Memory, Consciousness and Temporality - Gianfranco

MEMORY, CONSCIOUSNESS AND
TEMPORALITY
NEUROBIOLOGICAL FOUNDATION OF ABERRANT BEHAVIORS
Editorial Board:
MICHAEL MYSLOBODSKY
Tel-Aviv University & Howard University
STANLEY D. GLICK
Albany Medical College
SEYMOUR S. KETY
Harvard University & McLean Hospital
MORRIS MOSCOVITCH
University of Toronto
DANIEL R. WEINBERGER
National Institutes of Health / National Institute of Mental Health
MEMORY, CONSCIOUSNESS AND
TEMPORALITY
by
Gianfranco Dalla Barba

Institut National de la Sante et de la Recherche Medicale
France
SPRINGER SCIENCE+BUSINESS MEDIA, LLC

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dalla Barba, Gianfranco, 1957-

Memory, consciousness, and temporality 1 by Gianfranco Dalla Barba.
p.cm.--{Neurobiological foundation of aberrant behaviors; 3)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4613-6813-7 ISBN 978-1-4615-1741-2 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-4615-1741-2
1. Memory. 2. Consciousness. 3. Phenomenology. 1. Title. II. Series.
BF3171 .D35 2001

153---dc21 2001038562
Copyright 2002 Springer Science+Business Media New York

Originally published by Kluwer Academic Publishers in 2002
Softcover reprint ofthe hardcover Ist edition 2002
AII rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, photo-
copying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, Springer Science+Business Media, LLC.
Printed an acid-free paper.

CONTENTS
AKNOWLEDGMENTS ............................................................................................................. vii
PREFACE .................................................................................................................................... ix
CHAPTER 1. THE PROBLEM OF THE PAST AND THE PARADOX OF

THE TRACE ............................................................................................................................ 1
1. KNOWING AND REMEMBERING: A PHENOMENOLOGICAL DESCRIPTION ...... .... ............ .. ......... 1
2 . THE PARADOX OF THE TRACE ...... .............. .... .. .... ...... .... .......... .. .. .................... .. .... .. .... ......... 5
3. MEMORY AND REPRESENTATION .. ...... ...... ... ............................. .. ...... .... .... .. .. .. ............... ... .. 13
CHAPTER 2. THE HOMUNCULUS FALLACy ..................................................................... 27

1. MEMORY AND CONTROL SySTEMS ... .... ...... ........ ...... ... ............ .. .. ........ ......... .... .... ... .. .. .. .... .. 27
2. THE HOMUNCULUS FALLACY .................. .. ... ....... ..... ...... ........ ............. ...... ....... ......... .. .... .... 32
3. THE FOUNDATIONS OF CONSCIOUSNESS ..... ... ......................... ... .......... ........... ................ ... .. 43
a) The problem of the foundatiOns ofconsciousness ...... ...... ....... .... ...... ....... .......... .. ... .... 43
b) The neurobiological anthropomorphization of the unconscious .... .. .. .. ...... ... ...... ....... 45
c) Psychoanalytic anthropomorphization of the unconscious ..... ...... .. .. .... .. .................... 57
d) Functionalist anthropomorphization of the unconscious ...... ..... .. ..... ... ....................... 61
4. SCIENCE AND MATERIALISM .. .... .. .... ......... .. .... ............... .. ... .. .. .. ........... .... ........................... 71
5. CONCLUSiONS .... ........ ...... ... .... .. ....... ........ ..... .............. ... ... ..... .... ... ... ......... ............... .... ... .... 83
CHAPTER 3. VARIETIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS ................................................................ 87

1. CONSCIOUSNESS CANNOT BUT BE DEFINED AS CONSCIOUSNESS OF .... ......................... ....... 87
2. CONSCIOUSNESS IS NOT PASSIVITY ... .. ...... ...... ............ .... ... .... .. .......... ....... ...... ...... ....... ....... 89
3. BECOMING CONSCIOUS MEANS BECOMING CONSCIOUS OF SOMETHING IN A
CERTAIN WAY .. ..... .. ......... ... ........ ..... .......... ... .......... .. ... .... .... ... .. .......... ...... ...... .......... ... ..... .. 92
4 . VARIETIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS ... ..... ........... ...... .............. ... .... ..... ....... ...... .. ..... ............... . .... 94
5. WHERE DOES THE ORIGINALITY OF THE MODES OF CONSCIOUSNESS COME
FROM? .. .... ............. ... .. ..... .. ....... ..... .. ...... ........ ..... .... .... .. ... ...... .. .......... ..... ........ .................... 97
VI Contents
6. MEMORY AS A PARTICULAR TYPE OF CONSCIOUSNESS ............ ........ .... ........ ... .... .......... .. .. 101
CHAPTER 4. TEMPORALITY .............................................................................................. 105

1. PHENOMENOLOGY OF TEMPORALITy ...... ...... .... .... .... ....... .. .. .. ... .. .. ..... .. ... ................... ....... 105
a) The past... .... ............... .... ..... .... ......... ... .. .... .... .. .. ... ..... .... .... .. ... ...... ..... ........ ... ...... ... .. .. 106
b) The present..... ... .... .......... ..... .. .. .... ... ... ... .. .. .. .......... ........ ... ....... ,..... .... .. .... .... ...... ... ..... III
c) The future .................... .......... ... ... ...... .... .... ... ...... .... .. .. .... ... ........ .. ... .... .... .. ... .. .. .. ...... .. 114
2. ONTOLOGY OF TEMPORALITY .. ............ .. .. .. ............... .... .. .... ..... .. ..... .. ..... .. ....... .... ... .. ... .... .. 117
a) The before-after relationship ....... .. .. ...... ........ ..... ..... ....... ........ .... .. .. .. ...... ..... ....... .... .. 117
CHAPTER 5. KNOWING AND REMEMBERING .............................................................. 125

3. ONTOLOGY OF KNOWLEDGE ... ............ ...... ... ............. .... ..... .................... ........ ..... ....... .. ..... 125
4 . ONTOLOGY OF MEMORY .. . .... ....... ..... ... .. ..... .. ....... .. ..... ... .... .. ............. ... .. .. ... ...... ..... .... ..... .. 138
CHAPTER 6. MEMORY AND CONSCIOUSNESS ............................................................. 149

I. Is A SCIENTIFIC THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS POSSIBLE? ........ .. .. .......... .... ........ .. ........ ...... . 149
2. A HYPOTHESIS ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MEMORY AND
CONSCIOUSNESS ... ........... ... ....... .. .. .. ... ... .. .. ... ........ .... ........ ................. .... ... ... ... ..... ... .... .. .. . 153
3. TOWARDS EXPERIMENTAL PHENOMENOLOGy .. .... ....... ... ... ......... .... .... .. ......... ..... .... .......... 169
CHAPTER 7. CONSCIOUSNESS AND REALITY .............................................................. 181

I . AMNESIA .... .... ... ........ ......... .. .... ... .... ..... ... ..... .. ...... .............. .. ... .. ..... .. ... ...... ...... .. ........... .... 181
2. CONFABULATION .... ... ......... ... ... .... ........... ...... ..... .. ......... ... ...... .. .. ... ... .... .. .. ...... .... .. ...... ... ... 191
3. CONSCIOUSNESS AND EXISTENCE ... ....... ............... ....... ............. ...... ... .. .......... .. ...... .. ... ... ... 207
REFERENCES .......................................................................................................................... 211
INDEX ........................................................................................................................................ 221

AKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted to a great many people for many different reasons. Over

the past years I had the good fortune to talk extensively about memory,
consciousness and temporality with many colleagues and friends from a
variety of different disciplines. I also had the opportunity to read a number
of papers and books dealing with several topics of this book from one point
of view or another. All of the people I discussed with and authors I read
were influential in some way, either because they directly helped my ideas
to evolve or because their ideas seemed to me so at odds with my that I felt
strongly encouraged to pursue my way of thinking. I will not mention their
names but I am really grateful to them all.
There are, however, a few people to whom I am particularly indebted.
Paolo Brigenti and Valeria Zeviani were the first people to read an early
draft of the book. They questioned me, criticized, encouraged and humbled
me over the course of a most pleasant Thai meal. Catherine Tzortzis read a
more advanced draft of my work. Her comments and her editing work were
invaluable.
If I asked Paolo Bartolomeo to write the preface of the book it is because
he probably knows the book as well as I do. With him, I had the opportunity
of discussing most of the ideas expressed in the book. As a cognitivist on
the way to repentance (I hope!), Paolo is probably the best person who can
evaluate the merits and the flaws of my work.
Franco Denes and Lisa Cipolotti introduced me many years ago to
cognitive neuropsychology. I am sure there is scarcely a word in this book
of which they would approve. Nevertheless they encouraged me, showing
great respect, friendship and loyalty.
Franr;:ois Boller has been Head of the laboratory where I have been
working now for 12 years and where intellectual freedom never lacked,
which is not always the case in other labs. Franr;:ois often lent me
encouragement, which has helped me in this work.
There are two more people who deeply influenced my work The first is
Jean-Paul Sartre, who I never met, but who has inspired my intellectual life.
Vlll Aknowledgments
The second is Endel Tulving. I am particularly grateful to Endel for

encouraging my work and for reminding me what science is, or should be:
an always incomplete attempt to discover some aspects of nature. I have
heard him saying on various occasions: "I am wrong, we are all wrong. In
one or two centuries scientists will laugh reading our papers and books on
memory. Nevertheless we must keep trying, because if we don't, they will
have nothing to laugh about". Thank you Endel!
PREFACE
It is not frequent to come across a book announcing a major paradigm

shift in its discipline. And yet, such seems to be the case for this book.
Gianfranco Dalla Barba argues that any understanding of memory must pass
through an adequate consideration of the operations of consciousness, and
urges to reconsider these issues in the light of the phenomenological
tradition. One could see this position as an invitation to give proper credit to
a first-person perspective, after decades of exclusive reliance on third-
person descriptions of 'objective' performance. In this 'ecumenical' sense,
the return of phenomenology to cognitive science might be welcome as an
addition to the now more traditional methods of behavioural and
neurophysiological research. Converging, mutually constraining evidence
from these three sources might ultimately contribute to a better
understanding of consciousness 1. But Dalla Barba's position appears to be
much more radical than that. His arguments on memory and consciousness
imply that the very foundations of cognitive science, that is, the idea that
"thinking can best be understood in terms of representational structures in
the mind and computational procedures that operate on those structures"2,
are wrong. There are no such things as mental representations, or memory
engrams, because there is no homunculus there to interpret them and to
provide memory traces with their relationship with a past event. Following
coherently his line of reasoning, Dalla Barba raises doubts about the very
possibility of a science of consciousness. The aim of science is to achieve
objective knowledge by establishing quantitative relationships. On the other
hand, "[c]onsciousness, by definition, is subjectivity that describes itself
according to rules of quality and not quantity" (ms p. 198). It follows that
any attempt to objectivate consciousness inevitably transforms it in
something radically different. The necessary conclusion is that an
1 Flanagan, O. (1992). Consciousness reconsidered. Cambridge, MA, US: MIT Press.

2 Thagard, P. (1996). Cognitive Science. In: Stanford Encyclopedia of Phylosophy (E.N.
Zalta, Ed.). Available at: http://www.illc.uva.nl/-seop/contents.html.
x Preface
(objective) science of (subjective) consciousness is not logically possible.

This conclusion is not, however, explicitly stated by Dalla Barba, who is
himself a thoughtful and productive cognitive scientist. A more lenient
perspective for the future of cognitive science could be that you may take
the risk and make inferences on what is going on in somebody else's
consciousness, and perhaps discover lawful relationships, from his/her
verbal reports or other behavioural evidence (see, e.g., Dennet's
heterophenomenology I). Dalla Barba seems to adhere to such a perspective.
Also, changes in brain functioning during cognitive activities may provide
hints concerning the neural correlates of consciousness 2 (despite Dalla
Barba's claim that the brain has no special status for the operations of
consciousness!). Though, as he points out, it is unclear how to establish
causal relationships between these phenomena, finding neural activity which
is both necessary and sufficient (within a given context) to the development
of a determinate subjective experience 3 would be an exciting result, and
could perhaps offer insights for developing rehabilitation strategies for
brain-damaged patients.
A fruitful domain of interaction between phenomenology and cognitive
science could be the building of taxonomies of consciousness operations.
For example, the fact that one can detect a briefly presented array of letters
as made of letters, but can verbally report only a subset of the array4,
suggests a distinction between phenomenal consciousness (the experience of
seeing the array of letters) and reflexive consciousness (supporting the
capacity of verbally reporting the letters)5, a distinction already hinted at by
Husserl, Sartre and Ricoeur6. In the memory domain, Dalla Barba proposes
yet another taxonomy of the modes of consciousness, that between
'knowing consciousness', 'temporal consciousness' (remindful of Tulving's
distinction between semantic and episodic memory), and 'imaginative
consciousness' . This distinction receives support from the performance of
1 Dennett, D. C. (1991). Consciousness explained. Boston, MA, US: Little, Brown and Co.
2 Rodriguez, E., George, N., Lachaux, 1. P., Martinerie, 1., Renault, B., & Varela, F. 1.
(1999). Perception's shadow: long-distance synchronization of human brain activity. Nature,
397(6718),430-433.
3 Kanwisher, N. (2001). Neural events and perceptual awareness. Cognition, 79(1-2),89-113.
4 Sperling, G. (1960). The information available in brief visual presentations. Psychological
Monographs, 74(11), 1-29.
5 Block, N. (2001). Paradox and cross purposes in recent work on consciousness. Cognition,
79(1-2),197-219.
6 Vermersch, P. (2000). Conscience directe et conscience rejlrkhie. Available at:
http://www.es-conseil.fr/GREXI.
Preface Xl
brain-damaged patients showing a selective deficit for one of these modes of

consciousness. These two examples underline the fact that first-person
phenomenology and third-person observation of someone else's
performance need not give rise to incompatible results, even if third-person
observation is inevitably contaminated by a functionalist framework. More
generally, it is not to be excluded that logically flawed assumptions, such as
those underlying functionalism, may lead to genuine progress in science,
whereas rigid methodologies may hamper it 1.
Be that as it may, this book represents a radical and carefully articulated
criticism of functionalism in cognitive science. Shall it ultimately be the
small child pointing to the shallowness of "the mind's new science"2?
Perhaps only time will say. Certainly, this book has the capacity of forcing
cognitive scientists to a critical evaluation of the assumptions underlying
their research, as its drafts did for me during the past few years, and its
central arguments continue to do now.
Paolo Bartolomeo
Paolo Bartolomeo is senior research scientist at the French institute of

health and medical research (INSERM).
I Feyerabend, P. K. (1988). Against Method. (Rev. ed.). London; New York: Verso.
2 Gardner, H. (1985). The mind's new science: A history of the cognitive revolution. New
York, NY, US : BasicBooks, Inc.
One fact is limpid and clear: neither the future nor the past exists. It is
inexact to say that there are three kinds of time : past, present and
future . Maybe it would be more exact to say that time can be
conceived of in three ways: the present of the past, the present of the
present, and the present of the future.
Augustine, The confessions of Saint Augustine

CHAPTER!
THE PROBLEM OF THE PAST AND THE

PARADOX OF THE TRACE
1. KNOWING AND REMEMBERING: A PHENOMENOLOGICAL

DESCRIPTION
What is memory? If you look it up in the dictionary, you soon discover

that this term is used to refer to very different aspects of human experience.
RobertI, for example, defines memory as: 1) the faculty used to preserve
and recall past states of consciousness and that which is associated with
them; 2) a combination of psychical functions through which the past is
pictured as past; 3) the preservation in the brain of impressions which
continue to influence our behaviour in the form of habits. The polysemy of
the concept of memory is found in these definitions whose origin lies in
general use. Therefore memory is not only the faculty to preserve and recall
past states of consciousness, or the faculty to picture the past as past, but it
is also the expression, in the form of habits, of past experiences which are
preserved in the brain. If then you look directly at how the term memory is
generally used, it is evident that it refers to the ability to remember episodes
or information of every sort. We say, for example, "I remember the name of
the person I met yesterday, I remember several lines from Dante, I
remember how I spent my last holiday, I remember the chemical formula
for water", etc. Therefore the word memory is commonly used to denote the
faculty to use any type of acquired information. It is easy to see though that
this polysemous term is used to refer to at least two substantially different
phenomena. Indeed, memory refers both to the act of recalling episodes and
personal events as well as to the capacity of using acquired information
1 Robert, P., 1972.

G. D. Barba, Memory, Consciousness and Temporality
Springer Science+Business Media New York 2002
2 The problem of the past and the paradox of the trace
which has no personal or temporal connotations. For example, the idea of

memory refers both to the memory of your last holiday and to the
knowledge of the chemical formula for water. The term memory is therefore
ambiguous because of the substantial difference in the meanings it is used to
express. Let's see.
Here is a book, on the table in front of me. What knowledge do I have of

this book? First of all, I recognise it as a book, that is I know that the object
in front of me is a book and not, for example, a bicycle or a coffee machine.
Quite early, in my childhood, I realised that a book, a bicycle and a coffee
machine were distinct objects. At first I distinguished them without being
able to give them a name or function. I then learnt to indicate these three
objects with three different sounds, "book", "bicycle" and "coffee machine".
I also understood that a book is something that belongs to a distinct
category, that of books, that is that there are a quantity of objects in the
world called by the same name because they share certain characteristics:
they are sheets of paper bound together, on which words and images are
printed. What else do I know about this book? Well, for example, that it
belongs to a certain particular subcategory of books. Indeed, it's a novel and
not a handbook of physics, it's a paperback edition and not a hardback, it
was written over a century ago and not today, I know what it's about
because I have read it, unlike many other books that I have never read. I
could also add that I know it is made out of ink, glue and cellulose, that
some people have enjoyed it while others have enjoyed it less, that the
author belonged to a certain literary school typical of the time and place in
which the book was written, that the publisher is an important one that is
now in economic straits. How come I know all these things about that book,
where does all this knowledge come from? My past experience will be held
responsible. Certainly, it is probable that over the years my continual
interacting with the world around me has enabled me to deposit certain
more or less stable "meanings" that now enable me, for example, to state all
that I know concerning this book which is on the table in front of me. It is
easy to see though that my knowledge of that book, though it is based on my
past experience, is not exclusively mine, but is, or could be, common
knowledge to all the members of the society to which I belong. In other
words, everyone knows or could know what I know about this book
because, like me, everyone in the course of their lifetime has had access to
the information necessary to form a more or less complex idea of book.
The problem of the past and the paradox of the trace 3
But there is something else about this book in front of me. Something
this book means to me and which does not belong, nor could ever belong, to
any other being in the universe other than me. Indeed this book is mine. And
not only because I bought it and now possess it, but because it is part of my
personal past of which I alone am at the same time protagonist and sole
repository. I have had direct experience of this book in the past and continue
to do so in the present direct experience, which makes the book an element
of what I have been and of what I now am . In other words, not only do I
know what other people know or could know about this book, but I also
have certain memories of it which no one else has or could ever have. I
remember in fact having bought it in that certain books hop and of having
found it after spending ages looking for it among the bookshelves. I
remember having read it during the summer when I was on holiday in that
certain place, the moments of boredom and of satisfaction while reading it,
etc. In short, that book evokes in me certain memories, pictures of the past
in which I was the protagonist, which belong exclusively to me. But you
may object that I can tell you about my memories of this book, as I am in
fact doing at the moment, and so they are not only mine but belong to
whoever, in one way or another, learns of them. Certainly, anyone may learn
the date, the place, the name of the bookshop and the exact position on the
bookshelf from which I took this book, if I choose to teU him. He may also
learn which pages bored me and which enthralled me, under which tree and
at what time of the day I would read. But his knowledge of it will always be
impersonal and atemporal, of the same type as the rest of the knowledge he
possesses about that book and the world in general. While for me, this book
represents an element of my past. A past which I can consciously evoke by
transcending the present and placing myself and that book down there in the
past, in my past. In no way can my experience of this book become someone
else's past, even if, hypothetically, someone knows aU about that experience
down to the smallest detail. Indeed, in that case, my experience of this book
will not become experience of this book in someone else's past, it will quite
simply be a memory, however detailed, of my experience of this book. It
seems clear then, that if we trust what our direct experience of the world
reveals to us, we must recognise a substantial difference between
phenomenal experience which characterises the memory of one's own
personal past and that which is associated with the use of acquired
knowledge.
But what is the nature of the difference between what I remember and
what I know about that book? After all, both memory and knowledge stem
from my past experience. Phenomenal experience reveals to us that the
subjective experience which accompanies the recollection of a personal
episode is completely different and unlikely to be confused with the
experience which accompanies the putting to use of knowledge; but is this
really such a substantial difference? The reflective data which, for example,
makes it clear that knowing that water in chemical terms is H2O, gives rise
to a subjective experience which differs from remembering an evening spent
with friends at a restaurant; should this data be taken seriously or can it be
quite easily overlooked? The notion concerning the chemical formula of
water, even though it comes from my past experience, lacks any temporal
connotation whatsoever, while the memory of an evening spent with friends
sends me immediately back to the past; is this only an illusion or a bizarre
memory epiphenomenon, or does it reflect the very structure of memory?
Let us say at once that what direct experience of phenomena reveals must
not be taken lightly and certainly not be neglected. That which direct
experience of the world reveals to us cannot be considered useless, the by-
product of a hidden world by which it is preceded and determined. Sending
the "explanation" on to somewhere else means preferring the abstract to the
concrete, negating the reality of experience by referring the essence of
concrete experience back to an abstract world which is only experienced
indirectly. Nietzsche had already warned against the "illusion of hidden
worlds". The cup which is in front of me at this moment does not refer me
to any hidden essence. The cup is neither the atoms of which it is composed
nor a hypothetical representation of cup which I carry around with me as
content of my consciousness, or of my physiological or psychological
unconscious. The cup's appearance, that is my perception of cup,
encompasses and refers me to a whole physical and psychological series of
events which cannot lay claim to any priority over the cup as it appears to
me now. Of course I can go beyond appearances, as indeed one tends to say
in everyday language. By means of another operation, on another level in
that it excludes my direct perception of cup, I can say that the cup is a man-
made china object, the perception and knowledge of which is possible
thanks to some representation or unconscious mental act or some
computational treatment of the input "cup". It is only too clear that this type
of operation does not permit us to go beyond appearances, but rather creates
an infinite series of appearances. The china object, the representation or the
computational treatment of the input are nothing other than the actors on a
stage, in a play which I use to explain the cup's appearance. In other words,
this cup does not appear because it is made of china, but it appears as made
of china. Ifthe relation between it's being made of china and its appearance
were a causal one, then there would be no way to distinguish the cup from
any other object made of china. One may want to argue that it is not just a
question of materials. The china was, in fact, worked in order to attain the
shape of a cup. But it is not that the material plus the work of man or of a
machine will lead us to the appearance. That which appears cannot be the
sum of nothing, or one could say it is the sum of everything which is the
same thing. The cup, indeed, appears to me not only as man made and of
china, but as an object which is in front of me, here and now, in this room,
in this city, with this certain light, an object among the objects of my
experience. The cup is, first of all and irremediably, its being here in front
of me, in front of this consciousness that I am, and it is not the appearance
of a hidden essence or the result of a causal chain. If we were to see the
cup's appearance as depending on something beyond what it is, we would
end up by being strangled by a causal chain which starts from the china
object and ends up losing itself in the infinity of the universe. Even though
the appearance of cup does not coincide with its essence, which, as we shall
see later, is to be found in the consciousness to which this cup appears, it
cannot be overlooked in favour of other appearances, which in tum would
send one on to still other appearances in a reductio ad infinitum. If now
instead of the cup we take memory into consideration, or that which is
commonly indicated by this term, it becomes clear that the difference
between memory and knowledge, which is a difference of appearance,
cannot be done away with just like that, relegating it to a peculiar
epiphenomenon or memory illusion. Knowing and recollecting appear as
different to experience, and this different and unmistakable appearance must
be taken into account. Every theory on memory must therefore inevitably
give an answer to this phenomenal diversity between memory and
knowledge.
2. THE PARADOX OF THE TRACE
An assumption common to many old and new theories on memory is that

of considering a memory as the result of the preservation of the past in the
organism which remembers. Accordingly, if I now perceive the image of
this cup of coffee on the table, tomorrow I will be able to remember it

because this image has, so to speak, been deposited in some part of my brain
in the form of a memory trace. In other words, the event of "cup-on-the-
table-on-such-and-such-an-aftemoon" has caused a modification in the
equilibrium of my brain which I call memory trace of the event, or, to use
more elegant terminology, an engram, in which the event is deposited in the
form of representation. The activation of the trace, that is, its subsequent
passage from a passive to an active state, will result in recollection of the
event. Present-day versions of this now classical way of thinking have been
reformulated more or less explicitly in current functionalist theories. These
substitute the physical trace with a functional trace which is preserved in the
architecture of a system which is no longer physical (the brain), but virtual
(the cognitive system). It is easy to see that, however reformulated, any
theory which bases the ability to recollect on the preservation of an event
inside a trace contains a paradox, fruit of a misleading assumption, that is
the belief that time can exist in things. The past event which I now
remember, for example my dinner yesterday with Paola, is present to my
consciousness as a past event, in that the event was contained in the memory
trace whose activation produced the recollection. In other words, the past of
that event, or its "pastness" as Bergson! says, is already there, enclosed in
that "thing", physical or abstract as it may be, which I call memory trace of
the event. But it should be clear that "things" as such are not temporal.
Objects of the world are neither present, nor past, nor future, but they
acquire a temporal dimension only in the presence of a person who goes to
the trouble of making them temporal. Time cannot even be found in a
"thing" like the brain, however much one would like to give it a particular
status in the universe. This erroneous assumption, on which theories of
memory are founded, is directly reflected in the paradox to which these
theories fall victim. The paradox of the memory trace, as we shall call it,
consists in seeing memory, that is what is given to consciousness as past, as
originating in elements borrowed from the present. Let's see why.
The event which I now perceive, for example, the glass which is on the
table in front of me, is without doubt a present event. This event of glass-on-
the-table, determines a modification in the equilibrium of a system, be it
1 Bergson, H., 1896.

physical (the nervous system) or virtual (the computational level ), which I

call memory trace. What is the temporal nature of this modification, namely
of the memory trace? Without doubt present. The glass-on-the-table which I
now perceive is present and if one accepts that this event produces a
modification somewhere between my brain and my mind, one will have to
accept that said modification will be present, and that the event represented
by that modification will also be present. In short, depending on the
ideology that one wants to adopt, be it a case of the synthesis of new
proteins, of the growth of new dendritic spines, of the activation or the
reinforcement of synaptic circuits, or of the particular codification of
information, it will always be a matter of present modification of something.
What happens when that event contained in the trace is recollected in
memory? When the event of "glass-on-the-table" is recollected it happens in
the present, that is as the result of the reactivation of the modification that
the event caused on a physiological, biochemical, neuroanatomical,
neurocibemetical or functional level. And so it is not at all clear how
memory, whose basic characteristic is being memory of the past, can stem
from a combination of present phenomena, perception, the preservation of
the trace and recollection. Activation of the memory trace should, if
anything, coincide with a new perception of the event contained within the
trace, not with its memory since the event contained in the trace was present
as it ended up in the trace and continued to be so for as long as it remained
enclosed in the trace. The paradox of the memory trace which current
theories on memory overlook had already been clearly reported over fifty
years ago. Merleau-Ponty I wrote: " ...our very best reason for rejecting
physiological preservation of the past is also a reason for rejecting
'psychological preservation', and this reason is that no preservation, no
physiological or psychic "trace" of the past can enable comprehension of
consciousness of the past. This table carries traces of my past life, I have
carved my initials, I have left ink stains. But, alone, these traces do not refer
back to the past: they are present; and, if I find there signs of some
'previous' event, I find them because, by other means, I have a sense of the
past, because I carry in me this meaning .... a preserved perception (in a
'physical' or 'psychic' trace) is a perception, it continues to exist, it is
always in the present, it does not open behind us that dimension of escape
and of absence that is the past." If, on the other hand, I recognise that
particular event as past, this happens because I attribute a precise meaning
I Merleau-Ponty, M., 1945.

to it, that of being past, a meaning which by definition cannot be contained

in the trace since, in every moment of its existence, it has never ceased to be
present.
This does not mean that events do not cause modifications in our brain or
in our cognitive system, but these modifications cannot be used to explain
recollection. Besides, any object in the universe undergoes modification on
account of events. Any object carries with it the marks of the past, and yet,
if not metaphorically, no one would think of attributing the possibility of
recollection to objects. The signs that events have left on objects acquire the
meaning of past only by virtue of a consciousness which attributes it to
them. Even the impression on the cushion on the sofa in front of me bears
witness to past events, but in itself it is present and has never ceased to be so
in any single instant of its existence. If I find in it signs of some past event,
if I remember the thousands of times that my guests and I myself have sat
on that sofa, it is because I attribute a meaning to those marks, that of being
past. The "meeness" of memory of which Claparede 1 speaks, the warmth
and intimacy with which James 2 describes memory, or Bergson's
"pastness"3, describe certain characteristics of memory well, but tell us
nothing about its nature. Indeed, they either describe only one present
characteristic of memory, and so they remain in the present, or else if they
are already dealing with the past, they presuppose that which they want to
explain.
As support for the hypothesis of the memory trace as a condition for

recollection it could be stated that it is not at all necessary for the episodes
to be contained in the memory trace as past. Indeed, for recollection to be
possible it is enough for "something" in the trace to indicate that its content
concerns some past event. In short, it would be enough for the episodes
registered in the trace to be in some way marked, for example, with a type
of tag stating the date they took place or simply indicating that what is
contained in that trace is past4. It is easy to see how, yet again, a hypothesis
of this type presupposes the past instead of explaining it. Any tag or
indicator added to the episode contained in the trace will indeed be present,
as is the episode which it accompanies. The date or the "past" information
1 Claparede, E., 1911.

2 James, W., 1890.
3 Bergson, H., 1896.
4 See for example Morton, 1., Hammersley, R.H., & Berkerian, D.A., 1985.
of the indicator, in themselves, tell us nothing; they are not past, they
become so only if the past is already taken for granted by the consciousness
which selects that indicator. In other words, the tag or indicator of pastness
of an episode does not precede nor, even less so, does it create the past. On
the contrary, it is in some way the consequence of it, it assumes its function
of indicator of pastness because I already carry in me this meaning and am
capable of attributing it to it. The knot I tie in my handkerchief to remind
me that yesterday I made an appointment with Paul is not past and if I
ignore it is not even present. When I put my hand in my pocket to take out
my handkerchief and I realise it has a knot, I attribute a meaning to that
knot, that of being an indicator of a past event which I have to remember so
as not to cut a poor figure with Paul. If I did not already possess the past as
meaning, that knot would simply remain what it is, and not an indicator of
something past. The date, the indicator of pastness or what have you, say
absolutely nothing about the past, nor do they bear witness to it. If I am able
to recollect the appointment with Paul, this episode will appear to me in the
past not because of its date but because of the meaning I attribute to that
date, namely the meaning of the past that I attribute to that episode. In short,
for however many tags, indicators or whatever else you may choose to
attach to the memory trace, it will never ever contain the past.
On the other hand, it would be pointless to attribute the order of

succession to the contents of the trace, that is something that specifies that
episode B took place before episode C and after episode A. The order of
succession, the very idea of a before and of an after precedes the episode, it
is not part of it. If I say that B comes after A and before C, I am
temporalising A, Band C according to an order of succession that does not
depend on the elements themselves, but on the temporalising act which I
perform in accordance with an idea of succession which I already possess
and which precedes the elements themselves. In other words, for however
hard one tries, it will never be possible to draw the past from the memory
trace. We shall see later the nature of the past and how this cannot be
understood if not within a global temporality. But there is another problem
to be resolved with regard to the memory trace. The problem of knowledge
and of its preservation.
You could say that, if not the past, at least knowledge will be stored in
some part of the brain or else in a functional system as the functionalists
claim. Indeed, since knowledge is timeless and impersonal, it could very
well be preserved in some trace without this implying the risk of falling
once again into the paradox described above. But knowledge, just like the
past, is not "something" that necessarily has to be somewhere. It is not a
question of res extensa which has to occupy space and which can therefore
quite happily be placed in a memory trace. Indeed, knowledge cannot
prescind from he who knows, that is from the consciousness of he who
knows. It is in the consciousness of he who knows that knowledge is to be
sought. But, yet again, it is not a question here of drawing knowledge as a
"thing" from the unconscious of the memory trace in order to bring it to the
light of consciousness as content of the latter. Indeed, consciousness, but we
will go into it in more detail further on, has no content, but as consciousness
of, it is already, for example, cognisant consciousness of this glass. And in
order for there to be a cognisant consciousness there must also be
consciousness of the cognisant consciousness. It is not a question of
Spinoza's idea ideae, nor of the well-known formula "knowing is knowing
you know" . Both these positions would lead in fact to infinity (idea ideae
ideae etc.). In order for there to be knowledge there must be consciousness
of consciousness as cognisant. What is absolutely unthinkable is the passive
existence of knowledge, as it would appear if it were contained in a memory
trace, that is knowledge that remains in the limbo of the unconscious or of
the physiological. Under these conditions, it is absolutely incomprehensible
how non-conscious knowledge can perpetuate itself and still find the
strength to produce cognisant consciousness. Later, we will clarify how the
relationship between cognisant and known should be seen without falling
into the trap of idealism and of realism. For now let it suffice to have
clarified that if consciousness were a place, that would be the only possible
place for knowledge, and that knowledge shut up in a memory trace is
unintelligible.
If, as we have seen, memory and knowledge cannot be contained in a

memory trace or in any other place in as far as their existence outside
consciousness is unintelligible, how come, you will object, the past
continues to influence an individual's present even if he is not conscious of
it? Indeed, it is easy to see that most of the gestures I execute reflect and
presuppose an acquired knowledge but they are carried out without my
necessarily being conscious of this knowledge. For example, a linguistic act
does not require consciousness of the syntactic structure of the sentence
pronounced, a structure that he who carries out the act generally knows, but
of which he is not conscious at the moment in which he pronounces the
sentence. Or else, much more simply, I can be conscious of what I am

writing and at the same time not of the gesture I am carrying out to bring a
cigarette to my lips. And yet this gesture that I perform automatically while
my consciousness is directed elsewhere, implies a certain amount of various
kinds of knowledge: for example, I must know that cigarettes are brought up
to the lips and not, let us say, to the ear; I must know the appropriate gesture
to avoid bringing the cigarette to my ear instead of to my lips, I must know
that once it reaches my lips it should be smoked and not eaten, etc. All this
knowledge determines my present behaviour even though it remains outside
my consciousness. Are these not perhaps examples of the influence of an
unconscious past, at least in the shape of knowledge, if not of memory, on
an unconscious present. And besides, has it not been established, at least
since the time of Claparede, that amnesic patients, who from one minute to
the next lose all conscious memory of their past experience, as a rule
acquire and use knowledge in the so-called "implicit", that is not conscious,
way? In the light of these observations it would seem that knowledge can
exist outside of consciousness. And if therefore, it is permissible to consider
it separable from consciousness then it could even be somewhere, for
example, in a memory trace.
Actually, that is not how It IS. First of all, we must clarify that the
knowledge that accompanies my behaviour and in someway determines it,
like the sentence uttered or the cigarette brought to my lips, are certainly
beyond the consciousness of that moment, but can become conscious if only
I give them my attention. And so I can become conscious of the syntactic
structure of the sentence I utter or of the gestures I perform to bring a
cigarette to my lips. Only when this knowledge is present to consciousness
as consciousness of knowledge does it acquire its shape as knowledge, that
is, it becomes meaning that consciousness thematises. And earlier, what was
and what is the knowledge that amnesic patients are able to acquire but not
clearly express in the form of meaning? You will admit, without doubt, that
it is the result of experience or, to use a more modern term, of information
which has been accumulated. But is saying that it is a matter of accumulated
information the same as accepting the notion of memory trace? Not at all.
That experience, or quite simply the passage from a previous state to a
present one, is responsible for modifications in any system does not indeed
mean that said modifications are in any way specified, as, on the other hand,
one presupposes them to be in a memory trace. I can call these
modifications information which accumulates but it is still, one way or
another, a question of ineutrali information, that is non-specified in terms of

meaning, knowledge or memories since these exist only in consciousness, or
rather, as we shall see, are original and irreducible forms of consciousness.
The notion of memory trace requires, on the other hand, that accumulated
information be already specified in its phenomenal aspect within the trace,
that is, that knowledge, meaning, memories be already within the trace.
However, if I observe these modifications from close up, depending on the
magnifying glass I choose, I will find, let us say, subatomic participles,
atoms, molecules, cells, electro-physiological phenomena, computation
symbols etc., but I will never find knowledge, meaning, or memories. It is
very likely that the brain, and not only the brain but the whole body, like
any physicochemical system, changes with the passing of physical time and
that therefore the modifications caused by the passage of physical time are
recorded by the system. But this is in no way proof of the existence of the
memory trace, and even less so of the influence of the past on the present.
Although the present state of matter, of any matter including the brain, is the
result of its previous state, it is not at all necessary to make reference to the
influence of the past since there is no present state of matter which cannot
be explained with the normal means of mechanistic determinism. The
example quoted by Sartre 1 clarifies the matter: These two nails look exactly
the same. However, one is new while the other was bent and then
straightened with a hammer. With the first blow, one of them will go right
into the plank while the other will bend yet again: influence of the past,
result of experience "of nail bent and then straightened "7 No, quite simply
the exterior appearance of the two nails is similar but their present
molecular structure is different. The present molecular state is, at every
instant, the effect of the past molecular state but this does not at all mean
that there is a passage from one instant to another with the persistence of the
past, nor that the nail bends because it "remembers" its own past or because
it "knows" it should bend under the blows of a hammer because of its
present molecular state.
Some time ago, in one of the most prestigious international scientific

magazines, there was an article entitled "Metallurgy: extraordinary alloys
that remember their past". It states: "There is a class of alloys which, like
patients coming out of psychoanalysis, remember their past."2 It is about
1 Sartre, J.P., 1943.

2 Robinson, A.L., 1976.
alloys bent at high temperatures and then straightened cold, which when
reheated assume once again the bent structure that they had originally. We
may well attribute then, metaphorically, memory, knowledge and any other
type of intentional act to all finite beings. Certain alloys "remember" their
past, the thermostat "feels" variations in temperature, the photoelectric cell
"sees" variations in light, the thermos flask "knows" whether it is keeping
the liquid hot or cold. However, it is always a question of metaphor, just as
only metaphorically can it be said that memory and knowledge are
contained within cerebral traces.
We will now try to demonstrate how both the problem of memory and
that of knowledge have been overlooked by current theories on memory
based on the paradox of the trace.
3. MEMORY AND REPRESENTATION
At the beginning of this century, Claparede I made the following

observation on an amnesic patient: "It is a case -he wrote- of a forty-seven-
year-old woman committed to the Bel Air Asylum. Her illness began 5
years ago. Her old memories are intact, for example, she can list the
European capitals without making a mistake, she can carry out various
mental calculations etc. Yet she does not know where she is even though she
has been in this home for five years. She does not recognise the doctors of
the asylum even though she sees them every day and not even her nurse who
has been with her for six months. When the latter asks her if she recognises
her, the patient answers: -No Madam, with whom do I have the honour of
speaking?- What strikes one here -continues Claparede- is her inability to
recollect at will her recent memories and, when these are recollected
automatically, to recognise them .... I made the following rather odd
experiment on this patient: to see if she would retain more easily an intense
impression which brought her emotional life into play, I pricked her hand
hard with a pin I had hidden between my fingers. This small pain was
quickly forgotten as though it were a matter of an indifferent perception and
a few instants later she no longer remembered anything. However, when I
again approached my hand to hers, she withdrew it in reflex, without
I Claparede, E., 1911.

knowing why. When, indeed, I asked her why she had withdrawn it, she
answered with astonishment: -why, isn't it perhaps my right to withdraw my
hand?- and if! insisted she would say:- is there perhaps a pin hidden in your
hand? - and to my question: -who has made you think that I want to prick
you? - she would answer with a refrain: - it's an idea that crossed my mind-
or sometimes she would try to justify herself saying: -sometimes there are
pins hidden in hands" (pp.84-85).
In this observation of Claparede' s we already find, more or less

explicitly, the idea that human memory is made up of a combination of
distinct functions. In the case of amnesia, some of these are lost, others are
retained. Claparede's patient demonstrated that she could use certain general
knowledge correctly, that which she had acquired before the beginning of
her pathology, and that she was able to take in new information, as her
behaviour to avoid another pin prick demonstrated: when faced with the
examiner whose hand again approaches hers, she withdraws it, "without
knowing why" says Claparede. Indeed she does not "know" why she
withdraws her hand, or at least not consciously. Certainly, she knows that it
has something to do with pins and the painful pricks that these give when
hidden in the fingers of a hand you're about to shake, but this is "an idea
which crosses her mind", an impersonal idea and one which in her mind has
no connection whatsoever with her own personal past. The episode itself of
the prick disappeared from her consciousness while continuing to influence
her behaviour. She is not consciously aware of her own past even though
she carries the signs of it in her reactions. On the other hand, in this patient,
the possibility of conscious memory of past episodes has been irremediably
lost.
Claparede was not the only one, nor was he the first, to observe
dissociation in the behaviour of amnesic patients. Ribot l and Korsakoff2
had made similar observations, but theirs were mostly clinical observations
and so were not taken seriously by experimental psychologists. They only
began to "rediscover" what had already been observed at least fifty years
earlier towards the end of the fifties 3 . It was only in those years that
psychologists realised that memory, recollection, learning and similar
I Ribot, T ., 1882.
2 Korsakoff, S. S.,1889.
3 Milner, B., 1958; Milner, B., 1965; Warrington, E.K., & Weiskrantz, L., 1968; Warrington,
E.K., & Weiskrantz L., 1968.
concepts could not be disposed of as monolithic and integral phenomena.

Indeed, the amnesic were capable of learning many things even in
compliance with rigid experimental criteria.
The idea that memory was organised in various systems, which were
more or less independent, started to be accepted among psychologists with
those studies. According to this hypothesis every memory system is the
function of nervous structures which are specific to that system, and is
organised according to operative rules which are different from those of
every other system. Moreover, the various memory systems are among
themselves functionally incompatible] in the sense that every system is in
charge of resolving specific memory problems which can only be resolved
by that system. Among the various distinctions, that between the semantic
memory system and the episodic memory system is the one of most interest
to us. This distinction was first proposed by Tulving2 to distinguish the
ability to remember specific episodes of our personal past from
comprehension and language use in general, which was described as
semantic memory, where the term "memory" is used too loosely according
to Tulving. "Episodic memory -writes Tulving- is a system which receives
and stores information about temporally dated episodes and their spatio-
temporal relations". Semantic memory, on the other hand, is "the memory
necessary for the use of language. It is a mental thesaurus; the organised
knowledge that a person has of words and other verbal symbols, of their
meaning, of their relationships, as of formulas, rules, algorithms to
manipulate symbols, concepts and relationships3. Tulving also emphasises
the fact that episodic memory depends on conscious recollection of the
personal past of he who remembers and that "conscious awareness even if
only in the form of a vague sensation of the episodic source of the
information recalled, is the hallmark of episodic memory"4. It is conscious
awareness that connotes episodic recollection and assimilates it to an act,
that of remembering, which is completely different from knowledge in itself
which is identified with knowing. The episodic-semantic dichotomy which
emphasises recollection and knowledge as opposing poles of the activity
called memory, has been taken up by various authors who, even if with
different terminology, have reproposed it without in reality having changed
1 Schacter, D.L., & Tulving, E. , 1994.

2 Tulving, E., 1972.
its characteristics by much l . Furthermore, Tulving affirms that episodic

memory represents, both phylogenetically and ontogenetically, the most
advanced stage of evolution. Episodic memory is seen as a subsystem of
semantic memory and its functioning therefore depends on the soundness of
the latter. In short, there can be no conscious recollection if semantic
knowledge has been lost.
Tulving's schematisation has without doubt a merit, that of

distinguishing recollection from knowledge and of therefore pointing out
what immediate experience of the world already tells us apodeictically, the
unmistakable difference between the act of recollection and that of
knowledge. Another merit of Tulving's is his having sensed intuitively that
the relationship between recollection and knowledge is not one of clear-cut
separation, but rather a relationship in which one of the two elements blends
into the other. And so we accept that knowledge has both phylogenetic and
ontogenetic priority over recollection and this in some way stems from
knowledge as a more original and more evolved way of addressing the
world. Another, by no means secondary, merit of the distinction between
episodic memory and semantic memory is that of having provided a
theoretic base capable of explaining, at least in part, some clinical-
experimental observations on amnesia. It has been known, at least since the
times of Claparede 2 that in the amnesic knowledge, impersonal knowledge
of the world, well, in short, semantic memory is often preserved, while
conscious recollection of one's personal past, episodic memory, is lost3 .
However, the merits of Tulving's theory end here and at this point its
limitations emerge, the first of which is linked to the very idea of a memory
system. According to Tulving, every memory system differs from every
other, essentially because of the type of information or of representation that
it contains. The semantic system is said to contain the representation of the
world in the form of meaning, rules, relations, algorithms, in other words,
the "meaning" of the world, that which enables one to know it. The episodic
system, on the other hand, is supposed to contain the representation of
specific episodes from the personal past of each of us. But, even though the
I For example Weiskrantz (1987) distinguishes between memory and events and system and
cognition, Hintzman (1978) between episodic memory and generic memory, Baddeley (1982)
between conscious recollection and automatic recollection.
3 We will come back to the problem of amnesia and its interpretation.
episodic system is said to be dependent on the semantic, what is not clear is

how and when a semantic representation becomes part of the episodic
system since recollection, which is a function of the episodic system,
requires knowledge, which is a function of the semantic system. In other
words, if to remember the cup from which I drank tea yesterday I have to
have a semantic representation of "cup", when and how does the generic
representation of cup become part of my episodic system to then become
"that-cup-from-which-I-drank-tea-yesterday"? If it is simply a process of
multiplication of the representations in which the episodic representation
comes into being at the moment the event is experienced and is detached, so
to speak, from the semantic system to become part of the episodic, we
would find ourselves with two representations separated by a void. The
episodic representation will no longer refer one back to the semantic, but
will become isolated from it, lost forever in its being episodic and an orphan
to any meaning whatsoever. And so it is pointless to assert the existence of a
relationship of dependency of episodic representation on semantic if from
the start a relationship of separation has been established. In short, once the
two representations have been separated, either where this relationship of
dependency comes from is explained or else the possibility of lending
"meaning" to recollection will be forever lost. It is obvious that the simple
assertion of dependency does nothing but presuppose that which needs to be
explained. But even if we accept the existence of two representations, an
episodic and a semantic, and the dependency of the first on the second based
on a relationship which is given but has not been clarified, our problems are
in no way over. Indeed, accepting the existence of an episodic
representation, even if in relation to a semantic one, means falling back into
the paradox of the memory trace. The episodes represented in the episodic
representation cannot, as we have already seen, be past nor can they in
anyway refer back to the past. Tulving, however, seems perfectly aware of
this problem, but the solution he offers remains unsatisfactory. Indeed, it is
pointless to have recollection, that is the conscious experience of
recollecting the past, stem from a process of ecphoria 1, that is from the
interaction between episodic representation and present information. In this
way, yet again, you find yourself trying to create the past from elements
which do not contain it. Episodic representation, the information which
triggers off the process of ecphoria and ecphoria itself are indeed all present
I Tulving, E., 1984.

