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284 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1896
We understand then why a remembrance cannot be the result of a state of the brain. The state of the brain continues the remembrance; it gives it a hold on the present by the materiality which it confers upon it: but pure memory is a spiritual manifestation. With memory we are, in truth, in the domain of spirit (240).Memory Prisons
Not only, by its memory of former experience, does this consciousness retain the past better and better, so as to organise it with the present in a newer and richer decision; but, living with an intenser life, contracting, by its memory of the immediate experience, a growing number of external moments in its present duration, it becomes more capable of creating acts of which the inner determination, spread over as large a multiplicity of the moments of matter as you please, will pass the more easily through the meshes of necessity (248).So memory is a form of power, parallel to physical mobility, that enables us to transcend physical causality; to detach ourselves from the contingencies of the present moment. In this way, our bodies are temporal, but our minds are atemporal. If we base our actions primarily on perception, our freedom is diminished and we become subject to the relentless flow of duration. If we base our actions on recollection, however, we are free: “By allowing us to grasp in a single intuition multiple moments of duration, [memory] frees us from the movement of the flow of things, that is to say, from the rhythm of necessity� (228).
The material universe itself, defined as the totality of images, is a kind of consciousness, a consciousness in which everything compensates and neutralises everything else, a consciousness of which all the potential parts, balancing each other by a reaction which is always equal to the action, reciprocally hinder each other from standing out (235).This reminds me of Leibniz’s monads which are the simple, unextended building blocks of the universe. Even in matter, they have vague, muddled perceptions and desires which enable them to respond mechanically, but they aren’t soul or spirit because they don’t have memory or feelings; they exist as if in a “profound, dreamless sleep� (The Rationalists 458). The distinction between animate and inanimate objects is very similar for Bergson; one has memory and the other does not. As an aside, I’ll note that strictly speaking, monads are "windowless" and can’t interact with one another directly, but God moves them according to a “pre-established harmony� that makes it seem as if they are moving one another.
God, in ordering the whole, has had regard to every part and in particular to each monad; and since each monad is by its very nature representative, nothing can limit it to represent merely a part of things. It is nevertheless true that this representation is, as regards the details of the whole universe, only a confused representation, and is distinct only as regards a small part of them, that is to say, as regards those things which are nearest or greatest in relation to each monad […] In a confused way, they reach out to infinity or to the whole, but are limited and differentiated in the degree of their distinct perceptions […] Although each created monad represents the whole universe, it represents more distinctly the body which specially pertains to it and of which it constitutes the entelechy (The Rationalists 465).Bergson's view is strikingly similar: “Science […] shows us each thing exercising an influence on all the others and, consequently, occupying, in a certain sense, the whole of the extended (although we perceive of this thing only its center and mark its limits at the point where our body ceases to have any hold upon it)� (231).
In regard to concrete extension, continuous, diversified and at the same time organized, we do not see why it should be bound up with the amorphous and inert space which subtends it � a space which we divide indefinitely, out of which we carve figures arbitrarily, and in which movement itself […] can only appear as a multiplicity of instantaneous positions, since nothing there can ensure the coherence of past with present (187).Space is therefore a kind of schematic or overlay that helps us arrange our bodies in relation to other bodies. It serves a similar role in Kant’s transcendental aesthetic, but Bergson proposes it as an avoidable tendency rather than a fundamental prerequisite for experience, and it doesn't hide an inaccessible realm of things-in-themselves.
When I put aside all preconceived ideas, I soon perceive that […] even my sight takes in the movement from A to B as an indivisible whole, and that if it divides anything, it is the line supposed to have been traversed, and not the movement traversing it. It is indeed true that my hand does not go from A to B without passing through the intermediate positions, and that these intermediate points resemble stages, as numerous as you please, along the route; but there is, between the divisions so marked out and stages properly so-called, this capital difference, that at a stage we halt, whereas at these points the moving body passes. Now a passage is a movement and a halt is an immobility. The halt interrupts the movement; the passage is one with the movement itself. When I see the moving body pass any point, I conceive, no doubt, that it might stop there; even when it does not stop there, I incline to consider its passage as an arrest, though infinitely short, because I must have at least the time to think of it; yet it is only my imagination which stops there, and what the moving body has to do is, on the contrary, to move. As every point of space necessarily appears to me fixed, I find it extremely difficult not to attribute to the moving body itself the immobility of the point with which, for a moment, I make it coincide; it seems to me, then, when I reconstitute the total movement, that the moving body has stayed an infinitely short time at every point of its trajectory. But we must not confound the data of the senses, which perceive the movement, with the artifice of the mind, which recomposes it. The senses, left to themselves, present to us the real movement, between two halts, as a solid and undivided whole. The division is the work of our imagination, of which indeed the office is to fix the moving images of our ordinary experience, like the instantaneous flash which illuminates a stormy landscape by night (189).So we think habitually in things which our bodies can act upon, and we have a great deal of trouble imagining continuity. As soon as we endeavour to think of something, it's frozen and sealed off from everything else. We even understand movement and duration in terms of space. That is, language and common sense use spatial metaphors to describe time, even though it’s fundamentally different.