CH1_Self-intro 1c
From the first scenes of À la recherche du temps perdu, Proust’s novel manifests a deep and abiding concern with the nature of human consciousness and identity. The beginning of the text offers a description of an emerging self. The subsequent few thousand pages trace Marcel’s development as he discovers and explores different ways of being in the world. Just what is meant by self demands specification. Following Landy, I propose that a meaningful sense of self requires two things. I (or me) must be both coherent (“identity with oneself”) and unique (“distinction from other individuals”). (102) To Landy’s criteria I add that whatever is identified as both coherent and unique, must also converge to a reasonable extent with our common–sense notion of self if it is to be accorded the value of the self. For example, if through the course of the Recherche, the only aspect of an individual’s experience to emerge as both coherent and identical are the objectively created subjective impressions of the world, then it should be asked whether this meaningfully satisfies our notion of selfhood, by which I mean self-identity. This question will become pertinent in the second half of this chapter as I examine what could be called the essential–self that is revealed by Marcel’s experiences of involuntary memory, and, additionally, by the instants profonds (Poulet), such as the Hawthorn trees. First, however, I will trace the development of the habitual–self, a terminological choice whose reasons will soon become clear. Its principal characteristics are threefold. There is, first, a clear divide between observing subject and object. Second, as experiences are accrued, and as they become more varied, identity comes to reside in the objects of experience, resulting in a diachronic and synchronic fracturing of the self . This transfer of personal identity results in the third principal trait of the habitual self: it constrains the potential breadth and richness of perception and experience. On the other hand, the third type of self, which emerges in Le temps retrouvée and will be discussed in chapter three, aims to capture as much of the richness of its impressions in language, through which being is understood , as possible. It earns the title “literary–self” for two reasons . First, because the self thus constructed is, unlike the habitual–self, a consciously created fiction. Though unique, the literary–self is certainly not coherent; it varies with both context and time . The habitual self is also unique and not coherent, but, unaware of its incoherency, it persists in a futile search for a coherent self–identity in the objects of its experiences. Second, the literary–self attempts, to the degree possible, to see the world “as it is, poetically.” As Joshua Landy writes, this particular capacity for vision and experience is the ultimate, motivating goal for Marcel:
The grail in question is not, as the novel’s somewhat misleading title seems to suggest, ‘lost–time.’ For it is not the past that its protagonist is pursuing across three thousand pages of peregrinations, but instead an enrichment of experience, an additional dimension, something more than he can readily perceive (under a limited definition, we might call this a desire for transcendence). (66)
Perception or experience of this type, which I call “artistic perception,” is the subject of chapter two, where Marcel’s experiences of Elstir, the painter he meets in A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs, will be examined. Though none of the three types of self described above will, in the end, count as a self by the outlined criteria, that is not to say that À la recherche du temps perdu does not propose a potentially effective way of being in the world.
In the first pages of Du côté de chez Swann, the text represents the progressive emergence of consciousness and self–consciousness through a gradual sensorial expansion. In this process, the objects of Marcel’s awareness become reference points by which Marcel develops an awareness of the world and creates his own subjective vision of the world. Marcel’s awareness of the world and worldview are indistinguishable at the stage of habitual–self. Objects of his perception trigger memories which he then unconsciously projects into his present experience of reality. In this way, his subjectivity, understood as the combination of self-consciousness and past–experience, affects his present experience, and his understanding of his relationship to the world. Marcel’s perception of the world thus evolves alongside his changing sense of self, though this relationship is not static, which is to say that there exists no function that we could unearth by which changes in one consistently create proportional changes in the other. The reason for this is twofold. The connections between past–experience and present phenomena are metonymic: some part of his present experience triggers an sense of resemblance with some part of a memory. However, as other pieces of the recalled memory arise, Marcel projects them into his perception of reality and experiences the present through a metaphor with the past. Though the nexus of this relationship is Marcel’s subjectivity, his own identity comes to reside in the objects of his perception.
