As a clue to my philosophy in general, I here add, that this Fourth Class of Objects for the Subject, that is, the one object contained in it, the will which we apprehend within us, stands in the same relation towards the First Class as the law of motives towards the law of causality, as I have established it in § 20. This truth is the corner-stone of my whole Metaphysic.
As to the way in which, and the necessity with which, motives act, and as to the dependence of their action upon empirical, individual character, and even upon individual capacity for knowledge, &c. &c., I refer my readers to my Prize-essay on the Freedom of the Will, in which I have treated all this more fully.
§ 44. Influence of the Will over the Intellect.
It is not upon causality proper, but upon the identity of the knowing with the willing Subject, as shown in § 42, that the influence is based, which the will exercises over the intellect, when it obliges it to repeat representations that have once been present to it, and in general to turn its attention in this or that direction and evoke at pleasure any particular series of thoughts. And even in this, the will is determined by the law of motives, in accordance with which it also secretly rules what is called the association of ideas, to which I have devoted a separate chapter (the 14th) in the second volume of my chief work. This association of ideas is itself nothing but the application of the Principle of Sufficient Reason in its four forms to the subjective train of thought; that is, to the presence of representations in our consciousness. But it is the will of the individual that sets the whole mechanism in motion, by urging the intellect, in accordance with the interest, i.e., the individual aims, of the person, to recall, together with its present representations, those which either logically or analogically, or by proximity in Time or Space, are nearly related to them. The will's activity in this, however, is so immediate, that in most cases we have no clear consciousness of it; and so rapid, that we are at times even unconscious of the occasion which has thus called forth a representation. In such cases, it appears as if something had come into our consciousness quite independently of all connection with anything else; that this, however, is impossible, is precisely the Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, which has been fully explained in the above-mentioned chapter of my chief work.[155] Every picture which suddenly presents itself to our imagination, every judgment even that does not follow its previously present reason, must be called forth by an act of volition having a motive; although that motive may often escape our perception owing to its insignificance, and although such acts of volition are often in like manner unperceived, because they take place so easily, that wish and fulfilment are simultaneous.
§ 45. Memory.
That peculiar faculty of the knowing Subject which enables it to obey the will the more readily in repeating representations, the oftener they have already been present to it—in other words, its capacity for being exercised—is what we call Memory. I cannot agree with the customary view, by which it is looked upon as a sort of store-house in which we keep a stock of ready-made representations always at our disposal, only without being always conscious of their possession. The voluntary repetition of representations which have once been present becomes so easy through practice, that one link in a series of representations no sooner becomes present to us, than we at once evoke all the rest, often even, as it were, involuntarily. If we were to look for a metaphor for this characteristic quality of our representative faculty (such as that of Plato, who compared it with a soft mass that receives and retains impressions), I think the best would be that of a piece of drapery, which, after having been repeatedly folded in the same folds, at last falls into them, as it were, of its own accord. The body learns by practice to obey the will, and the faculty of representing does precisely the same. A remembrance is not by any means, as the usual view supposes, always the same representation which is, as it were, fetched over and over again from its store-house; a new one, on the contrary, arises each time, only practice makes this especially easy. Thus it comes to pass that pictures of our imagination, which we fancy we have stowed away in our memory, become imperceptibly modified: a thing which we realize when we see some familiar object again after a long time, and find that it no longer completely corresponds to the image we bring with us. This could not be if we retained ready-made representations. It is just for this reason too, that acquired knowledge, if left unexercised, gradually fades from our memory, precisely because it was the result of practice coming from habit and knack; thus most scholars, for instance, forget their Greek, and most artists their Italian on their return from Italy. This is also why we find so much difficulty in recalling to mind a name or a line of poetry formerly familiar to us, when we have ceased to think of it for several years; whereas when once we succeed in remembering it, we have it again at our disposal for some time, because the practice has been renewed. Everyone therefore who knows several languages, will do well to make a point of reading occasionally in each, that he may ensure to himself their possession.
This likewise explains why the surroundings and events of our childhood impress themselves so deeply on our memory; it is because, in childhood we have but few, and those chiefly intuitive, representations: so that we are induced to repeat them constantly for the sake of occupation. People who have little capability for original thought do this all their lives (and moreover not only with intuitive representations, but with conceptions and words also); sometimes therefore they have remarkably good memories, when obtuseness and sluggishness of intellect do not act as impediments. Men of genius, on the contrary, are not always endowed with the best of memories, as, for instance, Rousseau has told us of himself. Perhaps this may be accounted for by their great abundance of new thoughts and combinations, which leaves them no time for frequent repetition. Still, on the whole, genius is seldom found with a very bad memory; because here a greater energy and mobility of the whole thinking faculty makes up for the want of constant practice. Nor must we forget that Mnemosyne was the mother of the Muses. We may accordingly say, that our memory stands under two contending influences, that of the energy of the representative faculty on the one hand, and that of the quantity of representations occupying that faculty on the other. The less energy there is in the faculty, the fewer must be the representations, and conversely. This explains the impaired memory of habitual novel-readers, for it is with them as with men of genius: the multitude of representations following rapidly upon each other, leaves no time or patience for repetition and practice; only, in novels, these representations are not the readers' own, but other people's thoughts and combinations quickly succeeding each other, and the readers themselves are wanting in that which, in genius, counterbalances repetition. The whole thing besides is subject to the corrective, that we all have most memory for that which interests us, and least for that which does not. Great minds therefore are apt to forget in an incredibly short time the petty affairs and trifling occurrences of daily life and the commonplace people with whom they come in contact, whereas they have a wonderful recollection of those things which have importance in themselves and for them.
It is, however, on the whole, easy to understand that we should more readily remember such series of representations as are connected together by the thread of one or more of the above-mentioned species of reasons and consequences, than such as have no connection with one another, but only with our will according to the law of motives; that is to say, those which are arbitrarily grouped. For, in the former, the fact that we know the formal part à priori, saves us half the trouble; and this probably gave rise to Plato's doctrine, that all learning is mere remembering.
As far as possible we ought to try and reduce all that we wish to incorporate in our memory to a perceptible image, either directly, or as an example, a mere simile, or an analogue, or indeed in any other way; because intuitive perceptions take a far firmer hold than any abstract thoughts, let alone mere words. This is why we remember things we have ourselves experienced so much better than those of which we read.