Three Emotional Stories: Reflections on Memory, the Imagination
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Neuropsychoanalysis, 2011, 13 (2) 187 Three Emotional Stories: Reflections on Memory, the Imagination, Narrative, and the Self Siri Hustvedt (New York) In this essay, I propose that memory and the imagination partake of the same mental processes: that they are driven by emotion and often take narrative form. Through reflective self-consciousness, human beings are not bound to the phenomenal present. They can recall themselves in the past, imagine themselves in the future, and inhabit fictive realms. Borrowing William James’s distinction be- tween narrative thought and reasoning, as well as the difference between first- and third-person perspectives, I describe the varying approaches of fiction, psychoanalysis, and neuroscience to remembering and imagining. Conscious episodic memories are consoli- dated by emotion, but they are also reconsolidated—subject to Freud’s “deferred action”—to fictionalizing over time. Story organizes the affective material of memory into a temporal, linguistic schema that is necessarily dialogical: “I” implies “you.” As articulated representation, narrative recollection inevitably distances and cools past emotion. This is not true of involuntary and traumatic memories that are sensorimotor, affective replays of an event, are not codified in language, and cannot be located in a subjective time or space. Research into self- versus other-“processing” in the brain has largely failed to understand that at an explicit, represen- tational level, there is no difference between memories and fantasies about self and other. Culling insights from Freud and research in neuroscience and phenomenology, I argue that a core bodily, affective, timeless self is the ground of the narrative, temporal self, of autobiographical memory, and of fiction and that the secret to creativity lies not in the so-called higher cognitive processes, but in dreamlike reconfigurations of emotional meanings that take place unconsciously. Keywords: emotion; imagination; memory; narrative; self; time In a 1995 essay on memory, “Yonder,” I wrote the and intellect. Augustine connected imagination to both following sentence: “Writing fiction is like remember- emotion and will. The will directs internal vision to- ing what never happened” (p. 41). It seemed to me ward memories, but it also transforms and recombines fifteen years ago, and still seems to me today, that the them to create something new (Brann, 1991). “My mental activity we call memory and what we call the memory,” Augustine writes in Confessions, “also con- imagination partake of the same mental processes. tains my feelings, not in the same way as they are pres- They are both bound up with emotion and, when they ent to the mind when it experiences them, but in a quite are conscious, often take the form of stories. Emotion, different way that is in keeping with the special powers memory, imagination, story—these are all vital to our of the memory.” The emotions, Augustine tells us, are subjective mental landscapes, central to literature and all there—desire, joy, fear and sorrow—and they can psychoanalysis, and, much more recently, hot topics in all be called to mind, but: the neurosciences. Ever since Plato banned poets from his Republic, If we had to experience sorrow or fear every time that we mentioned these emotions, no one would be will- philosophers have debated the role of imagination and ing to speak of them. Yet we could not speak of them its link to memory. Traditionally, imagination referred at all unless we could find in our memory not only the to the mental pictures we conjure in our minds, as op- sounds of their names, which we retain as images im- posed to direct perception. For thinkers as diverse as printed on the memory by the senses of the body, but Aristotle, Descartes, Kant, and Hegel, the imagination also the idea of the emotions themselves. [Augustine, occupied a middle zone between the bodily senses 1988, pp. 220–221] Siri Hustvedt is an acclaimed American novelist and essayist. Correspondence to: Siri Hustvedt, 544 2nd Street, Brooklyn, New York, NY 11215, U.S.A. ([email protected]). © 2011 The International Neuropsychoanalysis Society • http://www.neuropsa.org 188 Siri Hustvedt Surely, Augustine’s thoughts remain cogent: remem- entist inevitably regard memory and imagination from bering is not the same as perceiving. We remember different perspectives. For the novelist, the story does what we have perceived, although we need ideas or all the work. When I am writing fiction, I am concerned concepts and names—language—to recognize and or- with what feels right and feels wrong. I see images ganize the material we have brought to mind. The in my mind as I work, just as I do when I remember. seventeenth-century Italian philosopher and historian Often I use landscapes, rooms, and streets that actually Giambattista Vico regarded memory and imagination exist as backdrops for the actions of my fictional char- as part of the same faculty, rooted in sense