The nature of memory

About memory and remembering we must say what it is, and owing to what cause it comes about, and in which of the parts of the soul this affection occurs; and we must do the same about recollecting.

For those who are good at remembering are not the same as those who are good at recollecting; rather, as frequently happens, those who are slow to learn are more able to remember, while those who are quick and learn easily are able to recollect.

Since the question “What sort of things are memorable?” is frequently misleading, this is the first point to be taken up.

For the future is not remembered, but it can be thought about and expected. Moreover, there will also be a science of expectation,¹ which some call divination.

Nor is memory of the present, but sense is. For by sense we know neither the future nor what’s been done, but only the present.

But memory is of what has been: now no one will say that the present is being remembered while it is at hand, e.g., this white object while someone is seeing it, no one will say he is remembering it;

nor will he say that he is remembering what is being considered while he is considering or understanding it; but they generally call the first act sense and only the second knowing.

But since one may have knowledge and sense without the <corresponding> acts,¹ one may remember that a triangle has three angles equal to two right angles in this way: this occurs in the one case since he has learned or speculated upon it, and in the other since he has heard or seen it or some other such thing. For when one acts according to memory, one always speaks thus in one’s soul—that one has heard or felt or understood it before.

Therefore there is a thing called memory, and it is neither sense nor opinion, but with any of these there is a habit or an affection once time has passed. But of the now itself there is no memory in the now itself, as has been said. Rather sense is of the present; expectation, of the future; and memory, of the past. For this reason, only those animals that sense time remember, and they do so by the very thing by which they sense it.

298. As the Philosopher says in the seventh book on the Histories of Animals,¹ nature proceeds from inanimate to animate things little by little, so that the genus of inanimate things comes before the genus of plants. For plants, when compared to other bodies, seem to be animate, even though when they are compared to the genus of animals they seem to be inanimate. In the same way, nature proceeds from plants to animals in a continuous order; for certain immobile animals—those that adhere to the earth—seem to differ little from plants. So, too, in the order of progression from animals to man, some animals are found in which something like reason appears. For although prudence—“the right reason of things one can do,” as it is called in the sixth book of the Ethics²—is a virtue proper to man, some animals are found to participate in a sort of prudence.³ This is so not because they can reason, but because they are moved to act by a natural instinct.⁴ Such acts result from an apprehension by the sensitive part⁵ of the soul, as if they were done from reason.

The role of prudence is to direct the prudent man to do what ought to be done by considering not only the present but also the past. This is why Cicero¹ sets down as the parts of prudence not only foresight, through which future things are attended to, but also understanding, through which present things are considered, and memory, through which past things are apprehended. Accordingly, even other animals that seem to have something like prudence must have not only a sense awareness of present things but also a memory of past things. Therefore, at the beginning of the Metaphysics² the Philosopher says that in the case of certain animals memory comes from sensation, and for this reason they are prudent.

299. Just as these animals have an imperfect sort of prudence compared to that of man, so is their memory likewise imperfect. For other animals only remember, while men both remember and recollect.¹ Now Aristotle proceeds step by step, and, after the book in which he treats sensation,² which is common to all the animals, he now treats of memory and recollection, the latter of which is found only in men, and the former both in men and in the perfect animals.³

300. Accordingly, this book is divided into two parts.

In the first place Aristotle gives his prologue, in which he presents what he sets out to do;

in the second, he begins to treat the things he has in mind, where he says since the question (449b9; [303]).

As to the first point, he says that there are two things to be discussed.

The first is concerned with memory and its activity, remembering. About this he promises to discuss three points, namely what memory or remembering is, what its cause is, and to which part of the soul the affection of remembering belongs. For all the operations of the sensitive part of the soul are affections,¹ inasmuch as sensing is somehow to be affected.²

301. In the second place, he promises to discuss recollecting. Now lest recollecting and remembering appear to be identical, he indicates their difference: they are each found in different sorts of men. For we do not find that the same men have good memories and good powers of recollection. Rather, as frequently happens, those who are slow at discovering and learning have better memories; whereas those who are quick-witted at discovering things on their own and in learning things from others are better at recollecting.

302. The reason for this is that the diversity of man’s capacity to perform various acts of the soul arises from the diverse dispositions of the body. We see that those bodily things that receive an impression slowly and with difficulty, such as stone, retain the impression well; while those, such as water, that take an impression easily, do not retain it well.¹ Since remembering is merely keeping in good condition the things that have once been received, it follows that those who are slow to receive an impression retain it well once they have accepted it, and this is to remember it well; whereas those who accept something with ease often lose it just as easily. Recollecting, on the other hand, is a sort of rediscovery of things that were previously accepted but no longer preserved, and so those that are quick to discover things and to receive instruction are also good at recollecting.

303. Then, when he says since the question (449b9), he pursues what he set out to do.

First, he treats of remembering;

second of recollecting, at it remains, however, for us to talk about recollecting (451a18; [350]).

In regard to the first topic, he does three things.

In the first place, he shows what remembering is;

second, he shows to what part of the soul it belongs, at we have spoken however, about imagination (ch. 2, 449b30; [311]);

third, he shows the cause of memory, at one might perhaps wonder (ch. 3, 450a25; [327]).

Since operations, habits, and powers are specified by their objects,¹ he does two things concerning the first topic.

First, he asks what the object of memory is;

second, he concludes with a definition of memory, at therefore there is a thing called memory (449b24; [309]).

As to the first, he does two things.

First, he tells us what he wishes to discuss;

second, he explains what he has set out to do, at for the future is not (449b10; [304]).

As to the first of these points, he says that to explain memory one must, to begin with, grasp what sort of things are remembered, because objects are prior to acts, and acts prior to powers, as has been observed in the second book of On the Soul.¹ It is necessary to settle this matter since it is frequently deceiving: some think that there is memory of things about which actually there is not.²

304. Then when he says for the future is not (449b10), he explains what he has set out to do.

First, he says that memory is not of future things;

second, he says it is not of the present, at nor is memory of the present (449b13; [306]);

third, he says it is of the past, at but memory is of what has been (449b15; [307]).

Accordingly, in the first place, he says that future things are not remembered, but of them there is opinion. Such things belong to the cognoscitive power of opinion, as when one thinks¹ that something is going to happen, or to the appetitive power of hope or expectation,² as when expectation extends to something in the future.

He says that there can also be a sort of science of future things, something that can be called a science of expectation.¹ Some call this divination, because through it certain persons can know what is going to happen in the future; for expectation is concerned with the future.

But since expectation is of future things that can be acquired by man, and since such things are future contingents, about which there cannot be any science,¹ it seems that there can be no science of expectation about future things.

305. So we must say that there cannot be a science of future contingents considered in themselves. When they are considered in their causes, however, there can be a science about future contingents inasmuch as some sciences know that there may be inclinations to such-and-such effects. In this sense, there is a natural science dealing with things subject to generation and corruption. This is how astronomers are able, through their science, to foretell certain future events, like fertility or sterility,¹ because of the disposition of the heavenly bodies toward such effects.

306. Then, when he says nor is memory of the present (449b13), he shows that memory is not concerned with the present, for that, he says, pertains to sensing, through which we apprehend neither the future nor what’s been done, i.e., a past thing, but only what is present right now.

307. Then, when he says but memory is (449b15), he shows that memory is concerned with past things. He proves this claim from the common way of speaking.

For while something is actually at hand, e.g., while someone is actually seeing something white, no one would say that he is remembering the white thing; similarly, too, no one would say that he is remembering that which is actually being considered by the intellect, while he is actually considering and understanding it; but when people are seeing something white they commonly call it sensing; and they use this “considering” something actually only when they are knowing it right now.

While one has habitual knowledge¹ or a sensitive power without their acts or operations, one is said to remember past acts. For example, when one has considered with one’s intellect that a triangle has three angles equal to two right angles and perhaps at the level of sense has seen a diagram of the figure, then, in the one case from the standpoint of the intellectual operation one also remembers either that he learned something from another or that he thought it up for himself; while in the other from the standpoint of sense-apprehension one remembers that he has heard or seen or perceived something by one of the other senses. For whenever the soul remembers, it always judges that it heard or felt or understood something before.

308. From this it is obvious that it is not the Philosopher’s intention to say that there can be no memory of those things that exist in the present but only of those that existed in the past. For one can remember not only men who have died but also those who are living now, just as one is said to recollect oneself, according to the dictum of Vergil: neither was Ulysses unmindful of such things nor in such a pass did the Ithacan forget himself.¹

By this he meant it to be understood that Ulysses remembered himself. So the Philosopher’s intention is to say that memory is of things that are in the past as far as our apprehension of them goes, i.e., that we have sensed or known certain things before, regardless of whether or not those things, considered in themselves, exist in the present.

309. Then, when he says therefore there is (449b24), he draws a conclusion from the premises on the nature of memory. It is neither sense, because this is only of things present, nor is it opinion, which can also deal with things future. But it must pertain to something belonging to both of these—either as a habit, if there is a permanent power,¹ or as an affection, if there is a transient impression. Memory pertains to sense or opinion in this way when some time shall have intervened between the prior apprehension of the sense or of the intellectual opinion and the subsequent memory,² in such a way that there can be a memory of a past apprehension, since right now there is no memory of what is being apprehended right now, as has been said (449b13). But sense-apprehension is of the present, expectation of the future, and memory of the past. Therefore every memory must exist with some time intervening between it and the prior apprehension.

310. From this he concludes that only those animals that can sense time remember, and they remember by means of that very part of the soul by which they also sense time. About this he inquires in the sequel.¹

Memory as part of the soul

We have spoken, however, about imagination in the books on the soul, and said that understanding does not exist without an image.

For the same affection occurs in the case of the intellect as in the case of drawing: though using a triangle without determinate quantity we will still draw it quantitatively finite; and likewise even if one who understands something does not understand how big it is, nevertheless something of some size is put before his eyes, even though he understands it not according to how big it is.

Even if nature contained things of infinite size, nevertheless something of determinate size is put before him and he understands it only as being of some size or other.

Hence the reason why it is not possible to understand anything without a continuum nor to understand beings without the notion of time is another argument.

