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Table of Contents / Table des matières
Introduction (English) 7
Introduction (Français) 15
Summaries / Résumés 23
Authors / Auteurs 31
PART(IE) I : MANOEUVRES
Paul Bowman
Deconstruction is a Martial Art 37
Eberhard Gruber
Quel héritage quand le message est équivoque?
Une difficulté décisive pour la
transmission derridienne 57
Joost de Bloois
The Last Instance: Deconstruction
as General Economy 121
Maik Herold
Symbolic Representation and Différance.
Jacques Derrida and the Problem
of Validity in Constitutional Theory 139
Tom Cohen
“Climate Change,” Deconstruction, and the
Rupture of Cultural Critique.
A proleptic preamble 167
Rey Chow
Reading Derrida on being monolingual 193
Ginette Michaud
Jacques Derrida, les Yeux Bandés ou Lire
à l’épreuve de l’invisibilité 215
Michel Lisse
Iconographies de Jacques Derrida 245
Marc De Kesel
Noli Me Tangere
Critical Remarks on Jean-Luc Nancy’s
Reference to Derridian Deconstruction 255
PART(IE) IV : FICTIONS
Mireille Calle-Gruber
Les Écritures du « comme si »
Héritage de Derrida 281
Rico Sneller
A Contemporary Maskil Sarfat?
Derrida and the Provence Cabbala 295
Sjef Houppermans
A l’ombre des Roses de Personne
Jacques Derrida et Paul Celan 315
Addressing both the humanities and the social sciences, this volume
aims to explore the enduring significance of the work of Jacques Der-
rida (1930-2004) in the field of cultural theory. It assembles a variety
of articles by internationally renowned scholars from different aca-
demic disciplines and traditions. Contrary to recent commemorative
publications on Derrida’s oeuvre, this volume proposes to critically
evaluate and rethink key concepts in Derrida’s work within the present
state of affairs in cultural theory. Centred around four main topics
(manoeuvres, societies, images and fictions), the sections propose a
creative and contemporary reading of ‘Derrida’ and its openings to
new work in cultural theory.
The central thesis of the volume is that Derrida’s thought has un-
doubtedly, at a fundamental level, helped to shape the domain of
cultural theory. Within the field of that theory the possible readings
and uses of Derrida’s work have also been defined rather narrowly,
following a conceptual and political agenda to which Derrida’s
thinking cannot – or cannot exclusively – be reduced. This volume
begins at the aspects of his work that have only been accounted for
partially, or that might even resist premises of contemporary cultural
theory. In particular, the essays focus on
– 1. Current conceptualisations of Otherness with a Derridean legacy
– 2. The question “What is the object of cultural theory?”
– 3. Possible alternatives to the ethical and political (emancipatory)
models in Derrida’s work that dominate cultural theory
– 4. Culture and art as an assembly of supplementary practices
– 5. Interpretation after Derrida
W.T.J. Mitchell (ed.), The Late Derrida [Chicago: Chicago UP, 2007].
This work proposes a series of readings of Derrida’s later works, and
also presents individual readings of recent texts by Derrida without
addressing the question of Derrida’s impact on contemporary and
future critical theory.
Ian Balfour (ed.), Late Derrida. A special volume of The South Atlan-
tic Quarterly published by Duke University Press, March 2007. This
volume gives the floor to well-known Derrida scholars who expand on
previous works but who also do not address the question of Derrida’s
impact on contemporary and future critical theory.
Between 2007 and 2010 a large quantity of critical studies has been
published on different aspects of Derrida’s persona and thought.
Within the scope of the present project we mention e.g. David Mikics’
Who was Jacques Derrida?: an intellectual biography [Yale Univer-
sity Press, 2009] and For Derrida by Joseph Hillis Miller [Fordham
University Press, 2009]. The most important publication until now
might well be Nicholas Royle’s In Memory of Jacques Derrida
[Edinburgh University Press, 2009], where the central place of
literature and a real empathy play a preeminent role. Simon Glendin-
ning offers a collection of essays by 14 of the most distinguished
English and American ‘derridians’ in Derrida’s Legacies: Literature
and Philosophy [Routledge, 2008]. The book aims to provide “a rich
and faithful context for thinking about the significance of Derrida’s
10 Introduction
own work as an event that arrived and perhaps still remains to arrive
in our time”.
In France two publications are particularly significant for our
subject: Jacques Derrida, la distance généreuse de Mireille Calle-
Gruber, published by Les Éditions de la Différence in 2009, and a
volume edited under the direction of the well known psychanalyst
René Major, Derrida pour les temps à venir, first conceived as a liber
amicorum for his 75th birthday. This volume also includes an
unpublished text by Derrida “Penser ce qui vient”. ‘Venir’ – to come –
is probably the key-word used to define the writing of Jacques
Derrida.
Notes
Si les figures et les concepts derridiens ont été souvent utilisés afin de
constituer toute une série de pratiques critiques, la résistance à une
telle exploitation qui est inhérente à sa pensée n’a que très peu été
explorée jusqu’ici. Repenser la théorie culturelle à partir de cette résis-
tance interne ne pourra pas seulement permettre d’apprécier autrement
l’ouvre de Derrida. Cet exercice ouvrira sans doute de nouvelles direc-
tions dans le domaine plus large de la théorie culturelle, plus particu-
lièrement en insistant sur l’ouverture à la résistance de l’objet d’ana-
lyse: la culture. C’est là que l’héritage durable de Derrida peut gagner
très nettement une dimension politique.
