Ryan Fitzgerald

Leaves, Lines and Lies; Bergson and Woolf in To the Lighthouse

2,400 words

Time and change were major concerns for those writing during the late

nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Specifically, the relationship between the past

and the present preoccupied the writers work. Many were disenchanted with their

literary inheritance of Romantic idealisation; Yeats, for example, wrote that a rough

beast [] slouches towards Bethlehem to be born1, believing that the time of

Christianity would soon be replaced by an antithetical counterpart. The notion of

change, of a break from the past, echoes throughout this period, with Wallace Stevens

writing in Of Modern Poetry that the theatre was changed / to something else. Its past

was a souvenir [] It has / to construct a new stage.2

A more direct challenge to the Romantic tradition can be found in the opening to

Virginia Woolfs Mrs. Dalloway; What a lark! What a plunge!3. Here, the Romantic bird

imagery of the lark is counterbalanced with the idea of falling or sinking; in an attempt

to correct their inherited idealism and avoid a myopic perspective, many writers strove

to create a hybrid mix of the old and the new. They were aware that they could

compose from [] fragments a perfect whole4 (p174); indeed, Eliot defined a good

poet as someone who was constantly amalgamating disparate experience5.

This bringing together of broken and separate pieces into a new form echoes the

philosophy of the French philosopher Henri Bergson. Mary Ann Gillies writes that

Bergsons ideas were crucial to the emergence of modernism as a significant cultural

movement6, claiming that Stream of consciousness [] clearly demonstrates

Bergsonian concepts of time (p102). This concept consists of merging together the past

and present [] into an organic whole7 (p100). Clearly the creation of something new

from the fragments of the old and the current is evident within the works of the writers

of the time.

Central to Bergsons philosophy is the refusal to separate moments into their

present and past states; he elaborates on this in a lecture entitled The Perception of

Change, where he says the distinction of a before and after is what I cannot admit,

claiming that his present is the sentence I am pronouncing, [] my last sentence, the

one that preceded it and all the anterior phrases of the lecture and the events which

1 Yeats, W.B., The Second Coming in Collected Poems (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 2000), p159

2 Stevens, Wallace, Of Modern Poetry (1942) ll.4-5, 9-10.

3 Woolf, Virginia, Mrs. Dalloway (London: Penguin Classics, 2000), p3

4 Woolf, Virginia, To the Lighthouse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) All other Woolf quotes are

taken from this source unless otherwise specified 5 Eliot, T.S., The Metaphysical Poets (1917)

6 Gillies, Mary Ann, Bergsonism: Time Out of Mind in A Concise Companion to Modernism, David

Bradshaw (ed.), (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), p95 7 Bergson, Henri, Time and Free Will, F. L. Pogson (trans.), (Montana: Kessinger, 1910) All further Bergson

quotes are taken from this source unless otherwise specified

Ryan Fitzgerald

preceded the lecture8. He claims that time should not be thus spatialised as it

complicates our understanding of what time is, causing us to confuse time and space.

Rather than seeing time as a succession of small and separate moments along the

course of a line, he sees each moment as containing that which came before and

merging with that which goes before, or as he says in Time and Free Will, a present

which endures (p152). Ann Banfield demonstrates that this refusal is evident within

Woolfs prose, claiming that in her descriptions, each detail is simultaneously present

and unconnected to before and after9.

Gillies describes Bergsons concept of pure, unspatialised time as the active time

of living10

. Life is lived in pure time; merged and simultaneous. But because of this,

Bergson believes that language cannot capture the flux of life (p103); as soon as we

translate the thoughts and feelings of life into words they become spatialised and thus

necessarily separate from one another, causing the feeling to lose its life and its colour.

Words can only offer us [the feelings] shadow (p133).

One way in which Woolf attempts to overcome this issue is through the use of

symbols. There are numerous different symbols throughout To the Lighthouse, one of

the most prominent being that of the leaf; its importance is clear from its repeated

appearance in central passages, and the island on which the Ramsays house stands, and

therefore the setting for the majority of the novel, is viewed by Cam to be shaped

something like a leaf stood on end (p254). It is itself a symbol of change, and is never

static, its meaning shifting over the course of the novel and mimicking to an extent the

flux of life. The symbol of the leaf also defends the relationship between Woolf and

Bergson against the challenges of Ann Banfield, who claims that a door is opened, then

closed, between moment and moment11

, forcibly separating the past and the present.

