Visible Signs An Introduction to

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David Crow
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BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS
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Title: Visible signs : an introduction to semiotics in
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2
An Introduction to Semiotics
in the Visual Arts
Fourth Edition - David Crow
C O N T E N TS

Introduction 6 5. Official and Unofficial Language 92

1. Components 10
What is Theory? 12
Saussure and Peirce 13
Linguistic Signs 16
Agreement 18
Linguistic Community 20
Grammatology and Deconstruction 22
Portfolio 24
Exercises 29
2. How Meaning Is Formed 30
Categories of Signs 32
Semiosis 36
Unlimited Semiosis 36
Value 38
Syntagm 41
Paradigm 42
Codes 42
Metaphor and Metonym 44
Portfolio 45
Exercises 55
3. Reading the Sign 56
The Reader 58
Barthes 60
Denotation and Connotation 61
Convention and Motivation 62
Language and Speech 63
Myth 64
Portfolio 66
Exercises 75
4. Text and Image 76
Digital and Analogue Codes 78
Advertising Writing 80
The Three Messages 81
Anchorage and Relay 82
Portfolio 84
Exercises 91
Habitus 94
The Production of Legitimate Language 96
Capital 100
Rules 100
The Competition for Cultural Legitimacy 102
Major and Minor Language 102
Authorised Language 102
Unofficial Language 104
Unofficial Codes 104
Visual Dialect 106
Portfolio 110
Exercises 117
6. Symbolic Creativity 118
Hyperinstitutionalization 120
Play and Identity 124
Portfolio 126
Exercises 133
7. The Political Context of Signs 134
The Semiotics of Modernism 136
The Politics of Pictograms 138
The Politics of the Alphabet 140
Portfolio 142
Exercises 145
8. Junk and Culture 146
Dirt and Taboo 148
Rubbish Theory 152
Semiotic Categories of Objects 152
Rubbish as a Resource 158
Portfolio 160
Exercises 165
9. Open Work 166
What is Open Work 168
Information and Meaning 170
Openness and the Visual Arts 172
Openness and Information 174
Form and Openness 178
Portfolio 180
Exercises 187

Bibliography 188
Index 189
Acknowledgements and Picture Credits 192

4
5
VI S I B LE S IGN S

INTRODUCTION

This fourth edition of Visible Signs aims ‘Except for the

to explore the mechanics of visual immediate
satisfaction of
language in an attempt to explain how biological needs,
visual communication works. The terms man lives in a world
and theories used to explain visual not of things but
communication are borrowed from of symbols.’ 1
linguistics (the study of language) and
semiotics (the study of signs). The
presentation of semiotic theory is often
clouded by difficult language, which, in
practice, makes the discussion of work
unnecessarily challenging. This book is
intended to help students unpack the
signs in their own work, understand
how communication works, and, if
necessary, deconstruct their own work
to determine why it is not working as
they intended.

6
I NTR OD U CTI ON

7
VI S I B LE S IGN S
Each chapter provides an
overview of a particular
facet of semiotic theory.
The core text remains
unchanged as it deals with
well-established ideas and
theories that are still
relevant today. This edition
updates the visual reference
material in the portfolio
pages with carefully
selected examples of
‘real’ design presented
alongside extended
captions. These function as
mini case studies that refer
explicitly to theories
introduced in preceding
chapters, illustrating the
timeless nature of the
underlying theories.
8
Many artists and
designers find it difficult to
explore theoretical material
in academic writing.
Each chapter ends with a
series of short exercises
that will help to ensure
understanding of the
ideas in Visible Signs
through practical
application. It is often
easier to translate our
thoughts and ideas into
words by reflecting on
experiences we have had or
things we have made.
The motivation behind this
publication is to help
students of art and design
find credibility in their
practice through a deeper
understanding of many
of the intuitive decisions
they make.

1. Components
We begin our journey through semiotics by looking at the
fundamental building blocks of language. Structuralists
developed ideas and theories that demonstrated the
arbitrary nature of language and determined the
necessary formal conditions for languages to exist and
develop. The study of art and design has borrowed
heavily from these ideas, and here we begin to relate
these to a visual language that uses both text and image.
2. How Meaning Is Formed
Having looked at the underlying structure of language
and the sign, we examine how we extract meaning from
a sign. We define the different categories of signs and
discuss the structural relationships between them. We
look at why some signs appear to be quite abstract and
why these are still easily read and understood.
We discuss how signs are organised into systems and
how these underlying structures and patterns help to
form meaning.
3. Reading the Sign
The transfer of meaning from author to reader is not
a one-way process but a process of creative exchange
between author and reader. We introduce Roland
Barthes’ idea that semiotics takes in any system of signs,
and the idea of a visual language. This chapter moves
through a number of theoretical terms, helping us to
appreciate the several layers of meaning in a sign and to
understand how the reader interprets the way a sign is
expressed.
4. Text and Image
This chapter continues with Roland Barthes’s ideas
about the relationship between text and image. He
uses popular culture as a reference point to explain that
these different types of signs have distinct structural
relationships that can be employed by artists and
designers to help control the way that their compositions
are read.
1. L. Von Bertalanffy,
General System Theory
(George Braziller, Inc.,
1968); quoted in D.
Bolinger, Language:
The Loaded Weapon
(Longman, 1980).
I NTR OD U CTI ON
5. Official and Unofficial Language
Language is a social and political instrument as well
as a functional one. As languages are developed, a
sense of hierarchy is also developed around those
languages. This chapter looks at cultural hierarchy and
examines the ways that societies ensure the acceptance
and legitimization of language within their territorial
boundaries. Outside of the recognised and approved use
of visual language, there is a way of generating meaning
that is independent of such political control. Here, we
explore the unofficial and informal codes that are used in
daily life by many groups in our societies.
6. Symbolic Creativity
Visible Signs looks for the possibility of a visual language
that already exists, growing from its own resources and
used by a large group of people who could be said to be
outside of the arts and media. This might be considered
an informal visual language that does not use the
economic field as its source of rationale.
We will discuss the notion of symbolic creativity and its
use by individuals to find ways of visually representing
their identities.
7. The Political Context of Signs
Signs are always read relative to the social and political
context in which they are made and where and when
they are read. Here, we provide a brief introduction
to this concept and provide examples to help you
understand how semiotic theories function within a
broad social and historic framework.
8. Junk and Culture
We can identify a system by looking at what has been
discarded from the system and classified as dirt or
rubbish. We investigate the classification of cultural
objects and look at the possibility of changing their value
by placing them in an entirely different context. Here
we also look at the use of rubbish as a resource for the
visual arts. It allows artists and designers to bring new
meaning to discarded items and explore alternative ways
of creating meaning.
9. Open Work
The work of Umberto Eco is a key resource for exploring
the creative relationship between author and audience.
Here we explain the connection between communication
and information; we explore how communication can be
enriched by carefully creating the freedom for readers to
make their own creative associations.
9
Chapter 1

COMPONENTS

11
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

WHAT IS THEORY?

The word ‘theory’ comes

from the Greek word
‘theoria’, meaning to view, to
observe or to reflect.
The dictionary defines theory
as an explanation or system
of anything: an exposition of
the abstract principles of
either a science or an art.
Theory is a speculation on
something rather than a
practice. The theories that
we apply to graphic design
and visual communication
are taken from a study of
the general science of signs
known in Europe as
semiology and in the USA
as semiotics.

12
 W H AT I S TH E OR Y ?

Saussure and Peirce

This new science was proposed in the early 1900s by

Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913), a Swiss professor
of linguistics. At around the same time, American
philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce (1839–1914) was
developing a parallel study of signs that he called
semiotics. To avoid confusion, we will use the term
semiotics as it has become more widely known.
Although they were working independently, there were
a number of fundamental similarities in their studies.
Both Saussure and Peirce saw the sign as central to
their studies. Both were primarily concerned with
structural models of the sign, which concentrated on the
relationship between the components of the sign.
For both Saussure and Peirce, it is this relationship
between the components of the sign that enables us
to turn signals, in whatever form they appear, into a
message that we can understand. Although they used
different terminology, there are clear parallels between
the two descriptions of these models (see the diagram on
p. 23).
However, there are also key differences between the
studies. The most significant difference is that Saussure’s
was exclusively a linguistic study; as a result, he showed
little interest in the part that the reader plays in the
process. This was a major part of Peirce’s model, as
we shall see in the next chapter when we look at how
meaning is formed. There are three main areas that form
what we understand as semiotics: the signs themselves,
the way they are organised into systems, and the context
in which they appear. The underlying principles, which
have become the cornerstone of modern semiotics,

13
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

were first heard by students of Saussure in a course in 1.1

linguistics at the University of Geneva between 1906 Saussure’s Model for
a Sign.
and 1911. Saussure died in 1913 without publishing his The two fundamental
theories, and it was not until 1915 that the work was elements that make up
published by his students as the Cours de linguistique a sign are the ‘signifier’
and the ‘signified’.
générale (Course in general linguistics). A sign is produced when
Prior to this, the study of language (linguistics) largely these two elements are
concerned itself with historical usage of languages. In brought together.
the search for the source of meaning, linguists looked
to the origins of language. Linguists supposed that if
meaning could be found in language, then the nature of
thought itself could be found by looking at the origins
of language.
In its early stages, linguistics was an attempt to
explain signs by imagining them as descriptions of
a series of gestures, actions and sensations. This
1.1
developed into a comparative study of the forms of words
in different languages and their evolution. At this stage,
linguists were concerned with the structure of language
in its own right, with no distinct relation to the mind.
Prior to assuming his post at Geneva, Saussure himself
was concerned with the study of historical languages
and had a particular interest in the comparative grammar
of Indo-European languages, particularly Sanskrit.
Saussure was unhappy with the way linguists
were approaching language, as he felt they had not
determined the nature of what they were studying. As
a result, Saussure proposed an entirely different way of
looking at language, by returning to the essentials and
looking at language as a system of signs. If we could
understand how the system of language works, then this
might lead us to how meaning is formed. One crucial
difference in this approach was that Saussure and the
structuralists were concerned with the underlying
principles of language, which all speakers or bearers of a
language have in common. These underlying principles
are fixed and do not evolve over time with social or
technological change. Saussure was a linguist. As a
result, his theory focused on language and his model is
centred on words as signs.