elements which do not in any way refer back to the past. Yet again,
therefore, the latter is presupposed and not explained.
The situation does not seem to improve in the slightest if, rather than two
separate representations, the episodic and the semantic, the existence of a
single representation, or of a single memory system, is hypothesised l .
According to this hypothesis the difference between recollection and
knowledge does not reflect the existence of two separate representations, but
of two different ways of dealing with the same information. Even though the
idea that the past is contained in a memory trace has more or less been
explicitly rejected, a satisfactory explanation of the relationship between
consciousness and past is not provided. According to this view, the
subjective experience of memory, that is the consciousness of an episode as
past, is the result of a particular type of information processing. In short,
there is one memory, but various ways of dealing with the information it
contains. Here we find the same problems we found accepting the existence
of an episodic trace. Indeed, information processing is in itself present and
affects the present. So, either pastness is only a present characteristic of
information processing, in which case it remains in the present, or else if it
is already linked to the past by means of some special form of information
processing, which is present, these theories presuppose what they are
supposed to explain and the relationship with the past is in this way lost yet
again. Besides, information processing, which determines the conscious
experience of recollection, for example what Jacoby 2 calls the attributional
or inferential process of pastness, is thought to be unconscious. Now, since
an episode's being past, namely its pastness is a characteristic of
consciousness, it is not at all clear what an unconscious inference of
pastness actually is, nor how the result of this inference is supposed to get
back to its natural habitat- consciousness.
Tulving evidently realised that in order to explain recollection and

knowledge it was not enough to hypothesise a system of episodic memory
and one of semantic memory. Relegated down there inside the two memory
systems, recollection and knowledge indeed lose any possibility of
1 See the position taken by Jacoby, L.L., Kelley, C.M., & Dywan, 1., 1989; Roediger, H.I., &
Blaxton, T :A., 1987.
2 Jacoby, L.L., Kelley, C.M., & Dywan, J., 1989.
becoming conscious. In an attempt to resolve this problem, Tulving

associated a particular type of consciousness with each memory system.
Thus, episodic memory is associated with autonoetic consciousness, and
semantic memory with noetic consciousness. What Tulving intended to do
by associating consciousness to each memory system was to emphasise that
episodic recollection is associated with the recollection of yourself in the
past, autonoetic consciousness, while semantic knowledge is associated with
awareness of knowing, noetic consciousness. However, Tulving's attempt
fails. Indeed, it is quite clear that you obtain nothing by adding
consciousness to episodic and semantic memory. In this way the separation
between consciousness and recollection is not eliminated at all but, rather, it
is established even more forcefully. For however much they may be
associated and for however contiguous they may be, autonoetic
consciousness and episodic memory will always remain separated by a void
and any attempt at mutual interpenetration is nothing more than a figure of
speech. Once their separation is affirmed, the two terms become
unintelligible. Indeed, it is impossible to make sense of a consciousness that
precedes and is distinct from its being consciousness of the past, nor is it
possible to make sense of a past episode that precedes and is distinct from
the consciousness of its being past. The same is obviously also true for
noetic consciousness and its relationship with semantic memory.
So far we have established the impossibility of considering recollection

the result of the preservation of the past in any memory trace whatsoever, be
it physiological or psychological. We have also demonstrated that the past
can exist only as the past of a present, of the present of a consciousness
which transcends its own present to select an event down there, behind
itself, where the event took place. You will object that we have got out of it
all too easily because we have not taken into consideration the fact that past
events always reveal their direct influence on the present. In other words, in
order to understand the past it is necessary to start from the present of
consciousness, you cannot, however, deny that the past directly exerts its
influence on the present, without having to involve a consciousness to select
it. If I have a coherent and reproducible idea of "chair" it is because my
experience of that object has, so to speak, been condensed into one meaning,
that of chair, which now enables me to recognise, name, use correctly, etc.,
that object which the whole linguistic community to which I belong calls by
the same name. And so it seems permissible to assert the persistence and the
influence of the past on the present without there being consciousness of
that past, as I may not be conscious of any past event when I attribute a
meaning to the chair. We will answer this objection, first of all by saying
that "chair", as meaning, is devoid of any temporal attribute. As meaning, it
does not refer one to the past, nor to the present or the future. Nor,
furthermore, does the concept of chair belong to me exclusively, as, on the
other hand, does "my" past. Indeed, it is precisely by virtue of its atemporal
and impersonal nature that I can communicate this concept to others,
regarding which they lay claim to my same rights. Only in the case of
recollection, that is when I transcend the present to select "that chair" on
which I sat this morning, is the concept of chair temporalised in the past and
does it contribute to the fact that the past is not a shapeless mass but a world
endowed with meaning. As regards the persistence of the past and its
influence on the present, of which meaning can be seen as evidence, we
have already seen how misleading it is to consider, other than
metaphorically, the present as the effect of the influence of the past which
continues. You will allow of course that meaning is in some way the effect
of the past, but this does not in any way mean that the cause persists and
continues to influence the present.
It is opportune to clarify this point once and for all because the idea that
meaning is the result of the permanency of the past is at the base of the
problems that current functionalist theories encounter when they attempt to
come to terms with knowledge. These theories, in fact, prisoners of the
illusion of immanence, consider knowledge, concepts, meanings, as "things"
and presuppose that these things are contained in the form of representations
of the world, somewhere between the brain and the mind. The quality as
much as the quantity of these "things" may increase with experience or
diminish to the point of disappearance after brain damage. If, for example,
my knowledge of chair was at the beginning of my life limited to a rather
simple concept, with time I have learnt to distinguish countless types of
chairs, to classify them according to style, to their comfort, to their aesthetic
value, to their functionality, etc. However, the knowledge of chair for many
people who have undergone brain damage has more or less deteriorated or
even disappeared. And so many patients when placed in front of the image
of a chair are incapable of producing the name, they no longer seem to know
what its use is etc. Is this enough to assert that the meaning of chair is in
one's head or somewhere outside of consciousness in the form of
representation, that is of a simulacrum of everything I know regarding
chair?1 We will limit ourselves here to only one consideration: in order for
it to be true, the hypothesis that knowledge is based on the preservation of
concepts and meanings represented within a trace, whether it belongs to the
physical or psychological world, must satisfy at least one condition, namely
that in the absence of representation no knowledge is possible, just as it is
not possible to sell off shares if they have disappeared from the safe where
they were kept or as it is not possible to buy beans for dinner if they have
disappeared from the shelf of the shop that sold them. It is clear enough that
this condition cannot be satisfied. If representation is the necessary
condition for knowledge then every possible ontology of knowledge is
excluded: knowledge is already given and the possibility of new meanings is
excluded a priori. And yet the child grows and learns to attribute meaning to
the undefined world which surrounds him at the beginning. And yet the
grown man continues to learn new things and to modify the meaning of
those that he already knows. You will say that all this takes place starting
from simpler representations which experience modifies, sums up, and
which become more complex. This resolves nothing if the representation,
for however simple you choose to make it, is given at the beginning as a
condition for knowledge. And nothing would be resolved by saying that the
representation is formed at the first encounter with an unknown object
which will be recognised subsequently by virtue of this representation
which was formed at the first encounter. Indeed, either the object is already
given a meaning at the first encounter, at which point representation
becomes superfluous, or else, if the object encountered for the first time is
not given any meaning, the representation of the object will also be devoid
of meaning. It is unclear how, under these conditions, at a later encounter,
the object can be recognised. What is ignored is that "knowledge", just like
"recollection", does not mean making the object correspond with its
simulacrum which represents it somewhere between the brain and the mind,
but it means transcending an undefined and indecipherable world in order to
give said object a possible meaning.
But it is not only the ontology of knowledge which proves that the notion
of representation is superfluous as a theory of knowledge. It is well known,
in fact, that patients who seem to have completely lost knowledge of a
1 As it would probably take an entire book, we won't go into the criticism on the concept of
representation which is central in a functionalist hypothesis of this kind. Hilary Putnam in
Representation and reality (1991) gives solid detailed criticism of the functionalist theory of
representation.
certain object do, however, under certain conditions, show that said
knowledge is not at all lost. Some patients, for example, no longer know
what a chair is, they are not able to name the image, indicate its use,
recognise that chairs of different shapes have the same name in common
and the same function, etc. And yet these same patients in their everyday
lives interact absolutely nonnally with the object of which they are
supposed to have lost every notion. They use the chair appropriately just as
they use other objects which they also fail to recognise, do not know what to
call, etc. Of course you might object that there are multiple representations
of "chair" and that the ability to name, to recognise, to define, etc. refer to a
different representation of chair from the one necessary to interact with the
object "chair" on an everyday basis. In the case of patients who seem to
have lost all infonnation regarding chair, but continue to use chairs
appropriately in their daily life, the first type of representation has been lost
while the second remains. But, yet again, this interpretation does not much
help comprehension, nor does it save the notion of representation.
Multiplying the possible representations of an object by making each one of
these correspond to a certain modality of knowledge is indeed equivalent to
undermining the very idea of representation. Representation is by definition
something which stands for or in the place of an object, be it physical or
abstract. Harpagon represents all the salient characteristics of all possible
misers and if he is chosen as a protagonist it is precisely because of the way
he encompasses these distinctive features . Now, it becomes clear that by
attributing a representation to each of the countless modalities through
which an object manifests itself in the world, the unique relationship
between the representation and the object represented is annulled. That
which should be a relationship of many (the various manifestations of
objects) to one (their representation), becomes a relationship of one (the
object in its fixed manifestation) to one (its representation). But a one to one
relationship between an object and its representation is a relationship of
identity and not of representation. It is as though in order to describe a
miser's traits, Moliere had put all the misers of the world on stage. A one to
one relationship excludes representation and leaves us facing the object
alone and defenceless. Nor, on the other hand, would it help to assert that in
patients who no longer know anything about chair, but who continue to use
them appropriately, the representation has, so to speak, deteriorated, it
continues to exist at a level which enables the use of the concrete object in
everyday life, but it prevents symbolic knowledge. But a deteriorated
representation is in itself complete representation, whose nature in no way
differs from that of the representation which enabled more symbolic

knowledge of the object. The additional attribute of deterioration only
describes the relationship between two elements of the same nature. Yet
again, therefore, in the game of the mirrors of multiple representations, the
very idea of representation fades away and with it every possible role it has
in knowledge. And yet, though orphan of representation, the object
continues to existfor me. I can recognise it, play with it, if! close my eyes I
can imagine it, I can even remember it in a certain place, I can love it, hate
it, etc. In other words, even in the absence of representation, not only is
knowledge of the object possible, but knowledge becomes infinite, or
infinite ways of knowing the object are possible.
From what has been said so far it is clear that neither recollection nor
knowledge can be the outcome of the preservation of the past or of meaning
in a trace or in a representation. What conclusion can be drawn from this
discussion? First of all that current theories about memory imply an
insoluble contradiction which we described under the name of the paradox
of the memory trace. However many experimental data may be collected,
these theories will never be able to explain recollection as consciousness of
the past because from the start they broke off any connection between
consciousness and past, consigning the latter to a memory trace, to an
episodic memory system or making it the result of an improbable
unconscious inference of pastness. Once consciousness of the past has been
separated from the past itself, the various theoretical attempts to reunite the
past and consciousness are absolutely pointless. What is overlooked is that
episodic memory and semantic memory, or the special type of information
processing which generates recollection and knowledge, represent the
remembered and the known. Remembered and known imply he who
remembers and he who knows, that is a subject who takes the trouble to
address the world in a certain way, that of recollection or that of knowledge.
It is by virtue of he who remembers and of he who knows that the
remembered and the known acquire meaning. However these theories make
exactly the opposite true. In other words, a privileged position is assigned to
the remembered and to the known while he who remembers and he who
knows are passive and receive "information". We have already emphasised
the absurdity of such a vision. If we choose to dwell on it yet again it is
because it is so deeply rooted in current thought. Indeed, that of
"information", or that of "information processing" is an ulterior paradox of
which the paradox of the memory trace is none other than a reflection. Our
psychic life, which coincides to a large extent with our conscious life, is
thought to be the final result of the brain's information processing. A
corollary to the idea is that any machine able to process information
according to certain rules, those used by the brain for example, is able to
function like a human being. This, then, is responsible for all the so-called
research on "artificial intelligence". What is forgotten yet again is that
information is such for consciousness, under no circumstances can it
precede it as it is the result. When I say that the information "glass-on-the-
table" is processed by my cognitive system to produce the perception of
"glass-on-the-table", the information "glass-on-the-table" has already been
given and the entire processing to which I submit it afterwards is only an act
that I offer my consciousness. In other words, the information is such for
whoever takes the trouble to consider it "information" and therefore cannot
be the cause of anything whatsoever because by definition it is effect, the
effect of a consciousness which considers it in its very being. With this it is
not at all our intention to place any priority of consciousness over the
phenomenon, that is over information. Indeed, we would not gain much by
going from a realist's point of view to an idealist's. In both cases, in fact, an
abstraction is privileged. Information in itself is an abstraction in as far as it
needs consciousness to make it such. Alone it would disappear into nothing.
Consciousness in itself is also abstract in as far as its ontological origin
tends towards the phenomenon, or towards information if you like. The
concrete is given only by the synthetic totality of which consciousness and
information are nothing but moments. The concrete is man, or the subject in
the concreteness of his existence. And it is from here that we must start to
understand recollection, that is the concreteness of a way of being in the
world of man. If you privilege information and its processing as the origin
of psychic life, as happens in the theories that are based on information
processing and relegate consciousness to the position of by-product of
information processing, ignoring man tout court, you find yourself in
another paradox. If information is given originally as primus movens of the
whole affair, in order to distinguish man from amoeba you have to accept
that the processing of the same information is different in man and in
amoeba. The latter, faced with a glass of wine will contract or be indifferent
while man will recognise it and drink it, if he feels like it, thanks to his
special information processing which enables him to recognise the
information "glass-of-wine" as such. Now, since neither man nor
consciousness are involved in information processing, it is difficult to
understand who it is that recognises the glass of wine as such and what the
difference is between that which takes place in the cognitive system of an

amoeba and that of a man. After having ignored man and consciousness, in
these theories there is another problem, the problem of who is the author of
the information processing. In the next chapter, we shall see that these
theories, after having refuted consciousness by making recollection and
knowledge stem from the memory trace, are forced into a new insoluble
contradiction, that of presupposing a kind of unconscious consciousness.
CHAPTER 2
THE HOMUNCULUS FALLACY
1. MEMORY AND CONTROL SYSTEMS
The assumption that the past is preserved in a memory trace contains, as

we have seen, a paradox in that the past is seen to derive from present
elements, but how this happens is not explained. The past is thus assumed
but not explained, and any possibility of understanding the nature of
recollection is therefore lost. But the paradox of the memory trace is not the
only problem with current theories on memory. According to these theories,
in order for the recollection of a memory or of knowledge to be correct, that
is for it to be the recollection of memory or information that we wanted to
evoke, certain selection and verification mechanisms of the memory trace
must be called into play. Depending on what the subject wants to remember,
these mechanisms first make a selection from the various traces stored in the
memory systems, and then check whether the result of the selection meets
the conditions set by the recollection task. If these conditions are not met,
due to contradictions between the selection result and verification criteria,
the mechanisms in question continue to make new selections until a
satisfactory choice is made, a choice which does not contradict the
verification criteria and which also meets the demands of the recollection
task. According to these theories, if, for example, I remember eating in a
restaurant yesterday evening this is due to the fact that the trace "dinner in
restaurant" has been selected from a host of other traces for example,
"dinner at home", "dinner at a friend's", in accordance with the criteria and
mechanisms which guarantee the selection of the correct memory. The most
widespread explanation of confabulatory symptoms provides a good
example of an interpretative application of this hypothesis.

28 The homunculus fallacy
Confabulation is a symptom which is sometimes found in amnesic

patients and consists in involuntary and unconscious production of "false
memories", that is the recollection of episodes which never actually
happened, or which occurred in a different temporal-spatial context to that
being referred to by the patient. For example, a patient who has been in
hospital for several days may have the confabulatory memory of having
done the shopping, or of having had dinner with the family the previous day.
According to the hypothesis we have described, confabulation is the result
of the dysfunctioning of memory monitoring mechanisms, that is of the
selection and verification mechanisms of the memory trace l . The
breakdown of these mechanisms is thought to impede the inhibition of
inappropriate answers which are produced as confabulatory answers. If, for
example, I want to remember what I did last night, according to the
hypothesis in question memory monitoring mechanisms start searching
among my memory traces and make a selection, the result of which is, let us
suppose, "I had dinner at home". This is then checked in accordance with
criteria of plausibility and coherence with other associated memories, for
instance "last night I went out", and is then rejected since it does not
correspond to these criteria. At this point the same mechanisms begin a new
selection and check other possible memories until they find the appropriate
memory, "last night I had dinner in a restaurant". If, however, the memory
monitoring mechanisms are dysfunctional, "I had dinner at home" is
accepted as appropriate and is produced as a confabulatory memory. So
according to this reasoning, the possibility of recalling an appropriate
episode or meaning requires the preliminary examination of various
possible answers, followed by the inhibition of inappropriate answers. Now,
this hypothesis has never clarified whether the monitoring processes of the
memory act on a conscious, voluntary basis or whether they are outside
consciousness and inaccessible to it2 .
Let us look at this problem more closely. Supposing the monitoring

processes assigned to the selection and verification of information were
conscious and voluntary, in that case their action would be manifest to
lBaddeley, A. & Wilson, B., 1986; Burgess, P.W., & Shall ice, T., 1996; Conway, M.A., &
Tacchi, P.C., 1996; Johnson, M.K., 1991; Moscovitch, M., 1989.
2Even though it is not explicitly stated, the same memory monitoring mechanisms seem to be
considered conscious by Burgess and Shall ice and unconscious by Conway and Tacchi.
The homunculus fallacy 29
reflexive analysis since they would be operations of consciousness. The

subjective experience of reflection would, then, show me that every time I
am engaged in a recollection task, I consciously carry out the operations of
selection and verification attributed to monitoring mechanisms. In practice
this would mean that while recalling I consciously select a memory, judge
whether its contents meet the conditions of the recollection task I have set
myself, reject it if they do not and begin a new selection; or accept it as a
memory if it meets the conditions of the task. Reflexive analysis, however,
demonstrates that this is not at all the case. If, for example, I try to recall
what I did last Wednesday at five in the afternoon, what I consciously begin
is a search operation of successive approximation. I will remember, for
instance, that on Friday morning I gave a talk in such and such a place, that
on Thursday afternoon I took the train to get to the city where I was going to
give the talk and that on Wednesday afternoon at five o'clock I was trying to
prepare the talk for Friday. In other words I operate a reconnaissance in my
past, I move from memory to memory until I select one, the one which
seems to best answer the question "what was I doing last Wednesday at five
in the afternoon?" But each of these recollections immediately appears to
my consciousness as real, that is as a past image of a certain subject in
which I recognise myself and to which I am intimately tied by an
ontological relationship which does not allow for doubt: I was that person
who was preparing the talk, taking the train, speaking in public etc. Where I
may hesitate is not on the content of my recollections, which can only
present themselves apodeictically, but on the date: I may not be sure that it
really was Wednesday or that it was five o'clock not six. The process of
selection and verification of the memory that best answers the question I ask
myself does not concern the veracity of the memory, which is already given
and, one could say, emanates from the memory itself; it concerns the
possibility of placing it correctly in the sequence of recollections which
constitutes my thematized past. But what reflexive analysis shows me above
all, is that during recollection I never come up with memories like those
produced by patients who confabulate.
One patient of ours, for example, when asked what he had done the
previous day would claim to have won a running race for which he was
awarded a piece of meat which was placed on his right knee. When asked to
give a definition of the word "synagogue" he would reply that it was
something to do with physiotherapy I. Now according to the hypothesis,

which sees memory and knowledge as the result of the verification and
inhibition of inappropriate answers by special monitoring mechanisms, in
order to be able to attribute the correct meaning to the word "synagogue"
one would have to choose from different possible alternatives such as, let us
say "a church", "a Jewish place of worship", "a type of fruit" or "something
to do with physiotherapy". Only if one manages to inhibit all the
inappropriate responses will "Jewish place of worship" be selected
otherwise, as in the case of our patient, "something to do with
physiotherapy" or any other answer could be given. This reasoning also
implies that if, before his amnesia, the patient was asked what he had done
the previous day, he would have consciously examined and rejected the
possibility of having won a running race and being awarded a piece of meat
which had been placed on his right knee, and would instead have produced
the correct answer.
You could object that confabulations are often far more plausible than
the examples given of the running race and the definition of "synagogue". In
fact, most patients who confabulate produce confabulatory memories which
cannot be distinguished from "real" memories by an interlocutor who does
not know the patient's history and current situation. Here is an example. A
patient of ours, MG, in hospital for a brain haemorrhage, while waiting for a
CAT scan told the radiologist that he was in hospital because he had come
to accompany a friend who had to be admitted to the neurology ward. Once
they got to the ward, MG continued, the neurologist who was supposed to
take care of his (non-existent) friend realised that there was something
wrong with him too and so sent him for a CAT. The radiologist, who knew
nothing of the situation, did not even suspect that at that moment MG was
confabulating2. In this case too, however plausible and indistinguishable
from a true memory MG's confabulation was, as demonstrated by the
behaviour of the radiologist, one cannot consider it the result of the
dysfunctioning of conscious selection and verification mechanisms. It is in
fact difficult to imagine that on asking someone in hospital why he is there,
this person, when answering, should consciously consider, among others,
the possibility of being in hospital to accompany a friend.
IDalia Barba, G., 1993.

2Dalla Barba, G., Boisse, M.-F., Bartolomeo, P., & Bachoud-Levi, A.-C., 1997.
But even if that were the case, that is if recalling an episode or a meaning
were possible due to conscious and voluntary inhibition of inappropriate
answers, something which reflexive analysis leads us to exclude, it remains
to be decided on what basis the correct answer is selected. One criterion
could be that of plausibility. Less plausible answers are inhibited while the
more plausible are accepted. But isn't plausibility itself a meaning which is
attributed to a possible answer, in which case shouldn't plausibility also be
subject to a process of verification like any other meaning? And shouldn't
the criterion which I use to determine plausibility also be verified, and so on
endlessly, like in a game of Chinese boxes? It is not worth arguing 1 that in
recollection, the correct choice from various alternatives is based on the
evaluation of the qualitative characteristics of information, for example, the
amount of perceptual detail and the quantity and type of memories
associated with the episode we want to recall. In fact, it is a question once
again of quis custodet custodes? Who can assure me that when I remember
meeting Paul the other evening, the bright red of his pullover is a perceptual
detail which comes from my memory and not my imagination? Why should
I grant these so-called perceptual details the status of veracity which I deny
the memory itself? Similarly, who can assure me, for example, that the fact
that in my memory Mary is with Paul is an "associated memory" which
guarantees the veracity of the main one, that is the meeting with Paul, and
not a confabulation? As you can see, there is no way of escaping this
circularity .
The subjective experience of reflection thus leads us to exclude the

notion that the processes of information selection and verification are
voluntary and conscious. Are they then processes which work outside
consciousness and which are inaccessible to it? But to accept the hypothesis
of unconscious monitoring mechanisms means falling into what we shall
call the homunculus fallacy, that is the contradiction of postulating the
existence of a type of unconscious consciousness, that is of unconscious
monitoring mechanisms endowed with intentionality which select, evaluate
and reject false memories and provide conscious consciousness with only
real memories. It is unclear on the basis of what theoretic assumption one
can attribute intentionality to this kind of process. Since Brentan02 ,
intentionality has been a characteristic of consciousness and, as Husserl
1Johnson, M.K., 1988; Johnson, M.K., 1991; Johnson, M.K. & Raye, c.L., 1981.
2Brentano, F., 1874.
says 1, represents the need of consciousness to exist as consciousness of

something. Attributing intentionality to an unconscious process, then, is
equivalent to giving unconsciousness the attribute of being subject, that is
attributing consciousness to the unconscious. Moreover, this unconscious
consciousness is inaccessible to the real sense of consciousness. As in a
game of Chinese boxes, one man would contain another man, a homunculus
to be precise, endowed with a shady, inaccessible consciousness which is
busy resolving problems like rejecting false memories and is ready to
provide conscious consciousness with the result of this detailed selection.
But let us examine this problem more closely and see why it is illusory to
attribute intentionality to the unconscious.
2. THE HOMUNCULUS FALLACY
Let us first of all clarify what is meant by intentionality. I am conscious

of this glass which is on the table. In other words I have perceptual
consciousness of glass-on-the-table. I also perceive the glass from a certain
angle, not only visual but, let us say, existential: it exists before me, it
presents itself to me in a certain perspective and, as an object among other
objects, it has a certain relationship with these. Here again, this relationship
is not only spatial (proximity, distance, adherence etc.) but also functional,
aesthetic etc. In short, the being of the glass-on-the-table is a certain specific
and original being which my consciousness is at this moment selecting.
What can be deduced from this? If we were idealists we would say that
the glass-on-the-table exists as "content" of my consciousness, which in
some way absorbs it. If we were realists we would instead tend to consider
the glass-on-the-table as an element of a reality which precedes and
transcends consciousness, and to which consciousness can only adhere.
And, in his cognitivist diversity, the realist would say that this information,
"glass-on-the-table", entered my cognitive system where it underwent a
series of computational transfonnations before becoming perceptual
consciousness of the glass-on-the-table. Nevertheless if we free ourselves
from what Sartre2 called alimentary philosophies, that is from realism's
1Husserl, E., 1950.

2Sartre,1. P., 1939.
tendency to make the object "eat" the subject, and idealism's tendency to
make the subject "eat" the object, we discover the true relationship between
consciousness and world, between subject and object. These are born
together. They are involved in a relationship where, although they retain
their autonomy, neither can exist without the other. The result of this
relationship between subject and object, between consciousness and world is
intentionality, that is the need of consciousness to always be consciousness
of something.
Intentionality then, as relationship between consciousness and world, is a

basic characteristic of consciousness which has no "inside" but which
defines itself by being "outside", intentionally oriented toward things. At
this point we must ask whether intentionality can also be attributed by right
to the unconscious. Searle!, while rejecting functionalist positions, draws a
distinction between consciousness and intentionality, maintaining that there
can be non-intentional conscious states, for instance a sudden feeling of
excitement, and unconscious intentional states, for example those beliefs
which I am not thinking of at this moment but which determine my
behaviour. But why should a sudden feeling of excitement be a state of non-
intentional consciousness? Excitement, or its opposite, depression, are
states of consciousness, as Searle calls them, on the same level as any other
consciousness. Like any other state of consciousness, that of excitement or
depression does not escape its own law, that is of being destined to come out
of itself in order to come to terms with the thing, that world which it is
trying to reach and which continues to escape it. Accepting the existence of
non-intentional states of consciousness is the same as making consciousness
coincide with the thing. Non-intentional consciousness is quite unthinkable
because it would be consciousness deprived of its original essence, that is
the negation of itself as "thing". One must not fall into the trap of thinking
that first I am excited and then I am conscious of the glass-on-the-table, or
that a sudden state of excitement joins my perception of the glass-on-the-
table from outside. What one should say is that in a state of excitement I am
aware of the glass-on-the-table. Mine is excited consciousness of the glass-
on-the-table. Therefore once again there are no exceptions to the law of
consciousness: all consciousness is intentional in that it must, by nature, be
consciousness of something.
ISearle, l.R., 1983; Dennet, 1978, maintains that intentionality can be not only unconscious
but can also be attributed to non-biologic systems such as the computer.
Searle maintains that the idea that consciousness must exist as

consciousness of something neglects a fundamental distinction: "when I
consciously experience anxiety, there is something which my experience is
experience of, that is anxiety, but this sense of "of' is radically different
from the "of' of Intentionality which appears, for instance, when I affirm
that I am consciously afraid of snakes; since, in the case of anxiety, the
experience of anxiety and the anxiety itself are identical, while fear of
snakes is not identical to snakes"l . But in proposing this example Searle
confuses the essential structure of a reflexive act with that of a non-reflexive
act. He seems to ignore the fact that there are always two possible forms of
existence for consciousness; non-reflexive consciousness, that which
appears when "I am afraid of snakes" and reflexive consciousness, that is
consciousness "of me-as-anxious". These are two different types of
consciousness, but both are intentional. The trick Searle uses involves
comparing two different degrees of consciousness. In the case of anxiety, he
makes the example of reflexive or second degree consciousness; I am aware
of being anxious. But first degree or non-reflexive consciousness is only
anxiety, anxiety which opens onto the world like any consciousness, and
like any consciousness it is intentional in that it is outside itself, as anxiety,
towards the world. It is by no means true that "in the case of anxiety, the
experience of anxiety and anxiety itself are identical". The anxiety which
pervades me in this case is the object of my consciousness, which makes
itself conscious of anxious consciousness. Without this second-degree
reflexive act, which gives me a point of view on my consciousness, my
anxiety is my consciousness without my being aware of it: I will anxiously
drink from the glass-on-the-table without being able to avoid the
intentionality of my consciousness which will be anxious consciousness of
the glass-on-the-table. There is, then, no difference regarding the degree of
intentionality between my consciousness of fear of snakes and my
consciousness of anxiety. They are both intentional. The difference is that
the former is non-reflexive consciousness while the second is reflexive
consciousness, that is consciousness which makes anxious consciousness its
intentional object.
If we then analyse the possibility maintained by Searle of unconscious

intentional states, that is the so-called beliefs to which we fall victim
without being conscious of it, it is clear that these supposed beliefs are not
ISear\e, J.R., 1983. p.16

at all that unconscious background which Searle talks about, but they
constitute consciousness itself. Searle says "I believe that my paternal
grandfather never once left the American continent, but until now, I had
never fonnulated or clearly examined this belief'l. What was this belief of
Searle's before it became conscious? Searle maintains that it already existed
in his unconscious in its intentional fonn of "my grandfather never left the
American continent". This seems to be a rather rushed interpretation of the
facts. Essentially Searle is saying that, in some way, the fact that his
grandfather never left the American continent is something that he had
always known, even if this thought has only now become conscious. If,
then, it has always existed it must have been stored somewhere, and where
or what is this place where thoughts are stored before becoming conscious,
if not the unconscious? There is almost no need to emphasise the absurdity
of such a hypothesis. Even if the unconscious does exist, who will believe
that it contains pre-established thoughts and beliefs? This type of
explanation, which has a long tradition in psychology, stems from the fact
that spontaneity of consciousness is not accepted and thus is traced back to
an "elsewhere", the unconscious, the cognitive system etc., where already
formulated thoughts are believed to exist in a passive mode, in propositional
fonn, which will then become conscious. What has not been seen is that
such a hypothesis, in trying to trace the spontaneity of consciousness to
another, unconscious location, only puts off the problem of the existence of
beliefs and thought in general, a problem which sooner or later will have to
be fonnulated. An unconscious and intentional thought or belief does not
only present the paradox of passivity, that is of the existence of inactive
intentional states, but it also implies another question: who, in this
unconscious, believes, has believed and will continue to believe that
Searle's grandfather never left the American continent? The problem of the
existence of an unconscious subject who believes thus arises. We shall come
back to this problem shortly. For the moment it is enough to emphasise how
even if an unconscious subject were admissible, he or she would in turn
have to draw his or her thoughts and beliefs from another "elsewhere",
because if the spontaneity of consciousness is not accepted there is no
reason to accept spontaneity of the unconscious. The attempt to trace the
origins of spontaneity to an unconscious elsewhere is nothing but an absurd,
naive attempt to free oneself from the anguish we feel assisting the
unceasing ex nihilo creation of consciousness which we do not create
1Searle, J.R., 1983.

ourselves. You could object that consciousness of "grandfather-never-left-

the-American-continent", however spontaneous we may consider it, is still
coherent with a given fact, that is that Searle's grandfather never actually
left the American continent. However we will have to ask ourselves where
this consistency between consciousness and reality comes from. There is no
need to resort to explanatory idols such as the existence of unconscious
beliefs. Consciousness, as intentional consciousness of the world, can only
be a perpetual synthesis of past and present consciousness. In short, it is not
by resorting to mechanistic determinism, which claims consciousness comes
from unconscious intentional states, that we will be able to understand
spontaneous, intentional existence. Saying that consciousness is the
synthesis of states of past consciousness with present consciousness does
not mean tracing its origins to somewhere else, it simply means
acknowledging to consciousness an existence ex novo in accordance with a
certain synthetic form.
As an example of unconscious intentional states, that is of background,

Searle gives that of Carter who formulates the intention of presenting
himself as a candidate in the presidential elections of the United States. To
be more precise, Searle maintains that "an intentional state does not
determine its conditions of satisfaction and thus is not the state which is
intertwined in a Network of other Intentional states and on the Background
of pre- intentional practices and suppositions which in themselves are neither
Intentional states nor parts of conditions of satisfaction of intentional
states"!. In order to express his intention of presenting himself at the
presidential elections, Carter has to know that the United States is a
Republic, that there are regular presidential elections where two large
parties are rivals in the race for presidency etc. Whoever presents himself as
a candidate has to have the backing of his/her party, be actively supported
by a large number of people and finally, in order to become president must
be voted for by the majority of voters. Well, concludes Searle, even if none
of these states has a direct link with Carter's intention to candidate himself,
he could not form such a plan, that is "the intention of presenting himself
for the American presidential elections", without such a network of
intentional unconscious states. "One could say that his intention makes
reference to certain other Intentional states, inasmuch as it can only reach
the conditions of satisfaction it does, and consequently only be the intention
1Searle, 1.R., 1983.

it is, because it is located in a Network which includes other beliefs and

other desires. Besides, in every real life situation, beliefs and desires are
only part of an even greater complex of other psychological states: there are
subsidiary intentions such as hope, fear, anxiety and expectation, feelings of
frustration and satisfaction. In short, what I call 'Network' is nothing other
than this holistic network"l. What Searle wants to explain is that our acts
are not fortuitous but presuppose a 'Network' of meanings which condition
their realisation. "We can easily understand what someone's intention to
become president is, but we cannot by any means understand the intention
of becoming a cup of coffee or a mountain, because - among other reasons -
we do not see how such an intention can be consistent with the Network"2.
What is difficult to understand is how this network can exist and how it can
be made up of unconscious intentional states. In fact, if we accept its
existence we also have to face the problem of its origins. What is the nature
of this unconscious and intentional Network? Even though he vigorously
rejects every functionalist hypothesis, Searle seems to make a similar
mistake to that which he accuses the functionalists of making. Like them, he
resorts to the unconscious in order to explain consciousness. Searle's is not
an unconscious made of information processing, but one of beliefs or
meanings which condition conscious life as much as the functionalist
unconscious does. But Searle's hypothesis is presented with exactly the
same problem as is functionalism: that of explaining, once and for all, how
man's conscious life can be the result of something which happens in the
unconscious in accordance with rules fixed by consciousness, Searle's in
this case. We shall come back to the illusiveness of considering
consciousness as an "effect". For now it is enough to understand that unless
its ontological origin is clarified, Searle's Network is nothing but a figure of
speech. Actually there is no apparent reason to make reference to an
unconscious intentional Network of meanings to explain the fact that
formulating the intention of presenting oneself for presidential elections is
plausible and comprehensible, while formulating the intention of becoming
a piece of amethyst is not. As we have already said, consciousness cannot
but be a perpetual synthesis of earlier states of consciousness.
My present consciousness is new consciousness which is born ex nihilo

and does not resemble anything before it. But this does not mean that my
ISear\e, J.R., 1983 .

2Sear\e, J.R., 1983.
earlier states of consciousness are not synthetically represented in it. Soon I

will leave the house to go to the cinema. This will happen, not because I
have a sort of redeeming Network which allows me to do this but forbids me
to leave the house to hunt a jaguar, but simply because my present
consciousness is mundane consciousness of a being which is me, a being
which carries around its past without any possibility of getting rid of it.
There is, then, no Network of beliefs and meanings on one side and a
consciousness which is determined by it on the other side. My
consciousness is the network of the beliefs and meanings of which it is
made up. Beliefs and meanings which are not in an unconscious elsewhere
in a strange state of active passivity, that is in an oxymoron - meanings and
beliefs whose origin as well as present state need explaining. In fact either
they are passive in the unconscious and so have no way of influencing
conscious life, or they are active, in which case, where their activity is
supposed to stem from needs explaining. Carter's consciousness in
formulating his intention of presenting himself at the presidential elections
is such as it is, also because at a certain point in his life Carter became
conscious of living in a country where there are presidents, presidential
elections etc. His present intention is not the result of unconscious
intentionality made up of unconscious beliefs, but is the present form of his
present consciousness which implies, and is, the synthesis of all his earlier
states of consciousness.
If I now take a cigarette to my lips and inhale the smoke, this does not
happen as the result of a series of unconscious presuppositions. It is not
because I have the unconscious and intentional belief that, for instance,
"there are objects called cigarettes of a certain shape which serve a certain
purpose, which are bad for your health but also give pleasure, which in
order to smoke you must go through a series of movements which involve
the contraction of certain arm muscles but not of others, and that each
movement consumes a certain amount of energy which is reflected in the
consumption of oxygen and carbon compounds etc." This is only one of the
countless explanations which I can give for my act of smoking, or to put it
another way, one of the possible ways my consciousness thematizes my act
of smoking in order to assign it a meaning. Meanings and beliefs do not
precede consciousness, if anything they follow it, that is they are possible
thematizations of the world on behalf of consciousness. Consciousness itself
has no need for meanings and beliefs which precede it and guide it out of
the darkness of the unconscious. Consciousness is the synthetic combination
of these meanings which, with a secondary operation, can become theses for
consciousness which, in this case, ceases to be them in order to detach itself
from them and make them object of its own thematization. In short, there
may be a metaphysical problem in consciousness but there is definitely not
an ontological problem: my present consciousness is made up of my earlier
states of consciousness. We will see later, when our discussion leads us to
the problem of temporality, what exactly is meant by this. For now it is
enough to have clarified the impossibility of supposing the existence of an
unconscious intentional world.
We have just seen that hypothesising the existence of intentional,

unconscious beliefs involves the problem of supposing the existence of an
unconscious subject who "believes" something (for example that Searle's
grandfather never left the American continent). This unconscious subject,
then, is supposed to reveal itself just when the conscious subject is ready to
thematize this type of pre-packaged thought, stored in the frozen
unconscious, together with the unconscious subject, passively waiting for
consciousness to defrost it, as if by magic. This type of interpretation, which
does not seem to deserve comment, is however worth analysing once and
for all.
The first question to be asked clearly concerns the nature of the subject,
this unconscious who that believes. A first objection could be raised at this
point, and that is that in reality questioning the nature of an unconscious
subject is the same as posing a false problem. In fact there is no need to
presuppose an unconscious subjectivity as author of acts like believing or
thinking. Beliefs and thoughts could be unconscious without needing to be
the beliefs and thoughts of someone, that is of an unconscious subject. They
would be kinds of pure representations which in themselves were complete
and self-sufficient. In other words, that network of meanings which,
according to Searle, "are in one's head".
Let us suppose that shortly I leave the office to go and buy cigarettes at
the bar on the corner. According to the hypothesis in question, this project
of mine is plausible inasmuch as a series of unconscious beliefs make it so.
The belief, for instance, that there are shops that sell cigarettes, that these
shops have certain opening hours compatible with the time I go to one of
these to fulfil my objective, that I am a great consumer of cigarettes, and so
on. Good. These beliefs, which make my objective possible, supposedly lie
passively in the unconscious, waiting to intervene and guide my behaviour

when necessary. Question: who informs them when it is their tum? How do
they come out of their passive state to become active? You might say they
are activated, as functionalist literature does. A group of representations or
of neurons are activated in order to attain said goal. But, once again, who
activates these representations? Certainly not my consciousness. The
moment I go to buy my cigarettes my consciousness is pure, non-reflexive
consciousness, consciousness without a subject, consciousness of-cigarettes-
to-be-bought. They could be said to activate themselves, that is to pass from
their passive state to an active one without the intervention of any external
factor. But why them in particular? Why should only those beliefs which are
useful to one's purpose be activated, and not others? You could object
further that it is precisely the need to reach one's goal which activates them.
But even if we accept this kind of reverse teleology, which in any case
needs clarifying, who is it that goes and tells the beliefs necessary for the
purpose that it is they, and not others, that are necessary? There could be
said to be a system of beliefs which is in some way always active in the
unconscious and ready to face the needs of the moment. But how could a
system of beliefs which is in a state of continuous activation, in a sort of
erethism work? In a similar condition there would be beliefs in
contradiction with each other and in an equivalent state of activation. For
example, the beliefs "there are shops that sell cigarettes" and "man has been
on the moon" would be activated contemporarily. If both these beliefs are
activated at the same time, who can assure me that halfway from the office
to the bar I will not decide to go to the moon? This demonstrates, then, that
a problem of priority among beliefs arises, dictated by the necessity of the
moment. And this priority takes us back to the problem of selecting the
appropriate beliefs; since this is not carried out by a conscious "who", the
existence of an unconscious "who", author of this choice, must be
presupposed.
So here we are, once again, struggling with the nature of a who, an

unconscious subject who intentionally turns to an unconscious world made
up of beliefs, meanings, thoughts, memories and so on. Who is this
unconscious subject, this homunculus that lives in the shadow of the
unconscious, master and origin of conscious life?
First of all it is plain to see that the unconscious homunculus is distinct

from the object it intentionally addresses, beliefs, memories etc. In a certain
sense then, we find the same relationship between the homunculus and the
object it addresses as that which exists between consciousness and its
object. In short, one could say that the homunculus is conscious of beliefs,
of the meanings of the thoughts and memories it has to select, activate etc.
But what is the unconscious homunculus conscious of? What is the nature of
unconscious meanings, memories, beliefs? Let us go back to the case of
memory, which is that which interests us most. In its work of selecting and
checking memories, the homunculus deals with both true and false
memories. Its task is that of selecting memories, sending the real ones to
consciousness and rejecting the false ones. Now, it is obvious that if we
accept such a hypothesis, we must also accept that the memories that the
homunculus examines or, in functionalist terms, the information that the
monitoring systems elaborate, must be already specified in syntactic-
grammatical terms. Since no active role is attributed to consciousness, all
that arrives there must already exist first, in the unconscious, in the form
that it will have afterwards in consciousness. For example, our patient's
confabulatory memory of "having won a running race" will be exactly the
same in the unconscious, in a sort of state of inactivity, waiting to be
evaluated by the homunculus as a possible memory. In this way the
homunculus fallacy not only postulates the existence of an unconscious
consciousness, that is, it is based on an oxymoron, but since this
unconscious consciousness must have an object to turn to, it also postulates
unconscious mnemonic activity already specified in syntactic-grammatical
terms. In other words, as in a photocopy of conscious life, memories are
found in exactly the same form in the unconscious, ready to be selected by
our homunculus and sent to that kind of passive container which is thought
to be consciousness.
It is easy to see how, here too, we fall into the paradox of the trace
already discussed at length in the previous chapter. But we find ourselves
facing another, equally relevant paradox in this case. That is, the hypothesis
that unconscious representations which have already been specified in
syntactic-grammatical terms may exist. Some even claim that this syntactic-
grammatical specification takes root in the biological structure of the brain
in the form of particular cell configurations or groups of nerve cells. It is
well known that there is no biological evidence which would lead us to
remotely suspect a situation of this sort. But the passe-partout answer
always given by positivist science is "later on, when we have more data". It
is clear, however, that even if perfect technology allowed us to unveil every
secret of the brain, what we would find ourselves with would be a series of
data declined in tenns of cells, molecules, atoms or even subatomic
particles, certainly not in tenns of grammar and syntax. We may well have
nuclear physics of the brain some day, but certainly not neurobiology of
syntax. But the absurdity of such a hypothesis lies not so much in the non-
demonstrability of its neurobiological aspect as in its seeing consciousness,
once again, as originating from a sort of surrogate unconscious.
What has been gained with this operation? Absolutely nothing, since we
find ourselves with an unconscious made up of the same elements we left in
conscious life: on the one hand a subject with its baggage of intentionality,
the homunculus, on the other a pre-fabricated unconscious world that the
homunculus intentionally addresses. At this point it is clear that what we
had invoked to explain conscious memory requires an explanation itself. In
fact, if the existence of unconscious monitoring mechanisms, the
homunculus, has been set as a condition to explain the conscious emergence
of memory, the criteria in accordance with which these unconscious
monitoring mechanisms are supposed to operate also need explaining. In
other words, on the basis of what criteria does the homunculus distinguish a
true memory from a one false? Memories and information that the
homunculus selects do not come from its memory, but from that of the
subject which contains them . On the basis of what criterion does it discern a
true memory from a false one, or correct infonnation from false
infonnation, since these are memories and infonnation which come from
another person's memory? Certainly the homunculus could be seen as
accurate witness and infallible annotator of the whole life of the subject it
works for. In fact, the life of the subject coincides with its own in a way,
since it remains locked in the unconscious of the subject at whose service it
is. But if the life of the subject coincides with its own, its memory and that
of the conscious subject also coincide. And if these coincide, wouldn't the
homunculus also need its own unconscious homunculus to help it distinguish
real memories from false ones? The game of Chinese boxes continues and
what we are left with is only a reductio ad infinitum clearly of no
explanatory value.
3. THE FOUNDATIONS OF CONSCIOUSNESS
a. The problem of the foundations of consciousness
The discussion of the problems we have encountered so far has led us to

reject any hypothesis which considers memory as the result of events which
take place outside of consciousness. What we have indicated as the paradox
of the memory trace has shown us that theories which see memory as
stemming from the preservation of events inside physical or functional
traces in fact presuppose what they are supposed to explain. The past cannot
be contained inside memory traces as they represent only present
modifications of a system and their activation cannot, in any way, explain
how in the phenomenal experience of memory, the object remembered
presents itself to consciousness as past. It is precisely in present
consciousness that the past should be looked for as a meaning or as
consciousness' original way of addressing the world. Without
consciousness, which transcends the present in order to go and look for an
event down there in the past where it happened, no memory is possible and
the traces which events leave on the physical world, the brain included,
remain as signs which no longer send us back to the past, but present signs
without any symbolic value.
But the paradox of the memory trace is not the only failure of the attempt
to find the origins of conscious memory in the unconscious. What we have
described as the homunculus fallacy, that is the attribution of intentionality
to unconscious processes and therefore the attribution of the capacity of
being subject to the unconscious, contains some obstacles which can by no
means be considered insignificant. This type of hypothesis is not only
absurd in assuming that conscious consciousness is supposedly the result of
a sort of unconscious consciousness endowed with intentionality, but also in
endlessly deferring the understanding of memory phenomena. We have in
fact seen that by accepting the homunculus fallacy we are obliged to a
reductio ad infinitum where every unconscious subject, every homunculus,
leads to another. The problem of understanding human phenomena is thus
deferred to another anthropos, to that unconscious homunculus of which we
have so far seen the logical absurdity. It seems then that memory cannot be
seen to originate in the unconscious, and if consciousness is not taken as the
point of departure, there is no way that memory can be understood.
Memory, we have said, is a particular type of consciousness, not

reducible or deferrable to any elsewhere. It is clear that such an affirmation
requires close examination, above all as regards the nature of consciousness.
So far we have talked about consciousness without really clarifying what we
mean by this term. We shall do so shortly, but not immediately. For now it
is enough for us to consider consciousness in the most naive way possible,
making it correspond to what direct experience of the world reveals to us.
Put in this way, conscious memory is nothing other than the phenomenal
experience of remembering, that is of being conscious of something as past.
Yesterday's dinner with Anne, my last holidays at the seaside, the
unexpected meeting with Paul, all these present themselves to consciousness
as past events, and the phenomenal experience which characterises them is a
precise experience which cannot be confused with other conscious
experiences such as that of imagination or perception.
Before tackling a study of consciousness which will take us beyond the

temporary definition we have just given, we should clarify, whatever the
nature of consciousness, the problem of its foundations . In other words, can
consciousness be based on, that is explained by unconscious structures? On
the one hand it is tempting to answer in the affirmative, that is to accept a
biological or physical nature of consciousness: after all consciousness is an
object of the world and so, like any other object, should not escape
explanations of mechanistic determinism . If from the top of a tower I enjoy
a view of the spring countryside and the hills over there in the distance, this
is because the structure of the tower enables me to do so. Not only, but the
view I consciously enjoy is also determined by a series of biological events
which go from the projection of the countryside and the hills onto a
particular area of my retina and the activation of specific nerve circuits. But
such an explanation of consciousness seems not only simplistic but once
again, as we shall see, it also contains a paradox, that of the
anthropomorphization of the unconscious. In reality, neither analysing the
structure of the tower nor that of the retina and the nervous system will lead
us to an explanation of my conscious vision of the countryside and the hills
in the background. The tower, the retina and the brain are perhaps necessary
to enjoy the view, but they are certainly not sufficient or of any use in
explaining it. For the tower, the retina, the brain or any other non-conscious
element to be able to explain consciousness, it must be assumed that these
elements are endowed with an intentional finality which determines
conscious vision. But in this way the causal chain is by no means exhausted,
rather it becomes stronger and, at this point, where these unconscious

elements get their intentional finalising force needs to be explained. As you
can see, we find ourselves with the same contradictions we encountered in
the homunculus fallacy. Once again we are confronted with an unconscious
anthropos which leads to another anthropos. and so on. The
anthropomorphization of the unconscious does nothing but delay the
problem of consciousness, it does not resolve it. It is not due to the fact that
the countryside and the hills are projected onto a particular area of my retina
that I can see them distinctly. If anything, you could say that the particular
part of the retina which is called macula, is the area where objects perceived
in the far distance are most frequently projected I. It is not because I am on
top of the tower that I can see the countryside, but the tower is the place
from which I have the visual experience of the countryside. The study of the
structure of the retina and the tower will never explain my visual
experience. And it is not because for the moment we do not have sufficient
data, though we cannot exclude the fact that one day we might do - as
scientists are forever telling us. This type of answer might be appropriate if
the problem were, for example, that of building a tank out of tissue paper:
for the moment we do not have tissue paper that is strong enough to resist
anti-tank bombs but we cannot exclude the fact that one day we might. But
accumulating data on the retina, the brain or the tower, however important
these operations may be, means investigating something else, not
consciousness. And for however much data is accumulated, it will then be
necessary to explain how these data can explain consciousness. In order to
do this there is no other way but subterfuge: the anthropomorphization of
these data, that is pretending that consciousness is in reality unconscious,
something other than what it really is. This type of subterfuge is somewhat
in vogue in present-day thought. We shall look at three examples of this in
detail showing how, once the subterfuge is uncovered, the attempts to make
consciousness an unconscious entity are bound to fail.
b. The neurobiological anthropomorphization of the unconscious
One of the most characteristic ways of tracing consciousness back to the

unconscious is through what we shall call neurobiological substantial ism,
IMerleau-Ponty, M., 1942.

which consists in reducing consciousness to a product of the activity of a

part of the nervous system, the brain. The relationship of identity between
consciousness and the brain is the thesis of neurobiological substantial ism.
For the substantialists, consciousness is nothing other than the effect of what
a group of specialized cells, neurons, are able to do. In other words,
consciousness is what the brain does. To understand what consciousness is,
it is enough to be able to describe the physiological structure of the brain as
exhaustively as possible. When the question is posed in these terms it is not
surprising if an optimism bordering on euphoria is rife among scientists
regarding the possibility of revealing the secret of consciousness which,
thus considered, has finally become an approachable problem for positivist
science. This unjustified optimism is well described by Crick: "No longer
need one spend time attempting to understand the far-fetched speculations
of physicists, nor endure the tedium of philosophers perpetually disagreeing
with each other. Consciousness is now largely a scientific problem. It is not
impossible that, with a little luck, we may glimpse the outline of the
solution before the end of the century."l . These few words, which so well
summarise the intolerance for any reflection that is not purely experimental,
would move one if they were merely fruit of ingenuity. But they are words
which hide the subterfuge of the anthropomorphization of the brain, that is
of the surreptitious identification of the brain with consciousness. Crick is
certainly aware that a relationship of identity between brain and
consciousness immediately poses the problem of the origin of this
relationship and of how it evolves. But like all materialists, Crick is careful
to avoid this problem. After all, taking a relationship of identity of this sort
literally not only implies that through the brain we will discover
consciousness, but also the contrary, that consciousness can explain the
brain as much as the brain can explain consciousness since a relationship of
identity is, by definition, symmetrical. The dualism between consciousness
and brain is not, by any means, resolved in this way, it is only denied on a
purely fonnal level by making one of the two terms coincide with the other.
Why on earth consciousness should annul itself in the brain needs to be
explained once and for all, or else the great discovery predicted for the end
of the century (the twentith), the secret of consciousness, will, at best, reveal
the secrets of the brain, but not those of consciousness.
lCrick, F., 1996. p.486. See also Crick, F., 1993 ; Crick, F & Koch, c., 1990.
But Crick's integral experimentalism is not the only fonn of

neurobiological substantialism. There are many which support this view on
a purely theoretical level. It is hardly worth mentioning that the result is no
different. Let us take Searle's 1 position into consideration. According to his
thesis, which he called "biologic naturalism", mental states have the same
reality as other biological phenomena, such as photosynthesis, cell
reproduction or digestion. Mental states are caused by operations of the
brain and realised in the structure of the brain, just as the liquidity of water
is caused by its molecular state and realised in its molecular structure.
Searle seems to hurriedly maintain a causalism which, however, cannot be
taken for granted. The liquidity of water -he maintains-, just like
consciousness, digestion, photosynthesis or cell reproduction, is caused by
elements which precede it in the causal chain and takes form in the structure
which regulates the relationship among these elements. But the molecular
structure of water does not, by any means, reveal its liquidity. If I look for
its chemical structure, what I find is a certain relationship between pieces of
matter which are called atoms, and I express this relationship with a
conventional symbol: H20. In H20 there is no liquidity, just as there is no
solidity or gaseous state. In order for H20 to be liquid, something which has
nothing whatsoever to do with its molecular structure is required. That is,
H20 needs to be found at a certain temperature and under certain pressure
conditions. But even if the conditions of temperature and pressure are met,
we still have not discovered the liquidity of water. In order for water to be
liquid, consciousness, above all Searle's, must notice it. Without
consciousness bothering to discover water as liquid, water, assuming its
chemical structure is known, is nothing but H20. If its chemical structure is
unknown, water is simply water, that thing we are all familiar with and
which we know has certain characteristics, among these liquidity, a term we
use to distinguish one state of matter from another. As for temperature and
pressure, they only become significant when a consciousness which knows a
bit of physics recognises that these two variables are essential in order for
water to be liquid. In other words, the molecular structure of water is neither
necessary nor sufficient for its liquidity. It is not necessary as water can be
considered to be liquid before, and quite apart from, any knowledge of its
molecular structure. It is not sufficient since even if by some absurdity there
were someone in the universe who knew the molecular structure of water
before knowing that it was liquid, from the former he could never derive the
1Searle, J.R., 1983. See also Churchland, P.S., 1986;. Churchland, P.S., 1988.
latter. Searle's causality could, in reality, be easily turned upside down. It

could be maintained that it is the molecular structure of water that is caused
by, and realised in its liquidity. It is because water is liquid that it has a
certain molecular structure. But if we decide, once and for all, to leave aside
the circularity of causal thought, it is clear that neither the liquidity of water
nor its structure can lay claim to priority over the other. They both come
into being as meanings, that is as objects which present themselves to
consciousness in accordance with different points of view. Water is both
liquid and H20 without one of these being cause of the other, and water
cannot be both things contemporaneously in consciousness. The
impossibility of contemporaneously determining the position and the speed
of a particle, demonstrated by Heisemberg, is not only an abstract, that is
mathematical, reality. It is a reality reflected in the concreteness of
consciousness which, since it must by nature be consciousness of
something, cannot be this in the form of number two. But we shall look at
this problem later on.
Liquidity like photosynthesis, digestion and cell reproduction (which we

shall not discuss here but for which the same arguments used for liquidity
stand) are used by Searle as metaphors of consciousness. Like these,
consciousness is thought to be caused by and realised in an underlying
structure, the brain. Let us return to the brain then. Searle maintains, for
example, that visual experience is caused by the functioning of the brain,
which responds to external optical stimulation of the visual system, and
takes form in the structure of the brain. And likewise for all mental states.
For Searle, intentional mental states, that is consciousness, are in the brain
and will be perfectly explainable when we have a sufficiently perfected
science of the brain. A science of the brain which, for Searle, will be
radically different from the present one, just as quantum mechanics is
different from Newtonian mechanics. Searle's biological naturalism is an
attempt to get rid of the mind-body dualism once and for all. However the
problem cannot be resolved by forcing consciousness into the brain, as
Searle does.
Let us take the example of visual experience once again. Searle

maintains that this is nothing but the effect of a sequence of operations
carried out in certain structures of the nervous system which start off in the
retina and finish up in the cortex of the occipital lobe. If I look at this cup of
tea on the table and have a visual experience of cup-of-tea-on-the-table, this
happens because a series of events between the retina and occipital cortex
take place. We must, then, deduce that every time this sequence of events
takes place I will have a visual experience of cup-of-tea-on-the-table. What
is more, every time the cup-of-tea-on-the-table enters my visual field, this
series of events will take place and produce the same visual experience as an
effect. It is plain that this is clearly not the way things work. In fact, the
sequence of events which, according to Searle, produce visual experience
can take place without producing any visual experience. For example, the
cup-of-tea-on-the-table is in my visual field at this present moment but I
have no visual experience of it because I am in deep thought about the film I
saw last night. In other words, the cup is in my visual field and is producing
that whole series of events which Searle talks about, but I do not see it, in
the sense that at this moment my consciousness is consciousness of film-I-
saw-yesterday, not of cup-of-tea-on-the-table. But as well as looking at it
without seeing it, I can have endless visual experiences of that cup: in fact I
can see it and hate it, love it, be afraid or fond of it etc. Besides, every vision
I have of that cup will be new in that it will be radically different from any
earlier visual experience of that object. All these possible visual experiences
of cup have something in common, that is the activation of visual paths, that
is cerebral structures which, according to Searle, cause and contain the
visual experience. It is not at all clear how the same sequence of events can
cause an infinite series of different conscious experiences, and it is pointless
affirming a priori that different physical states produce different conscious
experiences I .
You could object that, in reality, the nervous events which bring about
the different visual experiences are not identical, but radically different. If
they seem identical it is only because we do not yet have a science of the
brain capable of revealing the substantial differences which distinguish one
state from another. In short, we need that revolution in the neurosciences
which should take us from a Newtonian science of the brain to a quantum
neuroscience. But what does such an objection mean if not a proposal of
solutio ad infinitum? In reality it is nothing other than positivism's classic
answer: "the solution will come later, when we have more data". The data
do not exist, but will in the future, while in the present there is no sign of a
science capable of affirming an identity between nervous events and mental
events. A substantial part of the cognitive neurosciences has slipped into the
IChalmers, D.l., 1995.

cui de sac of believing that the problem of the mind and of the relationship
between body and mind is only a question of accumulating data. But
accumulating data means "preferring the accidental to the essential, the
contingent to the necessary", as Sartre 1 points out. It means not realising
that it is "impossible to reach the essential by limiting oneself to
accumulating accidental elements, just as it is impossible to reach one by
indefinitely adding numbers to the right of 0.99".
Despite the optimism and continual reference to the enormous successes

of the neurosciences, in its present state, knowledge about the functioning of
the brain is little and fragmentary. But even supposing that one day an
infinitely more perfect science of the brain will exist, it is unclear how such
a science will ever prove Searle, or anyone who maintains that there is an
identity between consciousness and nervous mechanisms, right. The terms
in which a hypothetical perfect science of the brain would be declined could
effectively only be biological, molecular, atomic, subatomic etc, depending
on the degree of power that that science has to analyse the infinitely small.
And then? Even when it is discovered that the thirst I feel at this moment
corresponds to a certain molecular state of the brain or even a certain state
of the subatomic particles of which it is composed, my present thirst is not
explained. What I observe will be a certain physical-chemical state of the
brain, not my thirst. In other words, the greatest result we can expect from a
hypothetical perfect science of the brain is a relationship of correspondence:
a certain "mental state" corresponds to a certain state of the brain. For
example my visual experience corresponds, with a certain statistical
probability, to a series of physiological phenomena between the retina and
the occipital cortex, and that is that. It is clear enough that this relationship
of correspondence, far from being an explanation of conscious states, is in
itself in need of explanation. In fact, what should be explained is how my
consciousness of cup-of-tea-on-the-table is both caused and realised by
those same nervous mechanisms which that new science of the brain
predicted by the materialists should explain. In short, either the where and
how of this miracle, that is the passage from a physical to a mental state, is
explained, or else any claim of identity between the physical and mental will
remain only a sleight of hand without logic, made up to solve a problem,
that of the relationship between mind and body, whose identity is
presupposed but certainly not explained.
I Sartre, J.P., 1938.