Plutôt que de contribuer au maintien du status quo dans la pensée
culturelle actuelle ce volume aspire à explorer comment l’héritage de
Derrida ou encore la notion d’héritage chez Derrida offre la possibilité
de re-considérer la notion ainsi que la pratique de la culture et de la
pensée culturelle. La pensée du spectre par exemple telle qu’elle in-
siste chez Derrida en tant que quelque chose qui nous échappe, peut
nous conduire à considérer le sens tel qu’il se rapproche indéfiniment,
qu’il nous hante spectralement venant du passé. Dans ce contexte il
sera possible et valorisant de poser différemment la question de l’his-
toire culturelle. On voit qu’ainsi ce volume explore et traverse les sig-
nifications possibles et virtuelles de la notion d’héritage par rapport à
Derrida.
Peu après la mort de Derrida en 2004 un certain nombre de
publications a vu le jour qui partagent toutes un caractère de commé-
moration. Ce volume veut passer outre cette idée de commémoration
et propose donc une lecture créatrice de toute la nébuleuse qui entoure
l’idée d’héritage derridien pour l’élargir au grand air de la théorie
culturelle.
datent des deux dernières décennies sans qu’on y trouve une réflexion
sur l’importance future pour la théorie culturelle. Derrida from now
on, du même auteur, (Fordham University Press, 2008) est avant tout
un regard critique sur l’Amérique d’aujourd’hui.
W.T.J. Mitchell (éd.), The Late Derrida. Chicago: Chicago UP, 2007.
Ce volume propose une série de lectures de l’œuvre de Derrida des
dernières années. Il présente des lectures individuelles de textes ré-
cents mais ne pose pas la question de l’usage actuel et futur des idées
de Derrida.
Malgré tous les mérites des ouvrages mentionnés pour ce qui concerne
la connaissance de l’œuvre de Derrida au sens limité, ils n’arrivent pas
à dépasser les frontières de cette œuvre et de la pensée qui l’entoure.
Ils restent commémoratifs selon plus d’un point de vue: ils continuent
largement à se positionner exclusivement à l’intérieur de l’œuvre der-
ridienne et de ses satellites. Là où ils s’adressent toutefois aux poten-
tialités de l’œuvre, ils ne réussissent pas vraiment à sortir des critères
et des paradigmes que cette œuvre a instaurés.
Entre 2007 et 2010 une grande quantité d’études critiques a été pu-
bliée sur différents aspects de la personne et de la pensée de Derrida.
Dans le contexte du présent volume nous pouvons mentionner entre
autres Who was Jacques Derrida?: an intellectual biography, de Da-
vid Mikics (Yale University Press, 2009) et For Derrida par Joseph
18 Introduction
Notes
Part I: Manœuvres
In his article JOOST DE BLOOIS argues that the crucial role of Der-
rida’s thinking of the economy in the genealogy of deconstruction has
only recently, and rarely systematically, been addressed. Derrida’s
‘economic’ thinking though, constitutes one of the most challenging
24 Summaries / Résumés
MICHEL LISSE: This text studies Derrida’s relation to his one image,
starting from the hypothesis that the choice to authorise distribution of
pictures and films in 1979, after a period of rejection, is to be ex-
plained as a theoretical one, the refusal of iconography being
susceptible of a Platonist-metaphysical explanation. After his
agreement Derrida engages into a process of writing his known image.
Such a writing is dealt with in Kirby Dick’s and Amy Ziering
Kofman’s film, intitled Derrida, especially in particular scenes in
which Derrida discusses narcissism and autobiography. A com-
mentary on these scenes allows for the conclusion that iconography is
double: it is written both by the other and me. The portrait is always
an auto-hetero-portrait, if not a deconstruction of the portrait. This
conclusion is confirmed in a reading of the text: “Le survivant, le
sursis, le sursaut’.
Résumés
Partie I: Manœuvres
Dans son article JOOST DE BLOOIS affirme que le rôle crucial que
joue la pensée derridienne de l’économie dans la généalogie de la
déconstruction n’a été relevé que récemment et cela de manière
28 Summaries / Résumés
des photos et des films en 1979 après une période d’interdiction est dû
à un choix théorique, car le refus de l’iconographie pouvait être com-
pris comme une position métaphysique venue du platonisme. Une fois
cette décision prise, Derrida entrera dans un travail d’écriture de son
image. Une telle écriture se donne à voir dans le film de Kirby Dick et
Amy Ziering Kofman, intitulé Derrida, et notamment dans plusieurs
scènes où Derrida traite soit du narcissisme, soit de l’autobiographie.
Le commentaire de ces scènes permet de conclure que l’iconographie
est double: elle est à la fois écrite par l’autre et par moi. Le portrait est
toujours un auto-hétéro-portrait, voire une déconstruction du portrait.
Cette conclusion se voit confirmée par une lecture du texte « Le sur-
vivant, le sursis, le sursaut ».