14
 W H AT I S TH E OR Y ?

a b c

There are three

main areas that
form what we
understand as d e f

semiotics: the
signs themselves,
the way they are
organised into g h i

systems, and the

context in which
they appear. j k l

1.2
Crosses
A variety of different
crosses. The meaning of
each cross is dependent 1.2
on its context. (a) The
Red Cross. (b) No
smoking. (c) The cross
of St. Nicholas. (d) Do
not wring. (e) Hazardous
chemical. (f) Positive
terminal. (g) The cross
of St. Sebastian. (h) The
cross of St. Julian. (i)
The cross of St. George.
(j) No stopping sign.
(UK). (k) The cross of St.
Nicholas. (l) The cross of
St. Andrew.

15
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

Linguistic Signs

According to Saussure, language is constructed from a

small set of units called phonemes. These are the sounds
that we use in a variety of combinations to construct
words. These noises can only be judged as language
when they attempt to communicate an idea. To do this,
they must be part of a system of signs. The meaning
of the individual units (the phonemes), which make up
language, has been sacrificed in order to give a limitless
number of meanings on a higher level as they are
reassembled to form words. The word ‘dog’, for example,
has three phonemes: d, o, and g. In written form, the
letters ‘d’, ‘o’, and ‘g’ represent the sounds. In turn, these signified
words then represent objects or, more accurately, a
mental picture of objects. sign
What Saussure outlined is a system of representation.
In this system, a letter—for example, the letter ‘d’—can signifier
represent a sound. A collection of letters (a word) is used
to represent an object. Each of these examples contains
the two fundamental elements that make up a sign:
the signifier and the signified. A word became known
as a signifier, and the object it represented became the
signified. A sign is produced when these two elements
are brought together.
In different languages, the collection of phonemes
that make up the signifier are different. In English- From an early age we are
speaking countries, our four-legged friend is called a
dog, whereas in France it is ‘chien’, in Spain ‘perro’, in taught the relationship
Italy ‘cane’ and in Germany ‘Hund’. What this shows us
is that the relationship between the signifier ‘dog’ and between the signifier and
the thing signified is a completely arbitrary one. Neither
the sounds nor their written form bears any relation to the signified. This is not
the thing itself. With few exceptions, any similarity is
accidental. Just as the letter ‘d’ bears no relation to the something we are conscious
sound we associate with it, the word used to describe a
dog bears no relation to the thing it represents. Just as of, but it remains one of the
there is nothing book-like in the word ‘book’, the word
‘dog’ does not bite, the word ‘gun’ cannot kill you, and most fundamental building
the word ‘pipe’ does not resemble the object used to
smoke tobacco. This divorce between meaning and form blocks in the structure
is called duality.
of language.

16
 W H AT I S TH E OR Y ?

‘Duality freed concept

and symbol from each
other to the extent that
HUND
change could now modify
one without affecting the
CANE
other.’ 2 DOG

PERRO

CHIEN

In English-speaking countries, our

four-legged friend is called a dog,
this is a dog whereas in France it is ‘chien’, in Spain
‘perro’, in Italy ‘cane’ and in Germany
it is ‘Hund’. What this shows us is that
this is a copy the relationship between the signifier
‘dog’ and the thing signified is a
completely arbitrary one.
this is a scan

this is arbitrary

17
1 .C O M PO N E N TS
AGREEMENT
All that is necessary for any
language to exist is an
agreement amongst a group
of people that one thing will
stand for another.
1.3
Man and Woman.
Different versions of
Signs for Man and
Woman: From Top -
Bente Irminger with
her new pictogram
partner, Pictogram Me/
Symbols used by the US
Department of Transport
/ Runes.
18
There are two exceptions to this rule, but the fact that we
can readily identify them as exceptions only reinforces
the overriding rule that ordinary signs are constructed
from arbitrary relationships. There are onomatopoeic
words that in some way imitate the things they represent
through the sounds they make. A dog, for example, could
be described as a ‘bow-wow’, a gun as a ‘bang-bang’.
The second exception is where the sequence of
sounds that make up the word or signifier is constructed
from two separate signs, which might describe an
action or the construction of the object it represents.
A keyboard, for example, describes the object used
for typing words. It is quite literally a board that holds
the keys. However, this type of second-order signifier
is only of use in English and does not transfer to other
languages. A keyboard in English is ‘teclado’ in Spanish.
So we can see that the relationship between the sound
and the thing it represents is learnt. It is its use in social
practice that helps us to understand its meaning.
Saussure also pointed out that language is not just a
set of names chosen at random and attached to objects
or ideas. We cannot simply replace the arbitrary name
for one object in one language with the name in another
language. Where English uses the word ‘key’ to represent
something that we press to type, turn to open a door,
play on a piano, or use to describe a significant idea or
moment—all from the same signifier—the translation
into French would throw up a range of different words.
Similarly, there are signifiers in one language that have
no direct translation into other forms of language.
Each language has a series of arbitrary signifiers that
exist independently of any other language or dialect.
Languages do not just find names for objects and ideas
that are already categorised; languages define their
own categories.
All that is necessary for any language to exist is an
agreement among a group of people that one thing will
stand for another. Furthermore, these agreements can
be made quite independently of agreements in other
communities. Saussure proposed that this was true of
any language or dialect.
 AG R E E M E NT

1.4

1.4
Malcolm Garrett:
F for Fact
A hand-printed
letterpress poster that
emphatically presents
the relationship between
a single letter and a
conceptual idea. The
cross used is also an
agreed signifier, in this
context we understand
it to be a signal of
cancelling out the
word underneath. The
hand-printed nature
of the letterpress adds
authenticity to the
concept of truth.

1.5
B for Rabbit,
D for Squirrel
The confusion of being
confronted by signifiers
in an unfamiliar
language.

1.5

19
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

Linguistic Community

The group of people making the

agreement became known as a
linguistic community. As long
as a community remains intact,
changes in language are likely to
be small and everyone can easily
adopt or be aware of the changes in
meaning. If the community splits,
then the changes will take different
directions with different agreements
and eventually the members of one
community will have difficulty in
understanding the other.
This idea of arbitrary
representation based on agreement
freed art from a tyranny of words and
was explored with much invention
by visual artists. The paintings by
the surrealist artist René Magritte in
his series The Key to Dreams (1930)
show a collection of objects arranged
in a grid. Each one is labelled as 1.6
in a child’s picture book. However,
in this case, three of the images
are incorrectly labelled whilst the
fourth is labelled correctly. In The 1.6 1.7
Treachery of Images (1929), Magritte René Margritte: Paul Davis: Ceci n’est
The Treachery of pas un Logo
labels an image of a pipe with the Images, 1928–29 The text in this drawing
phrase ‘This is not a pipe’. Both these The text beneath the anchors the work as a
paintings highlight the arbitrary painting is neither true reference to conceptual
nor false. It is not the art of the early twentieth
nature of language and invite the physical reality of a pipe; century. This example
viewer to rediscover the ordinary. it is a representation of draws directly on The
This presented the opportunity for a pipe, a painting of a Treachery of Images
pipe, a signifier for ‘pipe’ (1929) by Rene
artists to make poetic associations but not a pipe itself. Magritte. In Magritte’s
between signifiers and the signified. painting the reader is
Ludwig Wittgenstein, a philosopher exposed to the idea
that language itself
and contemporary of Magritte’s, is arbitrary and the
wrote that reliability of language
is undermined.
The connotation
‘the aspects of things that are in this drawing is
most important for us are hidden the intellectual and
because of their simplicity theoretical position
of the original work,
and familiarity’. 3 which in this new
version undermines the
1.7 certainty and strength
of the corporate
brand featured.

