Our External and Our Internal Memory

by: John Bigelow, LL.D.

Whenever we seriously exercise our reasoning faculties we abstract ourselves from the phenomenal world, and just in proportion to the profundity of our thought, or the degree of our interest in the subject of our meditations, will be the completeness of our abstraction. Few realize that the mind while in that state has nothing more to do with the external world than a mill has to do with producing, shelling, or transporting the grain that is thrown into its hopper. The mill only grinds what is put into it. The rapidity of the mind’s action is so great that we have no faculties capable of perceiving when the several operations of the mind, memory, and will begin and end in reaching any conclusion. The fingers of the musician seem to run over the keys of the piano with the rapidity of lightning, but the will, mind, and memory act independently at every note. The will indicates the note to be produced, the memory reports the key that produces that note, the mind selects the proper finger and directs that note to be struck. There the mind would rest if the will and the memory did not suggest another note. This process is repeated throughout the score, until the tune is finished. The mind is a servant of the will, of which the memory is a messenger. Through them the mind is occupied with phenomenal life. Suspend the action of the external memory, however, and then the mind works independently of the external or phenomenal world, and that we suppose to be its condition in sleep.

“Near the Temple of the Muses, built by Ardatus, son of Vulcan,” Pausanias tells us, “there is an ancient altar which Ardatus is reported to have dedicated. Upon this altar they sacrifice to the Muses and to Sleep, asserting that Sleep, above all the deities, is friendly to the Muses.”

Some modern metaphysicians insist that we are endowed with a subjective and objective mind and corresponding memories. The difference between the two memories would be that we should employ the word “memory” when we wish to designate the subjective intelligence, and the word “recollection” to designate the objective intelligence. Memory in this sense is the active retention and distinct recognition of past ideas in the mind, while recollection is the power of recalling–of re-collecting ideas which have once been in the mind but are for the time being forgotten.

Subjective memory is regarded as retaining all ideas, however superficially they may have been impressed on the objective mind, and it admits of no variation of power in individuals.1

1 A Scientific Demonstration of the Future Life, by Thomas J. Hudson, p.212.

This notion of a subjective memory corresponds in the main with what Sir William Hamilton designated as “mental latency,” holding that all recollection consisted in rescuing from the storehouse of latent memory some part of its treasure. He assumed latent memory to be perfect, but while he considered it a normal mental process to elevate a part of the latent treasures of the mind above the plane of consciousness, he recognizes the fact that it is only under the most abnormal conditions that the whole content of the magazine of latent intelligence can be brought to light. He says:

“The second degree of latency exists when the mind contains certain systems of knowledge or certain habits of action which it is wholly unconscious of possessing in its ordinary state, but which are revealed to consciousness in certain extraordinary exaltations of its powers. The evidence on this point shows that the mind frequently contains whole systems of knowledge which, though in our normal state they may have faded into absolute oblivion, may, in certain abnormal states–as madness, febrile delirium, somnambulism, catalepsy, etc.–flash into luminous consciousness, and even throw into the shade of unconsciousness those other systems by which they had for a long period been eclipsed, and even extinguished. For example, there are cases in which the extinct memory of whole languages was suddenly restored, and–what is even still more remarkable–in which the faculty was exhibited of accurately repeating, in known or unknown tongues, passage which were never within the grasp of conscious memory in the normal state. This degree, this phenomenon of latency, is one of the most marvelous in the whole compass of philosophy.”

He then cites some most remarkable instances demonstrative of the perfection of subjective memory.

“It is scarce known to any one at this day, that every man has two memories–one exterior, the other interior; and that the exterior is proper to his body, but the interior proper to his spirit…

“These two memories are altogether distinct from each other; to the exterior memory, which is proper to man during his life in the world, appertain all expressions by language, also al objects of which the senses take cognizance, and likewise the sciences which relate to the world: to the interior memory appertain the ideas of spirit, which are of the interior sight, and all rational things, from the ideas whereof thought itself exists. That these things are distinct from each other is unknown to man, as well because he does not reflect thereupon, as because he is incorporate, and cannot so easily withdraw his mind from corporeal things.

“Hence it is that men, during their life in the body, cannot discourse with each other but by languages distinguished into articulate sounds, and cannot understand each other unless they are acquainted with those languages; the reason is, because this is done from the exterior memory; whereas, spirits1 converse with each other by a universal language distinguished into ideas, of their thought, and thus can converse with every spirit, of whatsoever language or nation he may have been; because this is done from the interior memory; every man, immediately after death, comes into the comprehension of this universal language, because he comes into this interior memory, which is adapted to his spirit.

1 “Spiritus inter se loquantur per linguam universalem, in ideas, quales sunt ipsius cogitationis, distinctam et sic quod conversari possint cum unoquovis spiritu cujuscumque linguæ et nationis in mundo fuerat.”–Arcana Coelestia. 1772

“The speech of words, as just intimated, is the speech proper to man; and indeed, to his corporeal memory; but a speech consisting of ideas of thought is the speech proper to spirits; and, indeed, to the interior memory, which is the memory of spirits. It is not known to men that they possess this interior memory, because the memory of particular or material things, which is corporeal, is accounted every thing, and darkens that which is interior; when, nevertheless, without interior memory, which is proper to the spirit, man would not be able to think at all.

