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Sign and Symbol in Hegel's "Aesthetics"
Sign and Symbol in Hegel's "Aesthetics"
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access to Critical Inquiry
Paul de Man
761
the sign], since art itself consists precisely in the connection, the affinity
and the concrete interpretation of meaning and of form."' Aesthetic
theory and art history are thus the two complementary parts of a single
symbolon. Whoever dares, today more than ever, to challenge this article
of faith in any of its numerous guises should not expect to get away with
it unscathed.
From this point on, we can begin to see the limitations of Hegel's
aesthetics. [P. 390]
saying something more complex about the symbol and about language
than what we recognize in him as so familiar to us, but that part of what
he has to say is something that we cannot or will not hear because it
upsets what we take for granted, the unassailable value of the aesthetic?
The answer to this question takes us on a circuitous route, first away
from and then back to the Aesthetics, a route on which I only have time to
point out some stations in an itinerary that is not, I am afraid, an entirely
easy walk.
Hegel's assertion that art belongs unreservedly to the order of the
symbolic is made in the context of a distinction between symbol and sign
that in the realm of art does not seem to apply. A great deal hinges on
this distinction which recurs, though not very conspicuously, throughout
the Hegelian corpus, most explicitly in a paragraph of the earlier Ency-
clopedia of the Philosophical Sciences of 1817 (the Aesthetics is from 1830). It
occurs in a section where Hegel is concerned with the distinctions be-
tween the faculties of the intellect, more specifically, the distinction
between perceiving, imagining (or representing), and thinking
(Anschauung, Vorstellung, and Denken); the discussion of language is a
subsection of the discussion of representation. Here Hegel offers a
characterization of the sign which stresses the arbitrariness of the re-
lationship between the sensory component necessarily involved in any
signification and the intended meaning. The red, white, and green flag
of Italy bears no actual relationship to the color of the country which, as
seen from the air, is predominantly ochre in color; only very naive chil-
dren are supposed to be cute enough to be amazed that Italy actually
does not have the same uniform color it has in their atlas. The symmetri-
cal obverse of this observation is that of Roland Barthes reflecting on the
naturalization of the signified in his analysis of an advertisement for
spaghetti, in which the white pasta, the red tomatoes, and the green
peppers are so irresistibly effective because they convey, at least to the
non-Italian, the illusion of devouring, of interiorizing the very essence of
italianite--and very cheaply at that. As such, in its arbitrariness, the sign,
says Hegel,
correct to say that Hegel valorizes the sign over the symbol, the reverse
would be even less true. "Das Zeichen," says Hegel, "muss fiir etwas
Grosses erklirt werden [the sign must be proclaimed to be something
great]." What is it then that is so "great" about the sign? To the extent
that the sign is entirely independent with regard to the objective, natural
properties of the entity toward which it points and instead posits prop-
erties by means of its own powers, the sign illustrates the capacity of the
intellect to "use" the perceived world for its own purposes, to efface
(tilgen) its properties and to put others in their stead. This activity of the
intellect is both a freedom, since it is arbitrary, and a coercion, since it
does violence, as it were, to the world. The sign does not actually say what
it means to say or, to drop the misleading anthropomorphic metaphor of
a speaking sign endowed with a voice, the predication involved in a sign is
always citational. When I say, "The red, white, and green flag is Italian,"
this predicative sentence is always what in scholastic terminology is called
an actus signatus: it presupposes an implicit subject (or I) which frames
the statement and makes it into a quotation: I say (or I declare, or I
proclaim) that the red, white, and green flag is Italian-a specification
which does not have to occur when, in ordinary conversation, I say, "The
city of Rome and the Apennines are Italian." The sign is so "great," so
crucially important, because it touches upon the question of the relation-
ship between subject and predicate in any declarative sentence. From the
question of the sign we are taken, then, by the logic of the passage itself,
to the question of the subject-a topic on which Hegel has a great deal to
say, perhaps most strikingly of all in a much earlier section of the Ency-
clopedia.