20
 AG R E E M E NT

In a later example, the pop artist

Marcel Broodthaers uses the same
principle to label a series of cows
with the names of automobile
manufacturers (The Farm Animals,
1974). In this case, the viewer makes
new signs in their mind’s eye by
searching for an association between
the images taken from nature
and the names from international
manufacturing.
Charles Sanders Peirce is the
philosopher who is recognised as the
founder of the American tradition of
semiotics. Whereas Saussure was
primarily interested in language,
Peirce was more interested in how
we make sense of the world around
us. Peirce’s model for the sign is
triangular and deals with the sign
itself, the user of the sign and the
external reality—the object (O)—
referred to by the sign.
In this model, the sign (sometimes
referred to as the representamen
S/R) is very similar to Saussure’s
signifier (Sr). This is the physical
evidence of the sign. This can be,
for example, a word, a photograph,
a painting or a sound. Saussure’s
signified (Sd) becomes the
interpretant (I) in Peirce’s model.
This is not merely the user of the
sign but a mental concept of the
sign, which is based on the user’s
cultural experience of the sign.
The interpretant is not fixed. It
does not have a single definable
meaning, but its meaning can vary
depending on the reader of the 1.8 1.8
sign. The emotional response to the Marcel Broodthaers,
The Farm Animals,
word ‘book’ will vary depending on 1974
the reader’s experience of books. The viewer attempts
For some it may be a comforting to make new signs
by searching for
and affectionate response based associations between
on a lifetime of reading and escape the cows and the
through literature, whereas for others car manufacturers.

it may be a suspicious and defensive

response based on the book as an
instrument of official institutions.

21
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

Grammatology and Deconstruction

Saussure saw writing as a visual ‘copy’ of speech.

The signifiers involved are a system of signs that
‘represent’ speech. The philosopher Jacques Derrida
challenged this notion of opposites, in which speech was
somehow the ‘original’ and writing a mere facsimile.
In 1967 Derrida introduced the term ‘grammatology’,
which he described as the study of writing as a form
of representation. To support this new field of inquiry
he proposed a new methodology, a mode of research
to investigate grammatology. Derrida called this new
approach ‘deconstruction’4. This was a wider view of
how language operated that included a wider range of
non-phonetic elements as part of the system.
Post-structuralism proposed that the artist and the
designer were not masters of a language but operated
within a matrix of possibilities of code and that this code
extended beyond signifiers that represented a sound—
the alphabets.
In deconstructing the relationship between speech
and writing, Derrida showed that speech does not
represent reality any more or any better than writing
does. Both speech and writing fail to fully capture reality.
Phonetic writing is more than a secondary translation of Writing includes space, punctuation, flourishes,
speech and uses a number of signs that are not phonetic deletion marks—all of which have no phonetic value.
in order to attempt a fuller description of reality. Some Deconstruction is a term that has often been applied to
of the signs used in writing come from a range of other an approach to typography. This approach would include
sources—numbers, mathematical symbols—and many a study of the various graphic marks and conventions
do not represent anything distinct and can be open that are part of the typographer’s toolkit—visual
to interpretation. marks that are used alongside or within typographic
compositions, as well as the use of space underlying grid
structures. This references another idea called ‘Parerga’,
defined by Kant as a group of elements that surround
a piece of work yet are part of it—a set of signs that are
‘about the work’ yet are outside it. A frame, for example,
sits outside a piece of work, such as a painting, but is
read as part of the work.
If we return to writing, we can then imagine that
space is not an accessory to the writing but indeed
part of that writing. The same might be true of frames,
rules, underlines, strikethroughs, exclamation marks and
so on. They are external forces acting on the internal
content, yet they are not neutral and have a distinct
effect on the content. They are connected to the content
yet not directly part of it, but they are part of the whole
act of reading the content. Inside and outside begin to
interchange and work to influence each other; the frame
becomes part of the painting.

22
 AG R E E M E NT

1.9

1.9 ‘A sign is something which stands

Combined Model
for a Sign to somebody for something in some
On the left is Saussure’s
model for a sign respect or capacity. It addresses
and on the right the
version proposed by somebody, that is, creates in the mind
Peirce. As we can see,
the two models are of that person an equivalent sign,
remarkably similar
despite the difference in or perhaps a more developed sign.
terminology.
The sign which it creates I call the
interpretant of the first sign. The sign
stands for something, its object.’ 5

23
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

1.10

1.10–1.11
Creator: Dorothy
Title: Periodic Table of Social Issues
Exemplifies: Agreement/Linguistic Community
A tabular display of 85 of the worst characteristics
of humankind from greed and gluttony, deceit and
dishonesty, to ignorance and indifference. This
arrangement follows the well-known ‘periodic table
of elements’, a tabular display of the chemical
elements, which are arranged in a very distinct
pattern. The overall arrangement of squares,
abbreviations and numbers is a global signifier of
a complete family of signs that are systematically
arranged. Although many readers will not fully
understand the details of the underlying structure*
they will be aware that elements on the table are
arranged in groups and that within these groups
they have a relationship to one another. This learnt
understanding is explored on this version by the way
the authors have grouped characteristics. Tyranny
is grouped with Fascism, Despotism with Disaccord,
and Sexism with Hostility. The chemical symbols also
follow an agreed linguistic structure consisting of
one or two letters of the Latin alphabet with the first
1.11 letter capitalised. So in this case Fascism becomes
‘Fa’ mirroring the original where for example Helium
would be written as ‘He’.

*The original periodic table of elements is arranged

in order of their atomic number and in groups
determined by electron configuration.

24
 P OR TFOLI O

1.12
Creator: Kate Gibb
Title: Chanel perfume
Exemplifies: Icon
This screen print
produced for M Le
magazine du Monde
celebrates the
distinctive shape of the
Chanel perfume bottle.
The accompanying
article describes how
the bottle has barely 1.12
changed its shape
in over one hundred
years. This consistency
has created an iconic
physical shape,
recognisable in this print
just from its outline as
a form that physically
resembles the thing
it represents.

25
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

1.13

1.14

26
 P OR TFOLI O

1.13
Creator: Hansje van Halem
Title: Koen Taselaar poster
Exemplifies: Agreement/Duality
This is a Risograph brochure for the
Koen Taselaar exhibition at Galerie
Block C, Groningen.
The shapes we know as roman letters
are well understood and deeply
embedded in our visual language, so
the author can improvise around these
basic shapes to the point of abstraction
without losing the basic meaning. At
the top and the bottom of the cover
are alphabetic signs are presented in
a simpler form, combining alphabetic
signs to make words, which in turn
are signifiers for venues and dates.
Clearly, these signs are arbitrary, as
the relationship between the sign and
the thing it represents is not evident
to the reader other than as a learnt
relationship. This arbitrary nature of
signs is known as duality.

1.14
Creator: Hansje van Halem
Title: Scratches, Wire, Hair
Exemplifies: Agreement
This ia a series of drawings of the
alphabetic sign for the letter ‘g’ in
the Latin alphabet. In this example,
the author is takes liberties with the
letterforms as each of them become
pictorial forms. Despite this they remain
readable, as they are very familiar
shapes and their meaning agreed and
learnt by a linguistic community.

1.15
Creator: Hansje van Halem
Title: De Context brochure
Exemplifies: Agreement/Duality
This is a Risograph brochure for
Museum Flehite in Amsterdam showing
a variety of different representations of a
phoneme or sound.

1.15

27
1 .C O M PO N E N TS

1.16
1.16
Creator: Henning Wagenbreth
Title: Rückwärtsland (Backwardsland)
Peter Hammer Verlag, Wuppertal 2021
40 Pages, illustrated
Exemplifies: Agreement/Duality
At first glance this language makes no sense at all
until the reader is given the context for the signs.
In this tale of a country where time runs backward
the vocabulary is reversed in a new linguistic
agreement where the relationship between the
signifier and the signified is given a new code by the
illustrator. Over time, the reader becomes familiar
with the relationship and is able to read the new
code quickly.

28
Exercises

Exercise 1: Context

Collect a number of simple set graphic marks that all

have the same origin (for example, a set of crosses
as featured on p. 15). If you are not sure where to
start, you could reference international road or safety
symbols. Here, you will find marks and images that
have a number of meanings depending on their context
and the ways that they are combined.
Generate or collect a series of contexts or locations.
These could be images cut from old magazines or
photographs you have taken yourself. Ensure variety in
the examples you use (for example, a variety of periods,
locations and compositions).
Using a pin-board or sketchbook, position the
marks on the different contexts. Think about how the
meaning of the mark shifts depending on the context,
its colour, its scale or the period it is placed in. Write
some brief notes to accompany each example as you
reflect on the compositions. Try to figure out why
you read each one in a particular way and where you
learnt to do so. Keep these in your notebook for future
reference.