Du côté de chez Swann begins with a description of Marcel repeatedly falling asleep and waking up. The alternation between states of sleep and awakedness foregrounds the relationships between consciousness, the outer world, and self–consciousness. Before falling asleep, Marcel has been reading a book. While sleeping, his “reflections on what [he] has just read” have become his identity: “it seemed to me that I was myself that which the book was talking about: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François 1st and Charles Quint.” The thought “that it was time to get some sleep” has just interrupted his sleep, and the irony of being awoken because he is searching for sleep underscores the disconnection between Marcel’s dreams and reality. However, upon waking, he is unable to entirely extricate himself from his dreams. He continues to believe himself to be the subject(s) of his book, a belief that “weighs down on his eyes like scales,” and prevents him from seeing the outside world. The daily process of sleeping and waking, suggested by the novel’s first phrase—“for a long time, I went to bed at a good hour”—underlines the recurrent loss of consciousness and suggests a ruptured self–consciousness. In the description of Marcel awakening, Proust underlines this rupture as the belief that he [Marcel] is the subject of his book, that has bled from his dreams into his experience of reality , “starts to become unintelligible to him, as after the metempsychosis the thoughts of an anterior existence.” The experience, as Bersani writes, “is one in which he loses his sense both of his own identity and of the identity of the external world.” (21) Similarly, in the first description of Marcel falling asleep, the narrator elides the I of self–identity as he says, “my eyes closed so fast that I did not have time to say to myself: ‘I fall asleep.’ ” The metempsychosis of sleep, wherein Marcel ceases to be himself and is not self–conscious, depicts consciousness as an emergent property , requiring, at the very least, a sensory awareness of the world as its basis. In addition, the elision of Marcel’s reflexive “je m’endors,” suggests that language is in part constitutive of self–consciousness (the other part being sensory awareness).
As Marcel awakens, “the subject of the book detaches itself from [him],” and he finds himself “free to apply [himself] or not.” Proust thus places the emergence of free will prior to consciousness. Almost immediately after, Marcel regains the faculty of sight. Though the temporal proximity between the two events may suggest a causal connection, it is not actually the relationship between free will and consciousness that is important, but, more specifically, free will and self–consciousness as the latter requires the former. Initially, Marcel does not see anything at all. Curiously, however, the obscure darkness of his room appears to him “as something without cause, incomprehensible, as something truly obscure.” The implication is that he either does not remember, or simply does not have, a sense of his temporal or physical location, or of his own identity. That the darkness is incomprehensible is not, however, the most salient feature of the episode. Above all, it is Marcel’s reaction, it is the fact that it appears to him as something without cause, and the subsequent implication that it is because of that fact that he cannot make sense of what he sees. As Marcel’s initial self-consciousness and worldview develop, this causal relationship to the world becomes central. His experiences emerge interdependently and he comes to find himself in the relationships amongst the objects of his world. As Bersani writes, “by living in certain places, among certain arrangements of objects in the world, we materialize our identity in things outside of ourselves.” (21) Throughout Combray, spaces are split into inside and outside, and the divide that is created becomes unbridgeable. Self–identity will come to reside on the object side, separated from consciousness and thus creating a fractured self–consciousness.
The sounds of the whistling trains, “like the song of a bird in the forest”, signal the return of Marcel’s ability to hear. As the narrator writes, the train’s sounds:
me décrivait l’étendue de la compagne où le voyageur se hâte vers la station prochaine ; et le petit chemin qu’il suit va être gravé dans son souvenir par l’excitation qu’il doit à des lieux nouveaux, à des actes inaccoutumés, à la causerie récente et aux adieux sous la lampe étrangère qui le suivent encore dans le silence de la nuit, à la douceur prochaine du retour.
described to me the expanse of the countryside where the traveler hurries to the next station; and the little path that he follows will be etched in his memory by the excitement that he owes to new places, to unaccustomed acts, to the recent chitchat and to the farewells under the foreign [strange?] lamp that follow him still in the silence of the night, to the sweetness of the next return.
Though there is now a distinction between the interior subject and exterior objects, it is not yet definite. The sounds of the trains are “more or less far away”, and do not establish definite points of reference. Instead, they elicit dream like images of a voyager, and the relationship between the unfamiliar experiences of the voyager’s explorations and the indelible imprints they will leave on his memory. The above passage is also interesting for the disconnection it suggests between reality and a person’s perceptions. When Marcel could only see, the darkness of his room was incomprehensible, suggesting either a state of less than full consciousness, or a lack of previous experiences. However, all of a sudden, the the train sounds trigger his memory and its contents are projected onto the present phenomena of perception. The train sounds do not actually describe all of the phenomena Marcel attaches to them. Instead, the description renders the shared cultural experience of train travel generally, to which the train sounds are synecdochically connected. However, Proust obscures the metonymic relationship when he personifies the train sounds, writing that they “described to me [Marcel] the expanse of the countryside...” Having elided the contingent, metonymic connection between the train sounds of Marcel’s present perception and the train associations from his memory, the personification creates a metaphor that describes the processes of perception and consciousness. The metaphor’s tenor is a combination of perception and consciousness, and its vehicle is the structure of metaphor itself . That is, Proust’s metaphor involves metaphor as one of its two components, and suggests that the processes of perception and consciousness cause the perceiver to experience the present objects of his perception in terms of past memories and experiences.