What has been ignored is that an explanation of mental states, or an

explanation of consciousness, cannot in any way go from down to up, from
the nerve towards consciousness. The nerve, the neuron and its relations
with the other nerves and neurons are substances which must be described in
themselves and cannot in any way be the basis of a meaning or any other
"mental state" or consciousness. Indeed the opposite is the case. The
functioning of the nervous system, or what are considered the psychological
or computational conditions on which the historic and ontological
development of consciousness is thought to depend, are merely a
performance that consciousness offers itself. Consciousness is not an effect
of cerebral functioning. The brain, like the body and the soul, is not, in
itself, the basis of any meaning and thus has no sense if not in relation to a
consciousness which selects it. The claim that everything happens in the
brain does not do away with the dualism which neurobiological
substantialism wants to get rid of. If anything it reaffirms it, since the
passage from neurobiology to the intentional conscious act is not explained.
In actual fact, the dualism between mind (soul) and body is both a fact and a
false problem. A fact because de facto consciousness and body are
conceivable only when seen as distinct. But a false problem in that both
appear distinct but in the unity of consciousness which perceives them as
such, just as an apple and a pear appear as different within the unity of
consciousness. In short, there is no doubt that there is a relationship of
correspondence between consciousness and the physical world . But this
does not mean that consciousness does not distinguish itself, or that it can be
explained by physics or biology; in this sense dualism is a fact, and as such
cannot be negated. Dualism is the problem of consciousness when it
thematizes the body as the probable origin of itself, not of the brain. The
performance that consciousness offers itself is none other than the
representation of what it is. In short, there is no need to make consciousness
the effect of causal processes which occur on a biological level. Nor is it
necessary to fall into an animistic dualism which sees body and spirit as
separate entities. It is rather a question of inseparable entities, but not
because one is based in the other, consciousness in the body or brain, or vice
versa, the brain as mere noumenon based in consciousness. Consciousness
comes into the world with a body and, with it, dies. Its biological basis can
go no further. Consciousness does not inhabit the body or brain, which are
nothing other than meanings, constructions which consciousness offers
itself, just as body and brain are not causes of which consciousness is the
effect. In other words, consciousness does not correspond to either brain or
body, nor does it use them in a sort of inconclusive circularity as

instruments in making itself possible. Consciousness simply is the body or
the brain until these become objects of thematization for consciousness.
Consciousness which looks at the body or brain is consciousness which
ceases to be what it is in order to become conscious of what it is not. It is
not a question of maintaining a dualism, but simply of saying that any
biological or functional explanation of consciousness is nothing other than a
certain form which consciousness itself assumes, but from which it will
never be able to draw a relationship of causality. Indeed, consciousness will
never be considered the effect of any cause for the simple reason that it is
consciousness itself which forms the relationship between cause and effect.
But then how can we explain that certain events follow others in accordance
with a relationship of causality in which consciousness is implicated as the
effect of a definite cause? Indeed what can be said about the alteration or
even the loss of consciousness which is found in certain cerebral
pathologies? For example, the hallucination which follows the consumption
of substances or drugs which act upon the brain, or the loss of consciousness
which occurs following a cranial trauma; are these not perhaps proof of the
fact that consciousness depends on the brain and that cerebral events III
some way determine and thus, in the final analysis, are at the base of it?
It is well known that intense pain, whether physical or psychological, can

lead to loss of consciousness. Let us suppose that while I am crossing the
road, a six-wheeled lorry drives over my feet and crushes them, and that I
lose consciousness as a result of the pain this provokes. Let us also suppose
that I do not know about the existence or the functioning of the nervous
system. When I regain consciousness, following causal logic I will say that
my loss of consciousness was caused by the fact that my feet were crushed
by a six-wheeled lorry which drove over them. And, still following the same
logic I will conclude that my consciousness is the effect of what happens in
my feet. In short, if this course of reasoning is followed, my feet and my
brain have exactly the same rights to be seen as the cause of my
consciousness. Actually, my feet, in the case of the lorry, like the brain in
neurobiological substantial ism or the cognitive system in functionalism with
all its variants, are nothing but meanings which consciousness offers itself
and is forced to use to give meaning to itself and the world. A world which
is radically distinct from it but of which it can become a part, object among
objects, when it steps back to look at itself, to make itself the object of its
own knowledge. In short, causal thought, in which consciousness in some of
its modes is involved, can lead to the misleading conclusion that it itself is
the effect of some cause. What should actually be said is that consciousness
is born together with its world, a world of which the brain, seen as meaning,
is also a part, just as every other object of the world is meaning for
consciousness. Making consciousness or mental states correspond with the
brain, as neurobiological substantial ism would have it, or with the
computational level as the functionalists would, or with any other "thing"
means negating consciousness, as we shall see in the next chapter. Indeed
consciousness is defined, first of all, as the negation of every identity of its
own with any "object" of the world. Being conscious of this chair means
first of all being conscious of-not-being-chair. Just as being conscious of the
brain is in the first place negation of identity with the brain, that is
consciousness of-not-being-brain.
However, the temptation of resorting to the apodeicticity of the causal

schema is quite widespread in scientific thought. One cannot help thinking
of that famous anecdote, whose author, like that of all such anecdotes, is
unknown. It is about a psychologist who studied the behaviour of fleas.
After training one to jump on verbal command, he cut its legs off. After this
operation the flea no longer jumped on verbal command. From this
experiment the psychologist concluded that the flea's hearing apparatus lay
in its feet. Modern cognitive sciences do not seem to have moved an inch
from this psychologist's logical paradigm. Anti-Cartesianism is so
widespread, explicit and exaggerated that it actually makes one suspect the
almost obsessive desire of pineal gland. Descartes' pineal gland in fact
serves the same function as other explanatory idols in cognitive science and
modern neurobiology. "It is the soul that sees, not the eye", Descartes said 1.
And what is the soul if not the neurobiological substantialists'
anthropomorphization of the brain or the functionalists' cognttlve
processes? Damasi0 2, who, after all, dedicated a whole book to "Decartes'
Error", seems to be more of a royalist than the king, more Cartesian than
Descartes when he maintains that everything lies in the brain. Dennet3,
another anti-Cartesian, writes a voluminous book to explain that
consciousness is not in any part of the brain but is everywhere: who could
be more Cartesian than him? And who could be more of a Cartesian dualist
1Descartes, R., 1637.

2Damasio, A.R., 1994.
3Dennet, D.C., 1991; Dennet, D.C., & Kinsbourne, M., 1992.
than Changeux 1 and his "Neuronal Man", a being without a spirit in which
consciousness "emerges" like an iceberg which emerges from the water; or
Edelman who sees consciousness as groups of cells, selected by evolution
and integrated by reentring circuits 2? Isn't maintaining that consciousness is
somewhere, or everywhere, doing exactly what Descartes did, that is
passing from a dualism of fact, that of consciousness when it thematizes the
mind-body problem, to a dualism of substances, that is setting the physical
world against a part of it, the brain, as seat of consciousness?
However much effort is made to push consciousness into a

neurobiological or cognitive elsewhere, it continues to come out of these
places, continually negating its being identifiable with anything but itself.
All attempts to negate mind-body dualism only serve to re-affirm it with
greater vigour. Maintaining identity between consciousness and the brain is
not enough, it also needs to be proven. But the more effort is made to prove
this identity, the more it recedes, opening a greater and greater void between
consciousness and its explanation: the brain. In actual fact, either we give up
the misguided attempt of declining consciousness using the rules of a
language which is not suitable for describing it, or we will have to resign
ourselves to using explanatory idols such as the structure of the brain, a
form of anthropomorphization of the unconscious which, far from
explaining consciousness, presupposes it. In this way we agree with
Merleau-Ponty3 when he says "since the physical world and an organism
cannot be thought of as anything but objects of consciousness or as
meanings, the problem of relationship between consciousness and the
physical or organic "conditions" exists only on a level of confused thought
which grasps onto abstractions, while it would be dissolved into the truth in
which, in its original form, only the relationship between the
epistemological subject and its object takes place".
The anthropomorphization of the brain in neurobiological substantial ism

is unintelligible since it starts from a relationship of identity which is
affirmed a priori but not proved. But even if we were to accept such an
identity, ignoring the theoretical paradoxes it contains, we would be faced
with stilI other problems. By choosing the brain as a metaphor,
neurobiological substantial ism, which attacks consciousness in the name of
lChangeux, J.P., 1983.

2Edelman, G.M.; 1987; Edelman, G.M., 1989; Edelman, G.M., 1992.
3Merleau-Ponty, M., 1942.
science, in actual fact contradicts "the Science" of which it is champion.

Furthermore, neurobiological substantialism, which proposes to explain
consciousness through the study of the brain, places itself directly on an
antiscientific level. The brain is only an arbitrarily chosen metaphor of
consciousness, lacking in any scientific content. Indeed there is no
experiment which proves that the isolated brain is capable of doing
anything. Of course an experiment of this sort is unthinkable: separating the
brain from the body means decreeing its death. In order for the brain to
work it must be able to receive external signals through sensory routes, and
in tum be able to transmit signals through the body. If, then, the brain
cannot be isolated from the body without the death of both, it is not clear
why the brain should be chosen as the Cartesian seat of consciousness. In
reality we should give up, once and for all, considering the nervous system,
for instance, as inherently "superior" to the sexual system. In the
functioning of an organism, it is not possible to separate and therefore to
subordinate one with respect to the other. Normal sexual life is integrated in
the behavioural whole. The type of cerebral lesions which affect cognitive
functions can also bring about profound changes in sexuality, from a drop in
sexual love to a purely physical and uninhibited sexuality to its complete
abolition. On the other hand extra-cerebral pathologies can, in tum, bring
about profound changes in cognitive functions and consciousness. Certain
chronic ingravescent diseases, for example, involve quite serious symptoms
of depression accompanied by problems in cognitive functions such as
memory and attention. The amputation of a limb brings about a radical
change in a person's interaction with the world, which is directly reflected
in the structure of meaning which the amputated person attributes to his
surrounding environment. In short, the biological significance of behaviour
is not distinguishable only on the basis of the organs it makes use of, and
cannot be expressed in the language of anatomy or physiology. The brain as
seat of consciousness is an unusable metaphor since the brain necessarily
refers one back to the body, from which it cannot be separated.
But what is the body of which the brain is a part? You could say that the
body is characterised by in some way being double. Indeed, on the one hand
I am my body without being directly aware of it. My body in some way
coincides with that being which I am, and which inhabits the world. It is the
very meaning of my being in the world which can only come about through
this body, of which I have absolutely no possibility of not being. But I am
not conscious of this body. When my body moves in space with complex,
deliberate movements, as, for instance, when I carry out the necessary
motions to send the ball back over the net in a game of tennis, my
consciousness is not consciousness of my body which moves in space, but
rather of the tennis-ball-which-must-be-hit. In this case my body is outside
the thematic field of my consciousness even though I am that body which
moves in space to send the ball back over the net. Likewise, when I think or
when I talk, I am not aware of being a body which thinks and talks due to
the creation of certain conditions in the body itself. I simply think and talk,
and my consciousness is totally absorbed by this activity 1. But if I turn my
attention directly to my body, this comes into being as the object of my
consciousness2 . If first I was my body without being conscious of it, now I
am conscious of my body while no longer being my body. First I was it,
now that my body is thesis for my consciousness, I perceive it with
astonishment as something extraneous, an object among objects. First I was
my right arm carrying out the motions needed to send the ball back over the
net, now that I look at it and ask myself about it, my right arm is mine and
that is that, just as that packet of cigarettes on the table is mine. Of course I
am linked to my arm by profound solidarity, which does not exist in the case
of the packet of cigarettes, and indeed there is a sort of giddiness in
consciousness of the body because my body is, at the same time, my being
in the world and an object of the world which is outside and extraneous to
me, just like all the other objects in the world. In other words, with
consciousness of my body I am confronted with the paradox of not being
that body which, however, I am, or of being that body which I am not. But
once I have overcome the giddiness which this discovery generates in me,
the body of which I am conscious remains a body and nothing else, an
object of the world, just like the other objects and bodies which populate the
world in which I am immersed.
The body, as an object among objects refers one back to the world then,
that is to the concrete combination of things which make up the
environment that surrounds me. And this reified body is the body which
science studies. But the body which science assumes as the object of study,
like other objects of the world and which, according to substantialists, is the
seat of consciousness, appears as such only to a consciousness which
addresses it. In other words the body, like any other object of the world,
1 Wittgenstein, L., 1953.

2Merleau-Ponty, M., 1945.
does not exist per se, but exists for a consciousness which addresses it. Only
when my consciousness is consciousness of body or brain do body and brain
come into being as meanings, just as a chair begins to exist only when I
bother to select it in some way: by looking at it, thinking of it, imagining it
etc. What does this mean? That it is absolutely impossible to establish a
priority of the body over consciousness, since the body comes into existence
as such only when consciousness notices it. As you can see, neurobiological
substantial ism, curbed by a causalism which is far too easy to reject, falls
into the absurdity of a causal chain of its own creation. Moreover, the
starting hypothesis of substantialism, already undermined at its origin by an
assertion of identity between consciousness and brain which is not proven,
proposes to explain consciousness with the functioning of a small part of the
human body, certain areas of the brain. But as we have seen, the brain alone
can do nothing since it is not theoretically or experimentally separable from
the body. The body, in turn, and in particular the body as the object of
science, is nothing other than an object among objects, an element of the
world which, just like the liver or atoms, is subject to investigation. The
body, like any other object then, refers one back to the world. But the world
is nothing other than the combination of relationships introduced by
consciousness. It is clear, then, how neurobiological substantial ism has
locked itself into a vicious circle which starts and ends with consciousness.
Once again that consciousness which with a naive subterfuge was confined
to the brain, is nothing other than a performance which consciousness offers
itself in an attempt to find a meaning for itself outside itself.
c. Psychoanalytic anthropomorphization of the unconscious
The anthropomorphization of the unconscious has a long tradition in

psychology and assumes its most complete form in the Freudian
unconscious. According to Freud's hypothesis, my conscious life, what I am
in current reality, is the result of the action of mechanisms which regulate
unconscious forces in accordance with well-known schemes, transfer,
movement, condensation, etc. My current behaviour is a symbol of
something which precedes it in ontological terms, an unconscious made up
of abstract rules which exists before the concreteness of my behaviour. By
hypothesis then, the abstract is prior to the concrete, and the concrete is
nothing other than an epiphenomenon, the result of the relationship between
a certain number of abstract qualities. Furthermore, since these abstract

qualities, the rules that govern the unconscious, are seen as universal, the
concreteness of individual action is nothing other than the result of a certain
combination of universal abstract rules. Apart from the logical absurdity of
seeing the concrete as originating from the abstract, even if we accept a
deterministic priority of universal, unconscious, abstract rules over the
concreteness of conscious life, it is clear that such a hypothesis does not, by
any means, achieve its goal; instead of providing answers it raises an
infinity of questions. For example, saying that my activity as a scholar is
fruit of transfer and of fixation by no means explains my being a scholar of
something.
What remains to be explained is why these unconscious support

mechanisms, which I call transfer and fixation, have been carried out, and
above all, who brought them about. Of course, it will be said that everything
has its origins in infancy or in the first year of life, or even in your mother's
womb when you are still an embryo. But apart from the fact that by tracing
everything back to infancy, psychoanalysis ignores the dimension of the
future, that is it deprives human reality of one of its fundamental
dimensions, as we shall see, once again, infancy is not an explanation, if
anything it is precisely what is in need of being explained. I am linked to my
earlier being by an ontological relationship, by a profound solidarity which I
can neither understand nor deny: I was that child, that infant, and I was also
certainly that foetus. But the ontological solidarity which ties me to my
infancy by no means implies propaedeutic significance of the latter on my
present being. Even if we were to accept such determinism we would then
still have to clarify from where infancy draws its determining role on my
present being. That is, infancy would have to be explained with something
which preceded it, and so inevitably we would fall into a solutio ad
infinitum. Freudian infancy then, is in itself nothing other than one of those
great explanatory idols of our era.
But the need to anthropomorphize the unconscious in psychoanalytic

theory becomes even more evident if you consider the notion of censorship.
Psychoanalytical interpretation introduces the hypothesis of censorship,
conceived of as a real "border" with customs, passport control, currency
checks etc. The primitive tendencies, instincts, the complexes which have
formed in our individual history, in short our past, are reality in the
Freudian hypothesis. Conscious symbolizations of this real past are also to
be considered as real facts. Assertions of conscious life in all their forms,

both normal and pathological, represent facts of concrete consciousness. But
the subject finds himself facing facts of concrete consciousness like the
deceived facing the deceiver. In other words, facts of concrete
consciousness must be interpreted because they hide a truth which lies in the
unconscious of one's tendencies, instincts, urges etc. In short, there is both
truth of unconscious facts and truth of facts of concrete consciousness, only
that the truth of symbolic facts of concrete consciousness is the result of
deception. The subject deceives himself about the meaning of his behaviour,
he grasps it in its concrete existence but not in its truth, since he is deprived
of the possibility of connecting it to a primitive situation and to a psychic
structure which are extraneous to him. The psychoanalyst's task is to make
the connection between symbolic acts of concrete consciousness and the
unconscious complexes which these express. In doing this Freud has divided
the mind into two. On the one hand there is the conscious life which I am,
on the other an unconscious psych ism made up of early phenomena,
irreducible forces with which I nevertheless have to come to terms. There
seems to be, on the one hand, a priority of conscious over unconscious life. I
am the psychic phenomena in that I recognise them in their conscious
reality. But in actuality I passively receive these psychic facts from the
unconscious and am forced to formulate hypotheses regarding their origin
and their real meaning, just like the scientist who formulates hypotheses on
the physical nature of a particular observation. For instance, I feel the
impulse to steal that enamel ashtray from the shelf in that shop. I fully
adhere to this impulse, you could say that I am the impulse to commit the
theft. If I question myself on the nature of the impulse I find that it is
determined, let us say, by the beauty of the object and by a certain desire for
that feeling of excitement that transgression produces. The psychoanalytical
interpretation of this impulse of mine to commit the theft would say,
however, that it represents a desire for self-punishment which is more or
less directly linked to the Oedipus complex!. Thus there is a truth in the
impulse to steal which can only be understood through more or less
probable hypotheses. The unveiling of such a truth requires the contribution
of the psychoanalyst as mediator between my unconscious tendencies and
my conscious life. Only someone other than myself can carry out a
synthesis between conscious thesis and unconscious antithesis. In order to
know myself! must have recourse to others, which means that I relate to my
1 Example from: Sartre, J.P., 1943.

unconscious as a stranger. If I have some notion of psychoanalysis I will be

able to attempt an analysis of myself, always being careful, however, to take
the objective stance that I would take with any other object. The result of the
analysis, whether carried out by myself or a psychoanalyst, will however
always be a probable result, just as the result of scientific hypotheses is
always probable. Let us suppose I compare the result with the quantity of
conscious phenomena that the analysis has been able to explain, it will
however always be a question of a growing probability which certainly does
not give the object of investigation that feeling of certainty given by
intuition. By postulating the existence of a real unconscious, seat of ultimate
truth, and the existence of the true meaning of behaviour, which however
eludes consciousness, psychoanalysis in some way presents a sort of lie
without a liar. It is not the unconscious which lies, because this is given.
However, in my conscious life I am continually lied to inasmuch as I never
directly grasp the true meaning of my behaviour. But what is it that makes
my unconscious continuously lie to me? It certainly is not my unconscious
urges or complex tendencies that lie to me since their only interest is to
come to light, to express themselves in clear consciousness. In order to
explain why unconscious complex tendencies only come to light on certain
occasions, Freud was forced to introduce the idea of censorship. In fact it is
the censor which notices if my attempt, or that of my psychoanalyst, to
unveil unconscious truth is about to be successful, and it is censorship which
struggles to reject it because only the censor knows what needs to be
rejected. In fact, in order to carry out its task successfully, the censor must
know what it is rejecting. The censor must choose among urges, and in
order to choose, it must be able to represent these urges to itself. Otherwise
how could it admit licit sexual urges for instance, and allow certain instincts
(hunger, thirst, sleepiness) to express themselves in consciousness but not
others? But it is not enough that the censor is able to distinguish different
urges, it also needs to see negative urges as those to be rejected, which
implies that the censor must also be able to represent its own activity. In fact
how could the censor recognise the urges to be rejected without being
conscious of recognising them as those to be rejectecf? It is difficult to
conceive of knowledge which is ignorance of itself. Knowledge is knowing
that one knows, that is all knowledge is also consciousness of knowing. In
short, censorship implies not only conscious representation of the urge
which is to be rejected as such, but also consciousness of the operations that
the censor must carry out in order to act correctly. But what type of
consciousness of self is the censor's consciousness of self? It must be
consciousness of being consciousness of the tendency to inhibit

unacceptable urges, but for the precise purpose of not being consciousness
of it. In the psychoanalytic hypothesis of censorship we thus see the
reproduction of the homunculus fallacy, which we have already described,
that is the establishing of an unconscious consciousness which is conscious
of itself in order not to be so; a new unconscious anthropos to which the
same reductio ad infinitum applies as is implicit in every theory of the
homunculus.
d. Functionalist anthropomorphization of the unconscious 1
The functionalist homunculus2 is a sort of double of the unconscious

psychoanalytic anthropos, that homunculus which transfers, condenses,
moves, censors, etc. At least it is in this respect that the weighty
psychoanalytic legacy has been fully embraced (unconsciously?) in the
functionalist programme. Like the psychoanalysts, the functionalists have a
cumbersome anthropos to explain, and as we have seen, not only when
explaining memory. Starting from the assumption that the human mind is
similar to a type of computer, the functionalist hypothesis reduces it to
nothing other than the result of a series of operations carried out by a
machine (the brain or any other machine which is able to carry out these
operations) on symbolic representations of information which reach it from
the outside world. In short, the functionalist hypothesis is based on the idea
that a given world exists, which is represented in a given brain where
everything is reduced to computational transformations operated on
symbols. The functionalist project has proposed itself as an alternative,
superseding behaviourism which rejected every mentalist position, that is
every idea which set out to investigate objects which were not directly
observable and measurable. The aim of functionalism is to discover what
happens in that "black box", that is the human mind; it seeks to describe a
1Within the cognitive sciences not everyone espouses the cognitivist programme. Some very
critical positions on this are expressed, for example by authors such as Dreyfus, Marcel,
Varela, Globus, Searle, Putnam (see the Reference section)
2 Functionalist and cognitivist are used as synonyms here. Within the cognitivist movement
there are also positions which are very diverse from one another. However none of these
escapes the anthropomorphization of the unconscious which is why my discussion does not
require a detailed examination of the different positions.
junctional architecture of the mind. But as Searle 1 rightly points out, the
functionalist project has repeated the worst mistake of behaviourism by only
studying objectively observable phenomena and ignoring consciousness,
that is, the main feature of the mind. Thus when the functionalists "opened
up the big black box, all they found were a lot of little black boxes inside"2.
The combination of these black boxes, or modules, to use Fodor's
terminology 3, constitutes functionalist man, that is the result of the sum of a
certain number of functions which can in turn be dismounted into discreet
stages of information processing operated by those small black boxes which
Searle talks of. In turn, the functionalist man who is ill and who cannot
remember or cannot read because a cerebral lesion has removed his memory
or ability to read, is nothing but the result of a subtraction, that is the
combination of normal man's black boxes minus one or more of these small
black boxes whose operations represent the missing function 4 .We shall not
discuss here the various logical problems and the poor explanatory value of
the functionalist hypothesis. We shall instead show how the same old
question reappears with the functionalist hypotheses: who? In the
functionalists' anthropomorphized unconscious, a number of operations are
supposed but their origin is not clarified. In other words, it is not made clear
who the author of the computational treatment on the symbolic
representations said to populate our mind is. As we shall see, it is a matter
which functionalist theory cannot clarify, since it would have to come to
terms with an aporia which would falsify the theory itself.
But let us look at the problem more closely through an interpretative

example provided by functionalism. Among the various models proposed to
describe the different cognitive functions, those regarding reading are
generally considered the most complete. It is clear that the description and
discussion of the various reading models is not important here. However,
despite the differences, radical as they may be, all the models have
something in common which is what interests us. They all imply and
presuppose intentional capacity outside consciousness, and in so doing they
anthropomorphize the unconscious. We shall analyse one model for all.
1Searle, 1.R., 1992.

2Searle, 1.R., 1992, p.XII
3Fodor, J.A., 1983.
4Caramazza, A., 1984.
Figure 1 shows a diagrammatic representation of a reading model, the

so-called two-routes reading modell. According to this model, the written
word enters the cognitive system assigned to reading, in the form of
information. Here, the information undergoes an initial treatment by the
visual analysis system, which identifies the letters on an abstract level
regardless, that is, of their form (capital, small, block, etc.). From here the
information proceeds towards the orthographic input lexicon, where
recognition units for known words, which recognise whether certain strings
of letters correspond to known words, are thought to be stored. The
information is then sent on to the semantic system which contains
representations of the meanings of words, and recognises strings of letters
which come from the visual entrance lexicon as having certain meanings.
At the next stage of its tortuous journey, the information reaches the
phonological output lexicon where phonological representations are stored,
that is the sounds of words. The phonological output lexicon thus ascribes
sound to the meaning which it gets from the semantic system. Before
arriving at the spoken word, that is the final result of reading, the
information has to undergo a final process by a sort of filter, or phonemic
buffer, which selects and sequences the sounds necessary to articulate the
word.
IColtheart, M., 1978; Coltheart, M., 1981.

Fig. 1 Two-routes model of reading
PRINT
V
Visual
Analysis
Orthographic
Input Lexicon
u ~,
Semantic Written-Sound
System Conversion
Phonological
Output Lexicon
.
Phonemic
Buffer ........
"
I SPEECH
I
Alternatively, information from the visual analysis system may follow a

different route to the one described above, it may go directly to the written-
sound conversion system which transforms written information from the
visual analysis system into its corresponding sound. From here the
information then goes to the phonemic filter, last stop before articulation.
This so-called second route was postulated to account for the fact that
normally we can read words whose meaning we do not know, and also non-
words, that is strings of letters which do not represent any known word. This
made it necessary to provide a route which does not pass through the
semantic system, which allows for the reading of words with no meaning, or
words whose meaning is unknown to the reader.
Something is clearly missing from the model we have just described. We

deliberately emphasised the operations which should be carried out in the
different stages or processes postulated by the model. We thus saw that the
visual analyser identifies letters, the visual imput lexicon recognises strings
of letters as words, the semantic system recognises certain words as having
certain meanings, etc. As you can see, these mechanisms, which are nothing
but abstract inferences used to explain the concrete act of reading, carry out
actions, that is they identify, recognise, etc. In short, each mechanism, each
stage of information treatment, is a small homunculus, a subject, an
anthropos endowed with the ability to act. Nevertheless, what these models
do not explain is who carries out these actions, and how these actions are
carried out. Who analyses the letters? The visual analyser, you will reply.
But either the properties which allow the visual analyser to carry out these
operations are explained, or the visual analyser remains an abstract entity,
magically endowed with the ability of performing actions, that is of being
subject; an abstract entity which, moreover, precedes and determines a
concrete act, reading. And what does the analysis that the visual analyser is
said to perform actually consist in? How does the visual analyser identify
the letters and know, for instance, that they are not artichokes? As we have
already seen in the case of the psychoanalytic censor, the visual analyser
must be able to represent for itself the object that it analyses, that is the
letters. It must also know that its action is limited to the letters which will
then be sent on to the next stage of information processing, and that this
action does not, for instance, include artichokes. The visual analyser then,
must also be able to represent its own activity. Indeed, how could the visual
analyser recognise artichokes as something to be rejected, without being
conscious of recognising them as something to be rejected? In short, the
visual analyser must at the same time be conscious of the object to be

analysed and of its own action as analyser. But all this without being
conscious. Yet again we find ourselves facing an unconscious
consciousness, typical of the homunculus fallacy, that is of a consciousness
in bad faith. In actual fact, as Tulving 1 pointed out, the various mechanisms
postulated in cognitivist models are pure abstractions which could just as
well be indicated with letters from the Greek alphabet without changing the
models in which they are postulated in the least. Models which, as Marcel
emphasised, are not even models "because they seem to do everything but in
actual fact do nothing"2.
And yet, you will ask, what is so strange about postulating the existence
of unconscious mechanisms which carry out certain actions? After all, do
we not say that thermostats feel temperature changes, that photoelectric cells
see light changes, etc. Apart from the metaphoric use that is made of these
terms (nobody really believes that thermostats feel or that photoelectric cells
see), there is a substantial difference between thermostats, photoelectric
cells and cognitive mechanisms. The former two are instruments created by
man for a precise purpose, the latter are said to create man, that is they are
said to be the source of his mental acts. If we formulate our question
regarding the thermostat as who feels the temperature, the answer is "man".
It is man who constructed the thermostat in order to feel the temperature
better. The thermostat itself is nothing other than the thermoelectric
mechanisms of which it is composed. If, on the other hand, we formulate
our question with regard to cognitive mechanisms, as who, for example,
identifies the letters in a reading model, the answer is no longer "man", but
an abstract who that precedes and determines him.
The reading model we have just described represents an interpretative

hypothesis, already somewhat consolidated on the functionalist front. As
regards memory, the interpretative models of psychology and cognitivist
neuropsychology enjoy a lesser degree of general consensus. We have
already seen that in current theories there is great confusion regarding both
the nature of the past event which is remembered and the nature of the past
itself. We shall deal with this later on. For the moment we are interested in
showing how present interpretative models of memory, though not as
ITulving, E., 1989.

2Marcel, A.J., 1988.
conclusive as that of reading, also fall into the homunculus fallacy, that is
the anthropomorphization of the unconscious.
From a certain point of view, functionalist interpretations of memory are

doubtless more polished than those which have tried to account for other
cognitive functions . The most recent attempts to describe and interpret
memory reveal the need to account for consciousness as a variable which
cannot be neglected in any theory ofthe mind. Unlike their predecessors, for
example the reading model described above, memory models include, more
or less explicitly, a small black box which represents consciousness. But the
trick does not work all the same. Let us see why.
Consider, for example, the model proposed by Burgess and Shallice 1.

According to this model, the recollection of a personal past episode reflects
the activity of a series of distinct components. In the long-term storage
system there are memory traces. Memory traces represent both personal
events and impersonal knowledge, that is they are both episodic and
semantic. Description processes have the function of specifying the type of
memory trace which needs to be activated in the process of recollection . If,
for instance, the type of recollection I am engaged in is episodic, that is it
regards a specific personal episode, the description processes will have the
task of selecting an episodic trace, not a semantic one. Once the appropriate
trace has been chosen, it is examined by verification processes which
establish whether the selected trace is consistent with the memories recalled
previously and with the general needs of the recollection task I am engaged
in.
Let us suppose, for instance, that I want to remember what I did

yesterday evening. In this case, the description processes will select the
trace which is appropriate for me to achieve this goal. First of all they will
have to search among the episodic traces, not the semantic ones, and they
will have to look for something which has to do with the evening and with
my recent past. The result of this search could be, for example "yesterday
evening I stayed at home to read". At this point the verification processes
intervene and establish whether "yesterday evening I stayed at home to
read" is a result which satisfies the goal I set myself, what I did yesterday
evening, and whether this result contradicts previous memories, for
IBurgess, P.W., & Shall ice, T., 1996.

example, a little earlier I remembered that I had not gone out in the evening
for quite some time. Good, in this case I have achieved my aim : I have
recalled the type of memory which I intended to recall and it does not
contradict other remembered elements or the general goal I set myself. Let
us suppose instead that the result achieved does not pass the examination of
the verification processes. For example, "yesterday evening I stayed at
home to read" is not consistent with the fact that I remember that I have not
read a book for several weeks. In this case mediator processes intervene,
they mediate between representations in conflict, they judge the plausibility
of the result achieved and organise a new search in the long-term store using
the description processes. These three processes, description, verification
and mediation are, according to the authors of this model, conscious
processes. In short, there is believed to be a consciousness which selects
memories, one which verifies them and another which mediates between the
contradictions which arise between the first two types of consciousness.
It is easy to see that in this way consciousness is fragmented into discreet

elements which do not account for the phenomenological reality of
recollection. Indeed memory presents itself apodeictically. When I
remember "yesterday evening I stayed at home to read", the mnesic
experience which accompanies this memory is not split into two or three. It
is simply consciousness of-me-reading-yesterday-evening. There is no
conscious selection which precedes this consciousness of reading yesterday
evening, nor is there any verification which follows it. Let us put the
question differently. What type of consciousness is consciousness of
description processes? Consciousness of memories to select, evidently. Thus
it should be a question of consciousness which is conscious of all memories
and, at the same time, consciousness of its own action of selection and of
the type of memory to select. Clearly this type of consciousness does not
exist inasmuch as concrete consciousness is not, nor could it be,
consciousness of all memories and at the same time of some of these
memories as those to be selected. It is thus a matter of consciousness which
is conscious of all memories, but which hides all of them except the one to
be selected. And what is consciousness which is conscious of something
with the aim of not being so? A consciousness in bad faith, that is, a partly
unconscious consciousness. At this point, a consciousness such as this,
which is conscious of selecting memories but is actually only conscious of
the already selected ones, would need another unconscious consciousness
which is conscious of all memories, selects some, and then sends to
conscious consciousness these selected memories of which it is conscious.

But in this way we would fall into the homunculus fallacy and into the
reductio ad infinitum that this involves. The same type of reasoning also
applies to the verification processes since these too should be consciousness
of the memory to be verified, and at the same time unconscious
consciousness of all the memories on which said verification is based. Now,
it is not at all clear how the sum of these two distinct, half consciousnesses
in bad faith could evoke the conscious memory of a past episode. But, one
could say, direct experience actually shows me that in recalling I can make
mistakes, and I can notice these mistakes and at times correct them.
Certainly, but the memory which I recognise as mistaken does not cease to
be consciousness of something remembered, and above all, it has never
been, either before or during the description process, or after and during the
verification process, consciousness of all the memories amongst which one
had, so to speak, a particular saliency which is why it was perceived as that
one to be selected or rejected as a mistaken memory. When, for one reason
or another, I notice the mistake "yesterday evening I stayed at home to read"
and I correct it with "yesterday I went to the cinema", there is no
consciousness of anything but these two events, both memories in the same
way. I could, if anything, say that the first is mistaken because it is not in
agreement with other elements which I can infer from my knowledge, but in
itself it is not false, just as it is not true. It is a memory and that is all, a
concrete fact, just as this table cannot be true or false but is simply an
apodeictic reality.
According to the ideas summarised in Schacter's and Moscovitch's

models l , consciousness is a sort of empty box which can be filled with a
quantity of different types of information, i.e. linguistic, conceptual, spatial
etc. In other words, the various types of information are found outside
consciousness, that is they are unconscious. Information can, therefore,
become conscious but it can also be directly expressed without becoming
so. When it does become conscious this is because it is passively received
by a sort of aspecific consciousness. When it is expressed without becoming
conscious, the information passes directly to the response system, that is
behaviour, without there being consciousness of it. In addition to these two
systems, on the one hand unconscious information, on the other aspecific
consciousness which passively receives it, both models provide for a
1 Schacter, D.L. 1989; Mocovitch, M., 1989; Moscovitch, M., 1995.

monitoring system which organises the interaction between consciousness

and unconscious infonnation. As you can see, in these models
consciousness is a sort of independent entity, aspecific and distinct from the
infonnation it passively receives from specific modules of knowledge. In
other words, the idea is that consciousness has a content. But maintaining
that consciousness has a content means that consciousness and its content
are distinct. Now the question is what type of consciousness is
consciousness without content?
If we want to separate consciousness from its content we must accept the

Selbstandigkeit of consciousness. But consciousness without content, that is
consciousness which is consciousness of nothing, is unintelligible, it ceases
to be consciousness. We shall see later that consciousness cannot in any way
avoid its fundamental law which is that of being, by nature, consciousness
of something. What, then, is consciousness without content, and what is
content without consciousness? It is not worth arguing that although
consciousness and content are separate, de facto consciousness always has a
content. Such an assertion would not eliminate the possibility of accepting a
consciousness by right which is not consciousness, a sort of consciousness
in a state of rest, that is non-consciousness. Besides, the separation of
consciousness from its content implies that the latter, that is information
which becomes conscious, is already specified in terms of its phenomenic
form before becoming conscious. That is to say that, for instance, memories,
concepts and, general knowledge, exist outside consciousness in the same
fonn as they have when they become conscious.
It is difficult to understand how this can happen. If we take memory, for

example, how can a recollection, whose main feature is that of being
consciousness of the pastness of an event, be already determined outside
consciousness, and exist independently of this? The same objection clearly
holds also for other types of content or infonnation. What is the concept of
chair, the map of the city, my friend Peter's face, outside consciousness?
Furthennore, if we want content and information which has already been
specified to be expressed in behaviour without becoming conscious, what
psychologists call the implicit expression of knowledge, we will have to
accept that the only difference with respect to conscious expression is the
absence of consciousness. In other words, the infonnation expressed inside
consciousness or outside it, is the same. But if the infonnation inside and
outside consciousness is the same, in that it is already specified in itself, its
implicit expression in behaviour should have the same characteristics as its

expression in consciousness minus consciousness itself. For example, I am
now conscious of this glass on the table in front of me. I am conscious of its
position in space, its shape, size, and colour, and of the glass it is made of
and its weight. All this information, according to our hypothesis, does not
depend on consciousness, it is already specified in the glass. Now, let's
suppose that I am no longer conscious of the glass before me. I am
engrossed in something completely different so that the glass is, so to speak,
outside my field of consciousness. Absorbed in what I am doing, I pick up
the glass and bring it to my lips, take a sip from it and put it back in its
place. This series of actions reflects the implicit expression of the
information "glass". But is the information "glass" which I am implicitly
expressing the same as that which not long ago inhabited my consciousness?
Let us suppose that there is a witness observing me while I drink from the
glass without being conscious of it. Could this witness deduce from my
behaviour that I am implicitly using the information that the glass is made
of glass, or that it is red? Obviously not. As you can see, the information
expressed in consciousness and outside it is clearly not the same. Not
because it is different but simply because it cannot exist outside
consciousness, before it, already specified in the unconscious, and then
come to inhabit consciousness as content.
Having postulated a generic and passive consciousness, whose only role

is to receive information which has already been specified in the
unconscious, these models are obliged to postulate a sort of control
servomechanism to organise the interaction of the other elements. However,
yet again, this control mechanism is outside consciousness. Therefore, yet
again, we are dealing with a mechanism endowed with unconscious
intentionality, that is of being conscious of something so as not to be so. A
non-conscious consciousness or, as we have also said, a consciousness in
bad faith . This condition has already been described in sufficient detail and
shall not be dealt with further.
4. SCIENCE AND MATERIALISM
The various ways of anthropomorphizing the unconscious, in

neurobiology, psychoanalysis, and functionalism, reflect various attempts to
explain the central aspect of the life of the psychic, consciousness, in the
framework of reductionist detenninism. Whether the attempt is to reduce
consciousness to a series of nervous events which occur in the brain,
unconscious psychic forces competing among themselves, or to unconscious
computational systems which act on symbols, the result does not much alter
the substance: consciousness is the effect of something which happens
somewhere else. Neurobiological substantial ism takes an openly materialist
position, as we have seen in Searle, for instance: consciousness is what
happens in the brain, that is in matter, and its explanation is to be found in
neurophysiology which, in turn, refers us to neurobiology, and this to
chemistry and to physics, that is to the elementary structure of matter, since
there is only one matter. Psychoanalysis and functionalism are not
concerned with basing consciousness in matter, but this does not mean that
they are any less reductionist or deterministic than neurobiological
substantialism. Consciousness is what happens in the unconscious and this,
at least according to the functionalist hypothesis, takes place in a machine,
the brain, but not only. My position has already been made quite clear in the
previous pages. But to avoid any sort of misunderstanding, let me state that
the principles of reductionist detenninism, whether in their materialist
variety or not, are philosophically false: it is not comprehensible how
matter, the Freudian unconscious or the functionalists' computational level
can generate the idea of matter, of the unconscious, or of computation.
Actually reductionist determinism is the product of the myth of objectivity
upon which the idea of science rests. This idea is supposed to be universal
but, as we shall see, it is nothing other than a figure of speech. At this point
you will expect an idealist conclusion: the idea is self-sufficient, it is the
idea which generates matter, the unconscious, the cognitive system. But that
is not the case. Our conclusion is not idealistic and science, in order to be
science, does not need to resort to reductionist determinism. We will now
account for these assertions. We shall examine the strictly materialist
variation of reductionist detenninism, that is neurobiological substantialism,
since it is, in a sense, paradigmatic of every attempt to reduce consciousness
to something else.
The materialist perspective aims to reduce the dynamics of the mind to

matter, and thus to eliminate subjectivity by reducing the world, man
included, to a system of objects in relation to one another in accordance
with universal principles. Thus materialism, and with it neurobiological
substantialism, is presented as a proper fonn of metaphysics, since it
transcends every perceptible datum so as to bring everything back, a priori,

to universal matter. But the materialist does not want his ideas to be
considered metaphysical. In fact, there is nothing that the materialist hates
more in the world than metaphysics, so much so that in his language this
word is somewhat of an insult, and is used for whoever strays from the
rigorous objectivity of facts. The materialist claims to stick exclusively to
facts, the observation of which forms the basis of the only legitimate
knowledge, scientific knowledge. This point of view has a long tradition and
everyone will remember the positivists' antimetaphysical invectives. But
they, who were far more coherent, had from the beginning given up
questioning themselves on the relationship between mind and body because
they thought that no objective truth, in the scientific sense, could arise from
an investigation of the sort. The relationship between body and mind is
rejected a priori by the positivists since it is far beyond our objective
experience of the world. The neurobiological substantialist is much bolder
than his positivist fathers, and seeks to solve the mind-body problem by
reducing the mind to the brain and its functions. Now, the materialist
neurobiologist accuses the idealist of being metaphysical when he reduces
matter to the mind. But why should the materialist be excused for being
metaphysical when he reduces the mind to matter. The experimental data he
has do not, by any means, support his doctrine. Nor, on the other hand, do
they support the opposing one. What the facts do show is a close
relationship between physiological and psychical events, a relationship
which can be interpreted in a thousand different waysl. When the materialist
neurobiologist places psychophysical identity, the relationship of identity,
between mind and brain, and particularly between consciousness and the
brain, he does not do so by basing himself on the famous facts which he
claims to keep to, but defines it a priori through intuition or reason. For
however much he disguises himself as a positivist, the materialist
neurobiologist is a masked metaphysic. And, as if that were not enough, he
is a metaphysic who destroys himself with his own weapons, because by
rejecting metaphysics he destroys the foundation for his own assertions.
But not only does the materialist destroy the metaphysics upon which his
own thought is based, but also the positivism with which he disguises
himself. Comte and his followers reduced legitimate thought to scientific
knowledge in that they believed that only this, being based on direct
1 Sartre, l-P., 1946.

experience of the world, could be proved to be effective. For them the

success of science was a fact. But a fact which belongs to the human world.
It is for man that science is successful. The positivists were careful not to
ask themselves whether scientific rationalism had universal value, that is
whether it was valid for the universe in itself, quite apart from man, for the
simple reason that in order to do so they would have had to come out of
themselves and humanity to compare the universe as it is with the
representation that science gives us of it, and thus take God's point of view
on man. But the materialist neurobiologist is not so cautious. He arrogates
the right to rise above science, subjectivity, and man himself and to take the
place of God, which he also denies, to contemplate the spectacle of the
universe. But eliminating subjectivity by making it correspond to the
physical operations of the brain does not mean you have truly eliminated it
and even less that you have managed to explain it. And this, as Nagel I
rightly points out, is not because there are not yet enough empirical data: the
problem is theoretical. Even if we got to the point of finding a miniature of
the Gioconda in my brain while I am looking at the painting, my perception
of the Gioconda would not be accounted for. The materialist believes he has
made subjectivity disappear by suppressing it. But that is not the way things
are. In order to suppress subjectivity, the materialist declares himself object,
that is possible matter for scientific investigation. But having made himself
an object, a thing among things, the materialist claims to take an objective
point of view on things. Thus the materialist is at the same time both object,
like other objects of the world, but also outside the object, with an absolute
and objective view on things, stripped of all subjectivity. In short, as NageJ2
says, the view that the materialist has on the world, being free of
SUbjectivity, is a view from nowhere. From this universal view the
materialist contemplates the world and asserts the rationality of objective
reality: everything that is real is rational or capable of being rationalised, he
maintains. But in actual fact, without realising it, materialist rationalism
destroys itself by moving into irrationalism: if consciousness is conditioned
by biology, and this in tum by physics, human consciousness can express
the world at most as an effect can express its cause, and not as a thought
expresses its object. If everything comes to consciousness from outside,
from biological, chemical or physical causes, if it passively receives
rationality from the world, how can consciousness express itself on objects,
I Nagel, T., 1974; Nagel, T., 1986; Nagel, T., 1993.