Exercise 2: Duality

Using well-known symbols that function as a set,

create a short narrative without using words. The
symbols could be from a child’s reading book (see p.16)
or from the US Department of Transport (see p.18).
Think about how you can change the meaning of a
symbol by changing its relationship to other symbols.
Try changing the scale, placing one symbol inside 2. W. Chafe, Meaning
another, making a symbol from multiples of another and the Structure of
Language (University of
symbol or cutting them up and joining them to other Chicago Press, 1970).
sections of other symbols. Choose a familiar narrative
so that you can concentrate on how to translate rather 3. L. Wittgenstein,
than writing a story. You could use a familiar short Philosophical
Investigations (1953),
journey, a regular routine or a classic fairy tale as in S. Gablik, Magritte
your narrative. (Thames & Hudson,
Once your narrative is complete, ask a partner to 1970).

read you the story from the pictures. Compare this 4. Jacques Derrida,
story to the one you had in your mind and use any The Truth in Painting,
(University of Chicago
differences as the starting point for a discussion about Press, 1987).
why the stories vary.
5. J. Zeman, ‘Peirce’s
Theory of Signs’, in
A Perfusion of Signs,
ed. T. Sebeok (Indiana
University Press, 1977).

29
Chapter 2

HOW MEANING IS FORMED

31
2 . HO W M E A N IN G IS FOR ME D

CATEGORIES OF SIGNS

This chapter looks at the

various ways in which
meaning is formed in a sign.
Both Saussure and Peirce
agreed that in order to
understand how we extract
meaning from a sign we need
to understand the structure
‘In a language state
of signs. To help us do this everything is based
they categorised signs in on relations’.6
terms of the relationships
within the structures.

32
 CATE G OR I E S OF S I G NS

Peirce defined three categories of signs:

Icon. This resembles the sign. A photograph of
someone could be described as an iconic sign in that
it physically resembles the thing it represents. It is
also possible to have iconic words, where the sound
resembles the thing it represents. Onomatopoeic
words like 'bang' or 'woof' could be described as iconic
language.
Index. There is a direct link between the sign and
the object. In this category, smoke is an index of fire and
a tail is an index of a dog. Traffic signs in the street are
index signs: they have a direct link to the physical reality
of where they are placed such as at a junction or at the
brow of a hill. 2.1a
Symbol. There is no logical connection between the 2.1a–2.1c Signs
sign and what it means. These signs rely exclusively on
2.1a The red cross and
the reader’s having learnt the connection between the the subsequent words
sign and its meaning. The red cross is a symbol that we are all symbols. The
recognise to mean aid. Flags are symbols that represent reader will have had
to learn the correct
territories or organizations. The letters of the alphabet codings of all these signs
are symbolic signs whose meanings we have learnt. in order to understand
their meanings.
As a linguist, Saussure was not interested in index 2.1b This is an index/
signs; he was primarily concerned with words. Words are symbol. The danger of
symbolic signs. In the case of onomatopoeic words, they fire is linked to the forest
through its physical
can also be iconic signs. Saussure categorised signs in position (the sign is on
two ways, which are very similar to the categories used the edge of the forest)
by Peirce: and by the use of an 2.1b
ideogram of a tree.

Iconic. These are the same as Peirce’s icons. They 2.1c This sign for
resemble the thing they represent. a shopping centre
in Manchester is
Arbitrary. These are the same as Peirce’s symbols. signposted using an
The relationship between the signifier and the signified is iconic sign, which
arbitrary. It functions through agreed rules. depends on
local knowledge.

2.1c

33
2 . HO W M E A N IN G IS FOR ME D

It is important to recognise that whichever terms you

use, the categories are not separate and can function
together in sets. For example, let’s look at the traffic sign
that warns us that we are approaching traffic lights. The
mark on the sign that resembles the lights is both an icon
and a symbol. Because it physically looks like the thing it
represents, it can be said to be iconic. However, it is also
a symbol. It is part of a set of signs for which we have an
international agreement about their meanings. We have blue
learnt what the signs mean. We may even have been
tested on their meaning as part of a driving test. The
red triangular frame around the sign is a symbol, which
we understand as a warning sign. Furthermore, when
this traffic sign is placed in the street next to the road
junction, it also becomes an index sign. In this case, its
meaning is in part formed by where the sign is placed.
It is an icon/symbol/index sign.
Peirce also identified three levels or properties for
signs, which can be mapped on to his triangular model.
He labelled these properties firstness, secondness
and thirdness.
Firstness. This is a sense of something. It could be
described as a feeling or a mood. To say that you are
feeling 'blue' could be said to function on this first level.
Secondness. This is the level of fact. It is the physical
relation of one thing to another. The traffic sign we
discussed earlier functions on this physical level of fact.
Thirdness. You could think of this level as the mental
level. It is the level of general rules, which brings the
other two together in a relationship. It relates the sign to
the object as a convention. The association we have in
our minds between the 'stars and stripes' and the United
States is a mental relationship that relies on a convention.

2.2
Classification of Signs
A series of examples of
firstness, secondness
and thirdness as defined
by Pierce.

34
 CATE G OR I E S OF S I G NS

Peirce’s work on the classification

of signs became increasingly
complex as he refined his original
propositions. In 1903, he divided the
properties into three broad areas and
classified them accordingly: qualities
(firstness), brute facts (secondness)
and laws (thirdness). Each of 2.3
Peirce’s original three elements of Classification
In the table, the rows
signification (representamen, object are the categories
and interpretant) can be mapped (firstness, secondness
against these qualities and, in and thirdness) and the
columns are aspects
turn, each of these qualities can be of being. The diagram
found within each of the elements. underneath shows how
This generated a complex grid of these are mapped onto
Peirce’s elements of a
subclassification, as shown above. sign: the representamen
Every sign has a representamen (or sign), the object and
(sometimes known as a sign the interpretant.
vehicle) and so can be classified as 2.4
a qualisign, a sinsign or a legisign. David Shrigley:
Every sign also has an object and Red Card
The representamen
can be classified as an icon, an of a red card can be
index or a symbol; similarly, as every seen as a legisign, as
sign has an interpretant, it can be its signifying element
is primarily due to a
classified as a rheme, a dicent or an law or convention. As
argument. All signs then become an object it is a symbol
classifiable as combinations of each in that it utilises a
2.3 convention that is learnt
of their three elements. In other and as an interpretant
words, a sign can be one of the three Quality Brute Fact Law it is an argument
types of representamen, one of the because it enables us to
1st Qualisign Sinsign Legisign understand the signs as
three types of object, and one of the part of a general system
three types of interpretant. 2nd Icon Index Symbol of knowledge.

3rd Rheme Dicent Argument

2.4

35
2 . HO W M E A N IN G IS FOR ME D

Semiosis

Peirce uses the term 'semiosis' to describe the transfer of

meaning—the act of signifying. What is distinct about his
view of semiosis is that it is not a one-way process with
a fixed meaning. It is part of an active process between
the sign and the reader of the sign. It is an exchange
between the two that involves some negotiation. The
meaning of the sign will be affected by the background
of the reader; that is, a person’s background, education, 2.5
culture and experiences will all have a bearing on how Unlimited Semiosis
The triangular process
the sign is read. One of the most visible examples of described by Peirce.
this is the symbolic use of colour in different cultures. In R
Western culture, we are familiar with the colour black
as a symbol of death and mourning. Funeral directors
wear black jackets, and it is usual for those who attend 1
to wear black. Athletes wear black armbands to show
O I/R
respect for those who have been lost. This is a symbolic
sign that we have all learnt and it is also, to a degree,
iconic. However, in other cultures across the world this
relationship between colour and loss is quite different. 2

In China, for example, white is used for funerals, which I/R

O
could create the impression of a wedding to a Westerner,
who has quite a different understanding of the symbolic
use of white.
3

Unlimited Semiosis O I/R

In the previous chapter, we looked at the terms

used by Peirce in his triangular model of a sign. The
representamen signifies an object, which in turn conjures
up a mental concept, the interpretant, in the mind
of the reader. However, when we consider meaning,
we must recognise that this triangular process may
happen more than once from one starting point. To
use Peirce’s terms, the interpretant resulting in our
mind from the first representamen can then become a
further sign and trigger an infinite chain of associations,
where the interpretant in one sequence becomes the
representamen of the next sequence. This phenomenon,
called unlimited semiosis, is commonplace in our reading
of signs, and we rush through these chains of meanings
at such speed that we hardly notice the chain at all. This
is similar to Barthes’s structure of myths, which is based
on Saussure’s model of the sign.

