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To cite this article: Anne Whitehead (2003) Geoffrey Hartman and the Ethics of Place:
Landscape, Memory, Trauma, European Journal of English Studies, 7:3, 275-292
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1076/ejes.7.3.275.27988
An ethics of place
It is well documented that the impulse which landscape evokes to organize a site according to pictorial conventions (the picturesque) and to
locate ourselves in relation to the space is a recently acquired cultural
response. It was with the rise of European Romanticism that the environment became assimilated into aesthetic categories, and was contemplated
by an enraptured subject, in a process of increasing introspection and selfawareness. Ulrich Baer has astutely observed:
To look at a landscape as we do today manifests a specifically
modern sense of self-understanding, which may be described as
the individuals ability to view herself within a larger, and possibly
historical, context.1
The Romantic/modern subject therefore gazes upon a vista, not so much to
see the landscape for its own sake, as to reflect back upon the self. A vista
is pleasing in accordance with its ability to be subsumed into the viewers
increasing self-awareness, through projection and identification.
The process of viewing a landscape is therefore one of careful construction, through which the indifferent or unaccomodating space of a site or
environment is transformed into a place, which draws the viewer into its
territory. Crucial to this task of conversion is the viewers location of a
proper position or perspective, from which to gain access to the landscape.
On encountering a particular site, the viewer must find her bearings in relation to it, in order to fulfil the demands of landscape. The contemplation
Correspondence: Anne Whitehead, School of English Literature, Language & Linguistics,
University of Newcastle upon Tyne, Newcastle upon Tyne, NEI 7RU, UK.
1
Ulrich Baer, To Give Memory a Place: Holocaust Photography and the Landscape
Tradition, Representations 69 (2000), 3862, p. 43.
1382-5577/03/0703-275$16.00 Taylor & Francis Ltd.
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ANNE WHITEHEAD
of landscape teaches us that what we see is always and inevitably a question of how we see and from where we see. This emphasis on landscape
as a process of positioning is crucial to a consideration of the connection
between landscape and trauma, and provides an important background to
Hartmans writing. The traumas of the recent past challenge our ability to
position ourselves in relation to them, or to find our bearings. All efforts
to confront and remember the past must be preceded by an ethical consideration of the perspective from which we, as belated witnesses, view the
event. In the eloquent words of Baer:
Where is the proper position from which to face this stark truth, and
how is this notion of a position related to the experience of place?
Prior to all efforts at commemoration, explanation or understanding,
I would suggest, we must find a place and a position from which we
may then gain access to the event.2
(Re)situating Hartman
This article seeks to contend that the place of Hartman in the literature of
trauma theory is more significant than has often hitherto been recognized,
because of his emphasis on the importance of landscape, and the experience of place, in relation to memory. In considering the at times marginalized position of Hartman in the area of trauma theory, it is instructive
to explore the ways in which his writing has been situated in the field of
Romantic studies. In relation to Romanticism, Hartman is often separated
from precisely those figures who subsequently became central to the development of trauma theory, namely Paul de Man and Cathy Caruth.
Hartman took the lead in situating himself in relation to Romantic studies, characteristically resisting the assimilation of his work to one theory or
system. Included with Derrida, de Man and J. Hillis Miller in the group of
Yale critics, the deconstructionists who emerged out of the Yale school
in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Hartman protested his differences from
the other critics in a strongly worded preface to Deconstruction and Criticism:
Derrida, de Man and Miller are certainly boa-deconstructors, merciless and consequent, though each enjoys his own style of disclosing
again and again the abysm of words. But Bloom and Hartman are
barely deconstructionists. They even write against it on occasion
For them the ethos of literature is not dissociable from its pathos,
2
Ibid.
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Redemption. The childs unmediated relation with nature is thus interrupted by the weight of language and self-consciousness; however, Hartmans interest lies in the transition from self-consciousness to imagination,
in which an unmediated relation with nature is once more achieved, albeit
in a significantly altered form. For de Man, the disjunctive and rhetorical
nature of language prevents an unmediated relation with the empirical
world. In contrast to Hartman, de Man argues that Wordsworth is not primarily concerned with the relation of the imagination to nature, but rather
with the relationship between the imagination and time.