“Whatsoever things a man hears and sees, and is affected with, these are insinuated, as to ideas and final motives or ends, into his interior memory, without his being aware of it, and there they remain, so that not a single impression is lost, although the same things are obliterated in the exterior memory; the interior memory, therefore, is such, that there are inscribed in it all the particular things, yea, the most particular, which man has at any time thought, spoken, and done, yea, which have appeared to him only shadowy, with the most minute circumstances, from his earliest infancy to extreme old age man has with him the memory of all these things when he comes into another life, and is successively brought into all recollection of them; this is the Book of his Life (Liber ejus Vitae), which is opened in another life, and according to which he is judged; all final motives or ends of his life, which were to him obscure; all that he had thought, and likewise all that he had spoken and done, as derived from those ends, are recorded, to the most minute circumstances, in that Book, that is, in the interior memory, and are made manifest before the angels, in a light as clear as day, whensoever the Lord sees god to permit it: this has at times been shown me, and evidenced by so much and various experience, that there does not remain the smallest doubt concerning it.1

“Men, during their abode in the world, who are principled in love to the Lord, and in charity toward their neighbor, have with themselves, and in themselves, angelic intelligence and wisdom, but hidden in the inmost of their interior memory; which intelligence and wisdom can by no means appear to them, before they put of things corporeal; then the memory of particulars spoken of above is laid asleep, and they are awakened to the interior memory, and afterward to the angelic memory itself.2

1 Referring to a singular experience which fell under his own observation while a student at Gottingen, S. T. Coleridge makes a comment which warrants us in supposing that he was, consciously or unconsciously, indebted to Swedenborg for it. He says:

“This fact–it would not be difficult to adduce several of a similar kind–contributes to make it even probable that all thoughts are in themselves imperishable; and that if the intelligent faculty should be rendered more comprehensive it would require only a differently apportioned organization–the body celestial instead of the body terrestrial–to bring before every human soul the collective experience of its whole past. And this, perchance, is the Book of Judgment, in the dread hieroglyphics of which every idle word is recorded. Yea, in the very nature of a living spirit, it may be more possible that heaven and earth should pass away than that a single act, a single thought, should be loosened or lost from that living chain of causes with all the links of which, conscious or unconscious, the free-will, our only absolute self, is co-extensive and copresent.”–Biographia Literaria, Coleridge’s Works, Harper & Brothers, 1853, vol. iii. p. 229.

2 “The French army at this time,” says Count La Vallette, who was serving with it in Egypt, under the first Napoleon, “was remarkably free from any feelings of religion.” The Count tells a curious anecdote of a French officer who was with him on a boat which was nearly wrecked. The officer said the “Lord’s Prayer” from beginning to end. When the danger was over he was much ashamed, and apologized thus: “I am thirty-eight years old, and I have never uttered a prayer since I was six. I cannot understand how it came into my head just then, for I declare that at this moment it would be impossible for me to remember a word of it.”

“A certain spirit, recently deceased, was indignant at not being able to remember more of the things which he had knowledge of during his life in the body, sorrowing on account of the delight which he had lost, and with which he had formerly been particularly gratified; but he was informed, that in reality he had lost nothing, and that he then knew all and every thing which he had ever known, but that in another life it was not allowable for him to call forth such things to observation; and that he should be satisfied to reflect, that it was now in his power to think and speak much better and more perfectly, without immersing his rational principle, as before, in the gross, obscure, material, and corporeal things which were of no use in the kingdom to which he was now come; and that those things which were in the kingdom of the world, were left behind, and he had now whatever conduced to the use of eternal life, whereby he might be blessed and happy; thus that it was a proof of ignorance to believe, that in another life there is any loss of intelligence in consequence of not using the corporeal memory, when the real case is, that in proportion as the mind is capable of being withdrawn from things sensual and corporeal, in the same proportion it is elevated into things celestial and spiritual.”1

Speaking of the punishments of some of the evil spirits in hell, Swedenborg says:

“Wondering that they were so severely punished I perceived that it was because their crime was of so enormous a kind, arising from the necessity there is that man should sleep in safety, since otherwise the human race must necessarily perish. I was also made aware that the same thing occurs, although man is ignorant of the fact, in reference to others, whom these spirits endeavor by their artifices to assault during sleep; for unless it be given to converse with spirits, being with them by internal sense, it is impossible to hear, and much more to se, such things, notwithstanding they happen alike to all. The Lord is particularly watchful over man during sleep. Dominus quam maxime custodit hominem cum dormit.”2

“Some, by a peculiar mercy, are prepared for heaven by deep sleep and by dreams which infest them in sleep.”3

“Others have loved the world; but they are kept in a state of sleep until the delight of the world has been lulled.”4

“When corporal and voluntary things are quiescent the Lord operates.”5

“There is no separation of evil but through its quiescence, nor does it quiesce except from the Lord, and when it thus quiesces goods inflow from the Lord.”6

We find in the passages here cited:

First. A recognition of the existence in man of two mnemonical functions, each quite distinct from the other; one which takes note of all our thoughts and acts having an apparent bearing upon our external or phenomenal life in this world; the other, which not only takes note of these events, but which takes note also of the moral quality, of the ultimate end in which such thoughts or acts originated.