Paragraph 20 of the Encyclopedia has to do with the definition of
thinking or with the conditions necessary for a science of logic. It states
Hegel's equivalence of the Cartesian cogito by establishing the link be-
tween the general predicates of thought and the thinking subject. In
order to understand thought, to think about thought, thought has to be
represented, and this representation can only be that of the thinking
subject: "the simple expression of the existing subject as thinking subject
is I," says Hegel in a passage rich in Fichtean resonances. But this rela-
tively straightforward and traditional, Cartesian, if you wish, or, at any
rate, specular conception of the subject leads at once to less predictable
complications. The thinking subject is to be kept sharply distinguished
from the perceiving subject, in a manner that is reminiscent of (or that
anticipates) the distinction we have just encountered in the dif-
ferentiation between sign and symbol. Just as the sign refuses to be in the
service of sensory perceptions but uses them instead for its own pur-
poses, thought, unlike perception, appropriates the world and literally
"subjects" it to its own powers. More specifically, thought subsumes the
infinite singularity and individuation of the perceived world under or-
dering principles that lay claim to generality. The agent of this appro-
to say, who are capable of thought. The proof of thought is possible only
if we postulate that what has to be proven (namely, that thought is
possible) is indeed the case. The figure of this circularity is time.
Thought is proleptic: it projects the hypothesis of its possibility into a
future, in the hyperbolic expectation that the process that made thought
possible will eventually catch up with this projection. The hyperbolic I
projects itself as thought in the hope of re-cognizing itself when it will
have run its course. This is why thought (denken) is ultimately called by
Hegel Erkenntnis (which implies recognition) and is considered to be
superior to knowledge (wissen). At the end of the gradual progression of
its own functioning, as it moves from perception to representation and
finally to thought, the intellect will refind and recognize itself. A great
deal is at stake in this anagnorisis which constitutes the plot and the
suspense of Hegel's history of the mind. For if "the action of the intellect
as mind is called recognition" in an all-inclusive sense, and if the mind
has invested, so to speak, all its chances in this future possibility, then it
matters greatly whether or not there will be something there to be rec-
ognized when the time comes. "The principal question for modern
times depends on this," says Hegel, "namely, whether a genuine rec-
ognition, that is, the recognition of the truth, is possible" (Enz. III, p.
242, par. 445). The truth is all around us; for Hegel who, in this respect,
is as much of an empiricist as Locke or Hume, the truth is what happens,
but how can we be certain to recognize the truth when it occurs? The
mind has to recognize, at the end of its trajectory-in this case, at the end
of the text-what was posited at the beginning. It has to recognize itself
as itself, that is to say, as I. But how are we to recognize what will neces-
sarily be erased and forgotten, since "I" is, per definition, what I can
never say?
One understands the necessity for the mind to shelter itself from
self-erasure, to resist it with all the powers of the intellect. This resistance
takes a multitude of forms, among which the aesthetic is not the least
efficacious. For it is not difficult to see that the problem can be recast in
terms of the distinctiveness between sign and symbol. As we saw, the I, in
its freedom from sensory determination, is originally similar to the sign.
Since, however, it states itself as what it is not, it represents a determined
relationship to the world that is in fact arbitrary, that is to say, it states
itself as symbol. To the extent that the I points to itself, it is a sign, but to
the extent that it speaks of anything but itself, it is a symbol. The re-
lationship between sign and symbol, however, is one of mutual oblitera-
tion; hence the temptation to confuse and to forget the distinction be-
tween them. The temptation is so strong that Hegel himself, who knows
the necessity for this distinction with all possible clarity, cannot resist it
and falls back into the confusion he has denounced, offering a theory of
art as symbol which, except for being somewhat halfhearted, is quite
traditional. But this does not prevent the symbol from being, in Hegel's
mind which he calls Geddichtnis and which "in ordinary [as opposed to
philosophical] discourse is often confused with recollection [Erinnerung]
as well as with representation and imagination"-just as sign and symbol
are often used interchangeably in such modes of ordinary parlance as
literary commentary or literary criticism (Enz. III, p. 271, par. 458).
