I just started reading “The Midnight Library,” a book that was recommended somewhere by someone and recently became available in my library app. The story is an interesting thought experiment about all the directions our lives could have taken if we made different choices. The plot seems to be exploring themes of regret and happiness, but also memory and alternative realities (I haven’t finished it, so I could be wrong!). In it the main character, who has a degree in philosophy, says of memory, “Thomas Hobbes had viewed memory and imagination as pretty much the same thing,” which is why she doubts so much of what she remembers of the past. Were events actually as she remembered them? Or had her brain filled in gaps with wishful details? The accuracy of her regrets as actual disappointments seems to hinge on the answer to this (well, up until page 71 anyway).
I have thought a lot about this since the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 terror attacks when we see all those hashtags, #neverforget. We all have memories from that day. We all remember where we were when we heard. We remember the smells and sounds. We remember the TV coverage. We remember so much.
Still, the details become a bit hazy after 20 years. In a special episode of “The Daily” from The New York Times, the author Dan Barry interviewed a man who expressed profound survivor’s guilt saying he should have been there that day - only for others to tell him he actually was there that day. His memory of those hours is much different from those who saw him that day. Barry reports that in a study of more than 3,000 people normal autobiographical memories were distinguished from memories of September 11th by the extreme confidence of the people who had of their memories - even when the memories they had differed from reality. Our brains have a way of shielding us from intense pain and trauma. Maybe having slightly altered memories of reality helps us cope with the grief and loss of that day, even 20 years later.
William Hirst, professor of psychology at the New School for Social Research, hypothesizes that changes in memory are somehow linked to a sense of identity and understanding of self in community with others. If you didn’t remember where you were that day, if you just lost those hours and that day in your memory, it would be detrimental to your sense of identity as an American, he suggests. Our brains fill in gaps to protect us, but also to keep us whole.
I think the memory of the Last Supper is something like this. We remember this act with the sacrament of Holy Communion on a regular basis. If you really think about what it means, the memory of this meal is pretty macabre. It's a pretty dark tale of the execution of a visionary prophet, the Son of God. We do not simply remember this moment; we participate in it over and over again. It becomes part of our identity as a Christian people. Our participation in the memory pulls us into a community of saints past and present. We are aware that we are more than just individuals, but members of a broader community where we are needed.
These are sacred, holy memories and moments. They aren’t always the happiest moments. They don’t always contain joy. A sacred moment is a breach in time and space. It is holy because we got through by reaching outside ourselves to form bonds of community that transcended all space, time, and belief.
#Neverforget is not about recording exact memories of the sights and sounds of that day. Those are some tragic and traumatic memories and remembering can really hurt. I think #neverforget means that we remain open to the sacredness of those moments when the whole world changed and we only had each other to get through.
Many things changed after 9/11. Islamophobia entered our vocabulary in new ways. We now have airport and building security procedures that are simply a way of life. Families, coworkers, and friends forged ahead without loved ones. I hope we will never forget how we came to this day, 20 years later. I hope we never forget that we still only have each other to help us through. I hope we will make space for the sacred bond of community and recognize that we are all we have. Us, together.