It is necessary, however, to know magnitude and motion, whereby time, too, is known. And the image is an affection of the common sense. Hence clearly knowledge of these belongs to the prime sensitive power. Memory, however, and that which is of the intelligibles, does not exist without an image. Hence it will belong to the intellective part of the soul only by accident, but to the first sensitive by itself.

Hence it also exists in certain other animals and not just in man and in those that partake of opinion and prudence. If, however, it were any of the intellective parts of the soul, it would not exist in many of the animals other than man, perhaps indeed in none of those that are mortal.

As it stands, it does not belong to all, because not all have the sense of time. For, as we have said before, whenever memory acts, it at the same time always senses that it has seen or heard or learned this thing before. The before and the after, however, are in time.

Hence it is clear to which part of the soul memory belongs, because in fact it is the same as that to which imagination belongs,

and there are some things that are memorable by themselves, namely, those of which there is imagination; and others are memorable by accident, namely, whatever do not exist without imagination.

311. We have spoken, however, about imagination (449b30). After the Philosopher shows what memory is, he goes on to show to what part of the soul it belongs. He does two things in this regard.

First, he presents what is needed for explaining what he has set out to do.

Second, he explains the thing he set out to do, where he says it is necessary, however, to know (450a9; [318]).

Concerning the first of these topics he does three things.

First, he sets out his intention.

Second, by using an example, he explains what he has said, where he says for the same affection occurs (450a1; [312]).

Third, he points out a related matter that must be considered elsewhere, where he says hence the reason why (450a7; [314]).

Accordingly, he first brings up what was said in On the Soul¹ about what the imagination is, namely that it is a motion brought about by an activated sense power. It was also said in the same book² that it is not possible for a man to understand anything without an image.³

312. Then, when he says for the same affection occurs (450a1), he explains what he has just stated.

For it might seem unreasonable to someone for a man to be unable to understand anything without an image, since an image is a likeness of a bodily thing, whereas understanding is of universals, which are abstracted from particulars. To explain this difficulty he introduces an example, saying that what occurs in the case of the intellect with reference to its needing an image is like what occurs in the drawings of geometrical figures. In the latter a triangle of some determinate quantity is indeed drawn even though in its demonstration geometry does not use any determinate quantity of triangle. Likewise, too, in the case of a man who wants to understand some things, namely, an image of a definite quantity, i.e., of a singular, is set before his eyes; for example, an image of a man two cubits tall might come to mind when one wants to understand man, but the intellect understands man inasmuch as he is man, not inasmuch as he has this quantity.

313. But since the intellect can understand the nature of quantity, he adds that if the things to be understood are, in their own nature, quantities, e.g., line, surface, or number, but are not finite (i.e., determined as singulars), an image of a definite size is nevertheless set before one’s eyes. In this way, an image of a line two feet long comes to mind in one who wants to understand line, but the intellect understands it only in its nature as a quantity and not its being two feet long.

314. Then, when he says hence the reason why (450a7), he shows what will be set aside for another consideration. He says that it is the task of another discussion to identify the cause of a man’s being unable to understand anything apart from the continuum and time.

This happens in fact insofar as man can understand nothing without an image; for an image is necessarily accompanied by the continuum and time, because an image is a likeness of a singular thing existing here and now. The reason why man cannot understand without an image can easily be identified in the case of his first acquisition of intelligible species, which, according to Aristotle’s teaching in the third book of On the Soul,¹ are abstracted from images. But it is clear from experience that he who has already acquired intelligible knowledge through an intellectually understood species also cannot actually consider that of which he has his knowledge, unless some image comes to mind. This is why a man with a damaged organ of imagination is kept not only from knowing things for the first time, but also from considering the things he knew before, as is clear in the case of the insane.²

315. Now at this point someone¹ might wish to say that the intelligible species do not remain in the human possible intellect except while a man is actually understanding something; but after one ceases² actually to understand, they vanish and the intelligible species cease³ to be in the intellect, just as light ceases to be in the air in the absence of any illuminating body,⁴ and hence if the intellect wishes to renew its understanding, it must turn again toward the images in order to acquire the intelligible species.

316. But this expressly contradicts the words of Aristotle in the third book of On the Soul,¹ where he says that when the possible intellect becomes each of the intelligible things (which is accomplished through their species) at that point it is able to understand them in act. This position is also repugnant to reason, because the intelligible species are received in the possible intellect unchangeably, as is characteristic of an intellectual principle.

Now the way in which the possible intellect possesses the intelligible species, even when it is not actually understanding anything, is not the same as that in which the sensible species are possessed in the sensitive powers: in them, owing to the composition of the bodily organ, it is one thing to receive an impression, which makes for actual sensing, and another to retain it even when the things are not actually being sensed, as Avicenna objects.¹

The possession of the intelligible species comes about rather because of the diverse levels of being of the intelligible forms: either according to pure potency, e.g., in discovering or learning; or according to pure act, as when one is actually understanding something; or else in a manner intermediate between potency and act, as in a habit.¹

Hence the human possible intellect needs an image not only to acquire intelligible species but it also in a way looks at them within the images. This is also what is said in the third book of On the Soul: the intellective power therefore understands the species in the images.¹

317. The reason for this is that activity is proportionate to power and essence. But the intellective power of man does exist in the sensitive part of the soul, as is said in the second book of On the Soul.¹ Hence its proper operation is to understand intelligible things in images, just as the activity of the intellect of a separate substance is to understand things known in themselves.

This is why the cause of this must be assigned by the metaphysician, to whom the task of considering the various levels of the intelligences belongs.

318. Then, when he says it is necessary, however (450a9), he shows to what part of the soul the memory belongs.

He does so first by an argument;

second through signs, where he says hence it also exists (450a15; [323]).

Third, he draws the intended conclusion, where he says hence it is clear (450a22; [326]).

Accordingly, he says first that it is necessary that magnitude and the motion by which time too is known should be known by the same part of the soul. For these three follow each other both in division and in being finite and infinite, as is proven in the sixth book of the Physics.¹

319. Now magnitude is known by the sense power, since it is one of the common sensibles;¹ and likewise motion, too, especially local motion, is known inasmuch as the distance of a magnitude² is known; and time is known inasmuch as a before and an after in motion is known.³ Hence these three can be perceived by the sense power. Now there are two ways in which something is perceived by the sense power. In one way, it can be perceived through the very changing of the sense power effected by the sensible object; both the proper and also the common sensibles are known in this way both by their proper senses as well as by the common sense. In the other way, something is known by a sort of secondary motion that is left over from the first change of the sense power by the sensible object; this movement sometimes remains even after the disappearance of the sensible objects and pertains to the imagination, as is held in On the Soul.⁴ Moreover, the image that appears through such a secondary change is an affection of the common sense: for it is consequent upon the whole change of the sense power. Such a change begins with the proper senses and ends at the common sense. Hence clearly these three, viz. magnitude, motion, and time, are known through the common sense, since they are grasped in an image.

320. Memory, however—not only the memory of sensibles, as when one remembers that he has sensed something, but also of intelligibles, as when one remembers that he has understood something—does not exist without an image: for after the sensibles are gone, they are not perceived by the sense power unless they exist in an image. There is also no act of understanding without an image, as was held above.¹ Hence he concludes that memory belongs to the intellective part of the soul by accident, but by itself it belongs to the first sensitive, i.e., the common sense. For it was said above (450a4–6) that a certain determinate size is put before the intellect although the intellect by itself considers the thing absolutely; but it does pertain to the memory to apprehend time with respect to a certain determinateness, namely a distance in the past from this present moment. Hence memory by itself pertains to the preparation of an image, but by accident it pertains to the judgment of the intellect.

321. From what is being said here one might think that imagination and memory are not powers distinct from the common sense but are affections of it.

But Avicenna shows, using the method of reason,¹ that they are different powers.² For since the sensitive powers are acts of bodily organs, the reception of sensible forms, which belongs to the sense power, and the conservation of those forms, which belongs to the imagination, must pertain to diverse powers, just as in the case of bodily things we see that reception and conservation belong to distinct principles: for wet things are good receivers, while dry and hard things are good conservers.³ Likewise, too, it pertains to a distinct principle to receive a form and to conserve the form received through a sense as well as some meaning⁴ not apprehended through a sense. This meaning or interest is something that the estimative power, even in animals other than man, perceives, but the memorative power retains it; it does not belong to the memorative power to remember a thing absolutely but rather to do so inasmuch as the thing has been apprehended in the past by the intellect.⁵

322. Nevertheless one of the diverse powers of the soul may be, as it were, the root and origin of the other powers, the activities of which presuppose the activity of this potency; thus, the nutritive power is, as it were, the root of the powers of growth and generation, both of which require nourishment. Similarly, the common sense is the root of the imagination and the memory, both of which depend upon the activity of the common sense.

323. Then, by means of two signs, when he says hence it also exists in certain other animals (450a15), he explains what he had said.

The first of these signs is taken with regard to the animals that have memory. He says that since memory by itself belongs to the first sensitive part of the soul, it exists in certain other animals that have sense and lack intellect, and not only in man but also in any other animals that partake of “opinion,” which can also belong to the speculative intellect, and “prudence,” which pertains to the practical intellect.¹ Now if memory were one of the intellective powers, it would not exist in many of the animals other than man that obviously do have a memory but do not have an intellect, and perhaps memory would not exist in any of the mortals except man, since man alone among the mortals has an intellect.

324. Now he says perhaps for the benefit of those who might have been in doubt whether any animals other than man have an intellect. Such a doubt might have arisen owing to certain activities similar to those of reason, such as some of the activities of apes and certain other such animals.¹

325. He offers the second sign where he says as it stands, it does not belong to all (450a18). This second sign is drawn from the animals that do not have memory.

He says that it is clear that memory belongs by itself to the sensitive part of the soul, because even as the case stands, while we suppose that man alone among the animals has an intellect, memory is not found in all animals, but only those that sense time have memory. For there are some animals that perceive nothing except in the presence of sensible things; e.g., certain immobile animals, which have an undetermined imagination, as is said in the third book of On the Soul,¹ and hence cannot recognize the before and the after, and consequently cannot recognize time either. This is why they do not have memory. For when the soul acts through the memory, as was said before, the soul always at the same time senses that it saw or heard or learned this before; and the before and the after pertain to time.