Ethnic and the Spirit of Capitalism (2002); The Age of the World Tar-
get: Self-Referentiality in War, Theory, and Comparative Work
(2006); and Sentimental Fabulations, Contemporary Chinese Films
(2007). She has edited the collection Modern Chinese Literary and
Cultural Studies in the Age of Theory: Reimagining a Field (2000).
Her book Primitive Passions received the James Russell Lowell Prize
from the Modern Language Association. Her work has been widely
anthologized and translated into major European and Asian languages.
les tons (2005), with Gilles Lapointe and Jocelyn Jean; et Tenir au
secret: Derrida, Blanchot (2006).
RICO SNELLER is assistant professor of Ethics and the History of
Philosophy at the Leiden University Institute for Religious Studies. He
wrote a study on Derrida and negative theology (in Dutch). His actual
research focuses on ethics, metaphysics and mysticism.
Manoeuvres
Deconstruction is a Martial Art
Paul Bowman
ving with the moves; revealing the biases and fault-lines, opening up,
unravelling, inverting, displacing.
So, deconstruction ‘is’ a martial art. Is there an ‘actual’ martial art that
operates in the same way? Indeed there is. There are a couple. Or –
more precisely – the martial principles evinced by deconstruction are
available to any martial art at any time (just as ‘deconstruction’ per se
can be said to happen in (m)any contexts outside of the writings of
Derrida). But the best example to be found is the often misrecognised
martial art of t’ai chi ch’üan (aka: taijiquan or, more casually, simply
‘t’ai chi’). This is because the literal and explicit principles of t’ai chi,
as elaborated in the various texts of the T’ai Chi Classics, and encap-
sulated in tai chi’s ‘Five Word Secret’ are: listen, stick, yield, neutral-
Deconstruction is a Martial Art 41
Many people find it hard to relate to Tai Chi Ch’üan as a martial art.
This is perhaps due partly to the slow and gentle nature of most of the
Form practice and partly to the fact that the majority of teachers teach
from a ‘health orientated’ perspective. [However] What makes Tai Chi
Ch’üan unique as a martial art is its strategy. Most ‘external’ martial
arts rely on such things as speed, power, specialised techniques and
trying to outwit the opponent. While Tai Chi Ch’üan may well use
speed and power and certainly has its fair share of technique, the
strategy is to follow the opponent, yield to the opponent, stick to the
opponent and by doing so neutralise the opponent. Once neutralised it is
easy to overcome the opponent by whatever means necessary. The key
to this is sensitivity...
(Smith 2006)
A Theory of Practice
2. Dreams of Resistance
But, like Derrida, we might ask: Why dream of resistance? Or, like
Žižek: Do we really dream of resistance? Or is this sort of claim just a
kind of ‘secondary revision’, a neat and tidy alibi, arising afterwards,
ex post facto, providing a retroactive justification for what we may
enjoy doing or feel we should do but for which we cannot provide a
more compelling justification? In a psychoanalytic register, Slavoj
Žižek argues that we flip very easily and all too often from desire to
drive: this is the switch from a situation (of desire) in which we are
really trying to do, get or change something once and for all, to a
situation (of drive) in which we are mainly deriving pleasure from
repeating certain gestures (Žižek 2005: 10). Žižek proposes that this
switch from desire to drive is swift and barely perceptible, but a radi-
cal reorientation in our relation to activity. Hence, in a Žižekian rea-
ding, ‘politics’ and ‘resistance’ might be regarded as alibis covering a
drive to repeat certain gestures (such as ‘politicizing’ or ‘seeking
resistance’) rather than anything like an ‘authentic’ desire to make a
change. Similarly (although in a different register), an equivalent criti-
cism can be derived from a genealogy or historicization of the forces
structuring the present epoch. One such genealogy is provided by
Robert J. C. Young (1992), who argues that the valorization of politics
and the political – the injunction to politicize – may be regarded as the
contemporary ‘architectonic of knowledge’: the idea that ‘political
truth’ is the ultimate truth currently has the status that was in earlier
times held by the ideas of, first, ‘religious truth’ and then ‘culture’
(Young 1992: 111-112.). By extension, then, any contemporary work
which does not adhere to the injunction to orientate itself according to
political questions arguably ‘always already’ stands accused of irre-
sponsibility within the current ethos.
Reading Freud’s reading of resistance, Derrida notes that just as
dreams can be interpreted, so can resistance: ‘Resistance must be in-
terpreted; it has as much meaning as what it opposes; it is just as
charged with meaning and thus just as interpretable ...: in truth, it has
the same meaning, but dialectically or polemically adverse’ (Derrida
1998a: 13). In other words, even resistance organised by explicit ap-
48 Paul Bowman
peal to the idea of (its own) freedom may not be free or self-
determining, and may instead be entirely overdetermined, sympto-
matic – possibly even more an expression of the power that is ostensi-
bly being resisted than something independently resistant or alter-
native.