2 Nagel, T., 1986.
and believe that its means of expression are the right ones, in this case the
means of materialism? In order to judge, it should be, at the same time, both
inside and outside itself. Since this is not possible, it must rely on other
criteria, criteria which are necessarily internal and sUbjective. This, then, is
how materialist rationalism is forced to resort to idealist subjectivity to
found itself, and in so doing destroys its own work. As Sartre 1 notes,
"dogmatic when affinning that the universe produces thought, materialism
moves straight on to idealist scepticism. With one hand it offers the
inexorable rights of Reason, and with the other it takes them away. It
destroys positivism with dogmatic rationalism, it destroys both with the
metaphysical assertion that man is a material object, and it destroys this
assertion with the radical negation of all metaphysics. It sets science up
against metaphysics and, unwittingly, metaphysics against science. Only
ruins remain".
But then the theoretical problems which hamper scientific materialism

stem from a mistaken presumption which is due to irresponsibility, if not to
bad faith, and is that of wanting to explain quality with quantity. The
universe of science is quantitative, it begins and ends with the analytic
measurement of independent, external elements in a relationship of
juxtaposition. The very aim of science is to break the complex down into
more simple elements to then use the reassembled elements as confirmatory
evidence of its own success. Science acts through subtractions and additions
of independent elements. In fact, the independence of the elements, just like
their exteriority, is a necessary condition for there to be measurement, that is
science. Elements that are so influenced by the co-presence of other
elements that their very nature changes would make any objective
measurement impossible. However a hydrogen atom, in becoming part of a
molecule of water, does not change its nature, it simply remains what it was.
It is due to this static quality that we can affinn that water is composed of
two oxygen atoms and one of hydrogen: an addition. But the sum of
hydrogen and oxygen begins and ends in what it is, and, as we have seen, it
will never explain the liquidity of water. This is a quality which prescinds
and in some way precedes hydrogen, oxygen and the sum of the two. In the
same way, a neuron remains a neuron, and it is due to this static quality that
it can be identified, and its properties, which are revealed when it becomes
part of a certain nervous circuit, can be measured. What I measure is its
1 Sartre, l-P., 1946.

relative state of activation or inhibition with respect to the other neurons in

the nervous circuit in which it is inserted. But the fact that it is in
relationship with other neurons does not make it disappear into nothing, nor
does it transform it into something different from what it has always been.
You might say that the circuit in which the neuron in question is inserted
represents something new, with characteristics which differ from those of
the neuron itself. Certainly, but this does not mean that this new entity
represents quality. The visual circuit in which that given neuron of the
associative visual cortex is inserted has certain properties which that single
neuron does not possess, for example it responds to the stimuli projected
onto the retina in a modular way. But what quality does this new
combination of properties of the visual circuit express? Certainly not visual
perception. Everything that occurs in the visual circuit when it is stimulated
can be expressed in terms of statistical probability, thus in quantitative
terms. It will never be able to explain the quality of my visual perception of
this vase of flowers, of the Gioconda, or of a football match. Let me repeat
myself, the very most to which a science of the brain can aspire is to
demonstrate, with a certain degree of statistic probability, a correlation
between certain physiological, chemical or physical events and certain
psychological events. Scientific laws are expressed with quantitative
formulae and science has no symbol to express quality as such, and even
less so the quality of psychological states.
Counter to every reductionist solution, Thomas Nagel) maintains that

conscious mental states are as much a part of objective reality as a stone, an
oak tree or a brain and thus they can, and must, be studied directly, without
the need to reduce them to a physicality which in itself is no more real.
What Nagel suggests, in other words, is to make quality the object of
scientific study. The aim of a science of consciousness is to clarify the
relationship between what things are like for the conscious subject, and
simply how things are, that is to clarify the relationship between the per se
and the in se. One way of setting about the scientific study of consciousness
is, according to Nagel, to study mental phenomena which are not too
"cognitive", which lend themselves to some kind of measurement in
accordance with some quantifiable scale, and which already show some
clear connection of order with physical variables. As examples of mental
) Nagel, T., 1993.

phenomena which are easy to study, Nagel gives those phenomena which
vary in intensity, for example the perception of colours, sound tones,
temperature or pain. Nagel's antireductionist intentions are no doubt positive
and in good faith. However, he does not seem to notice that in proposing to
study intensity as though it were the key to a science of consciousness, he is
not proposing to study the quality of conscious experience which he
presents as irreducible, but yet again the quantity which expresses it in a
reduced and incomplete way.
Temperature, sound, and colour, as perceived by a conscious subject, are

qualities which, if reduced to their intensity, cease to be qualities and
become quantities. It is not warmer than yesterday, it is warm in a different
way to yesterday. The degree of temperature, measured by the cubic dilation
of a liquid, is simply a quantity, attached to which there is a vague idea of
quality, in a general sense. At the same temperature I might button my coat
more tightly because I am cold, while someone else might remove theirs
because they are hot. Science reduced this perceptible quality to a quantity
when it was agreed to substitute the vague information of our senses with
the measure of cubic dilation of a liquid. Likewise, the transformation of
water into steam is, for science, a purely quantitative phenomenon, or, if
you like, this transformation exists for science only as a quantity. It is thus
necessary to choose: either we remain on a level of perceptible quality, in
which case steam and temperature are qualities, or else we consider
temperature as quantity, but then the change from one temperature to
another will be scientifically defined as a quantitative change. What science
can say is that there is x probability that at a certain temperature, measured
with a thermometer, percentage y of subjects will button up their coats, and
percentage z will take their coats off, and nothing more.
Where is quality, and in what way could intensity ever express it? The
red I can see now is no more intense than the red I saw earlier, it is a
different red. If in everyday language this diversity is described by saying
that it is more intense, this does not at all mean that the perceptible quality
of the two reds can be traced back to an idea of measurable quantity
expressed through intensity. In psychology there is a test 1 used to measure
colour perception, where the subject has to put a series of different
gradations of the same colour in ascending order. You will say, is this not an
1 Farnsworth, D., 1943.

example of how quality can be described in accordance with the rules of

more and less, that is according to quantity? Isn't what is measured by
means of this test perhaps the visual perception of colours, that is the quality
of colour perception? Not at all. What this test measures is the ability to
perceive different colours as different. This blue is different from that one.
The fact that this difference is then expressed according to a scale of
gradation only proves the ability to judge this diversity according to a
definite rule imposed from outside: this blue is lighter than that one. In
order for this to be possible two blues must be present, and I must compare
them according to a rule of gradation of lightness, just as the scientist
compares two cells under a microscope and maintains that, according to pre-
established rules, one is normal while the other is pathological. This by no
means describes the quality of my perception of the two blues, but only my
ability to apply a specific rule. Indeed, if my performance in this test is
poor, that is if I put the colours in an arbitrary order, what could be
concluded from this? The psychologist would say that my perception of
colours is altered. But that would be an arbitrary conclusion. In fact, my
poor performance in the test could merely indicate my inability to apply the
rule in accordance with which I was supposed to arrange the different
colours because I am no longer able to indicate the type of difference
between the various colours, though I continue to perceive them as different.
Indeed I could arrange those same colours, whose difference does not
escape me, according to other rules: from the one I like most to the one I
like least, from the most to the least familiar, from the one most similar to
the sky in spring to the least similar, and so on. But these rules which I
apply are judgements outside the quality of my perception, they join it but
they are not, by any means, a part of it. In short, despite every effort, quality
will not be reduced to quantity, not even if we take into consideration those
simple mental phenomena that Nagel proposed to start out on a scientific
study of consciousness. By this we do not mean that quantity is the negation
of quality. Quantity is an attempt to explain quality in a rigorous, that is
objective way, just as the equation of a circle rigorously expresses its
circular shape l . It is merely a reductive attempt, which preserves its raison
d'etre to the extent that it remains coherent to itself and avoids any
expression of quality in its very nature.
1 Merleau-Ponty, M., 1942.

According to the reductionists, the irreducibility of the quality of

conscious experience is questionable, due to the fact that the progress of
science is reducing the residue of irreducibility of conscious experience
further and further. Dennet, for example 1, affirms that many facts regarding
"the way things are for the subject" are not only explained, but predicted
with the development of science. According to Dennet, Ramachandran's
experiments are a good example. In these experiments, the paradoxical
illusion of motion was predicted by the knowledge of the nervous routes
involved in the perception of motor and colour. Since the detection systems
of motor and colour are distinct in the brain, when black spots are moved
over a drawing where there is a yellow, isoluminescent mark in the
background, the yellow mark paradoxically appears to both move and
remain still at the same time. From an understanding of the functional
separability in the brain of motor, place, colour and luminescence,
Ramachandran predicted that this surprising effect would occur. Since,
according to theory, these systems were separate in the brain, he predicted
that they would also be phenomenologically separate. Dennet sees this as a
good example of how phenomenal experience can be predicted and
manipulated, starting from knowledge of the subjacent nervous structure.
But none of this proves that the quality of the paradoxical phenomenal
experience described by Ramachandran is explained by the cerebral
mechanisms involved in motor, colour, place and luminescence. Once again,
what is demonstrated is only a relationship of correspondence between
physiological and mental states. A correspondence which, furthermore,
could quite easily be reversed: not recognising the functional separability in
the brain of motor, place, colour and luminescence, this separability could
be predicted starting from the phenomenon of the paradoxical perception
described above. But this relationship of correspondence between
physiological and mental states is such and that is that. It by no means
explains how a mental state is brought about by a physiological state, or vice
versa. In short, not only is there no priority by right or de facto between the
two terms of correspondence, the physiological and the mental, but neither
is there anything to indicate that one of the two terms is based on the other,
or how the passage from one state to another occurs. However,
Ramachandran's theory includes no prediction about the relationship
between physiological states and phenomenal experience.
1 Dennet. D. 1993 .
We have ascertained the irreducibility of facts of consciousness. The

irreducibility of quality to quantity. But where does this irreducibility of
consciousness come from? What is the characteristic which makes the
quality of phenomenal experience impervious to any analytic-quantitative
reduction? The problem of the irreducibility of consciousness lies in the fact
that direct experience of the world, what an organism experiences in a given
situation, is accessible only from a single point of view, the subject's, what
he is experiencing - so to speak - on his own skin. In short, the terrain of
consciousness is the terrain of subjectivity, while that of science is that of
objectivity. The quality of phenomenal experience can be attributed
objectively only according to a nominal scale and by progressive statistic
approximation. The nominal value x can be ascribed to my conscious
experience of that red vase in the corner, and then we can say that x is more
or less the same as another observer's conscious experience of that vase. But
these are merely nominal and approximate values which do not in any way
describe the sUbjective experience of seeing that vase. There is no way of
objectively establishing that my conscious experience of that vase is similar
to that of another observer. That vase is, for instance, a memento of a past
love and when I look at it my consciousness addresses it in a certain way:
with nostalgia, rancour, love. Together with its shape and colour there is an
"additional value" which belongs exclusively to me, and which cannot be
predicted on the basis of statistical terms produced by nominal values
attributed to "what probably is" the perception of a red vase for a certain
number of observers. It is likely that the same physiological events which
correspond to any observer's perception of that vase correspond to my
perception of it, but then every observer's phenomenal experience is unique
and different from anyone else's. The quantity of cells which are activated in
the brain is perhaps the same but the meaning of that activation is original
and new for each subject who perceives that red vase. Even the paradoxical
effect mentioned earlier, where the yellow mark is perceived as being in
motion and still at the same time, says nothing about the quality of the
subjective experience of that paradox. All subjects who took part in that
experiment reported, with a certain degree of probabilistic coherence,
having the same paradoxical experience. The experience all subjects
probably shared is the paradox of motion and immobility. But who can say
whether the subjective experience of that paradox really was exactly the
same for all the subjects? In other words, the paradox of motion and
immobility is nothing other than the object of phenomenal experience, and
not the experience itself. On seeing a red drape, a blind man who has
regained his sight, a bull, and a clerk of the land registry office will all
experience the red, but what this experience is in the subjective reality of an
ex-blind man, a bull and a clerk cannot be objectively known.
The quality of conscious experience is synthetic quality, and as such

escapes any analytic break down. Conscious experience is the continual
synthesis of the world and of the consciousnesses which have preceded it.
Later on, we will examine how consciousness constitutes itself as synthesis.
For now we are concerned with what consciousness, as synthesis, cannot be.
As synthesis, consciousness escapes scientific investigation, or rather a
certain reductionist and materialist science, since this science proceeds
mainly analytically. Science dismantles and reassembles, by adding and
subtracting discreet elements which are external to one another. But, you
might say, science too speaks explicitly of synthesis, for example with
regard to chemical combinations. But these are never real syntheses, in
Hegel's sense of the word, since each element which combines with other
elements preserves all its properties. Whether an oxygen atom combines
with hydrogen and sulphuric atoms to make hydrogen sulphide, or with
hydrogen alone to make water, it remains as it was . Neither water nor
hydrogen sulphide are true syntheses which alter and govern their
components; they are simple passive results : static sums, not syntheses.
Functionalist models are syntheses to an even lesser degree. Remember the
example of the read ing model. In it we found a series of discreet elements of
information processing, the sum of which constitutes normal reading, while
the subtraction of one or more elements constitutes pathological reading
which we observe in certain cases of cerebral lesions. Even if we omit all
the absurdities of the model which have already been described, the model
remains an analytic model which does not explain, nor does it propose to
explain, conscious experience of normal reading if the system works, or
pathologically if it does not. The conscious experience of reading is much
more, and is different from the sum of elements which constitute the model,
even if we assume ad absurdum that the model does not reveal the logical
absurdities which it, however, does.
But where the confusion of materialist reductionist thought is most

evident is in the idea of cause. Consciousness, as we have already seen,
cannot be considered an effect. Yet materialism considers it so, and could
not do otherwise. As a form of explanatory metaphysics (it seeks to explain
psychic phenomena with physiology, the latter with biology, and biology
with physico-chemical laws), materialism uses the causal schema on

principle. But if we look at science, it is clear that a causal link is not at all
scientific. Where is the cause in Archimedes' principle, or in the laws of
thermodynamics? Science generally establishes functional relationships
among phenomena, and for convenience chooses the independent variable.
Besides, it is quite impossible to express causality in mathematical
language. Most laws of physics simply have functions in the form of x =
f(y). Others establish numerical constants; still others describe the phases of
irreversible events but without it being possible to say that one of these
phases is cause of the following. Could it perhaps be said that karyokinesis
is cause of the segmentation of protoplasmic filaments?1 Materialist
causality thus fades into nothing. The metaphysical idea of reducing the
psychic to matter, of explaining psychological events with biology or
physics, finds no ally in science, where the causal schema is completely
alien. Materialist causalism thus remains a practical notion, more suited to
common sense than to rigorous theoretical reflection. At best an ingenuous
notion, but more likely in bad faith, especially as materialist causalism does
not even respect the criteria or internal coherence of the rigorous method it
uses. In seeking to make psychic phenomena originate from external causes,
materialism chooses the brain a priori and appoints it as the cause of
psychic phenomena. But who can guarantee that psychic effects are the
effect of cerebral activity and not of what happens in the cauda equina?, or
in the left foot, or of the energy which emanates from that piece of furniture
in the corner? If we want to establish a cause-effect relationship, every
possible cause should be taken into consideration as possible. But the
materialist has already chosen: the brain is his arbitrary cause.
Causalism has also led to the misunderstanding that the causal

relationship between brain and consciousness is given but not proven only
because there are not yet sufficient experimental data, but sooner or later
science will be able to provide this data. But, as we have seen, the problem
is theoretical and not experimental. It is not a question of data to be
gathered, it is simply not possible to explain consciousness with the brain,
just as it is not possible to explain the function of the hammer by studying
its molecular structure. To understand how a hammer works all you can do
is hammer. Likewise, the only way to understand consciousness is to be
conscious. But understanding is still not explaining. Indeed comprehension
1 Example taken from Sartre, J.-P., 1946.

is subjective. I perfectly understand what it means to be conscious of the

presence of the keyboard which I am typing on. My experience of keyboard-
I-am-typing-on is perfectly clear to me and requires nothing more.
Explaining, however, means explaining to someone, thus the ground of
explanation is that of objectivity. This is where the misunderstanding of
reflection on consciousness originates, in seeking to put comprehension and
explanation on the same ground. Everyone knows what consciousness is,
because subjective experience makes comprehension possible. But when we
try to give an explanation of what is already understood, we fall into the
temptation of leaving the ground of consciousness and adopting a
determinist paradox, that is explaining consciousness with something else,
as if we wanted to explain the function of the hammer with its molecular
structure. However, consciousness has an advantage over the hammer.
While a hammer cannot hammer itself, that is it does not know the reflexive
form , consciousness can fall back into itself and make consciousness the
object of itself, that is become consciousness of consciousness. A science of
consciousness thus remains possible provided that it is conscious of its
limits, that it forgoes determinism and addresses consciousness directly in
its reflexive form. We shall discuss this later.
5. CONCLUSIONS
What should we conclude from what has been discussed so far? The first
obvious conclusion is that the claim of being able to explain consciousness
with the unconscious is misleading. As regards memory and its relationship
to consciousness, which is the object of this study, we have seen that current
theories are limited in explanatory value by at least two problems. These,
which we have schematically identified as the paradox of the trace and the
homunculus fallacy, have over-shadowed the problem of memory and
knowledge, forcing them into a non-conscious mechanism based on terms
whose logical absurdity has been demonstrated. Functionalist and
substantialist ideas, though often in sharp contrast, actually have much in
common. In fact, both see consciousness, intended as direct phenomenal
experience, only as an epiphenomenon, as a by-product of computational
processes of information processing or of the biological functioning of the
nervous system. In this perspective, the main aspect of memory, that is the
conscious experience of transcending the present to select an event down
there in the past where it took place, is considered to be the final result of a
causal chain which functions and exhausts itself outside consciousness.
Consciousness itself is thus reduced to a last and irrelevant stage in a causal
chain which bases its primus movens in cell mechanisms or symbolic
representations of the world. The terms of the question are thus reversed:
what must necessarily be seen as a-priori consciousness, is instead seen as a
posteriori, that is as something which can be constructed bit by bit in
thought, through the collection of external fragments. Vice versa, what by
definition must be seen as a posteriori, since it is fruit and object of
consciousness, (non-conscious mechanisms), is seen as a priori, that is as
the irreducible origin of consciousness. In short, the mistake of current
theories on memory is that of not seeing that what are considered to be
physiological, psychological or computational conditions upon which the
historic and ontological development of consciousness is thought to depend,
are only a performance which consciousness offers itself. In other words,
these conditions which have prepared the constitution of consciollsness do
not come before it, but for it, that is they are not conditions which constitute
consciousness, but conditions which consciousness itself creates. By
ignoring this relationship between consciousness and its historic-ontological
origin, both the functionalists and the substantialists fall under the illusion
of seeing memory as if it were in man as "content" of his consciousness,
determined somewhere else. If I remember a house, a glass of water, a
woman's body, how could this body, this glass, this building reside in my
memory and how could my memory be something different from
consciousness of these objects as memorable? Memories are not small
psychic entities which inhabit consciousness, but are themselves
consciousness in its original form, since this, by principle, is consciousness
of something 1. Within this framework, it is clear that neither functionalists
nor substantialists were able to say anything of relevance on the nature of
memory, nor were they able to give an adequate explanation of so-called
cognitive phenomena. Concepts such as that of memory trace, control
mechanisms and information processing are only modern explanatory idols
which obscure the comprehension of phenomena rather than clarify it. What
has not been realised is that consciousness, which is celebrated as an object
1 "The problem is that we have tended to think of memories as unconscious items that one
brings to consciousness, not as part of consciousness .. .. So we have to understand
consciousness before we can assume that memories simply 'rise' to it or are tacked onto it; it
must be ascertained whether memory and consciousness are part of the same structure or
not." I. Rosenfield, 1992, p.12.
of scientific investigation, cannot be seen to derive from an unconscious

elsewhere. Consciousness is not an epiphenomenal by-product of
unconscious information processing, or of what neurons do. It represents the
main problem and point of departure of any theory of the mind. As is made
clear by Marcell, psychology without consciousness may be biology or
cybernetics, but it is not psychology. In this sense the words of Freud, when
he maintained that consciousness ist eine arme Ding, seem to resound in the
functionalists' and the substantialists' positions.
Our investigation has so far led us to reject any functionalist or

substantialist solution to the relationship between memory and
consciousness. What has emerged from what has been said so far though is
an omission, that is that of not having clarified why an object presents itself
to consciousness as past. The question we have to ask ourselves at this point
then, is the following: what is the nature of consciousness which
remembers? A question of this sort obviously refers one to the problem of
the description of consciousness, the past and how this in itself constitutes a
form of consciousness. Direct reflection, which overcomes the difficulties
of the paradox of the preservation of the past in physiological or
psychological traces and of the anthropomorphization of unconscious
mechanisms, is thus necessary. This is what we shall do in the next chapter.
1 Marcel, A.1., & Bisiach, E., 1988.

CHAPTER 3
VARIETIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
1. CONSCIOUSNESS CANNOT BUT BE DEFINED AS

CONSCIOUSNESS OF
If, as Tulving l asserts, "consciousness as an object of intellectual

curiosity is the philosopher's joy and a scientist's nightmare", this is due to
the fact that it does not seem to answer the prerequisites of the Galilean
method of scientific research . Indeed it is difficult to find a definition of
consciousness which allows us to narrow down the field of inquiry, just as it
is difficult to "measure" it and interpret the results of its possible
measurement. The fact that consciousness has always more or less
implicitly been considered a unitarian entity is largely responsible for most
of these problems. From this point of view, the only possibility of defining
consciousness lies in distinguishing it from the unconscious: consciousness
is that which is not unconscious. This is where all the unresolved and
unresolvable questions that have excluded consciousness from any line of
inquiry stem from. But a definition of consciousness is in itself impossible,
if by definition you mean an arbitrary definition of the meaning of
consciousness, or of how the term should be used. It is equally impossible to
limit a priori the field of concepts which make reference to consciousness.
This is not because this type of descriptive process is in itself wrong.
Indeed, it is quite easy to define a "glass" either by deciding arbitrarily that
it is an object that usually contains liquids and which is used to drink from,
or by seeing all or part of a series of concepts which concern the idea of
drinking something from an object as leading back to glass. The case of
consciousness though is slightly different since the starting point of any

88 Varieties of consciousness
descriptive process is consciousness itself, and in defining it you would find

yourself in the embarrassing position of having to exclude a part of
consciousness in order to reach a definition which was in itself necessarily
reductive since the possibility of incorporating consciousness in its entirety
is excluded a priori. A definition of consciousness is impossible since, as
we will soon see, consciousness inevitably escapes everything, especially
definition. However, it is possible to describe certain aspects of it, and from
these to attempt to get as close as possible to a definition of the essence of
consciousness. A paradoxical operation, you could say. Defining
consciousness by means of a description of consciousness, that is
consciousness that describes itself in order to define itself, is like trying to
define a hammer by means of its blows. We are perfectly aware of this
paradox and this is why we make no pretence at definition, only at
description. It is a hunt in which the prey cannot be caught since it is the
prey making up the rules of the hunt. This we know and are therefore
content to get as close as possible to it, to at least snatch a whiff of it.
If, therefore, it is a question of hunting consciousness in an attempt to

grasp at least a crumb of its essence through description, as far as we are
concerned, consciousness under reflexive analysis appears to be
irremediably consciousness of This, though, is nothing new. It is
confirmation of the work of phenomenologists, Brentano and Husserl in
particular, namely that for consciousness to exist and to be conceivable, it
must always be consciousness of something. In other words, for
consciousness to exist it must have an object, or better, consciousness is the
quantity of different ways in which an object is seen in the world. This is the
first great law of consciousness, the neglect of which has caused, as we shall
see, quite a few problems for functionalist theories. But let us see what
exactly we mean by saying that consciousness is irremediably consciousness
of something.
The need for consciousness to necessarily be consciousness of something

implies that consciousness of nothing cannot exist. Consciousness which is
not already directed towards its object, that is a consciousness which is not
already in the ec-static form, outside of itself in the direction of an object, is
not intelligible. There is no consciousness before, which then becomes
consciousness of the object of which it is conscious. I am now conscious of
Varieties of consciousness 89
this glass in front of me, or you could say that my consciousness is now
consciousness-of-glass. What was my consciousness before becoming
consciousness-of-glass? It was consciousness of the words that I am writing
for example, of my thoughts, of my plans, of the cigarette I have only just
lit. In other words, before becoming consciousness of glass, my
consciousness was already consciousness of something. And yet, you will
object, sometimes consciousness can be consciousness of nothing.
Sometimes, for example, you might ask someone, or even yourself, "what
are you thinking about?" and the answer is "nothing". Therefore it would
seem that there can indeed be consciousness of nothing. But consciousness
of nothing is always consciousness of something, that is of that "nothing" of
which it is consciousness. And what is that nothing I refer to when I say that
I was thinking about nothing? It is all my thoughts together without being
anyone thought in particular. The succession of a thousand reflections to
which my consciousness is forced precisely because it must be
consciousness of something. If I say that I was thinking of nothing it is
because it is difficult to trace every single thought and because all of my
thoughts together do not constitute something which can be reduced to a
propositional form, as they do when they revolve around a single theme.
And so I can say I was thinking about quantic mechanics or about the last
time I made love with that certain woman, but I say "nothing" if my
thoughts run together and follow each other aimlessly, in no particular
order. The pointless disorder of my thoughts which I describe with the word
"nothing" reflects the law of consciousness according to which it must be
consciousness of something, of that "nothing" lacking anything better.
2. CONSCIOUSNESS IS NOT PASSIVITY
The first consequence of the need of consciousness to be consciousness

of its object is that consciousness cannot be considered a passive being
which receives the object of which it becomes conscious. If this were so,
you would in fact have to accept the possibility of a consciousness which is
first empty and passive, and then becomes consciousness of its object when
this is presented from the outside. But we have seen that consciousness
which is not consciousness of something is either unintelligible, or else the
nothing of which it is consciousness is indeed something. The difficulties
met with in the study of cognitive functions by means of Positron Emission
Tomography (PET) are a reflection of this situation. PET allows one to see
which regions of the brain increase their blood flow during the performance
of cognitive tasks, for example of memory, language tasks etc. In the first
studies with this procedure, and still today in some cases, the cerebral blood
flow corresponding to the performance of a certain task was compared to
the flow corresponding to a so-called condition of "rest" during which the
subject was asked to "empty his mind". It soon became evident though that
the comparison between the condition during the performance of a cognitive
task and that of "rest" produced variable results which were difficult to
interpret. This was due to the fact that it is impossible to reach a condition in
which the subject really "empties" his mind. This experimental impasse
could quite easily have been avoided if they had considered the fact that
consciousness cannot in any way be passivity, and that for however much
you try to establish conditions where consciousness rests, it will never stop
being consciousness of something. Perhaps consciousness of "emptiness",
but still consciousness of something.
Recognising a kind of passive inertia in consciousness, as certain

cognitivist models dol, also means recognising that the object too, or the
phenomenon which consciousness passively receives in order to become
consciousness of it, may already exist as an object or phenomenon outside
of consciousness. Neither is this position comprehensible or acceptable, as
we have seen, since the object cannot exist if not by means of consciousness
which selects it. In other words, passive existence cannot be attributed to
consciousness, an inertia filled with phenomena of which it is simply the
spectator. This is one of the reasons why consciousness can neither receive
nor be the result of information that comes from the obscurity of
information processing or of the physiological. Consciousness is not
separable from its object, which is only such in as far as it is selected by
consciousness as a spontaneous act directed outside of itself towards the
object. And it would be pointless to maintain that consciousness can take on
the form of passivity and of inertia but that the flow of information it
receives is continuous. If this were so it still would not lose its characteristic
of being consciousness of something, but it would not have to claim to be
active or to have an equal right to the information it receives. But even if we
wanted to recognise the possibility for information to exist outside
consciousness, in the opaque obscurity of the computational or
1 Moscovitch, M., 1989; Schacter, D.L., 1989.

physiological level, the nature of the continuous flow of information would

still have to be explained. That is, from where does information get the
strength to leave the passive state, become active, organise itself with other
information and become the flow of information which permeates
consciousness? We would also have to explain how come this flow includes
certain information and not other, and who chooses the information which is
part of the flow that goes to consciousness and that which instead remains
inactive waiting its turn. It is clear that such a position brings us right back
to that series of aporetic problems which have already been described and
which are at the basis of the homunculus fallacy.
The impossibility of considering consciousness as inactive passivity

implies that consciousness cannot but be active. In other words,
consciousness cannot but be in action, that is, in continuous apprehension of
the world without any possibility of not being such . But if consciousness is
necessarily in action, where, you will ask, does this action come from?
Where does consciousness find the strength to be always active? The answer
is that consciousness' being in action is spontaneous, that is, it does not
derive from any cause, there is no strength which, so to speak, pushes
consciousness from behind to keep it continuously underway. The activity
of consciousness cannot but be spontaneous, because if it were not, if
consciousness derived its activity from something else, we would be obliged
to admit that something "precedes" consciousness and is in some way its
origin. We have already shown, and will demonstrate in more detail further
on, how the existence of something outside consciousness is unthinkable
and even more so is the thought of something from which consciousness
might originate and draw its strength. Certainly, there may be a
metaphysical problem in the spontaneity of consciousness, but there is no
ontological problem since consciousness comes into the world already in
action; nothing precedes it, nor does it come from passivity, drawing its
strength to do so from something other than itself. The irremediable
spontaneity of consciousness generates a certain embarrassment, if not real
dismay. It was precisely in seeking to exorcise this limitation in
comprehension, this probably unsolvable metaphysical problem posed by
consciousness, that an attempt was made to negate its spontaneity by having
its activity stem from the computational or physiological unconscious.
However, not only was this paralogistic as an operation - that is the
concrete, the spontaneous activity of consciousness of which we are all
witnesses, was seen to stem from the abstract of the computational or
physiological level - but the spontaneous activity which had been denied to
consciousness, that is the concrete, was granted to the unconscious, that is to
the abstract.
3. BECOMING CONSCIOUS MEANS BECOMING CONSCIOUS OF

SOMETHING IN A CERTAIN WAY
So far we have seen that consciousness is described as consciousness of

something. It is not a question of inert passivity but always consciousness in
action, directed towards the world, towards the object to be apprehended.
We have also seen that the activity of consciousness is spontaneous since it
does not originate from any strength which pushes it or from some place
where it is created. But what exactly does being conscious of a definite
object mean? And in particular, is there only one way of being so, or are the
ways in which an object presents itself to consciousness different? And if
they are, where does their diversity come from?
It is clear that to come close to an understanding of consciousness we

need to answer these questions. We will answer the first question at once by
saying that becoming conscious of something means becoming conscious of
something in a certain way. The object which manifests itself to
consciousness does so in a certain form, or, if you will, from a certain point
of view. In other words, the phenomenon of which consciousness is
conscious is aimed in a certain direction and has a certain phenomenal form,
something like what Searle calls aspectual shape 1. The word "sense"
describes how the object comes into the world both with a meaning and a
specific direction which connects it to consciousness. Of the tree I see
glancing out the window I now am conscious in a certain way. That tree
lends itself to my perception at a certain angle which reveals only a part of it
to me, that part facing me, while it hides the other, that part facing the
building I see in the background. But it is not only the tree's necessarily
presenting itself in profile that makes me say that it appears to me under a
certain form . Indeed, if I close my eyes, or if I simply take my attention
away from the perception of that tree, I can easily imagine its hidden aspect
or produce any kind of image of that tree whatsoever. I can imagine it as
1 Searle, 1.R. , 1990.

seen from above or from below, completely bare as I would see it in

autumn, planted in the middle of a field in the country instead of in the
middle of buildings as it is now, etc. Furthermore, I can remember having
looked at that tree yesterday and many other times before yesterday, I may
know it is a beech and not a fir-tree, I may love it, hate it, be afraid of it or
be indifferent towards it. Can it be said that it is the same consciousness that
becomes conscious of the same object? Apparently not, because it is clear
that every way I have of becoming conscious of that tree is original and
cannot be easily confused with any other way in which that tree is present to
my consciousness, perception, imagination, memory etc. In other words, in
its need to become conscious of something, consciousness is also forced to
become conscious of that something in a certain way. Just as consciousness
that is conscious of nothing is inconceivable, so is consciousness that is
conscious of its object in an undefined way.
You will object that when faced with an object or a phenomenon I may
feel total indifference, have a kind of neutral attitude. For example, the vase
of flowers in the corner of the room means nothing to me, I feel neither
pleasure nor hatred, I see it, but I cannot say I perceive it in the true sense
since it does not penetrate my consciousness. I glance at it only, without my
being in any way altered by its presence. It is clear that an objection of this
type actually does nothing but energetically assert that which it is struggling
to negate. Indeed what is this indifference of mine towards that vase, this
total extraneousness that I have described in such detail if not a precise way
in which that vase is present to my consciousness? I don't love it, I don't
hate it, I don't like it, it doesn't interest me, it doesn't alter my being: this is
the detailed description of my consciousness of that vase at this moment.
And this consciousness of vase is completely different, for example, from
my consciousness of cigarette that, at this moment, I am lighting for
pleasure, whose taste I intensely perceive etc. In other words, there is no
neutral consciousness before an object, to which particular modes of
perceiving the object are added from the outside. Neutrality before an object
is, if anything, already a specific and original way consciousness has of
considering it, on a level with imagination, perception, recollection, etc. In
short, there are various modes in which the object presents itself to
consciousness or, vice versa, consciousness has various modes of
considering its object. The description of the various ways in which
consciousness is consciousness of something is not part of the aim of this
work. It is enough for now to have clarified that in addition to
consciousness' need to be consciousness of something, there is the need to

be so in a certain way and, on reflexive analysis, every way in which
consciousness considers its object is original in the sense that it cannot be
confused with any other way 1.
4. VARIETIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
Does the originality of the different modes of consciousness, which

makes them at the same time irreducible and unique among themselves,
reflect real multiplicity of consciousness or only apparent multiplicity
through which a single consciousness manifests itself to the world? On one
hand, it is tempting to consider the different modes of consciousness as
different, autonomous states of consciousness and therefore to attribute real
mUltiplicity to consciousness. If the phenomenal experience caused by the
perception of the glass in front of me is different and not mistakable with
the phenomenal experience of the memory of this same glass on this same
table yesterday, there would seem to be no reason not to attribute real
independence to these two modes of consciousness which are so completely
distinct. Neither would there be any reason to maintain that the
independence of the modes of consciousness, perception and recollection in
this example, is indeed a fonn of real independence but which arises from a
previous level, that of a hypothetical unitary consciousness which multiplies
itself when it opens in the world towards the object. In short, perceptual,
imaginative consciousness, recollection, etc. are all supposedly different
fonns through which a single consciousness manifests itself in the world.
There would therefore be no need to consider different "varieties of
consciousness", each sufficient unto itself and independent of every other.
But while on the one hand it is a good idea to attribute to the modes of
consciousness the autonomy they have earned in the field by making
themselves reciprocally original and unmistakable; on the other, we must
accept that the modes of consciousness make sense only as different ways of
apprehending the world in the midst of a unifying act which makes said
apprehension possible. If I hate that tree out there, my consciousness will be
1 We shall see later how in certain cases mistakes between the perceived and the imagined
can be made but how these mistakes do not reflect confusion between perceptive and
imaginative consciousness.
without doubt that of the tree inasmuch as it is hated. But in order to hate
that tree I must first of all "know" that it is a tree, that is a certain object in
the world. If I now remember yesterday's dinner with friends, I will
certainly have "recollecting" consciousness of dinner with friends, but this
presupposes the probability of having lived that experience, that is, of
having had perceptual consciousness of dinner with friends. If the different
modes of consciousness were only separate and autonomous, there would be
no way of understanding how there could be experience of the world.
Indeed, each state of consciousness, isolated from every other, would
already be complete, would already have exhausted its task, so to speak. It
would be circumscribed in its own world, a world in which the possibility of
seeing the new appear would be denied. In other words, it would be the
death of consciousness, that is the transformation of consciousness into an
in se endowed with the same thick inertia of a stone. There is, therefore,
need for a unifying act to account for the multiplicity of consciousness,
which does exist, so that the different modes of consciousness can find their
basic characteristic, namely that of being free and unpredictable flight
towards the world.
What is the nature of this unifying act? Let us state at once that a type of
unitary consciousness which "is behind" specific types of consciousness,
and from which these stem, is inconceivable. If this were the case we would
have to accept the existence of an empty consciousness, a type of pre-
consciousness from which the specific modes of consciousness derive. We
have already amply justified the rejection of such a hypothesis and we shall
not go back to it. Is the ego perhaps the origin and author of the unifying act
of the modes of consciousness? Many psychologies and ego logical
philosophies maintain this. But what is the ego and where is it? If there is a
place to look for the ego it certainly is not consciousness. Titchner1 has
already pointed out that the ego is almost always absent from consciousness.
In actual fact, consciousness has no need of any ego to unify it, so the latter
is neither formally nor materially in consciousness. "When I run to catch a
bus, - says Sartre 2 - when I look at the time, when I am absorbed in the
contemplation of a portrait, there is no ego. There is the consciousness-of-
the-bus-that-must-be-caught, etc .... Indeed at such a time I am immersed in
the world of objects, it is they which constitute the unity of my states of
1 Titchener, E.B., 1926.

2 Sartre, J.P., 1936, p.32.
consciousness and which present themselves with certain values, with

attractive or repulsive qualities; but as far as I am concerned, I have
disappeared, I have annihilated myself. There is no room for me at this
level; this is not by chance, or due to a momentary lack of attention, but to
the very structure of consciousness." In other words, the ego is not "behind"
consciousness but in front as an object for consciousness itself, outside, in
the world, an object among objects. The ego, in fact, appears only on one
condition, when there is reflexive consciousness. I recollect the tree that I
saw yesterday and in this case there is non-reflexive consciousness of tree as
recollected, no ego participates in this operation. I can, though, also
remember myself while I looked at that tree yesterday. In this case I perform
a reflexive act and the ego appears to me as an object of my consciousness.
The ego, therefore, cannot be considered a virtual hotbed of unity of
consciousness, but on the contrary, it is consciousness which constitutes it
as an object when, in its reflexive form, it falls back on itself to become
consciousness-of-consciousness.
But where does the unifying act of the various forms of consciousness
stem from if not from the ego? From consciousness itself, inasmuch as
nothing other than consciousness can be the source of consciousness. For
there to be unity in the mUltiplicity of consciousness, for my consciousness
of tree as hated to be possible and for it to have a meaning, the forms of
consciousness must be perpetual synthesis of past and present forms of
consciousness. My consciousness of tree as hated is the synthesis of
everything I have been in the past, including my knowledge of tree. The
modes of consciousness, therefore, represent real multiplicity, because each
one is original, unmistakable and independent. But it is a mUltiplicity which
is unified in every consciousness as synthesis of preceding states of
consciousness. We shall see further on how the explanation of numerous
pathological conditions has been prevented because the unifying force of
consciousness in the presence of multiplicity has been neglected.
5. WHERE DOES THE ORIGINALITY OF THE MODES OF

CONSCIOUSNESS COME FROM?
Where does the originality we have attributed to the different types of

consciousness or, as we have also called them, the different modes of
consciousness come from? In other words, what makes imaginative
consciousness what it is, for example, and what makes it unmistakable from
consciousness that recollects or from any other type or mode of
consciousness? On one hand, it is tempting to have the originality of the
modes of consciousness stem directly from the object. The centaur I am now
imagining is imaginative consciousness of centaur inasmuch as it is in the
image of the centaur that my imaginative consciousness defines itself. When
tomorrow I remember the image of the centaur that I am now imagining, my
consciousness will be remembering consciousness of the image of the
centaur, that is consciousness of the centaur as past since it is still in the
centaur that my remembering consciousness is defined as such. Clearly such
a hypothesis is to be rejected. If the definition of my imaginative
consciousness depended on the image of the centaur, it would mean that in
some way the latter preceded and was independent of consciousness itself.
The separation between consciousness of image and the image itself
contains a paradox. Indeed, the image would already have to be an image
before becoming consciousness of image in order to then become an image
imagined by a form of consciousness. But what is this image yet to be
imagined which precedes consciousness of image? Nothing. Indeed outside
of consciousness, the image fades into nothing, it is no longer image nor
anything else. It is in its relationship with consciousness which imagines it,
that the image acquires its meaning of image; it is thanks to this ontological
relationship that the image comes into the world, emerging out of the
nothing that it was before l . In the same way consciousness that recollects
cannot find its definition in the object because, here too, we would have to
accept the pre-existence of the object as past with respect to consciousness
that recollects. We have already demonstrated at length how this hypothesis
is victim of the paradox of the memory trace, that is of the permanency of
the past in objects, and we will not go back over it.
And yet, you might object, experience demonstrates that in actual fact
objects indisputably evoke states or modes of consciousness. If I meet a
1 Sartre, J.P., 1940.

tiger on the road I am petrified, if I meet my friend Paul I recognise him, if I

smell a particular perfume the last meeting with a woman wearing that
perfume will come to mind, etc. In other words, my consciousness of fear of
the tiger, that of Paul as a familiar person, that which recollects the woman
with that particular perfume, seem to be determined by the tiger, Paul and
the perfume. Of course, but this does not prove in the least that there is
determinism on my modes of consciousness of the tiger, Paul or the perfume
as objects already specified as fearful, familiar or past. The tiger, Paul and
the perfume are not frightening, familiar or memories in themselves. If they
become so this happens because of me. It is through the being that I am that
these three things acquire a meaning. A hunter of tigers who does not know
Paul, and who has never smelt that perfume will not have the subjective
experiences that I have. His states of consciousness before those three
objects will be completely different from mine. Well then, why, if the
objects are not specified and do not determine my modes of consciousness,
do different objects cause different modes of consciousness? Why, for
example, does the tiger cause fear and not recollection, while the perfume I
smell generates recollection and not fear? We could join the evolutionists in
answering that in any case consciousness has an adaptive role. Phylogenesis
has provided man with consciousness to respond suitably to the
environment which surrounds him . However the adaptive hypothesis
remains a figure of speech without any explicative value if first it is not
made clear exactly what is meant by a suitable response. Furthermore, a
deterministic perspective of this type deprives consciousness of any
freedom and autonomy, reducing it to a stimulus-dependent entity whose
background is marked with all of the limitations of behaviourist thought.
What has been ignored is that there is no generic environment with a
reproducible collection of answers that man or consciousness produce with
adaptation in mind; the environment exists first of all because of me,
because of that concrete being that I am, who reacts to the environment not
according to generic adaptive responses, but according to the choice I am
condemned to make in the concreteness of the situation in which I find
myself. The form consciousness assumes, or the adaptive response before a
phenomenon, depends in equal measure on what I have been and on what I
intend to be in the future. Here is the tiger in front of me. I am terrified .
Why? Because I know that tigers are extremely dangerous animals for man,
I also know I am not armed and that I have no means of defending myself.
This knowledge of mine, this non-thematized past takes on concrete form in
my consciousness of terror of tiger, which is the synthesis of my past and
the projection of my probable future, namely the possibility of being killed

by the tiger. But here I am in another situation. The tiger is still in front of
me, I continue to know that tigers are extremely dangerous, I am completely
defenceless but I feel no terror. Why? Because I am depressed and want to
die as a release from my present sorrows, or else I am a mystic and am
completely indifferent to my body and what could happen to it for better or
for worse, or a fearless hero who sacrifices himself to save others. Neither
the tiger, what I know about tigers, nor the information-stimulus tiger, have
changed with respect to the previous situation, but this time my response is
different, my consciousness is no longer that of fear of tigers. My
consciousness, in its freedom, has chosen to be other and not consciousness
of fear of tiger. It is clear from this example that no determinism of the
object- phenomenon, stimulus, information- on consciousness can be
established. Neither can present consciousness be seen to stem merely from
the synthesis of past states of consciousness, which in any case are part of
consciousness. In other words, consciousness is free choice of the possible
in the concrete form of a definite situation. As a non-being I, with my past,
in the concrete present in which the objects, the tiger, Paul, the perfume
appear, choose those objects and tum to them in a certain way.
You will say we have got off too lightly because we have freed
consciousness from the determinism of the object -phenomenon, stimulus,
information- by using extreme examples, the depressed person, the mystic,
the hero. In most cases, you cannot deny that meeting a tiger generates
consciousness of fear of tiger, and meeting Paul will always correspond to
consciousness of a feeling of familiarity in his regards. But, for however
extreme, the possibility for consciousness of not being consciousness of fear
of tiger is enough to exclude the tiger as the cause of the mode
consciousness assumes, and therefore to eliminate any determinist
hypothesis of the object on consciousness. As far as we are concerned it is
just enough to free consciousness and to place it as a choice among the
possible. The second example, that is the hypothesis that my meetings with
Paul are invariably accompanied by consciousness of familiarity in his
regards, seems to have been proved without exception by experience: it is
certain that every time I meet Paul, as long as I have not undergone deep
changes in my being such as, for example, those which arise in cases of
amnesia, I will recognise him and his recognition will generate
consciousness of familiarity in his regards. But let us now suppose that I do
not know Paul at all and yet on meeting him I have the same consciousness
of familiarity in his regards. This is not at all rare. All of us have certainly
found ourselves more than once in a similar situation, that is of thinking we
know someone we meet and of therefore having consciousness of
familiarity in their regards. If we assumed a determinist perspective, we
would have to accept that it is the Paul that I do not know who generates in
me consciousness of familiarity in his regards. But if this were the case
there would no longer be any difference between the objects -phenomena,
stimuli, information- concerning the possibility to generate consciousness of
familiarity, since Paul, who I do not know, and Pieres, for example, who I
do know, generate the same type of consciousness in me. If there is no
difference between objects with respect to the possibility of generating
consciousness of familiarity, then every possible determinism of the object
on consciousness also disappears. In other words, if every object can
determine the same type of consciousness it means that there is nothing
specific in a determined object to generate that type of consciousness. In
short, it seems quite clear that the originality of the different modes of
consciousness is not the passive result of the object -phenomenon, stimulus,
information- of which consciousness is conscious.
But is there an opposite form of determinism? Is it consciousness that

determines the object? At first this conclusion might seem tempting. Indeed,
having recognised freedom of choice in consciousness, and therefore a
certain degree of autonomy with respect to its object, you might think that
the latter exists in a passive form and is defined only as a result of the form
consciousness takes. However, a conclusion of this type is not acceptable
because it presupposes priority of consciousness over the object, and said
priority implies that consciousness can first be consciousness to then
become consciousness of the object. But we have already seen that
consciousness cannot escape its law, that is the necessity to always be
consciousness of something. Just as an object without a consciousness that
selects it vanishes into nothing, so consciousness without an object is an
equally unintelligible abstraction. Thus it is not consciousness which
determines the object. Consciousness simply turns to the latter in a certain
way, but the object remains there, separate from the consciousness to which
it appears in all its physicality. However, even though it appears to
consciousness, the object never presents itself in its entirety. It remains
opaque for consciousness, which cannot cross it but only just distinguish its
profile. That which comes towards me and terrifies me is not the essence of
tiger but it is "that" tiger which presents itself under a certain form, whose
muzzle I can distinguish with its ferocious expression but not its back, its
claws but not its tail, that tiger which terrifies me and not that other one
which I saw at the zoo and which does not terrify me at all because it is
behind bars. The Paul I meet and recognise and who gives me a feeling of
familiarity is that Paul who is before me in the flesh, he is not a generic
Paul, synthesis of all the past, present and future Pauls. In other words, no
determinism exists, no priority of consciousness over the object or vice
versa. Consciousness and its object come into the world together and there
is no way of conceiving of them separately. Not only but consciousness and
the object come into the world "in a certain way", that is in accordance with
an ontological relationship which defines both. And it is precisely the
specificity of this relationship which sets off the originality of the different
modes of consciousness.
6. MEMORY AS A PARTICULAR TYPE OF CONSCIOUSNESS
In the light of what we have seen so far, that is in what we have been
able to establish as being some of the characteristics of consciousness, we
can now state that memory represents an original mode of consciousness.
Indeed, the general characteristics of the modes of consciousness can be
applied without any danger of error. There is no doubt that memory is
consCiousness of an object seen in a certain way, and that the way in which
the object is present to consciousness is unlikely to be confused with any
other, for example perception or imagination. We can also state that in one's
memory the object presents itself as absent. In other words, consciousness
which recollects places its object as absent, both in as far as it is not present
and because it is past. Therefore consciousness which remembers, in that it
sets the absent object "in the past", sends one back to the past. It is clear that
consciousness that remembers, since it is consciousness of the past,
incorporates the problem of global temporality as the past in itself is non-
existent and always directs one to the present and the future, other temporal
spheres.
We have also seen that consciousness is multiplicity under a unifying

force, which is reflected in the need every consciousness has for continual
synthesis of all previous states of consciousness. What do we find when we
apply this unifying synthesis to memory? We find that consciousness that
remembers not only remembers the past but, since it is the synthesis of
preceding states of consciousness, it is the past. What does this mean? It
means that memory is built with the bricks of what consciousness was
before becoming consciousness that remembers. Therefore, memory
presupposes and implies "knowledge", namely the synthesis of the
transformations undergone by consciousness in the course of time. When I
remember Wednesday night's dinner with friends in a restaurant in the
Quartier Latin, consciousness presupposes that I "know" what a dinner is, a
restaurant, a friend and the Quartier Latin. In other words, my memory is
made up of meanings that consciousness, through an original and irreducible
act, places in the past. But, you may wonder, if memory is made up of
meanings "in the past", how is it that I can remember objects without
meanings, that abstract painting I saw the other day, for example, that
unknown face I saw in the street, that shape I caught a glimpse of without
understanding what it was? Certainly the abstract painting, the unknown
face, the unrecognised shape do not have precise meanings as do "house",
"friend" or "dinner". The abstract painting is an ensemble of signs which do
not represent anyone precise object, nor do they symbolically refer you to a
meaning as do the series of signs "h,o,u,s,e", which refer you to something
much more definite. And so the unknown face is none other than what it is,
namely something which does not represent anything or refer you to a
meaning. This, however, does not mean that the abstract picture or the
unknown face are without meaning. The moment in which I perceive them
as such, I attribute a meaning to them. Indeed, perception cannot exist
without the attribution of meaning, as maintained by certain theories which
claim to isolate "pre-semantic" perception from a form of "semantic"
perception 1. The perception of an object means, first of all, its recognition
as an object, that is as something distinct from other things, and therefore
giving it the meaning of being a specific object. That object may in some
cases send me back a meaning, like the tree I see from the window, in other
cases no meaning is sent back. But not sending back a meaning is in itself a
meaning. The meaning of that picture or of that face is to be found precisely
in its being an object which "means nothing specific to me", in its being an
object that I do not recognise since it is a symbol of something else 2 . So,
perception without the attribution of meaning is absolutely unintelligible.
Even the memory of that which in itself does not send me a precise, positive
1 Schacter, D.L., & Tulving, E., 1994.

2 Merleau-Ponty, M., 1945.
meaning, but a negative one - I don't know what that object is -

presupposes and implies a meaning. Without meaning, memory could not
exist. Besides, what is so-called infantile amnesia, namely that lapse of
memory of the first years of life we all have? Why do I not remember
anything that happened in my first few years of life? Because for the child
that I was, the world was still a shapeless mass against which objects did not
yet stand out, and if they had I would not have been able to attribute any
meaning whatsoever to them, not even in the negative, of being an object
which means nothing to me. Only when objects have begun to be recognised
as such, and to progressively mean something more and more definite, does
the possibility of remembering come into play. This is why my past does not
appear to stem from my infantile amnesia, rather I feel it progressively
diminishing into the obscurity of my early childhood, since I progressively
left that obscurity, giving a more and more polished meaning to a world
which was originally without meaning.
But if memory as the synthesis of preceding states of consciousness

presupposes a meaning, or rather, to use the same expression as earlier, if it
is built with the bricks of meaning, what about knowledge? Is it only the
collection of meanings of which memory is made, or like memory is it an
organised form of consciousness? Let us see. When I say that I know that
water in chemical terms is H20, that I am Italian, that this pen is blue, what
is my consciousness consciousness of? Of water as it is chemically formed,
in accordance with certain laws, of hydrogen and oxygen, of myself in as far
as I belong to a certain community, of the pen in as far as it is of a certain
colour. And so in this case too we can apply the first characteristic of
consciousness, that is of being consciousness of We shall also see that my
consciousness of knowing what I assert as regards water, myself and the pen
is unmistakable with other modes of consciousness: when I assert these
things I am certain I am not remembering, imagining etc . Besides, the
objects I claim to know something about are present to my consciousness in
a certain way, that is precisely as objects over which I affirm knowledge.
The characteristics of the modes of consciousness therefore also apply to
consciousness of knowing. But, what has consciousness of water as H20 in
common with me as an Italian and the pen as being blue? What makes them
a single mode of consciousness? It is precisely their being consciousness of
something in the form of knowledge, namely in the affirmation of a state of
consciousness. Little does it matter if water, the pen and I are fundamentally
different. In reality, before consciousness which selects these objects as
something on which to affirm a state of consciousness, water, the pen and I

are absolutely the same. Following the same line of inquiry that we followed
for consciousness which remembers, we must now establish what
consciousness that knows is made of. That is, we should explain what the
unifying act of consciousness that knows is synthesis of. In the same way as
consciousness that remembers, consciousness that knows cannot but be the
synthetic collection of transformations which consciousness has undergone
in time. Therefore also consciousness that knows is made up of bricks of
meaning and of the past, namely of all that it was before becoming here and
now consciousness of water, the pen and me in a certain way. In this sense
therefore, consciousness that knows is as temporal as consciousness that
remembers, but unlike the latter it is not consciousness of time. It is evident
that the structure of consciousness that remembers and of that which knows,
as organised forms of consciousness, both containing the past, require
clarification regarding the past and its relationship with the other
dimensions of time. In the following chapter, the study of temporality,
which we have put off until now, will show us what the conditions are that
make memory and consciousness possible.
CHAPTER 4
TEMPORALITY
1. PHENOMENOLOGY OF TEMPORALITY
A recollection could be said to be the result of an act which aims at

representing an absent object. Yet the absence of an object is not in itself
enough to connote it as a remembered object. Indeed, if absence were
sufficient as a characteristic, there would be no way of distinguishing a
remembered object from an imagined one, for instance, or a memory from a
symbolic representation of an object. The centaur that I imagine on closing
my eyes or the word "chair" that I read represent, that is they stand in-the-
stead-of, absent objects. In the case of the centaur it is the representation of
an imaginary object, in that of the chair the representation of a real object.
Both these objects are absent in the sense that their presence in
consciousness is mediated, by an image in the first case, and by a sequence
of signs to which I can attribute sound and meaning in the second. But
though absent, neither the centaur nor the chair are "remembered". Thus in
order to understand the nature of a remembered object we must ask
ourselves what type of absence, or non-presence, it is a question of.
The remembered object's particular, original way of being absent

inevitably leads back to the problem of the past, inasmuch as the object
which presents itself in memory is, by nature and by definition, an object "in
the past". In short, recollection aims at representing, and making present in
consciousness, an absent object which is characterised by being both absent
and past. Without contradicting ourselves we could say that a remembered
object is defined as a "presence in the past". Indeed it is present in
consciousness while continually laying claim to being past.