Gediichtnis, of course, means memory in the sense that one says of some-
one that he has a good memory but not that he has a good remembrance
or a good recollection. One says, in German, "sie or er hat ein gutes
Ged~chtnis," and not, in that same sense, "eine gute Erinnerung." The
French memoire, as in Henri Bergson's title Matiere et Memoire, is more
ambivalent, but a similar distinction occurs between memoire and souvenir;
un bon souvenir is not the same as une bonne memoire. (Proust struggles with
the distinction in his attempts to distinguish between memoire
volontaire-which is like Gediichtnis-and memoire involontaire, which is
rather like Erinnerung.) The surprise, in Hegel, is that the progression
from perception to thought depends crucially on the mental faculty of
memorization. It is Gediichtnis, as a subspecies of representation, which
makes the transition to the highest capacity of the thinking intellect: the
echo of denken preserved in the word "Gediichtnis" suggests the close
proximity of thought to the capacity of remembering by memorization.
In order to understand thought, we must first understand memory, but,
says Hegel, "to understand the place and the meaning of memory in the
systematic study of the intellect and in its organic connection with
thought is one of the most readily ignored and most difficult points in
the study of the mind" (Enz. III, p. 283, par. 464). Memorization has to
be sharply distinguished from recollection and from imagination. It is
entirely devoid of images (bildlos), and Hegel speaks derisively of peda-
gogical attempts to teach children how to read and write by having them
associate pictures with specific words. But it is not devoid of materiality
altogether. We can learn by heart only when all meaning is forgotten and
words read as if they were a mere list of names. "It is well known," says
Hegel, "that one knows a text by heart [or by rote] only when we no
longer associate any meaning with the words; in reciting what one thus
knows by heart one necessarily drops all accentuation."
We are far removed, in this section of the Encyclopedia on memory,
from the mnemotechnic icons described by Frances Yates in The Art of
Memory and much closer to Augustine's advice about how to remember
and to psalmodize Scripture. Memory, for Hegel, is the learning by rote
of names, or of words considered as names, and it can therefore not be
separated from the notation, the inscription, or the writing down of
these names. In order to remember, one is forced to write down what
one is likely to forget. The idea, in other words, makes its sensory ap-
pearance, in Hegel, as the material inscription of names. Thought is
entirely dependent on a mental faculty that is mechanical through and
through, as remote as can be from the sounds and the images of the
imagination or from the dark mine of recollection, which lies beyond the
reach of words and of thought.
The synthesis between name and meaning that characterizes mem-
ory is an "empty link [das leere Band]" and thus entirely unlike the mutual
complementarity and interpenetration of form and content that
characterizes symbolic art (Enz. III, p. 281, par. 463). It is not aesthetic in
the ordinary or in the classically Hegelian sense of the word. However,
since the synthesis of memory is the only activity of the intellect to occur
as sensory manifestation of an idea, memory is a truth of which the
aesthetic is the defensive, ideological, and censored translation. In order
to have memory one has to be able to forget remembrance and reach the
machinelike exteriority, the outward turn, which is retained in the Ger-
man word for learning by heart, aus-wendig lernen. "It is in names that we
think," says Hegel (Enz. III, p. 278, par. 462); names, however, are the
hieroglyphic, silent inscriptions in which the relationship between what
one perceives and what one understands, between the written letter and
the meaning, is only exterior and superficial. "Visible, written language,"
says Hegel, "relates to voice, to sounded language, only as a sign" (Enz.
III, p. 277, par. 459). In memorization, in thought and, by extension, in
the sensory manifestation of thought as an "art" of writing, "we are
dealing only with signs [wir haben es iiberhaupt nur mit Zeichen zu
tun]." Memory effaces remembrance (or recollection) just as the I effaces
itself. The faculty that enables thought to exist also makes its preserva-
tion impossible. The art, the techne, of writing which cannot be separated
from thought and from memorization can only be preserved in the
figural mode of the symbol, the very mode it has to do away with if it is to
occur at all.