326. Then, when he says hence it is clear to which part of the soul (450a22), he concludes with what he had set out to do.

He is saying that from what has been said it is clear to which part of the soul memory pertains, since it is the same as the one to which imagination pertains. It is also clear that those things are memorable in themselves of which there is imagination, namely sensible things; intelligibles, however, which are not apprehended by man without the imagination, are memorable by accident.

This is also why we are less able to remember things that have subtle and spiritual aspect, while those that are gross and sensible are able to be remembered. We must tie down intelligible natures with certain other images, as it were, as Cicero teaches in the Rhetoric.¹

Nevertheless some put memory in the intellective part of the soul, inasmuch as by memory they understand all the habitual conserving of the objects that pertain to the intellective part of the soul.¹

The cause of remembering

One might perhaps wonder why it is that when the affection is present and the thing is absent, what is not present is remembered.

For it is clear that one must understand some such to have been made by the senses within the soul and in the part of the body having it as a sort of picture, the having of which we say is memory; for the motion that has been made impresses, as it were, a figure of the sensible thing, like those who impress seals with their signet rings.

Hence, too, for those who are in great motion because of an affection or because of age, memory does not come into being, as motion and a signet-seal falling into flowing water. For others it does not come into being owing to their being cold, like the old parts of buildings, and the impression does not take because of the hardness of the recipient of the affection.

For this reason, the extremely young and the extremely old are deficient in memory; for the young are in flux owing to their growth and the old owing to their deterioration. Similarly, again, neither the excessively quick nor the excessively slow seem to have memories. For the quick are moister than they ought to be, and the slow are harder. Thus, in the case of those who are too quick, the image does not remain in the soul; whereas it never touches the others.

But if such is the case with respect to memory, does one remember the affection or the thing from which it was generated?

For if we remember the affection, we could remember nothing of the things that are absent.

If, on the other hand, we remember that absent thing, how is it that while sensing this affection we remember what we are not sensing, which is absent?

Also, if it is similar in the way that a figure or picture is in us, why would there be memory of another thing and not rather of this very impression? For the one acting by memory sees this affection and senses this affection.

How then does he remember what is not present? For he would be able both to see and to hear what is not present.

Or is it the case that this happens and occurs? For just as an animal inscribed on a tablet is both an animal and also a likeness,¹ and one and the same thing is both, although the being is not the same for both, it is possible to consider it both as an animal and as a likeness. So too one must take the image that exists in us to be both itself something existing in its own right and also as an image of another. In its own right it is an object of speculation or an image, but inasmuch as it is of another, it exists as a likeness and an object that can be remembered.

Hence, too, when the motion of that thing acts, there is a corresponding two-fold result. On the one hand, with regard to the motion taken in its own right, the soul will have sensed it in such a way that something intelligible or an image would seem to be present to it.

On the other hand, insofar as it is of another and exists as in a picture, it considers it as a likeness, and he who does not see Coriscus considers it as Coriscus’s likeness; here it is another affection of this speculation.

When one considers what has been drawn as an animal, then, on the one hand, in the soul this picture becomes an intelligible object only, and, on the other hand, as there, because it is a likeness, it becomes a memorable object.

For this reason, when such motions are engendered in our soul by what we have previously sensed, we sometimes do not know whether this happens because of having sensed it; and we sometimes are in doubt whether there is memory or not. Understanding and recollecting sometimes happen since we have heard or seen something before; but this comes about when the one who is looking as though at it is changed and considers it as of the other.

Sometimes, however, even the contrary comes into being, as occurs in the case of Antipheron of Oreita and others affected by ecstasy; for they used to speak of images as facts and of themselves as remembering them. This comes into being when someone considers what is not a likeness as a likeness.

Meditations, however, preserve the memory in recollecting, and this is nothing other than to consider something frequently as a likeness and not as something in its own right.

So then what memory is, as well as what remembering is, has been stated: it is the having of an image as a likeness of that of which it is the image; and to which part of those in us it belongs, since it belongs to the first sensitive part and that by which we sense time.

327. One might perhaps wonder why (450a25). After the Philosopher shows what memory is, and to what part of the soul it belongs, here he shows the cause of remembering. In this regard, he does two things.

First, he presents a difficulty.¹

Second, he resolves it, where he says or is it the case (450b20; [340]).

With respect to the first point, he does three things:

first, he raises the difficulty;

second, he makes one of its presuppositions explicit, where he says for it is clear (450a27; [328]);

third, he brings up the arguments bearing on the question, where he says but if such is the case (450b11; [355]).

Accordingly, he first says that since in remembering there is an affection affecting the soul by its presence,¹ but the thing that we remember is absent, someone might wonder why we remember what is not present, namely the thing, and why we do not rather remember the affection which is present.

328. Then, when he says for it is clear (450a27), he makes explicit something that he had presupposed, namely, that while we remember, there exists an affection within the soul.

First, he explains this through its cause;

second through examples,¹ where he says hence, too, for those who are in great motion (450a32; [330]).

Accordingly, he first says that it is clear that one must understand some such affection to be made by the sense power within the soul and within an organ of an animated body; we say that memory belongs to the soul of this body as a habit, and that this affection is, so to speak, a sort of picturing,¹ since the sensible object imprints its likeness upon the sense, and since this sort of likeness persists in the imagination even when the sensible object goes away. This is why he adds that the motion that is engendered by the sensible object upon the sense power impresses upon the imagination as it were a sensible figure that remains when the sensible object goes away in the same way as that whereby those who seal things with their signet rings impress within the wax a figure that remains even when the seal or the ring has been removed.

329. He says in the soul and in a part of the body since, although an affection of this sort pertains to the sensitive part of the soul, a part that is the actuality of a bodily organ, nevertheless such an affection does not belong to the soul alone, but to the composite of body and soul together. He calls memory a habit of this part, since memory is in the sensitive part and since we sometimes do not actually apprehend the things that we keep in our memory, but retain them, as it were, habitually.

330. Then, when he says hence, too, for those who are in great motion (450a32), he uses signs or examples to clarify what he has set out to prove, namely that this affection is present in remembering.

He says that precisely since such an affection is necessary for memory, memory may not be produced in some people, because they are undergoing much change: whether this comes about because of an affection (either of the body, as in those who are sick or drunk, or of the soul, as those who are moved to wrath or desire), or because of a time of life characterized by growth or decay. Thus, for reasons of this sort, the body of a human being is in quite a flux and so cannot retain the impression that comes into being from the motion of the sensible thing, as would happen if a motion or even a signet seal were impressed into flowing water: for the figure would perish immediately owing to the flow.¹

331. In certain others, however, the impression is not received at all. Sometimes this happens because of a chill that thickens the humors; thus, it may not be possible for anything to be impressed upon the soul of those who are in a state of great fear because of this “freezing up.” He even gives the example of old buildings: a wall can easily be changed when it is fresh, before the casement sets, but not after it is aged. Sometimes, however, the impression fails to be received, not through a “freezing up” but because of the natural hardness of that which is to receive the affection: for earthly bodies possess hardness even if they are hot, but watery bodies are hardened by being frozen. It is for these causes that those who are extremely “new,”¹ viz. children, and also the old, are deficient in memory, since the bodies of children are in flux because of growth, while those of the old are such because of their wasting away; hence in neither of these is an impression well retained.

332. Yet it does happen that one firmly retains in his memory things that he encounters¹ as a child. The vigor of a motion may cause things we marvel at to be more deeply impressed upon our memory. We chiefly wonder about new and unusual things;² and newborn children tend to marvel at things still more because they are not used to them, and for this reason too they remember firmly.³ On the other hand, with respect to the fluid condition of their body, children are naturally liable to slips of memory.

He adds that similarly for the reasons just mentioned, neither those who are very¹ quick at apprehension nor those who are very slow seem to be good at remembering. For those who are very quick are of a more humid constitution than is fitting, since it is easy for something moist to receive an impression. On the other hand, those who are slower also have a harder constitution. Thus, in the case of those with a quick constitution, the impression of an image does not remain in the soul, whereas it does not even touch those with a hard constitution, i.e., they do not receive an impression of the image.

333. However, what he said can also be explained otherwise. Thus, in the first way, we may understand him to have assigned the cause for the failure of memory to the onset of a change, which he later illustrated by the example of the young and the old; in the second way, on the other hand, he assigned the cause on the basis of natural constitution: either because in some things the watery humor, which is cold and wet, is predominant and consequently the impressions of the images in them are easily dispersed, just as old buildings crumble easily;¹ or because the earthy humor predominates in certain things, and these do not take on any impression owing to their hardness. He subsequently clarified this point by using the example of the quick and the slow.

334. One must also note that he first stated that the impression of the images comes into being in the soul and in a part of the body,¹ so that later he might show that men are related in various ways to such an impression owing to the various dispositions of their bodies.

335. Then when he says but if such is the case (450b11), he presents arguments on both sides of the previously posed question.¹

In the first place, he takes up the question once again, as if what had been supposed were now manifest. He says that if with respect to memory, this happens, namely, that there is an affection present within it as a picture, this question must be asked: does anyone remember this affection which exists as a presence¹ within the rememberer, or does one remember the sensible thing by which the impression has been made?

336. In the second place, where he says for if we remember the affection (450b13), he presents an objection to one side of the question. He says that if anyone should state that a human being remembers the affection present to him, it follows that we would remember none of the things that are absent, which is contrary to what has been previously determined.

337. In the third place, at if, on the other hand, we remember that absent thing (450b14), he presents objections to the other side of the question, using, as it were, three arguments.

The first of these arguments he presents by saying that if one remembers the thing by which the affection was brought into being, it would seem unfitting that a man should sense that which is present, namely, the affection, and at the same time along with this should remember that which is absent, which he cannot sense. For it was said¹ that memory pertains to the “first sensitive” part; and in this fashion it would not seem that there should be a sense-act of the one and memory of the other.

