What is memory? On the modern transition from the ontitudinal to the mental (Volume 7)

With God’s help

Following the days of remembrance (for the Holocaust and for the fallen IDF soldiers) that have now passed, various reflections have arisen in me regarding the essence of memory and the importance of remembrance. I ask your forgiveness in advance for delving into areas that seem ostensibly mystical, but necessity will not be spared.

On the sanctity of memory

In today's State of Israel, almost nothing is sacred (and that's a good thing). But it is precisely against this backdrop that the sacred attitude we give to memory stands out. These two days of remembrance are the only holy days in our public life. Anything that offends them immediately provokes irritated and hurtful Pavlovian reactions. Every year we are bombarded with in-depth articles about Haredim who do not stand when the siren is blown or when the national anthem is sung, and the feeling is as if the secular or Zionist has desecrated the sacred. The Haredim rub their hands with delight and say that now perhaps the secular public will be able to understand why they are offended by the desecration of Shabbat or Yom Kippur (there is quite a bit of demagoguery in this claim, but there is still something to it, and that's okay).

Why is it important to remember?

Why is it really so important to remember? What is sacred about this memory? We can enter into the question of the importance of history in general ("History of high need", as Yosef Avivi famously said), but that is not our topic. The question is more specific: Why is it important to remember the fallen/perished?

At first glance, the question is outrageous. After all, they gave their lives for us, so why shouldn't we remember them? But this is not true regarding the victims of the Holocaust. The vast majority of them did not give their lives, not for us or at all. Their lives were taken from them against their will. Therefore, it does not seem that we have a duty of gratitude towards them. The same applies to the victims of hostilities. They were simply killed by terrorists and did not give their lives for us. This is very unfortunate and painful, of course, but I do not see a duty of gratitude here. [1] Regarding the fallen IDF soldiers, it is not simple either. A significant number of them were killed in various ways that are not related to giving their lives. But let's assume that this is not true for most of them. Many of the fallen did give their lives for us and we owe them a debt of gratitude.

Moreover, gratitude, even where it does exist, seems to be an insufficient explanation. Do they enjoy it when we remember them? After all, they are no longer here. And do their souls in the treasuries above look down and check to see if we still remember? Does it get sad when it sees that we don't? How does remembering constitute gratitude?

Well, then perhaps the value of memory is instrumental. Memory is a means to achieve good goals. For example, remembering the Holocaust will help prevent another Holocaust. According to this proposal, memory is not a value in itself (according to Leibowitz, values are always goals, not means)[2]. But this does not explain the remembrance of the fallen. What does it come to prevent or achieve? Another instrumental explanation tries to anchor the duty to remember by saying that memory helps the bereaved families. Public participation in their grief makes things easier for them and shows them that the sacrifice of their loved ones is valued, and therefore was not in vain. So is there a duty here between one person and another towards the families? If that is so, then what about the Holocaust? There too, remembrance is an obligation to help the families who remain? Does remembrance show that their sacrifice was not in vain? One of the problems there is that their sacrifice was completely in vain. Didn't the victims of hostility simply fall in vain? All of this is really implausible. And what about those who have no family? There is a feeling that one must come and appear at the funeral (see the case of Shawn Carmeli, a lone soldier who fell in "Protective Edge," and the well-known song by Ariel Horowitz about 20,000 mourners who came to the funeral. It is true that that man had family abroad). Who did it help? Why is it important?

Now the answer is that gratitude is itself a good quality and therefore it is important that we work on acquiring it and assimilating it into our souls. It is done for ourselves and not for someone or something else. Although I agree with this, it seems to me that this does not capture the essence of the matter. People feel that they have some kind of obligation towards the fallen themselves. And of course an indication of this is the victims of the Holocaust and others for whom there is no obligation of gratitude, and yet there is a sense of obligation of remembrance, or even a sense of sanctity towards them.

Well, then perhaps the conclusion that this is a deep-rooted nonsense is really warranted. The fact that many feel this way doesn't mean much. There is no rule as to how many, since the majority does quite a bit of nonsense. I have a feeling that in many cases, precisely when the majority says something, it is probably a mistake. Although these things are meant for situations in which people justify their positions. There you will usually hear hair-raising reasonings about their nonsense. But when people feel something based on their own ignorance, I have faith that in most cases there should be something to it. It is at least worth checking. In many cases, people have good intuition, they feel or experience something, although when they try to rationalize it, they often end up with nonsense. People don't always manage to figure themselves out.