There are many possible ways to take all of this. At one end of
the spectrum, such positions as those of Baudrillard or Adorno in their
most pessimistic moments would take the possibility of an intimate
intertwining or wedlock between power and resistance to mean that
oppositional resistance per se is ‘always already negated by the struc-
ture of the entity which it wishes to oppose’. Such readings might
come to the sad conclusion that therefore oppositional resistance
amounts to ‘nothing more than an inoculation of sorts which allows
the dominant political power in a social formation further to
strengthen itself’ (Docherty 1993: 322). Here, resistance is figured as
a kind of scaffolding surrounding, supporting and being supported by
a power edifice in construction or reconstruction rather than decon-
struction.
At the other end of the spectrum, however, is the more Fou-
cauldian argument that resisting power is always actually productive,
inventive and generative of something new – new identities, new rela-
tions, new practices, new contexts, new pleasures, new conditions and
new possibilities. As Ernesto Laclau adds, power here is to be re-
garded as that which constitutes and structures relations and interplays
of forces, and so is to be regarded as the very condition of possibility
for freedom (and indeed for all forms of action, activity, agency and
‘play’), and precisely not as something that opposes or precludes free-
dom. Freedom and agency are rather a function of power relations
(Laclau 1996: 47-68). But the Laclauian formulation is not exactly or
completely Foucault’s argument. There is more to Foucault’s argu-
ment than this. It is not a version of Hegel’s dialectic, in which power
is a response to power, responded to by counter-power, in which
agents and agencies are locked in identificatory battles, antitheses and
syntheses. Of course, this also happens. But what is key in Foucault’s
thinking about power, agency and resistance is a line of thought
opened up by this crucial question: what is the status of the popular
idea that power ‘oppresses’ us and demands ‘resistance’ anyway?
Foucault called this the ‘repressive hypothesis’. And many dreams of
resistance subscribe to a version of it. The repressive hypothesis is
active in any view in which something – usually a practice, but often
Deconstruction is a Martial Art 49
even an identity – ‘rather than being [conceived of as] the vehicle and
effect of power ... is conceived of, romantically, as power’s victim and
opposition’ (Chow 2006: 8). What Foucault emphasized was the sig-
nificance of the productiveness of the repressive hypothesis. For, in it,
‘the conceptualization of what is repressive … is reinforced simulta-
neously by the incessant generation and proliferation of discourses
about what is supposedly repressed’ (Chow 2007: 8).
It is easy to move from here to a position such as that of Bour-
dieu and Wacquant, who once argued that the very idea of resistance –
as it manifests itself in ‘fashionable’ academic disciplines like cultural
studies, at least – is simply a fetish concept which demonstrates a
profound misrecognition and delusion on the part of those who ‘buy
into it’. As John Mowitt renders their argument, Bourdieu and Wac-
quant compare ‘the international appeal of this mythic discipline [cul-
tural studies] to the appeal of jeans – both are marketed as reflections
of a subversive or besieged opposition’ (Mowitt 2003: 178). In other
words, in contexts characterised by what Žižek has called the ‘radical
academic’ or ‘cultural studies chic’ (Žižek 2002: 171) of evoking
resistance, these dreams of resistance are really only resistant dreams.
Those involved in cultural theory may (claim to) dream of resistance,
but that doesn’t mean that anything is actually being resisted.
Claiming to resist is not necessarily to resist. Indeed, before pre-
suming as much we should perhaps reflect on Bourdieu and Wac-
quant’s observation that the theme of ‘resistance’ is equally de rigueur
in the marketing and advertising of brands of jeans. Thus, for Bour-
dieu and Wacquant, ‘contrary to the way its partisans see themselves,
[cultural studies] actually functions to promulgate a global vulgate
that is about nothing if not US economic and cultural hegemony’
(Mowitt 2003: 178).
The discourses of cultural theory and cultural studies more
widely do seem to be structured by keywords or (worse) buzzwords
like ‘resistance’, ‘struggle’, ‘difference’, ‘hybridity’ and ‘multicultur-
alism’. But does this mean that such resistance actually attests to noth-
ing more than the ‘popularization of an essentially US corporate doc-
trine’ (Mowitt 2003: 178)? It is well known that Žižek often entertains
this view, and certainly regards the dominant tropes of cultural studies
– as exemplified by talk of resistance – to be the cutting edge talk of
the contemporary hegemonic ideology of neoliberalism. In a similar
vein, the rationalist political pragmatists Joseph Heath and Andrew
Potter have argued that ‘resistance’ is often an idea that derives from
50 Paul Bowman
Although the excessive admiration of the 1970s has since been replaced
by an oftentimes equally excessive denigration of China, the Maoist is
very much alive among us, and her significance goes far beyond the
China and East Asian fields. Typically, the Maoist is a cultural critic
who lives in a capitalist society but who is fed up with capitalism – a
cultural critic, in other words, who wants a social order opposed to the
one that is supporting her own undertaking. The Maoist is thus a
supreme example of the way desire works: What she wants is always
located in the other, resulting in an identification with and valorization
of that which she is not/does not have. Since what is valorized is often
Deconstruction is a Martial Art 51
What is at stake here is the surely significant fact that even the honest
and principled or declared aim of studying others otherwise can actu-
ally amount to a positive working for the very forces one avowedly
opposes or seeks to resist. Chow clarifies this in terms of considering
the uncanny proximity but absolute difference between cultural studies
and area studies. For, area studies is a disciplinary field which ‘has
long been producing “specialists” who report to North American po-
litical and civil arenas about “other” civilizations, “other” regimes,
“other” ways of life, and so forth’ (Chow 1998: 6). However, quite
unlike cultural studies and postcolonial studies’ declared aims and
affiliative interests in alterity and ‘other cultures’, within area studies
‘others’ (‘defined by way of particular geographical areas and nation
states, such as South Asia, the Middle East, East Asia, Latin America,
and countries of Africa’) are studied as if potential threats, challenges
and – hence – ultimately ‘information target fields’ (6).7
Thus, says Chow, there is ‘a major difference’ between cultural
studies and area studies – and indeed between cultural studies and
‘normal’ academic disciplines per se (Chow 1998: 6-7). This differ-
ence boils down to a paradigmatic decision – itself an act or effort of
resistance. This is the resistance to ‘proper’ disciplinarity; the resis-
Deconstruction is a Martial Art 53
In the classroom, this means that students should not be told simply to
reject ‘metadiscourses’ in the belief that by turning to the ‘other’
cultures – by turning to ‘culture’ as the ‘other’ of metadiscourses – they
would be able to overturn existing boundaries of knowledge production
that, in fact, continue to define and dictate their own discourses.