106 Temporality
It is clear at this point that an investigation into the nature and essence of
the past is a necessary preliminary condition for any study on the nature of
memory, and this is what we are about to do. Our investigation into the
nature of the past will inevitably lead to the study of other temporal
dimensions since past, present and future are not isolated, independent
elements, the sum of which determines temporality. In other words, the past
will have to be considered, from the start, as a subordinate structure of
global temporality, which in turn is seen as the synthesis which gives
meaning to the single subordinate elements, past, present and future. In fact,
if we were to consider the past and the other subordinate structures of
temporality as isolated elements, independent from one another, we would
find ourselves confronted with the paradox already emphasised by the
phenomenological tradition: the past is no longer, the future is not yet, and
as for the present, it is nothing other than the result of an infinite division, a
limit with no dimension of its own. The study of the past will thus lead us to
the study of the other temporal dimensions as well as of global temporality.
a. The past
Although a presupposition about the nature of the past is necessarily

implicit in any theory of memory, this presupposition has never been
clarified. The being of the past is somehow negated in these theories, in the
sense that the past is considered as what is no longer. This assumption has
produced, as we have seen, the theory of memory traces: if something is no
longer present but continues to exist in the form of memory, it must be
preserved in the form of a more or less stable modification in the organism
which remembers. As we have clearly seen, the theory of memory traces
contains a paradox, that is it derives the past from the present in an arbitrary
way. If, then, every theory of memory which is based on the preservation of
the past is to be rejected, in order to understand the nature of memory we
must come to terms with the problem of the nature of the past.
In his theory of memory, while acknowledging that the past has a right to
exist, Bergson 1 has sought, in vain, to relate it to the present. The past, he
1Bergson, H., 1896.

Temporality 107
maintains, does not cease to be but simply ceases to act in the present, and
stays there, set at its date, for ever. Its relation to the present comes from
duration, which is multiplicity of interpenetration through which the past
continuously binds itself to the present. Bergson's is a vain attempt because
it does not clarify the origin of the act which links the past to the present. In
other words, for want of clarification of the origin of this act, the terms
duration and mUltiplicity of interpenetration remain empty. Husserl's
position presents similar problems. He sees a game of "retentions" in
present consciousness, which fix past states of consciousness, keeping them
at their date of occurrence. However for Husser! consciousness is always
present, or rather instantaneous. What is not clear is how the past emerges
through a series of instantaneous states of consciouness. The game of
retention he talks about remains meaningless if its perpetrator is not
identified. Thus acknowledging the past's right to exist does not get us
anywhere. If the instantaneous present is given priority, any links with the
past are automatically broken: for however much the past may exist or "be",
it will never reach either Bergson's or Husserl's present.
The common mistake which prevents these theoretical attempts from

linking the past to the present is that they only consider the past as an
isolated in se rather than as a subordinate structure of temporality. Ifthe past
were considered within temporal dynamics as a whole, it would be easy to
see that "my" past is above all mine, that it exists in function of a certain
being which is me. Furthermore, my past is the past of a certain present
which, once again, is my present. In other words the past cannot exist but as
the past of a present. Its belonging to me, or its meeness which Clapan!de 1
talks of, is not only a subjective nuance which I ascribe to memory, but
rather the result of an ontological relationship which links the past to the
present, the founding element of their relationship. My past never appears in
splendid isolation. It could not even be thought of as such. It is originally
past of this present which I am . Let us clarify this point.
The other evening while I was having an argument with Mark I saw him
as being rather unreasonable. And yet today I consider him a reasonable
person. Where does this contradiction stem from? You could simply say that
the Mark of then was another Mark, completely different from the present
one. But what is meant here by "another"? Where does the difference
IClaparede, E., 1911.

108 Temporality
between that Mark and this one lie? If we were to limit ourselves to
considering the question from a static temporal perspective we would
resolve nothing: Mark was as present then, when he was arguing with me, as
he is now when I say he is reasonable. In other words, Mark's irrationality is
a present characteristic inasmuch as I considered him irrational in the
present. Where does the diversity between the Mark of then and the one of
now come from, if in both situations it is a question of a present Mark? And
why do I now say: that evening Mark said irrational things? Is there a third
Mark then, who is characterised by being irrational and past? If there were,
if the discriminating characteristic of this third Mark were merely that of
being "past", then every link with the present would, by definition, be
negated. The possibility of bringing him back to the present of
consciousness would be lost for ever. It would be a question of a man lost in
the past with his attribute of irrationality, and every attempt to bring him
back to the present would be destined to fail. But under what kind of magic
can I think of Mark as a past Mark? If there is no way of preserving his past
irrationality somewhere, where should the attempt to lead that irrational,
past Mark to his natural place in time, the present of consciousness that
remembers him, start? In other words, if it is absurd to think that the past
exists as such, isolated from the present, how can we wrench it from its
splendid isolation and reconstruct the links which join it to the present? I
say that the other evening Mark was irrational. Who is it that was, in this
case? Mark, of course. But which Mark are we talking about, the one that
was arguing with me? Absolutely not: we would have to say that that Mark
is, not was. For the whole time in which he said irrational things we must
say of him that he is irrational. If, on the other hand, we are talking about a
Mark who became past, every connection with the present is lost and that
Mark remains isolated down there with his attribute of irrationality. "If we
want a memory to remain possible - Sartre says - we must allow for a
synthesis of reconnaissance which from the present arrives at preserving its
link with the past - a synthesis which is impossible to conceive of, if not as
an original way of being ."1 IfI say that Mark was irrational, I say it of this
present Mark, of whom I can also say, without contradicting myself, that he
is a reasonable person. It is not the irrational Mark that was. Of that person
we must say he is. It is the present one who was irrational. But what is this
synthesis of recognition, this original way of being that Sartre talks of, for
want of which the past is abandoned to its isolation? This Mark who I say
1 Sartre, J.-P., 1943.

Temporality 109
was irrational is not past in se just as in no case can he be present in se.

Being present or being past means being such for someone, for a
consciousness. The Mark that was irrational that evening is not past tout
court, but is first of all past for me. That is, he is my past and he is the past
of a certain present which is my current present. It is thanks to me that that
Mark has not faded into nothingness but has become past. "The dead who
could not be saved and transported onto the concrete past of a survivor" says
Sartre 1 "are not past; they and their past are annulled". If we want to find
the past we must thus look for it in the concrete present of a consciousness
which transcends its own present to select an event down there where it was.
On the other hand if no past is possible without the present of a

consciousness to select it, the opposite is also true: I can have a present
because I have a past which gives meaning to this present. My present is
soaked in my past and acquires significance only as present of that past. But
we must be careful not to think that the past is in some way possessed by the
subject or by consciousness. The relationship between my present and my
past is not a relationship between elements which remain external to one
another. The external relationship between possessor and possessed would
relegate the past, once again, to its unattainable isolation and would create
an insuperable abyss between past and present. Actually rather than have a
past we should say be our own past. In short, there is no past but for a
present, which to exist must be its own past. This is what we should mean
when, like Merleau-Ponty2, we say that the past makes sense to us only
inasmuch as we are it or that wesen is! was gewesen ist, as Hegel says. But
what does being one's past mean, and how can the present be the past?
I am my past in that nothing of that past is extraneous to me. When I say

that the other day I was happy or that I was a medical student, I am totally
responsible for those events in the entirety of my present being. And it is
because I was a medical student that I now am what I am . But having been a
medical student is not meant here to have a propaedeutic value with respect
to my concrete present. In fact I could just as well say that having been
happy the other day is part of what I am now. The present which I am, is the
condensation of what I have been, for better and for worse. You could
object that we are not always responsible for our past. For example, for acts
committed in a state of altered consciousness, as in the case of certain
1 Sartre, J.-P., 1943.

2Merleau-Ponty, M. , 1945.
110 Temporality
pathologies, the present of a subject is not held either morally or juridically

responsible. Or rather, much more simply, I can demand not to be
reproached for a past state inasmuch as now that state no longer exists. I
may have been a revolutionary fanatic but am so no longer, and today I no
longer feel responsible for that revolutionary being. Even juridically I am no
longer held responsible once I have served the sentence for the
consequences of my past being. Of course. But for however much I may
seek to distance my past from myself, this will never change its nature. It
will continue to be my past and I will continue to be my past in the present
which I am . Ican deny and reject it as much as I like but I will never be able
to cease to be it, I will never be able to make it an impersonal past. And
besides, what is the point of regret? It is a desperate attempt to distance our
past from ourselves. But not desperate in the sense that we should be for
ever condemned to our past. We are only so in death which, as Malraux
said, by transforming life into destiny, makes being coincide with having
been. But it is still a desperate attempt because at the very moment in which
I deny my past, I do nothing but affirm it and show even more clearly its
solidarity of being with my present. In this sense I cannot but be responsible
for my past, and my present cannot but be my past.
But tracing the past back to the present of a consciousness does not
mean, as it may seem, falling back into the error of the theory of the trace
which claimed to recreate the past from elements borrowed from the
present. We must not fall under the substantialist illusion, that is, into the
temptation of considering the past and memory as "things" inside
consciousness and the object as a "thing" inside memory. There is no
"general" consciousness which can be filled at will with this or that object,
as a warehouse is filled with stock. There are no objects inside
consciousness, consciousness and its object are born together. This pen
which is in front of me is already consciousness-of-pen-as-present.
Likewise, Mark arguing with me on a certain evening is already
consciousness-of-Mark-as-past. The present of consciousness has nothing to
do with the present of an object except in one particular case, that is in
reflection, when consciousness objectifies itself. In all other cases we cannot
say that consciousness is present as we would say of any object because,
while an object can only be present to a consciousness, the present is the
place of consciousness or, to use Merleau-Ponty' sl words, the area in which
1Merleau-Ponty, M. , 1945.
Temporality 111
being and consciousness coincide. It is from this present of consciousness,

which is completely different from an object's present, that the recognising
synthesis, which re-establishes the links between past and present, departs.
When we said that there was no contradiction in saying that if I remember
an object or an event, these are "present in the past", this is exactly what we
meant. That is, that memory is an original way that consciousness has of
transcending the present to select an event down there, where it was. But
transcending the present does not mean it attaches itself to the past. If that
were the case it would be a matter of a past consciousness, which is
unthinkable. Transcending the present means rather giving a temporal
dimension to the object that consciousness takes into consideration. And this
temporal dimension is consciousness itself which, as we shall see later on,
cannot but be in the ek-static form, that is outside itself in the present,
extended towards the object whose present it is, in the past from which it
flees, in the future towards which it runs.
We have seen that the past as such cannot but be thought of as the past of
a consciousness' present. The moment has therefore come to question
ourselves on the nature of the present.
b. The present
What is the nature of the present? On one hand it is tempting to define

the present for what it is, in contrast to the past which is no longer, and the
future which is not yet. But on the other hand, as Husserl 1 notes, if we were
to free the present of all that it is not, that is of the past and the future, we
would, in reality, find ourselves with an infinitesimal instant, the ideal end
of an infinite division, a nothing lacking any dimension of its own. But the
present is not an instant, but a dimension which distinguishes itself from all
the others with its characteristic of presence. Yet presence must not be
interpreted here as Bergson' s2 duration, and even less so as a series of
separate static instants. Bergson explained the unity of time with duration,
which is continuity that comes about through imperceptible transitions from
one instant to another. But that is like muddling together past, present and
future, and, in short, negating time. And yet if the present is considered to
1Husser1, E., 1893-1917.

2Bergson, H., 1896.
112 Temporality
be a combination of separate instants, it is not clear how one instant passes

onto another. In the absence of a subject which is responsible for a unifying
synthesis, every instant remains isolated and lacks any possibility of linking
itself to the previous instant or to the next. Present is as much in opposition
to past as it is to absent. "Present" answers the pupil during roll-call,
meaning I am here. Present thus first of all means present to .... But who is
present and to whom are we present?
I am present to the objects that surround me, to the world in which I am

immersed. But can I say that the objects, the world, are present to me and to
one another? If that were the case, the present would be reduced to a
reciprocal relationship of presences regulated by a simple external
relationship of contiguity. Clearly this is not how things work. Presence to ...
describes an internal relationship between the being which is present and the
beings to which it is present. In short, presence to.. . requires a
consciousness. It is consciousness which is present to the chair, to the table,
to the world. In order to be present to this chair I must be linked to it by a
relationship which makes me select the being of this chair from where it is,
which in some way unites me to it but without making my being correspond
to the being of the chair. Objects, beings which are isolated en-soi, are
neither present nor absent, just as they cannot be past or future . This chair
can be present to this table only on condition that there is also a being
present which has in itself the possibility of presence, that is a
consciousness. To be able to come into the world as objects of a subject
which is present to them there needs to be a consciousness which selects
them and which selects itself as present to them.
But what is the relationship between present consciousness and that to

which it is present? In other words, to whom is consciousness present?
Consciousness is present to everything which it is not. Rather, the presence
of consciousness makes everything which it is not acquire unitary
significance. I am simultaneously present to this chair, to this table, to the
room, the city, my body, other bodies, to the whole world. In short, it is
thanks to consciousness that the beings of the world become present. Beings
manifest themselves as co-present in a world in which consciousness, as
Sartre says, "unites them with its blood, through that total ek-static sacrifice
of itself which is called presence"l . Before the sacrifice of consciousness,
I Sartre, J.-P., 1943 .

Temporality 113
beings were neither united nor separate. It is with consciousness that the
present enters the world and beings of the world are co-present, inasmuch as
the same consciousness is present to all of them together. We have clarified
what present is, and to whom the present is present. We now have to clarify
what presence is.
We have seen that presence cannot be defined as the simple co-existence

of two beings outside one another, because a witness is required to ascertain
their co-existence. This witness is consciousness, which establishes the co-
existence of all beings inasmuch as it makes itself present to all beings
contemporaneously. But what happens when consciousness is present to a
being in itself, to this chair, for instance? In this case there cannot be a
witness, a third element which establishes presence. It is consciousness,
which in order to be present to ... must already be witness to its own
presence. In other words, the relationship between consciousness and the
being to which it is present is an internal relationship, an internal bond, not
an external relationship of contiguity. Consciousness attaches itself to the
being to which it is present. This close attachment of consciousness to the
being, however, passes through the negation of its identification with the
object to which it makes itself present. I am present to this chair, I am
profoundly attached to its being and yet I am not this chair, I do not identify
myself with it. Rather, presence is the very recognition of the impossibility
of identification with the object. Consciousness' presence to the object
implies that consciousness is witness to itself as not being that object. In this
sense the present is not inasmuch as it is negation of identification with the
object. And this is how the present assumes its own dimension which is that
of evasion, of continuous flight from the being which is there . In other
words, the basic structure of the present is negation as internal relationship
between consciousness and an object. The idea of the present seen as an
instant derives from an operation of reification of the present which leads to
making the present correspond to what the subject is present to, for example
the time on that clock. When I say it is seven 0 'clock, I do not select the
present instant but the object to which I am present and from which I am
separated by an inestimable void.
If presence is the negation of the identification of consciousness with an

object, could we say that non-presence is the opposite, that is affirmation of
identification between consciousness and an object? In everyday language
we often say that someone "is not present": for instance I could say that
114 Temporality
Mark, who did not understand what I was saying because he was thinking
about something else, was not present, just as I can justify someone's
inappropriate gesture by saying "he was not himself'. What do I mean by
this? That when I was talking to Mark and he was not listening to me
because he was absorbed in his thoughts, he was like an object as far as I
was concerned. In other words, at that moment Mark had the same
consistency for me as this chair, this table, or the wall facing me. Why
wasn 't Mark present when I was talking to him? Because at that moment he
was not performing any act of presence which is the opposite of what is
commonly done. Performing an act of presence means negating that I
belong to the world which I have before me and affirming my consciousness
as bitter condemnation to the separation of the world . Non-presence annuls
this separation, but in so doing it does not by any means establish
identification between consciousness and object because, as we have seen,
consciousness can only be consciousness of.., that is witness to a
separation. What non-presence actually indicates is the absence of
consciousness, although that does not mean that consciousness annuls itself
in non-presence. When Mark was not listening to me he had the same
consistency as the chair and he himself was not present to that chair. In
other words, his consciousness was absent. Does this mean it was annulled?
Not at all . Mark absorbed in his thoughts was present to these. His
consciousness was, so to speak, "elsewhere" and was making itself present
to other beings which were neither the chair nor my person.
The present is thus flight from the being which is there. On the other
hand, the present is also flight from the being which was, that is the past.
Where does the present run to if not towards the being which it will be?
c. The future
We have seen that the past is inconceivable if not as the past of the
present of a consciousness which, in the act of remembering, transcends the
present in order to select an event from down there, where it occurred.
Similarly, the future cannot be thought of if not as the future of the present
of a consciousness which transcends the present to select an event from over
there where it will take place. In other words, not even the future can be
considered an isolated in se. A full moon is not the future when I see a
Temporality 115
waxing moon. A waxing moon is, in itself, nothing other than what it is, and
it contains no future element or anything which predicts a future event 1.
There is nothing potential about it. If a quarter moon heralds the next full
moon, this only happens through a consciousness which, on observing the
quarter moon selects the full moon as the future of its own concrete present.
It is only through human reality that the future comes into the world and
takes on meaning. Just as an impression left on the sofa would not refer one
back to the thousand times that someone has sat on it were it not for a
consciousness which is capable of selecting it as a sign of past events; a
waxing moon would not refer to a full moon were it not for a consciousness
which sees it as the omen of a future event. If the future exists, this is only
by means of a consciousness which is also its own future.
But what does being one's own future mean? As in the case of the past,
we must once again reject the idea that the future exists in the form of
representation. Just as in the case of the memory trace which was supposed
to represent the past but always remain only present, so, even if we wanted
to accept the idea of representation, the represented future would remain in
the present and we would once again need some strong magic to see it
represented in the future tout court. Yet again, if we want to understand the
being of the future we have to start from the present and select in the present
the act of consciousness which transcends its present, that is its being, to
project itself there where it will be.
The relationship between present and future is a relationship of finality,

which could be defined as an overturned causality, that is the effect of a
future state on a present state. For example: the actions I perform when I
make a cup of coffee only make sense for the end that will be achieved,
drinking the coffee. It is the future act, drinking the coffee, which
determines the actions I am performing now, it links them to one another
and makes them significant. It is this overturned causality which links the
future to the present and rejects it as a simple "now" which is not yet. If it
were merely a question of a "now" to come, we would find it isolated once
again, and with no chance of linking itself to the present again. The future is
what I must be in the continuous possibility of not being it.
1Example taken from Sartre, ,J.-P., 1943.

116 Temporality
Earlier we said that presence is flight. This flight is double, because in

escaping the being that it was, consciousness flees towards the being that it
will be. What is the other meaning of the flight of consciousness towards the
being that it will be if not that of filling a void, a lack, an incompleteness of
which the present is made. The being of the present flees its own
incompleteness towards its complete being, that is towards the connection
with all that it is lacking. In this sense the future is that very lack which
snatches the present being, seen as lacking, from inert presence. If nothing
were missing, the present being would lose its characteristic of presence. It
would be a pure, inert, atemporal being, lost in the isolation of complete
identification, something like the state of a meditating Buddhist monk. It is
thus the lack, the future, which permits the being of consciousness to be
present, because it is outside itself, drawn towards a lack. In this sense the
present being must be its own future, because the foundations of what it is,
are in front of it and are always a future form.
But the flight of the present from its own incompleteness, this reaching
out in order to compensate for a lack, reflects consciousness' desperate
attempt to link up with what it is not, to complete itself by acquiring what it
will be. It is a desperate attempt because the future never allows itself to be
reached, it slips into the past as the ex-future of a certain present, that is it
becomes a future in the past. Even if my present is completely identical to
what I anticipated for myself, for example, after having performed the
necessary motions I finally drink the coffee I prepared, I will always have
another future in front of me, another gap to fill. The coffee I drink is not
the future I have reached, but the present of my being now from which
something is still missing. Drinking my coffee as future is now part of my
past in the form of the future in the past, that is of the future of that being
that I was. From the unattainability of the future, which translates itself into
a continuous separation from my possible being, derives the anxiety which
accompanies the present. I am the anxiety of not sufficiently being that
future which I must be and which gives meaning to my present. The future
is the continual possibilization of the possibles which give direction to the
present but which cannot be reached.
It is clear that the future thus described has nothing to do with a

homogenous and chronologically organised series of instants to come, just
as the past is not the discrete organisation of instants which have been. What
remains to be clarified is the relationship between the temporal dimensions
Temporality 117
thus described, that background of temporality in which past, present and

future are inserted as subordinate structures.
2. ONTOLOGY OF TEMPORALITY
a. The before-after relationship
If temporality is seen as a comprehensive structure, it is clear that this is

the result of a relationship which is perpetuated, the before-after
relationship. The basic characteristic of the before-after relationship is its
irreversibility. If I say that A comes before B, it means that A will always
come before B. Furthermore, in order to be joined by a relationship of
succession, A and B must be separate elements in such a relationship. What
is it that separates them? Time, you might say. Indeed, is it not time which
separates me from my after, that is from my future and from my past?
Without time I would now be both the dreams I hope to fulfil and the
suffering I want to be cured of. Thus time is the measure between two
elements, the distance which separates them : two cities are separated by an
hour's train journey, a student has three months to go before graduation. But
from a similar view of time, what Merleau-Ponty calls time-space in
contrast with real time, it is easy to ascertain that temporality is reducible to
an infinite succession of befores and afters and, like a point on a straight
line, the indivisible element of temporality is the instant which is located
before certain instants and after others, but which in itself is neither before
nor after but merely an indivisible, atemporal element. In this way the world
is fragmented into an infinity of instants, which are juxtaposed but separate,
and thus it becomes difficult to understand how one instant passes to the
next. The problem thus becomes that of explaining how a world, that is a
series of connected instants and of changes in time, can exist. You might say
that the separation between before and after is a special form of separation,
that is, it is a separation which reunites. Certainly, but if the relationship
between before and after is an external relationship between atemporal
elements, where can such a unifying force come from? You will say that the
before-after relationship is such for a witness. But either the witness is a
temporal being, and then the same problem holds for him too, or, if it is an
extra-temporal subject, the I-think in Descartes, God in Kant, one expects to
construct temporality as an external relationship between atemporal
118 Temporality
substances. One wonders how the before-after relationship and temporality

itself can exist under these conditions. Either one implicitly and
surreptitiously temporalizes the atemporal or, if its atemporality is left
intact, time will become a purely human illusion, a dream.
Bergson certainly did not solve the problem by introducing the concept
of duration. Of course, Bergson's duration breaks up Descartes' instant into
a multiplicity of interpenetration, but Bergson seems to forget that duration
conceived of in this way is a synthesis which requires an organising act.
Who is responsible for such an act, Bergson does not say. However the
difficulties which Bergson found in his theory of memory reflect this state
of affairs. Saying that the past attaches itself to the present and penetrates it
is merely a figure of speech. If the past, as he maintains, is an inactive in se,
it will never go so far as penetrating the present in the form of memory, it
will quietly stay down there, without having any effect on the present at all.
Duration could be said to make the past join the present, but if who is
responsible for this unifying act which I call duration is not clarified, we are
back where we started from.
What has been ignored is that the before-after relationship is not an

external relationship between atemporal elements, but an internal
relationship between elements which are temporalized with this
relationship. If I say that A comes before B, the priority of A presupposes in
the nature of A what Sartre calls "an incompleteness of A (instant or state)
which aims at B. If A precedes B, it is in B that A can receive this
determination. Otherwise neither the rising nor the annulling of B, isolated
in its instant, could confer upon A, isolated in its own, the slightest
particular quality". Similarly, in order to be after A, B must somehow be in
A in order to guarantee for itself the characteristic of posterity. Every
element of the sequence is in a condition of ek-static unity. Thus every
element will in some way always be out of itself in order to be before or
after the other. Right, you might say, but how can a state be out of itself?
Why is the division which emerges in the ek-static elements never realised?
Who is responsible for this ek-stasis?
Sartre says that temporality is a dissolving force within a unifying act

and that succession, rather than being a true mUltiplicity, is a quasi-
multiplicity, an attempt at dissociation within unity. Inshort there is
apparently no priority of unity over multiplicity, or vice-versa: temporality
Temporality 119
is unity which multiplies itself. This contradiction, multiplicity which

unifies and unity which multiplies itself, is only apparent. In reality the
internal relationship between before and after, which unites and separates, is
only possible inasmuch as a consciousness establishes it. Indeed
consciousness can only be temporal. It is thanks to consciousness that the
before-after relationship exists, it is thanks to human reality that multiplicity
acquires meaning as the union of elements in a reciprocal relationship. But,
you might object, are we not perhaps assuming what we intended to
explain? If consciousness is already a temporal being, doesn't the same
contradiction apply here too? The only possible existence for consciousness
is, as we have already seen, the ek-static form. This implies that
consciousness is temporal per se, and does not need a witness to record its
being temporal. A consciousness with no past, present or future would be a
collapsed consciousness, stripped of its very nature, which is that of
transcending itself in order to open itself to the temporality of which it is
made. Later we shall see how this actually happens in pathological cases.
The almost irresistible tendency to consider time as content in objects

has also led to a faulty interpretation of the results of certain
neurophysiological experiments. Libet's experiments constitute one
example I . Since Penfield's experiences we know that electric stimulation
of the somatosensory cortex during a neurosurgical operation produces a
sensation in the corresponding part of the patient's body. For instance, the
stimulation of a point on the left somatosensorial cortex produces a brief
tingling sensation in the patient's right hand. In his experiments, Libet
compared the time necessary to produce the tingling effect in the hand after
stimulation ofthe cortex and after direct stimulation of the hand itself. Since
both the stimulus applied to the hand and that applied to the somatosensorial
cortex are "analysed" by the cortex, Libet expected that when both stimuli
were applied simultaneously to the hand and the cortex, the "cortical"
stimulus would be felt by the patient before the one applied to the hand,
which has a greater distance to cover in order to reach the cortex. But what
he found was that the stimulus applied to the hand was felt by the patient
before the one applied to the cortex and this happened even when, instead of
being simultaneous the stimulus to the cortex preceded the one applied to
the hand. This phenomenon has given rise to endless dispute between
ILibet, B. , 1965; Libet, B., 1981; Libet, B., 1982; Libet, B., 1985;
Libet, b., Wright, E.W., Feinstein, B., & Pearl, D.K. , 1979.
120 Temporality
materialists and dualists. The former 1 consider the expenence of the

sequence of stimuli reported by patients as a temporal illusion, the others2
see this phenomenon as proof that what happens in consciousness has
nothing to do with what happens in the brain.
Let us examine this phenomenon more closely. In one case, stimulus A

(the one applied to the hand) precedes stimulus B (the one applied to the
cortex), in another case the same two stimuli are simultaneous. But are the
successive and the simultaneous stimuli really the same? In other words, is
A which precedes B the same as A simultaneous to B? On one hand it is
tempting to accept such identification: we are dealing with the same electric
discharge applied to the same place, at the same instant. This is how the
protagonists of the dispute see it. What they do not realise is that yes, the
stimuli are the same, but they are pour-soi instantaneous and atemporal.
There is nothing, nor could there ever be anything in A which specifies its
simultaneity with, or its priority over B, unless there is a consciousness
which takes the trouble to attribute the meaning of simultaneity or of
sequence to the two stimuli. Without a consciousness, the two are not linked
by any temporal relationship. The contradiction of the possibility of both
simultaneity and succession disappears if you consider that they appear to
two different states of consciousness in different conditions. On one hand
the consciousness of the patient who perceives a succession, on the other
that of the experimenter who perceives a simultaneity. Both simultaneity
and succession are the result of the temporalization of two events by two
different states of consciousness. There is no priority of one over the other,
nor can we get away with saying that the simultaneity perceived by the
experimenter is "real" while that perceived by the patient is illusory. Both
are equally real. You will object that the simultaneity of the stimuli
observed by the experimenter is, however, guaranteed by experimental
rigour because both stimuli are administered by a machine which is
programmed to apply them to the hand and to the cortex of the patient
simultaneously. But, either by some magic we make the machine which
administers the stimuli a temporal being, or you will agree that, once again,
the presumed simultaneity with which the machine releases the stimuli IS
ISee, for instance: Church land, P.S ., 1981; Churchland, P.S., 1981.
Churchland, P.S. (1981). The timing of sensation: reply to Libet. Philosophy of Science, 48,
492-497.
., Feinstein, 8., & Pearl , D.K. , 1979.
2Libet, B. , Wright, E. W
Popper, K.R. , & Eccles, J.e., 1977.
Temporality 121
nothing other than the simultaneity with which the experimenter who
programs the machine wants the stimuli to be released. Without the
experimenter, the electric shocks released by the machine are neither
simultaneous nor in succession. In short, what is being confused here is the
discrepancy between an improbable "objective time", that of the
experimenter, and the time experienced by the patient. Again, there is no
priority of the first over the second since both are of the same nature. As for
the machine, it is merely the guarantee of the simultaneity wanted by the
experimenter.
But then, you could say, why do two states of consciousness, that of the
experimenter and that of the patient, perceive time so differently, and why is
the stimulus applied to the hand, which has a greater distance to cover to
reach the brain, perceived before the one applied directly to the point of
arrival? There does not appear to be any metaphysical problem with the fact
that two states of consciousness perceive the same event in different ways.
Once again, if you see a problem here it is only because we forget that an
event in itself is nothing, but only acquires significance when a
consciousness takes the trouble to select it. And in order to select an event,
consciousness must become aware of it from a certain point of view.
Making sense of something does not merely mean giving it a meaning, but it
also means addressing it in a certain way, from a determined direction, so to
speak, from the angle at which the thing presents itself. Of this vase which
is in front of me and which I perceive as whole, I do not select the crack
which is on the other side of it and which would make whoever looks at the
vase from another point of view perceive it as broken. The sense of
simultaneity with which the experimenter attributes the two stimuli is
determined by the particular point of observation which he assumes, just as
the sense of succession perceived by the patient is determined by his
position with respect to the stimuli. As regards the fact that the more distant
stimulus is perceived by the patient as prior to the one applied directly to the
cortex, this presents, if anything, a methodological problem, certainly not a
metaphysical one. This phenomenon only tells us that measuring the length
of time taken by two stimuli to reach the somatosensorial cortex is certainly
not a good way of measuring temporal consciousness. But this is certainly
not enough to conclude, as Libet does, that consciousness has nothing to do
with the brain, nor to affirm, as Churchlandl does, for example, that the
1Church land, P.S. , 1981 ; Churchland, P.S., 1981.

122 Temporality
sequence experienced by the patient is illusory. In this sense Dennet is right

in affirming that consciousness does not have a place in the brain. In any
case, granted that temporal consciousness can be "measured" in
neurophysiological terms (though we have already seen the problems that
such a hypothesis presents), the somatosensorial cortex is certainly not a
good candidate for becoming the place where such a measurement should
take place.
What can be concluded from what has been said so far? First of all this:
if consciousness cannot originally be but temporal, that is in the unity of its
three ek-static forms, this implies that there cannot be a consciousness
which does not already have a relationship with its own past. I have already
mentioned that consciousness is overcoming and flight. What does
consciousness escape from? From everything, you might say. From itself,
from the world, from the present and the past. However, what consciousness
flees from, what it overcomes, is not given. The world, presence, the past,
are not in se which lie patiently waiting for a consciousness to select them .
Without a consciousness they simply do not exist. The past is thus a basic
structure of consciousness because the latter can only exist by overcoming,
and overcoming implies something to overcome. Thus, however we may
want to consider it, consciousness is born to a relationship with its own past.
In other words, at the beginning there is not a consciousness of the present
which then becomes consciousness of the past because consciousness, since
it must be its own past, comes into being with a past. In light of these
observations, the problem of birth also assumes a different form . In fact it
seems somewhat strange that, at a certain point consciousness comes to
inhabit the embryo, and thus there is first a living being in formation
without a consciousness and then, all of a sudden, a moment in which a
consciousness without a past comes to inhabit this being. But this is not so
strange if we bear in mind that there cannot be a consciousness without a
past. Consciousness is born as annulment, overcoming and negation of the
in se, that in se which I was and to which I am tied by a relationship which
is characterised by the word before. An embryo is what I was before without
ever having been so in the form of consciousness. This is how we
understand that the past does not appear to us as something definite, clearly
marked out in the background of our existence. That is how it would be if a
consciousness without a past were born and could be conscious witness of
every present which would then become past. But the past appears
indefinite, and jagged, and the further back I go, the more it gets lost in the
Temporality 123
dark until it reaches the pitch black of that foetus which, nevertheless, I was.
And it is precisely because that is what I was, just as I was that new-born
baby, that I am tied to it by profound solidarity which I can neither
understand nor negate. Because if that foetus or that new-born represent the
de/acto limit of my memory, they do not represent the limit by rights of my
past. There is perhaps an unsolvable metaphysical problem in birth (how is
it that I come from that embryo?) but there is no ontological problem. In
fact we do not need to ask ourselves why there is birth of consciousness
because consciousness, as overcoming and negation of the in se, cannot but
present itself as already born. The original existence of universal time, in
which a consciousness without a past suddenly appears, is
incomprehensible. It is from consciousness as already born that a world
appears with universal time in which a moment can be distinguished when
consciousness did not yet exist, as can beings from which it was not born
and a being from which it was born. In short, consciousness comes into the
world as the relationship with the past which it must be without any
possibility of not being it.
But this ek-static relationship that consciousness has with its past which
it must be, by no means implies that consciousness is necessarily
consciousness 0/ the past, that is that the past is a thesis for consciousness
which thematizes it. Being the past of consciousness is not, as for example
in the case of perceptive consciousness, thematization and negation of
identification with an object. Of this cup which is before me, I, as not-being-
cup am conscious. In other words, thematized consciousness is negation and
detachment from an object inasmuch as I am not it. In the case of the past,
however, I am it and cannot but be it. The past is behind consciousness,
unnoticed and omnipresent travelling companion, outside its thematic field .
Of course this does not mean that the past cannot be thematized. If I tum
around, my travelling companion who was silently following in my shadow
appears in front of me and talks to me. Now I am conscious of my past and
being conscious of that past I negate myself as being that past or, if you
prefer, I assert myself as not-being that past. Of course it does not cease to
be past, by any means, but I cease to be it. Hence before, when the past
remained behind me without being thematized, I was my past without
knowing it, now that it is in front of me, I know it without being it. How is it
possible, you will object, that consciousness is its own past without being
conscious of it, without thematizing it? And yet the past is my
consciousness, continually, without my being able to escape from it. It is the
124 Temporality
very sense of the words I use, the faces I recognise, the gestures I make, the
decisions I take, in short it is my very link with the world as combination of
meanings. The past which I am is that which, as we have seen, psychologists
call knowledge or semantic memory. And what is knowledge, what is
semantic memory if not the past that consciousness is without thematizing
it? And what is that which psychologists call episodic memory if not the
thematization of the past, that is the past which becomes thesis for
consciousness which, as such, negates its earlier being as present?
Our investigation has led us to clarify an ontological presupposition

which has been totally ignored by current theories of memory, and that is
that consciousness, as temporal consciousness, comes into being already
with a past. Furthermore, it has been seen that the three dimensions of time
are unintelligible if they are not considered as the basic structures of
consciousness. Locking up the past in a memory trace and making memory
the result of the reactivation of a trace in which the past is apparently
locked, means obfuscating the problem of memory and denying oneself the
chance of a scientific theory of memory. But is a scientific theory of
memory possible? And if so, under what conditions? We shall see.
CHAPTERS
KNOWING AND REMEMBERING
1. ONTOLOGY OF KNOWLEDGE
So far we have seen that the fundamental characteristic of consciousness

is that it must, by nature, be consciousness of something. We have thus
formed a dyad: on the one hand there is consciousness, on the other there is
that something - object, thing, phenomenon - of which consciousness is
conscious. But we have also seen that consciousness, when considered in
isolation, is nothing but an abstraction, as is the phenomenon - the object,
the thing - since it cannot exist as such without appearing to a
consciousness. Concrete existence manifests itself as a synthetic whole in
which consciousness and phenomenon, in taking shape, acquire that
concreteness they were lacking when considered in isolation. The
relationship between the two is thus constitutive of the elements themselves
as they relate to one another. However this does not mean that the origin of
this relationship can be indistinctly sought in either consciousness or in the
phenomenon. It is only in consciousness that it can be found; it is only in
consciousness that that particular relationship known as knowledge is
defined. Consciousness is responsible for this relationship in that it
originally comes into being through its relationship with an object. It is now
time to further clarify the relationship between consciousness and object
and, more generally, to pose the problem of the origin of knowledge .
First of all knowledge, seen as the relationship between consciousness

and a phenomenon, is immediate in that there is no mediator between the
two. The reflection of the immediacy of knowledge is intuition. You could
object that immediacy and intuition are merely aspects, particular cases of
knowledge which, more often than not, are anything but immediate and

126 Knowing and remembering
intuitive but quite the contrary are the result of deduction, reasoning and
logos. But deduction, reasoning and logos are merely instruments which
lead to intuition, that is to the very origin of knowledge. If intuition is
attained, the instruments used to reach it disappear in the face of the
apodeictic fullness of intuition, they appear irredeemably incomplete and
rudimental in front of knowledge. If intuition is not attained, the instruments
of logic which were used are just signposts that indicate intuition which is
off course. But what is intuition produced by the immediacy of the
relationship between consciousness and a phenomenon? Husserl, like most
philosophers, says that it is the presence of the "thing" in persona to one's
consciousness. This is supposed to describe the apodeictic fullness of
intuitive knowledge. But the elements of the relationship of presence should
be overturned. In the previous chapter we saw that presence cannot at any
time be associated with a thing or a phenomenon. Presence is a means by
which consciousness extends itself towards a thing. This glass on the table is
not present to me, but rather as a glass it is, and that is that. It is I who am
present to the glass when I tum to it to pick it up. As far as intuition is
concerned, we can say that this reflects the presence of consciousness to the
thing. But what does this mean?
The need for consciousness to be consciousness of something has been

emphasised throughout this work. It is now time to be more precise and
examine the significance of this need for consciousness to be consciousness
of something. The presence of consciousness to an object takes place by
means of radical negation; it is the presence of consciousness to that which
consciousness is not. I am present to this glass in as far as I radically negate
any identification between the glass and myself. In other words, I am
present to that which I am not. This type of negative relationship is implied
a priori in every theory of consciousness. It is impossible to see an object
for what it is unless a relationship of negation which identifies the object as
that which consciousness is not has first been established. The object is first
of all, before any construction or conceptualisation, what appears to
consciousness as not being consciousness. Before being made of glass and
being used to drink from, the glass on the table is an object which is distinct
from my consciousness since they are separated by an inestimable void
described as an ontological relationship between consciousness and the
glass, and which is realised in the existential concreteness which determines
the relationship between these two elements. The relationship of presence
on which knowledge is based is therefore a negative one, and its
Knowing and remembering 127
negativeness is to be found at the very heart of consciousness since this is

the way in which consciousness establishes itself as such. In other words,
the relationship of negation is not established by consciousness as an
external judgement on an object: there is no thematized consciousness of not
being that glass, unless this thesis is explicitly drawn up. But consciousness
is, by its very nature, consciqusness of not being that glass since, if it were
not, consciousness would acquire the opacity of the object, that is, it would
cease to be consciousness. Knowledge therefore initially establishes itself as
the negative way of being consciousness has before an object. Knowing
does not mean establishing a relationship a posteriori between two
elements, nor does it represent an operation or special virtue of
consciousness. It is consciousness as present to ... and its negation of being
the object to which it is present, which constitute knowledge. And this
negative need consciousness has before an object reflects its need to be
irremediably consciousness of something.
The presence of consciousness to an object as not being that object does

not imply any form of pre-consciousness of the object but it establishes
itself primarily as knowledge. That is, you must not think that in order to
deny being an object consciousness need first have, in some way or another,
knowledge of the object's being because otherwise it could not deny being
that of which it knows nothing. It is true that concrete experience might lead
you to the following conclusion: if I deny being that glass it is because I
already in some way have a notion of a glass, which allows me to see myself
as being different from one. But it is clear that this type of conclusion
precludes any ontological possibility of knowledge. The ontological
relationship between consciousness and an object to which it is present must
allow every type of experience and knowledge. Therefore it is impossible
for me to already have knowledge of an object that I am not, before
establishing it as an object. If it were possible, that is, if a certain type of
knowledge, for however vague and incomplete, preceded the presence of
consciousness to an object, no knowledge would be possible since
knowledge of an object which precedes the presence of consciousness to
that object would in turn need an origin and this would lead to an infinite
series, a solutio ad infinitum. What on the other hand makes knowledge
possible, every form of knowledge, not only that of the already known, is
the a priori birth of an object in the world, that is of an object for a subject.
And since the birth of an object in the world originates in consciousness, it
becomes the birth of consciousness as presence to the object that it is not. In
other words, the basic relationship which determines that consciousness is

not the object to which it is present is the foundation of every form of
knowledge of that object. Let us examine this relationship in more detail.
First of all, the object to which consciousness is present in the form of

not being that object is not isolated, entirely cut off from me. Indeed it
would be impossible to deny being that object if this were separate from the
being of my consciousness. I cannot negate identification with the glass in
front of me if I am not tied to it by a certain type of ontological relationship
which makes the existence of myself and of the glass possible. Where does
this relationship originate? It is tempting to seek its origin in consciousness,
since it is consciousness which is present to the object as not being that
object. And this is certainly true. But there is more. The origin of the
ontological relationship of knowledge is definitely to be sought in
consciousness, but in a form of consciousness which comes out of itself to
go towards an object and eventually attach itself to it. And this
consciousness which is outside itself, that is in an ek-static form , is defined
as consciousness by the very object to which it attaches itself, that is by that
which it is not. My consciousness of not being a glass finds its definition in
the glass, at the absolute fullness of the in se with regard to which
consciousness represents nothingness, an absence which comes into
existence from that fullness. And so in that ontological relationship between
consciousness and object which we will call knowledge, the only
recognisable element which is always there is the known. The knower, as
determined by the known, is not perceptible, fades into nothingness. The
knower is only that which allows there to be a known, a presence to the
known object, because this, in tum, is neither present nor absent, but simply
is.
But if the only element found in knowledge is the known, does this mean
that every possible existence of the to be known must be negated? Certainly
not. It is just that what has still to be known, namely the unknown, can be a
part of the ontological relationship between consciousness and object only
as that which will be known. At present the unknown is nothing if not my
future, part of that project that I am. But, as we have already seen, when the
unknown becomes known it will lose its characteristic of future and will
simply be known, as to be known slides into the past as future in the past.
The fact, then, that in knowledge only the known is met with, does not in
any way exclude the possibility of knowing what is presently unknown, nor
does it contradict what empirical existence shows us, namely the continual
possibility of new knowledge. It is only that knowledge comes into the
world as objects to which consciousness is present in the form of the known.
But in the object which presents itself to consciousness as known there is

nothing already given, past or to be taken for granted by consciousness. On
the contrary, the known object or the experience of knowing is absolutely
new for consciousness, which is continually discovering itself as
consciousness before that object which it is not. Besides, what is the
meaning of surprise if not the discovery or the reassertion of the existence
of consciousness? And what is habit if not a certain form of collapse of
consciousness? I am, so to speak, used to this glass in front of me since I
have seen it, touched it and used it a hundred thousand times. Of course, my
consciousness continues to be present to the glass as not being that glass.
But its strength is somehow weakened in that the glass is not only known
but is recognised since it no longer demands, with the same strength as on
their first meeting, that consciousness assert itself as not being that glass. In
other words, getting used to objects, their recognition, always implies a
consciousness which recognises and which establishes itself as not being the
recognised object. But the negation of consciousness before the object has,
so to speak, faded, it is consciousness which tends towards non-
consciousness, that is, towards the death of consciousness. While on the
other hand, surprise before a new object is the affirmation of full
consciousness. In front of a picture, a person or a landscape which I have
never seen, I rediscover my existence as not being that picture, that person
or that landscape. In the face of novelty consciousness is reborn to new life,
rediscovering and reaffirming itself as not being that new object to which it
is present. It is from novelty that consciousness draws the lymph on which it
is nourished, and it is through novelty that consciousness constantly flees
from the death to which habit would force it. It is thanks to this kind of vital
instinct that consciousness seeks novelty, the meeting with that which is still
unknown, to have proof of its existence. So here then is the meaning of
knowledge, continual proof of the existence of consciousness: I am not that
object in front of me, therefore, I am .
The object, therefore, appears to the world as not being consciousness, or

rather consciousness is defined as not being the object to which it is present.
The object, however, manifests itself to consciousness in a certain way, and
this way is generally seen as the quality of the object. The cigarette to which
my consciousness is present now manifests itself through its cylindrical

shape, its white colour, the smoke it emits, the taste that I am enjoying, etc.
Where does this way the cigarette has of manifesting itself, namely its
qualities which I call shape, colour, smell, taste originate? In the past the
subjective origin of quality was insisted upon. If the cigarette appears to me
in a certain way it is because I perceive it in that way in the depths of my
being. For however impossible it is to deny a certain subjectivity to quality
since no one besides myself will ever be able to state what the cylindrical
shape through which the cigarette appears to me is for me, neither can it be
denied that the cigarette's cylindrical shape is not only a subjective way of
knowing the cigarette but is the cigarette. In short, the object does not
appear to consciousness as an empty entity which combines various
qualities which are, so to speak, stuck to it from the outside. The cigarette is
entirely determined by each of its qualities and each of its qualities runs into
each of the others. "It is the sourness of a lemon that is yellow", says
Sartre 1, "it is the yellow of a lemon that is sour; you eat the colour of a cake,
and its taste reveals its shape and colour to what we may call our nutritional
intuition; while if I plunge my finger into a jar of jam, the sticky coldness of
that jam is for my fingers the manifestation of its sugary taste. The fluidity,
the warmth, the bluish colour, the wavy movement of the water in a
swimming pool, each of these qualities manifests itself to me through the
others". And it is this total interpenetration of qualities which constitutes an
object. If I distinguish the qualities of an object, if verbally I can break the
swimming pool down into fluidity, warmth, bluish colour, wavy movement
of water, it does not mean that the swimming pool is the sum of these
qualities, but simply that I am verbally describing what appears to my
consciousness as a single object. Of course, I may dwell upon the colour of
the water, but then the swimming pool will no longer be the object to which
my consciousness appears by negating itself, but the colour in itself and
nothing more. In short, qualities send you from one to the other and together
they constitute the being of an object which never appears as an empty
being to which various qualities have been added from the outside.
In modern psychological and neuropsychological theories, the problem

of knowledge and its pathology has, to a great extent, been complicated by
qualities having been considered as separable and as additions to the object
from the outside. In particular, the idea that an object in itself is
1 Sartre, l .-P., 1943 .

