Blanchot, Maurice - Bergson & Symbolism, (1949) 4 YFS 63

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MAURICE BLANCHOT

Bergson and Symbolism


Must we look for the foundations of symbolism in Bergson's philosophy,
as it is now customary to declare? Monsieur E. Fiser would have us be­
lieve so, in his book on the Symbole litteraire; nevertheless, his study,
substantial and serious, also provides us with reasons for questioning
the value of these parallels. It is clear that only with indifferent success
can this critic discover, in Baudelaire or Mallarme, the Bergsonian the-nes
for which spirituality is essentially the past contracted within a present
that harbors this past in its entirety. That innocency of profound exis­
tence, that mobility of the self which disappears in a shadowy intimacy,
all the pure reality whose onsurge no metaphor can represent and which,
for Bergson, is the essence of duration, corresponds only through quite
external analogies with the ideal spectacle that Mallarme's poetic achieve­
ment presents to contemplation. If we could be satisfied with a phrase
or two, we might say that the inapprehensible nothing, the "no" born
from expectancy, doubt and absence, the silent thunder which rever­
berates amidst images dissolving one into another and which heralds, in
the works of Mallarme, a fascinating "breaking point," is separated by
an abyss from Bergsonian philosophy and is meaningful only in a vertigo
wherein anguish reduces itself to exhaustion and unceasingly triumphs
over ravishment. Similarly with Baudelaire, if again superficial phrases
were acceptable, it might be seen that the dream does not express the
purity of a self plunged in duration, but proclaims the radiation of a
magical consciousness that comes into contact with the essence of the
world. The myth is not a means for turning toward oneself and finding
oneself in the form of pure time, it is the expression of the exhausting
and impossible march to that point where the universe and the heart
desiring it seem to become one. "In certain almost supernatural states of
the soul," said Baudelaire, "profundity is revealed entirely in the spec­
tacle, however commonplace it may be, spread out before one's eyes.
The spectacle becomes the Symbol of profundity." Is it advisable to
translate such texts, as of course can be done, into the terminology of
Bergsonian philosophy? This sort of game, which denies poetry, also
denies Bergsonism, so intent on respecting the purity and originality of
the primordial intuition.
Nor do we consider that Bergson's views on language can represent ex­
actly the Symbolists' attitude with regard to words. It is not even sure that

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the poetic labor may not be made incomprehensible by an attempt to fit it


in with Bergson's remarks. In a sense, the philosophy of the Immediate
Data of Consciousness did not consist of a criticism of language in gen­
eral, a criticism doubtless as old as speech; rather did it show why, and
under what conditions, language became an unreliable instrument. Fur­
thermore, it gave back to speech, after having discredited it as a means
of expressing the interior life, the power to suggest melodic duration,
to make this indirectly available for the non-participant. Why do words,
incapable of expressing meta-intellectual truths, become apt, in new
arrangements, to facilitate the approach to and even provoke the intuiting
of these truths? This difficulty has often been stressed. It manifests in
striking fashion the mixture of mistrust and faith, of suspicion and
friendship which characterizes the relations between the Bergsonian
mind and language. Bergson, in short, was imbued with an extreme dis­
trust of words and an extreme confidence in poetry. It is not his crit­
icism of language which makes possible and illuminates the existence
of a symbolic art, but his profound feeling for art which furnishes him
with the proofs of the validity and excellence of language, considered
as the new system of a spell.

