all their past actions remain CONSTANTLY before them. Not one thought they have ever had may slip from their view. God’s complete knowledge may convince us that such memory is possible. He knows all things, past, present, and future, and the thoughts in human hearts are always open to him. Who can doubt that God may share any of his perfections with those glorious spirits who attend him directly? He may grant those perfections in whatever measure he pleases, within the limits of created, finite beings. Monsieur Pascal, a man of extraordinary abilities, reportedly forgot nothing he had done, read, or thought throughout his reasoning life. His memory remained so complete until declining health weakened it. Such a gift is so unfamiliar to most people that some find it almost unbelievable. These are people who follow the common habit of judging everyone else by themselves. Yet reflecting on Pascal’s memory may help us imagine more perfect forms of memory among higher ranks of spirits. For Monsieur Pascal’s memory still had the limitations that confine human minds in this life. We can have a great variety of ideas only one after another, not all at once. By contrast, the different ranks of angels may probably have a broader view. Some may be able to hold all their past knowledge together, keeping it constantly before them like a single picture. We can imagine how greatly a thinking person’s knowledge would benefit if all his past thoughts and reasonings were ALWAYS present. We may therefore suppose that this is one way the knowledge of spirits without bodies may far surpass our own.

10. Brutes have Memory.

10. Animals have memory.

This faculty of laying up and retaining the ideas that are brought into the mind, several other animals seem to have to a great degree, as well as man. For, to pass by other instances, birds learning of tunes, and the endeavours one may observe in them to hit the notes right, put it past doubt with me, that they have perception, and retain ideas in their memories, and use them for patterns. For it seems to me impossible that they should endeavour to conform their voices to notes (as it is plain they do) of which they had no ideas. For, though I should grant sound may mechanically cause a certain motion of the animal spirits in the brains of those birds, whilst the tune is actually playing; and that motion may be continued on to the muscles of the wings, and so the bird mechanically be driven away by certain noises, because this may tend to the bird’s preservation; yet that can never be supposed a reason why it should cause mechanically—either whilst the tune is playing, much less after it has ceased—such a motion of the organs in the bird’s voice as should conform it to the notes of a foreign sound, which imitation can be of no use to the bird’s preservation. But, which is more, it cannot with any appearance of reason be supposed (much less proved) that birds, without sense and memory, can approach their notes nearer and nearer by degrees to a tune played yesterday; which if they have no idea of in their memory, is now nowhere, nor can be a pattern for them to imitate, or which any repeated essays can bring them nearer to. Since there is no reason why the sound of a pipe should leave traces in their brains, which, not at first, but by their after-endeavours, should produce the like sounds; and why the sounds they make themselves, should not make traces which they should follow, as well as those of the pipe, is impossible to conceive.

Several other animals seem to share, to a great degree, our ability to store and retain ideas in the mind. To set other examples aside, birds learn tunes and can be observed trying to get the notes right. This leaves me in no doubt that birds perceive, retain ideas in memory, and use those ideas as models. Birds plainly try to match their voices to notes they hear. It seems impossible to me that birds could do so without having ideas of those notes. I might grant that sound can mechanically cause a certain movement of the animal spirits in a bird’s brain. While the tune is playing, that movement might pass to the wing muscles. Certain noises might thus mechanically drive the bird away, because this may help preserve its life. Yet this cannot explain why sound should mechanically make a bird’s vocal organs reproduce the notes of an external sound. Such imitation can be of no use in preserving the bird’s life. This mechanical explanation fails even while the tune is playing, and still more after the tune has stopped. But there is a further point. Birds gradually bring their notes closer to a tune played yesterday. We cannot reasonably suppose, much less prove, that birds can do this without perception and memory. If birds have no idea of that tune in memory, the tune now exists nowhere. It therefore cannot serve as a model for imitation, or as something repeated attempts can bring their singing closer to. There is no reason why a pipe’s sound should leave traces in birds’ brains that work in this way. Those traces would produce similar sounds, not immediately, but only through the birds’ later efforts. And it is impossible to understand why the birds’ own sounds would not also leave traces for them to follow.