characterised by belonging to various qualitative categories -shape, colour,

function, etc., has generated a conception of the organisation of the semantic
system, that is of knowledge, which by preferring the abstract, the category
to which the object is believed to belong, to the concrete, the object itself
and its announcing itself to consciousness, encounters insoluble difficulties
in accounting for the so-called pathology of knowledge. What has not been
understood is that the object is not a synthetic unity of the qualities of which
it is composed, and even less so the simple sum of these. But an object is the
very qualities which consciousness perceives when it places itself in front of
said object as not being that object. Each quality of the object is the entire
object. If any of its qualities is varied, the others too are varied and the
result is not the object minus or plus a certain quality, but a different object.
A blue lemon is not a lemon whose yellowness has been taken away and
blueness added. It is a blue lemon tout court. It manifests itself to
consciousness as "other" with respect to a yellow lemon. In the same way,
the patient who does not recognise a cherry as red is not missing the
"redness" of a cherry. This lack can only be seen from the outside, that is it
needs a witness to notice it and to declare it. For the patient the cherry is as
it appears, as he imagines it, blue, white or green and that is that; he does
not notice any absence, any missing "redness" of the cherry. Besides, the
idea of an object seen as the sum of its discrete qualities presupposes a
world fragmented into an infinity of abstract qualities of which the object is
only a synthesis, in turn abstract, since it would be a synthesis created from
abstract elements. In short, a lemon as the sum of yellow, sourness,
roughness and ellipsoidal shape with protrusions at the poles is
unintelligible. This is not a lemon, it is nothing but a sum of abstractions.
Besides, such a hypothesis would mean that, when I actually perceive,
imagine or remember a lemon, first the yellow, sourness, roughness and
shape of a lemon appear to my consciousness, and then from the synthesis
of these I create a lemon. This is clearly false. As for the possibility of a
lemon being created by consciousness thanks to a preliminary unconscious
synthesis of its various qualities, we have already seen that this would only
lead to the aporia described earlier. In short, the object presents itself at
once through its qualities and it is only conceivable through the qualities it
expresses. What is a lemon that is not yellow, sour, rough-skinned and of a
certain shape? Nothing but an abstraction. A quality is an ontological
relationship between consciousness and an object. Consciousness turns to an
object as not being that object which, in turn, is its qualities. I am not that
lemon in as far as I am not its yellowness, its sourness, its roughness, etc. In
this sense, quality has nothing to do with the exterior appearance of an

object because an object has neither "inside" nor "outside". For there to be
qualities there has to be an object which presents itself to a consciousness,
which by its very nature cannot be that object.
In this sense, then, quality is anything but the "filling" of something, but
rather it is the determination of a void, the void of consciousness aiming at a
quality without being able to reach it. Knowing (a quality) does not mean, as
has often been claimed, taking possession of an object, eating and
assimilating it, nor does it mean making it coincide with some mental
representation. If anything it means establishing a void, the void which
separates us from quality. Indeed on one hand quality maintains a
relationship of absolute closeness to us, on the other it is out of reach,
unattainable, that which by definition shows us to ourselves as not being
that quality. Quality is the indication of what we are not, of the way of being
which we are denied. The perception of the smell of a rose is, for
consciousness, consciousness of the impossibility of existing as a perfume.
In this sense not only does an object not distinguish itself from its qualities,
but any knowledge of a quality is knowledge of a definite object, that is, of a
this . A quality, whatever it be, manifests itself as an object for
consciousness. The music I hear, without yet being able to associate it to the
instrument it is coming from, is already fully an object for my
consciousness. The perfume I smell, the colour I see are already fully
objects for my consciousness and not subjective impressions. In other words
a quality may appear to subjectivity but it does not correspond to
subjectivity itself. If I now perceive this glass as being transparent, its
transparency is not a subjective nuance of my perception of that object but
belongs to the glass itself. It is the glass which reveals itself to my
consciousness as being transparent, not my consciousness of transparency
which is attributed from outside to a glass which in itself is neither
transparent nor opaque. You may wonder how the glass manages to be
transparent in itself? The glass, like any other object, reveals itself to the
world as a unity. But its revealing itself to the world means nothing other
than revealing itself to a consciousness which in turn negates itself as this
object. In negating itself, consciousness is able to adopt various points of
view, or rather, it is from various points of view, as we have already
demonstrated, that consciousness comes into the world, negating itself
before a this . To every negation of consciousness before an object there is a
corresponding total unveiling of said object "from a certain point of view".
And the object's way of revealing itself from a particular point of view is
precisely what we call its quality, namely the ontological relationship
between consciousness and this object before it. A quality, in short, is an
expression of consciousness, which in its freedom selects an aspect of this
object. Besides, empirical experience demonstrates how the unveiling of one
quality of an object always seems unmotivated, as though it were gratuitous
de jacto, fruit of the freedom of consciousness; certainly I cannot deny that
the pack of cigarettes in front of me is red and angular, but I can choose to
see it as angular-red or as red-angularity. In short, this object in front of me
presents itself to my consciousness through a free act on the part of
consciousness, thanks to which it is quality which constitutes this object.
And so quality, in as far as it reveals an object, establishes itself as an

ontological relationship between consciousness and the object to which
consciousness is present. Quality manifests itself and reveals this object in
front of me. But this object in front of me, which expresses itself through its
quality which my consciousness aims at by internally negating itself as
being that quality, is not the world nor does it represent it. The world is a
totality made up of many this, or if you prefer a totality which breaks down
into innumerable this which arise from the totality whenever consciousness
bothers to consider them. But what is the relationship between the various
objects, or if you will, between the various this, or better still between this
and that? To establish any sort of relationship between a this and another
this, the second this must first of all come to consciousness, that is detach
itself from the totality of the world, or from the background according to
Gestalt psychology, in order to be defined as another this . Obviously this
can only happen thanks to another negation on the part of consciousness
which declares itself as not being the new this. But it is also necessary to
keep every new this at a distance from the other because it is not the other.
And so another act of negation to separate this from that is necessary. It is a
matter of external negation which is added to that carried out by
consciousness which negates itself both as this and as that. It is a negation
between objects by means of which each one denies being the other, or
affinns itself as not being the other. This glass is not that pack of cigarettes
and I am neither of the two. If there were not the internal negation of
consciousness which denies being both the pack of cigarettes and the glass,
there could be no perception of either the glass or the pack of cigarettes. But
if there were this internal negation of consciousness, but no external
negation of the pack of cigarettes as glass or vice versa, there could be no
perception of the pack of cigarettes or of the glass as distinct objects. This

external negation between this and that is expressed by means of the word
"and". This and that means precisely this is not that. The word and therefore
reveals the relationship of exteriority between two objects which remain
indifferent to one another, the essence of which does not vary an iota
because of the negative relationship which joins them, since it is a purely
external relationship. When I say this glass and that bottle, nothing in the
glass is changed by the presence of the bottle or vice versa. This
conjunction, which expresses the relationship of exteriority and indifference
of objects, represents a void, the nothingness which separates objects as
finite beings from one another. And this void, this nothingness of separation
is quantity. Indeed, quantity is pure exteriority; it does not in any way
depend on added elements and it is nothing other than the affirmation of
their independence and reciprocal indifference. Counting means breaking
down a totality which presents itself as a whole which ideally can be broken
down. The result of an addition is not part of anyone of the counted
elements, nor of the totality in itself. I do not count twenty objects on my
desk since these initially present themselves as a "collection of objects on
the desk". Counting twenty objects leaves both the essence of each and the
concrete unity of the collection perfectly intact. In short, that there are
twenty objects is neither a property of the collection of objects on the desk,
nor a property of each of them . None of these objects is in itself twenty or
the twentieth object because the attribution of twentieth is only the
reflection of consciousness which counts, which perceives the void, that
nothingness of separation among the objects. The relationship of quantity is
therefore a purely negative relationship of exteriority. And this exterior
nothingness which belongs to neither the things nor to their totality is the
space which unites and divides elements which are independent and
indifferent to one another. And so quantity and space are one and the same
type of negation. Space and quantity come into the world as a consequence
of the fact that this and that have no relationship to one another. When I say
this bottle is bigger than that glass, oil is lighter than water, when I count
these three pencils, when I point to the third street on the left, when I say in
the city, at the side of the bell-tower, I create categories, artificial groups of
things which leave them utterly intact without enriching or impoverishing
them by one iota; all it shows is the infinite diversity of the ways in which
consciousness is able to perceive the reciprocal indifference of objects.
What does this mean? That knowledge of an object does not in any way
imply knowledge of quantity or space, and vice versa, that is knowing
quantity and space does not mean knowing an object. I may no longer know
that this is a glass and that is a bottle, but I can continue to count two objects
which no longer send me the qualities they did when I perceived them as
glass and bottle. Vice versa I may recognise the glass and the bottle but no
longer know that there are two objects and that one is in front of the other.
In other words, there is a substantial ontological difference between
quantity-space, which is a pure relationship of exteriority between objects,
and quality, which is an internal relationship between an object and the
consciousness which selects it.
So far we have dealt with the problem of the relationship between

consciousness and an object by indicating the structures through which this
relationship is realised. But what we have indicated as the structures by
means of which an object appears to consciousness represent only some
aspects of the relationship and should not be given precedence. Out of
necessity we have considered how an object appears to a consciousness
which is present, or rather instantaneous. But consciousness, as we have
emphasised, is not instantaneous but always ek-static flight from a past
which it is, without being able to be it, towards a future which it is, without
yet being able to be it. This way consciousness has of being ek-static is
reflected in the relationship between consciousness and an object, namely in
that ontological relationship which we have called knowledge. Indeed, an
object comes into the world for consciousness not only as it is but also as it
will be. In other words, within the known there is always the possibility of
an object not being what it is in order to be what it is not. An object's
continuous possibility of being other than what it is now, is the capacity of
the object as a reflection of the object-consciousness relationship in which
consciousness projects its ek-static flight from the present towards the future
onto the object itself. And so this glass is not only transparent, heavy,
cylindrical but it also manifests itself in the whole, in the possibility of not
being any of these things. It may fall and break, for example, and become a
collection of pieces in which the qualities of a whole glass are no longer
recognisable. There is therefore a certain precariousness about an object
which is always ready to make itself other following the path of
consciousness which projects itself onto it as the perpetual possibility of not
being what it is. The object's potentiality therefore contains a negation: the
negation of consciousness which not only instantaneously denies being the
object before it, but also negates the object as being what it is or, if you
wish, affirms it as being what it is not in the future mode. But potentiality is
not all that ek-static consciousness projects onto an object as other than
what it is. Indeed an object comes into the world with a function, it is seen
by consciousness as a tool. Its being a tool is also in the future and so in a
certain sense its nature is a part of its potentiality. But the object's being a
tool is distinct from its potentiality in as far as it is an external relationship
between various objects. This glass is distinct from that bottle because it is
used to drink from while the bottle is used to pour the water that will be
drunk. But you may object, what difference is there between the quality of
the object which we described earlier and its function which we are
describing now? Basically the glass distinguishes itself from the bottle as
much for its so-called qualities as for its function. Certainly, qualities
distinguish objects just as much as functions do. This pen is different from
this sheet of paper both for how it appears to me, that is of a certain shape
and colour, and for its function. But the qualities of the pen describe an
internal relationship between consciousness and the pen. The pen
immediately appears to me as having a certain form and a certain colour,
that is it appears to me, as we have already said, in a certain way. Its
function, on the other hand, does not present itself immediately to my
perception of pen but, so to speak, it announces itself as possible. We do not
want to assert that the thing reveals itself first as a thing and then as a tool. It
appears, without a doubt, at once as a tool-thing. But in its being a tool its
function is not revealed but only announced as possible, while in its being
blue the quality blue is revealed immediately. In other words, I never
identify a pen as object to write with. Even when I see one in action under
the guide of my hand it does not appear to me in function oj, but as tool-
thing, having, therefore, a function which has still not been revealed to me.
What I identify is not the function of the pen, if anything it is its movement
on the sheet. For the pen and sheet of paper to acquire a function, there
needs to be an act which transcends the apodeictic presence of the sheet and
the pen and sees them not as isolated objects which reveal themselves in a
certain way, but as objects in the future, in the background of the world, that
is of other objects. Then, and only then, thanks to an act of consciousness
that transcends the apodeicticity of the full presence of the object, will the
pen which appeared to me as blue become an object to write with and the
blank sheet become something to write on. Thanks to this new act of
consciousness, the object ceases to be absolute presence but appears as
having a certain function and as such refers to the infinite series of objects
in the world. And this act of consciousness, thanks to which the object
appears in the background of other objects, describes that relationship of
extenonty between objects which we have called function. Function,

therefore, because of its characteristic as external relationship between
objects, is distinct both from quality and from potentiality, which are
internal relationships between consciousness and an object.
The examples considered so far in the description of tool-thing and its

function have dealt only with man-made objects. You may feel that the
characteristic of being a tool and of function is applicable only to this
category of objects or to a part of it and that it is not applicable to all the
objects of the world. What is the function of a penguin, of a sunset or of the
Gioconda? It is true that certain objects are made by man for a certain
function while others are not, and in this sense it is certainly difficult to find
a specific function for a penguin, but not for scissors or a hammer. But this
empirical distinction does not clarify in the least how things are seen by
consciousness. The distinction between quality and function, as a distinction
between an internal relationship between consciousness and an object and
an external relationship among objects, remains beyond empirical
distinction, which tends to negate it. As far as consciousness is concerned,
the penguin, a sunset and the Gioconda have as much of a function as do a
hammer and a saw. As objects of the world, all objects have a function,
quite beyond quality which reveals the presence of the object in question. In
reality, the empirical distinction is to be found between what is useful and
what is not, and not between what has a function and what has none. And so
we recognise the gratuity of the function of objects which are not made for,
but this does not mean denying their being tools or their function. The
penguin has the function of swimming, of drinking, of catching fish, the
sunset that of taking place at a certain time of day, the Gioconda of being
observed by millions of people. It is of little importance whether I am a
useless spectator of something useless, it is of little importance if I will
never be able to use the penguin, the sunset or the Gioconda. They remain
where they are, with their quality and function, objects among the objects in
a world scattered with objects in external relationships with each other. In
other words, objects do not come into the world only as possibles of mine,
that is as the concrete possibility of carrying out my task by means of them,
as Sartre maintains, they come into the world also as possibles of the world,
that is as possibilities of which I am a useless spectator.
In this brief description we have seen that knowledge manifests itself as

definition of consciousness which negates itself as object or which affirms
itself as not being that object. In this sense knowledge implies the whole of
temporality as a totalizing structure by means of which that ontological
relationship between consciousness and an object that we have called
knowledge comes into being. Being temporal by nature, as we have already
seen, consciousness places itself in relationship with an object in a temporal
mode: before this vase I continue to negate myself as being what I was in
the need to be so and project myself in what I am not yet. This temporal
dynamism of flight on the part of consciousness is reflected in the object
itself. The temporality of consciousness is not consciousness of temporality
but it is objective temporality, which is determined from the outside, onto
the object. But consciousness can be consciousness of temporality, it can
thematize time by making memory and the future arise in the world as
projects of which consciousness is conscious. This is what will now be dealt
with.
2. ONTOLOGY OF MEMORY
We have said that consciousness in its reflexive form can thematize time
and therefore reveal itself to be a certain present consciousness which has a
past and a future. But what exactly does to thematize time mean, and what is
consciousness which reveals itself to be temporal consciousness? It means
that the object which presents itself to consciousness with its qualities
appears to the former in a temporal mode, that is past, present or future. The
vase of flowers appears to me as being of a certain shape and colour, but it
can also appear to me as now present, as an element of the world which is
my world at this moment of my existence. In the same way the vase may
appear to me as an element of a past world which I was, or of a future one
which I will be. In other words, this vase appears in the background of my
temporal existence, of which I become aware through a reflexive act. First,
in pure knowledge, my consciousness was temporal without being conscious
of being so and the object appeared to me in all its opacity as a pure
atemporal being. Now, my consciousness which thematizes time becomes
aware of being temporal and the object appears to me as being in a certain
time mode, that is past, present or future. But what is the origin of the
thematization of time or of the temporal thematization of an object? Why
does an object at a certain point appear to me in the past, present or future?
We must not make the mistake here of thinking that thematized temporality
is in any way something which is added to an object from the outside, a type
of external addition that follows the object's qualities which have a type of
ontological priority over temporality. There is no priority among what we
have called the qualities of an object and the object's being temporal. This
vase is not first red and then past but gives itself to consciousness as red in
the past. In this sense the object is to the same extent red and past, or present
or future. In short, for consciousness that thematizes time, the object is a
temporal object.
And so temporality is temporality of an object which appears in the

world in a certain temporal perspective. But the attribution of temporality to
an object does not mean that it has the properties of an object, the properties
of being in itself, isolated from consciousness. For there to be temporality in
an object there must be a relationship of temporality between consciousness
and the object. That is, there must be a consciousness which sees the object
as temporal. In the absence of a consciousness which bothers to consider
this red vase as past, this vase is neither red nor past, it is nothing. For there
to be thematization of an object as temporal there must therefore be a
consciousness which transcends its own worldly concreteness to create itself
as consciousness of time, that is, as present consciousness, conscious of its
own present, of the past from which it flees and of the future towards which
it runs.
But what type of consciousness is it and what distinguishes it from

consciousness that knows described earlier? When I say that I am now
writing, earlier I was at the cafe, later I am going for a walk, my
consciousness is no longer pure presence to the object, it transcends the pure
relationship of diversity with the object to place itself in a dimension which
transcends both the object and consciousness that knows, which is seen as
pure presence to a being that it is not. And this new dimension of
consciousness is characterised by intuition of the present as element of an
existential structure which provides a before and an after. Here we need to
clarify that in reality, inside consciousness which thematizes time, two
different moments or two distinct fonns of consciousness must be
distinguished: consciousness of the object as temporal, and consciousness of
consciousness as temporal. I may realise that the pen I am holding is
present, that is an element of that now which is my present now. I may
remember having used the same pen this morning and foresee using it
tomorrow. What is my consciousness consciousness of in these examples? It
is without a doubt consciousness of pen as present here between my fingers,

past when I used it this morning and future when I will use it tomorrow. In
this case it is the pen which presents itself as a temporal being, that is as
present, past or future. The pen itself appears to me, to use Husserl' swords,
in the flesh in the present, past or future. But this is not the only possibility
consciousness has of thematizing time. Indeed, I can see myself, through a
reflexive act, while I am using the pen now in this present of mine. That is, I
can be conscious of myself as that being which is using a pen in this present.
In the same way not only can I remember having used the pen this morning,
but I can see myself while I was using it this morning or while I am using it
tomorrow. I can be conscious of what I was, of what I am and of what I will
be with regard to the pen. In this case that which appears to me in the flesh
is not the pen in the past, in the present or in the future, but it is me, it is my
present, past and future consciousness of pen which is the temporalized
object of my consciousness, which through a reflexive act places itself
where it is, where it has been and where it will be.
There is no point in emphasising the importance of this difference

between these two ways consciousness has of thematizing time which
implies different types of relationships between consciousness and its
object. The first type of relationship, the condition in which consciousness
temporalizes an object, is an internal relationship between consciousness
and the object which does not differ much from what we described with
regard to the act of knowing. Indeed, in the object which presents itself to
consciousness as temporal, that ontological relationship of negation which
we have already described is re-established. The difference is that in this
case, consciousness not only denies being the object, but it denies being that
object in a certain mode of time. I am not this pen but neither am I the
present of this pen, nor its past or future. If I were, the being of my
consciousness and that of the pen would move in synchrony and what we
would have would no longer be the temporality of an object but the
atemporality of pure presence, namely of knowledge. In order for there to be
temporality of an object, a new act of negation needs to be inserted in the
relationship of negation which separates and unites consciousness and an
object, namely the negation of being temporal on the part of the object. I am
not this landscape that I see from the window but neither am I the present of
this landscape, nor the past of the landscape that I saw yesterday or of the
one I will see tomorrow. But this new negation, this ontological relationship
which gives rise to a present, past and future of the object, exhausts itself, so
to speak, in an internal relationship between consciousness and the object

without either element being able to claim priority over the other. When on
the other hand consciousness has itself as object in the temporal mode, what
is established between consciousness and its object, namely consciousness
itself, is an internal relationship but one which encloses within itself another
relationship which is external, namely that between the consciousness of
which I am conscious and its object. This point needs to be clarified. When I
am conscious of my consciousness looking at the landscape from the
window, when I discover myself as onlooker of that landscape, of what is
my consciousness consciousness? Of consciousness that is looking at the
landscape, without a doubt. Things do not change when instead of present
consciousness looking at the landscape, past consciousness or future
consciousness are considered; my consciousness will always be
consciousness of consciousness looking at the landscape in the present, past
or in the future. The relationship which is established between
consciousness and its object is therefore still an internal one. But what, for
my consciousness, is the relationship between consciousness that looks at
the landscape and its object, namely the landscape itself? Evidently, for my
consciousness it is a matter of an external relationship between objects of
the world: my consciousness and the landscape. My consciousness denies
being that consciousness which is looking at the landscape, be this a past,
present or future consciousness. But inasmuch as its not being that
consciousness, the relationship between that consciousness and its object,
the landscape, is of no concern to me, it is a question which is resolved
between that consciousness and its object. As we have seen, for that
consciousness the relationship with its object is an internal relationship, but
for me, useless spectator, it is an external relationship between objects. It is
of little consequence that in one of those objects I recognise myself, that
that consciousness of which I am conscious is what I was, I am or will be . It
is of little consequence if I am tied to that consciousness by a deep feeling
of solidarity of being. The reflexive act reduces it to object without
exceptions. Between my consciousness and the consciousness of which I am
conscious in the present, past or future there is a void, an inevitable distance
which I am continually trying to fill , without success. My present, past or
future consciousness is there, with its landscape, and nothing will allow me
to interpose myself in their relationship which remains an external
relationship between objects of the world, just like that between this glass
and that bottle.
The thematization of time can therefore take place in two different

modes of consciousness: consciousness which turns directly to its object as
temporal and consciousness which turns reflexively to itself as temporal
consciousness. What is the ontological significance of this difference? What
changes when consciousness turns to its object in the temporal mode and
when it turns to itself and sees itself immersed in a dimension of time? First
of all we must clarify, or rather remember, that time is not presupposed in
the relationship consciousness has with its object but it comes into being as
the ontological reality of this relationship. The past, present and the future
come into the world as a project of consciousness which not only is
temporal but which chooses itself as temporal at the moment in which it
turns to its object in the temporal mode. This choice has different effects
depending on the temporalized object that consciousness chooses. The
internal relationship which belongs to the relationship between
consciousness and the temporalized in ser, that is, the object which makes
itself present, past or future, reflects consciousness of pure temporality,
namely the possibility of a being to be in the form of time. This vase of
flowers, this landscape, this glass, this feeling of love, do not just exist, but
are present before me, or down there in the past, or else projected into the
future to come. Therefore in this case it is a question of consciousness of
time seen as a possible dimension of the existence of the world and of the
objects that compose it. While the relationship between consciousness and
temporalized consciousness, thematized in time, of which consciousness is
consciousness, reflects the discovery of one's personal ontology: I was that
someone looking at that landscape, I am the person using the pen, I will be
that person going on holiday after he has finished this book. It is only in this
mode of consciousness that I discover I have a past, a present and a future; it
is only thanks to this reflexive act that my existence appears to me as dilated
in time and that I realise that my present image is nothing but a moment of
the whole temporal being that I am and that I cannot help but be. And so
being there, memory, the future, birth, death come to the world as
possibilities that I am, but that I continually try not to be, without any
possibility of not being them. I am everything I flee from and it is because I
am that I flee from it, because my consciousness to be such must continually
negate being what it is.
We have described the temporal thematization of an object and that of

consciousness. But what is the relationship between these two ways
consciousness has of making its object temporal? Can temporal
thematization of an object, that which we will shortly be able to call direct

temporality, and temporal thematization of consciousness, namely indirect
temporality, have the same ontological status or can one claim priority over
the other? Even though strictly speaking ontological priority does not seem
to be applicable, on examination, direct temporality seems to have some
right to it. Where does this right to precedence come from? It comes from
the type of object of which consciousness is conscious in the temporal
mode. Direct temporality is temporal thematization of objects of the world,
it is consciousness of this vase, of this pen, of this room as present, past and
future objects. In indirect temporality, on the other hand, the object of
consciousness is consciousness itself in the temporal mode. We have
already seen that for consciousness to exist it must be consciousness of
something and this something is first of all an object, not consciousness
itself. If there were no ontological priority between direct and indirect
temporality we would be faced with consciousness which became at the
same time consciousness of an object and consciousness of itself. But
consciousness of this type is inconceivable since consciousness is defined
by its ontological relationship with the object of which it is conscious by
negating itself as being that object. Consciousness must therefore first
affirm itself in its ontological relationship with an object to then be able to
carry out that reflexive act which allows it to become conscious of itself in
the temporal mode. After all, first the child recognises an object as past and
then recognises himself as a being who carried out certain acts in the past.
First the child says "I have already seen that" and then "I remember having
seen . .. ". The amnesic is able to recognise, to have a sense of familiarity
with objects which have previously been presented to him, but he does not
know what he did the day before or even a few minutes earlier; he
recognises an object as past but does not recognise himself as a being with a
past. There is therefore an ontological hierarchy between direct and indirect
temporality: direct temporality first comes about in consciousness which is
forming and later disappears in consciousness which is disintegrating. The
importance of this ontological hierarchy is found in the act of recognising
oneself as a being of this world who is here-and-now but who is also down
there in the past, and beyond in the future . An act which transcends simple
recognition of time as such, that is of the possibility an object has to be
present, past or future, and which is realised in the recognition of the
temporal being of consciousness, namely of that ontological reality which
enables my being not to be limited to seeing itself through the formula "I
am" but also to inevitably define itself by means of "I have been" and "I
will be".
The thematization of time comes into the world as transcendence, that is

as negation of the present instant. It is thanks to the act of transcendence
that Cartesian cogito is transformed and the "I am" becomes "I was" and "I
will be". It is thanks to indirect temporality that I can see myself down there
where 1 was in the past and can project myself over there where I will be in
the future. Indirect temporality puts me in touch with what 1 was, with what
1 am and with what I will be. It is only then that existence becomes fully
meaningful, because my consciousness is no longer isolated and defenceless
before an object but is consciousness of a consciousness which is temporal.
Heidegger's dasein is enriched by the possibility, which is not guaranteed,
for consciousness to be indirect thematization of time. "I was" and "I will
be" are possibilities which permeate the dasein, opening up a possibility
which can be ignored but not denied. In short, consciousness is not only
temporal but it can be consciousness of time and thus consciousness of its
own existence as temporal consciousness. Discussion on the ethical
implications of indirect temporality is obviously important but goes beyond
the scope of this work.
Direct and indirect temporality reflect an act of transcendence from the

mere presence of an object, and as such they go beyond direct experience of
an object. Temporality is established as an act of freedom on the part of
consciousness which places its object, be it an object of the world or
consciousness itself, where it pleases in time. As an act of transcendence,
consciousness which thematizes time goes beyond direct experience of an
object even if, as we shall see, it presupposes it. In other words,
thematization of the present, past and of the future does not imply or
demand objectivity, namely the determination of subjective experience on
the part of the object. The past that I remember has only a probable link to
what happened in the past and it is certainly not the events that I have lived
through that determine what I now remember. Memory is nothing other than
a form of temporal consciousness which thematizes its object in the past,
nothing more, nothing less. This takes place as the realisation of a free act of
cO!1sciousness which can remember what it wants to without what took
place having any hold on the memory. What took place, namely my past
life, does not exist nor could it exist without the temporal act of
consciousness which thematizes a certain event in the past. We
demonstrated this when we described the paradox of the memory trace: if an

event becomes past this is because a present consciousness selects that event
in the past. Before and outside this act of consciousness, the event never
happened, if anything it happens, that is it establishes itself as a certain
present of the being that I am. In the total freedom of my temporal choice, I
can easily remember this pen between my fingers yesterday even if
yesterday I never picked it up. It would be pointless to tell me I am wrong,
that what I remember is false. From my point of view the memory of the
pen between my fingers yesterday is neither true nor false: it simply is, that
is it presents itself to my consciousness apodeictically without the
possibility of doubt or hesitation. But, you will object, in most cases my
memory does not fail: when I remember having had breakfast this morning I
remember what is true, that is I really did have breakfast this morning with
coffee, milk, etc. Most of the time my memory coincides with what actually
happened. Certainly, no one can deny that there is a correspondence
between what you remember and what happens, but this does not mean
leaving the probabilistic level or being able to deny consciousness the
freedom to negate this correspondence, namely to remember what
probabilistically is not among the events that the being that I am has lived.
Later we shall see in more detail the nature of the relationship between
memory and the remembered event. At the moment we just want to
emphasise that the act of remembering is a free act of consciousness and as
such may freely go beyond the empirical reality of the remembered event.
There is no particular difficulty in considering memory as a free act of

consciousness which thematizes its object in the past without there being
any need for solidarity between what is remembered and the empirical
reality of the remembered event. But the matter seems to become more
complex when the present is considered. Indeed, in the case of the present,
the apodeicticity of phenomenal experience seems to derive not so much
from the freedom of consciousness but from the very presence of the object
before me in the flesh. In other words, in the case of present thematization
of an object, consciousness seems unable to escape objectivity, namely that
fatal attraction which the present object exerts on it. This glass is present
and I am present to this glass: there does not seem to be much room here for
a free act of consciousness which can transcend such a clear link. But being
present in the temporal mode means transcending the object's attraction,
namely that relationship between consciousness and the object which we
described with regard to knowledge. Thematizing time in the present mode
means establishing a present as negation of the past and of the future, that is
affirming and thematizing a subordinate structure of temporality in the
background of the others which have been denied it. I am present to this
glass and this glass is present to me in as far as the relationship which links
us is a relationship in the present, and not in the past or in the future . In this
sense the relationship of pure knowledge is transcended since within this
relationship a new form of negation comes into being, the negation of
consciousness which negates its object as past or as future . Right, but how
does this new form of negation prescind empirical reality, how can it
transcend it, the glass is still there. Yes, the glass is still there, as are this
table, this room, this city, this world. But the question I answer when I
thematize the world in the present implies the assumption of temporality
which goes beyond the mere presence of the thematized object as something
known. This glass is there, with its shape and colour, the water it contains
and it is present. To become aware of its being present, not past, not future,
there needs to be that act which transcends the presence in itself to then
perceive that presence as present. In the same way, when I realise I am
present as consciousness present to a world, there needs to be an act which
transcends my attachment to an object, that fatal attraction mentioned
earlier, in order to see me as here and now, a here and now which is not
exhausted in itself but which, in the dynamics of temporality, sends me back
to the negation described earlier, namely to not being down here first or
down there later. And, according to our study, the later, the future, is seen
yet again as the result of a free act of consciousness which chooses its own
object according to that subordinate structure of temporality known as the
future. Tomorrow I will use this pen, I am certain, but the fact that I will
really use it is only probable. Even so I am certain that I will. Certainly, in
the future there is, by definition, a greater dimension of probability than in
the past or in the present, but this is not what determines the relationship
between my being now and my thematization in the future of my
experience. The thematization of the future presents itself as an apodeictic
form of being, independently of the empirical probability of the planned
event.
However, the freedom of consciousness to thematize an object in the

temporal mode is in some way conditioned freedom. The temporal object of
which consciousness is conscious is always a certain object, an object which
presents itself to consciousness as a certain temporalized known . The
temporalizing act may go beyond empirical experience, but it cannot
prescind the ontological reality of the negative relationship consciousness

has with its object, what we have called knowledge. If I remember this pen
on the table yesterday, it is still this pen that I remember. And this pen is on
the table at a certain past time that I call yesterday. The temporalizing act I
carry out is seen as the temporalization of something. And I am linked to
this something that I temporalize by a certain relationship of knowledge. In
other words, in order to remember the pen on the table yesterday as I am
now remembering it I must at the same time know what the pen, the table
and yesterday are. These three objects present themselves to my
consciousness in a certain way and I recognise them in that way. If the pen,
the table and yesterday were for me other known things with respect to what
they are, the possibility of remembering would not be annulled, but the
memory would assume another form. It would become, for example, the
memory of a cylindrical object on a surface at an indefinite past time. If I
didn't know what a pen, a table and yesterday were, these three objects
would appear to me in memory as three totally different objects from those
that appear to me if my knowledge is maintained. And it is not a question of
forcing memory into a sort of rigid stability of meanings. Even though I
know what a pen, table and that certain time I call yesterday are, I can still
remember these three objects without their having to present themselves in
my memory as pen, table and yesterday. In short, as free choice memory can
turn to the remembered object with different levels of consciousness. I can
remember this pen as a pen but also as a cylindrical object or as a black
shape. But even though it is a free act, memory and temporal thematization
of an object are conditioned by the quality of knowledge: I cannot
remember what I do not know. If I do not know what a chair is I cannot
remember this chair as a chair, if I do not know what a train is I cannot
project myself as taking a train tomorrow. In this sense, though within the
freedom of a temporalizing act, deep solidarity links temporalization and
knowledge, since the temporalized object gives itself to consciousness as
known, and the quality of a memory is therefore conditioned by the possible
quality of the known. The temporalizing act, of which memory is a
subordinate element, is therefore a free act in as far as it does not
presuppose empirical experience but produces it, but its freedom is a
function of the quality of the known, namely of the ontological relationship
that consciousness establishes with its object. In other words, I can
remember what never actually happened, but the quality of my memory
depends on the quality of the known which presents itself to consciousness
as memory.
This brief description of the ontological structures of knowledge and of

memory shows how knowledge and memory take form as free and united
acts which realise the relationship between consciousness and its object. To
which interpretative hypothesis does what has been established so far lead?
And how does the relationship between consciousness and its object come
about in concrete existence - both normal and pathological? This is what we
shall see in the last part of this work.
CHAPTER 6
MEMORY AND CONSCIOUSNESS
1. Is A SCIENTIFIC THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS POSSIBLE?
Before going any further, it is worth summarising the points established

so far. First of all we saw that current theories of memory are based on a
paradox: that the past is passively preserved in memory traces. We then
demonstrated how these theories are based on a fallacy, the homunculus
fallacy, that is on the assumption that there is a sort of unconscious
consciousness which, however, cannot be accounted for if not with a solutio
ad infinitum. Then in our description we established certain characteristics
of consciousness, most importantly that of having to be consciousness of
something. A study of temporality allowed us to identify the conditions
under which the past comes into being and establishes itself as an organised
form of consciousness. Finally, we established the ontological conditions
under which knowing and remembering come into being and present
themselves as distinct acts of man's concrete existence.
At this point it remains to be seen whether, in the light of the results of

our investigation, it is possible to outline a scientific theory of
consciousness, and in particular a theory which can account for the
difference between the temporal being of consciousness which manifests
itself in knowledge, and the thematization of time which is reflected in
consciousness of the past, present and future. In other words, is a scientific
theory of consciousness possible and under what conditions?
The aim of science, and thus of any theory which claims to be scientific,
is to be objective, that is to consider the object of its investigation from
outside, in a neutral way, attempting to establish the laws which govern the

150 Memory and consciousness
object's existence. The laws that science establishes are objective in the
sense that they are confined to the object and are independent of both the
observer and the observation point. The law of gravity establishes that, in
the absence of friction, a free body moves downwards at a uniform rate of
acceleration represented by the constant g. The uniform acceleration of that
body is independent of the observer and will repeat itself every time it
encounters the necessary conditions for the transformation of its potential
energy into dynamic energy. In short, science describes a relationship
between consciousness, that of the experimenter, and the object of the
experiment, in which consciousness is annihilated by the centrality of its
object, which permits nothing apart from itself. The measure of quantity is
the method that science uses, and quantity is a characteristic confined to the
object studied. Consciousness is relegated to the role of inert, superfluous
spectator. This building is twenty metres high, this book weighs a kilo, that
isotope is emitting a hundred millicuries: these are objective facts to which
consciousness is irrelevant. Of course what we have described is a rather
cut-and-dry view of science. In reality, excluding consciousness, that is the
experimenter, from an experiment is artificial and naive, and in certain
spheres it has been acknowledged that it is impossible to truly exclude the
experimenter's consciousness. But for however much effort is made to
include the experimenter among the variables, consciousness will never be
given its due ontological role, that of placing itself in a relationship with the
object in a certain mode. Indeed, recognising the role of consciousness and
admitting the ontological relationship which is established between
consciousness and an object, a relationship through which both come into
being, means excluding de Jacto any possibility of science, which is based
on the priority of the object, celibate prince who has no relationships if not
with himself. In short, science is in a paradoxical situation: in order to be
science it must simultaneously admit and deny consciousness. First of all t
must admit it because it is from consciousness that scientific laws are born.
The constant of gravity, g, exists because a consciousness has taken the
trouble to establish it. Straight after, this consciousness has to deny its role,
because its presence, by relativizing the object within an ontological
relationship, would revoke the ultimate aim of science, namely objectivity.
There is thus an ambiguity in science which, on the one hand presupposes
consciousness and on the other denies it as a relevant variable. The result of
this is a science without consciousness, in which the object stands on its
own without needing anything which is not already registered in its own
being. But a science of this sort, that is a science which negates
Memory and consciousness 151
consciousness, still has a reason for existing because despite the ambiguity
on which it is based, it allows that furtive objectivity to be established,
without which technical innovation would perhaps be impossible. In fact,
science is based on theoretical ambiguity, the source of its success.
Excluding de facto the experimenter from the experiment and granting
every right to the object of the experiment means creating the possibility of
establishing universal rules which transcend the relationship between
consciousness and an object, and which merely set themselves as rules
which govern the relationship between objects. The consequence of this
exclusion of consciousness is reflected in technological development. The
extent to which this development is synonymous with "progress" would be
worth discussing but this is not the place.
If the aim of science is objectivity, that is adherence to the object, and its
method is that of measuring, that is establishing quantitative relations, it
follows that the aim of a scientific theory of consciousness is necessarily the
objectivation of consciousness and the determination of quantitative
relations to describe it. In other words, for a science of consciousness to be
possible, consciousness has to be a measurable object, independent of the
observer and the observation point. Clearly, then, a scientific theory of
consciousness has to be based on a subterfuge which generates a significant
anomaly. Indeed, objectivising consciousness, that is considering it as an
object means transforming consciousness into what it is not. Consciousness,
by definition, is pure subjectivity which describes itself according to rules of
quality, not of quantity. This vase of flowers before me, the memory of
meeting Paul last night, the blue I am now imagining are present to my
consciousness, establishing that subjectivity which I am. And I alone am
responsible for this subjectivity, that particular way through which I am
conscious of the objects which surround me. Of course, at the same time
that entirely subjective being which I am is not only a being for itself
because that subjectivity is also an object for others. I am continuously
observed, object for other consciousnesses, just as others are objects for my
consciousness. But my being object is completely different to my beingfor
myself Objectivity, as we have already seen, requires and is based on
negation. The object is what my consciousness is not and so cannot have the
characteristics of consciousness. The only being which for me has the
characteristics of consciousness is my consciousness. And even when my
consciousness becomes object not for others but for myself, that is when,
with a reflexive act, I become conscious of my consciousness, the
consciousness of which I am conscious is a me which is not me, which does

not have the characteristics of consciousness. The objectivation of
consciousness thus reflects a radical metamorphosis. Even if I could see
myself distinctly as object, what I would see would not be an adequate
representation of what I am, but only the perception of the distance which
separates me from myself, that is the objective perception of my being other
which is radically different from my being for me, that is from that being
which I am in the non-reflexive mode. My seeing myself as kind, for
example, by no means describes what I am for myself, because I cannot be
kind for myself, that is in the non-reflexive mode of consciousness. The
qualification of kind characterises me as object: it is that being of which my
consciousness is conscious which is kind, not what I am in the non-reflexive
mode, namely my consciousness.
Even considering my consciousness as object for the consciousness of

others, it is plain that this does not establish me as object for myself, that is
as I am, but for it, namely the way I am in the mode of the object. In other
words, what I am for others does not in any way reveal what I am for
myself, even if I am tied to that objective me by a profound solidarity and I
am separated from it by an inestimable void. When someone describes my
character saying that I am "jealous", "nice" or "irascible", I do not
"recognise" myself at all in this description and yet I know that "it is me",
an object-me which I cannot deny being and yet which does not describe
what I am for myself at all. In this way the object-me, or object-
consciousness, constitutes a form of knowledge which does not refer to the
essence of consciousness, that is to what I am concretely as subject, but to a
metamorphosed consciousness, a consciousness which has made itself
object. And this is the metamorphosis that science requires to be able to
make consciousness the object of its investigation. Therefore any scientific
theory of consciousness can clearly only be a theory which concerns object-
consciousness, that is a degraded form of consciousness and has to
renounce, by definition, the possibility of having "fresh" information on
consciousness because this, in its complete form, defines itself as what is
not object. Bearing these limits in mind, a theory of consciousness must be
able to 1) propose models which account for the interaction of the different
modes of consciousness, and in particular, for the purposes of this work,
models which describe the difference between the temporal being of
consciousness, which manifests itself in knowledge and the thematization of
time which is reflected in consciousness of the past, present and future; 2)
account for present knowledge; 3) describe a method for the verification of

the theory.
2. A HYPOTHESIS ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MEMORY

AND CONSCIOUSNESS
Throughout this work we have emphasised that consciousness cannot be

considered an empty dimension, a sort of box which is filled and becomes
consciousness of what comes to it from an elsewhere, from the
physiological, psychoanalytical or functionalist unconscious.
Consciousness, as we have seen, is activity not passivity, it is intentional
extension towards . .. , it is not the last passive stage of processes which
occur outside of it, as some functionalist 1 models would have.
Consciousness is becoming intentionally conscious of something in a
certain way. The first consequence of our assertions is that different modes
of consciousness exist and each of these represents an original, irreducible
way of addressing the world. In other words, consciousness is a free act
which sees the world from a certain point of view, and every look
consciousness takes at the world represents an original mode of
consciousness which cannot be confused with other modes. This is not the
place to draw up a taxonomy of the different modes of consciousness.
Besides, it would be a pointless task in that it would be endless. Indeed, the
acts of consciousness being unique are infinite. But our aim is to make
certain distinctions that will allow us to see, even if at a rather general level
of description, the differences between certain modes of consciousness. The
working distinction proposed within the framework of a hypothesis which
should enable an attempt at scientific investigation of consciousness regards
three modes of consciousness which we have called knowing consciousness,
imaginative consciousness and temporal consciousness.
The term knowing consciousness summarises what was said in the

previous chapter about knowledge and its ontology and refers, in a certain
sense, to what psychologists call semantic memory, though a substantial
difference distinguishes knowing consciousness from what is presupposed
in the idea of semantic memory. Unlike semantic memory, knowing
1 Moscovitch, M., 1989; Moscovitch, M., 1995 ; Moscovitch, M., 1995; Schacter, D.L. , 1989.
consciousness is not based on the idea of unconscious mental representation.

Knowing consciousness has nothing behind it if not itself. We have already
discussed the idea of mental representation at length, and rejected it. We
shall not come back to it. Knowing consciousness is knowledge of the
object, it is already --f}utside itself and directed towards the object to be
known. It is knowledge of the object in a certain mode, a mode which
makes it unmistakable and original, a mode which makes it impossible for
what I know, for example, to be confused with what I remember or imagine.
But, you might say, how can I recognise this pack of cigarettes as red if I do
not already have, somewhere between my mind and my brain, an idea of
red? We have already demonstrated how this sort of hypothesis is
unintelligible since it presupposes the existence of unconscious ideas. If I
recognise the pack of cigarettes as red, it is not because I operate a sort of
correspondence between the pack I perceive and a mental image which I
carry inside me. Rather I am conscious of the pack of cigarettes as red
because my present consciousness, being a synthesis of all my past
consciousnesses, is also consciousness of red. But I can also see this pack of
cigarettes as ugly, dangerous, attractive, almost finished . In short, the
meanings I attribute to the pack of cigarettes are concretely infinite and
depend on my conscious being here and now as synthesis of what I have
been before and elsewhere. And in this sense knowing consciousness is
temporal inasmuch as it is a synthesis of what I have been, for better or for
worse. But, at the same time, this knowing consciousness which is temporal
is also atemporal, in the sense that the time it is made of is not present to it,
it is not recognisable. Knowing consciousness is the past but it is not
consciousness of the past, or of the present or the future. There is no time in
the pack of cigarettes in front of me even if it is thanks to time, that is to the
past which I am, that I can see the pack as red, ugly, dangerous etc.
Of course, knowing consciousness is a rather generic term which

includes distinct phenomena that psychologists prefer to keep separate, such
as perception, language, knowledge of the world, etc. We have chosen to
group such diverse phenomena under a single category, which may seem
somewhat arbitrary, in order to emphasise the difference between knowing
consciousness and other types of consciousness. Unlike other modes of
consciousness, in knowing consciousness the object appears as immediate
presence. Furthermore, in knowing consciousness the object is present but
lacking in temporal connotation and this distinguishes it from temporal
consciousness. However, the distinction between the various phenomena
grouped under knowing consciousness does indeed exist. A profound

nothingness, for example, separates language from perception. Through
perception alone I can know that pack of cigarettes without having to resort
to language. In other words, there is knowledge of knowing consciousness
which precedes and is independent of the linguistic act. Before what
Malraux calls the drama of denomination, there is already knowing
consciousness. This pack of cigarettes is here, in front of me and I look at it,
I see it as being of a certain colour, a certain shape etc. In short, I already
know it, without having to give it a name, without having to say red,
angular, etc. When I use language to describe it I perform a supplementary
act which roughly describes my perception and is anyway completely
distinct from it. But isn't it rather dangerous to consider the linguistic act a
form of knowing consciousness? Indeed you could object that when I talk,
when I write, I am not conscious of language. Of course, but through
language I become conscious of the world, just as when I perceive
something I am not conscious of my perception but of what is perceived.
When I use language I discover the world through language. I give objects
names, I set them in relation to one another according to linguistic rules, I
affirm, deny, etc. In other words, when I use language I become conscious
of the world, I know it, in a certain mode, which is the mode of language.
As an act of knowing through which the world presents itself to me in an
immediate, atemporal relationship of presence, language is truly part of
what we have called knowing consciousness.
Like knowing consciousness, imaginative consciousness is an organised,

irreducible form of consciousness. Imaginative consciousness reflects a
particular way of addressing the world. The object of my perception and that
of my imagination are identical: this pack of cigarettes, for example. But
consciousness places itself in a relationship with the object in two different
modes. The image which is present to consciousness is not a faded
reproduction of a real object, as has long been thought, but the reflection of
an original relationship between consciousness and the object. Imaginative
consciousness and knowing consciousness are different by nature.
Imagination is an activity of consciousness which has completely different
aims to those of perceptual consciousness. The latter gives partial,
progressive representations of the object while in the imagination the object
is present in its entirety. Furthermore, while perception, language, what we
have called knowing consciousness, clearly aim at knowing, the aim of
imaginative consciousness is not to know, and so it is totally indifferent to
the values of certainty and truth. Clearly knowing and imagining are
completely different functions and this diversity reflects different
relationships with the world. The relationship that knowing consciousness
has with its object is "realising", it is a relationship which tends to see the
object as real. The imagination, on the other hand, far from serves this
function . The relationship that imaginative consciousness has with its object
is one of "non-realising", in the sense that the aim of the imagination IS
precisely that of seeing its object as not belonging to objective reality.
And the unreal object which is present to imaginative consciousness is

completely different from that which is present to knowing consciousness.
The object of knowing consciousness continually reveals and hides itself.
The more I observe this pack of cigarettes the more I notice details which
escaped me before. On the other hand, the image which is present to
consciousness reveals nothing, it is in some way already revealed. "I can
keep looking at an image for as long as I wish: I will never find anything but
what I put there" Sartre l says. In other words, in knowing consciousness,
the object constantly goes beyond consciousness, while in the imagination
the object is nothing but consciousness. So, for example, my perceptual
consciousness may betray me while my imaginative consciousness won't. I
can perceive this pack of cigarettes as a box of sweets and thus be mistaken .
In the imagination however, the image is all there, no mistake can be made:
if I imagine a box of sweets, it is the box of sweets that I imagine and not a
pack of cigarettes which erroneously appears to me as a box of sweets.
Sartre2 called this quasi-observation our disposition towards the imagined
object. Indeed in imaginative consciousness we observe, but it is an
observation which teaches us nothing, it adds nothing to what is already
there. The world of images is a world where nothing happens. "I can make
one or other object evolve into an image as I wish, I can make a cube rotate,
make a plant grow, a horse run, there will never be the slightest difference
between the object and consciousness. Not an instant of surprise".3
We have seen that in being intentional, that is in having to be

consciousness of consciousness sees its object in a certain mode. It follows
that every consciousness sees its object in its own mode. In perception, for
example, it is seen as something which really exists. This pack of cigarettes
1 Sartre, I.-P., 1949.