36
 CATE G OR I E S OF S I G NS

2.5

37
2 . HO W M E A N IN G IS FOR ME D

VALUE ‘Language is a system

of interdependent terms
in which the value of
each term results solely
from the simultaneous
presence of others.'7

For Saussure it was what he called 'value' that

determined the meaning of a sign. Saussure focused on
If we cut the sheet of paper
the relationship between the sign and the other signs in into three pieces, the
meaning of each piece does
the same system.
He looked at what we mean by something in relation
to what we do not mean by something. In his system,
book means not magazine, not poster, not film. Saussure not come from the
has a different term for the transfer of meaning. He
calls this 'signification.' For Saussure, signification is relationship between the
achieve by using the mental concepts—the signifieds—
to categorise reality so that we can understand it. The
front and back of the paper
signifieds are artificial things that are made by us and our
society and culture.
but from the relationship of
They are part of our communication system, which one piece to another.
is unique to our particular culture. The meaning comes
not from the relationship of this sign to reality, which can
be arbitrary, but from the relationship between the sign
and the other signs around it. To illustrate this, Saussure
describes language as a sheet of paper with thought on
one side and sound on the other. We cannot cut the front
of the sheet without cutting the back at the same time.
Sound and thought cannot be divided.
This is essentially a theory of combination and
substitution, which Saussure explains using the terms
syntagm and paradigm.

38
thought

39
sound
 VALU E

The value is Syntagm

always This is a collection of signs that are organized in a linear

sequence. The word 'book' is a syntagm using a set of
composed of units: b/o/o/k. A sentence is also a syntagm. Take the
sentence 'The girl reads the book.' The words are the
two things: signs, which are arranged into a syntagmic sequence,
in which each sign has a syntagmic relation to the signs
1. A dissimilar that go before it and after it. The value of the sign 'book'

thing that can is affected by the other signs around it.

In visual terms, the clothes we wear are a syntagm
be exchanged. made up of units, which are the individual garments.
The garments themselves are also syntagms, with each
2. A similar garment made of units such as sleeves, collars and cuffs.
As in the previous examples, the value of these units
thing that can (signs) can be affected by their combination with the
other signs. We all create syntagms every day, where
be compared. the combinations are governed by conventions. These
conventions or rules are a feature of the syntagm. When
we are writing, we call this convention grammar; when
we are dressing ourselves for the day, we might call
it taste.

‘The idea or phonic

substance that a sign
contains is of less
importance than the other
signs that surround it.
Proof of this is that the
value of a term may be
modified without either
its meaning or its sound
being affected, solely
because a neighbouring
term has been mollified.’ 8

41
2 . HO W M E A N IN G IS FOR ME D

Paradigm 2.6

The meaning we get from a collection of signs

(signification) does not come from these linear
combinations alone. When we are making combinations
of signs, whether they are words, sentences or outfits, we
are faced with a series of individual choices where we
can substitute one sign for another in the same set.
We can take the letters of the alphabet as a simple
example. These are all part of a paradigm that we
recognise as part of the same set. 'A' is part of the
paradigm that is the alphabet, whereas '5' is not and '+'
is not. When we make choices from this paradigm, we
create words that are part of another set of paradigms,
such as nouns or verbs. If we substitute an 'n' for an 'o'
from the alphabet paradigm in the syntagm 'b-o-o-k' to
form 'b-o-n-k', we change the meaning entirely. The way
that we use language creates another set of paradigms,
such as legal jargon, technobabble and bad language.
When writing poetry, we could describe the rhyming
words as paradigms based on sound.
In typography, we could say that FF Din Regular is
part of a paradigm that includes the entire set of weights
that make up the FF Din family; this family of typefaces,
in turn, is part of the paradigm of sans serifs. The way
we fix one part of a garment to another is a choice made
from a set of possibilities that form a tailoring paradigm.
The way we choose to apply colour to a painting is part
of another paradigm. In video, the way we edit from one
sequence to another is a choice made from a paradigmic
set of conventions in which the 'fade', the 'dissolve', and
the 'cut' all have meanings of their own. In music, it may
be the way we arrange sounds together to form melody.
Our choice of car and the choices we make to decorate
our homes with objects are made from sets of paradigms.
The two basic
Codes
characteristics
of a paradigm
As we can see from these examples, some paradigms,
such as the alphabet or the number of weights in a are that:
typeface family, have a fixed number of units to choose
from. These types of paradigms are made of codes, which 1. The units in
are called digital codes. These types of codes are easy to
recognise and understand because the units are clearly the set have some-
defined. Other paradigms do not have a fixed number of
choices; the range of choice is unlimited and the divisions
thing in common.
between the choices are unclear. The marks produced
by a paintbrush or the sounds used in music could be
2. Each unit is
described as paradigms that use codes with no clear obviously different
distinction between the choices. This type of code is
called an analogue code. In practice, it is common for us from the others in
to attempt to impose digital notation on analogue codes
to help us categorise and understand the codes. Musical the set.
notation, for example, is an attempt to do just this.

42
 VALU E

2.6 2.7
Marion Deuchars: Seel Garside:
New Language Armchair Manager
This is an arrangement Here, a series of football
of hand-painted formations show how
stones that feature the value of a sign is
the characteristics of affected by the signs
a paradigm. Each of around it. In this
these units (stones) instance a combination
clearly have something of seemingly random
in common (size, household objects
shape, material, colour), are given meaning by
but each unit is also the presence of the
obviously different goalposts. For those who
from the others. This know their English World
particular paradigm Cup teams, the random
could be described as objects are also grouped
an ‘analogue’ paradigm as sets of paradigms
as it has no fixed that relate to the venue
number of choices. of the respective
Although they clearly World Cup finals. (The
belong together as a managers left to right:
linguistic set, the range Ramsey, Robson,
might be limitless, Robson, Southgate)
unlike, for example, the
alphabet or musical 2.8
notation which we would The Kitchen
describe as a ‘code’. A set of fragments
These signs could of imagery from a
easily be part of a new children’s game. The
linguistic code, all that individual pieces are
would be needed is an part of paradigm of
agreement about what images that can be used
each mark signifies. to assemble a complete
picture. The black-and-
white drawing gives a
guide to the publisher's
preferred arrangement.
2.7

2.8

43
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
building up her navy. Had the colonies been thirteen islands, the sea
power of England would quickly have settled the question; but
instead of such a physical barrier they were separated only by local
jealousies which a common danger sufficiently overcame. To enter
deliberately on such a contest, to try to hold by force so extensive a
territory, with a large hostile population, so far from home, was to
renew the Seven Years’ War with France and Spain, and with the
Americans, against, instead of for, England. The Seven Years’ War
had been so heavy a burden that a wise government would have
known that the added weight could not be borne, and have seen it
was necessary to conciliate the colonists. The government of the day
was not wise, and a large element of England’s sea power was
sacrificed; but by mistake, not willfully; through arrogance, not
through weakness.
This steady keeping to a general line of policy was doubtless made
specially easy for successive English governments by the clear
indications of the country’s conditions. Singleness of purpose was to
some extent imposed. The firm maintenance of her sea power, the
haughty determination to make it felt, the wise state of preparation
in which its military element was kept, were yet more due to that
feature of her political institutions which practically gave the
government, during the period in question, into the hands of a class,
—a landed aristocracy. Such a class, whatever its defects otherwise,
readily takes up and carries on a sound political tradition, is
naturally proud of its country’s glory, and comparatively insensible
to the sufferings of the community by which that glory is maintained.
It readily lays on the pecuniary burden necessary for preparation and
for endurance of war. Being as a body rich, it feels those burdens
less. Not being commercial, the sources of its own wealth are not so
immediately endangered, and it does not share that political timidity
which characterizes those whose property is exposed and business
threatened,—the proverbial timidity of capital. Yet in England this
class was not insensible to anything that touched her trade for good
or ill. Both houses of Parliament vied in careful watchfulness, over its
extension and protection, and to the frequency of their inquiries a
naval historian attributes the increased efficiency of the executive
power in its management of the navy. Such a class also naturally
imbibes and keeps up a spirit of military honor, which is of the first
importance in ages when military institutions have not yet provided
the sufficient substitute in what is called esprit-de-corps. But
although full of class feeling and class prejudice, which made
themselves felt in the navy as well as elsewhere, their practical sense
left open the way of promotion to its highest honors to the more
humbly born; and every age saw admirals who had sprung from the
lowest of the people. In this the temper of the English upper class
differed markedly from that of the French. As late as 1789, at the
outbreak of the Revolution, the French Navy List still bore the name
of an official whose duty was to verify the proofs of noble birth on the
part of those intending to enter the naval school.
Since 1815, and especially in our own day, the government of
England has passed very much more into the hands of the people at
large. Whether her sea power will suffer therefrom remains to be
seen. Its broad basis still remains in a great trade, large mechanical
industries, and an extensive colonial system. Whether a democratic
government will have the foresight, the keen sensitiveness to
national position and credit, the willingness to ensure its prosperity
by adequate outpouring of money in times of peace, all of which are
necessary for military preparation, is yet an open question. Popular
governments are not generally favorable to military expenditure,
however necessary, and there are signs that England tends to drop
behind.
 17. Results of the Seven Years’ War[44]