338. The second argument he presents at also, if it is similar in the way that a figure (450b15). He says that if the sort of affection that is present to a rememberer is in us in the way that the sense’s own figure or picture is (i.e., as representing the first change of the sense power induced by the sensible object), then why will memory be of the other (i.e., the thing), and not of the figure or picture itself? For since it is a figure belonging to the sense power, it can clearly be apprehended. This is obvious from experience, since he who remembers gazes at something bearing upon this affection through his intellect, or else senses it through his sensitive part. But it would seem unfitting that, while that which falls under the apprehension is present, not it but rather something else should be apprehended.

339. The third argument he presents at how then does he remember (450b18). He asks how one might remember through an interior sense that which is not present. For since the exterior sense “con-forms” to the interior sense, it would follow that even the exterior sense would be of a thing not present, in such wise that it might see and hear a thing not present, which would seem awkward.

340. Then, when he says or is it the case (450b20), he solves the difficulty he had posed.

He first points out the reason why memory occurs.

In the second place, he points out the cause for something being well preserved in the memory, where he says meditations, however, preserve the memory (451a12; [348]).

Third, he adds an epilogue, where he says so then what memory is (451a14; [349]).

On this first topic he does two things:

first, he solves the difficulty;

second, he illustrates his solution by means of signs or examples, where he says for this reason (451a2; [344]).

Accordingly, first he says that it is possible to explain how what had been stated—that one may sense a present affection and remember an absent thing—can and does occur. He gives the example of an animal that is painted on a tablet. It is both a painted animal¹ and is also a likeness² of a real³ animal. Now although that to which these features both belong is the same in subject, nevertheless, the two differ in character; and so the consideration of it inasmuch as it is a painted animal is other than the consideration of it inasmuch as it is a likeness of a real animal. So too the image that is in us can be taken either as it is something in itself or as it is an image of the other. Now in its own right it is a certain object of speculation, concerning which the intellect speculates, or else an image, inasmuch as it pertains to the sensitive part of the soul. But according as it is an image of the other, which we have previously sensed or understood, it is considered as a likeness leading to something else and a principle of remembering.

341. Consequently since the soul’s remembering accords with the motion of an image, (1) if the soul be turned to the image in its own right, in this way there would seem to be present to the soul either something intelligible (which the intellect inspects within the image), or simply an image (which the imaginative power apprehends); (2) if, however, the soul turns itself to the image inasmuch as it is an image of the other and considers it as a likeness of what we previously have sensed or understood (as was said about the picture). Moreover, just as (i) he who is not seeing Coriscus considers an image of Coriscus as a likeness of him, here, now this consideration is affected in another way, because now the situation pertains to memory.

342. And (ii) just as an image of an individual man like Coriscus may sometimes be considered in its own right and sometimes as a likeness, so too does this occur in the case of intelligible objects. For if when the intellect looks at an image as a painted animal, it inspects it in itself, the image is considered only an intelligible object; if on the other hand the intellect inspects it inasmuch as it is a likeness, then it will be a principle of remembering, as occurs there, i.e., with respect to the particulars.

343. So then it is clear that when the soul turns itself toward an image as it is a form preserved in the sensitive part of the soul, in this way there is an act of the imagination or phantasia,¹ or even of the intellect considering the universal involved in this image. If, however, the soul should be turned toward the image inasmuch as it is a likeness of what we have previously seen or understood, this belongs to an act of remembering. In addition, since to be a likeness marks an interest² with respect to this form, Avicenna fittingly observes³ that the memory focuses on the interest, whereas the imagination focuses on the form apprehended through the sense.

344. Then when he says for this reason (451a2), he clarifies what he had said by means of signs or examples.

He says that since we remember when we attend to an image as a likeness of something we have sensed or understood before, human beings can be related to the act of memory in three ways.

345. For sometimes, although there may be within us motions of the images that were made by what we have sensed before, motions that are left over from the first immutation¹ of the sense by the sensible object, nevertheless we do not know whether these motions happen to be in us because of the fact that we have sensed something before, and consequently we are in doubt as to whether we are remembering or not.

346. Second, it sometimes happens that a human being understands and recollects that we have heard or seen something before whose image is occurring to us now. This is remembering in the proper sense, and this happens when he who is looking at an image is being moved by the image that is present but is considering it inasmuch as it is a likeness of the other thing that he had sensed or understood before.

347. In the third way, the contrary of the first sometimes occurs: a human being believes that he is remembering but in fact does not. This is the sort of thing that happened to a fellow who was called Antipheron and was originally from Oreita;¹ similar things happen to others who lose their mind. For they reckon the images that occur to them for the first time as though they were images of previous deeds, as if they were remembering things that they had never seen or heard. This happens when someone considers what is not a likeness of another prior fact as if it were a likeness of it.

348. Then when he says meditations, however, preserve the memory (451a12), he indicates how memory is preserved. He says that frequent meditations upon what we have sensed or understood conserve the memory so that anyone may recollect well what he has seen or understood; “meditating,” however, is nothing else than frequently considering certain things as a likeness of previously apprehended things and not only in their own right, and it is meditating which is the mode of considering that pertains to the character of memory. Moreover, it is clear that the habitual grasp of memorable objects is consolidated by frequently engaging in the act of memory, just as any other habit is strengthened by similar acts, and, when the cause is brought to bear many times,¹ the effect is made stronger.²

349. Then, when he says, so then what memory is (451a14) he adds an epilogue to what was said above.¹ He says that what memory and remembering are has been stated,² since memory is a having, i.e., a habitual conservation, of an image, not in its own right (for this pertains to the imaginative power) but inasmuch as the image is a likeness of something previously apprehended. It was also stated³ to which part of the soul of those that are in us the memory pertains, since it was said that it belongs to the first sensitive part, inasmuch as it is through it that we are cognizant of time.

The nature of recollection

It remains, however, for us to talk about recollecting; first it is necessary to set out as being whatever things in the argumentative discourses are true.

For recollection is neither the recovery of a memory nor its acquisition.

For when one first learns or is affected, one does not recover any memory at all: for none has come into being before.

Nor does one acquire it from the beginning. For when a habit or an affection is engendered, then there is memory. Hence memory is not engendered along with the affection that is being engendered.

Further, when it has first come to be in the individual and the ultimate, the affection or knowledge already does indeed exist in the one affected, if one must call knowledge a habit or an affection. Nothing, however, prevents us from remembering by accident certain things that we know; but remembering by itself does not exist before time having come into being: for one remembers now what one has heard or seen or been affected by before; one does not remember now what he has experienced now.

Further it is clear that there is remembering for one that is not now recollecting but sensing or being affected from the beginning.

But when one recovers what he had before—knowledge or sense or the habit of that which we called memory—this is recollecting and it exists then, and is not any of the things that have been stated; but remembering is concomitant and memory follows.

Nor then do these come about without qualification if, although they were before, they come about again, but it is so in one way and in another is not. For it is possible for the same <person> to learn and discover twice; hence recollecting must differ from these, there also being a further principle than that from which they learn for recollecting.

350. It remains, however (451a18). After the Philosopher has settled his determination on memory and remembering, he turns to the topic of recollecting.

First, he states the object of his interest;

second, he pursues the goal set out, where he says for recollection is neither (451a20; [351]).

Accordingly, first he says that after he has spoken¹ about remembering it remains for us to talk about recollecting, in order that whatever truths might be taken up by means of the dialectical discussions may first be supposed as being true. In this way he excuses himself from a long disputation about things pertaining to recollection.²

351. Then, when he says for recollection is neither (451a20), he pursues the goal he had set out. In regard to this he does three things.

First, he shows what recollection is by comparing it to other apprehensions.

Second, he determines the mode of recollecting, where he says recollections happen (ch. 5, 451b10; [360]).

Third, he shows what sort of affection recollection is, where he says now, then, that those with good memories (ch. 8, 453a14; [400]).

In regard to the first of these he does two things.

First, he shows what recollection is not.

Second, he shows what it is, where he says but when one recovers (451b2; [356]).

On the first of these points he does two things.

First, he sets out what he intends to do.

Second, he explains what he set out to do, where he says for when one first learns (451a21; [352]).

Accordingly, first he says that recollection is neither the recovery of a memory, in the sense that recollecting would be nothing but a repeated remembering; nor again is recollection the first acquisition of a knowable object, namely the acquisition that arises through the sense or the intellect.

352. Then when he says for when one first learns (451a21), he explains what he had said. In regard to this he does two things.

First, he shows the difference between the two terms he had set out, namely, the recovery of a memory and the acquisition of one.

Second, he shows that recollection is not the recovery of a memory and also not an acquisition, where he says further it is clear that remembering (451a31; [355]).

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he shows that the acquisition is not memory, since he who acquires is not remembering.

Second, where he says nor does one acquire it from the beginning (451a23; [353]) he shows that the converse is not true either: memory is not acquisition, because he who remembers is not acquiring something new.

Accordingly, he first states that when one first learns something, with respect to one’s intellective apprehension, or is affected by it, with respect to one’s sensitive apprehension, at that point one recovers no memory, because nothing is recovered except something previously existing; but no memory has preceded. Therefore to learn or to sense something for the first time is not to recover a memory.

353. Then, when he says nor does one acquire it from the beginning (451a23), he shows that remembering is not the first acquisition. In regard to this he does two things.

First, he shows that remembering does not consist in acquiring a notion for the first time.

Second, he shows that it does not consist in having been acquired for the first time, where he says further, when it has first come to be (451a25; [354]).

Accordingly, he first says that neither, too, does the one remembering acquire his notion of the remembered thing from the beginning. For, since memory is of the past, as was maintained above,¹ then there is memory, when a notion is already existing by way of habit or at least of passion as it does in a past existence; but when the affection itself comes into being, i.e., in the very acquiring of the notion, it is not yet in a past existence; hence memory does not yet come into being in the man.

354. Then, when he says further, when it has first come to be (451a25), he shows that there is also no memory in the first instant in which a notion has just come into being, whether by way of habit or of passion, as when the notion has not yet been converted into a habit.

