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The Book of Memory

Page 35

by Mary Carruthers


  1240s, his years at Paris. As we have seen, he connects Aristotle’s comments

  on the associative nature of memory and the principles by which it operates

  with the example of the advice and images adduced in Ad Herennium. He is

  the first Western scholar to have done so. His pupil, Thomas Aquinas, does

  the same, both in his own De memoria commentary and in the Summa

  (1272). By mid-century the art of making memorial images in back-

  grounds, and more importantly, the idea that memoria could be treated

  as an art, with principles and structure, even though its specific application

  varied so much with individual experience, had been accepted as philo-

  sophically and logically reputable. As a result of this circumstance of its

  revival, the art of memory is often dissociated from the study of rhetoric in

  the later Middle Ages, and treated instead as a part of logic, or ethics – as

  in Albertus Magnus’s treatise ‘‘on the Good’’ – or natural philosophy.

  Separate memorial artes and essays on strengthening memory were typi-

  cally composed and circulated as independent treatises, often in antho-

  logies of works on natural philosophy, a description that fits well both of

  the manuscripts in which copies of Bradwardine’s treatise are found, and

  the essays of Matheolus of Perugia, Peter of Ravenna, and the most popular

  art of memory of the late fifteenth century (printed throughout Europe),

  that of a Spanish physician, Jacobus Publicius.

  The linking of memory arts to dialectic and the discovery of arguments

  goes back to Aristotle’s Topica at least. As I pointed out earlier (in

  Chapter 3), Aristotle specifically mentions there that the topics or seats of

  argument are stored in the mind using a method like that of the arts of

  memory. This particular text of Aristotle was not lost in the Middle Ages: it

  became a part of the medieval curriculum known as the old logic. Cicero

  wrote an extended adaptation of Aristotle’s work in his own Topica, a work

  known as well in the Middle Ages. But it was through Boethius’s sixth-

  century treatise De differentiis topicis that the topics of argument, seen as

  analogous to the places of recollection, gained full currency in the earlier

  Middle Ages, for this work was an elementary text on reasoning and

  logic.64 The idea that recollection, memoria, is itself a reasoning procedure,

  which makes use of orderly series of mental topics (places) for the pro-

  cedure of investigation, is fundamental from antiquity onward both in

  dialectic and in rhetoric. In each of these linguistic arts, the compositional

  task requires invention (discovery and recovery) of arguments, matters, and

  materials, which in turn derive their power and persuasion from the mental

  library one put away during the study of grammar. The initimate con-

  nections among the three arts of the trivium, habituated throughout a

  The arts of memory

  191

  medieval scholar’s entire reading life, should never be forgotten or set aside

  in our own desire to analyze them separately.

  All three of the twelfth-century commentaries on Ad Herennium address

  the issue of how to classify memory art within the standard curriculum, and

  all three regard it as both rational and persuasive, part of both dialectic and

  rhetoric. The ‘‘Alanus’’ commentary, which dominated teaching of the text

  known as Cicero’s New Rhetoric (the Rhetorica ad Herennium) through the

  thirteenth century, paraphrases its initial definition of memoria as a ‘‘treas-

  ury,’’ by calling it camera argumentorum as well, invoking again the

  ‘‘topics’’-of-argument model familiar in dialectic. Albertus Magnus and

  Thomas Aquinas both discuss recollection (and the need to store memory

  in such a way as to enable effective recollection) as a procedure of rational

  investigation. They do so in the context of commenting on Aristotle’s De

  memoria, but they did not need to learn this from him, for it was a

  pedagogical commonplace. The commentary called Plena et perfecta puts

  the matter succinctly. To the question whether arts of memory are to be

  considered part of dialectic or rhetoric, the master replies that they belong

  properly to both, for ‘‘memory is taught as a part of dialectic just as it is of

  rhetoric.’’65

  It was Aristotle who made these rules comprehensible through his

  analysis of the imagistic and associative working of recollection. A manu-

  script of the first decade of the fifteenth century (Ambrosiana MS. R.50.

  supra) appends a poem of forty hexameters setting forth rules for the art of

  memory to the Latin translation of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Though

  it does not go so far as to attribute these verses to Aristotle himself, it is clear

  that the connection – even a sort of authorship – between Aristotle and the

  arts of memory had become by then something of a commonplace. The

  renewed Aristotelian connection was not the first comprehend recollective

  procedures as forms of reasoned investigation – they had always been

  regarded as that. Its twelfth century commentaries recognized just such a

  rational system in the Ad Herennium’s advice on rhetorical memoria. Nor

  was it new to discuss memory within the context of ethical philosophy, as

  Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas both did (Thomas discusses it with

  the virtue of prudence in the Summa theologiae, and Albertus in his treatise

  De bono). In so doing, these two friars were following well-established

  Ciceronian practice, for Cicero discussed the virtue of prudence, and

  defined memory as part of it, in his first rhetorical work, De inventione,

  the rhetoric text best known throughout the entire Middle Ages. The parts

  of prudence, Cicero wrote, are ‘‘memory, intelligence, and foresight,’’

  memoria, intelligentia, providentia (De invent. II. 53).