If so, there is something about memory that says I must. The feeling of many people that there is an obligation to remember is worth examining. Although the explanations seem forced and artificial, which deepens the difficulty and the need to try and examine it again. It seems to me that the explanation I will offer below, correct or not, represents well the feeling of many of us. But before that, I must dwell on another possibility.

On need and value[3]

If there is indeed no good reason for the duty to remember, perhaps we can see memory as a necessity rather than a value. We have a need to remember people and feel their absence. If we don't feel this, we have a pang of conscience, and therefore it is important for us to remember them.

This suggestion is probably correct, but it is important to understand that its meaning is that remembrance is not obligatory. There is no value in remembering the dead/fallen, but people have a need to do so. For health. And who does not have such a need? Let him not do so. In such a perception, there is no room for criticism and judgment towards those who do not remember. They lack nothing in the ethical and value sense. They are simply structured differently from us. They lack this need, and nothing more. I doubt whether such a perception correctly describes the feelings of most people I know. The vibration of holiness that accompanies these days does not reflect a purely psychological need. People see it as a value. They may be wrong, but that is what they think.[4] The question I am addressing here is what this common intuition is based on?

Male Amalek

First, I will extend my testimony a little. In the parsha, when the Torah comes out, it is commanded upon us (Deuteronomy 25:19):

And it shall be, when your God gives you rest from all your enemies round about in the land which your God gives you, that you shall utterly destroy the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget:

God Himself also promises us in Parashat Beshalach (Exodus 17:14):

And Jacob said unto Moses, Write this for a memorial in a book, and rehearse it in the ears of Joshua: for I will utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven:

What is this remembrance that we are commanded to erase and that God promises to erase? Furthermore, we are commanded (in the same verse) not to forget. This is a specific command to remember and not forget what Amalek did, so how does this reconcile with the command to erase his memory? There have been many sermons on this matter, about Amalek in the heart and the remembrance in forgetfulness and other strange Hasidic discourse. But it seems to me that the explanation is completely different.

Rashi in Parashat Ki Titze writes:

You shall blot out the male of Amalek – from man to woman, from child to suckling, from ox to sheep (1 Samuel 15:3). Let not the name of Amalek be mentioned even on the beast, to say, this beast was like Amalek:

It seems that he senses that there is a problem here. He explains that the memory in question is not something mental (memory) but objects. It is true that we must remember Amalek, but at the same time we must erase everything that remains of him (whose name is mentioned). The meaning of this is that in biblical language, the "memory" of a thing is actually a part of it. The memory of Amalek is something of Amalek, and not a memory of Amalek. The memory of Amalek must be erased but his memory must be preserved. In this way, we have essentially transferred the term "memory" from the mental plane (memory) to the onto-entity plane (remnant, part).

Back to the duty of remembrance

If this is indeed the meaning of the term "remember", perhaps we can learn something from this about the meaning of memory in general. When we bring someone or something to mind, it is of course a mental action. Something in our brain begins to work, and an image of the remembered object or some experience related to it is created in us. But perhaps there is something deeper here, an ontological one: when we remember, there is something within us, a "remember" of that object, which is right there in our consciousness. When we remember someone, we are, as it were, conjuring something of him and bringing him back to our realms, thus bringing him back to life in some sense.

If we adopt this strange concept, the duty of remembrance takes on a more significant meaning. In remembering, we bring back to life something (a memory) of someone who has died. The duty to remember is nothing more than an obligation to somehow exclude his death, since something of him still exists when he is remembered.

Isn't this a mere metaphor?

Where does this mystical perception come from? Isn't it a mere metaphor? The words are reminiscent, of course, of Moti Hamer's Schmaltzian and somewhat catchy song (performed by Hava Alberstein), "One Human Tissue":[5]

When I die, something from me
Will die in you.
When you die, something of you will remain in me.
Will die with you.
Because we are all one living human tissue.
And if one of us goes from our place
Something is dying in us –
And something, stayed with him.