At this point one ought to consider the fact that something is first said to have come into being in the indivisible instant that is the ultimate moment of the measuring time, as is proved in Physics 6.¹

Hence he says that when a notion has first come into being in an indivisible instant, which is the last movement of the time of the generation of the notion, in that instant it can indeed be said that the affection and the knowledge is already in the one affected, i.e., in the one acquiring the notion, yet in such a way that we do not give full force to the term “knowledge,” which properly speaking signifies a habit, but rather we take the term in a general sense in the sense of habit as well as that of passion. (The reason for his saying this is that in the last instant of generation it is always true to say that that of which there is generation exists; as in the last instant of the generation of fire, there is already fire.) Given that knowledge exists, however, nothing prevents us from remembering those things inasmuch as we have a knowledge of them in the present. But remembering does not occur in its own right before time having come into being, that is, before some time intervenes between the previously existing notion and the memory itself; for one remembers now what one has heard or seen or in some fashion or other been affected by before, but one does not remember now what he has experienced now. Moreover, it is obvious that one is first said to be “already affected” at the last instant of the affection. Hence there cannot be memory at that instant.

355. Then, when he says further it is clear that there is remembering (451a31), he shows further that recollection is neither recovery of a memory nor an original acquisition. He states that it is clear from what has been said before that one who is not now recollecting may remember, i.e., he does not remember what he is now recollecting, but that which he has sensed or in some fashion or other experienced from the beginning. Thus, recollection is not recovery of a memory but is related to something that someone has apprehended before.

356. Then, when he says but when one recovers (451b2), he shows what recollection is.

First, he says that recollection is the recovery of the first acquisition.

Second, he shows that recollection is not just any such recovery, where he says nor then do these come about without qualification (451b6; [358]).

Accordingly, he first says that recollection is not a recovery of a memory, but is when someone recovers what he has known or sensed before, whether by a proper or by the common sense, the habit of which we say is memory (for just as remembering is related to a previously generated notion, so also is recollecting), and recollecting exists then, viz. when in some way we recover a prior apprehension, but not in such a way that recollection be any of the things that we have stated, whether sense or memory or imagination or knowledge, but through recollection remembering is concomitant, because recollection is a sort of movement toward remembering, and thus memory follows recollection, just as the terminus follows its movement.

357. Or, according to another manuscript,¹ recollection follows memory, since, just as the enquiry of reason is the way to know something and yet it proceeds from something known, so too is recollection the way to remember something and yet it proceeds from something that is remembered, as will become clearer later on.²

358. Then, when he says nor then do these come about without qualification (451b6), he shows that recollection is not just any recovery of a sensation or of knowledge. He says that it is not universally true that there is recollection wherever an awareness of a knowledge or a sensation that had been there before comes about again, but in one way he who recovers the science or the sensation recollects and in another way he does not. <Aristotle> shows that it is not universally true, because it happens that the same man may learn the same thing a second time after his knowledge had been lost, or may discover what he had before, but yet this is not recollecting. Hence recollecting must be different from these, i.e., from repeated learning or discovery, and there must be something more to be a starting-point of recollecting than is required for learning. What this something more is will be explained in the sequel.¹

How recollection occurs

Recollections happen since this motion is now naturally apt after this one; for if it is of necessity, it is manifest that, when it is moved with that one, it will be moved by this; but, if not of necessity but from custom, it will be moved as it were much. It comes about, however, that certain ones have become accustomed more quickly once, than others moved several times. Hence we remember some things more on seeing them once, than others many times.

Hence, when we recollect we are moved according to one of the prior motions, until we be moved after that one was customary. Hence, too, we are made to come to what is subsequently by meditating from now or some other point and from the similar, the contrary, or the proximate.

Recollection comes about because of this: for the motions are of these, of these, the same; of others, however, at the same time; of others, they have a part, so that the remainder is little which has been moved after that one. Therefore they seek in this way, and, not seeking, they still recollect in this way, when that motion comes into being after the other one; but it used to come about when the other motions such as we have spoken of had come about, as it were, much.

It is not at all necessary to attend to how we remember those that are distant but not those that are near; for it is obvious that the method is somehow the same. Now I say how it says “that consequently,” neither inquiring in advance nor recollecting; but this motion is by custom consequent after this one; and therefore when he may want to recollect, this is what he does: he tries to grasp the starting point of a motion after which there will be that one.

Hence recollections come about in the quickest and best way from the starting point: for as things are related to each other in that which is consequently, so too are the motions.

And whatever things have an ordering, such as mathemes, are more recollectible; but those that are badly, with difficulty.

359. Recollections happen (451b10). After the Philosopher has inquired into how recollection is related to the other things that pertain to cognition, here he begins to explain the manner in which recollecting takes place.

First, he explains the manner of recollecting.

Second, he points to the difference between memory and recollection where he says now, then, that those with good memories (Ch. 8, 453a4; [398]).

Concerning the first topic he does two things.

He shows how recollecting takes place first with regard to the things one remembers;

and second, with regard to the time (for recollection is concerned with time, just as memory is), where he says it is most necessary, however, to know time (Ch. 7, 452b7; [386]).

With respect to the first topic he does two things.

First, he sets out the cause of recollecting.

Second, he points out the manner in which one proceeds in recollecting where he says hence, when we recollect (451b16; [362]).

The cause of recollecting is the order of the motions that remain in the soul from the first impression of what we first apprehend.

360. Accordingly, in setting out this cause, he states that recollections happen because one motion is naturally disposed to occur to us after another. This may happen in two ways.

In one way, when the second motion follows the first of necessity, as apprehending “animal” of necessity follows on apprehending “man”; and thus it is manifest that, when the soul is moved by the first movement, it will be moved by the second, too.

In the other way, the second motion may follow after the first not of necessity but from custom, since one is accustomed to think, say, or do that thing after this one, and then the second motion follows after the first not always but as it were much, i.e., for the most part, as natural effects also follow from their causes for the most part, not always.

361. The custom under discussion is not, however, established equally in all men, but it comes about that some more quickly establish the custom within themselves on thinking once, than do others if they think this after that several times (which can happen either because of greater attention and deeper cogitation or because of a nature that is better able to receive and retain an impression). Hence, too, it may come about that we remember some things more seeing them once than others seen many times (since those things that we are more vehemently intent upon remain more in the memory, whereas those that we see or think of superficially or lightly slip quickly from the memory).¹

362. Then, on the supposition of this order of motions, he shows how recollection proceeds, where he says hence, when we recollect (451b16). Concerning this point, he does two things.

In the first place, he shows the manner of proceeding in recollecting.

In the second place, he points out whence a recollector ought to proceed, where he says a beginning-point, however (Ch. 6, 452a12; [376]).

With regard to the first topic he does two things.

In the first place, he shows the manner in which one proceeds in recollecting.

In the second place, from this he points out how recollecting and relearning differ, which is a matter he had left unsettled above; he does this where he says recollecting also differs from relearning (Ch. 6, 452a4; [373]).

With regard to the first topic he does three things.

In the first place, he sets out how recollecting occurs.

In the second place on the basis of this he resolves a difficulty, where he says it is not at all necessary to attend (451b25; [367]).

In the third place, he uses examples¹ to clarify what he had set out to show, where he says hence recollections come about (451b31; [369]).

Accordingly, in the first place, he concludes from the premises (451b10–16) that, since one motion follows after another either of necessity or by custom, it must be that, when we recollect, we are moved according to some one of the prior movements, until we come to the point that we are moved by the movement to be apprehended, which is accustomed to be after the first, namely, the movement that we intend to rediscover by recollecting, since recollection is nothing other than a search for something that has fallen from memory.¹ Hence in recollecting we hunt, i.e., we search, for what is consequently from something prior that we do remember (for just as he who searches through demonstration proceeds from something prior, which is known, from which he is made to come to something posterior, which was unknown; so too the one who recollects proceeds from something prior, which he remembers, to rediscover what had fallen from his memory).

363. The “first” from which a recollector begins his search, however, is sometimes a time that is known and sometimes a thing that is known. With respect to the time, he sometimes begins from now, i.e., from the present time proceeding into the past, the memory of which he is seeking (e.g., if he is seeking to remember what he did four days ago, this is how he meditates on the matter: “I did this today, that yesterday, and something else the day before,” and in this fashion he arrives at what he did three days ago by tracing things back according to the sequence of the customary motions). Sometimes, however, he begins from some other time (e.g., if someone remembers what he did a week ago and has forgotten what he did three days ago, he will proceed by coming down to the sixth day and will proceed in the same way until he reaches the third day before, or he may also go up to a day two weeks ago also starting from a week ago, or to any other past time).

364. Sometimes, in like fashion, one may also recollect beginning with something that he remembers and from which he proceeds to another one for three reasons: (1) sometimes one recollects by reason of similitude (e.g., when one remembers Socrates, and from this Plato, who is like him in wisdom, comes to mind); (2) sometimes, by reason of contrariety (as when one remembers Hector, and Achilles therefore comes to mind); (3) and sometimes one recollects by reason of some proximity (as when the son comes to mind when one remembers the father, and the same reason holds for any other sort of proximity, whether of association, of place, or of time).¹

And recollection comes about because the motions corresponding to these cases follow them.

365. For the motions of some of the aforementioned items are the same, as is especially so of the similars; of others, viz. the contraries, however, at the same time, since when one of the contraries is known, the other is known at the same time; and sometimes certain motions have a part of others, as happens in things that are in proximity to each other, since something is considered in one of the neighbors which pertains to the other; and so, although the residue that is missing from one’s apprehension be small, it follows the motion of the prior one, so that, once the first has been apprehended, the second consequently comes to mind.

366. There is, however, a further point to consider: sometimes those who seek to rediscover a consequent lost motion arrive at a later motion from a prior one in the manner described: this is properly recollecting just when one intentionally¹ seeks for the memory of a thing. Sometimes, however, it happens that even those who do not seek to remember come upon the memory of a thing when they proceed unintentionally² from the prior to the posterior movement in the manner described (451b16–18): when that movement of the forgotten thing comes into being in the soul after the other and this was unintentional³ but as it were much, i.e., as that motion which occurs arises in many other motions such as we have spoken of, viz. the like, the contrary, or the proximate; but the latter unintentional movement is called recollecting by way of a departure from proper usage; it is rather a chance remembering with a certain resemblance to recollection.

367. Then, when he says it is not at all necessary to attend (451b25), he solves a certain difficulty on the basis of these premises (451b16–25). For one could come to wonder why we frequently remember the things that are distant, i.e., those that happened many years ago, and we do not remember the ones that are near, i.e., those that were a few days ago.