Nevertheless, the gains of England were very great, not only in

territorial increase, nor yet in maritime preponderance, but in the
prestige and position achieved in the eyes of the nations, now fully
opened to her great resources and mighty power. To these results,
won by the sea, the issue of the continental war offered a singular
and suggestive contrast. France had already withdrawn, along with
England, from all share in that strife, and peace between the other
parties to it was signed five days after the Peace of Paris. The terms
of the peace was simply the status quo ante bellum. By the estimate
of the King of Prussia, one hundred and eighty thousand of his
soldiers had fallen or died in this war, out of a kingdom of five
million souls, while the losses of Russia, Austria, and France
aggregated four hundred and sixty thousand men. The result was
simply that things remained as they were.[45] To attribute this only to
a difference between the possibilities of land and sea war is of course
absurd. The genius of Frederick, backed by the money of England,
had proved an equal match for the mismanaged and not always
hearty efforts of a coalition numerically overwhelming.
What does seem a fair conclusion is, that States having a good
seaboard, or even ready access to the ocean by one or two outlets,
will find it to their advantage to seek prosperity and extension by the
way of the sea and of commerce, rather than in attempts to unsettle
and modify existing political arrangements in countries where a
more or less long possession of power has conferred acknowledged
rights, and created national allegiance or political ties. Since the
Treaty of Paris in 1763, the waste places of the world have been
rapidly filled; witness our own continent, Australia, and even South
America. A nominal and more or less clearly defined political
possession now generally exists in the most forsaken regions, though
to this statement there are some marked exceptions; but in many
places this political possession is little more than nominal, and in
others of a character so feeble that it cannot rely upon itself alone for
support or protection. The familiar and notorious example of the
Turkish Empire, kept erect only by the forces pressing upon it from
opposing sides, by the mutual jealousies of powers that have no
sympathy with it, is an instance of such weak political tenure; and
though the question is wholly European, all know enough of it to be
aware that the interest and control of the sea powers is among the
chief, if not the first, of the elements that now fix the situation; and
that they, if intelligently used, will direct the future inevitable
changes. Upon the western continents the political condition of the
Central American and tropical South American States is so unstable
as to cause constant anxiety about the maintenance of internal order,
and seriously to interfere with commerce and with the peaceful
development of their resources. So long as—to use a familiar
expression—they hurt no one but themselves, this may go on; but for
a long time the citizens of more stable governments have been
seeking to exploit their resources, and have borne the losses arising
from their distracted condition. North America and Australia still
offer large openings to immigration and enterprise; but they are
filling up rapidly, and as the opportunities there diminish, the
demand must arise for a more settled government in those
disordered States, for security to life and for reasonable stability of
institutions enabling merchants and others to count upon the future.
There is certainly no present hope that such a demand can be
fulfilled from the existing native materials; if the same be true when
the demand arises, no theoretical positions, like the Monroe
Doctrine, will prevent interested nations from attempting to remedy
the evil by some measure, which, whatever it may be called, will be a
political interference. Such interferences must produce collisions,
which may be at times settled by arbitration, but can scarcely fail at
other times to cause war. Even for a peaceful solution, that nation
will have the strongest arguments which has the strongest organized
force.
It need scarcely be said that the successful piercing of the Central
American Isthmus at any point may precipitate the moment that is
sure to come sooner or later. The profound modification of
commercial routes expected from this enterprise, the political
importance to the United States of such a channel of communication
between her Atlantic and Pacific seaboards, are not, however, the
whole nor even the principal part of the question. As far as can be
seen, the time will come when stable governments for the American
tropical States must be assured by the now existing powerful and
stable States of America or Europe. The geographical position of
those States, the climatic conditions, make it plain at once that sea
power will there, even more than in the case of Turkey, determine
what foreign State shall predominate,—if not by actual possession, by
its influence over the native governments. The geographical position
of the United States and her intrinsic power give her an undeniable
advantage; but that advantage will not avail if there is a great
inferiority of organized brute-force, which still remains the last
argument of republics as of kings.
Herein lies to us the great and still living interest of the Seven
Years’ War. In it we have seen and followed England, with an army
small as compared with other States, as is still her case to-day, first
successfully defending her own shores, then carrying her arms in
every direction, spreading her rule and influence over remote
regions, and not only binding them to her obedience, but making
them tributary to her wealth, her strength, and her reputation. As
she loosens the grasp and neutralizes the influence of France and
Spain in regions beyond the sea, there is perhaps seen the prophecy
of some other great nation in days yet to come, that will incline the
balance of power in some future sea war, whose scope will be
recognized afterward, if not by contemporaries, to have been the
political future and the economical development of regions before
lost to civilization; but that nation will not be the United States if the
moment find her indifferent, as now, to the empire of the seas.
The direction then given to England’s efforts, by the instinct of the
nation and the fiery genius of Pitt, continued after the war, and has
profoundly influenced her subsequent policy. Mistress now of North
America, lording it in India, through the company whose territorial
conquests had been ratified by native princes, over twenty millions of
inhabitants,—a population larger than that of Great Britain and
having a revenue respectable alongside of that of the home
government,—England, with yet other rich possessions scattered far
and wide over the globe, had ever before her eyes, as a salutary
lesson, the severe chastisement which the weakness of Spain had
allowed her to inflict upon that huge disjointed empire. The words of
the English naval historian of that war, speaking about Spain, apply
with slight modifications to England in our own day.
“Spain is precisely that power against which England can always
contend with the fairest prospect of advantage and honor. That
extensive monarchy is exhausted at heart, her resources lie at a great
distance, and whatever power commands the sea, may command the
wealth and commerce of Spain. The dominions from which she
draws her resources, lying at an immense distance from the capital
and from one another, make it more necessary for her than for any
other State to temporize, until she can inspire with activity all parts
of her enormous but disjointed empire.”[46]
It would be untrue to say that England is exhausted at heart; but
her dependence upon the outside world is such as to give a certain
suggestiveness to the phrase.
This analogy of positions was not overlooked by England. From
that time forward up to our own day, the possessions won for her by
her sea power have combined with that sea power itself to control
her policy. The road to India—in the days of Clive a distant and
perilous voyage on which she had not a stopping-place of her own—
was reinforced as opportunity offered by the acquisition of St.
Helena, of the Cape of Good Hope, of the Mauritius. When steam
made the Red Sea and Mediterranean route practicable, she acquired
Aden, and yet later has established herself at Socotra. Malta had
already fallen into her hands during the wars of the French
Revolution; and her commanding position, as the corner-stone upon
which the coalitions against Napoleon rested, enabled her to claim it
at the Peace of 1815. Being but a short thousand miles from
Gibraltar, the circles of military command exercised by these two
places intersect. The present day has seen the stretch from Malta to
the Isthmus of Suez, formerly without a station, guarded by the
cession to her of Cyprus. Egypt, despite the jealousy of France, has
passed under English control. The importance of that position to
India, understood by Napoleon and Nelson, led the latter at once to
send an officer overland to Bombay with the news of the battle of the
Nile and the downfall of Bonaparte’s hopes. Even now, the jealousy
with which England views the advance of Russia in Central Asia is
the result of those days in which her sea power and resources
triumphed over the weakness of D’Aché and the genius of Suffren,
and wrenched the peninsula of India from the ambition of the
French.
“For the first time since the Middle Ages,” says M. Martin,
speaking of the Seven Years’ War, “England had conquered France
single-handed almost without allies, France having powerful
auxiliaries. She had conquered solely by the superiority of her
government.”
Yes! but by the superiority of her government using the
tremendous weapon of her sea power. This made her rich and in turn
protected the trade by which she had her wealth. With her money she
upheld her few auxiliaries, mainly Prussia and Hanover, in their
desperate strife. Her power was everywhere that her ships could
reach, and there was none to dispute the sea to her. Where she would
she went, and with her went her guns and her troops. By this
mobility her forces were multiplied, those of her enemies distracted.
Ruler of the seas, she everywhere obstructed its highways. The
enemies’ fleets could not join; no great fleet could get out, or if it did,
it was only to meet at once, with uninured officers and crews, those
who were veterans in gales and warfare. Save in the case of Minorca,
she carefully held her own sea bases and eagerly seized those of the
enemy. What a lion in the path was Gibraltar to the French
squadrons of Toulon and Brest! What hope for French succor to
Canada, when the English fleet had Louisburg under its lee?
The one nation that gained in this war was that which used the sea
in peace to earn its wealth, and ruled it in war by the extent of its
navy, by the number of its subjects who lived on the sea or by the sea,
and by its numerous bases of operations scattered over the globe. Yet
it must be observed that these bases themselves would have lost their
value if their communications remained obstructed. Therefore the
French lost Louisburg, Martinique, Pondicherry; so England herself
lost Minorca. The service between the bases and the mobile force,
between the ports and the fleets, is mutual.[47] In this respect the
navy is essentially a light corps; it keeps open the communications
between its own ports, it obstructs those of the enemy; but it sweeps
the sea for the service of the land, it controls the desert that man may
live and thrive on the habitable globe.
 18. Eighteenth Century Formalism in Naval
Tactics[48]