The bounds of Marcel’s physical sense of self are more firmly established as he regains the faculty of touch with the feeling of “his cheeks against the beautiful cheeks of the pillow that, full and fresh, are like the cheeks of our childhood”. Once again, Proust depicts Marcel’s perceptual process metaphorically. In this case, Marcel projects his past memories of childhood cheeks into his present experience of his pillow. His initial impressions trigger a memory which then appears to him as an intrinsic part of his present experience, completing the perceptual process that establishes his worldview.
“Our habitual responses to things not only make us insensitive to the particularities of things in the world; they also block our most profoundly individual responses to the world.” (Bersani: 207)
“since external sites serves as boundary markers for an internal chronology (Poulet 1963:12-13), the memory of a room (S 5-9) is also the imprint of a former self.” (Landy: 107)
treatment of metonyphors (called “diegetic metaphors by Genette), metaphors based not on some deep, underlying analogy between two commonly disparate elements, but simply on the contiguity of the two elements (Landy: 69)
Marcel as aware of the metonymic basis of some of his own metaphors (Landy: 73)
“...the aim of metaphor can be—and in Marcel’s description quite explicitly is—to convey not an objective but a subjective connection between two impressions or ideas, and that this subjective connection can possess a type of local inescapability. Marcel, in other words, locates an intermediate position between the two de Manian extremes of thorough contigency and absolute necessity, and indeed considers his intermediate position the most interesting thing there is to say about metaphor.” (Landy: 73)
• As Landy argues, this runs counter to de Man’s argument that all metaphors are metonymic.
Landy writes, “at least some of Marcel’s metaphors indicate features of his perspective, and are to that extent necessary within his subjective world; and that we should not hold the images in the novel to standards of objective truth, since these are not the standards they set themselves,” (Landy: 73-4) I agree in part. It is not clear to me that such metaphors are necessary. In what world are they necessary? It can only be in Marcel’s own world, and this is indeed Landy’s point. However, the question remains as to whether they are necessary because of some essential (and unchanging) aspect of Marcel’s mind, or whether they are necessary given Marcel’s previous experience. It is not so easy to extricate the two, and in fact to do so completely would be to miss the point. Is it perhaps possible to see through the Recherche the emergence of contigency from necessity. Any given metaphor (of this type) of Marcel’s is necessary, but only given Marcel’s previous experiences. Simply, his accrued life-experience determines how he sees the world.