The poem says that something from one person is in another person. But everyone thinks that this is at most a metaphor. If we are materialists (those who believe in the existence of matter only), then it is clear that no part of the deceased person remains with us or elsewhere (perhaps different molecules of him that have been scattered throughout the universe). But if we are dualists, that is, we believe that there is something more in a person beyond matter, then there are mental components that are part of him. Where do these go when he dies? It depends on whether we see the soul as one single entity whose entire contents disappear or go somewhere after death. But there is certainly room for the perception that the memories, thoughts, and ideas that were inside the person are actually part of him. This is part of his mental component, and in this sense, when we recall them in our memory, they actually leave something of the deceased with us even after he has gone to his earthly home. It is likely that when we remember what the person looks like physically, it is certainly not part of him. But when memory brings to our mind ideas and thoughts of the deceased, then part of his mental component ("his memory") is truly with us.

In the Shimoni Bible, Kohelet Remez Tetikaft, it is written:

For the living know that they will die. These are the righteous who, even in their death, are called alive, as it is said, "And Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, the son of a living man." And Benaiah the son of a living man, and all the rest of Alma, are not the sons of my dead, but rather the son of a living man who, even in his death, is called alive. And the dead know nothing. These are the wicked who, even in their life, are called dead, as it is said, "And you are a profane wicked prince of Israel."

The righteous are called alive because their ideas and thoughts remain behind them.

And in the second lesson (good lesson) in Parashat Exodus, Chapter 1, Section 1, it is written:

How many times did he mention the names of the tribes in the way of their ancestors' affection, and their own affection, therefore it is said that a name is better than good oil, and the day of death than the day of birth, which are different from the praise of a person after his death, for people recount his praise and good deeds, but on the day of his birth he has no praise or greatness, for the Egyptians mourned for our father Jacob seventy days, since the righteous, even in their death, are crowned with life:  

The righteous, even in their death, are called alive because their good name and good deeds are the part of them that remains alive.

Therefore, the Jerusalemite says in Shekelim P.2:5:

Therefore, Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel says, "They do not make souls for the righteous, their words are their memory."

The memory of the righteous is their "remembering," and above we have already seen that this is a remnant that remains of them.

It is possible that this also gives another meaning to Rosh Hashana, which is called in the Bible and among us "the Day of Remembrance," since on this day our memory rises before God, the Blessed One. Does this mean that on that day He remembers us? After all, He remembers everything all the time. More likely, the intention is that our memory rises before Him, meaning that a part of us is with Him. On that day we gain some kind of closeness to Him, some "reminder" of us is with Him.

If so, it is not necessarily a metaphor. In a dualistic view, there is room for the belief that memory is a "memory" of the dead that remains with us, and remembering revives it in some sense. Memory has an ontological dimension and not just a mental one. It seems to me that in a statement of this kind the gap between metaphor and metaphysics is quite narrow. The distinction is no longer sharp.

It is important to understand that anyone who insists on seeing this as a mere metaphor, meaning that the memory is not a remnant of the remembered in the memoryr, will find it difficult to reconcile this with the view that sees value in memory. Anyone who believes this should adopt a view of memory as a necessity and not as a value.

The question of the existence of collectives

When we look again at the term "Zecher Amalek" we see that "Amalek" is the Amalekite people (or Amalek son of Eliphaz son of Esau, the father of this people). Zecher Amalek is a remnant of that people. If the Torah tells us to wipe out the Amalekites and calls them Zecher Amalek, this means that it sees them as part of the Amalekite people. This brings us back to the question of the existence of collectives, which I have discussed briefly. In the column "The Right and Left's Attitude to Racism" (On this website, 6.5.2016).[6] In essence, there is an expression here of a collectivist view. The Amalekite people are some entity, and the people who make it up are a part ("memory") of it. This is a relationship parallel to the relationship between people's memories and themselves.

Interestingly, the modern or postmodern world does not tend to see collectives as existing entities, just as it does not see memories as parts of people. The modern view treats memory as a kind of metaphor. In its view, memory is a mental state or capacity that occurs in the mind of the rememberer and not something ontic in the world itself. Similarly, there is a tendency to see the collective at most as a useful fiction, rather than as a distinct entity. In this view, the individual is the entity that really exists in the world, and the collective is nothing more than a useful fiction.[7]

The connection between the two processes: the transition from the ontic to the mental

These are two processes with the same structure: objects that were previously perceived as existing entities, that is, as belonging to the ontological plane, are abstracted and transferred to the mental plane. Memory is now perceived as something mental and not as an entity, and the collective is also perceived as a definition that exists only in our minds, a fiction, and not as an entity that exists in the world itself.