Questions of authority, and with them hegemony, representation, and
right, can be dealt with adequately only if we insist on the careful
analyses of texts, on responsibly engaged rather than facilely dismissive
judgments, and on deconstructing the ideological assumptions in
discourses of ‘opposition’ and ‘resistance’ as well as in discourses of
mainstream power. Most of all, as a form of exercise in ‘cultural liter-
acy’, we need to continue to train our students to read – to read
arguments on their own terms rather than discarding them perfunctorily
and prematurely – not in order to find out about authors’ original intent
but in order to ask, ‘Under what circumstances would such an argument
– no matter how preposterous – make sense? With what assumptions
does it produce meanings? In what ways and to what extent does it
legitimize certain kinds of cultures while subordinating or outlawing
others?’ Such are the questions of power and domination as they relate,
ever asymmetrically, to the dissemination of knowledge. Old-fashioned
questions of pedagogy as they are, they nonetheless demand frequent
reiteration in order for cultural studies to retain its critical and political
impetus in the current intellectual climate. (Chow 1995: 12-13)
Notes
our ‘auditability’ is the biggest risk, then why not? What’s stopping us? If not
to risky, challenging, dangerous alter-disciplinary intervention, what are we
yielding to otherwise?
6. For, one might ask, what could be clearer to an academic or intellectual
than the following act of ‘undeciding’: ‘whatever choice I might make, I
cannot say with good conscience that I have made a good choice or that I
have assumed my responsibilities. Every time that I hear someone say that ‘I
have taken a decision’, or ‘I have assumed my responsibilities’, I am
suspicious because if there is responsibility or decision one cannot determine
them as such or have certainty or good conscience with regard to them. If I
conduct myself particularly well with regard to someone, I know that it is to
the detriment of an other; of one nation to the detriment of another nation, of
one family to the detriment of another family, of my friends to the detriment
of other friends or none friends, etc’. (Derrida 1996: 86).
7. For Chow’s elaboration of this notion of information target fields, see her
The Age of The World Target (Chow 2006).
References
4. L’ « interruption » performative
5. Le performatif de l’équivocité
a. L’interruption de l’interruption
Les formulations réflexives au double génitif ne manquent pas dans
les raisonnements que Derrida esquisse le plus rigoureusement possi-
ble: « racine de la racine » (Derrida 1996, 83), « rétractation de rétrac-
tation » (Derrida 1999, 194), « secret du secret » (ibid., 165), « méta-
phore de métaphore » (Derrida 1978/87, 81), pour ne citer que les
tournures les moins fréquentes, mais les plus percutantes et probléma-
tiques. « L’interruption de l’interruption » n’y apparaît pas, à ma
connaissance, explicitement quoiqu’elle se trouve abordée par le biais
éthique de l’ « interruption de soi par soi » (Derrida 1997, 96) – nous
allons y revenir. L’avantage de l’expression « l’interruption de
l’interruption » est qu’elle affronte le problème du double génitif aussi
bien que celui du double comparatif: l’inter de l’inter, « plus intérieur
que l’intérieur que le plus intérieur que l’intérieur », s’inscrit dans une
« -ruption » qui s’expose à la lecture contradictoire des génitifs et qui
sollicite une troisième lecture surmontant et le binaire et le double.
Face aux séquences amphibologiques à l’enseigne de « l’inter-
ruption » et de l’inter, il convient de rappeler une forme standard du
double génitif: « l’interrogatoire du commissaire » place le policier
soit en position d’accusateur (gén. subj.) soit en position d’accusé
(gén. obj.). Cette distinction paraît s’effacer dans « l’interruption de
l’interruption », ou devient peu saisissable et virtuelle, comme si ce
double génitif disait (encore) autre chose que sa double lecture. En
effet, si l’on maintient également les génitifs subjectif et objectif, leur
équivalence devient le signe d’un double-bind unitaire où une unité
simulée, car toujours construite sur deux lectures, signale une paraly-
sie du sens. Si un génitif pouvait l’emporter sur l’autre, selon la dis-
jonction génitive du double, ce rapport de forces s’efface par le dou-
ble-bind et indique un troisième génitif à lire: il vient au lieu du dou-
ble génitif qui résulte du rejet génératif de l’Un et où le plus petit plu-
riel (génitif équivoque) provient de l’Un (ou l’UN)14. Tel est le com-
pagnon tiers que les deux génitifs ont « en commun »: le double-bind
génitif est le signe d’un génitif unitaire par rature. Le double-bind
simplifié signifie l’Un.