No wonder, then, that Hegel's Aesthetics turns out to be a double and
possibly duplicitous text. Dedicated to the preservation and the
monumentalization of classical art, it also contains all the elements which
make such a preservation impossible from the start. Theoretical reasons
prevent the convergence of the apparently historical and the properly
theoretical components of the work. This results in the enigmatic state-
ments that have troubled Hegel's readers, such as the assertion that art is
for us a thing of the past. This has usually been interpreted and
criticized or, in some rare instances, praised as a historical diagnosis
disproven or borne out by actual history. We can now assert that the two
statements "art is for us a thing of the past" and "the beautiful is the
sensory manifestation of the idea" are in fact one and the same. To the
extent that the paradigm for art is thought rather than perception, the
sign rather than the symbol, writing rather than painting or music, it will
also be memorization rather than recollection. As such, it belongs indeed
to a past which, in Proust's words, could never be recaptured, retrouv4.
Art is "of the past" in a radical sense, in that, like memorization, it leaves
the interiorization of experience forever behind. It is of the past to the
extent that it materially inscribes, and thus forever forgets, its ideal
content. The reconciliation of the two main theses of the Aesthetics occurs
at the expense of the aesthetic as a stable philosophical category. What
the Aesthetics calls the beautiful turns out to be, also, something very
remote from what we associate with the suggestiveness of symbolic form.
Before dismissing it as simply, or merely, ugly, one should perhaps
bear in mind what Proust has to say in Swann's Way about symbols which,
unlike metaphors, do not mean what they say. "Such symbols are not
represented symbolically [le symbole (n'est) pas represente comme un
symbole] since the symbolized thought is not expressed but the symbol
represented as real, as actually inflicted or materially handled [puisque la
pensee symbolisee (n'est) pas exprimee, mais (le symbole represente)
comme re'el, comme effectivement subi ou materiellement manie]." This
symbol that is not symbolic is much like the theory of the aesthetic which,
in Hegel, is no longer aesthetic, like the subject which has to say "I" but
can never say it, the sign which can only survive as a symbol, a conscious-
ness (or subconsciousness) which has to become like the machine of
mechanical memory, a representation which is in fact merely an inscrip-
tion or a system of notation. Such signs, says Proust, may have a special
beauty, "une etrangete saissante," which will be appreciated only much
later, at a degree of aesthetic and theoretical remove so advanced as to be
always "of the past" and not our own.
The passage in Proust from which I am quoting deals with Giotto's
allegories of the Vices and of the Virtues in the frescoes of the Arena at
Padua. If we then wonder, as we should, where it is, in Hegel's Aesthetics,
that the theory of the sign manifests itself materially, we would have to
look for sections or art forms which Hegel explicitly says are not aesthet-
ic or beautiful. Such is the case for the brief chapter, at the end of the
section on symbolic art, on allegory. Allegory, in conforming with the
received opinion of Hegel's day which was, not unproblematically, as-
sociated with Goethe, is dismissed as barren and ugly (kahl). It belongs to
the belated, self-consciously symbolic modes (Hegel calls them "com-
parative") which, "instead of presenting things or meanings according to
their adequate reality, only present them as an image or a parable" and
which are therefore "inferior genres [untergeordnete Gattungen]" (Aes, p.
488). Before allowing Hegel's dismissal to dismiss the problem, one
should remember that, in a truly dialectical system such as Hegel's, what
appears to be inferior and enslaved (untergeordnet) may well turn out to
be the master. Compared to the depth and beauty of recollection, mem-
ory appears as a mere tool, a mere slave of the intellect, just as the sign
appears shallow and mechanical compared to the aesthetic aura of the
symbol or just as prose appears like piecework labor next to the noble
craft of poetry-just as, we may add, neglected corners in the Hegelian
canon are perhaps masterful articulations rather than the all too visible