368. But he claims that it is not necessary to attend to this, i.e., to take the question seriously, since it is obvious that it somehow happens in the same way as was set out before (451b16–25). He explains this by reviewing what he had said, namely, that sometimes it happens that the soul may say what it had forgotten by apprehending something that exists consequently and do so without inquiring in advance or intentionally recollecting. The reason for this is that one motion follows on another by custom, and so when the first motion arises the second follows even if the man does not intend it; and just as this happens unintentionally from custom, so, too, will one do this when he intentionally wills to recollect: for he tries to grasp the first motion, at which the later motion follows. Since it sometimes happens that the motions of the thing that are remote are by custom more established, we sometimes remember them either with or without seeking for them.

369. Then, when he says hence recollections come about (451b31), he shows how this is so by means of two examples.

He presents the first of these signs by saying that since one customarily proceeds from the prior toward the subsequent motion either by inquiring or by not inquiring for it, recollections come about in the quickest and best manner when one begins meditating from the starting point of the whole business. The reason for this is that it is according to the order in which the things follow each other that their motions are engendered in the soul with this order; thus, when we are looking for a particular verse of a psalm, we begin at the top.

370. He presents the second example where he says and whatever things have an ordering (452a2). He states that whatever things are well ordered, such as mathemes, i.e., the theorems of mathematics, are more recollectible; the second of these is concluded from the first, and so on for the rest; but those that are badly ordered, we recollect with difficulty.

371. Accordingly, we can in this way learn four results useful for remembering or recollecting well:¹ first to strive to reduce what one wants to retain into some order;² second to set one’s mind upon them deeply and intently;³ third to meditate frequently according to the order;⁴ fourth to begin to recollect from the starting point.⁵

Recollection’s beginning and its difference from relearning

Recollecting also differs from relearning in this: that one will be able somehow to be moved to what is after the starting point; but when not, but through something else, one no longer remembers.

Often, however, one cannot any longer recollect but can seek and does find. This, however, comes about for one who is moving many things, if he should be moving with the sort of motion as that upon which the thing follows. For remembering is to be a moving potency within; and this is so in such a way that one is being moved from himself and the motions by which he is held, as has been said.

A beginning-point, however, must have been taken.

For which reason they sometimes seem to recollect from places.

The cause of this is that they come quickly from one thing to another, as from milk to white, from white to air, and from the latter to the moist—from which one remembers autumn while seeking this season.

A universal, moreover, seems to be the beginning-point and the middle of them all. For if one does not do so before, when he gets to this point, he will recollect, or he will not do so from anywhere else, either. Thus, if someone should have understood something in which there are A B G D E Z I T: for if one does not recollect at E, he remembers at T; for from there one can be moved to both—both to D and to E. But if one is not seeking one of these, one will recollect on coming to G, if one is looking for I or Z; and if not, he will go on to A, and so on always.

The cause of one’s sometimes remembering from the same and sometimes not remembering is that one happens to have been moved from the same starting-point to many places, as, for example, from G to E or to D.

Hence, if one is not being moved through the old one, he is being moved in a more uncustomary way: for custom already serves as nature. Hence we quickly recollect things that we have frequently understood. For, just as this thing is by nature after this one, so too does action make a nature by doing this many times.

But since just as in things that exist by nature there comes to be what is both outside nature and also by chance, still more is this the case in those that exist by custom, in the latter of which nature does not exist in the same way whereby sometimes to be moved both there and in one way and in another, and when he is drawn hence in any case; and for this reason when one needs to recollect a name we commit a solecism dissimilar to the one we know against it.

It is in this way, therefore, that recollecting occurs.

372. Recollecting also differs (452a4). After the Philosopher shows how recollecting takes place, here he explains two points that were touched upon above.¹

In the first place, he shows how recollecting differs from relearning.

Second, he shows that one who recollects must begin from starting-points, where he says a beginning-point (452a12; [376]).

With respect to the first topic he does two things.

First, he shows how recollecting differs from relearning.

Second, he shows how recollecting differs from rediscovering, where he says often, however, one cannot any longer recollect (452a7; [374]).

With respect to the first point, we must bear in mind that both he who recollects and also he who relearns recover a notion that they lost; but the one who recollects recovers it under the aspect of memory, i.e., in a relation ordered to something that had been known before, whereas the one who relearns it, recovers the notion absolutely, i.e., not as pertaining to something previously known. Now since we do not arrive at a notion of things unknown except from previously known principles, the principles from which we proceed to know anything unknown must belong to the same genus, as is clear from the Posterior Analytics.¹ Hence he who is recollecting necessarily proceeds to recover the notion under the aspect of memory from starting-points that have been remembered, but this is not the case with one who is relearning something.

373. Accordingly, he says that recollecting differs from relearning in this: that he who is recollecting has the power somehow to be moved to something that is consequent upon a starting-point that has been retained in the memory (for instance, when someone remembers that such and such a thing was said to him but has forgotten who had told him, one therefore uses what he has in the memory to recollect what he has forgotten). But when one does not arrive at the recovery of a lost notion through a starting-point that has been retained in the memory but through something else that is newly handed on to him by a teacher, that is not memory or recollection but new learning.

374. Then, when he says often, however, one cannot any longer recollect (452a7), he explains how recollecting and rediscovery differ from each other. He says that a human being often cannot any longer recollect what he has forgotten, because the particular movements from which he could arrive at what he is seeking to remember do not remain in him, but, if he should seek the notion of that thing in a new way, he can proceed and often does find what he is seeking as though he were acquiring the science anew.¹ Now that happens when a soul, while thinking out diverse things, is moved by many movements: if, in addition, it should happen that it arrive at a movement at which a cognition of the thing follows, then one is said to be discovering it.

375. Though one can be discovering something, one cannot, however, be recollecting it, since recollecting comes about because a human being retains within himself a certain potency or power of guiding himself toward the movements that he is seeking of the thing. This recollecting, however, comes about when one can arrive at what is being moved with the movement that he lost through forgetfulness, doing so both from himself, not from someone teaching him, as happens when one relearns something, and from previously held movements, as has been said (452a5–6), not from new movements, as when one rediscovers something.

376. Then, when he says a beginning-point, however, must have been taken (452a12), he shows that one who is recollecting must start from a beginning. Concerning this topic he does two things.

First, he points out the claim under discussion.

Second, he assigns the cause for a defect that we sometimes suffer in recollecting where he says the cause of one’s sometimes remembering (452a24; [382]).

With respect to the first point, he does two things.

In the first place, he shows that one who is recollecting must start from a beginning-point.

In the second place, he indicates what sort of starting-point he must begin from, where he says a universal, moreover, seems to be the beginning-point (452a17; [379]).

Concerning the first topic he does three things.

In the first place, he sets out what he intends to claim. He says that he who wants to recollect must take a beginning-point from which he has begun to be moved either by thinking, by saying, or by doing something.

377. In the second place, he illustrates what he had said by using an example, where he says for which reason they sometimes seem to recollect (452a12). For since he who is recollecting must take hold of a starting-point from which he may start proceeding to recollect, human beings sometimes seem to recollect from the places in which certain things have been said, done, or thought. They do so using a place as a sort of starting-point for recollecting, because the entrance to a place is a sort of starting-point of all the things that are done in that place. This is also why Tully in his Rhetoric¹ teaches that, to remember easily, certain places are imagined to be arrayed in order, and by means of these places we distribute the images of the things we want to remember.

378. In the third place, he illustrates his claim through its cause where he says the cause of this is that they come quickly (452a13). He says that the cause whereby he who is recollecting must get hold of a starting point is that human beings, through a kind of wandering of the mind, come easily from one thing to another by reason of its likeness, its contrariety, or its proximity.¹ Thus, if we think or speak about milk we come easily to white, because of the whiteness of milk, and from white to air because of the clarity of the transparent, which causes whiteness, and from air to the moist because air is moist,² and from the moist one comes to recollect the season of autumn, which one was seeking, by reason of contrariety, since that season is cold and dry.³

379. Then, when he says a universal, moreover, seems to be the starting-point (452a17), he indicates what sort of starting-point one who is recollecting ought to get hold of. He says that what is universal seems to be the beginning-point and the middle, through which one can be brought to all things (but here the universal that is spoken of is not that which is predicated of many, as in logic, but rather that by which one is accustomed to be moved to various things; it is as if after milk one is being moved to whiteness and sweetness, and again from whiteness to other things, as has been said (452a13–17), and again from sweetness to the digesting heat, to fire, and to other things thought of in due sequence, milk will be, so to speak, the universal with respect to all these motions).

In addition, one must run back to this universal if one wants to recollect any of the consequent items; since if one does not recollect any of the consequent terms previously through other posterior beginning-points, one will at least recollect it when he has come to the first universal beginning-point; or, if one does not recollect it then, one will not be able to do so from any other.

380. In addition he gives an example about various thoughts by the various letters A B G D E Z I T (he reckons these letters according to the order of the Greek alphabet;¹ yet the order is not the same in the recollecting, but we must take it that in thinking or speaking about B one may come to A; in thinking about A, however, sometimes one comes to T, sometimes to G; now from T one sometimes comes to D and sometimes to E; in thinking about G, on the other hand, sometimes one comes to I and sometimes to Z).

If, therefore, one should not recollect what is in E, he will be able to recollect it if he should come to T, from which he used to be moved to the two, viz. to E and to D. But perhaps one was not seeking E and not D, either, but rather was seeking I or Z; then coming to G one will recollect. But since we do not know whether what we are seeking is contained under T or under G, one must run back to A, which is, as it were, the universal with respect to them all. And one must so proceed always; for instance if at that point B is still more universal than A.

381. The aforesaid arrangement can, however, also be understood in another way, so that one is made to come from A to G directly, but to B laterally (although there is no mention of B in the text); moreover, one may be led from G laterally to I on the one hand and to Z on the other, but directly to T, from which one is led to D and E. And so he says that if one does not remember in E, which is last, he comes into T, which is prior; and if perchance one does not remember in T, because what he is seeking is not contained under it, he must run back to G, under which certain other thoughts are contained, namely I and Z, and from there to A, under which, as has been said before (452a23 [280]), B is also contained.