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  But it was new to treat memoria as a separate study within psychology

  considered as a natural science, as both scholars did in their commentaries

  on Aristotle’s De memoria, and as Averroe¨s had done in his Epitome of

  Aristotle’s psychological works. Aristotle’s De anima and its companion

  treatises are associated with neither rhetoric nor dialectic nor ethics. The

  lasting, distinctive contribution made by the two Dominicans, building on

  one another’s work and on their Arabic forebears, was to rationalize the arts

  of memory as a distinct subject in natural science, not solely within

  dialectic and rhetoric (including that aspect of rhetoric, articulated by

  Cicero, that dealt with civic virtues such as prudence and sound judgment).

  Classifying the arts of memory within a scientific subject (psychology) that

  was separable from the language arts of argumentation and invention

  ‘‘put . . . artificial memory on an altogether new footing,’’ as Frances

  Yates rightly observed. 66 It was this new Aristotle-based classification that

  made possible the extravagant scientific claims made for mnemonic art in

  the Renaissance, as a speculative subject on its own. In the early eighteenth

  century, Diderot re-classified the arts of memory as part of dialectic


  (the invention of arguments), as Pierre Ramus had earlier done in the

  seventeenth century. Though they do not say so, their scheme was not

  unprecedented, but rather a return to the situation of mnemonic practices

  in the twelfth- and early thirteenth-century medieval curriculum, as instru-

  ments of verbal invention.

  Yet the academic recovery of Aristotle’s major psychological texts is not

  sufficient to explain the immediate popularity of ars memorativa in circles

  that included theology students and professors, students of law, friars, and

  (especially in Italy) bureaucratic clerks, merchants, physicians, and nota-

  ries. A translation of the memory section of Ad Herennium appeared in

  Italian not later than 1266, only a few years after Albertus Magnus’s

  discussion of it in De bono, and before Thomas Aquinas commended it

  in the second part of his Summa. And a French version was made by Jean

  d’Antioche at the end of the thirteenth century, as part of a translation of

  the Ad Herennium.67 The explanation for this popularity lies in cultural

  and educational factors that greatly increased people’s need and oppor-

  tunities for speaking publicly, to a variety of audiences both clerical and lay.

  These came into prominence during the latter twelfth century, and were

  fully developed during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

  Unlike the situation in the earlier Middle Ages, when public oratory was

  the responsibility primarily of abbots and bishops, addressing one another

  or monks in their cloisters or a few aristocrats, the culture of the medieval

  university called for public disputations, sermons, and other forms of oral

  The arts of memory

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  address on the part of all students as well as professors. Lawyers had always

  needed to retain quantities of detailed material and to be able to speak

  disputationally; the study of law expanded greatly after the twelfth century.

  The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 encouraged greater participation by

  the laity in the life of the church, the chief vehicle for which was to be

  vernacular sermons. The lay culture of courtiers and merchants also

  incorporated the need to speak well publicly during the thirteenth and

  fourteenth centuries. 68

  We can trace these social developments in the rapid proliferation from

  the thirteenth century on of memorial artes – some based mainly upon

  Tullius, some (like Bradwardine’s) clearly not. They are written in Latin

  and in the vernaculars, especially Italian and French. Often they are the

  work of Dominican friars, though other orders and even laymen (especially

  in the fourteenth century) were also active transmitters. Whatever their

  content and provenance, however, they are all called artes memorativae after

  the twelfth century, though the term is rarely used before then during the

  Middle Ages when memoria is discussed.

  It is a phenomenon of the very greatest importance to this study of what

  I have called ‘‘memorial culture,’’ that the Dominican order, which was

  responsible for developing many of the most useful tools for the study of

  written texts during the thirteenth century, was simultaneously the most

  active single proponent and popularizer of memory as an art, and especially

  of the principles of Tullius. The Dominicans developed the written con-

  cordance to the Bible, devised indexing schemes for texts that were to

  continue in use for centuries (they are responsible, for example, for the

  referential scheme of dividing a column of text into areas marked A

  through G), and compiled many collections of distinctiones, quaestiones,

  and other scholars’ and preachers’ aids. Of course the Franciscans and other

  fraternal orders compiled similar reference tools, and practiced techniques

  of traditional memoria that eventually also came to be called artes. But

  Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas are the two earliest theologians to