Tourville,[49] though a brilliant seaman, thus not only typified an era

of transition, with which he was contemporary, but fore-shadowed
the period of merely formal naval warfare, precise, methodical, and
unenterprising, emasculated of military virility, although not of mere
animal courage. He left to his successors the legacy of a great name,
but also unfortunately that of a defective professional tradition. The
splendid days of the French Navy under Louis XIV passed away with
him,—he died in 1701; but during the long period of naval lethargy
on the part of the state, which followed, the French naval officers, as
a class, never wholly lost sight of professional ideals. They proved
themselves, on the rare occasions that offered, before 1715 and
during the wars of Hawke and Rodney, not only gallant seamen after
the pattern of Tourville, but also exceedingly capable tacticians, upon
a system good as far as it went, but defective on Tourville’s express
lines, in aiming rather at exact dispositions and defensive security
than at the thorough-going initiative and persistence which
confounds and destroys the enemy. “War,” to use Napoleon’s phrase,
“was to be waged without running risks.” The sword was drawn, but
the scabbard was kept ever open for its retreat.
The English, in the period of reaction which succeeded the Dutch
wars, produced their own caricature of systematized tactics. Even
under its influence, up to 1715, it is only just to say they did not
construe naval skill to mean anxious care to keep one’s own ships
intact. Rooke, off Malaga, in 1704, illustrated professional
fearlessness of consequences as conspicuously as he had shown
personal daring in the boat attack at La Hogue; but his plans of battle
exemplified the particularly British form of inefficient naval action.
There was no great difference in aggregate force between the French
fleet and that of the combined Anglo-Dutch under his orders. The
former, drawing up in the accustomed line of battle, ship following
ship in a single column, awaited attack. Rooke, having the advantage
of the wind, and therefore the power of engaging at will, formed his
command in a similar and parallel line a few miles off, and thus all
stood down together, the ships maintaining their line parallel to that
of the enemy, and coming into action at practically the same
moment, van to van, center to center, rear to rear. This ignored
wholly the essential maxim of all intelligent warfare, which is so to
engage as markedly to outnumber the enemy at a point of main
collision. If he be broken there, before the remainder of his force
come up, the chances all are that a decisive superiority will be
established by this alone, not to mention the moral effect of partial
defeat and disorder. Instead of this, the impact at Malaga was so
distributed as to produce a substantial equality from one end to the
other of the opposing fronts. The French, indeed, by strengthening
their center relatively to the van and rear, to some extent modified
this condition in the particular instance; but the fact does not seem
to have induced any alteration in Rooke’s dispositions. Barring mere
accident, nothing conclusive can issue from such arrangements. The
result accordingly was a drawn battle, although Rooke says that the
fight, which was maintained on both sides “with great fury for three
hours, ... was the sharpest day’s service that I ever saw;” and he had
seen much,—Beachy Head, La Hogue, Vigo Bay, not to mention his
own great achievement in the capture of Gibraltar.
This method of attack remained the ideal—if such a word is not
misnomer in such a case—of the British Navy, not merely as a matter
of irreflective professional acceptance, but laid down in the official
“Fighting Instructions.”[50] It cannot be said that these err on the side
of lucidity; but their meaning to contemporaries in this particular
respect is ascertained, not only by fair inference from their contents,
but by the practical commentary of numerous actions under
commonplace commanders-in-chief. It further received authoritative
formulation in the specific finding of the Court-Martial upon
Admiral Byng, which was signed by thirteen experienced-officers.
“Admiral Byng should have caused his ships to tack together, and
should immediately have borne down upon the enemy; his van
steering for the enemy’s van, his rear for its rear, each ship making
for the one opposite to her in the enemy’s line, under such sail as
would have enabled the worst sailer to preserve her station in the
line of battle.”[51] Each phrase of this opinion is a reflection of an
article in the Instructions. The line of battle was the naval fetish of
the day; and, be it remarked, it was the more dangerous because in
itself an admirable and necessary instrument, constructed on
principles essentially accurate. A standard wholly false may have its
error demonstrated with comparative ease; but no servitude is more
hopeless than that of unintelligent submission to an idea formally
correct, yet incomplete. It has all the vicious misleading of a half-
truth unqualified by appreciation of modifying conditions; and so
seamen who disdained theories, and hugged the belief in themselves
as “practical,” became doctrinaires in the worst sense.
 19. The New Tactics[52]

Rodney and De Guichen, April 17, 1780

Despite his brilliant personal courage and professional skill, which in

the matter of tactics was far in advance of his contemporaries in
England, Rodney, as a commander-in-chief, belongs rather to the
wary, cautious school of the French tacticians than to the impetuous,
unbounded eagerness of Nelson. As in Tourville we have seen the
desperate fighting of the seventeenth century, unwilling to leave its
enemy, merging into the formal, artificial—we may almost say
trifling—parade tactics of the eighteenth, so in Rodney we shall see
the transition from those ceremonious duels to an action which,
while skillful in conception, aimed at serious results. For it would be
unjust to Rodney to press the comparison to the French admirals of
his day. With a skill that De Guichen recognized as soon as they
crossed swords, Rodney meant mischief, not idle flourishes.
Whatever incidental favors fortune might bestow by the way, the
objective from which his eye never wandered was the French fleet,—
the organized military force of the enemy on the sea. And on the day
when Fortune forsook the opponent who had neglected her offers,
when the conqueror of Cornwallis failed to strike while he had
Rodney at a disadvantage, the latter won a victory[53] which
redeemed England from the depths of anxiety, and restored to her by
one blow all those islands which the cautious tactics of the allies had
for a moment gained, save only Tobago.
 De Guichen and Rodney met for the first time on the 17th of April,
1780, three weeks after the arrival of the latter. The French fleet was
beating to windward in the channel between Martinique and
Dominica, when the enemy was made in the south-east. A day was
spent in maneuvering for the weather-gage, which Rodney got. The
two fleets being now well to leeward of the islands (see Plate), both
on the starboard tack heading to the northward and the French on
the lee bow of the English, Rodney, who was carrying a press of sail,
signalled to his fleet that he meant to attack the enemy’s rear and
center with his whole force; and when he had reached the position he
thought suitable, ordered them to keep away eight points (90°)
together (A, A, A). De Guichen, seeing the danger of the rear, wore
his fleet all together and stood down to succor it. Rodney, finding
himself foiled, hauled up again on the same tack as the enemy, both
fleets now heading to the southward and eastward.[54] Later, he again
made signal for battle, followed an hour after, just at noon, by the
order (quoting his own despatch), “for every ship to bear down and
steer for her opposite in the enemy’s line.” This, which sounds like
the old story of ship to ship, Rodney explains to have meant her
opposite at the moment, not her opposite in numerical order. His
own words are: “In a slanting position, that my leading ships might
attack the van ships of the enemy’s center division, and the whole
British fleet be opposed to only two thirds of the enemy” (B, B). The
difficulty and misunderstanding which followed seem to have sprung
mainly from the defective character of the signal book. Instead of
doing as the admiral wished, the leading ships (a) carried sail so as to
reach their supposed station abreast their numerical opposite in the
order. Rodney stated afterward that when he bore down the second
time, the French fleet was in a very extended line of battle; and that,
had his orders been obeyed, the center and rear must have been
disabled before the van could have joined.
There seems every reason to believe that Rodney’s intentions
throughout were to double on the French, as asserted. The failure
sprang from the signal book and tactical inefficiency of the fleet; for
which he, having lately joined, was not answerable. But the ugliness
of his fence was so apparent to De Guichen, that he exclaimed, when
the English fleet kept away the first time, that six or seven of his
ships were gone; and sent word to Rodney that if his signals had
been obeyed he would have had him for his prisoner.[55] A more
convincing proof that he recognized the dangerousness of his enemy
is to be found in the fact that he took care not to have the lee-gage in
their subsequent encounters. Rodney’s careful plans being upset, he
showed that with them he carried all the stubborn courage of the
most downright fighter; taking his own ship close to the enemy and
ceasing only when the latter hauled off, her foremast and mainyard
gone, and her hull so damaged that she could hardly be kept afloat.
 20. Sea Power in the American Revolution[56]

