Jargogled Impressions.

It still surprises me to realize that so many of the dilemmas we face as we age are questions that human beings have mulled over ever since we could reason or think. These existential questions are a product of our choices, cultural shifts, and external influences which in them may be unique, but the questions they ask are not. It’s the realm that philosophy reigns over, but often gets partitioned off behind arcane framings, rendering them incapable of offering a solution, unless of course if it’s wrapped around as a proverb, in which case it becomes a cliche that gets tucked away in plain sight. 

One question I mull over often is, are roots something to honor and preserve, or can they be a burden that limits growth? As with everything, the answer is nuanced and predicated on the choices that these roots impact. More colloquially, roots are split across generational gaps, conservatism, NIMBYism, or something else in popular context. But they point to a departure from what came before. A break in the way things are seen, done, exhibited, and observed. Was moving over from hunter gatherer form to farming and agriculture an attack at the roots of what made us human? 

Tied up with this question is the impact of technology. But limiting it to the tools we make would be foolish. Scientific understanding is another form factor it takes. Case in point, Galileo’s The Starry Messenger was perceived as an attack on our roots, or collective memory of what makes us human. While roots ground individuals, collective memories serve as societal anchors, influencing choices in subtle but profound ways.

What are collective memories? These are the memories shared by a family, a society, a nation, a religion, or a trauma victim, or even an epoch defining technological milestone. Would Y2K or 9/11 qualify as a collective memory for the millennials? Sure it would. Would ChatGPT qualify too? Sure, although the surface area changes and expands/contracts.Think of collective memory as a family photo album that we carry through generations—some pages we cherish, others we forget, but all shaping how we see ourselves and the world.

How many of us realize or acknowledge the role of collective memory in shaping our choices? Put loosely, collective memory is inherited memory that is partly shared history across generations within a family or society. And partly, it is the implicit understanding of how things work that we model our individual worlds around without entertaining the idea that the understanding isn’t really ours even if it comes from the subconscious. When I tend to go down this road, the implications are too scary and unsettling. But it is a question worth asking. 

These implicit understandings however, stay as our blindspots in known environments. Step outside of it, and the revelation can often be abrupt and jolting. Much as science is predicated on models given a specific constraint, (even Newtonian laws of motion do not work with subatomic particles), the models of the natural world we board inside our minds do not work when in a different space/time coordinate. 

We recognize our roots best when we step away from it for this very reason. They become more stark and distinct with clearly-defined boundaries. As Seinfeld put it, Chinese people don’t call their food Chinese food. For them, it’s just food. Much in the same way, you don’t call your culture by any specific name unless you want to communicate something about it to an outsider, or you have stepped away from the natural abode of this way of life. 

When you do step away, you also get the choice to preserve your culture or consider it a burden that impedes your growth and do away with it. But collective memory is far more insidious. It stays hidden while disproportionately influencing our choices. The choices we make get influenced by them, without us realizing it. An unbiased observer might note it for us. So would a prose, a passage in a contemporary novel that prompts us to revisit our memories and make new sense of it. 

Some of us seem to have the power to refactor collective memories. Power – those who wield it seem to excel at attempting to do so, as if a muscle memory once a level is unlocked in our worldly accomplishments. Shifting the overton window – as the theoretical amongst us would appreciate – is an exotic pass-time for the billionaires and the who’s who of the world. 

But what about the commoners? The cattle class – which is the 99.9% of us – are split across those who don’t care and don’t dwell on it, and those who do and are impacted by these collective memories. It’s a rabbit hole – Alice’s wonderland – for the latter set of unfortunate folks. There is no end to the quarrying you can do to identify and define collective memories from a mere few years of existing alone. The details abound in the here and the now – ripe for exploration from those who succumb to it. Collective memories are like subcultures – those tiny niches that continue forking out of the mainstream consciousness based on arcane interests and passions and polemics. What’s collective for me may not be for you. A private club for memories we identify and assign weightage to. 

A roundabout way of saying that the impact of the same memory is very custom to the subject and can vary widely. The same traumatic experience for instance, can carry wildly different implications and impact based on how you perceive it. The classic Frankl’s Man’s search for meaning takeaway. 

It’s worth pausing to examine the roots and collective memories that shape us. These unseen forces—be they inherited traditions, shared histories, or societal norms—wield immense power over our choices and perceptions. Yet, their influence often goes unquestioned, embedded in our subconscious like the air we breathe.

To honor our roots is to acknowledge their role in anchoring us, offering a sense of identity and continuity. But to grow, we must also question them. Are they serving as a foundation for progress, or have they become chains that limit our potential? Collective memories, too, hold duality: they can bind communities through shared experiences or perpetuate biases that hinder growth.

Reflecting on these influences isn’t easy—it demands vulnerability and a willingness to confront the uncomfortable. But in doing so, we reclaim agency over our lives, choosing consciously what to preserve, adapt, or leave behind.