溫故知新 Old wisdom, today’s insight — ONGO
Where in Memory Do I Meet Myself?
Without the vast palace of memory, could I still be myself?
Great is this force of memory, exceedingly great… and this is the mind, and this I myself am.
Augustine called memory a "vast palace," a "spreading field." Walking within it, past scenes, learned knowledge, and felt emotions each live on in their own rooms. He marvels: I cannot even fathom all this memory, yet this very memory is myself. He saw early that the self is built upon memory. The question carried head-on into the modern age. Locke fixed personal identity not in the body but in the continuity of memory; Hume said even that memory is only a scattering bundle of perceptions. From the other side, Reid objected that though I cannot recall all of childhood, I remain one — memory alone cannot explain the self.
If you have watched someone lose their memory, the question of whether memory makes the self is never someone else's.
📝I, Too, Stand Before It
I meet this question when a single line of an old song suddenly warms my eyes. A day I thought forgotten returns whole, carried on that sound. As Augustine said, my palace of memory holds a breadth even I cannot fully know. But if that palace collapsed, would I still be myself? Anyone who has watched beside someone losing their memory knows how painful this question is. Not knowing the answer, today I only choose carefully what to let into my palace.
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