382. Then, when he says the cause of one’s sometimes remembering (452a24), he assigns the cause for a deficiency that is experienced by those who recollect.

He explains this defect in their recollection first to the extent that they do not recollect at all;

and second to the extent that they recollect corruptly, where he says but since just as in things that exist by nature (452a30; [384]).

Accordingly, in the first place, he says that from the same given starting-point human beings sometimes recollect and sometimes do not, since it happens that from the same starting-point from which one is moved toward various things, one is more often moved to one than to another; e.g. if from G one is moved to E and to D more often to the one than to the other, then, once one has got hold on the starting point, one easily recollects the one to which one is more often accustomed to be moved. But if one is not moved through the old one, i.e. through that by which one was more accustomed to be moved, then one is being moved in a less customary way,¹ and therefore one does not recollect easily, because custom is, as it were, a certain nature. Hence, just as those things that exist naturally come into being and are restored easily, inasmuch as things quickly return to their own nature because of the inclination of nature, as is clear in heated water, which quickly returns to coolness, so too do we easily recollect those things that we have often considered, because of our inclination of custom.

383. Moreover, that custom exists as nature does, he explains through this: that just as in nature there is a certain order whereby this thing comes into being after this one, so also when many operations follow each other through an order, they make a certain nature. Now this happens especially in the animal operations in whose principles there is a something impressing and a something receiving an impression, as for example the imagination receives an impression of a sense. And so things that we have frequently seen or heard are the more firmly established in the imagination in the manner of a nature in the same way as the repetition of the impression of a natural agent eventually also leads to a form which is the nature of a thing.

384. Then, when he says but since just as in things that exist by nature (452a30), he points out the cause whereby we sometimes recollect corruptly. He says that just as in things that exist according to nature something happens that is outside of nature, i.e. by fortune or chance, such as monsters in the parts of animals,¹ so much the more does something unordered and unintentional happen in those that exist according to custom, which, even if it does imitate nature, yet falls short of its stability. Consequently, there, too, i.e. in those things that we recollect through custom, recollecting happens sometimes in one way and sometimes in another; this occurs because of some impediment, as when one draws back hence, i.e. from one’s accustomed course, toward any other, as is clear in those who recite something from memory: if their imagination be distracted to something else, they lose what they have to say or they say it corruptly. And for this reason, when one needs to recollect a name or a speech, we make a grammatical error with respect to another in a manner unlike the one that we know.

385. Finally he adds as an epilogue that recollecting occurs (452b6) in the manner just described.

How time is measured

It is most necessary, however, to know time, either with a measure or infinitely.

There is, however, something by which one judges the greater and lesser: moreover, it is able to be put into a ratio,¹ just like magnitudes. For one understands great ones even far off, not by extending one’s understanding out yonder, as some might say of sight (for even when they are not, it similarly understands), but by a proportional motion. For there are similar figures and motions in it.

For¹ by what does it differ when it understands the greater ones?

Or is it that¹ it understands those that are less? For all those that are within are lesser; and those that are outside are also proportionately. But perchance it is able to get a proportional just as also with the species, but in it, so too with the distances.

So just as if something is moved according to AB, BE it makes GD: for AG and GD are proportional. What then makes GD rather than ZI? Or as AG is to AB, so is KT to TM; hence it is being moved with respect to those together; but if one wants to understand according to AZ, ZI, he understands similarly to GB, BE. But instead of TC, he will understand KLM. For these are related as ZA to BA.

So when a motion of both the thing and of the time comes about together, then memory is acting. He might think, however, that he remembers while not doing so; for nothing keeps someone from being deceived and to seem to remember even while not remembering. It is not, however, possible for one acting in his memory not to think that he does so but rather not to notice what is remembered: for this was just what remembering is.

But if the <motion> that belongs to the thing should come into being without the one that belongs to the time, or the latter without the former, he does not recollect.

But the one that belongs to time is twofold. For sometimes he does not remember it with a measure, e.g. that it was two days ago, but that he did do it at some time or other. Sometimes however also with a measure.

But he does remember although not with a measure; for men are accustomed to say that they remember <something> but do not know when, whenever they do not know its quantity with a metron.

386. It is most necessary, however, to know (452b7). After the Philosopher has shown the mode of recalling from the side of the things to be recalled, here he determines the mode of recalling from the side of time.

And first, he sets out what he intends to do.

Second, he clarifies what he had set out, where he says there is, however, something by which one judges (452b8; [387]).

He says first, therefore, that in recollecting it is most necessary to know time, namely the past, which memory is concerned with, which recollection is a search for; past time is known by one who is recollecting sometimes under a determinate measure, for instance when one knows that one has sensed this item two days ago, and sometimes it is known infinitely, that is indeterminately, for instance if one remembers that he has sensed this item at some unspecified time.¹

387. Then, when he says there is, however, something by which one judges (452b8), he clarifies what he had set out.

First, he shows how the soul knows the measure of time.

Second, he clarifies the principal point which he had set out, namely that the person who recollects must know time, where he says so when a motion of both the thing and of time (452b23; [396]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he clarifies what he had set out.

Second, he solves a certain question where he says for by what does it differ (452b13; [389]).

For he says first that there is something in the soul whereby it judges a greater or lesser measure of time. And this is to be able to be put into a ratio with respect to time just as it is also in respect to bodily magnitudes: which the soul understands to be both large with respect to the quantity of the bodies seen, and far off with respect to the quantity of local distance, to which the quantity of time is made proportionate, which is grasped according to its distance from the present moment.

388. The soul knows such magnitudes not by extending one’s understanding out yonder, as if the soul knows magnitudes by getting in contact with them according to the intellect (which is something that he seems to be saying on account of Plato,¹ as is clear in the first book of On the Soul²); and in this way some people also say that vision comes into being because a visual ray crosses the whole distance up to the thing seen, as is said in the book On Sense and What Is Sensed.³ But it cannot be that magnitudes are known by the soul through contact with the intelligence, since in that way the soul could understand only existent magnitudes, but as the case now stands we see that it understands magnitudes that do not exist. For nothing keeps the soul from understanding a quantity twice that of the heavens. Therefore the soul does not know a magnitude by extending itself to it, but because a certain movement left in the soul by the sensible thing is proportional to an exterior magnitude: for there are in the soul certain forms and motions similar to the things through which it knows things.

389. Then, when he says for by what does it differ (452b13a), he settles a question about what was set out before. And concerning this he does three things.

First, he proposes a question.

Second, he solves it, where he says or is it that it understands those that are less (452b13b; [390]).

Third, he gives an example of the answer in letters where he says so, therefore, if one is moved (452b17; [391]).

So first, he asks this question: when the soul knows a magnitude through the likeness of the magnitude which it has, in what does that by which it knows a greater or lesser magnitude differ? For they seem not to have a different likeness, in that they do not differ in species.

390. Then, when he says or is it that it understands those that are less (452b13b), he resolves the question. And he says that the soul, through a similar figure or form, knows the lesser ones, that is, a smaller quantity, just as through a similar form it also knows a larger magnitude. For the interior forms and movements correspond proportionately to the exterior magnitudes, and perchance the same thing happens with magnitudes or distances of places and times as also happens in regard to the species of things, so that just as in it, the one knowing, there are various likenesses and movements corresponding proportionately to the various species of things, for example to a horse or a cow, so also do they correspond to various quantities.

391. Then, when he says so just as if something is moved (452b17), he shows such a various proportion through an example with letters.

To make this clear one must realize that since he said above that there are in the intelligence figures similar to and movements proportional to the things, he uses here, for the sake of an example, the similarity of figures as the geometers use them, amongst whom figures are called similar whose sides are proportional and angles equal, as is clear in the sixth book of Euclid.¹

392. Therefore, let triangle BAE be described, the base of which is BE. Then from a point G marked in the side BA let a line be drawn equidistant from the base and right up to the other side; this line is GD. And, similarly, in the triangle GAD let a line ZI be drawn equidistant from the base. It was demonstrated in the first book of Euclid¹ that a straight line falling upon two equidistant lines makes the opposite angles equal. Therefore, angle AGD is equal to angle ABE, and angle ADG is equal to angle AEB. But angle A is common; therefore, the three angles of triangle GAD are equal to the angles of triangle BAE. Therefore the lines that subtend the equal angles are proportional, according to the fourth proposition of the sixth book of Euclid;² therefore, what is the proportion³ of AB to AG is the same as the proportion of BE to GD; therefore, alternately, the proportion from AB to BE is the same as the proportion from AG to GD; and thus the two aforementioned triangles are similar figures. Through the line AB and its parts are understood the movements of the soul by which the soul knows; and through the lines BE, GD, and ZI, which are the bases of the triangles, are understood the various quantities differing in greatness and smallness.

393. Therefore, by way of example, he concludes that if the soul is moved according to movement AB to know the quantity BE, this movement will also make quantity GD be known according to something belonging to itself, since the movement AG, which is contained in AB, and the magnitude GD are in the same proportion as the movement AB and the magnitude BE.

394. But then the question that was raised above will return: what more is required for knowing the quantity GD, which is greater, than for knowing the quantity ZI, which is less?

395. And in order that this might be seen more plainly, he takes indistinct movements, one of which is not contained in the other: therefore, let there be one line KM and let it be divided at point T in such a ratio¹ that there is the same proportion of KT to TM as that of the line AG, according to which the quantity GD is known, to the line AB, according to which quantity BE is known; in this way, therefore, it is being moved with respect to these movements, since just as according to the movement AG the quantity GD is known, so according to the movement KT, and, just as according to the movement AB the quantity BE is known, so according to the movement TM. But if someone wants, according to the movement AZ, to know the quantity ZI, then GZ will have to be subtracted from AG, just as GB was added to it in order to know the quantity BE. But, if we wish to take distinct movements, we must take in place of the two movements KT and TM (in place of which he now puts TC, C and M may be inscribed on the same point) two other movements, one of which is KL and the other LM, so that the line KM is divided at point L according to this ratio,² so that the proportion of KL to LM is as the proportion of AZ to AB. Hence, just as through the movement LM one knows the quantity BE, so through the movement KL one knows quantity ZI.

