Eternal Sunshine: Memory & Identity

"Eloisa to Abelard," by Alexander Pope (1717, excerpts)

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

...

Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain—do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself—and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

...

No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;

Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!

...

"But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."

...

And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.

Zakhor, by Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1982)

At the very heart of this book lies an attempt to understand what seemed a paradox to me at one time – that although Judaism throughout the ages was absorbed with the meaning of history, historiography itself played at best an ancillary role among the Jews, and often no role at all; and, concomitantly, that while memory of the past was always a central component of Jewish experience, the historian was not its primary custodian.

These significant dualities have often been obscured by rhetorical flourishes and a certain semantic confusion. The Jews, after all, have the reputation of being at once the most historically oriented of peoples and as possessing the longest and most tenacious of memories. Yet such accolades can be profoundly true or completely false, depending upon what one means by "history" or "memory." If they are not to be completely meaningless, we should at least want to know what kind of history the Jews have valued, what, out of their past, they chose to remember, and how they preserved, transmitted, and revitalized that which was recalled. (xxxiii)

...

It may help to point out...that in repeatedly employing such terms as "collective memory" or "group memory" I do not have in mind some vaguely genetic endowment, not an innate psychic structure analogous to the Jungian archetypes. Contrary to a theory widely held as late as the seventeenth century, a child left in the forest to its own linguistic devices would not speak Hebrew spontaneously, not even if it were a Jewish enfant sauvage, and neither would it "remember" that Abraham journeyed from Ur to Canaan. Only the group can bequeath both language and a transpersonal memory. It was the abiding merit of Maurice Halbwachs...to have insisted to psychologists and philosophers alike that even individual memory is structured through the conscious efforts and institutions of the group. (xxxiv)

The Value of Generational Storytelling

Researchers have begun to establish a causal link between storytelling and thriving. In 2001, psychologists compared children's psychological health with their knowledge of their own family history. They measured this knowledge on a "Do You Know?" scale using questions like:

• Do you know where your grandparents met? Your parents?
• Do you know of an illness or something really terrible that happened in your family?
• Do you know what went on when you were being born?

The results surprised even the researchers. They found: "The more children knew about their family's history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem, and the more successfully they believed their families functioned. The 'Do You Know?' scale turned out to be the best single predictor of children's emotional health and happiness." Two months after this study was conducted, the September 11 attacks occurred. The psychologists went back and studied how the same group of children responded to that trauma. The results were the same: "The ones who knew more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning they could moderate the effects of stress."

To explain the connection between story and resilience, the psychologists coined the term "intergenerational self." It's a sense that you're part of something bigger, that your life is an episode in a larger narrative. Marshall Duke, one of the study's authors and a professor at Emory University, who also happens to be Jewish, compared this idea to a bubbemeise, Yiddish for "grandmother's tale." In his family, Duke recounts, the grandmother will say, " 'You're having trouble with math, kid? Let me tell you, your father had trouble with math. You don't want to practice piano? Boy, your aunt Laura didn't want to practice piano, either.' Whatever problem the child has, the grandmother has a story for it—even if it's made up!"

More than just entertain and amuse, these cross-generational stories serve a higher purpose. Family stories let children know that they're not alone, and that those who came before them celebrated triumphs and overcame struggles, just as they do. The researchers define three types of family narratives. The ascending narrative says, we came from nothing and now we've succeeded. The descending narrative says, we used to have it all and now we have nothing. Finally, "the most healthful narrative . . . called the oscillating family narrative,"5 says we've had ups and downs, and we've persevered, as a family. This third narrative is, indeed, the story of the Jewish people. When we sit around the Passover seder table each year, we invite the next generation into the Jewish family story. As the Mishnah (P'sachim 10:5) teaches, "In each generation the individual is obligated to see himself as though he [himself] left Egypt, as it is written: 'And you shall explain to your child on that day, 'It is because of what the Eternal did for me when I went free from Egypt' (Exodus 13:8)."

(Rabbi David Segal, Ten Minutes of Torah, URJ, http://www.reformjudaism.org/learning/torah-study/vayigash/our-stories-ourselves)