There is a connection between these two processes. In order to see that the organic whole has something beyond the details that compose it, we must assume the existence of a soul. Something that connects the collection of molecules into a total organic entity. Without it, it is a collection of molecules (or perhaps actually quarks). Similarly, with regard to the collective, in order to assume that it is something (Amalek) beyond the collection of the details that compose it (the Amalekites), we must assume that there is something that unites them into one organism. The Hegelian soul that transforms the details into one national whole. In the Bible, this is seen as a function of the king, who is called "One of the People" (which makes the people one). Perhaps this is also the function of God who transforms the universe into an organic whole instead of a collection of details (as if the soul of the world).[8] Therefore, the distinction in the existence of a mental component in man, that is, seeing it as belonging to the ontological plane, is similar to the distinction that the collective is a being in itself (beyond the details that compose it).

The willingness to see abstract things as entities has been declining over the generations. In the past, these things were taken for granted as entities, and today we tend to see them as subjective fictions. Ironically, even though modern science is becoming increasingly abstract, the modern approach still holds that rationality requires not accepting the existence of intangible (or non-entities) entities. If once the one responsible for the collapse of deserted houses was a demon (whose name is Shaya, and about whom it is said, "and Shaya strikes the door." See BK 21:1 and Bashi there), today the one responsible for this is the second law of thermodynamics. But a law only describes what is done; it itself does not and cannot do anything. Thus the law of gravity describes the phenomenon of attraction, but the one who causes it is the force of gravity (which is some kind of being and not a law. The law only describes the manner in which this force operates). If once the feeling of fear at night or in the desert when we are there alone was perceived as a result of fear of harm from demons (who are some abstract beings) who roam those places, today it is a mental-psychological phenomenon without an onto-objective root. Thus the evil inclination is perceived as a type of being that resides within us, while today almost all of us perceive it as a tendency in the soul, that is, as a mental phenomenon.

Frank L. Baum describes this process beautifully in the following passage from his story The Wizard of Oz:

"Aunt Em told me that all the witches died out many years ago." "Who is Aunt Em?" inquired the little old woman. "She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from." The Witch of the North seemed to think for a while, her head bowed and her eyes fixed on the ground. Then she looked up and said, "I don't know where Kansas is, for I have never heard the name of that country before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?" "Certainly," replied Dorothy. "Then that is the reason. I think that in civilized countries there are no witches left, nor wizards, nor wizards, nor sorcerers, but, you see, civilization never came to the Land of Oz because we are cut off from all the rest of the world. That is why we still have witches and wizards among us."

So who is right? Are the ancient perceptions primitive and we should abandon them, or perhaps the obvious conclusion is that we are blind to this part of reality. Perhaps modern rationality blinds us to abstract entities. The assumption that only the tangible exists and the abstract is fiction actually blinds us and does not allow us to discern such entities, and so we give them a metaphorical interpretation. Thus, people talk about "grandfather watching over us from above" after his death, and when asked, they explain that it is only a metaphor. But the clear feeling that one gets when hearing these things is that this is a real description. People are not willing to admit that such a perception exists in them, and therefore when it arises directly, they turn it into a metaphor. But their words do not sound that way. They do seem to perceive as if there is something of the person that exists even after his death.[9]

Back to memory

Personally, I am skeptical of ontological concepts (probably because I am part of modern culture). On the other hand, the transfer to the mental does not seem obvious or necessary to me either. Sometimes it is not very convincing. There are situations in which we must recognize the existence of abstract entities, and not only in science (like the force of gravity). Entities such as a collective or a soul seem to me to be real, ontical entities, and not metaphors or mere fictions. Here I am a proud primitive. And so I also tend to interpret memory on the ontological plane, thereby returning it from the modern mental interpretation back to the ontological.

This is the explanation I offer here for the sanctity of memory and its value. There will be those who will speak of the ontic interpretation as a metaphor, but metaphors are supposed to express or symbolize something real. A metaphor is not a justification for anything. Anyone who sees value in memory and demands that others participate in it cannot rely on metaphors or linguistic phenomena in general. If memory has value, then memory is probably indeed something ontic. Our tendency to perceive it on the mental plane is a modern repression, or adherence to the demands of modern rationality, but as mentioned, this is not necessarily justified.