396. Then, when he says so when a motion of both the thing and of the time comes about together (452b23), he goes on to explain the principal thing he had set out to do.

And first, he shows that the one who recollects must know time.

Second, he shows two ways of knowing time where he says but that which is of time (452b29; [397]).

Accordingly, he says first that when the movement of the thing to be remembered and of the past time occur in the soul together, then there is the act of memory. If, however, someone should think that it is so related and yet memory should not come into being in this way—because it lacks either the movement of the thing or the movement of the time—then there is no object remembered; for nothing keeps deception from existing in the memory, as when it seems to someone that he remembers something and he actually does not, since the past time occurs to him but not the thing that he saw, but another instead.¹

In addition, sometimes one remembers and does not think that he does so, but it escapes his notice, because the thing occurred to him but not the time <corresponding to it>; since, as noted above,¹ remembering is to be intent on the phantasm of a thing inasmuch as it is the likeness of something previously apprehended.² Hence, if movement of the thing should come about without the movement of the time, or vice versa, one does not recollect.

397. Then when he says but the one which belongs to time (452b29), he shows the diverse manner in which those who recollect know time. For sometimes one does not record the time under a determinate measure; for example, that he did something two days ago, but rather that he did it at some time or other; however, sometimes he records it even under a certain measure of time; but it is in the memory if one records a past time, although not under a determinate measure. For men are accustomed to say that they do record a thing as past but do not know when it was, since they do not know the metron,¹ that is, the measure, of the time. And this happens because of a weak impression, as occurs in things that are seen by those who are far away and which are known indeterminately.

The difference between memory and recollection

Now, then, that those with good memories and those with good recollections are not the same, has been said before. But remembering differs from recollecting not only with respect to time, but also since even many of the other animals take part in remembering, whereas not one of the known animals, so to speak, except the human being, takes part in recollecting. The cause for this is that recollecting is, as it were, a sort of reckoning. For the one who is recollecting reckons that he saw or heard or was affected by some such thing before, and it is something like a search.¹ But this affection accrues only to those animals in which the deliberative element in addition is present by nature; for deliberating, too, is a sort of reckoning.

A sign that this affection, viz. recollection, is something bodily and an inquiry for an image within such a thing is the fact that some people get very upset whenever they cannot recollect. And, even though they strain intensely to hold back their thought from cogitating and are no longer trying to recollect, they are none the less distressed—especially those of melancholic temperament, since images move these persons most of all.

The cause for recollecting’s not being in their own control is that, just as in the case of those who throw something have no longer within themselves the stopping of it, so too one who is recollecting and tracking something down is moving something bodily in which the affection exists.

Those in whom there happens to be moisture around the seat of sensation are the ones most upset; for moisture on the move is not easily put to a stop until it reaches what it is in quest of and the motion proceeds in a straight line.

This is also why, when instances of anger and fear move against each other, and these in turn engender a counter-movement, they do not settle down, but rather engender another movement contrary to the same.

This affection is related to names, tunes, and discourse whenever any of these comes from the mouth a lot. For those that stop singing or speaking may involuntarily go to it again.

Moreover, those who have their upper parts too large and also dwarves are of inferior memory to those of contrary disposition because they have a lot of weight on their sensitive organ and because the motions are from the beginning unable to move easily in a straight line in their recollecting. Whereas those that are utterly new to the world and the very old are devoid of memory owing to motion; for the old are waning and the young waxing greatly. And furthermore, such children as are dwarf-like are so for a long period.

So then concerning memory and remembering we have said what their nature is, and by which of the parts of the soul it is that animals remember, and concerning recollecting, we have said what it is and how it comes to be and owing to what cause.

398. Now, then, that those with good memories (453a4). After the Philosopher has shown how recollecting takes place, he now shows the difference between memory and recollection.

He refers to three differences. The first of these stems from one’s aptitude for each of the other two. For it was said above¹ that the same men are not good rememberers and good recollectors.

The second difference stems from time, since recollection, because it is a path to memory, precedes it in time, as is apparent from what has been said already.¹

The third difference stems from the subject in which each of them can be found. For many other animals besides man participate in remembering, as was also noted above;¹ but no animal that is known to us recollects except man; he says this because some people are in doubt whether some animal besides man might be rational.

399. But the cause why recollecting belongs to man alone is this—since recollection bears a likeness to a sort of syllogism: for just as in the syllogism one arrives at a conclusion from some principles, so also in recollecting one syllogizes, in a way, that he has seen something before, or in some other manner perceived it, arriving at it from some starting point. And recollection is, as it were, a search, since the one recollecting does not go by way of chance from one thing to another; rather he proceeds with the intention of arriving at a memory of something. But this, namely that one should be in quest of something else, comes about only in those in whom there is a natural power for deliberating, since deliberation also comes about in the manner of a syllogism. Deliberation however belongs to human beings alone; the other animals work not from deliberation, but from a natural instinct.¹

400. Then when he says but that it is a bodily affection (453a14), he shows what sort of affection recollection is. For since he had said that recollection is, as it were, a sort of syllogism, and since moreover to syllogize is an act of the reason, which is not an act of a body, as is proved in the second book of On the Soul,¹ hence it might seem to some that recollection is not an affection of the body, that is, an operation exercised through a bodily organ, but the Philosopher shows the contrary.

401. And firstly he does this through something that happens to those who recollect;

second through those who have something that obstructs their recollection where he says moreover, those who have their upper parts (453a31; [406]).

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he introduces the happenstance just mentioned.

Second, he assigns the cause for the happenstance where he says the cause for recollecting’s not being in their own control (453a20; [402]).

Third, he explains it by means of an example where he says this is also why, when instances of anger and fear (453a26; [404]).

Accordingly, he says first that a sign that recollection is a bodily affection, and is a search of a phantasm existing in such—that is, in some particular—or in such, in some bodily organ, is this: that when some people cannot recollect, they are agitated, that is, they are made restless with a kind of uneasiness, and with a great effort they apply their mind to recollecting, and if it should happen that as if ceasing from what they had set out to recollect, that uneasiness of thought remains in them. This happens especially in melancholiacs,¹ who are to the greatest degree moved by phantasms, since, in them, because of their earthy nature, the impressions of the phantasms are more fixed.

402. Then, when he says the reason that recollection is not within them (453a20), he assigns the cause for the happenstance under discussion.

First, he gives the cause.

Second, he points out those in whom it most especially has its place, when he says now those people are especially disturbed (453a23; [403]).

In regard to the first point, it must be observed that the activities that belong to the intellective part of the soul aside from any bodily organ fall within one’s own choice, so that one can cease from them whenever one wishes to do so, but such is not the case with the activities that are performed through a bodily organ, since it is not in the power of man that his being affected—precisely insomuch as the organ is purely corporeal—should cease at once.

Thus he says that the cause of the fact that recollecting does not seem to be in the recollectors themselves, that is, in their power, such that they could cease whenever they wanted, is this—since, just as it happens with those who throw something, after they have set in motion the body that they have thrown, it is no longer in their power that it stop, so also the recollector and anyone else tracking something down by using a bodily organ moves the bodily organ, in which the affection exists; hence the movement does not cease as soon as the man wishes it to.

403. Then, when he says those people are especially disturbed (453a23), he shows those in whom the cause under discussion especially has its place. He says that in recollecting those in whom there is an abundant moisture around the place where the organs of the senses are located, namely around the brain and around the heart, are especially disturbed, that is, they are made to share in the movement, since moisture that has been set in motion is not easily brought to rest until the thing that is being sought presents itself, and the movement of the search proceeds in a straight line up to its endpoint.

This does not contradict what was said above (453a18–19), that this happens especially in melancholiacs, who are persons of a dry nature, since in them it takes place owing to a violent stamping of an impression, while in these others it happens because of the ease with which they are moved.

404. Then, when he says this is also why, when instances of anger and fear (453a26), he clarifies what he had said by means of examples. He sets down two similar instances.

The first of these is concerned with the affections of the soul, by which the bodily organ undergoes a certain corresponding movement. He says that when anger or fear or desire or something else of this sort is moved against a given object, even if men want to move in the contrary direction by holding themselves back from anger or fear, the affection is not put to rest, but keeps being moved against the same object. This happens because the corresponding movement¹ of the bodily organ is not quieted at once.

405. Then, when he says this affection is related to names (453a28), he sets down the second point of similarity. He says that this affection that comes about in recollecting is related to names and melodies and arguments, when one of them is uttered through the mouth intentionally, as happens to those who recite or name or sing with great intensity, since when they wish to stop it nevertheless happens that, in spite of their intention, they sing or utter something anyway because the corresponding movement of the original imagination still remains in the bodily organ.

406. Then, when he says but those whose upper parts are larger (453a31), he clarifies his point by stating that recollection is hindered by a bodily disposition. He refers to two bodily dispositions that hinder recollection.

He presents the first of these, saying that those whose upper parts are larger than their lower parts—which is the disposition of dwarves since they have short legs, and the upper part of their body is proportionately larger¹—are worse at remembering than those who have the opposite disposition, because of this—that the sensitive organ, which is in the upper part, is oppressed by a surplus of matter, and because of this the motions of sensible objects can not remain in them for very long, but are quickly dissipated owing to a confusion of humors; this disposition pertains to a failure of memory, nor can they easily proceed rightly in recollecting, since they are not able to control the motion of matter, which pertains to a failure of recollection.

407. The second hindrance is that those who are completely new, such as newborn children, and the very old are lacking in memory because of the movement of growth that is in children and that of decay that is in the old, as was said above.¹ This disposition is in partial agreement with the first, to the extent that it refers to children who for a rather long period are dwarf-like, as having an unusually large upper part of the body.

408. Thus it is clear that recollection is a bodily affection and it is not an act of the intellective, but of the sensitive part of the soul, which in man is nobler and more powerful than in the other animals, because of its conjunction with the intellect. For that which is of an inferior order always becomes more perfect by being joined to its superior, as partaking of its perfection.¹

409. Finally, by way of epilogue, he concludes that it has been said of memory and remembering, what their nature is,¹ and through what part of the soul the animals remember;² and likewise of recollecting what it is,³ and how it comes into being and because of what cause.⁴