Toute équivocité présuppose et accueille le rejet de l’Un (Un).
« Rejet » s’entend au sens double: génitif objectif, l’ « Un » de l’Un
contresigne la relève de l’Un, alors que le génitif subjectif inscrit son
rappel (de l’Un par l’ « Un »). Quant au génitif tiers, vertical et per-
pendiculaire aux deux autres, il sollicite et assure leurs droits et rend
le signe de l’Un, c’est-à-dire sa relève par l’ « Un », nécessaire.
Quel héritage quand le message est équivoque? 75
b. Aporie
Faut-il parler de cette situation en termes d’ « aporie dans laquelle,
finis et mortels, nous sommes d’abord jetés et sans laquelle il n’y au-
rait aucune promesse de chemin » (ibid., 53)? Par aporie on entend
une incertitude ou une impasse logique qui réside dans le raisonne-
ment contradictoire, dans l’essence de la chose discutée ou dans les
notions employées pour une clarification. Le mot gr. aporia signifie
non pas un passage impossible, mais « la difficulté de passer », signi-
fication médiane héritée du gr. aporos qui signifie « sans passage » et
« passage difficile » – comme si l’on tenait déjà compte d’une réflexi-
vité. Sans entrer dans les méandres de la syntaxe génitive on dira que
l’aporie de l’aporie annonce l’infime écartement qui présente l’im-
possible passage (comme) fendu. Donc –possible comme « im-
80 Eberhard Gruber
exige une avancée qui porte. Comment capter et traduire l’espace lo-
calisé entre « l’aporie endurée » (durative ou performative) et
« l’aporie comme telle » (unitaire)? Comment donc transformer le fait
d’être jeté, dans l’aporie sans « aucune promesse de chemin » (Derri-
da 1997, 53), en jetée, en base pour ancrer et (re)partir? Du point de
vue de la durée, on se situe non pas au plan d’une aporie unitaire A,
mais d’un espacement minimal et juxtaposé a = a. L’équation tauto-
logique est au plus près de l’unité unitaire (Un ou UN) sans être uni-
taire, ayant déjà pris ses distances avec le plus petit pluriel qui
(contre)signe la rature de l’Un (l’Un) par « l’Un », par une aporie a
réaffirmatif (a = a). Le performatif sert ici à problématiser le préalable
de cette réaffirmation: l’équation a = a peut se lire comme un double-
bind syntaxique au génitif a de a. La troisième lecture, verticale par
rapport au double génitif, fait comprendre que l’équation résulte du
rejet de A (unitaire) ou le présuppose. Le rejet-« refus » de A c’est
d’écarter cet A du réel, le rejet-« retour » de A c’est son signe, « A »
ou a = a. Les guillemets qui relativisent A le multiplient, en quelque
sorte, ce que l’équation a = a matérialise par le plus petit pluriel. La
tautologie ne dit rien d’autre que cela: elle dit qu’il y a signe de l’unité
(gén. obj.) sans céder à l’unité du signe (gén. subj.), sans céder à
l’Un(ité), ni au fait référé (Un) ni à un signe unitaire (« a »).
La « promesse de chemin » (Derrida 1997, 53) réside là: entre
Un ou A (égal Un) et « Un » ou a = a, marquant le passage de l’Unité
exclusive à l’unité inclusive voire plurielle. La tautologie c’est la ve-
nue d’un plus petit pluriel sans que ce « pluriel » puisse rester unitaire.
Wittgenstein ne conclut pas autrement son Tractatus logico-
philosophicus: afin de voir la réalité telle qu’elle est, il faut emprunter
la tautologie comme une échelle, passer par elle jusqu’en haut et la
jeter, l’échelle, telle quelle (Wittgenstein 1921, § 6.54).
Il importe de justifier « un passage au-delà du savoir » (Derrida
1996b, 137), du plus grand pluriel à la plus petite singularité imagina-
ble et de rejeter cet Un, c’est-à-dire de circonscrire l’Un dans la fic-
tion, d’empêcher que cet Un, par transposition, ne produise un effet de
domination et de capter ainsi sa valeur fictionnelle pour définir et bali-
ser la venue du réel. Le a = a annonce une réalité d’équivalents. Faute
de quoi le message de la tautologie, c’est-à-dire la relève de toute uni-
té ou identité dominante par exclusion de tout autre, reste muet et ob-
jet de méprise. Davantage: si Derrida place son travail Apories sous
les signes de la mort, de son attente et de la rencontre avec soi face au
devoir « mourir » et face aux « limites de la vérité », comme le syn-
82 Eberhard Gruber
c. Et cetera
Si la « vérité » de l’Un passe par sa rature (et l’instauration de sa fic-
tion), il y a là le premier exemple d’un enchaînement qui importera
non seulement pour la venue de tout pluriel, mais surtout pour les
rapports de transmission qui s’instaurent. Pas d’ « héritage » sans
l’Un.