Hartmans positioning in Romantic studies, and its implications for
his location in trauma theory, can be effectively illustrated through the
example of Wordsworths description of the Crossing of the Alps, in Book
VI of The Prelude. Chase argues that Hartmans reading of Wordsworths
description designates the passage as a trope for the movement from
Nature through Self-Consciousness to Imagination. Turning to Hartmans
reading of the passage in Wordsworths Poetry 1787-1814 (1964),5 it is
evident that Hartman does indeed provide a structural analysis based on his
own triad of individual development. The first part of the passage (1805
Prelude VI, 488-524)6 reflects Hartmans concept of Nature, in its dependency on the immediacy of the external world; Wordsworth describes in
relatively straightforward narrative terms the increasing difficulties and
perplexities of the journey. In the second part (1805 Prelude VI, 525-548),
Wordsworths thought or feeling arises not in relation to external stimulus,
but rather from the poets mind in response to memory. For Hartman, the
famous apostrophe to Imagination corresponds to Self-Consciousness,
because the poet realises that the power he has looked for in the outside
world is really within. The third part (1805 Prelude VI, 549-572) merges
internal and external worlds, reflecting the realm of Imagination, in which
the poet attains a richer, more sustaining relation with nature. The gloomy
pass which the travellers follow in this section (1805 Prelude VI, 554)
represents the crucial point of transition between Self-Consciousness and
Imagination.
Where Hartmans interpretation emphasizes the changing relation
of the poet to nature, de Mans reading of the same passage relates the
heightening of pitch in this section to the relation between consciousness
and time or history. De Man draws attention to the confusion of the pas5
6
Geoffrey Hartman, Wordsworths Poetry 17871814 (New Haven and London: Yale
University Press, 1964).
All references to The Prelude are to William Wordsworth, The Prelude, 1799, 1805,
1850, eds. Jonathan Wordsworth, M. H. Abrams and Stephen Gill (New York and
London: W. W. Norton, 1979).
279
sage as the travellers follow a maze of falling and climbing paths on their
ascent of the Simplon Pass. Such is the bewilderment of the route that the
travellers, on asking their way, learn that they are beyond their goal and
have unwittingly already crossed the Alps (1805 Prelude VI, 520-4). At
this point, Wordsworth breaks off from his narrative and introduces the
apostrophe to the Imagination. After this hymn in praise of mans highest
faculty, the narrative is resumed with the description of the descent. For
de Man, the significance of the passage is temporal. Its narrative ordering
reveals a new pattern of historical understanding in which a chronological
movement, rising in a simple and uniform manner like the ascent of a peak,
is replaced by a more complex and contradictory structure, in which an act
and its interpretation are radically disjointed.
Rather, it appears much more in that twilight in which for Wordsworth the crossing of the Alps was bathed, in which the coming-toconsciousness is in arrears vis--vis the actual act, and consequently
is to be understood not as a conquest but rather as a rectification or
even a reproach.7
The apostrophe to Imagination is interpreted by de Man as an excess of
interiority, which causes the chronological patterning of temporality to fail,
and gives rise to a disjunction between an act and its coming to consciousness. In terms of trauma theory, these readings of Book VI act decisively in
the positioning of Hartman, de Man and Caruth. Hartman is perceived to be
a precursor to de Man and Caruth: his emphasis on nature appears to be out
of line with their more temporal concerns. De Man, on the contrary, arises
as a central figure in relation to trauma theory: his emphasis on a missed
experience (the unwitting crossing of the Alps), and his formulation of a
belated relation between an act and its coming to consciousness, prefigure
Caruths formulation of unclaimed experience and her most important
insights into the structural characteristics of trauma.
A closer reading of Hartmans analysis, however, reveals that a more
complex temporal structure is present in his reading. It is evident that
Hartman locates the apostrophe to the Imagination precisely as a belated
coming-to-consciousness of the significance of the event. Hartman points
out that it is fourteen years after the original event of ascending the Simplon pass (in the summer of 1790), that Wordsworth realised the significance of missing his goal of crossing the Alps. In writing the passage in
7
Paul de Man, The Rhetoric of Romanticism (New York: Columbia University Press,
1984), p. 58.
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ANNE WHITEHEAD
281
Paul de Man, Time and History in Wordsworth in Romanticism, ed. Cynthia Chase
(London and New York: Longman, 1993), 5577, p. 63
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283
See, for example, Caruths remarks on traumatic speech in Cathy Caruth, Recapturing the Past, in Trauma: Explorations in Memory, ed. Cathy Caruth (Baltimore and
London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 151157, pp. 154155.
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ANNE WHITEHEAD
nevertheless has to speak in some way with the voice of the dead (this
confusion of voice and mode of address is evident in Wordsworths shift
from first- to third-person across the manuscript versions of the passage).
Hartmans interest in the apostrophe as a mode of representing the dead
finds its most striking echo in Caruths discussion of the reaction of his
friends to the sudden and unanticipated death of Khalil, a teenage boy who
was shot in Atlanta: the group of friends regularly gathered in his room
and addressed the dead boy.10 It is also evident in Hartmans own work
on the Yale archive of Holocaust video testimony; his readings emphasize
the struggle of Holocaust survivors to mediate between the demands of the
living and the dead, in the articulation of their testimonies.