Secondly. That while some of the impressions whish are recorded in what Swedenborg calls the external memory are ultimately obliterated, all which are recorded in what he calls the internal memory remain, to the most minute particular and shade, from the earliest infancy, and are absolutely imperishable.

1 Arcana Coelestia, vol. i. 2469-2479
2 Arcana Coelestia, vol. i. 959.
3 Spiritual Diary, 427
4 Spiritual Diary, 4199.
5 Arcana Coelestia, 933.
6 Arcana Coelestia, 1581.

Thirdly. That as in the spiritual world there are no limitation of time, space, or sense, all communications is, not by the language of words, as in the phenomenal world, but by the ideas which phenomena express or represent, and as ideas are not subject to any of the limitations of time, space, or sense, the end or final purpose of our thoughts or acts are all that leave a permanent impression, just as the story or the thought is all that is left on the reader’s mind by the printed page, In the words of Swedenborg, “Actions have their quality from the thoughts, as thoughts have their quality from the ends purposed.”

Fourthly. That in proportion as man puts off “things corporeal,” as he is emancipated from his material, sensual, worldly thrall, he is awakened to a perception of the intelligence and wisdom stirred up in his interior memory.

There is nothing in our sacred writings, nor, I believe, in any man’s experience, which can be said to conflict with or render improbable either of these propositions. Be that as it may, from what we may fairly claim to know from our own experience and observation of the phenomena of sleep, and from what we are bound to infer from the teachings of the sacred writings of all sects and nations of most considerable acceptance throughout the world, and especially from the Christian’s Bible, it seems impossible to resist the conclusion that the final purposes of our creation and existence, of our esse and our existere, are not only as operative during our sleeping as during our waking hours, and that a work is being wrought in us, a process is going on in us, during those hours, which is not and cannot be wrought so effectually, if at all, at any other time; that we are spiritually growing, developing, ripening more continuously, while thus shielded from the distracting influences of the phenomenal world, than during the hours in which we are absorbed by them; that , in the language of the pagan philosopher, “the night-time of the body is the daytime of the soul.” Our phenomenal life has its specific lessons for us. Why should not our non-phenomenal life also have its specific lessons for us? Why should we doubt that it is in sleep that God “openeth the ears of men and sealeth their instructions, that he may withdraw man from his purpose and hide pride from man,” and “that he may keep back his soul from the pit”? Does not all that we know of sleep, and of its effects upon character, tend to confirm every line and every word of this definite and unconditional and authoritative statement of Job’s sympathizing friend?

If there is a single precept of our faith more frequently urged and insisted upon by the Christian Church than any other it is the necessity of “overcoming the world.” The devil is called the prince of this world. He boasted of the fact to Jesus. The “world” is a synonym for all sorts of sensual lusts and pleasures, and for all undue greed for wealth, dignities, and honors. To overcome the world, to rise superior to its temptations, so that they shall not corrupt our life or blind our judgment, is uniformly presented to us by the Christian Church, as it has been by the most enlightened pagan sects, as the supreme end and purpose of our life in the flesh. Is it not precisely the function of sleep to give us for a portion of every day in our lives a respite from worldly influences which, uninterrupted, would deprive us of the instruction of the spiritual reinforcements necessary to qualify us to turn our waking experience of the world to the best account without being overcome by them? It is in these hours that the plans and ambitions of our external, worldly life cease to interfere with or obstruct the flow of the divine life into the will. And in these hours may we not be, is it not more than probable that we are, in the society of those “ministering spirits” referred to by Paul “who are sent forth to do service for the sake of them that shall inherit salvation”?

The moral distinction between lower animals and man is curiously illustrated in the character of their sleep. A man ordinarily awakens slowly from a deep sleep; he does not for a time realize where he is; he seems to be more or less dazed and not entirely satisfied with the change which seems to him to have taken place. He is apt to act for a few moments as though he had been in a place or society which he was reluctant to leave. As Charles Lamb expressed it, he wishes to lie a little longer to digest his dreams.

A sleeping dog, however, will hear a noise which his master, though by his side, awake, will not hear, and in an instant is in as full possession of all his faculties as if he had not been sleeping. He betrays no evidence of having reluctantly parted with pleasant company or pleasant occupations. And why should he? He has no affections for his kind when awake for which he would sacrifice a bone, though he did not wish it himself.

Is not this precisely what we should expect from the psychical difference of the dog from the man? And does it not warrant the conclusion that when a man is sleeping his condition and associations are as different from a dog’s as they are while awake?

About the Author

John Bigelow, LL.D.