La « transmission » se figure comme une ligne qui délimite ou
englobe tout ce qui est pluriel (par juxtaposition, contradiction; per-
mutation, tautologie, équivocité, etc.). La liaison qui y est inscrite, au
nom de « rapport » et « différence », s’effrite à la moindre tentative de
franchissement, comme si l’alliance intrinsèque du pluriel ne tenait,
étant auto-affectée, que par interruption, déclinaison, pro-position.
Cette « ligne », s’épuise-t-elle dans sa fractalité ou accueille-t-elle de
l’autre? Quand Derrida examine le sens théologique de « l’Alliance »
comme une « incroyable grâce dont il est difficile de savoir qui
l’accorde à qui, au fond, au nom de qui et de quoi » (Derrida 1999,
200), il note aussi que le « contrat dissymétrique de l’Alliance », qui a
un effet constitutif pour autrui, paraît exposé à « la re-tractation re-
doublée de Dieu », à la « rétractation » certes, mais comme « rétracta-
tion de rétractation » (ibid., 194). Double effet: « l’alliance » paraît
suspendue (Derrida 1994, 178), mais résiste malgré une double dimi-
nution. Il y a là « une alliance improbable dans la pensée du peut-
être » (ibid., 85sq.). Quoique « la rétractation de rétractation » res-
Quel héritage quand le message est équivoque? 83
Ces « fils », cette filiation avec les « filles », que leur faut-il appren-
dre, si la « création » leur est confiée? *Il me faut leur apprendre à
s’apprendre à nous lire. Qui il? « Derrida » en conductor, dit le mot
anglais, divinement absent dans une alliance où « il » est « guide »-
concepteur en retrait. D’autant plus que le supplément cum-« avec »
connote l’injonction s’apprendre: l’impératif parfait qui relaie
l’impératif initial, « Il me faut vous apprendre à m’apprendre à me
lire ».
Y a-t-il alors deux impératifs catégoriques, celui qui est énoncé
par Derrida, au singulier, et celui qui est formulé selon la pluralité des
lecteurs? Il y a, peut-être, une sorte de triangulation, car les lecteurs
doivent non seulement se lire, mais inclure la lecture de (« )Derri-
da( »), sinon il leur manquerait cette asymétrie qui les constitue. Le
nous représente une juxtaposition horizontale et (« )Derrida( ») ouvre,
comme une verticale, cet horizon pluriel. On aurait là, dès lors, une
« création » filiale avec écoute.
Comme si l’œuvre-« musicale »-(« )Derrida( ») figurait une par-
ticipation à chanter ou plutôt à voiser, une improvisation sur… et à
partir de… qui porte à l’enchaîner.
(« )L’UN( ») ou son équivalent enchaîne par – etc. Nous sommes
dans la trans-mission à reprendre. (« )Derrida( ») n’est qu’un segment
de consonnes à voiser, mais toujours à partir de l’impératif: pas
d’héritage sans l’UN c’est-à-dire sans une emprise sous rature – « Ne
domine pas ! Ne domine même pas “la domination”, contresigne son
appel et son évitement, résiste à toute emprise par son signe ! »
S’inscrire dans la filiation sans dominer. Et on se rendra compte
que sans cela jamais rien n’aurait été transmis ni hérité.
Notes
l’autre qui est accueilli: E.G.]), au oui de l’autre [gén. obj.: c’est l’autre qui
est affirmé par le oui, accueilli par lui: E.G.] » – comme si « le oui à l’autre »
ne pouvait donner qu’une réponse qui aurait été déjà doublée d’avance par un
« accueil » « pré-originairement accueilli ». Nous sommes dans une logique
de réaffirmation où la distinction des deux génitifs vacille puisqu’un
troisième aspect intervient et affirme-réaffirme les deux autres tout en étant
autre (« l’infini »-Autre).
16. Autrement dit: le signe de l’alliance d’Abram (l’incirconcis) n’est pas,
après coup, pour Yahvéh (Gen. 15), mais pour Abraham, le circoncis lui-
même (Gen. 17).
17. Jean-François Courtine en donne une précieuse lecture: « L’ABC de la
déconstruction », dans Crépon et Worms, 11-26.
18. Derrida cite Husserl lequel met les termes « authentiques » et
« inauthentiques » entre guillemets. Derrida note par contre, que Husserl
dévalorise notamment l’emploi des guillemets à certains endroits, ibid.,29/45.
19. On connaît les réserves que Derrida avance à l’égard de la logique
husserlienne d’univocité depuis la traduction et la présentation de Edmund
Husserl. L’origine de la géométrie (1962), Paris, Éditions Presses universi-
taires de France, réédition 1999, notamment 59 n.2 et 101-108.
20. Chacune de ces citations est étayée par des renvois aux travaux de
Derrida: 2004/05, 34 n.24-28 / 67 n.25-27.
