Haecceity, Horcruxes and Why We Keep Ticket Stubs!

The psychology of sentimental value

Perhaps one of the most powerful and yet abstract concepts I’ve ever come across is that of haecceity (heck-see-it-ee). The topic first became a point of interest when a friend and I were discussing a lost wedding ring and the art of 3D printing.

You see, the concept of haecceity deals with the essence of an item, that is to say, what makes a particular item unique, but not just in it’s lack of duplication, but rather in the intrinsic value.

Let us cycle back, imagine my friend had lost his wedding ring; yet being the curious designer that he is, he had scanned and replicated his ring on a 3D printer recently. The ring had an exact carbon copy — every groove, every scratch, every pattern perfectly replicated as if nothing was ever lost in the first place. Yet, as he slides it on his finger a hollowness washes over him. It’s not the same ring, it’s not a symbol of his marriage, it doesn't represent his lasting commitment to his wife, it hasn't stood the test of time in his travels to Bermuda or the bumps and scrapes of a father catching his children as they fall off their first bike. It isn't his ring.

However, when we break down to the molecular structure of the ring, it’s exactly the same. No change in build, in form, or shape, or charge. No different materials, no unaccounted for energies — nothing. Yet it quite simply isn't his ring, it no longer holds the same message, the same value.

It can be a pretty bizarre concept to think that one piece of metal can mean so much more to us than the exact same piece of metal. By that same accord there are many things in my life that I hold on to that have a significant meaning to me. In fact I have a drawer of these things, and while some of them are pretty obvious — pictures, gifts, letters from people; it also contains some of my most prized possession where the value is clearly in the haecceity — a pinecone, a chopstick, some playdoh, a concert ticket, and a teddybear. These objects, while so mundane to most hold immense value to me. They seem to be filled with memories, empowered with emotions and able to radiate comfort, warmness and joy — and I can certainly not think of another time in my life in which I have derived such joy from a chopstick (even if there was great food at the end of it!)

We all have these objects in our lives that are meaningful only to us, they are different from any possible replica of them and they seem to not only remind us of fond memories but embody the very emotions that we associate those memories with. Personally, I know I have a sweater that I wear when I’m feeling under the weather, or particularly down, it has a story, it’s been on a journey with me and I look to it’s experience to help guide me through those times when I face it again. I am warmed by it’s embrace.

The real philosophical debate comes down to the source of an objects haecceity. In a modern world we logically want to follow the empirical sciences and say that since all molecular builds of the item are identical then the two wedding rings are in no way different from one another. The argument also follows that had one not known that the wedding ring was duplicated and it was switched out then they would likely feel that there is no difference to the haecceity of the ring, for all intents and purposes the ring holds the same emotional value.

But, I would still pose that the items are indeed different, and while haecceity is indeed the value we place on an object, it’s only because the object is the key to a different time in our lives. Much like a picture captures an imprint of light and allows us to revisit a moment in time, I would suggest that all objects are capable of capturing imprints in a similar manner, while the medium is different and the process behind it more personal, every item carries with it an emotional weight, it’s haecceity/essence that defines the relationship you hold with it and allows you to go back and relive, quite vividly, the mindsets and emotions that particular moments brought you.

In “Harry Potter”, J.K. Rowling felt the need to create the fictional object of a “horcrux” to describe an object which we invest a part of our very soul into; I would argue however that this isn’t a fictional practice at all, yet rather something we do quite commonly through out our lives. Our horcruxes are the ticket stubs and pictures that hang on our walls, the teddybears and sweaters from loved ones, the wedding rings and chopsticks that mean so much more to us than anyone else. For I have no doubt that we not only invest part of who we are into these objects, but also that a part of us does indeed die with their loss.
So the next time someone asks why a particular object means the world to you, why you keep a certain ticket stub in a drawer, or why you won’t replace your old wedding ring with a nicer one, you now know that just beyond the sentimental value that you feel there is also the haeccity of the object — that little bit of your soul that is now invested in the object, embodies those emotions and becomes your key to the past.