The leaves and their varying meanings appear to the reader as disconnected images,

often carrying antithetical suggestions on each occasion. Yet despite the staccato

symbolic meanings, the actual physical image of the leaf is constant, holding the

potential to merge all of the meanings into one moment. As a symbol, the leaf is ever

the same and ever changing (p101), a phrase Bergson develops in Time and Free Will.

Indeed, the merging of the past and present is essential to the understanding of

certain central aspects of the leafs symbolism, namely the manner in which it

represents change. The symbol of the leaf directly connects the past and present,

bridging gaps and breaking barriers; James navigates the many leaves which the past

had folded him in (p249), uniting his memory of his past self with his present self

through the leaf. On the first page of the opening chapter to the novel, the leaf asserts

itself as a shifting image, with leaves whitening before the rain (p7), immediately

placing itself in the realm of change. This change becomes a major preoccupation within

the novel, taking on the form of questions about decay and endurance. James likens his

mother to a fruit tree laid with leaves (p54), connoting the fertility and beauty of

8 Bergson, Henri, The Perception of Change in The Creative Mind, Mabelle L. Andison (trans.), (New York:

Citadel Press, 1946), p147, p151 9 Banfield, Ann, The Phantom Table, (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2000), p117

10 Gillies, Mary Ann, Bergsonism: Time Out of Mind, p102

11 Banfield, Ann, The Phantom Table, p118

Ryan Fitzgerald

nature in the spring time. It is important to note that she is described as a fruit tree,

which suggests that James sees her as a provider, and that which she provides has the

essence of purity; fruit as opposed to meat distances the mother and son from death.

But of course fruit will rot, and leaves will wither and fall. The elements of

positivity within the image of the fruit tree in springtime must necessarily pass with the

course of time and the arrival of autumn and winter, just as human life and beauty must

come to an end. This can occur either individually and specifically, like Cam indifferently

pulling a leaf by the way, to her mother (p75), which finds resonance in the short

individual descriptions of the deaths in Time Passes, or as a whole or general concept

with leaves fly[ing] helter-skelter until the lawn is plastered with them and they lie

packed in gutters and choke rain pipes and scatter damp paths leaving the autumn

trees ravaged (p174). The vocabulary describing the passing of the leaves is far

removed from the comforting aura of the fruit tree, and could easily be transferred to

the context of the deaths of the First World War. Here, the leaves take on a more global

meaning, and the outright destruction of autumn and winter reminds us that change

does indeed occur. The leaves have changed, and simultaneously their meaning has

changed; but we can only understand this sense of decay by relating it to its previous

state. By uniting both the fruit tree and the ravaged autumn trees, and combining past

and present into one image, the symbol of decay is born. Taking this further, the idea of

springs renewal following winter offers a message of endurance, and presenting decay

and endurance simultaneously creates the notion of time being a cycle of continual

change that is necessarily merged with that which comes before and that which comes

after. Time and change are no longer seen as lines with distinct sections, but as a united

whole with no divisions.

The issue of decay and endurance finds a second expression through the

contrast built between leaves and stones. It is significant that the leaf is seen as

momentary and fleeting, portraying the frailty of life in comparison to the durability of

stone. Moreover, the word leaf itself forms an interesting relationship with literature,

being synonymous with page; Mr Ramsay notes something interesting written up

among their leaves (p59) when he is looking at the red geraniums, reiterating the

relationship of the leaf to the written word, adding emphasis to his earlier observation

that the very stone one kicks with ones boot will outlast Shakespeare (p50). Yet stone

is often a symbol of human achievement or monument, and so this relationship is not

entirely free from ambiguity; what we have achieved can never be undone, even if it is

forgotten. Moreover, it is easy to forget amongst the symbolism that stones do not in

fact last forever; it is simply a different form of decay that distinguishes between the

leaf and the stone. Leaves fall away and die, but soon are replaced, just as human life

necessitates the passing of the baton for progress; stones, however, erode slowly over

time, existing for a long but ultimately finite time. A new stone will not grow to replace

the old.

