What Have We Forgotten?
The History of Thought as a History of Remembering
Philosophy since Plato has been predicated on the notion of anamnesis, an experience of recuperating that knowledge which once was known but now has been lost. Of course, not all philosophers see it this way. Locke rejects Plato by positioning learning as a constructive endeavor rather than a posture of return. Still, the concept of philosophy as remembering remains potent even into the modern and postmodern age.
You could argue that Derrida, the consummate anti-Platonist, remains within Plato’s horizon insofar as he thinks all statements leave a trace that keeps them from reaching full definition and comprehension. Like the Maimonidean God, the Derridean sentence eludes all that can be said and known, which thus ensures that we never fall into the idolatrous trap of reaching a firm conclusion. The difference between Plato and Derrida is that in Plato the anamnesis can be a moment of fullness, while in Derrida it remains only partial—the more we remember, the more we fowdisplace.
Heidegger notes the connection between Denken, thinking, and Andenken, contemplation, memorialization, and thinking about. What do we think when we meditate? Perhaps just thinking itself. In mindfulness meditation the practice of “Noticing” is not special and yet it is—it’s the anamnesis of the fact that we are always aware, though not always aware of our awareness.
For all the structural similarities among different philosophies and religions on the point that knowledge is recollection (a Jewish term for deep learning is chazara, literally meaning returning, but colloquially used to mean “review”), it matters what we have forgotten.
A core point of some modern thinkers is that philosophy itself can’t help us do the right kind of remembering. For example, in Heidegger, the question of being can only be recovered if we stop engaging in what he calls metaphysical thinking. For Girard, meanwhile, Heidegger remains a “pagan” in his belief that thinking alone can help us (what we really need is the specific religious revelation that Jesus’s sacrifice makes known). In Freud, philosophers are prone to unconscious forces that are invisible to their own analysis—only psychotherapy can unmask these drives.
Thus, while everyone agrees that we’ve forgotten something, nobody agrees on what we’ve forgotten or how we should remember.
Another point of difficulty: how do I know when or that I’ve properly remembered what I’ve forgotten? And how do I persuade or demonstrate to others that what they take as obvious is insufficient unless it considers something that they have yet to know? Why should they believe me?
A final problem with remembering—and with grand theories in general—does it not paint with too broad a brush? For example, if you see the Oedipal complex in everything you miss out on the specificity, same with the Girardian theory of sacrifice or the Heideggerian narrative of the oblivion of Being or the Augustinian story of fallenness? If the theory is all you need, why do you need the specific stories? Why many books of Torah rather than one? Why many Gospels and not one Gospel? Why lots of Shakespeare plays and not just Hamlet? One answer is that we constantly forget and constantly need to be reminded—the variety of works comes to serve our poor memories. Each act of uncovering what we already know comes with a difference, and those differences add up not to one masterpiece, but to a body of fragments, each of which is a partially successful attempt at “remembrance of things past.”