2 Sartre, J.- P., 1949.
3Sartre, I.-P., 1949, p.29.
is here in front of me and my perceptual consciousness of pack of cigarettes

is both negation of myself as being that object and affirmation of that object
as real presence to what it is not. Imaginative consciousness sees the object
in a completely different way, the object is actually seen as non-existent, or,
if you choose, as not real. For however many different forms it may have,
imaginative consciousness emphasises the characteristic of non-presence
and unrealness of its object. Whether you imagine a Chimera or whether
you imagine where my friend Paul is at this moment, the imagined object is
seen as something unreal which transcends reality. It is of little consequence
that the Chimera is, in itself, an unreal being, while my friend Paul is a
being which does exist. When I imagine them, both present themselves as
non-existent, that is as beyond the concrete existence of objective reality.
For however vivid, strong, or striking an image is, it is present to
consciousness as something which does not exist.
We have seen that the aim of imaginative consciousness is not to know,

it is not the basis of any knowledge, inasmuch as the object is seen in its
entirety. However imaginative consciousness could not exist if it were not
established by knowledge. While knowing consciousness establishes itself
as consciousness by itself, imaginative consciousness requires knowledge to
establish it as such. In other words, in imaginative consciousness,
knowledge is constitutive of consciousness itself. How could it be
otherwise? If I imagine a centaur, a sunny day, a woman, this happens
because I know what a centaur, a sunny day, and a woman are. Establishing
itself as images, knowledge undergoes a radical metamorphosis,
transforming itself into something non-existent, that is into the opposite of
what it is, assertion of reality. This somehow degraded knowledge is the
very structure of imaginative consciousness.
The third type of consciousness we mentioned is temporal

consciousness. We have already seen that knowing consciousness is
temporal consciousness inasmuch as it is the present synthesis of all the
consciousnesses that preceded it. However, in the being temporal of
knowing consciousness there is no thematization of time. In other words,
knowing consciousness is temporal but it is not consciousness of time.
Consciousness of time, that is the thematization of the object in the temporal
mode is what we have called temporal consciousness. Temporal
consciousness, inasmuch as it sees its object according to the subordinate
structures of time, that is the past, the present and the future, is an organised
form of consciousness, original and irreducible mode of addressing the

world. Unlike knowing consciousness, temporal consciousness transcends
objective reality, the mere presence of the object in order to set it in time.
When I say that I remember yesterday's dinner, that now I am in my office
and that later I will go out to buy some cigarettes, knowledge is
presupposed, as we will see later, but it is not the aim of the temporalizing
act that I am accomplishing. In order to remember yesterday's dinner, to
affirm that I am now in my office and to plan the act of buying cigarettes, I
have to know what a dinner, an office, and cigarettes are. But this
knowledge is only the structure on which my act is based, the aim of my act
is to select the object in the temporal dimension. It is through knowledge
that the temporalizing act is realised but it is not to acquire knowledge that
it is realised. Although temporal consciousness is an organised structure
because past, present, and future, as we have said, are not isolated
dimensions but continuously refer to one another, consciousness of the past,
present and future are nevertheless subordinate structures of temporal
consciousness and for the sake of clarity we will describe them separately.
Consciousness of the past is an act through which the object of

consciousness is seen as absent, or as not present. But unlike imaginative
consciousness, which sees the absent object as non-existent, for
consciousness of the past the object is absent in the past, or if you prefer
appears to consciousness as present in the past. It is this consciousness of
the past that we call memory, Tulving's episodic memory. But memories
which appear in consciousness of the past are not memories of a generic and
impersonal past. When I say that I remember that Kennedy was killed in
1963 in Dallas or that Dante wrote the Divine Comedy, I am not conscious
of the past but of a past episode. In this case the episode's being past is
merely a notion, a quality that joins other qualities to form a certain type of
knowledge. Kennedy is president of the United States and past, Dante is a
poet, Italian and past. In other words, it is a generic and impersonal past, not
my past. For there to be a consciousness of the past, that is memory in the
mode of temporal consciousness, there has to be a strong link between the
being I am now and the being I was before. It is to that past being of mine
that consciousness of the past refers, and it is that past being that the
memory represents.
Consciousness of the past, that is memory, can have two forms: it can be
reflexive or non-reflexive. In reflexive memory the object seen in the past is
myself, or rather the consciousness that I was. I can remember myself when
I was having dinner with friends last night, I can see myself while making
certain gestures, saying certain things and thinking of others. But I can also
have a representation in the immediate past of these gestures, of what I said,
of my friends in the restaurant. That is a representation which does not
imply the presence of me in the past to consciousness, but just my past in
itself. This is what we call non-reflexive memory or non-reflexive
consciousness of the past.
In order for consciousness of the past, that is memory to exist there needs
to be a present of which the past is past. It is present consciousness that is
consciousness of the past. But present consciousness can also be
consciousness of the present, that is it can see its object in the temporal form
of the present. Consciousness of the present is an act that temporalizes the
world in the present and is quite different from perception which is purely
presence of consciousness to the object. There is no temporal dimension in
my perception of this chair. It is only when I feel contemporary to this chair,
to this table, to the city, to the world, that the present comes into being as
consciousness of something in the present mode . So consciousness of the
present, far from corresponding to perception, represents thematization of
perception in the present.
Consciousness of the present, like that of the past, can also be reflexive
or non-reflexive. In the reflexive form I am conscious of my consciousness
as present. In the non-reflexive form I see the world as present, that is as
contemporary with that being which I am now.
The third subordinate structure of temporal consciousness IS

consciousness of the future, which sees its object in the future. It is
thematization of my probable possibles in the future. By probable possibles
we mean what is based on knowledge, and this radically distinguishes
consciousness of the future from wishes. Tomorrow I will be in Paris and I
will continue working on this book. This is one of my probable possibles, a
thematization in the future of my being which is based on and is synthesis of
knowing consciousness of my being in the world: I know I live in Paris, that
I am writing this book and that tomorrow is not Sunday. When instead I say
"I would like to be an astronaut" I am not expressing a probable possible,
but something that transcends the knowledge of the mundane being that I
am. Consciousness of the future also has a reflexive and a non-reflexive

form.
The great law of consciousness according to which it has to be

consciousness of something obviously implies the existence of something
that consciousness is not, that which we have called the object of
consciousness. The object, in our hypothesis, can be seen by consciousness
in at least three different modes which we have called knowing, imaginative
and temporal consciousness. We have also seen that imaginative and
temporal consciousness are based on a structure of knowledge, that is
knowing consciousness. Earlier our investigation led us to reject any priority
of consciousness over the object or of the object over consciousness, that is
it led us away from both the idealist and the materialist perspective. Indeed,
we saw that consciousness and its object are born together through an
ontological relationship which defines them both. Furthermore, we rejected
the idea that the object could passively exist in the functional or
physiological unconscious in the form of trace or physical or virtual
representation, to then become active at the moment in which it becomes
conscious object. However, though united by an ontological relationship
which defines them both, consciousness and its object remain, by definition,
distinct entities. Indeed consciousness is consciousness inasmuch as it is not
the object, and to be consciousness it has to perform an act of negation, that
is it has to deny being the object and assert itself as not being that object.
Equally, the object is that which consciousness is not, and it asserts itself as
being what consciousness is not. We have described the three modes in
which consciousness sees its object according to our hypothesis. We now
have to question the nature and origin of the object since it is linked to but
distinct from consciousness. First of all, the object of which consciousness
is conscious can only be the synthesis of what consciousness has been
before and of what consciousness is no longer. This point needs to be
clarified. When I have perceptual consciousness, that is I already have
knowing consciousness of this book which is in front of me, and I recognise
it as "book", the object I recognise represents the synthesis of my past
experience of book and of my present experience of the object in front of
me. That object is what my consciousness is not, namely object, but it is so
in the mode of "book", that is as the reflection of what my consciousness
has been and what I call previous experience of book. In this sense it is in
the object itself that my past consciousnesses are represented. But, you
might object, I can also have perceptual consciousness, and thus knowledge,
of objects I have not had previous experience of. Of course, how else could
new knowledge exist? Now there is a picture in front of me which I have
never seen, an object whose function I do not know, an animal I did not
know existed, do I still have a right to assert that these objects are a
synthesis of what my consciousness has been and of what it is not yet?
Certainly, because if these objects did not somehow represent what my
consciousness has been, every time I came across a new object it would
appear to me as new, whereas I perceive objects that I recognise and objects
that I see for the first time. And these represent what my consciousness has
been, precisely because my consciousness has never been consciousness of
those objects. The object to be known represents what my consciousness has
been to the mode of negation, it is a synthesis of what my present
consciousness is not, and of what my past consciousness has not been.
Does this description of the origin of an object as synthesis also hold for
the other modes of consciousness? Can I say that when I imagine a centaur
it is synthesis of my past consciousness and of what my present
consciousness is not? Of course, inasmuch as the difference between
imaginative consciousness and knowing consciousness is not the object but
the way in which consciousness sees the object. In other words the object is
always the same permanent synthesis of what I have been and what I am
not. When I remember this book on my desk yesterday it is the same object
that I now perceive and remember. The same object that with an original act
of consciousness I dig out from down there, in my past. Even if I consider
the reflexive form of memory, the question does not change. When I
remember myself in the past, for example when I was talking to friends last
night at dinner, that object-me of which my consciousness is consciousness,
is a synthesis of what my consciousness is not now (indeed I am not that me
of yesterday) and of what my consciousness has been (I was my
consciousness of yesterday, which was a synthesis of all previous
consciousnesses). The same description also holds for the other subordinate
structures of temporal consciousness, that is for consciousness of the present
and of the future.
Clearly, the conclusion to be drawn from our description of the origin of

the object as synthesis of what consciousness has been and of what
consciousness is not now, is a far cry from the idea of representation and of
traces, in fact it is the exact opposite. Being conscious of an object in the
various modes of consciousness does not mean making it correspond to an
internal representation or to a trace hidden in the depths of the psychological

or physiological unconscious. Quite the contrary, representation is outside,
it is in the object. It is the object which represents me, and not I who
represent the object to myself. It is the object that is the reflection of what I
have been and synthesis of what I have been and what I am not.
The object which is present to my consciousness, as we have said, is the

same one. The glass that I now perceive, that I remembered earlier and that I
will later imagine is the same one. It is the same in the sense that the glass
carries in itself the synthesis of what I have been, that is of my past
experience of glass and it is up to me to see it in the knowing, imaginative
or temporal mode of consciousness: the glass in itself remains what it is.
However, although the object is always the same, the objects are not always
the same among themselves. And not because they distinguish themselves
by shape, colour, function etc., but by how much and by what it is of my
consciousness that they represent. This point needs clarification. In my
knowing consciousness of this pack of cigarettes what does the pack of
cigarettes represent? We have seen that the pack of cigarettes, as object of
my consciousness, represents both the synthesis of what my consciousness
has been and of what it is not now. Therefore the pack of cigarettes is
simultaneously knowledge of what I am made, that is my past
consciousnesses of pack of cigarettes, and what I am not now, that is the
existential distance which separates me from the object which is in front of
me. What happens though is that I only bought the pack of cigarettes a short
time ago, and the cigarette that I am now taking out of it is only the third.
Clearly, my past experience of this pack of cigarettes is rather limited. If I
actually wanted to quantify it I could say that I have three past
consciousnesses of this pack of cigarettes: that of the moment when I
bought it, that of the first cigarette and that of the second. As past
experience of pack of cigarettes it does not amount to much. How can I
assert that the object synthetically represents what I have been, if that have
been is limited to three recent experiences? There is a certain ambiguity in
all of this, but only apparently. This pack of cigarettes in front of me is both
"a pack of cigarettes" and "the pack of cigarettes" I bought not long ago. In
the first case it is an indefinite pack of cigarettes, something that belongs to
the category of packs of cigarettes, one of the many that I recognise and use
correctly because I know what it is. In the second case, however, "the pack
of cigarettes" is a definite object, it is this very pack of cigarettes that is in
front of me, the one that I bought not long ago and which I will carry around
with me until tonight when it will end up empty, in the dustbin. Clearly, in
the object which is in front of me there is both a unicity and a generality
which I cannot escape. The generality is reflected in its being a pack of
cigarettes and not something else. The unicity is manifested in its being that
specific pack of cigarettes and not another. But the unicity and generality, or
multiplicity of the pack of cigarettes are not contiguous qualities, external to
one another. There is a sort of hierarchy which is the basis of the
relationship between the object as representative of a multiplicity of objects,
all those that make up a certain category, and the object as representative of
itself, in its physicality "in the flesh" , in being that object which
distinguishes itself from all the other objects of the world . The unicity of the
object, of this pack of cigarettes, of this pen, of this room, of this city is
based on multiplicity. These objects we have just mentioned, the pack of
cigarettes, the pen, the room, the city, the world, are all examples of a this,
they manifest a unicity which distinguishes them from that other pack of
cigarettes, that other pen, etc. But their unicity is based on multiplicity,
which allows these objects to be present to consciousness as unique but
under a certain, already distinct form, namely pack of cigarettes, pen, etc. So
the apparent ambiguity disappears: the object is both unique and multiple.
Unique because it is irremediably this, and multiple because in order to be
this, it must have been those. It follows that the pack of cigarettes that I
bought not long ago, fully represents what I have been, that is my previous
experience of packs of cigarettes, because in this object I recognise a precise
object, that is a pack of cigarettes. Its unicity comes afterwards, its being
this cannot prescind its being what it is, that is a witness to what I have
been. If we consider the opposite condition, we see that for the indefinite
object there is no need to represent unicity. I can think of a flower, a love, a
city, a world, without them having to be that flower, that love, that city, that
world. I somehow think of them as neutral objects, as pure essences which
stretch out before me and which do not invade my existential space. At most
they are entities which are resolved on a linguistic level: am I required to
define a flower, love, a city, the world? Well, I shall put myself to the test
and try to unite in an abstract definition, the abstract entity which I am
required to define. But even if language is excluded from the matter things
do not change: I can think of the object in non-verbal terms without the
object becoming that object. It is clear then that unicity requires multiplicity
while multiplicity does not require unicity.
But what happens when in front of me there is a new object which I have
no experience of? At first sight one would say that any object that I see for
the first time is unique and does not carry in itself the multiplicity that we
attributed to known objects. And yet, as we have already seen, even an
object that I have no experience of represents what my consciousness has
been in the mode of negation. The multiplicity on which the new object is
based is represented by its not being what consciousness has been, or if you
wish, by being what consciousness has never been. But in actual fact, as
soon as an unknown object shows up, all the multiplicity of which it is made
manifests itself instantaneously. This geometric form that I have never seen
before is already "geometric form that I have never seen", that is it
summarises and represents in the negative all that my consciousness has
been. And this happens without my needing to notice the unicity of the
object. So the object, be it known or unknown, is first the expression of a
multiplicity of my past consciousnesses and then becomes this object, that is
it declares its unicity.
However, for there to be UOlClty of an object, it must be seen by

consciousness in the temporal or imaginative mode. In other words, in order
to achieve the passage from the multiplicity to the unicity of an object there
has to be an act of consciousness that selects its object as this, which can
only happen if consciousness transcends the knowing mode to put itself at
the level of the temporalization and of the imagination of the object. It is
only in the temporalizing and the imagining act that the object appears to
me in the definite mode, namely as this. It could certainly be argued that
also in what we have called knowing consciousness the object somehow
appears to me as unique, as this. The glass in front of me is in any case this
glass, it is with this glass that I interact and not with a generic glass when I
pick it up and bring it to my lips. Of course, but the unicity of this glass
somehow falls into the anonymity of its being any glass, one of the many
that I have come across in my life. It is only when that existential space,
which we have already described with the idea of presence, opens up
between me and the glass, that the glass comes out of its anonymity and
becomes that glass which is not me and with which I am contemporary. In
short there is a continuous possibility of changing the relationship from
multiplicity to unicity of the object, and this possibility depends on the very
way in which consciousness addresses the object. Besides, in the sphere of
the psychology of memory it is, for instance, well known that the
probability of remembering a certain object depends on what is called depth
of encoding of the object. But what is depth of encoding if not the degree of
consciousness of the unicity of the object which is in front of me? In
Tulving's hypothesis of co-ordination this idea is made explicit, though in
slightly different terms, when he says that the probability of remembering a
certain object depends on the degree of awareness of that object at the
moment it is encountered. But, you may ask, ;;where is the proof that in
temporal and imaginative consciousness the object is present to
consciousness as unique and not as general or multiple? I can easily
remember, for example, a generic walk along the shore, without being able
to locate it in any specific time but only the past in general. But that does
not mean that the walk I remember is not a particular walk but the general
idea of walking along the shore. In reality memory, what Tulving rightly
called episodic memory, cannot be anything other than memory of an
object-episode in its unicity, because the unicity of an object is one of those
very elements that describe the ontological relationship between
remembering consciousness and its object. In the same way, in the
imagination it is the object in its unicity which is present to my
consciousness. It is that object, that centaur I am imagining now, and I
would not be able to imagine the idea of centaur without returning to
knowing consciousness and thus annulling the imaginative act. And the
level of knowing consciousness is that of generality-multiplicity. A
mUltiplicity which is based on repetition of an experience.
When I say "a glass", "a friend", "a walk", I am generically describing
the synthetic category which describes all the objects that I give those
names to because I have had repeated experience of them . What is that
which in psychology is called categorising ability if not the generalisation
that repeated experience of the world encourages me to use on the objects of
which it is composed? As we have already said, repeated experience tends
to annul consciousness, that is reduce the space which separates
consciousness from the object, without however being able to truly
annihilate it. So the balance between multiplicity and unicity of an object
also depends on repeated experience, on what we have also called
familiarity. The more familiarity there is with an object, the more the
balance moves towards multiplicity and the less probability there is of
seeing the object as unique. When there is no repeated experience, the
balance moves towards the unicity of the object and the probability of the
object being seen in the temporal mode increases. This is why sometimes
memories seem to come "from outside", to appear spontaneously without an
act of volition. A smell, an image, a sound can make the memory "come to
life" inside me because in that smell, that image, that sound, it is unicity
which has the better of multiplicity, because that existential space which
separates me from the object is amplified. That is why a sunset, a new walk
"move" me, because their unicity emphasises what separates me from them
and pushes me to say that I am here, that I exist as a being which denies
being the object of which it is conscious.
The hypothesis we have described is an attempt to synthesise what a

phenomenological investigation of consciousness and of the reductive
necessities implicit in any hypothesis which proposes itself as scientific,
have demonstrated. It is therefore a somewhat paradoxical hypothesis since
it tends to reduce the irreducible, but this problem has already been
emphasised in the first part of this chapter.
Before proceeding any further to see the extent to which the hypothesis
we have described can account for empirical reality, that is prove itself to be
a scientific hypothesis, let us summarise its main points:
1) Consciousness is not a unitary dimension that passively receives what

comes to it from outside, but is the set of distinct and original modes used to
address an object. Among the modes of consciousness there is knowing
consciousness, imaginative consciousness and temporal consciousness.
Each of these represents an original, irreducible mode of seeing the world.
Each mode of consciousness has a reflexive and non-reflexive form .
2) Knowing consciousness describes the mode of addressing the object in

order to know it, that is in order to discover its quality and quantity.
Knowing consciousness roughly corresponds to what in psychology is
generally referred to as semantic memory. Unlike semantic memory,
however, knowing consciousness does not presuppose any mental
representation of the object or of its parts. Knowing consciousness is the
synthesis of past consciousnesses and this synthesis enables knowledge of
the object. As synthesis of past consciousnesses, knowing consciousness is
temporal, but at the same time atemporal in the sense that it is not
consciousness of time.
3) Imaginative consciousness, like knowing consciousness is an

organised, irreducible form of consciousness. The image which manifests
itself to imaginative consciousness is not a faded copy of a real object, but
the reflection of an original relationship between consciousness and the

object. Unlike knowing consciousness, the aim of imaginative
consciousness is not to know and so it is completely indifferent to the values
of certainty and truth. The aim of imaginative consciousness is
"unrealising", namely that of seeing the object as not belonging to objective
reality.
4) Temporal consciousness is the third organised and irreducible form of

consciousness described in our hypothesis. Temporal consciousness is
consciousness of time, that is it temporalizes its object according to the
subordinate structures of temporality. Temporal consciousness locates its
object in the past, present and future. When it locates its object in the past,
temporal consciousness corresponds to what in psychology is referred to as
episodic memory. However, consciousness of the past distinguishes itself
from episodic memory in that it does not require the existence of memory
traces.
5) Both temporal consciousness and imaginative consciousness require

and are based on knowing consciousness. In other words, for the object to
be present to consciousness in the temporal mode or that of the imagination,
it must already be a certain object, that is it has to represent knowledge.
6) Since consciousness must be consciousness oj, every type of

consciousness is consciousness of an object. The object which is present to
consciousness in its three forms represents the synthesis of what
consciousness has been and of what consciousness is not. The object is
synthesis of past and present experience. The object of consciousness
represents the definite and the indefinite, generality-multiplicity and
unicity. The multiplicity of the object represents what consciousness has
been in the past and its unicity what the object is for present consciousness.
However, the unicity of the object is based on its multiplicity. The
relationship between multiplicity and unicity of the object varies according
to the mode of consciousness in which the object is seen and the degree of
repeated experience of the object itself. The balance between multiplicity
and unicity moves towards unicity when the object is addressed in the mode
of temporal and imaginative consciousness and when the degree of repeated
experience is low. It moves towards multiplicity when it is addressed in the
mode of knowing consciousness and there is a high degree of repeated
experience.
The ideas schematised in our hypothesis allow us to make some

predictions:
1) Since knowing consciousness, imaginative consciousness and

temporal consciousness are three organised and irreducible forms of
consciousness, they should also be able to be distinguished in pathology,
that is it should be possible to observe specific 'deficits that reflect the
reciprocal organisation of the different types of consciousness. Furthermore,
the activity of distinct cerebral structures may correspond to these three
different modes of consciousness.
2) However, since temporal consciousness and imaginative

consciousness are based on knowing consciousness, it is unlikely that
deficits in knowing consciousness can be observed without there being
deficits in the other two types of consciousness. Nevertheless, it should be
possible to observe deficits in temporal consciousness, imaginative
consciousness, or both without deficits in knowing consciousness. Since
imaginative consciousness and temporal consciousness are based on
knowing consciousness, it is likely that the activity of the neural structures
which correspond to temporal consciousness and imaginative consciousness
is generally shared by knowing consciousness.
3) A deficit in temporal consciousness should impair, although to

different degrees, all three dimensions of temporality. In other words a
patient with an episodic-memory deficit is also likely to have a deficit in
consciousness of his personal present and future .
4) Since knowledge of the quality, quantity and function of an object is

the reflection of distinct relationships between knowing consciousness and
its object, it should be possible to observe specific deficits in knowledge of
quality, quantity and function.
5) Since every mode of consciousness has a non-reflexive and a reflexive

form , it should be possible to observe specific deficits in the reflexive form.
The opposite should not be possible because the reflexive form of
consciousness is the reflexive of the non-reflexive form .
6) In phylogeny and ontogeny, the development of knowing

consciousness should precede that of temporal consciousness and
imaginative consciousness. While In progressive degradation of
consciousness, the deficit in temporal and imaginative consciousness should

precede that of knowing consciousness.
7) Since multiplicity and unicity of the object of consciousness are

functions of both the modes of consciousness and the degree of repeated
experience, temporal consciousness may see multiplicity as unicity, and
knowing consciousness may see unicity as multiplicity.
In the following chapter we shall attempt to demonstrate the extent to

which some of the predictions of our hypothesis have been confirmed by
available clinical and experimental data. But let us first provide a method
for the verification of our hypothesis, a method which does not fall into the
same traps as those described earlier.
3. TOWARDS EXPERIMENTAL PHENOMENOLOGY
Consciousness, as we have strongly emphasised, manifests itself for what

it is in its relationship with an object. When I observe a landscape, when I
remember last night's argument, when I imagine a centaur galloping along
the shore, my consciousness is completely directed towards the object of
which it is consciousness. It is all "outside me" and is realised as
consciousness precisely because it is consciousness of its object in a certain
mode. In what is also called conscious experience, it is the object which
reigns, without there being room for anything else, an ego which lingers in
the background, a consciousness, a being. When consciousness selects its
object in the mode of the past, for example, there is no consciousness before
me, but just the selected object down there, where it was . There is not even
an ego who selects that object, there is only that object which presents itself
to the past and the distance which separates me from it. When we described
the different types of consciousness we insisted on their irreducibility.
Consciousness of knowledge, temporal consciousness and imaginative
consciousness, we said, are organised, irreducible structures of
consciousness. What did we mean? Simply that which should be taken for
granted but in reality is not, at least in the sphere of science, because on the
long journey both the starting-point and the destination have been forgotten.
Conscious experience is in fact the starting-point for every theory of the
mind, and the place towards which the results of scientific research should
converge. The irreducibility of conscious experience, as we have already

said but it is worth repeating, resides in the fact that conscious experience is
the concrete reality of human existence, a reality that can perhaps be
represented in the abstract terms of theoretical and abstract models but
which cannot be reduced to these, just as the sensation of heat cannot be
reduced to the variations of an expansible element inside a glass column.
This consciousness we are talking about, that is conscious experience of an
object, is what we have called non-reflexive consciousness, and what we
could now call first-hand consciousness. This first-hand consciousness is the
central aspect of mental life, the nucleus from which all the questions that
man asks himself, including the scientific ones, arise. Now, it is paradoxical
that science itself, or a large part of it, which is based on being
consciousness of its own object, hastens to negate tout court conscious
experience as a relevant aspect of mental life or tries to negate it in another
way by reducing it to a physiological or psychological elsewhere. We have
already analysed the paradoxes of this reduction and shall not go back over
them . But science's negation of conscious experience as irreducible is not
only surprising, but precludes a priori the possibility of knowing anything
about non-reflexive consciousness, that is of the way in which
consciousness, in its entirety, manifests all its characteristics. Actually,
science's negation of first-hand consciousness stems mainly from a badly
concealed fear, that of not having the means available to study it. There is a
sort of respectable Puritanism in science together with a guilt complex
which consists in not wanting to ignore its self-imposed method and in that
unconfessed embarrassment about the method' s inadequacy in describing
most of what is fundamental in mental life. This a priori negative behaviour
of science with regard to non-reflexive consciousness has, in reality, made
scientists uncertain about the actual significance of their work. In other
words, scientists have not realised, and continue not to realise, that most of
what they do in their psychological experiments is actually measuring and
describing non-reflexive consciousness. And so, paradox upon paradox, on
the one hand any relevance to the starting-point of scientific investigation in
psychology is denied, while on the other it is the starting-point itself which
is studied. Indeed, what psychologists study in their experiments is non-
reflexive consciousness, though in an indirect way. Let us take a classic test
of recognition memory as an example. The subject, first of all, is shown a
series of words. He is then presented with the same words mixed up with
words which were not presented before. The subject's task is to distinguish
the words seen before from those seen for the first time. What is this if not
an example of research on non-reflexive consciousness. In fact, what is

required of the subject is to indicate when his consciousness is
consciousness of an object as already seen before. Of course, what the
experimenter obtains from this sort of test is indirect information on non-
reflexive consciousness of recollection and this information will certainly
tell him nothing of what it is like to recognise a word as already seen. The
fact remains though that non-reflexive conscious experience of the object is
used in the experimental sphere to draw conclusions about the functioning
or dysfunctioning of memory. Therefore the results of this sort of
experiment indirectly refer us back to non-reflexive consciousness because
this is where they stem from . This does not apply only to experiments on
memory. When the experimenter asks the subject to press the right-hand
button on seeing a red light, and the left-hand one on seeing a blue light,
what the experimenter is addressing is, once again, non-reflexive
consciousness of red and blue. Therefore science, in spite of itself, already
indirectly studies non-reflexive consciousness, which makes any negation of
consciousness on its part all the more absurd .
We are thus able to have indirect knowledge of conscious experience, or

non-reflexive or first-hand consciousness. It is however somewhat
incomplete knowledge and the information gathered from it tells us nothing
about the quality of conscious experience. The subject who claims to
recognise a certain stimulus as "already seen" in a test of recognition
memory indicates that he is remembering, that is recognising an object as
past. But his reply does not tell us anything about what it is like to
rememberl. In the same way, the subject who was taught to press the button
when the red light appears tells us nothing about what it is like, from his
point of view, to see a red light come on. Of course the observer will be able
to make inferences about what it is like to recognise an object or perceive a
red light. Indeed he probably knows from his personal experience what it is
like to recognise an object which was seen a few minutes earlier, or to see a
red light come on. Thus through inference, he will be able to "recognise" his
own experience in the subject's. But it is a matter of approximate
recognition which at best is limited to selecting the most general aspect of
the conscious experience of recognising or of perceiving a red light. The
subjective aspect of experience will once again pass unnoticed since
conscious experience only shows all of its characteristics on a direct level.
1see Nagel, T. , 1974; Nagel, T., 1986; Nagel, T. , 1993 .

A second way of studying consciousness consists in asking subjects,

while they are performing a certain experimental task, what they are doing,
that is what type of consciousness they have while doing a certain thing. As
in the previous case, it is a question of an indirect method and thus the
information that can be drawn from it is incomplete and limited. But, unlike
the previous method, this one permits the study not of conscious experience
but of consciousness of experience, that is of that second-hand
consciousness which we have called reflexive consciousness. In other
words, in this type of experimental situation, the phenomenology of the
experience is reported by the subject thanks to a reflexive, that is second-
degree, act which allows him to glance at his own conscious experience. I
am now drinking from this glass and at this moment mine is non-reflexive
consciousness of glass-to-drink-from . There is nothing else in my
consciousness. And yet if someone, or I myself, were to ask "what are you
doing?", then my consciousness would take a step back to observe itself.
That is it would perform a reflexive act and become consciousness of
consciousness which drinks from the glass. This reflexive mode of
consciousness can then be translated into verbal terms and I will say "I am
drinking from this glass" . The type of information that can be gathered from
this sort of investigation is certainly less direct than that provided by the
previous method, but in some ways it is more complete. It is less direct in
that it comes indirectly from consciousness of experience, that is from
reflexive consciousness and not from conscious experience, that is non-
reflexive consciousness. It is more complete in that it gives us more details
on the quality of conscious experience. For example, to take up, once again,
the case of recognition memory, when a subject claims to recognise a
certain stimulus, non-reflexive consciousness, the observer can only
indirectly infer that the subject is consciously experiencing the memory. In
fact he may only have a vague sense of familiarity with the stimulus or he
may find himself in the situation of guessing, that is of operating a
probabilistic estimation of the possibility that that particular stimulus
belongs to the series of stimuli seen before. As you can see, his reply tells us
absolutely nothing about the quality of his conscious experience and the
inferences that can be made are contaminated by a high probability of error.
If, however, when he claims to recognise a stimulus, the subject is also
asked to say whether recognition is accompanied by consciousness of the
memory, that is consciousness that that particular stimulus had previously
been seen, or alternatively whether recognition is accompanied only by a
vague sense of familiarity with the stimulus, or whether recognition is only
fruit of a probabilistic inference, the infonnation that can be drawn will tell
us more about the quality of the experience of recognition. It is precisely
these types of reflections which led Tulving 1 to propose an experimental
paradigm which pennitted the distinction of different types of consciousness
associated with recognition memory. According to Tulving, recognition
memory is indeed composed of at least two distinct elements: a stimulus can
be recognised by having, to use his tenninology, autonoetic consciousness
of it, that is by fully recognising it as an element of one's personal past, or it
can be recognised with a vague sense of familiarity, that is without
autonoetic consciousness of the stimulus as belonging to one's personal
past. This distinction can be brought to light experimentally by asking
subjects, while they are perfonning recognition tasks, to identify under
which aspects of consciousness recognition of the stimulus takes place. This
experimental paradigm is an example of the successful application of the
method of experimental phenomenology. This method of Tulving's, initially
criticised for not being scientific, has been used and developed by various
scholars 2 , producing a corpus of important new infonnation, though
indirect, on what it means to recognise a previously seen stimulus. This
information could not have been provided by previously existing paradigms.
The paradigm introduced by Tulving to study consciousness of

experience in recognition memory represents an important starting-point
inasmuch as it introduces the phenomenological aspect of experience as a
variable. It is a starting-point since what Tulving outlined for the study of
recognition memory can not only be extended to other spheres of memory,
but also to the indirect study of consciousness in other spheres of human
experience. As regards memory, the method should be extended to free
recollection, that is, asking subjects when recalling a certain previously
presented stimulus whether recollection is accompanied by subjective
experience of the memory or whether it occurs without this type of
experience. The other aspects of temporal consciousness should also be
studied with this paradigm or versions of it. As regards consciousness of the
present, for instance, it is completely unknown whether and to what extent
the presence of an object to consciousness is accompanied by a sense of

2Dalla Barba, G., 1993 ; Dalla Barba, G., 1997; Gardiner, 1.M., 1988; Gardiner, 1.M. & lava,
R.I., 1990; Gardiner, 1.M. & lava, R.I. , 1991 ; Gardiner, 1.M. & Java, R.I. , 1993 ; Gardiner,
1.M. & lava, R.I., 1993 ; Gardiner, 1.M. & Parkin, A.J ., 1990; Parkin, AJ., 1993 ; Rajaram, S.,
1993.
contemporaneity with the object, that is under what conditions the present
object reveals itself as contemporary in what William James called the
psychological present. Then the future, as a dimension of temporality,
should also be studied from the point of view of experimental
phenomenology. What happens in subjective experience when somebody
says "tomorrow I am going to the barber's"? Is it the placing of a personal
act in the future or merely a semantic reply, dictated by what I know of
myself and my future without there having to be experience of the future in
itself? The only way of knowing this is by directly asking the subject who is
being questioned.
Important results are also expected from the application of experimental

phenomenology to the study of imaginative consciousness and its deficits.
What is someone who is imagining a centaur imagining? Is he really
imagining a centaur or does he only have the semantic idea of a centaur in
mind, that is does he become conscious of the centaur only as a verbal-
conceptual entity without his subjective experience being accompanied by
any mental image? And what happens in subjective experience, that is in
indirectly studied reflexive consciousness, of the patient who cannot say if a
cherry is redder than a strawberry? We need to ask him. Consciousness of
knowledge is also totally unknown in this respect. When you are in front of
a picture of a rose, what do you see? A distinct object which qualifies as a
rose through an image-word association, an object of a certain shape,
colour, a particular smell, a function, that of pricking with its thorns or of
being given as a present? And what is a rose for those who cannot name it
and who do not recognise its shape, colour, or function? Who knows? Yet
again, the person who is being questioned needs to be asked. The indirect
study of reflexive consciousness according to experimental paradigms
which investigate, in a controlled way, what are also known as third person
reports, can provide a lot of important information about the structure and
organisation of conscious experience, information which science has not
been able to provide until now.
The third experimental way to study consciousness is that of

phenomenological reduction. There seems to be a contradiction here since
Husserl places the origins of phenomenological reduction as propaedeutic to
science and thus by definition as not belonging to science itself. As we shall
see, this contradiction can actually be overcome, and talking of
experimental phenomenological reduction is neither paradoxical nor
arbitrary. Phenomenological reduction in its classic form means going back

to the objects themselves, that is returning to direct experience of the world
as it presents itself in its pre-scientific dimension, prior to knowledge.
Varela1who claims this method as his own, calling it neurophenomenology,
quotes Merleau-Ponty2 on this subject: "Going back to the objects
themselves means going back to this world prior to the knowledge of which
knowledge always talks, and compared to which every scientific definition
is an abstract, dependent sign like geography compared to the landscape in
which we originally learnt what a forest, a field and a river were." But
Varela, perhaps out of diplomacy, avoids quoting Merleau-Ponty' s previous
words: "The first task that Husserl foresaw for his debutant phenomenology,
which was to be a 'descriptive psychology' or to return to 'the objects
themselves', is above all a disavowal of science. I am not the result or the
convergence of the many causalities which define my body or my
'psych ism " I cannot think of myself as part of the world, as a simple object
of biology, psychology and sociology, nor can I close the universe of
science on me. All that I know about the world, even through science, I
know first from my point of view or from an experience of the world
without which the symbols of science would be meaningless. The whole
universe of science is constructed on the real world we live in and if we
want to think of science itself, to assess its exact meaning and significance,
we must first of all reawaken this experience of the world of which science
is the second expression. Science does not have, nor will it ever have, the
same sense of being as the perceived world, simply because it is neither a
definition nor an explanation of it. I was not formerly a 'living being' or a
'man' or a 'consciousness' , with all the characteristics that zoology, social
anatomy or inductive psychology attribute to these products of nature or of
history - I am the absolute source, my existence does not come from my
antecedents, from my physical or social environment, but it goes towards
these and supports them, since it is I who make being for me (and thus being
in the only sense that the word can have for me) this tradition that I choose
to take up again or this horizon whose distance from me - not belonging to it
as property - would disappear if I were not there to glance over it. The
scientific views according to which I am a moment of the world, are always
ingenuous and hypocritical, because they leave out, that is they do not
mention, the other view - that of consciousness - for which a world
I Varela, F.J., 1995.

2Merleau-Ponty, M., 1945 .
originally arranges itself around me and begins to exist for me." In Merleau-
Ponty's description it is clear how the phenomenological method, at least in
its classic intentions, set itself directly outside science, unmasking the
naivety and hypocrisy. This still holds today since science certainly has not
given proof of having overcome that behaviour denounced by the
phenomenologists. However, what neither Merleau-Ponty nor classic
phenomenology in general have considered is that phenomenological
reduction is not only propaedeutic to knowledge, scientific knowledge
included, but can be scientific itself inasmuch as it is capable of providing
reproducible information "on the things themselves" . As we shall shortly
see.
The method of phenomenological reduction is a reflexive, introspective

method, even if it is introspection which does not exhaust itself in the
introspective method adopted by psychologists of the beginning of this
century and is not to be confused with this. Indeed, in phenomenological
reduction, introspection is an attitude of thought which starts by eliminating
beliefs and judgements "on things" with the aim of grasping their essence .
Putting "in brackets", as suggested by the phenomenologists, the world
which appears to us according to lines of sight of what we already know of
it, that is our prejudices against things, has as a consequent the "suspension
of judgement", which allows us to perceive the things themselves "in the
flesh" as Husserl says. In this way phenomenological reduction allows
direct information to be obtained on non-reflexive consciousness. Indeed,
since it is a method which uses reflection, its result is a glance that
consciousness takes at consciousness. Phenomenological reduction allows
one to know non-reflexive consciousness in the mode of reflection. But here
there is perhaps a misunderstanding nourished by phenomenology itself, and
partly resolved by the philosophy of existence which was seen as its
development and counterbalance. In phenomenological reduction, things do
not actually appear "in the flesh" as Husserl says. What appears in the flesh
is consciousness of things. It follows that phenomenological reduction does
not produce information on things but on consciousness of things. A
phenomenological analysis of perception, for instance, does not, by any
means tell me what direct perception of a rose is, rather it tells me what my
perceptive consciousness of rose is. In short, phenomenological reduction,
as emphasised, requires a second-degree act, that stepping back we have
already mentioned, which allows consciousness to take a look at itself. The
information on consciousness that phenomenological reduction can provide
is thus, once again, second-hand. First-degree consciousness, or non-

reflexive consciousness, continues to escape the notice of qualitative
investigation as it always will since its very being is towards the object, and
in its relationship with the object it exhausts and completes itself. When I
tell myself, or someone else, what I feel on perceiving a rose, on making
love with a woman, on remembering a landscape, on running for the bus,
what I am doing is describing from outside consciousness what is somehow
exterior to me, in the sense that when I describe these situations I have a
view of what I have never been since my consciousness when I perceived
the rose, made love, contemplated the landscape, caught the bus, was direct
consciousness of what I was conscious of and nothing else. This does not
stop phenomenological reduction from providing information of a better
quality on non-reflexive consciousness than that which can be obtained with
the first method mentioned in this part of our study. Indeed in the first
method it was a matter of situations in which non-reflexive consciousness
was seen from outside, that is by an observer who, for instance, recorded the
replies of a subject who claimed to recognise a certain stimulus as already
seen. In that situation the observer's position could only be inferential : he
could infer that since the subject claimed to recognise a certain stimulus as
already seen, his subjective experience was probably an experience of
recognition, that is of the placing of an object in the past. However in the
case of phenomenological reduction it is the subject himself who asks and
answers himself about a certain phenomenon, for example "what does that
stimulus which I seem to recognise mean to me?". In short, there is more
quality in phenomenological reduction than in the indirect investigation of
non-reflexive consciousness described earlier.
We proposed the three methodological approaches just described as

experimental methods. We soon realised that there was a possible
contradiction in considering these methods, largely based on
phenomenological hypotheses, as experimental and thus scientific methods.
However we also realised that experimental and therefore scientific
phenomenology is possible provided that not only what positivist science
considers to be scientific is taken into consideration. Yet the data and
information provided by the phenomenological method must be
reproducible for there to be an experimental phenomenology and for the
three methods described to be considered scientific. In other words, for
phenomenology to become established on an experimental level, the results

of the investigation itself must be reproducible under exactly the same
conditions of investigation with a significant degree of invariance. As
regards the first method, that is the one already in general use in
experimental psychology and neuropsychology, there is nothing much to
add: the reproducibility of an experience has already been demonstrated and
is in fact the basis from which the conclusions of these sciences are drawn.
If, for example, it is believed that, with some exceptions, it is easier to
recognise a certain stimulus than to freely recall it, it is because a certain
amount of data which show that recognition is systematically superior to
free recollection have been consistently reproduced. But something more
about the quality of conscious experience can be learnt from this method.
The data obtained with the classic method of experimental psychology and
neuropsychology should be compared with those from the second method,
that is from the indirect study of reflexive consciousness. It is the degree of
convergence between the two series of data that should be compared. In
other words it is a question of establishing whether, and to what extent, the
response of a subject on a task which involves non-reflexive consciousness
coincides with the response that the same subject makes when doing a task
which involves reflexive consciousness. As far as the second method is
concerned, that is the indirect study of reflexive consciousness, it has
already produced reproducible data in the sphere of recognition memory.
The method, as we have already said, can be extended to other spheres
besides memory and in these too, what is required of the method is the
reproducibility of the data and their convergence with the data provided by
the first method. The indirect study of reflexive consciousness must also
provide and be able to reproduce information on the influence of an object
and its characteristics of multiplicity and singularity on conscious
experience. In other words, one of the aims of the application of this method
is to show to what extent the characteristics of the object we have previously
described determine the unveiling of one type of consciousness or of
another. In order for the method of phenomenological reduction to be
considered experimental, it too must provide reproducible results. Since it is
a purely reflexive method, the result of reflection must first of all be
communicable, that is become a first-person report, which can then be
compared with other first-person reports on the same subject. In this case
too, convergence with the results of the other methods is of prime
importance.
The question we asked ourselves at the beginning of this chapter was

about the possibility of a scientific theory of consciousness which could
account for and overcome the theoretical problems discussed in the earlier
sections of this work. The answer is: yes, a scientific theory of
consciousness is possible on condition that the limits that any scientific
reduction involves are accounted for. Indeed we have seen that we have to
content ourselves with an indirect study of consciousness and so the
information we can draw from, by definition, does not grasp consciousness
in itself. The hypothesis we proposed is not intended to consider all types of
consciousness, just some of them. And again, those types of consciousness
described are certainly rather approximate, in the sense that for the aims of
this work we have put aspects of consciousness, which in reality are quite
clearly distinct, together under labels which are perhaps too general. But
again, the aim of this work was first of all to produce some distinctions
within consciousness, distinctions which science and theoretical reflection
have until now ignored or traced back to unlikely explanatory idols: the
memory trace, representation, the homunculus, for example. For however
(deliberately) partial and incomplete, our hypothesis is an operative
hypothesis which demands experimental falsification. We have even
suggested an experimental method, perhaps making Husserl, and others who
maintain that phenomenology should have nothing to do with the narrow
world of science and experimentalism, tum in his grave. In reality, science
and experimentalism have for too long been considered as synonyms.
Experimentalism is only an (unlucky) aspect of science, not science itself.
Science in itself is a method, not an ideology. It uses experiments and the
reproducibility of their results to confirm the hypotheses it poses. Nothing
more, nothing less. It is against a science without hypotheses, or with such
ingenuous hypotheses that even a six-year-old could easily confute them,
that this work demands a return to hypotheses as the result of reflection
which puts aside the conformist prejudices, totems and explanatory idols we
observe today and which are reflected in the acritical adherence to the totem
of the neurosciences and its presumed and unreal developments, at least as
regards the explanation from below of human experience. And against an
illusion, the functionalist illusion which sees the concreteness of experience
as stemming from an abstract elsewhere. In the following pages we will
show how the hypotheses proposed can account for some of the current data
on the pathology of the so-called cognitive functions without having to fall,
once again, into the paradoxes of the interpretative paradigms of
functionalism .
CHAPTER 7
CONSCIOUSNESS AND REALITY
In the preceding chapter we described a hypothesis regarding the

organisation of consciousness or the modes of consciousness, as we have
called them. We also proposed a method, that of experimental
phenomenology, to verify this hypothesis. Future studies which apply this
method will prove whether or not we were right, but in the meantime, the
hypothesis we have formulated allows us to interpret experimental data
from some existing psychological and neuropsychological studies on
memory.
1. AMNESIA
The amnesic syndrome is a serious pathological condition of memory

loss following cerebral damage. Amnesia is a devastating condition, perhaps
one of the most debilitating neuropsychological syndromes. Patients
suffering from it are unable to recall or recognise anything after only a
minute or so. Usually they claim not to recognise their doctor or the
experimenter with whom they may have only just ended a long session.
Sometimes they can recall events which took place many years earlier, for
example, they may remember the school or the house of their childhood, but
in the most serious cases retrograde amnesia, i.e. amnesia for events which
took place before they became amnesics, can be global. In this case they do
not remember, for example, having children, being married, or else they
believe their parents are still alive. It is as though their present life had
disappeared from consciousness into nothing. The result is that they are lost
in a no time. Psychologists prefer to say that these patients are locked inside

182 Consciousness and reality
a permanent present, but we shall see further on that this is not the case:
there is no present in the conscious experience of amnesic patients. These
patients, however, do not usually present any general degradation of their
intellectual capacities, they may maintain an absolutely normal intelligence
quotient, resolve complex problems, including problems of arithmetic, as
long as these do not require the use of memory. There are various causes
which lead to this condition. The most classic is chronic alcoholism, and in
this case it is called Korsakoffs syndrome, from the name of the Russian
neurologist who described it a century ago. Among the other causes, the
most frequent are encephalitis from herpes virus simplex, certain forms of
cerebral infarction, cranial-encephalic traumas. These same patients, whose
ability to remember is so devastatingly damaged, have what psychologists
call normal implicit memory.
The term implicit memory indicates a collection of phenomena which are

well known in psychology and neuropsychology. It is used to describe the
fact that past experience implicitly influences present experience, without
there being any memory of this. Nothing odd, you will say, about this
implicit memory. Basically, every action we carry out is an expression of
implicit memory since it is based on "knowledge", acquired knowledge of
which there is no memory. When I write, speak, brush my teeth, light a
cigarette, I am able to carry out these actions because I learned them
without, however, there being any memory of the moment or moments in
which I gradually learned to perform them. What surprises psychologists
and neuropsychologists is that so-called implicit memory is not only used
for actions learned gradually and repeated ad infinitum, like writing,
speaking, brushing your teeth or smoking, but also for unique experiences.
The fact that the so-called implicit expression of experience is also
observable in amnesic patients is considered even more surprising. We have
already spoken about Claparede 1 who, nearly a century ago, described an
experiment carried out on a severely amnesic patient. During one of his
sessions with that patient Claparede had hidden a pin between his fingers
and when he shook hands the patient was painfully pricked. The pain, like
any other event, was immediately forgotten by the patient. However when,
at the end of the session, Claparede once again held out his hand, the patient

Consciousness and reality 183
refused to shake it. When asked why, she answered that she simply did not
feel like shaking his hand because at times there are pins hidden in a hand
you are about to shake. But this was an idea that "went through her head", a
totally impersonal idea which made no reference at all to the episode of the
prick which had been totally forgotten . Korsakoff 1 had made a similar
observation some years earlier. In his original article on the syndrome which
is named after him, he describes a patient who had undergone an electric
shock and was later presented with the box containing the instrument used
to produce the shock. Even though the patient did not explicitly remember
the episode of the shock, when he saw the box he asked the experimenter if
by any chance he intended to use it to give him a shock. What happens in
these patients? Who is Claparede's patient and what is happening to her
when she withdraws her hand to avoid being pricked once again? You will
say that she is implicitly expressing her past experience of being pricked.
But what does this mean? What does implicit mean and why is the patient's
behaviour implicit? And what type of consciousness is that of Claparede's
patient when she avoids being pricked again? It is clear that there is
absolutely nothing implicit in her behaviour. What indeed is implicit
behaviour if not a way of facing others and the world, which along side the
explicit meaning places an implicit meaning which deliberately represents
the true message to be transmitted? In other words, behaviour is implicit
when there is consciousness and intention to hide the implicit message
behind a different explicit message. Bateson 2 spoke well and at length on
this when he presented the double link as one of the probable origins of
schizophrenia. The double link is a type of relationship between people in
which an explicit message is set against an opposing implicit message. But
in Claparede's patient, as far as we know, everything is explicit. When she
refuses to take her sadistic interlocutor's hand, she is hiding nothing. She
has no memory of the pin prick and when she withdraws her hand it is
because she is afraid of hidden pins in hands, nothing more, nothing less.
What is implicit about this? Absolutely nothing. If we are looking in her
behaviour for the effect of past experience, namely implicit memory, this
effect is to be found in Claparede, not in the patient. All that is implicit in
this situation is to be found in Claparede, it is he who attributes the
expression of an earlier experience to the woman' s behaviour. As far as the
woman is concerned, withdrawing her hand is simply her explicit behaviour,
1 Korsakoff, S.S. , 1889.

2 Bateson, G., 1959.
nothing else. In brief, finding it to be implicit behaviour and deciding that

this is implicit memory is simply a decision taken by the observer who finds
himself in the condition of recognising past elements in the behaviour of the
patient under observation. Therefore, implicit memory is entirely on the part
of the observer and not of the observed patient, for whom there is absolutely
nothing which is implicit.
But, you will say, Claparede's patient has "registered" the past
experience, since she carries the signs of it in her present reaction.
Certainly, it is clear that the patient's consciousness is a consciousness
which continues to be a synthesis of the consciousnesses which preceded it.
This patient's consciousness continues to be its own past, and precisely
because it is her past she manages to avoid a new pin prick. However, what
she is missing, the nucleus of her amnesia, lies in the inability to thematize
that past, not in the impossibility of being it. In short, in the light of our
hypothesis, there is nothing which should surprise us in this patient's
behaviour. What she can no longer do is tum to the world in the temporal
mode. Her temporal consciousness, to use our terms, has disappeared. She is
no longer capable of placing her experiences in the temporal mode of
consciousness, in this case in the past. It is not a question of lost information
or memory traces which have been destroyed, but of a disorder of
consciousness which is no longer able to place its own past as thesis and
thematize it. But at the same time this patient's consciousness continues to
be temporal, to carry within itself the signs of its past. In as far as it is
consciousness, it is still a synthesis of all past states of consciousness, even
that of pin-that-pricks-hand. What is missing in this patient is the possibility
to thematize time, namely the ability to trace herself through the past. But
time continues to be a founding structure of her consciousness since
consciousness cannot but be temporal. In other words, Claparede's patient
has lost the ability to address the world in the mode of temporal
consciousness, but continues to be able to tum to the world in the mode of
knowing consciousness: consciousness which is synthesis of the past
without being consciousness of the past.
The case described by Claparede and analogous cases described by

Korsakoff, more or less in the same period, were experimentally confirmed
in the 50s with the research on the famous patient H.M., who was a young
engineer who suffered from a serious and untreatable form of temporal

epilepsy. Since drug treatment was ineffectual, a neurosurgeon, William
Scoville, decided to intervene surgically on H.M. by removing the
epileptogenic centre, namely the medial part of both temporal lobes of the
brain 1. Scoville's operation was successful from the point of view of the
epilepsy which was thus kept under control, but it also had the devastating
result of transforming H.M. into the serious amnesic case which he is still
today. Despite his severe amnesia, it soon became apparent that H.M. was
able to acquire and retain, even for long periods, a series of tasks and
information which were new to him. He was capable, for example, of
learning and retaining complex motor skills like following a moving target
on top of a rotating disk with a stylus, or mirror drawing, that is not having
visual control over his own hand and the sheet of paper, but of their
reflected image. The performance of these tasks got better and better by the
day without, however, H.M. ever remembering having carried out the tasks
before. In short, like Claparede's patient, H.M. proved to have implicit
memory, namely the influence of previous experience on his present
behaviour. The results obtained on H.M. were later repeated also in other
forms and in other patients 2 and today it is generally accepted that amnesics
preserve their implicit memory. The aim of all these experiments is to
demonstrate that amnesic patients are capable of retaining and implicitly
expressing past experience. But what they actually demonstrate is that
temporal consciousness and the possibility of bearing the signs of your past
are independent. Indeed implicit memory is nothing other than the result of
a temporalizing act of an observer's consciousness on the observed. It is the
observer who perceives the past in the behaviour of the observed just as he
can discover the past in any sign he is presented with. The wear and tear on
the keyboard I am using, the crumpled cigarette in the ashtray, the half-
empty glass are signs that refer to the past if I bother to see them as such. In
themselves those signs are nothing other than what they are. And so implicit
memory could be attributed to the signs as much as to amnesics, but that
1 Scoville, W.B., & Milner, B., 1957.

2 Butters, N., 1987; Cermak, L., Talbot, N., Chandler, K., & Wolbarst, L.R., 1985; Hayman,
C.A.G., & Tulving, E., 1989; Heindel, W.e., Salmon, D.P., & Butters, N., 1990; Salmon,
D.P., Shimamura, A.P. , Butters, N., & Smith, S., 1988; Schacter, D.L., 1989; Schacter, D.L.,
& Church, B.A., 1992; Shimamura, A.P. , 1986; Tulving, E., Hayman, e.A.G., & Macdonald,
e.A., 1991; Tulving, E., & Hayman, G., 1995; Tulving, E., & Schacter, D., 1990; Tulving,
E., Schacter, D.L. , McLachlan, D.R., & Moscovitch, M., 1988; Tulving, E., Schacter, D.L., &
Stark, H.A., 1982; Warrington, E., & Weiskrantz, L. , 1968.
only confirms the fact that every element in the world is its own past,
amnesics included, every element is the result and the continual synthesis of
what it was before. But if each of us is the synthesis of what he has been,
without there necessarily being temporal consciousness of this, why is
implicit memory also lost in some cases. We know, for example, that some
serious cases of Alzheimer's do not present the semantic priming effect,
namely a form of implicit memory, or that patients with Huntington's
chorea do not have implicit learning of specific motor skills. Certainly, but
this does not mean that these patients have lost the ability to register
memory traces which are then implicitly expressed while in amnesic patients
the trace of experience can be registered and implicitly expressed. The
absence of implicit memory in these patients does not imply that their
present consciousness is not the synthesis of the states of consciousness
which preceded it. Indeed it continues to be so in every way, and if no effect
of implicit memory is observed in these patients, this is because their
present consciousness is revealed through an incapacity or a deficiency
which is the expression of what they are at present, and the synthesis of
what they were. The result is that the observer no longer sees the past in
their behaviour, but this does not mean that they do not continue to be that
past and that their consciousness is not the synthesis of their states of
consciousness that preceded it. In short, implicit memory does not represent
a condition in which the memory trace is expressed in behaviour without
passing through consciousness, as certain functionalist models claim, a
consciousness which, among other things, is generic 1. It reflects the
impossibility of seeing the object in the past, namely in the mode of
temporal consciousness. The result is that the object in its unicity is seen in
the atemporal and impersonal mode of consciousness, namely in one of
those modes that we have described as knowing consciousness. However,
our interpretation does not intend to underrate the importance and interest of
the studies on implicit memory, but only to demonstrate that the results of
these studies can be interpreted differently, without there having to be
recourse to explanatory stratagem like the memory trace and its implicit
expression .
One of the predictions of our hypothesis concerned the possibility to

observe specific deficits of temporal consciousness, or of imaginative
consciousness or of both, without deficits of knowing consciousness. This
1 Moscovitch, M., 1989; Schacter, D.L., 1989.

affirmation was based on the hypothesis that these two types of

consciousness are based on knowing consciousness, and consequently the
functions of knowing consciousness prove necessary for those of temporal
and imaginative consciousness but not vice versa. We are not going to deal
with imaginative consciousness, about which little is known in amnesics.
But amnesia does represent one of the conditions predicted by our
hypothesis: a disappearance, or a specific deficiency, of temporal
consciousness. Amnesia represents the condition in which an object can no
longer be thematized in the temporal mode, namely in the past, present or
future. Amnesia then is not a deficiency of memory, nor of that particular
type of memory which is referred to as episodic memory, or at least, not
only. Amnesia has nothing to do with the loss of a hypothetical episodic
memory trace nor with the impossibility of accessing it, because such a
trace quite simply does not exist. Despite the theoretical ingenuity of those
who go as far as considering (episodic) memory as the result of the re-
activation of an unconscious consciousness (sic)l, it is clear that not only is
an unconscious consciousness a mere figure of speech, but the very idea of
trace carries in itself that paralogistic stratagem which we have already
described in the first chapter of this work, namely the idea that the past can
derive from elements borrowed from the present. The habit of considering
the mind to be a container often leads to the analogy between what happens
in the mind and what happens between a supermarket and one of its
customers. Memory traces, or information, are the goods that the
supermarket offers, the "recovery mechanisms" are the customer interested
in buying the goods. The attempt to take possession of the merchandise may
fail for two reasons: because the merchandise is no longer there, or because
the supermarket is closed and the customer cannot get in. Nothing could be
more misleading. There are neither traces nor goods in the mind, just as
there are no mechanisms for recovering information nor customers. What
does exist is consciousness which turns to its object in a certain way, in the
modes we have already described at length. One of these modes is the
temporal mode and with amnesia it is the ability of placing the object in the
temporal mode that is lost. Tulving is right, and others with him, when he
says that amnesia reflects a deficiency of episodic memory. But that is not
the whole story. Indeed not only do amnesics not remember their own past,
that is they are unable to place themselves (reflexive mode of temporal
consciousness) and an object (non-reflexive mode of temporal
1 Moscovitch, M., 1995.

consciousness) in that dimension of temporality called the past, but neither

are they able to place themselves and their object in the present or in the
future. Whoever is familiar with amnesics will understand what we are
saying. These are patients whose consciousness is in some way lost in a
non-time, in a sort of instantaneous present. Take the amnesic patient
described by Tulving and co-researchers for example 1. That patient, as is
usually the case in amnesics, had preserved all his so-called semantic
knowledge, namely knowing consciousness, but was not capable of
recalling any episode of his own past nor of saying anything at all about his
future. When he was asked what he had done shortly before or the previous
day, or what he would do the following day his answer was "I don't know".
When asked to describe his state while trying to remember the past or to
predict the future he would say that it was as though there were a blank .
When asked to describe this blank which characterised his state when he
thought of the following day, he would say that it was "like being asleep" or
that it was "a kind of empty thing". When asked to make an analogy with
his state, he would say "it's like being in an empty room and someone asks
you to find a chair that isn't there". Or else "it's like swimming in the
middle of a lake where there is nothing to grab onto." When asked to
compare his state when thinking about the past with when he thought about
the future, he would answer "the same type of blank." The temporal "blank"
of which this patient is a prisoner represents the inability of consciousness
to thematize time. Past and future have disappeared as possible objects of
consciousness and the patient finds himself enclosed in an instantaneous
non-time. In this patient it is not the past which has been lost. Just like
Claparede's patient, the past is there, intact, and is manifest in all the
knowledge that the patient has not lost and in that which he is still capable
of learning. In other words his consciousness continues to be knowing
consciousness and, as such, synthesis of the states of consciousness which
preceded it. What is missing is the ability to thematize time, to carry out that
recognising synthesis which enables one to place an event there where it
took place or there where it will take place. The patient of Tulving and his
co-researchers is not the only proof that amnesia represents a loss of the
ability to thematize an object in the mode of temporal consciousness. Indeed
it has been generally observed that amnesics are often "disoriented in time
and space", having lost, that is, the ability to place themselves in a present
temporal space. Certain recent observations demonstrate that even in
1 Tulving, E., 1985; Tulving, E., Schacter, D.L., McLachlan, D.R. , & Moscovitch, M., 1988.
patients with Alzheimer's disease, the inability to remember your personal

past is systematically associated with the inability to plan your personal
future l .
Earlier we saw that an object which is present to consciousness is the

synthesis of what consciousness has been and of what consciousness is not.
The object therefore is the synthesis of past and present experience. At the
same time the object of consciousness always represents the definite and the
indefinite, which we have also called mUltiplicity and unicity. The
mUltiplicity of an object represents what consciousness has been in the past,
its unicity what the object represents for present consciousness. We have
also seen that unicity is based on multiplicity and that the balance between
the multiplicity and unicity of the object varies depending on the mode in
which the object is seen by consciousness and the degree of repeated
experience of the object. The balance between multiplicity and unicity
moves towards unicity when the object is seen in the mode of temporal
consciousness and imaginative consciousness and when there is little
repeated experience of it. On the other hand, it moves towards multiplicity
when the object is seen in the mode of knowing consciousness and there is a
high degree of repeated experience. Considering the nature of the object of
consciousness in this way enabled us to foresee the possibility that temporal
consciousness see the mUltiple as unique and that knowing consciousness
see the unique as multiple. One of the terms of this prediction is seemingly
confirmed by what happens in amnesics. What is referred to as implicit
expression of memory in amnesic patients may indeed be seen as the reflex
of knowing consciousness that sees the unicity of an object as mUltiplicity.
In other words, past experience is not seen by amnesic patients in its unicity,
as it would be if it were seen in the mode of temporal consciousness, but as
mUltiplicity, namely in the knowing mode of consciousness. Claparede's
patient who refuses to shake hands "because at times there are pins hidden
between the fingers of hands that you shake" translates the unicity of the
object, that is the past experience of being pricked, into an impersonal
generalisation, that is into multiplicity. The amnesic patient who performs a
certain task better the fifth time than the first, but believes it to be the first,
is proof of acquired "knowledge" of which there is no temporal
consciousness but which reflects the relationship between knowing
consciousness and the object seen in its multiplicity rather than its unicity.
1 Dalla Barba, G. , Nedjam, Z., & Dubois, B., 1999.