perceptions. acters. I am directed by the story, by the creation of a The imagination, he wrote, is “expanded or compound- narrative that resonates for me as emotionally, rather ed memory,” and memory, sensation, and imagination than literally, true. The novel develops an internal logic are skills of the body: “It is true,” he insisted, “that of its own, guided by my feelings. these faculties appertain to the mind, but they have For the analyst, a patient’s personal memories are their roots in the body and draw their strength from it” crucial, but so are fantasies and dreams. They exist (quoted in Luft, 2003, p. 143). within the dialogical atmosphere of the analytic room Vico’s comment is startlingly like the phenome- and the abstract conceptual framework the psychoana- nology of the twentieth-century French philosopher lyst brings to his work. When listening to a patient’s Maurice Merleau-Ponty [1908–1961], who understood memory, a psychoanalyst would keep in mind Freud’s imagination as an embodied reality, dependent on sen- idea of Nachträglichkeit—what James Strachey trans- sory perceptions, but which nevertheless allows us lated as “deferred action.” The adult patient may have entrance into possible, even fictive spaces, l’espace memories from when he was 5 years old, but those potentielle, “potential space” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962). memories have been reconfigured over time. The ana- D. W. Winnicott (1971) used the same term in relation lyst would be alert to repetitive themes and defenses to his thoughts on play and culture. Unlike other ani- in his patient’s speech, but also voice cadences, hesita- mals, human beings are able to inhabit fictional worlds, tions, and, if his patient is looking at him, the motions to turn away from the phenomenal present and imagine and gestures of a body. What is created between ana- ourselves elsewhere. Rats, even sea snails, remember, lyst and patient is not necessarily a story that represents but they don’t actively recollect themselves as char- historical fact, but one that reconstructs a past into a acters in the past or hurl themselves into imaginary narrative that makes sense of troubling emotions and futures. neuroses. For patient and doctor, as for the novelist, How do we conceive the imagination now? From the narrative must also be felt; it must resonate bodily Galen in the second century, to Descartes and his pine- as emotionally true. al gland where he located phantasie or the imagination The neuroscientist is trained to conceive of sub- in the seventeenth, to phrenology in the nineteenth, and jective memory and creative acts through objective Freud’s abandoned “Project” (1950 [1895]) near the categories, which she or he hopes will unveil the dawn of the twentieth, thinkers have sought the ana- neurobiological realities of a self that both remembers tomical sites of mental functions. We have not solved and imagines. Following Endel Tulving and others, the the mystery of the mind’s eye, or what is now framed neuroscientist will probably divide memory into three as a brain/mind problem. Terms such as neural repre- categories: (1) episodic memories (conscious personal sentations, correlates, and substrates for psychological recollections that can be localized to a specific place phenomena do not close the explanatory gap—they re- and time); (2) semantic memories (impersonal recall of veal it. There is a vast literature on this, and the debates information—cats have fur, Kierkegaard wrote under are ferocious. A solution does not seem immanent. pseudonyms), and (3) procedural memories (uncon- Suffice it to say that our inner subjective experience scious learned abilities, such as riding a bike, reaching of mental images, thoughts, memories, and fantasies for a glass, typing) (Roediger & Craik, 1989; Tulv- bears no resemblance to the objective realities of brain ing,1984, 1993). As a memory researcher, the neuro- regions, synaptic connections, neurochemicals, and scientist would be aware of Joseph LeDoux’s work on hormones, however closely they are connected. the enduring synaptic connections formed by emotion I am not going to solve the psyche/soma problem in memory—fear in particular—and she or her would here, but I can put some pressure on that old sentence know that memories are not only consolidated in our of mine: Writing fiction is like remembering what never brains, they are reconsolidated (Debiec & LeDoux, happened, or, to rephrase it, How are remembering and 2009; LeDoux, 2002; Nadar, Schafe, & LeDoux, 2000). imagining the same, and how are they different? Although it is unlikely that our neuroscientist has read The novelist, the psychoanalyst, and the neurosci- Freud carefully, she or he would unwittingly agree Three Emotional Stories 189 with him that there is no original “true” memory: auto- the linguist Emile Benveniste (1971) refers to as a biographical memories are subject to change. Finally, pronominal axis of discourse. The “I” implies a “you,” theoretically, at least, our neuroscientist’s subjective even if that “I” is just listening to one’s inner self.