Dualism is not mysticism in the bad sense of the word. The feeling that I have a soul or a mental component is certain and clear to me. Although modern rationalization transfers this feeling to the realm of metaphors, as I explained in my books on the sciences of freedom, it really does not sound convincing to me. And if there is indeed a mental component in us, then there is no reason to offer an ontic interpretation of memory as well. As a dualist, I can certainly accept that this component remains in the world in some sense even after our death.

On the right and left

In the column I wrote Based on the words of Major General Yair Golan, I linked these perceptions to the dispute between the right and the left. I argued there that the right is based on a collectivist perspective and the left on individualism. In my book Two Carts and a Hot Air Balloon (Fourth Chapter, Chapter 2), I already discussed studies that show that the memory patterns of these two groups are different,[10] and for good reason. Memory on the right is generally collective. When remembering the fallen, they talk about their contribution to the country, the values they bequeathed to us, and the general significance of their life and death. This can be explained in light of the fact that the right is based on collectivism. Whereas the left, whose perspective is based on individualism, tends to remember the person on a personal level. Who he was, what and who he loved, what he looked like, what his tastes were, etc.

Since then, things have changed a bit, and memory has become more personal in all segments of the population. Every year, the days of remembrance for the Holocaust and for the fallen IDF soldiers take on a more personal and less collective character. This means that while the collective dimension of memory is becoming less dominant, memory is becoming more ontic. The duty to remember is no longer instrumental (so that we learn from the ways of the dead and contribute to the survival of the collective) but rather an obligation to preserve it alive, which, as mentioned, is based on an ontic perception of memory. As we have seen, this itself is based on a dualistic perception of man. The right also joins the left's pattern of memory, but not because of individualism and denial of the collective dimension, but because of reference to the dimension that remains of the dead themselves. Perhaps treating the personal is also the more correct way to preserve the collective. If we remember, we keep the dead alive, and then the collective also benefits and survives more in some sense.

And when he comes out, what does he say? May the readers forgive me for the mysticism and primitive speculation that I have allowed myself to put on the keyboard of the Baha'i Atara Kadisha...

[1] See inTribute to the victims of the attack at the Rabbi Center

[2] See, for example, the last article in his collection of articles, Faith, History and Values, which deals with the sanctity of life and the merciful death.

[3] On the relationship between needs and values, see the third part of the fourth notebook on this site.

[4] The entire fourth notebook is devoted to this type of argument, which is called a "theological" argument.

[5] The quotation is partial and without repetitions that are required by the melody.

[6] See my articles – The Right and Left's Attitude to Racism. See also my books Two Carts and a Balloon, Illumination 15, and my articles in Bazhar Yad, The problem of the relationship between the individual and the whole and the 'defensive wall' dilemma.

[7] See my article on this, "Suddenly a person wakes up in the morning and feels that he is a people and begins to walk" – on Jewish identity in our time and in general, I will introduce to. 

[8] I will only comment here on the concept known as pantheism (attributed to Spinoza). It is about identifying God with the material totality in the universe. God is nothing more than the totality called the universe in its entirety. On the face of it, it is nonsense. All in all, we take this totality that we all know exists, and call it by another name. What is the difference between this and ordinary atheism? Is it just a change of name? In what sense is there faith in something here and not just a semantic game? It seems to me that the only way to give some meaning to this bizarre concept is to just assume that there is something that unites the totality in the universe to be an organism, the soul of the world, and that is God (then identifying God with the universe is roughly like saying that man's soul is himself, and not his body). Of course, if this is the meaning, then pantheism loses much of its charm, since it is about belief in God in a fairly ordinary sense. God is again something that stands beyond the world and the world is found and functions within it. So what is the difference between this and the concept of a personal God? I think it's just the subjective experience that exists with the believer in these two beliefs. In every other sense, it's semantics again. Except this time it's a semantic change of the religious perception and not of atheism as in the previous version.

[9] Another example of this can be seen in my article, Two Concepts of Myth: The New Historians, and the Rashba's Ban, Tzohar Y.

[10] See, for example, Michael Feige's article, "Let the Walking Ones Go," in Myth and Memory, David Ohana and Robert Wistrich (eds.), Kibbutz Hameuhad and Van Leer Institute, Jerusalem 2009.