“À côté de cet album est le disque tournant du réveil grâce auquel nous subissons un instant l'ennui d'avoir à rentrer tout à l'heure dans une maison qui est détruite depuis cinquante ans, et dont l'image est effacée, au fur et à mesure que le sommeil s'éloigne, par plusieurs autres, avant que nous arrivions à celle qui ne se présente qu'une fois le disque arrêté et qui coïncide
avec celle que nous verrons avec nos yeux ouverts. quelquefois je n'avais rien entendu, étant dans un de ces sommeils où l'on tombe comme dans un trou duquel on est tout heureux d'être tiré un peu plus tard, lourd, surnourri, digérant tout ce que nous ont apporté, pareilles aux nymphes qui nourrissaient Hercule, ces agiles puissances végétatives, à l'activité
redoublée pendant que nous dormons. On appelle cela un sommeil de plomb; il semble
qu'on soit, même pendant quelques instants après qu'un tel sommeil a cessé, un simple
bonhomme de plomb. On n'est plus personne. Comment, alors, cherchant sa pensée, sa
personnalité comme on cherche un objet perdu, finit-on par retrouver son propre " moi "
plutôt que tout autre? Pourquoi, quand on se remet à penser, n'est-ce pas alors une autre
personnalité que l'antérieure qui s'incarne en nous? On ne voit pas ce qui dicte le choix et pourquoi, entre les millions d'êtres humains qu'on pourrait être, c'est sur celui qu'on
était la veille qu'on met juste la main. Qu'est-ce qui nous guide, quand il y a eu
vraiment interruption (soit que le sommeil ait été complet, ou les rêves entièrement différentsde nous)? Il y a eu vraiment mort, comme quand le coeur a cessé de battre et que des tractions rythmées de la langue nous raniment. Sans doute la chambre, ne l'eussions-nous vue qu'une fois, éveille-t-elle des souvenirs auxquels de plus anciens sont suspendus; ou
quelques-uns dormaient-ils en nous-mêmes, dont nous prenons conscience. La résurrection
au réveil-après ce bienfaisant accès d'aliénation mentale qu'est le sommeil-doit ressembler
au fond à ce qui se passe quand on retrouve un nom, un vers, un refrain oubliés. Et peut-être
la résurrection de l'âme après la mort est-elle concevable comme un phénomène de mémoire.” (II, 87-88; cf. Everett Knight 111)
The grail in question is not, as the novel’s somewhat misleading title seems to suggest, ‘lost–time.’ For it is not the past that its protagonist is pursuing across three thousand pages of peregrinations, but instead an enrichment of experience, an additional dimension, something more than he can readily perceive (under a limited definition, we might call this a desire for transcendence). (66)
Perception or experience of this type, which I call “artistic perception,” is the subject of chapter two, where Marcel’s experiences of Elstir, the painter he meets in A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs, will be examined. Though none of the three types of self described above will, in the end, count as a self by the outlined criteria, that is not to say that À la recherche du temps perdu does not propose a potentially effective way of being in the world.
In the first pages of Du côté de chez Swann, the text represents the progressive emergence of consciousness and self–consciousness through a gradual sensorial expansion. In this process, the objects of Marcel’s awareness become reference points by which Marcel develops an awareness of the world and creates his own subjective vision of the world. Marcel’s awareness of the world and worldview are indistinguishable at the stage of habitual–self. Objects of his perception trigger memories which he then unconsciously projects into his present experience of reality. In this way, his subjectivity, understood as the combination of self-consciousness and past–experience, affects his present experience, and his understanding of his relationship to the world. Marcel’s perception of the world thus evolves alongside his changing sense of self, though this relationship is not static, which is to say that there exists no function that we could unearth by which changes in one consistently create proportional changes in the other. The reason for this is twofold. The connections between past–experience and present phenomena are metonymic: some part of his present experience triggers an sense of resemblance with some part of a memory. However, as other pieces of the recalled memory arise, Marcel projects them into his perception of reality and experiences the present through a metaphor with the past. Though the nexus of this relationship is Marcel’s subjectivity, his own identity comes to reside in the objects of his perception.
Du côté de chez Swann begins with a description of Marcel repeatedly falling asleep and waking up. The alternation between states of sleep and awakedness foregrounds the relationships between consciousness, the outer world, and self–consciousness. Before falling asleep, Marcel has been reading a book. While sleeping, his “reflections on what [he] has just read” have become his identity: “it seemed to me that I was myself that which the book was talking about: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François 1st and Charles Quint.” The thought “that it was time to get some sleep” has just interrupted his sleep, and the irony of being awoken because he is searching for sleep underscores the disconnection between Marcel’s dreams and reality. However, upon waking, he is unable to entirely extricate himself from his dreams. He continues to believe himself to be the subject(s) of his book, a belief that “weighs down on his eyes like scales,” and prevents him from seeing the outside world. The daily process of sleeping and waking, suggested by the novel’s first phrase—“for a long time, I went to bed at a good hour”—underlines the recurrent loss of consciousness and suggests a ruptured self–consciousness. In the description of Marcel awakening, Proust underlines this rupture as the belief that he [Marcel] is the subject of his book, that has bled from his dreams into his experience of reality , “starts to become unintelligible to him, as after the metempsychosis the thoughts of an anterior existence.” The experience, as Bersani writes, “is one in which he loses his sense both of his own identity and of the identity of the external world.” (21) Similarly, in the first description of Marcel falling asleep, the narrator elides the I of self–identity as he says, “my eyes closed so fast that I did not have time to say to myself: ‘I fall asleep.’ ” The metempsychosis of sleep, wherein Marcel ceases to be himself and is not self–conscious, depicts consciousness as an emergent property , requiring, at the very least, a sensory awareness of the world as its basis. In addition, the elision of Marcel’s reflexive “je m’endors,” suggests that language is in part constitutive of self–consciousness (the other part being sensory awareness).