In The Boy of Winander, the apostrophe is addressed to the cliffs and
islands of Winander. The boy is entirely concerned to make nature echo
responsively; to create the sense of a bond between man and nature, which
overcomes the difference of speech and muteness. For Hartman, the poet
standing at the graveside also seeks to make nature Responsive to his call
(1805 Prelude V, 401), by evoking the cliffs and islands as a lasting presence, to watch over the child and to bear witness to the individual life. The
poet looking at the grave is framed by a series of other witness figures the
cliffs, the island, the Church which form enduring and affirming presences. In Hartmans analysis, however, the call of the poet also extends
to the reader of the poem: poetry exacts a demand that its readers respond
to its call in a reciprocal manner. In this sense, the reader is placed by
the poet: put on the spot, she is forced to negotiate her own position in
relation to the poem. Hartmans reading of Wordsworth therefore builds
up layers of responsiveness and responsibility of the boy to nature, the
poet to the boy, the reader to the poem which are deeply implicated in
an ethical approach to place. The poem not only explores the complex and
contradictory ways in which the boy can be placed in relation to the landscape of Winander, but also implicates the readers response to the call
of the poem as a part of the echoing and reverberating landscape. It is this
conjunction of memory and place, and the role of landscape in placing or
positioning its viewer, which forms a central aspect of Hartmans writing
in relation to trauma.
The Memory Place
Reflecting on the connections between his work on Wordsworth and his
writing on trauma and the Holocaust, Hartman identifies an interest in
10
Cathy Caruth, Parting Words: Trauma, Silence and Survival, in Between the Psyche
and the Polis: Refiguring History in Literature and Theory, eds. Michael Rossington
and Anne Whitehead (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000), 7796, p. 84.
285
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287
fathers death, which incurs feelings of guilt and remorse, should act as
a site of pleasurable return. Ferguson suggests that a secondary form of
memory is in operation here. Wordsworth indicates that the memory is a
cluster of spectacles and sounds (1805 Prelude XI, 382), which remain
loosely connected, and do not coalesce into a causal chain of events. The
work of memory would thus act as a locus of pleasure, because that which
is recalled does not provide sufficient evidence for Wordsworth to accuse
himself of having caused his fathers death. In merely holding the event
on the crag and the fathers death in contiguity, the memory provides
convincing evidence that Wordsworth has not acted and so is not guilty of
the death. Ferguson terms such an operation of memory as circumstantial
memory.15
Reading across Hartmans writing on Wordsworth and his work on
the Holocaust video testimonies, Ferguson suggests that the operations of
circumstantial memory can also be detected in Hartmans readings of the
latter. Taking as an example Hartmans reading of a womans video testimony in Cinema Animal,16 Ferguson draws out the workings of circumstantial memory in Hartmans analysis. The videotestimony documents the
womans traumatic separation from her baby during a Nazi action. The
woman wraps her baby in a coat, so that it appears to be a bundle, and tries
to smuggle it past a German guard; however, the baby makes a noise and
the guard requests that she hand over the bundle. In the womans description, her profound sense of guilt and responsibility for handing over her
baby (even though it is under orders, and all choice is removed from her by
the circumstances) is countered by the confusion of her description, which
muddles key elements of the story such as the side on which she carried
the bundle, and whether she was indeed carrying a baby or a bundle so
that the narrative cannot coalesce into a series of causal events, and thereby
indicate that she has acted. Fergusons analysis of circumstantial memory
therefore indicates an important aspect of Hartmans writing on memory,
which dynamically interrelates his work on Wordsworth and on the Holocaust.
Hartman is not only concerned with the connections across his work
on Wordsworth and the Holocaust, but also with the dissonances between
them. Considering Wordsworths obsession with place, as revealed in the
spots of time episode, Hartman argues that there is something sinister or
dark about Wordsworths construction, and that the burden of time, which
is produced and felt, is related to trauma:
15
16
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289
Ibid., p. 647.
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a more complex and dynamic act of remembrance, which allows the past
to emerge with its own rhythms, stumblings and hesitations.
22
23
Geoffrey Hartman, The Longest Shadow: In the Aftermath of the Holocaust (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1996), p. 92.
Dori Laub expresses a positive view of secondary trauma in Shoshana Felman and Dori
Laub, Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis and History (New
York and London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 5758. For Hartmans wariness of this, see
Hartman, The Longest Shadow, p. 165 n.10.
Geoffrey Hartman, The Unmediated Vision: An Interpretation of Wordsworth, Hopkins,
Rilke and Valery (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1966).
In Caruth, An Interview with Geoffrey Hartman, p. 632.
291
Ibid., p. 651.
Hartman, The Longest Shadow, p. 24.
Ibid., p. 85.
For further discussion of the resistance to the visual in Shoah, see Felman in Felman
and Laub, Testimony, pp. 204283.
Hartman, The Longest Shadow, p. 92.
Ibid., p. 83.
Ibid., p. 83.
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