Returning to the fruit tree after reading further in the novel causes the image of

the leaves to change again; laden with leaves has an alternative and wholly more

negative suggestion attached to it. Mr Ramsay notes the darkness, [] the intricacy of

the twigs (p50) when studying a hedge on two occasions throughout the novel; such

Ryan Fitzgerald

intricate details are concealed by the leaves, and are replaced by darkness, leaving

scarcely anything of body or mind by which one could say This is he or This is she

(p172). This resonates with many of the characters throughout the novel, who conceal

or hide their true thoughts and feelings behind their outward projections; as Mrs

Ramsay notes, nine people out of ten [] would say they wanted nothing but this but

would all the time be feeling, This is not what we want (p139). The majority of the

characters lie about their true emotions towards others, and even if they do not directly

lie, they rarely explicitly express their intricacy. The leaf as a concealing factor is

emphasised later in the novel, when The spring without a leaf to toss, bare and bright

was entirely careless of what was done or thought by the beholders (p179). Echoing

the biblical image of Eden-like naked purity, this passage suggests that we conceal our

true selves with leaves when we become embarrassed or conscious of what others may

think; remaining bare and revealing our intricacies, we openly portray our honesty.

In this way, most of the characters are laden with leaves, and this echoes

Bergsons definition of the self; The self consists of a solidified upper layer, a crust,

which is the apparently stable whole person that is projected to the external world. []

The real living being [] exists below the surface of the solidified crust12

. The thoughts

and feelings that cannot all be related is privileged as the real living, but the word

apparently is interesting here; there is an uncertainty regarding the true nature of the

upper layers stability. It may be another example of ever the same and ever the

changing; Mrs Ramsay will always appear to be the same person, offering her

acceptable opinions to people, but her true beliefs are constantly shifting; there always

remains the potential for these inner feelings to crack open the surface and change how

she appears to others. Indeed, there are moments, particularly from Lily, where Mrs

Ramsays true self is exposed; looking past her beauty, which is Mrs Ramsays greatest

crust, and peering beneath her leaves, Lily realises how old she looks, how worn she

looks (p114).

For Lily, the leaf represents balance and unity. The leaf on the table cloth

(p128) reminds Lily that she needs to amend her painting by moving a tree into a more

central position, connecting light and dark of either side and striking the perfect

harmony she seeks. This is yet another symbolic meaning that the leaf absorbs, and the

fact that it constantly shifts between so many meanings demonstrates an attempt to

close the distance between the shadow of words and the flux of life. More

importantly, there are numerous other symbols throughout the novel, each taking on a

multitude of meanings, and the interweaving of all of these separate symbols reflects

the practice of combining many fragments into one organic whole. The central

importance of leaves is astutely reflected by Mrs Ramsay, who in a moment of poetic

inspiration, brings together all of the disparate threads;

And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be

Are full of trees and changing leaves (p149)

12

Bergson, Henri, Matter and Memory, Nancy Paul and W. Scott Palmer (trans.), (London: Swan

Sonnenschein, 1911) p105

Ryan Fitzgerald

Of course, the countless other symbols also form this organic whole, and any one

can be brought to the forefront to represent it. Just as the meanings of a symbol are

found beneath its surface, or upper layer, the meaning of the novel is found

underneath the surface of the amalgamation, where all of the symbols intermingle. The

image of the leaf is just one fragment in which the novel can be understood. Bringing

together the past and the present, the inner and outer elements of people and things,

and unifying the many different symbols; this process is what produces the novel, and

this process is what is necessary to understanding it.

Ryan Fitzgerald

Bibliography

Primary Texts

Woolf, Virginia, To the Lighthouse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000)

Bergson, Henri, Time and Free Will, F. L. Pogson (trans.), (Montana: Kessinger, 1910)

Secondary Texts

Banfield, Ann, The Phantom Table, (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2000)

Bergson, Henri, Matter and Memory, Nancy Paul and W. Scott Palmer (trans.),

(London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1911)

Bergson, Henri, The Perception of Change in The Creative Mind, Mabelle L. Andison

(trans.), (New York: Citadel Press, 1946)

Eliot, T.S., The Metaphysical Poets (1917)

Gillies, Mary Ann, Bergsonism: Time Out of Mind in A Concise Companion to

Modernism, David Bradshaw (ed.), (Oxford: Blackwell, 2003)

Stevens, Wallace, Of Modern Poetry (1942)

Woolf, Virginia, Mrs. Dalloway (London: Penguin Classics, 2000)

Yeats, W.B., The Second Coming in Collected Poems (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth

Editions, 2000)