As Marcel awakens, “the subject of the book detaches itself from [him],” and he finds himself “free to apply [himself] or not.” Proust thus places the emergence of free will prior to consciousness. Almost immediately after, Marcel regains the faculty of sight. Though the temporal proximity between the two events may suggest a causal connection, it is not actually the relationship between free will and consciousness that is important, but, more specifically, free will and self–consciousness as the latter requires the former. Initially, Marcel does not see anything at all. Curiously, however, the obscure darkness of his room appears to him “as something without cause, incomprehensible, as something truly obscure.” The implication is that he either does not remember, or simply does not have, a sense of his temporal or physical location, or of his own identity. That the darkness is incomprehensible is not, however, the most salient feature of the episode. Above all, it is Marcel’s reaction, it is the fact that it appears to him as something without cause, and the subsequent implication that it is because of that fact that he cannot make sense of what he sees. As Marcel’s initial self-consciousness and worldview develop, this causal relationship to the world becomes central. His experiences emerge interdependently and he comes to find himself in the relationships amongst the objects of his world. As Bersani writes, “by living in certain places, among certain arrangements of objects in the world, we materialize our identity in things outside of ourselves.” (21) Throughout Combray, spaces are split into inside and outside, and the divide that is created becomes unbridgeable. Self–identity will come to reside on the object side, separated from consciousness and thus creating a fractured self–consciousness.
The sounds of the whistling trains, “like the song of a bird in the forest”, signal the return of Marcel’s ability to hear. As the narrator writes, the train’s sounds:
me décrivait l’étendue de la compagne où le voyageur se hâte vers la station prochaine ; et le petit chemin qu’il suit va être gravé dans son souvenir par l’excitation qu’il doit à des lieux nouveaux, à des actes inaccoutumés, à la causerie récente et aux adieux sous la lampe étrangère qui le suivent encore dans le silence de la nuit, à la douceur prochaine du retour.
described to me the expanse of the countryside where the traveler hurries to the next station; and the little path that he follows will be etched in his memory by the excitement that he owes to new places, to unaccustomed acts, to the recent chitchat and to the farewells under the foreign [strange?] lamp that follow him still in the silence of the night, to the sweetness of the next return.
Though there is now a distinction between the interior subject and exterior objects, it is not yet definite. The sounds of the trains are “more or less far away”, and do not establish definite points of reference. Instead, they elicit dream like images of a voyager, and the relationship between the unfamiliar experiences of the voyager’s explorations and the indelible imprints they will leave on his memory. The above passage is also interesting for the disconnection it suggests between reality and a person’s perceptions. When Marcel could only see, the darkness of his room was incomprehensible, suggesting either a state of less than full consciousness, or a lack of previous experiences. However, all of a sudden, the the train sounds trigger his memory and its contents are projected onto the present phenomena of perception. The train sounds do not actually describe all of the phenomena Marcel attaches to them. Instead, the description renders the shared cultural experience of train travel generally, to which the train sounds are synecdochically connected. However, Proust obscures the metonymic relationship when he personifies the train sounds, writing that they “described to me [Marcel] the expanse of the countryside...” Having elided the contingent, metonymic connection between the train sounds of Marcel’s present perception and the train associations from his memory, the personification creates a metaphor that describes the processes of perception and consciousness. The metaphor’s tenor is a combination of perception and consciousness, and its vehicle is the structure of metaphor itself . That is, Proust’s metaphor involves metaphor as one of its two components, and suggests that the processes of perception and consciousness cause the perceiver to experience the present objects of his perception in terms of past memories and experiences.
The bounds of Marcel’s physical sense of self are more firmly established as he regains the faculty of touch with the feeling of “his cheeks against the beautiful cheeks of the pillow that, full and fresh, are like the cheeks of our childhood”. Once again, Proust depicts Marcel’s perceptual process metaphorically. In this case, Marcel projects his past memories of childhood cheeks into his present experience of his pillow. His initial impressions trigger a memory which then appears to him as an intrinsic part of his present experience, completing the perceptual process that establishes his worldview.