  commend particularly the art of memory which Tullius taught as being the

  best of all. These two great saints exercised their influence for several

  centuries in ensuring Dominican sponsorship of the Herennian architec-

  tural mnemonic. 69

  Preaching friars and theology students were not the only groups in

  the thirteenth century who took up ars memorativa with enthusiasm. The

  mid-thirteenth-century Italian translation of Tullius, the earliest vernac-

  ular one, was probably made by a Florentine jurist, Bono Giamboni,70 who

  also translated Brunetto Latini’s Treśor into Italian from French. It is

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  closely associated in the written record with a collection of rhetorical

  precepts, chiefly from the Ad Herennium, made by a Dominican,

  Guidotto da Bologna. Brunetto Latini himself was a great Ciceronian;

  his Treśor is a compendious florilegium of things to be remembered from

  classical writers on a variety of ethical and rhetorical subjects. Though it

  does not include Tullius’ memory art, there is some basis for thinking that

  such compilations were thought of specifically as memory books, and their

  compilers revered at this time in Italy as major exponents of ars memora-

  tiva. Bono Giamboni’s translation soon was attached, as a final appendix,

  to an early Italian ethical florilegium, Ammaestramenti degli antichi, com-

  piled around 1300 by the Dominican friar, Bartolomeo, of the convent of

  San Concordio in Pisa.

  The author of the Ammaestramenti supplement (Bono, lightly edited

  by Bartolomeo) makes clear why he considers an art of memory to be

  necessary for all educated men, including laity:

  if a man has the wisdom to know well how to understand things, and also has

  wisdom and justice, which is the firm desire to want to arrange things well, and to

  want to do it rightfully, he must know how to speak . . . for without speech his

  goodness would be like a buried treasure . . . We have already seen the first thing a

  speaker must know, how he is to learn to speak good, ornamented, and ordered

  speech, as I have shown you. Now I wish to show you the second thing a speaker

  must know in order to speak perfectly, which is how his speech may be held in

  memory, for no one will speak well if when he speaks he does not have it clearly in

  mind. 71

  The art of memory is specifically an aid for speakers, not for learners, for

  composers, not for readers. This distinguishes it most clearly from the

  elementary rules of memory training. But, like all memory training, it was

  considered to be an ethical as well as a practical imperative.

  C H A P T E R 5

  Memory and the ethics of reading

  There is no questioning the fact that written material came

  increasingly into use from the eleventh century on; the reason that

  more manucripts survive from the later Middle Ages is because more

  were made. The making of scholarly compendia is a response to this

  increase, and the larger educated, book-needing public that created it.

  There is an increase not only in bulk, but in the complexity of indexing

  and classifying schemes that one does not see before the late eleventh

  century, and it is evident that, though th
ey derive from mnemonic prin-

  ciples in use for centuries, they seem much too technical to have served

  directly as a mnemonic – for them to be useful as memory devices, a user

  would need some prior training and familiarity with basic mnemonic

  principles.

  But these facts do not seem to have altered significantly the value placed

  on memory training in medieval education, nor to have changed the

  deliberate cultivation of memoria. Medieval culture remained profoundly

  memorial in nature, despite the increased use and availability of books for

  reasons other than simple technological convenience. The primary factor

  in its conservation lies in the identification of memory with creative

  thinking, learning (invention and recollection), and the ability to make

  judgments (prudence or wisdom). Writing, as we have seen, was always

  thought to be a memory aid, not a substitute for it. Children learned to

  write as a part of reading/memorizing, inscribing their memories in the act

  of inscribing their tablets. Writing itself was judged to be an ethical activity

  in monastic culture. A twelfth-century sermon says, in part: ‘‘Let us

  consider then how we may become scribes of the Lord. The parchment

  on which we write for Him is a pure conscience, whereon all our good

  works are noted by the pen of memory.’’ The orator then proceeds to

  moralize the various implements of writing: pumice, knife, pen, ruler,

  chalk, ink, and so on. 1

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  The Book of Memory

  C O M P O S I T I O N A S G A T H E R I N G ( O C K H A M , R I C H A R D D E

  B U R Y , A N D P E T R A R C H )

  In 1330, the Franciscan friar William of Ockham, virtually interdicted from

  the intellectual community of Western Europe by Pope John XXII for his

  teachings challenging papal power, found himself living at the Franciscan

  convent in Munich. There he spent the rest of his life. Having been a

  member of university communities at Oxford, Paris, and in Italy, where he

  had access to the best libraries in Europe, his isolation at Munich was

  distressing to him, not least because there he had virtually no books, nor

  means of obtaining them, for the Pope had warned that nothing was to be

  sent to him. Ockham makes this quite clear at several points in his

 

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