Bergson, nonetheless, while strongly aware of the poet's powers, con­


tinues to be uneasily vigilant when confronted by words, which are in
a constant process of crystallization and are weighed down by our intellec­
tual and practical habits. It is natural for him to pronounce a negative
eulogy of creative language, and he shows how it manages to avoid be­
trayal of the profound vision by remaining foreign to it, by turning
around it in a series of disparate images, by delineating in an enchanted
whirl the contours of that figure whose absence it lights up. No word
possesses such spellbinding force that it can strip consciousness of its
veils. All one can ask of the adroit flow of words is a frank avowal that
not one of them, even for a moment, can appear as the equivalent of
intution and unite with this lightning flash in the invocation it addresses
to it. This attitude of tempered antipathy has nothing in common with
Baudelaire's attitude. As for Mallarme, what is more essentially contrary
to his thought? Against his horror of cliches, of oratorical forms, of
prosaic logic must be set his passion for words, his "twenty-four-letter
piety," his intimacy with all forms of expression, from the word, a
jewel flower, an isolated flame that burns far off, to the line of poetry,
"mot supreme, parfait, vaste, natif," "mot neuf et comme incantatoire."
If this word is of course not destined to convey, free from all pretext,
the thought of an object or the significance of a state of soul, it has

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MAURICE BLANCHOT

nevertheless a value other than that of its pure sonority, and the trust
Mallarme puts in it is the trust in a jewel lit by its sparkle, in a center
of suspense from which radiates a musical significance, in a figure which
revolves and is undone in the allusion it reveals. "The childishness of
literature up to now," he said, in reply to Jules Huret's inquiry, "has
been to believe, for example, that choosing a certain number of precious
stones and putting their names on paper, even very skillfully, was to
make precious stones. That is not so. Since poetry consists in creating,
one must take certain states in the human soul, gleams of a purity so
absolute that that, in reality, well sung and properly illuminated, con­
stitutes man's jewels: where there is symbol, there is creation, and the
word 'poetry' acquires its meaning here: it is, in short, the only possible
human creation." And Mallarme will also declare, in a supreme homage
to the word: "I imagine, with the ineradicable doubtless writer's preju·
dice, that nothing will endure unless it be voiced."
One might also note that Paul Valery conceives of the relations
between language and thought in a way which sets him immeasurably
apart from Bergson. To the extent that for him a literary work always
appears to be a forgery, and that "in language subjected to rhythm,
measure, rhyme and alliteration, endeavor is confronted by conditions
utterly foreign to the matrix of thought," he sees in poetic labors the
means of breaking with the spontaneous mind and of achieving a par­
ticular beauty which can be compared with no other. The writer, through
his corrections, his fresh starts, the deliberate obstinacy of his refusals,
far from coming closer to his original intention, as Bergson stated, moves
away from the authentic vision, and the nature of language assures him
of a fresh enchantment, based on a number of necessary mistakes and
misunderstandings. Thus, in the case of Paul Valery, there is a trust in
language which is trust, not in a system of expression, capable of a faith­
fu1 correspondence with thought, but in the special properties of form,
in its own original inductive effects, in its potency which fits it to or­
ganize, and to construct the marvel of, the poem. That is an ambition
altogether at variance with Bergsonism. Paul Valery supposes-and on
this postulate surrealism grew-that if ever language coincides with the
original thought, it is at the point of departure, when the mind surrenders
it&elf to the immediate, to the crude monster which it then is for itself.
But he adds that the writer fulfills his mission only when he replaces
this untouched spontaneity by the endeavors of the most acutely conscious
labor. Spontaneous language is perhaps the language which best explains
the formlessness of the interior life, but the language which matters for

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Yale French Studies

the artist is that of utmost consciousness, and there is nothing the mind
more keenly despises than unreflecting spontaneity, the image of its own
accidents and chance encounters. And this, from a certain viewpoint, is
the antithesis of Bergsonian philosophy. •

(Translated by Joel A. Hunt)

FRANCE'S FOREMOST critic, Maurice Blanchot has entitled his latest


collection of essays La Part du feu. Also published in 1949 are his Lautre·
amont et Sade, and a "recit," L'Arret de mort.

• For permiSSIOn to print this article we wish to thank, not only Monsieur
Blanchot, but also Literary Masterpieces, Inc., of 437 Fifth Avenue, New York,
representatives in the U.S. of the Librairie Gallimard.

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