“Our habitual responses to things not only make us insensitive to the particularities of things in the world; they also block our most profoundly individual responses to the world.” (Bersani: 207)
“since external sites serves as boundary markers for an internal chronology (Poulet 1963:12-13), the memory of a room (S 5-9) is also the imprint of a former self.” (Landy: 107)
treatment of metonyphors (called “diegetic metaphors by Genette), metaphors based not on some deep, underlying analogy between two commonly disparate elements, but simply on the contiguity of the two elements (Landy: 69)
Marcel as aware of the metonymic basis of some of his own metaphors (Landy: 73)
“...the aim of metaphor can be—and in Marcel’s description quite explicitly is—to convey not an objective but a subjective connection between two impressions or ideas, and that this subjective connection can possess a type of local inescapability. Marcel, in other words, locates an intermediate position between the two de Manian extremes of thorough contigency and absolute necessity, and indeed considers his intermediate position the most interesting thing there is to say about metaphor.” (Landy: 73)
• As Landy argues, this runs counter to de Man’s argument that all metaphors are metonymic.
Landy writes, “at least some of Marcel’s metaphors indicate features of his perspective, and are to that extent necessary within his subjective world; and that we should not hold the images in the novel to standards of objective truth, since these are not the standards they set themselves,” (Landy: 73-4) I agree in part. It is not clear to me that such metaphors are necessary. In what world are they necessary? It can only be in Marcel’s own world, and this is indeed Landy’s point. However, the question remains as to whether they are necessary because of some essential (and unchanging) aspect of Marcel’s mind, or whether they are necessary given Marcel’s previous experience. It is not so easy to extricate the two, and in fact to do so completely would be to miss the point. Is it perhaps possible to see through the Recherche the emergence of contigency from necessity. Any given metaphor (of this type) of Marcel’s is necessary, but only given Marcel’s previous experiences. Simply, his accrued life-experience determines how he sees the world.
“À côté de cet album est le disque tournant du réveil grâce auquel nous subissons un instant l'ennui d'avoir à rentrer tout à l'heure dans une maison qui est détruite depuis cinquante ans, et dont l'image est effacée, au fur et à mesure que le sommeil s'éloigne, par plusieurs autres, avant que nous arrivions à celle qui ne se présente qu'une fois le disque arrêté et qui coïncide
avec celle que nous verrons avec nos yeux ouverts. quelquefois je n'avais rien entendu, étant dans un de ces sommeils où l'on tombe comme dans un trou duquel on est tout heureux d'être tiré un peu plus tard, lourd, surnourri, digérant tout ce que nous ont apporté, pareilles aux nymphes qui nourrissaient Hercule, ces agiles puissances végétatives, à l'activité
redoublée pendant que nous dormons. On appelle cela un sommeil de plomb; il semble
qu'on soit, même pendant quelques instants après qu'un tel sommeil a cessé, un simple
bonhomme de plomb. On n'est plus personne. Comment, alors, cherchant sa pensée, sa
personnalité comme on cherche un objet perdu, finit-on par retrouver son propre " moi "
plutôt que tout autre? Pourquoi, quand on se remet à penser, n'est-ce pas alors une autre
personnalité que l'antérieure qui s'incarne en nous? On ne voit pas ce qui dicte le choix et pourquoi, entre les millions d'êtres humains qu'on pourrait être, c'est sur celui qu'on
était la veille qu'on met juste la main. Qu'est-ce qui nous guide, quand il y a eu
vraiment interruption (soit que le sommeil ait été complet, ou les rêves entièrement différentsde nous)? Il y a eu vraiment mort, comme quand le coeur a cessé de battre et que des tractions rythmées de la langue nous raniment. Sans doute la chambre, ne l'eussions-nous vue qu'une fois, éveille-t-elle des souvenirs auxquels de plus anciens sont suspendus; ou
quelques-uns dormaient-ils en nous-mêmes, dont nous prenons conscience. La résurrection
au réveil-après ce bienfaisant accès d'aliénation mentale qu'est le sommeil-doit ressembler
au fond à ce qui se passe quand on retrouve un nom, un vers, un refrain oubliés. Et peut-être
la résurrection de l'âme après la mort est-elle concevable comme un phénomène de mémoire.” (II, 87-88; cf. Everett Knight 111)
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