But we said the unicity of an object could also be seen in the mode of
knowing consciousness, without its temporal thematization. The following
case study will clarify this situation.
One winter afternoon, MM, a girl of 17, was found by a friend,

motionless in the street I . On speaking to her, her friend realised that MM
did not recognise him and remembered neither her name nor who she was.
On getting home, she recognised neither her parents nor her home. Since
then, though her learning ability has remained perfectly normal, MM has not
remembered anything of her life before the moment she was found
motionless in the street. The origin of MM' s amnesia has never been
understood even though the lack of direct or indirect signs of lesions to the
nervous system suggest it is of a psychological nature. But this is not what
we are interested in. By the time she had reached us MM was in reality
aware of a large part of her past before the episode which had caused her
amnesia. Thanks to her normal learning ability she had in one way or
another "re-learned" her own biography from her parents and friends . And
so, for example, she could recount many episodes from her life without
though having any recollective experience of them. It was information, she
would say, that she had learned from others and that therefore did not
belong to her. Even though it represented her personal past, this for her was
knowledge lived impersonally and that she did not recognise as "memories"
in the usual sense of the word. Nothing strange, you will say. Indeed, since
MM had re-Iearned her own past from others, this information ended up as
knowledge and so it is of no surprise that this acquired information was not
accompanied by the subjective phenomenal experience of memory.
However, that is not exactly how things stand. Indeed, MM could not say
from whom and on which occasion she had learned about many of the
episodes that she could recount without recognising them as memories;
quite strange for a girl with excellent learning capacity. Furthermore, her
parents confirmed that while MM had been told about certain episodes by
them or by friends, of others it seemed that there had been no mention. And
so it is plausible to think that the amnesia hadn't erased all the episodes of
MM's life, but had saved at least a part. However, the episodes which had
been saved from the amnesia had lost the status of real personal memories
and had assumed that of impersonal knowledge, as though MM in some way
knew the personal past of another person. In other words, it is probable that
I Dalla Barba, G. , Mantovan, M.e., Ferruzza, E.,& Denes, G., 1997.

the case of MM represents a condition in which the UlllClty of past

experience is seen in the mode of knowing consciousness and not in that of
temporal consciousness.
This brief description of certain aspects of amnesia confirms at least

three of the predictions of our hypothesis: 1) the impossibility of seeing an
object in the mode of temporal consciousness, in its three subordinate
structures, while the object can be seen in the mode of knowing
consciousness; 2) the possibility that knowing consciousness sees the
unicity of an object as multiplicity; 3) the possibility that the unicity of an
object be seen in the mode of knowing consciousness and not in that of
temporal consciousness. The following examination of confabulation will
confirm other aspects of our hypothesis.
2. CONFABULATION
Confabulation is a phenomenon found at times in amnesic patients.

These patients who are usually unaware of their memory deficit, sometimes
present and often to a great degree, so-called "false memories". They recall
episodes and facts which never actually took place, or that took place in a
completely different context, but which, as we shall see, are experienced by
them as real memories. Even though it is clear that the subject who
confabulates has no intention of deceiving his interlocutor, nor is he aware
of how inappropriate his behaviour is, when the definitions used to indicate
this phenomenon are considered it becomes clear that there is a more or less
explicit tendency to make an analogy between confabulation and lying.
Confabulation has been defined, for example, as "falsification of memory"
I, "an extreme form of lie or deceit" 2, an "honest lie" 3. If then we look
further back we discover that the analogy between confabulation and the act
of lying is stated in explicit terms in the classic idea which sees
confabulation as an attempt to fill in mnesic gaps and becomes real identity
when Talland, commenting on this idea, says "the reasoning is plausible,
1 Berlyne, N., 1972.

2 Joseph, R. , 1986.
3 Moscovitch, M., 1989.
and amnesics are not all examples of virtue" 1. This type of explanation of
confabulation, far from capturing its real nature, reflects in one way or
another the common tendency to reduce the "scandal" of abnormality to
normal terms. And so the patient who confabulates produces false memories
because the real ones have disappeared with his illness and, even though he
does not realise it, he is considered some sort of liar. Or else his
confabulation is seen as the result of a loss of control over his memories due
to the damage of certain mechanisms which usually like guards make sure
that only real memories get to consciousness by keeping the false ones out 2.
This is clearly a case of what we described in the second chapter as the
"homunculus fallacy", namely the belief which is common to many theories
that the brain and the mind have mechanisms and processes endowed with
unconscious intentionality, a type of guard who allows "real" memories to
pass and stops the false ones on the doorstep of consciousness. According to
these theories the monitoring mechanisms work in the background, outside
of consciousness and are not accessible to it. And so, as we have seen, the
homunculus fallacy falls into the paradox of attributing intentionality, which
is a characteristic of consciousness, to unconscious processes which, by
definition, are not accessible to consciousness. This is the same as saying
unconscious consciousnesses inhabit the mind with the complicity of the
brain. Not even spiritualism has gone that far. We will not come back to this
point.
The question we must now ask is: what is confabulation? Why under
certain conditions do some people invent "another" past for themselves and,
as we shall see, also "another" present and "another" future? A past, present
and future to which they are so totally attached that they do away with the
ability to judge what is true and what is false. Indeed what is seen as false
by the interlocutor, who sees the patient living in his world of confabulation,
is seen as being absolutely true by the patient who confabulates. In the
following pages an attempt is made to answer these questions. We will
begin by describing the case history of two patients and try to identify the
characteristics of their confabulatory behaviour and to understand the role
this plays in the concreteness of their lives.
1 Talland, G.A., 196 \.

2 This type of explanation of confabulation is common to many theories which hypothesise
the existence of mechanisms of control localised in the frontal lobe. See for example:
Baddeley, A. and B. Wilson, 1986; Johnson, M.K., 1991 ; Moscovitch, M., 1989.
ABI is a man of 75; he worked until his retirement as the sales manager
for an airline. He had a good education and is an amateur novelist, some of
his works have been published. He is married with two children. He has
never suffered from psychiatric or neurological disorders. One day, getting
out of the car, AB loses his balance, falls down and fractures his femur. He
does not lose consciousness and has no cranial trauma. He is hospitalised in
the orthopaedic ward, undergoes surgery and is then transferred to another
ward for rehabilitation. It is at this point that the staff begin to notice that
AB has problems with his memory in the day to day life of the hospital and
this is when our sessions begin. AB was completely disoriented both for
people and as far as time and space were concerned and his disorientation
almost always assumed the characteristics of confabulation. When
questioned, unlike many disoriented patients who usually keep quiet out of
embarrassment or give only very slightly imprecise answers, AB clearly
gave wrong answers. At our first meeting, for example, he treated me as
though we had known each other for some time and when I actually asked
him if by chance he remembered having already met me, he answered that
we had known each other for years and that he was not yet so far gone that
he could not recognise acquaintances. When I asked him if he remembered
where and when our first meeting took place, he answered that he thought it
had taken place in Bologna many years earlier, but he could not remember
the circumstances. We were not in Bologna but in Paris, AB was not Italian
but French and as I later found out from his children, he had perhaps been to
Bologna once in his life. I had just arrived in France and I spoke French
with a heavy Italian accent, as I still do (alas). His answer may have been
influenced by my presence. AB knew I was Italian, because I had told him
so, and he was exposed to my accent in continuation. And so it is possible
that when I asked him where we had first met, "Bologna" came out as a
plausible answer and one that was consistent with the Italianness of my
accent. Besides, Bologna came up at other times. More than once during our
meetings, I would ask him where we were and he inevitably would assert
that his hospital room (where we were) was the studio of an Italian doctor in
Bologna. We do not know what happened to AB in Bologna and we never
will. Perhaps nothing special, but this city was casually and unwittingly
"chosen" as part of his past and as the momentary theatre of his present.
1 Dalla Barba, G. , 1993 ; Dalla Barba, G., 1993; Dalla Barba, G., 1995; For a similar case see:
Dalla Barba, G., Cipolotti, L., & Denes, G. , 1990.
AB was disoriented in time and in this case, unlike most patients

disoriented in time, his disorientation took on the form of confabulation.
Our meetings took place in the autumn and AB, when questioned about the
date, answered without hesitation that he could not remember the day but
that it was certainly JUQe. It is worth noting that autumn in Paris is usually
quite grey and so we can exclude the possibility that AB's confabulation
was the result of deduction. Even though he was hospitalised, all he needed
to do was to glance out the window to understand that it could not possibly
be June weather. But AB did not use the compensatory strategy. As far as he
was concerned it was June in Bologna and not autumn in Paris.
AB's confabulatory behaviour was not limited to his present but. also
involved his future. On one occasion, for example, when I asked him what
he was going to do at the end of our session, he said he was going to spend
time putting his bookcase in order and that then he was going out with
friends for an aperitif. On another occasion he said that he hoped our session
would end early because he had to go to the shops to buy new clothes, since
he had not been able to the day before because he had got lost in the centre
of Paris where luckily he had run into a nurse who had kindly brought him
back to the hospital. On that occasion he did actually try to leave his
hospital room saying that there was a taxi waiting for him.
Other examples of AB's confabulatory behaviour regard his past. AB

lived a confabulatory past, that is he was conscious of a past that he had
never lived. Consider the following examples. His wife (having suffered for
some years from a serious illness) died while AB was hospitalised. Even
though he sometimes showed he was perfectly aware of this. tragic event, at
other times he claimed to have seen her the day before when he had gone
with his mother to see her in hospital (his mother had actually died many
years earlier). Sometimes he claimed his mother had died the Wednesday
before, and would complain about having arrived at her deathbed too late
because she lived on the other side of Paris and he had got caught in a traffic
jam. When I asked him why he was in hospital AB would answer "When I
retired they put me here. Perhaps they think I'm mad, but I'm not in the
least. Not yet anyway." If I asked him who he had seen that morning, he
would inevitably answer that he had seen his wife, his children and the
maid, as usual.
Despite this confabulatory behaviour from which neither the past, the
present, nor the future were exempt, AB was perfectly aware of past and
present public events and was particularly worried about the latter. It was
the autumn of 1989 and Central and Eastern Europe were undergoing the
well-known political upheavals. Not only did AB follow these events daily
in the newspapers, but he was obviously quite worried about them: he had
been deported during WWII and now claimed not to understand how the
European nations could underestimate the risk of allowing German re-
unification.
The second patient, CD 1, is a man of 37, employed as a bank teller; he

had an average to below-average education and is married with two
children. He has never had neurological or psychiatric problems. More or
less during the same period of time as when AB fractured his femur, CD,
walking in the mountains, slid down about 200 metres. This caused a serious
cranial-encephalic trauma with multiple cerebral contusions, besides other
fractures and contusions. After this accident CD spent about 40 days in a
coma.
Our first meeting took place about ten months after his accident. CD
displayed definite emotional incontinence and a tendency to moria and to
laugh for no reason at all. His degree of orientation in time, in space and for
people fluctuated considerably and never was perfect. On some occasions
his spatio-temporal disorientation was complete and accompanied by
flourishing confabulatory behaviour. And so, for example, on one occasion,
instead of at the hospital of Padua, he claimed to be in Milan in a church
probably dedicated to St Anthony. One of the recurring themes of CD's
confabulations were races and walking races, probably because he was
actually an enthusiast of this kind of activity to which he dedicated a great
deal of his free time. Another favourite and recurring theme in his
confabulations was physiotherapy which he actually had undergone for
months and continued to do so. However, often the theme around which the
confabulations were built was inserted and used in what we could call
"anomalous semantic contexts". And so, for example, on one occasion he
claimed to have participated the day before in a race, to have won and to
have received as a price a piece of meat which had been placed on his right
knee. On another occasion, having been asked to define the word
1 Dalla Barba, G., 1993.

"synagogue", he answered "it has to do with physiotherapy". The word

"phrase" meant "a field in the mountains" for him.
This particular type of semantically anomalous confabulatory behaviour

was also associated with confabulatory behaviour in every way similar to
that expressed by AB, which was semantically appropriate though. Besides,
like AB, CD was also completely unaware of his deficiency. What do these
confabulations in these two patients mean?
According to a by now classic explanation, confabulation reflects the

tendency of patients to fill the gaps in their memory with confabulatory
memories 1. In other words AB and CD produce confabulatory memories
wherever their memory is weak and has deteriorated. AB has a deficit in
episodic memory and therefore confabulates when he has to recall a specific
episode from his personal past. Since CD's memory deficiency also includes
semantic knowledge, he confabulates when general knowledge also comes
into play. But this hypothesis does not specify whether the tendency to fill
memory gaps with confabulation reflects an explicit, conscious choice or
whether it is the result of a sort of unconscious automatism . If it were
conscious behaviour then there would be no difference between the subject
who confabulates and the one who lies. But we have seen that in
confabulation there is no intention to deceive. Our two patients, and in
general patients who confabulate, are not only unaware of the confabulatory
nature of their behaviour, but they totally adhere to their confabulations.
Indeed these are not limited purely to the verbal sphere but are often
translated into non-verbal confabulatory acts, as for example in the case of
AB who attempts to leave his hospital room saying a taxi is waiting. If on
the other hand you believe that the tendency to fill memory gaps with
confabulation is the reflection of a sort of unconscious automatism, then this
needs explaining. There are however other reasons why this type of
interpretation should be rejected . AB ' s performance in traditional learning
tests was very low, however he confabulated only rarely during these tests.
Furthermore, he never confabulated during tests on semantic knowledge
where his performance was perfect. In the same way, even though CD
confabulated in semantic memory, his most frequent answer to this type of
question was "I don't know". Besides, confabulation is quite rare and most
patients with memory disorders do not confabulate at all . Why then are only
1 Barbizet, 1., 1963; Kopelman, M.D., 1987.

Talland, G.A. , 1965.
certain mnesic gaps filled with false memories and not others, and why do
only certain patients with memory disorders and not all behave in this way?}
Finally, as we have seen in AB, confabulation does not concern only the
past, namely memory, but also involves the present and the future. More
than a specific disorder of memory, it is therefore a phenomenon that
involves all subjective temporality. The following case study demonstrates
how confabulation involves all the subordinate structures of temporal
conscIOusness.
EF 2 is a fifty-two-year-old woman, married with two children; she has

always been a housewife. After a brain haemorrhage she fell into a coma for
nearly three months and when she came out of it she was suffering from a
serious amnesic-confabulatory syndrome, without her intelligence having
been compromised. The most interesting aspect of EF's case was that her
confabulation did not only involve her past, that is the recollection of
personal memories, but also her present and future. The extension of EF's
confabulation to all three dimensions of temporality certainly represented
something more than simple coincidence. EF confabulated when asked
questions of the following type: "What did you do yesterday? Where are
you now? What are you going to do tomorrow?" But she never confabulated
when answering questions about historical events or news items (for
example "What happened to Kennedy?") In this case her most frequent
answer was "I don't know". What is more, EF never confabulated in
learning tests. If, for example, she was asked to memorise a list of words or
a short story of one or two lines, at the moment of recollection she would
simply state that she did not remember anything, without producing any list
of words or a confabulatory story. In other words, EF confabulated only
when her subjective temporality was involved, that is when she was forced
to set elements of her life into a subjective temporal context. "What did you
do yesterday?" "I went to the market as usual". "Where are you now?" "At
home". "What is a doctor doing at your house?". "I don't know, they say
I'm crazy but actually they are the crazy ones". "But isn't this a hospital?".
"Well, it could be a hospital, but it is my home". "Why am I wearing a
white coat and you a dressing gown?" "I often wear a dressing gown in the
house, the white coat is your business". "What are you doing tomorrow?"
1 We have already discussed in the second chapter the theories which see confabulation as
the result of a deficiency in the monitoring mechanisms of memory. We have also proved that
these theories are victims of the homunculus fallacy. We will not go into it again.
2 Dalla Barba, G., Cappelletti, Y.1. , Signorini, M.,& Denes, G., 1997.
"Tomorrow I'm going to the market". "How will you get there?" "As usual,
by car". "By yourself?". "Of course, why?". This patient had been
hospitalised for several weeks and from the onset of her illness she had
never done anything she claimed she had nor anything that she proposed to
do. A recent explanation of confabulatory behaviour! sees confabulation as
the result of a dysfunction of the ego due, yet again, to a deficiency in the
monitoring mechanisms situated in the frontal lobe of the brain. According
to this explanation, confabulation is motivated by the aim to protect the ego
in a moment of stress and isolation. The problem with this explanation is
that none of the elements invoked to explain confabulation is conscious: the
ego, the monitoring processes and the aim of protecting the ego are all
unconscious elements. An explanation of this type clearly falls into the
homunculus fallacy and the theoretic problems that this poses.
Actually, when EF confabulates, she behaves like someone who is

consciousness of her past, present and future. The problem though is that EF
is conscious of a past, present and future which are "false", in that they do
not represent a past, present and future which are consistent with her present
situation. What then is EF's confabulatory reality? It is at once clear that her
confabulation is always plausible, she describes facts that could have
happened or could happen. Indeed, a hypothetical observer who did not
know EF's biography or her current situation would have no way of
deciding whether or not her stories were confabulatory. EF might state that
the previous day she had gone to do the shopping or that after our meeting
she would make dinner for her family, acts which conform to her daily life
before the onset of her illness. In short, in EF's case, it is clear that she is
perfectly aware of her personal temporality but confuses her habits with her
real past, present and future. In other words, EF's confabulatory
temporality, like AB's, reflects the condition predicted in our hypothesis
whereby temporal consciousness sees an object's mUltiplicity as unicity.
Evidently, it is a situation in which temporal consciousness is still present
despite brain damage, but can no longer recognise the unicity of an object.
In short, it is the specular condition of amnesia. In the case of amnesic
patients, as we have seen, it was an object's unicity that was seen as
multiplicity by consciousness. In the case of patients that confabulate,
temporal consciousness is preserved and habits, the repetition of life, in a
word multiplicity, is seen as unicity. Like the purely amnesic patient, the
1 Conway, M.A., & Tacchi, P.c., !996.

patient who confabulates continues to be his past. However, unlike the

amnesic, the confabulator, besides being time, thematizes an object in the
temporal mode.
The past of the patient who confabulates is, however, by definition, a

confabulatory past, the memories he reports are false. But it is not only the
memories which are false, the present and the future of the person who
confabulates are also false. And so it is a matter of a whole confabulatory
temporality which takes, so to speak, the place of real temporality. In short,
the patient who confabulates thematizes a confabulatory temporality. But
where does this confabulatory temporality come from? If temporality, as we
have affirmed, is not external to consciousness, since there cannot be a
given time which consciousness then selects, but is a basic structure of
consciousness, it then becomes clear that in the case of the patient who
confabulates, we are faced with a confabulatory consciousness in which past
present and future are somehow distorted. Distorted with respect to what?
The truth, you will say; with what actually took place, is taking place or will
take place. But who establishes the truth? If temporality, and therefore its
subordinate dimensions, are inherent to consciousness, what relationship of
truth can there be between what you suppose to actually have taken place, to
be taking place or to be going to take place and the reality of temporal
consciousness? And yet for a witness, the doctor or the psychologist
observing the patient who confabulates, his stories about the past, his
perception of the present and his future plans are confabulatory, in that they
are totally at variance with what the listener expects as an answer, so much
so that they push him to consider the patient's answers as not normal,
namely as confabulatory. Where does this discrepancy between what the
observer expects and the answers he receives come from? In other words,
what is the origin of this confabulatory temporality? We have already seen
how current theories of confabulation resort to the hypothesis of the
homunculus-watchman which under normal conditions blocks false or
inappropriate propositions on the threshold of consciousness and only
allows true or appropriate ones to pass. But we have also seen that such a
position is untenable for a series of reasons, the first of which is the
attribution of intentionality to a mechanism, process or whatever you want
to call it, which is not conscious and by definition inaccessible to
consciousness. If you consider consciousness as a temporal being, you see
that there is no need to bring unintelligible hypotheses like that of the
homunculus into play. We have already stated that remembering the past is
the result of an act of consciousness which transcends the present to select

an event down there where it took place. In the same way consciousness
which plans the future transcends the present to project itself there where
the event will take place. We have also called these acts of consciousness
re-cognitive synthesis. Let us suppose this re-cognitive synthesis is possible,
that this spontaneous act of consciousness is preserved in the subject who
confabulates, but that the target of this re-cognitive synthesis, the object of
consciousness which is temporalized, is no longer available or is so only in
part, namely in its multiplicity. What will happen? Temporal consciousness
will select its object as it always does in the mode of unicity, but it will be
an unbalanced object leaning towards multiplicity. In other words,
consciousness which confabulates sees the multiplicity of an object as
unicity in the temporal mode. You cannot say that it is the object of
temporal thematization which is missing in confabulation. The object is
there, thematized in the form of time. Is something missing? Yes and no.
Indeed on one hand, if I say that yesterday I ate with my parents, who in
reality have been dead for some time, it is my past of yesterday that is
missing as the object of the thematization of my consciousness that recalls.
But at the same time, this thematization is trl'e for me, in that at the very
moment I make the statement, it becomes my thematized past. A past to
which I adhere totally and of which I am absolutely certain, as though it
were a real memory. In other words, I am remembering another past and it
is the otherness of this past which makes it confabulatory in the eyes of
those who are observing me. In the same way the hospitalised patient who
affirms that in a while he is going to buy some new clothes when it is
certain that he will not be leaving the hospital, is planning another future .
Confabulatory consciousness is therefore a totally temporal consciousness
which thematizes past, present and future. However these in some way are
missing and what is thematized is "other". How can we get around this
contradiction? In reality it is only an apparent contradiction. First of all what
is this "other" that is thematized by consciousness that confabulates, and
also with respect to what is it other? When I say that yesterday I ate with my
parents I am stating something which is impossible, which for me though,
constitutes a real memory. Where does this type of thematization of my past
come from? Thinking about it, it becomes clear that I have eaten with my
parents innumerable times in my life and what I am doing when I talk of the
impossible meal of the previous evening, is nothing other than thematizing a
habit or, in neuropsychological terms, semantic knowledge, as a memory. In
the same way when the confabulatory patient talks of an improbable or even
impossible future, he is simply thematizing in the future what his being of

that moment is suggesting to him. And this temporal thematization of what
psychologists call "personal semantic knowledge" is nothing other than the
thematization of multiplicity in the mode of unicity. You will say that not all
confabulation is of this kind, but that sometimes it is of such a bizarre nature
that it is impossible to follow it back to the thematization of multiplicity, of
a habit or of semantic knowledge. As we saw earlier, for example, one of
our patients claimed to have won a race and to have won the prize of a piece
of meat which had been placed on his right knee. In reality there is no
contradiction here. What the patient affirms always reflects his knowledge,
or his habits. We know that running races were his favourite pastime and
that in the accident which caused his amnesia, among other things, his knee
was injured. The fact is that in this patient, as in other patients who produce
confabulations of this sort, the relationships between the various elements of
his knowledge seem inappropriate. In other words, in this case it is a
question of thematization of knowledge which has somehow been damaged,
which has lost the semantic ties that normally rule conversation, the
temporal thematization of damaged mUltiplicity. In this sense patients who
confabulate thematize another past, another present and another future. Past,
present and future which are other with respect to a particular past, present
and future because they are thematizations of a general past, of their most
common gestures and actions, in short, of the life that they are. And when
this life, the knowledge of which they are made, is altered, the content of
their confabulation will become more or less bizarre without there being any
difference in nature between the bizarre confabulation and the more
plausible one: they are both temporalized thematizations of the patient's
knowledge. What is missing, the specific time, the ability to select an
object's unicity as unique, that particular event that I lived yesterday, my
present of now and my future of tomorrow, is only missing for an observer
who witnesses the enonnity and the scandal of my confabulation. Nothing is
missing for me who is confabulating: my past, my present and my future are
there in front of me, thesis of my consciousness which thematizes them .
Besides, my consciousness cannot be missing anything since it is not the
sum of anything. It can be other but it will always be totally whole. And so
yet again it is evident that past, present and future are not in themselves
separate from consciousness and that time is not of the consistency of stone,
which remains unchangeable. Thematized temporality is nothing other than
an act of consciousness, one of the many acts that consciousness in its total
freedom carries out in its continuous condemnation of not being the en-soi
which it thematizes. And so memory ceases to be a pure external

relationship between an event which took place and consciousness which
selects it, but becomes a free act of consciousness that thematizes the en-soi
in the temporal mode of the past.
That memory is an act of consciousness which in its total freedom

thematizes the en-soi in the past is confirmed not only by confabulation,
namely by the thematization of a past which does not completely coincide
with the effective experience of the subject who confabulates. For example,
among Buddhists, who believe in the reincarnation of the soul, a common
meditation exercise aims at remembering the past lives in which the soul
lived before reincarnating itself in the person meditating. It is well known
that this exercise in meditation often obtains the result it sets out to, and the
subject who is meditating manages to remember what he was, for example,
a warrior, a harlot, a dog or a bat. There is no doubt that this type of
phenomenon is neither the result of banal mystification nor of a circus trick,
but that rather it is something which is extremely serious. However, for
those of us who do not believe in metempsychosis, it seems difficult to
believe that someone is able to remember a past life since we do not believe
in that life. And yet here there is no difficulty in comprehension, nothing
mysterious. If, as we have said, recollection is a free act of consciousness
that thematizes an event in the past, it is easy to understand how any event
can be thematized in the past and therefore recalled, including having been a
warrior or a harlot, a dog or a bat. We do not intend to discuss this here, but
it is clear how the choice of memory in these cases, harlot or princess,
warrior who died as a hero in battle or stray dog, reflects and in some way
summarises the anguish present in the person remembering, who by
remembering enacts various roles which are essentially cathartic. But it is
not necessary to resort to Buddhist practices to understand that memory is
an act of free consciousness. One day a friend told me, for example, that one
of her favourite pastimes when she is bored or sad is to remember pleasant
events that have never taken place but that she lives as though they really
had. In short, with extreme facility she remembers another past, which she
recognises as false but that to all effects she manages to live as real and to
enjoy.
In the light of these observations, confabulation assumes another aspect

and becomes in some way more normal. Indeed, it is only an act of
consciousness which thematizes time. Basically, it is a desperate attempt on
the part of consciousness to remain consciousness of time, meant here as

consciousness that remembers, that is present and that plans its future . Only
that the cornerstones of the thematization have disappeared and what is
thematized is no longer a past event, the present condition or a probable
future, but a somehow altered and impoverished life whose only points of
reference are what has been repeated, what by stint of repetition has become
encrusted in the being and which lacking a precise re-cognitive synthesis
becomes sole theme of the temporal existence. This is often a desperate
attempt, because often confabulation is not a chronic symptom but
disappears after a day or two, a couple of weeks or months at the most. It is
desperate because in the end it is an attempt which fails and the
consciousness of the subject who confabulates returns to being the
consciousness of a subject who is no longer able to thematize time, that time
which he is unable and which he never ceases to be. But what do we mean
when we speak of an attempt, a desperate attempt, which however fails, to
maintain time as the decisive thesis of consciousness? An attempt, in its
common everyday meaning, means that the subject is aware of no longer
being able to thematize time and yet he tries to thematize it all the same.
Confabulation in this case is an inauthentic act, carried out in bad faith . The
act of someone who has lost something, the ability to thematize time, and
who continues to pretend he is still able to do so . This is clearly not the case .
Attempt also means to tend towards something. It is consciousness in its
entirety that tends towards time, which is still, despite everything,
consciousness of time. There is no bad faith here. If anything there is a
pathological consciousness oftime. But adding the adjective pathological is
not of much help in understanding unless what is meant by this term in this
specific instance is clarified. What does pathological mean in this case,
apart from being a summarising judgement by a witness who has taken this
liberty? In other words is there something wrong with this consciousness
that thematizes time in a confabulatory way, and if so what is it that is
wrong? Put in these terms, yes, confabulatory consciousness in some way
reflects something wrong. We have, after all, already said that
consciousness that confabulates is "other", different from consciousness that
does not confabulate. Good, this having been established, we must now find
out what it is that is wrong and why.
First of all for there to be confabulation, for this something that is out of
place, this deficit, this pathological element to exist there must be a
"normal" subject to witness the "pathological" behaviour of the person
confabulating. In the absence of a relationship of this type, the confabulation

is no longer such, it simply ceases to exist, since, as we have seen, it is a
question of thematization of time to which the subject totally adheres
without seeing anything out of place in it. Consciousness that confabulates,
once again, is not missing anything, it is consciousness full of time in its
unity and coherency. Indeed, the patient who confabulates is described as
anosognosic which is a term coined in the field of neurology to indicate
someone who is unaware of his deficit. And who but a witness can decide
whether or not another person has a deficit and whether he lacks
consciousness of said deficit? Therefore if there is something wrong, a
deficit, a sign of pathology, we must look for it in the witness of this
confabulation, and it is he, that is we, that should ask what is wrong. If we
ask this question, we see that what makes us consider confabulation such is
a substantial separation, a deep jatus which divides us from the person who
confabulates. Where is the cleavage through which this jatus passes? It is
clear that this separation runs along a line which separates the real from the
false. The person who confabulates, in all good faith and with all our
possible comprehension, says things that are false . But what does "false"
mean here? It means saying something, in given circumstances, which is
completely different from what you would say if you were not
confabulating. It is therefore obvious, without having to consult
anthropologists who would tell us that in some forgotten tribe of American
Indians the true and the false do not exist or if they do they are different
from ours, that the separation lies wholly in the witness, in the person who
decides the course of the line which separates the true from the false. The
concept of norm, from which the word normal is derived, and of which
abnormal and therefore pathological is the antonym, is clearly crucial in this
type of situation. Whoever establishes the norm also arrogates the right to
judge as abnormal the person who transgresses it. When the norm
establishes the limits between true and false, the person who remains on the
other side of the barricade is seen as abnormal. What we need to ask
ourselves is how, on the basis of what criteria is the boundary between true
and false set in the case of confabulation? You will say that those who
confabulate pass off episodes that have never taken place for ones that have
and therefore the "false" in this case is crystal clear and there is therefore no
need to resort to concepts of norms, of separation or of boundaries. Those
who confabulate simply talk about a past they have never lived. We will
take this simplistic objection as our starting point also because it is the most
intransigent point. Firstly, those who confabulate do not simply pass off
episodes which have never taken place for ones that have. Their activity is
far more sophisticated. Indeed, they also pass off a present which does not
exist and a future which will never be. Let us take the present. If someone in
hospital tells me they are in a church dedicated to St Anthony, it is still an
objective contradiction as when the same person told me he had spent the
afternoon of the previous day with his mother who actually had been dead
for many years. But how can there be objectivity about the future? The
future, being a continuous possibility of existence, cannot by definition but
belong to the category of the probable. And yet even the future is given as
being without a doubt false in the case of those who confabulate. Where
does the apodeictic certainty come from which makes us consider the
thematized temporality of those who confabulate as false when, at least by
right, we should only have jurisdiction over what "in reality" has happened
and is happening but not over what will happen? To answer this question we
need to pose another: how can we be certain of our memories, of our present
and of our plans? On the basis of which criteria of truth can I say with a
considerable degree of certainty that at this time yesterday I was writing
another paragraph of this book or that last Sunday at this time I was walking
through the Luxembourg gardens? Why can I say that I am in my office and
not in a church and why do J state with certainty that in a couple of hours J
will go home? You will object that both my memory and present perception
and my future are so vivid and obvious that there is no need for further
justification. I "see" myself walking through the park on Sunday, the place
around me is certainly my office and when I have finished working, unless
something unexpected comes up, I will go back home. I am so absolutely
certain of all of this that nothing could ever convince me of the contrary.
The certainty with which I state my memories, my present and my future
cannot in any way become a perhaps. In other words, if, for example, I am
convinced Kennedy died in 1964 but everyone affirms that no, he died in
1963, I will recognise my mistake and accept 1963 as the year of Kennedy' s
death. But no one will ever convince me, not even the greatest number of
eye witnesses, that I did not have coffee at breakfast, that I am not at the
moment writing and that tomorrow J do not plan to take the train to a certain
place. But the fact that I am absolutely certain of my memories, of my
present and of my future is used as a criterion of veracity, we will not be
able to distinguish normal thematization of time from confabulatory
thematization. Indeed, those who confabulate are also absolutely certain of
the veracity of their memories, of their present and of their plans. It is
therefore clear that if we adopt this criterion, the distance between those
who confabulate and those who do not is reduced by a mere millimetre.

Apparently there is no way out of this vicious circle. I am certain of my
memory since it presents itself to my consciousness with all the
apodeicticity of what I really lived. The same thing happens to those who
confabulate, and so the gulf that separates us will never be closed. However,
it is only a vicious circle from which it is apparently impossible to get out if
we insist on linking time to an object and not to an act of consciousness. In
other words the contradiction stems from wanting to make time at all costs
coincide with the realfacticity of the remembered episode, of present reality
or that of the future. The fact that normally thematized time and real
facticity coincide adds nothing to the act in itself, namely to consciousness
that thematizes time. What distinguishes normal thematization of
temporality from that which is confabulatory is not a difference in the nature
of the act, but in the degree or level of knowledge reflected in the two acts,
normal and confabulatory thematization of time. Earlier we said that CD's
implausible and bizarre confabulations reflected the disintegration of the
semantic ties around which a proposition is normally built. CD's
confabulation became bizarre and highly implausible because his level of
knowing consciousness, or of semantic knowledge, had deteriorated and this
affected his propositional capacity. To use neuropsychological terminology,
in the case of CD, a semantic memory deficit was responsible for the type of
confabulation produced by this patient. But CD had kept his ability to
thematize an object in the temporal mode of consciousness, though the
object's multiplicity, which has deteriorated on the semantic plane, is seen
as unicity. While in the cases of AB and EF temporal thematization sees
multiplicity in which the semantic links are intact as unique
This description of confabulatory phenomena demonstrates that temporal

consciousness reflects an act which is free and independent of the object
which is addressed, or rather, any object may be seen by consciousness in
the temporal mode. And since the object of temporal consciousness
manifests itself by definition in its unicity, the multiplicity of an object can
also be seen by temporal consciousness as unicity. And so another two
predictions of our hypothesis have been confirmed by the concreteness of
confabulatory existence in the cases described.
3. CONSCIOUSNESS AND EXISTENCE
In the course of this work we have found ourselves in the position of

having to assign a central role to temporal consciousness in the psychic life
of man. Our aim has been to reject the paradoxes and explanatory illusions
which, by tracing the origin of conscious life in various ways back to an
unconscious elsewhere - either physiological or psychological - have only
put off the problem of consciousness creating a solutio ad infinitum. And so
this work has led us to re-assign a central role to consciousness in psychic
life. Consciousness, in its various modes, cannot be the effect of something
which precedes it in a causal chain which develops backwards into infinity.
Consciousness is not the effect of anything since it is the very origin of the
cause-effect relationship, the relationship consciousness itself offers in an
attempt to explain things and itself. But our description is missing the
answer to a question we have been avoiding: "Why do we have a temporal
consciousness and what role does it play in our psychic life?" The answer is
complicated and would take more than a few lines at the end of this book.
What we can say though is that the centrality of consciousness, and in
particular of temporal consciousness in our psychic life is not only the result
of theory but has a definite significance in the concreteness of the existence
of each of us. Having temporal consciousness means transcending the
immediate and placing yourself along the path that establishes the plot and
meaning of life. A path which starts in the darkness of that being that I was,
that foetus, that infant, a being without consciousness, immediate, not even
instantaneous because the instant demands that duration which did not yet
exist. My relationship with the world - a world which was not yet the
distinct world which would surround me later - was immediate. Darkness
then began to fade in the dawn of temporal consciousness and a past, a
present and a future began to take shape and that being that I was became
inter-worldly. A subject which is radically separated from the object in the
middle of that temporal path to be pursued - with a past behind me, a
concrete present and a possible future. I move along this path knowing that
the darkness I rose from is waiting for me down there, in death, in that
future that I will be without the possibility of not being it and, in which I
will no longer be without the possibility of being. Temporal consciousness
therefore is the very need for the inter-worldly being that I am to express
itself as such. The path I examine behind me and the one I have in front of
me are the very meaning of my existence. But temporal consciousness is not
only the meaning of my existence but it is also the condition necessary for
existence to come about. How could I love a woman, work well, have
political ideas without a consciousness which allows me to place love, work,
political ideas along the path of time, of my time? Temporal consciousness
enables me to recognise myself, to project myself, for better and for worse.
Not only, but by means of temporal consciousness I take full responsibility
for myself and the entire world because universal time, of which the world
is made, is not given, but stems from the temporal consciousness of each of
us. There is a moral responsibility to which temporal consciousness recalls
us continually, from which we can hide but not escape. Temporal
consciousness engages us constantly as is seen in the questions we always
answer unwillingly: "Who are we; who were we; who will we be?" There is
a sort of amnesia which persecutes us as individuals and as a society: we
soon forget what we have been and what we have done and are ready to re-
become what we were even if that being that we were should cover us with
shame. Heidegger's dasein, being-there, sends you to a having-been and to a
will-be, namely to a consciousness which is articulated by means of all the
subordinate structures of temporality. There can be no dasein, consciousness
of the present, without consciousness of the past and of the future. There can
be no life without a consciousness which takes full responsibility for the
past, the present and the future. And yet, you will say, there is existence,
without there being a need for each of us to be obsessed by our thematized
past, present and future. Certainly the past, present and the future of each of
us are often in the background of concrete consciousness, sometimes they
are completely missing, and yet there is life, there is existence all the same.
But it is an existence which hides from itself, an existence which in some
way or another is in bad faith, in which the liar and the lied to coincide. For
this reason temporal consciousness is not only a necessity, but a necessity to
be reached, a necessity which escapes us continually, a condition towards
which we should tend not as a sterile exercise, but to give concrete and full
meaning to our existence, to define it. But what does this tension towards
temporal consciousness lead to, what is there at the end of the path? A
discovery. The discovery of existence and of how much of it is
irremediable, not the bitter, desperate discovery that seriousness imposes on
us. The discovery "that all human activity is the same - because it all tends
to sacrifice man to give birth to the cause of itself - and all of it is, on
principle, destined to fail. And so getting drunk on your own or being a
political leader amount to the same thing. If one of these activities wins out
over the other it will not be because of its real aim, but because of the
degree of consciousness that it has of its ideal aim, and, in this case, the
qUIetIsm of the lonely drunk will win out over the useless commotion
caused by your political activism) But there will be the discovery of the
freedom of the path of consciousness, freedom that is neither expected nor
detennined by things but which comes into being in the moral agent which,
forced to exist, invents the free values of its own existence every step of the
way. Not without pain. Not without the pain of the anguish which is
discovered to be the only source of values. It is through anguish that the
world manifests itself as possible infinite, in the past, in the present and in
the future and it imposes itself as a continual choice against which every
attempt to hide yourself is humanly pointless. This is where we must re-
start.
1 Sartre, J.P., 1943.

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INDEX
consciousness, 61-71
Alzheimer's disease, 186, 189 memory, 66-69
amnesia, 182-191 reading models, 62-66
implicit learning in, 14-16 Coltheart, M., 63
confabulation, 28, 30, 31,191-
Baddeley, A., 16,28, 192 206
Barbizet, J., 196 consciousness
Bateson, G., 183 autonoetic, 19, 175
before-after relationship, 117-24 foundations of, 43-71
beliefs, 33-41 imaginative, 94, 97, 153, 155-
Bergson, H., 6, 8, 106, Ill, 118 58,161,165-69,174,186,
Berlyne, N., 8, 191 187, 189
body intentionality, 33-34
mind-body dualism, 48, 50, 51, knowing, 153-66, 186-191,
54-57, 73 206
brain, 49,50 neurobiological substantialism,
and consciousness, 46-48, 51- 51,53,54,57,72
57 noetic, 19
Brentano, F., 31,88 temporal, 121, 122, 124, 142,
Burgess, I., 28, 67 144,153,154, 157-161,
Butters, N., 185 166-69,173,184-89,191,
197-200,206-8
Caramazza, A., 62 varieties of, 87-104
censorship, 58, 60 Conway, M., 28, 198
Cermak, L., 185 Crick, F., 46, 47
Chalmers, D., 49
Changeux, J-P., 54 Dalla Barba, G., 30,173,189,
Churchland, P., 47, 120, 121 190, 193, 195, 197
Claparede, E., 8, 11, 13, 14, 16, Damasio, A., 53
183-85, 188-89 Dennet, D., 33, 53, 79, 122
cognitivism Descartes, R., 53, 54, 117, 118
Index 222
detenninism, 12,36,44,58, 72,

83,98-101 infantile amnesia, 103
double link, 187 intentionality, 31
duration, Ill, 118 consciousness, 33-34
unconscious, 34-39
Edelman, 1., 54 intuition, 60, 73, 125-126, 130,
ego,95-96,169 139
episodic memory, 15, 16, 18,19,
23, 124, 158, 165, 167, 187, Jacoby, L., 18
196 James, W., 8, 174
autonoetic consciousness, 19 Johnson, M., 28, 31, 192
deficit, 170 Joseph, R., 191
experimental phenomenology,
169-179 Kant, E., 117
knowledge, 2-5, 9-23, 25, 27,30,
false memories, 28, 31, 32, 41, 47,50,52,60,67,69,70,73,
191, 192, 197 79,83,96,98,102,103,124-
Fodor, J., 62 132, 134, 135, 137-40, 145-
functionalism, 37, 52, 61, 62, 71, 162,166-69,171,174-76,182,
72, 179 188-90,196,200,201,206
anthropomorphization of the and representation, 20-23
unconscious, 61-71 brain damage, 20, 21
memory, 66-69 ontology of, 125-38
memory trace, 6 phenomenological description,
reading models, 62-66 1-5
future vs recollection, 1-5,23
consciousness of, 159-60 Kopelman, R., 196
nature of, 114-17 Korsakoff, S., 14, 182-184
Gardiner, J., 173 Libet, B ., 119-21

Globus, G., 61
Malraux, A., 110, 155
Heidegger, M., 144, 208 Marcel, A., 61, 66, 85
Hintzman, D., 16 materialism
homunculus fallacy, 31-42, 61, quality vs quantity, 75-77
66,67,69,83,91, 149, 192, science, 71-85
197 meaning, 19,20
Husserl, E., 31,32, 88, 107, Ill, memory
126,140,174,175,176,179 and representation, 13-25
223 Index
cognitivist models, 66-69 phenomenological reduction,

consciousness of the past, 7, 174-178
19,23,70,101,122,123, Popper, K., 120
149, 152, 154, 158, 159, presence, 105, 111-13
167, 184,208 present
control systems, 27-32, 67, 69 consciousness of, 122, 159,
implicit memory, 182-186 173,208
multiple vs single memory nature of, 111-14
system, 15-18 psychoanalytic theory
memory trace, 6-12, 17-19,23, anthropomorphization of the
25,27,28,43,67,84,97,106, unconscious, 57-61
115,124,145,149,167,179, Putnam, H., 61
184, 186, 187
paradox of, 5-13 Rajaram, S., 173
temporal nature of, 6-9 reading
Merleau-Ponty, M., 7, 45, 54, 56, two-routes model, 63
78, 101, 109, 110, 117, 175, representation, 13-25
176 unconscious, 41
Milner, B., 14, 185 Ribot, T., 14
mind-body dualism, 48, 50, 51, Robinson, A., 12
54-57, 73 Roediger, H., 18
monitoring mechanisms, 28-31, Rosenfield, I., 84
42
Morton, J., 8 Sartre, J-P., 12,32,50,59, 73, 75,
Moscovitch, M., 28, 69, 90, 153, 82,95,97, 108, 108, 109, 112,
185-188,191-92 115, 118, 130, 137, 156,209
Schacter, D., 15, 69, 90, 102, 153,
Nagel, T., 74, 76, 78, 171 185,186,188
Nietzsche, F., 4 schizophrenia, 183
Searle, J., 33-37, 39, 47, 48, 50,
Parkin, 173 61,62,72,92
past semantic memory, 15-18,23,
problem of, 1-25 124,153,166,196,206
patient H.M., 185 noetic consciousness, 19
perception, 4, 7, 13,24,33,44, Shallice, T., 67
74, 76-80, 92-94, 101-102, Shimamura, A., 185
132-134, 136, 152, 154-156, Spinoza, B., 10
159,176,199,205
Talland, C., 191, 192, 19
Index 224
temporality, 9,39, 101, 104, 105- functionalist anthropomor-

124, 138-140, 142, 143, 144, phization, 61-71
146,149,167,168,174,188, intentionality, 34-39
197,198, 199,201,205,206, psychoanalytic anthropomor-
208 phization, 57--61
confabulation and, 191-20 I unconscious subject, 35, 39,
ontology of, 117-24 40,43
phenomenology of, 105-17
Titchener, E., 95 Varela, F., 61,175
Tulving E., ,15-18, 66, 87, 102,
158,165,173,185,188 Warrington, E., 14, 185
Weiskrantz,L., 14, 16, 189
unconscious Wilson, B., 28, 192
Wittgenstein, L., 56

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What is the book about?

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What are some of the main topics discussed in the book?

MEMORY, CONSCIOUSNESS AND

Gianfranco Dalla Barba

SPRINGER SCIENCE+BUSINESS MEDIA, LLC

Dalla Barba, Gianfranco, 1957-

BF3171 .D35 2001

Copyright 2002 Springer Science+Business Media New York

Printed an acid-free paper.

AKNOWLEDGMENTS ............................................................................................................. vii

CHAPTER 1. THE PROBLEM OF THE PAST AND THE PARADOX OF

CHAPTER 2. THE HOMUNCULUS FALLACy ..................................................................... 27

CHAPTER 3. VARIETIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS ................................................................ 87

CHAPTER 4. TEMPORALITY .............................................................................................. 105

CHAPTER 5. KNOWING AND REMEMBERING .............................................................. 125

CHAPTER 6. MEMORY AND CONSCIOUSNESS ............................................................. 149

CHAPTER 7. CONSCIOUSNESS AND REALITY .............................................................. 181

REFERENCES .......................................................................................................................... 211

INDEX ........................................................................................................................................ 221

I am indebted to a great many people for many different reasons. Over

The second is Endel Tulving. I am particularly grateful to Endel for

It is not frequent to come across a book announcing a major paradigm

1 Flanagan, O. (1992). Consciousness reconsidered. Cambridge, MA, US: MIT Press.

(objective) science of (subjective) consciousness is not logically possible.

brain-damaged patients showing a selective deficit for one of these modes of

Paolo Bartolomeo is senior research scientist at the French institute of

Augustine, The confessions of Saint Augustine

THE PROBLEM OF THE PAST AND THE

1. KNOWING AND REMEMBERING: A PHENOMENOLOGICAL

What is memory? If you look it up in the dictionary, you soon discover

1 Robert, P., 1972.

which has no personal or temporal connotations. For example, the idea of

Here is a book, on the table in front of me. What knowledge do I have of

2. THE PARADOX OF THE TRACE

An assumption common to many old and new theories on memory is that

this cup of coffee on the table, tomorrow I will be able to remember it

1 Bergson, H., 1896.

physical (the nervous system) or virtual (the computational level ), which I

I Merleau-Ponty, M., 1945.

to it, that of being past, a meaning which by definition cannot be contained

As support for the hypothesis of the memory trace as a condition for

1 Claparede, E., 1911.

On the other hand, it would be pointless to attribute the order of

If, as we have seen, memory and knowledge cannot be contained in a

sentence. Or else, much more simply, I can be conscious of what I am

another, a question of ineutrali information, that is non-specified in terms of

Some time ago, in one of the most prestigious international scientific

1 Sartre, J.P., 1943.

3. MEMORY AND REPRESENTATION

At the beginning of this century, Claparede I made the following

I Claparede, E., 1911.

In this observation of Claparede' s we already find, more or less

concepts could not be disposed of as monolithic and integral phenomena.

1 Schacter, D.L., & Tulving, E. , 1994.

its characteristics by much l . Furthermore, Tulving affirms that episodic

Tulving's schematisation has without doubt a merit, that of

episodic system is said to be dependent on the semantic, what is not clear is