Graves and De Grasse off the Chesapeake

[Preliminary to the events narrated, the general naval situation was

as follows: The main British and French fleets, under Rodney and De
Grasse, respectively, were in the West Indies, while a small British
division was under Graves at New York, and a French squadron
under De Barras was based on Newport, R. I. The squadrons on the
American coast had met in a desultory action off the Virginia capes
on March 16, 1781, after which the French commander had returned
to Newport and left the British in control.—Editor.]
The way of the sea being thus open and held in force, two thousand
more English troops sailing from New York reached Virginia on the
26th of March, and the subsequent arrival of Cornwallis in May
raised the number to seven thousand. The operations of the
contending forces during the spring and summer months, in which
Lafayette commanded the Americans, do not concern our subject.
Early in August, Cornwallis, acting under orders from Clinton,
withdrew his troops into the peninsula between the York and James
rivers, and occupied Yorktown.
Washington and Rochambeau had met on the 21st of May, and
decided that the situation demanded that the effort of the French
West Indian fleet, when it came, should be directed against either
New York or the Chesapeake. This was the tenor of the despatch
found by De Grasse at Cap Français,[57] and meantime the allied
generals drew their troops toward New York, where they would be on
hand for the furtherance of one object, and nearer the second if they
had to make for it.
In either case the result, in the opinion both of Washington and of
the French government, depended upon superior sea power; but
Rochambeau had privately notified the admiral that his own
preference was for the Chesapeake as the scene of the intended
operations, and moreover the French government had declined to
furnish the means for a formal siege of New York.[58] The enterprise
therefore assumed the form of an extensive military combination,
dependent upon ease and rapidity of movement, and upon blinding
the eyes of the enemy to the real objective,—purposes to which the
peculiar qualities of a navy admirably lent themselves. The shorter
distance to be traversed, the greater depth of water and easier
pilotage of the Chesapeake, were further reasons which would
commend the scheme to the judgment of a seaman; and De Grasse
readily accepted it, without making difficulties or demanding
modifications which would have involved discussion and delay.
Having made his decision, the French admiral acted with great
good judgment, promptitude, and vigor. The same frigate that
brought despatches from Washington was sent back, so that by
August 15 the allied generals knew of the intended coming of the
fleet. Thirty-five hundred soldiers were spared by the governor of
Cap Français, upon the condition of a Spanish squadron anchoring at
the place, which De Grasse procured. He also raised from the
governor of Havana the money urgently needed by the Americans;
and finally, instead of weakening his force by sending convoys to
France, as the court had wished, he took every available ship to the
Chesapeake. To conceal his coming as long as possible, he passed
through the Bahama Channel, as a less frequented route, and on the
30th of August anchored in Lynnhaven Bay, just within the capes of
the Chesapeake, with twenty-eight ships-of-the-line. Three days
before, August 27, the French squadron at Newport, eight ships-of-
the-line with four frigates and eighteen transports under M. de
Barras, sailed for the rendezvous; making, however, a wide circuit
out to sea to avoid the English. This course was the more necessary
as the French siege-artillery was with it. The troops under
Washington and Rochambeau[59] had crossed the Hudson on the
24th of August, moving toward the head of Chesapeake Bay. Thus
the different armed forces, both land and sea, were converging
toward their objective, Cornwallis.
The English were unfortunate in all directions. Rodney, learning of
De Grasse’s departure, sent fourteen ships-of-the-line under Admiral
Hood to North America, and himself sailed for England in August, on
account of ill health. Hood, going by the direct route, reached the
Chesapeake three days before De Grasse, looked into the bay, and
finding it empty went on to New York. There he met five ships-of-
the-line under Admiral Graves, who, being senior officer, took
command of the whole force and sailed on the 31st of August for the
Chesapeake, hoping to intercept De Barras before he could join De
Grasse. It was not till two days later that Sir Henry Clinton was
persuaded that the allied armies had gone against Cornwallis, and
had too far the start to be overtaken.

Admiral Graves was painfully surprised, on making the

Chesapeake, to find anchored there a fleet which from its numbers
could only be an enemy’s. Nevertheless, he stood in to meet it, and as
De Grasse got under way, allowing his ships to be counted, the sense
of numerical inferiority—nineteen to twenty-four—did not deter the
English admiral from attacking. The clumsiness of his method,
however, betrayed his gallantry; many of his ships were roughly
handled, without any advantage being gained.[60] De Grasse,
expecting De Barras, remained outside five days, keeping the English
fleet in play without coming to action; then returning to port he
found De Barras safely at anchor. Graves went back to New York,
and with him disappeared the last hope of succor that was to gladden
Cornwallis’s eyes. The siege was steadily endured, but the control of
the sea made only one issue possible, and the English forces were
surrendered October 19, 1781. With this disaster the hope of
subduing the colonies died in England. The conflict flickered through
a year longer, but no serious operations were undertaken.
... The defeat of Graves and subsequent surrender of Cornwallis
did not end the naval operations in the western hemisphere. On the
contrary, one of the most interesting tactical feats and the most
brilliant victory of the whole war were yet to grace the English flag in
the West Indies; but with the events at Yorktown the patriotic
interest for Americans closes. Before quitting that struggle for
independence, it must again be affirmed that its successful ending, at
least at so early a date, was due to the control of the sea,—to sea
power in the hands of the French, and its improper distribution by
the English authorities. This assertion may be safely rested on the
authority of the one man who, above all others, thoroughly knew the
resources of the country, the temper of the people, the difficulties of
the struggle, and whose name is still the highest warrant for sound,
quiet, unfluttered good sense and patriotism.
The keynote to all Washington’s utterances is set in the
“Memorandum for concerting a plan of operations with the French
army,” dated July 15, 1780, and sent by the hands of Lafayette:
“The Marquis de Lafayette will be pleased to communicate the
following general ideas to Count de Rochambeau and the Chevalier
de Ternay, as the sentiments of the underwritten:
“I. In any operation, and under all circumstances, a decisive
naval superiority is to be considered as a fundamental principle,
and the basis upon which every hope of success must ultimately
depend.”
This, however, though the most formal and decisive expression of
Washington’s views, is but one among many others equally distinct.
 21. The French Navy Demoralized by the
Revolution[61]

... The seamen and the navy of France were swept away by the
same current of thought and feeling which was carrying before it the
whole nation; and the government, tossed to and fro by every wave of
popular emotion, was at once too, weak and too ignorant of the
needs of the service to repress principles and to amend defects which
were fatal to its healthy life.
It is particularly instructive to dwell upon this phase of the
revolutionary convulsions of France, because the result in this
comparatively small, but still most important, part of the body politic
was so different from that which was found elsewhere. Whatever the
mistakes, the violence, the excesses of every kind, into which this
popular rising was betrayed, they were symptomatic of strength, not
of weakness,—deplorable accompaniments of a movement which,
with all its drawbacks, was marked by overwhelming force.
It was the inability to realize the might in this outburst of popular
feeling, long pent up, that caused the mistaken forecasts of many
statesmen of the day; who judged of the power and reach of the
movement by indications—such as the finances, the condition of the
army, the quality of the known leaders—ordinarily fairly accurate
tests of a country’s endurance, but which utterly misled those who
looked to them only and did not take into account the mighty
impulse of a whole nation stirred to its depths. Why, then, was the
result so different in the navy? Why was it so weak, not merely nor
chiefly in quantity, but in quality? and that, too, in days so nearly
succeeding the prosperous naval era of Louis XVI. Why should the
same throe which brought forth the magnificent armies of Napoleon
have caused the utter weakness of the sister service, not only amid
the disorders of the Republic, but also under the powerful
organization of the Empire?
The immediate reason was that, to a service of a very special
character, involving special exigencies, calling for special aptitudes,
and consequently demanding special knowledge of its requirements
in order to deal wisely with it, were applied the theories of men
wholly ignorant of those requirements,—men who did not even
believe that they existed. Entirely without experimental knowledge,
or any other kind of knowledge, of the conditions of sea life, they
were unable to realize the obstacles to those processes by which they
would build up their navy, and according to which they proposed to
handle it. This was true not only of the wild experiments of the early
days of the Republic; the reproach may fairly be addressed to the
great emperor himself, that he had scarcely any appreciation of the
factors conditioning efficiency at sea; nor did he seemingly ever
reach any such sense of them as would enable him to understand
why the French navy failed. “Disdaining,” says Jean Bon Saint-
André, the Revolutionary commissioner whose influence on naval
organization was unbounded, “disdaining, through calculation and
reflection, skillful evolutions, perhaps our seamen will think it more
fitting and useful to try those boarding actions in which the
Frenchman was always conqueror, and thus astonish Europe by new
prodigies of valor.”[62] “Courage and audacity,” says Captain
Chevalier, “had become in his eyes the only qualities necessary to our
officers.” “The English,” said Napoleon, “will become very small
when France shall have two or three admirals willing to die.”[63] So
commented, with pathetic yet submissive irony, the ill-fated admiral,
Villeneuve, upon whom fell the weight of the emperor’s discontent
with his navy: “Since his Majesty thinks that nothing but audacity
and resolve are needed to succeed in the naval officer’s calling, I shall
leave nothing to be desired.”[64]
... In truth men’s understandings, as well as their morale and
beliefs, were in a chaotic state. In the navy, as in society, the morale
suffered first. Insubordination and mutiny, insult and murder,
preceded the blundering measures which in the end destroyed the
fine personnel that the monarchy bequeathed to the French republic.
This insubordination broke out very soon after the affairs of the
Bastille and the forcing of the palace at Versailles; that is, very soon
after the powerlessness of the executive was felt. Singularly, yet
appropriately, the first victim was the most distinguished flag-officer
of the French navy.[65]
During the latter half of 1789 disturbances occurred in all the
seaport towns; in Havre, in Cherbourg, in Brest, in Rochefort, in
Toulon. Everywhere the town authorities meddled with the concerns
of the navy yards and of the fleet, discontented seamen and soldiers,
idle or punished, rushed to the town halls with complaints against
their officers. The latter, receiving no support from Paris, yielded
continually, and things naturally went from bad to worse.