21. Martin Heidegger, Lettre du 11 décembre 1964 à Max Müller: « Il ne
faudrait pas donner lieu à une scholastique heideggerienne (Es darf keine
Heidegger-Scholastik aufkommen) », dans Heidegger 2003, 48 (la remarque
de Heidegger vise le livre de William J. Richardson, Heidegger. Through
Phenomenology to Thought [La Haye: Martinus Nijhoff, 1963]).
22. Cf. Eberhard Gruber, « Wesen und Walten. Zur Affinität von Rosen-
zweigs Wesens-und Heideggers Ereignisbegriff”, conférence au Congrès
Franz Rosenzweig du 17 au 20 mai 2009 à Paris.
23. Voir la confrontation ludique entre les images Platon/Socrate (avec
couvre-chefs) et Bennington/Derrida (têtes nues) dans Derrida 1991,15 et
333.
Bibliographie
Major, René (éd.), Derrida pour les temps à venir (Paris: Éditions Stock,
2007).
Marion, Jean-Luc, « L’impossible et le don », dans Crépon, Marc et Worms,
Frédéric (éd.), Derrida, la tradition de la philosophie (Paris: Éditions
Galilée, 2008), 155-170.
Marx, Karl et Engels, Friedrich, L’idéologie allemande (1845/46), trad. R.
Cartell et Gilbert Badia (Paris: Éditions Sociales, 1968).
Marx, Karl, Die Frühschriften, éd. par Siegfried Landshut (Stuttgart: Kröner
Verlag, 1953, rééd. 1971), 67-171.
Michaud, Ginette, Tenir au secret (Paris: Éditions Galilée, 2006).
Nancy, Jean-Luc, A plus d’un titre: Jacques Derrida. Sur un portrait de
Valerio Adami (Paris: Éditions Galilée, 2007).
Regazzoni, Simone, La decostruzione del politico (Genova: Il Melangolo
Editore, 2006).
Vitale, Francesco, Spettrografie. Jacques Derrida tra singolarità e scrittura
(Genova: Il Melangolo, 2008).
Walde/Hofmann, Lateinisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, t.1 (Heidelberg:
Carl Winter Verlag, 1938, 5/1982).
Wittgenstein, Ludwig, Tractatus logico-philosophicus (1921).
Worms, Frédéric, « Derrida ou la transition de la philosophie », dans Crépon,
Marc et Worms, Frédéric (éd.), Derrida, la tradition philosophique
(Paris: Éditions Galilée, 2008).
Traces of Nihilism
Peter van Zilfhout
Jacques Derrida has had a huge impact on cultural sciences, and on all
of its branches. One of the most important contributions he has made
is innovating and supplementing the logic of cultural sciences with the
logic of traces, especially as this is presented and explained in his key
lecture ‘La différance’ from 1968.
From time to time Derrida has been accused of ‘nihilism’, which
is a fundamental critique of the philosophy of culture and man that
Derrida has given us. The accusation of nihilism stems from the al-
leged relativism in the philosophy of Derrida, from the accusation that
his philosophy makes it impossible to defend and promote political
ideals, and from his denial to point out core values which dominate
and guide his thoughts. We think, however, that the opposite is more
important, in that he leaves us two ‘traces of nihilism’. He leaves us
the trace, in his own work, of the absence of nihilism, and he leaves us
the trace to understand nihilism from within and with the aid of his
concepts.
If we want to see these two traces coming into being, we will
have to follow two tracks. We have to start with looking at the work
of thinkers who had influence on Derrida and look into their work on
nihilism, to start to understand the absence of nihilism in the work of
Derrida himself. The two most influential thinkers are Blanchot and
Heidegger. Secondly, we have to look at Derrida’s key lecture ‘La
différance’ and implement his logic of traces in a case study located at
the heart of cultural sciences, the ‘lieux de mémoire’, the ‘places of
memory’ promoted by Pierre Nora. The concept of ‘places of mem-
ory’ is invented by Nora to offer the possibility to cultural scientists to
combine the symbolic presence of memorable spaces with their mate-
rial presence. At the end we will draw some conclusions.
100 Peter van Zilfhout
‘Memory’ has an internal bond both with ‘traces’ and with ‘nihil-
ism’ and this is exactly what we want to elucidate in our contribution.
Memory and traces are connected in that, first of all, memory is con-
stituted out of traces. They are also connected, because traces point to
what has been and what has passed. (I acknowledge the prominent
influence of Levinas on my own line of thinking on the concept of
memory.) Nihilism also has great implications for our understanding
of memory. Nihilism is the continuous demonstration of the absence
of values, of the weakening of our memory, and of ‘loss’ being the
oblique structural component of culture. Vattimo is not far away in
this description of nihilism, apart from the fact that nihilism, although
prominent in our culture, almost never has identifiable adherents. (Ni-
hilism, might be an intermediate conclusion, is the reflection of our
culture, of our values and practices and less a practice in its own
right.)
The work of Jacques Derrida has a great impact on cultural theory and
cultural philosophy. We look differently at culture, cultural phenom-
ena and cultural practices after reading his work. Another important
feature of his work is the range of themes and subjects. Derrida has
written on almost all fields of culture, and can in this aspect only be
compared with the philosopher Ernst Cassirer. Cassirer is famous for
his concept of ‘symbolic form’ with which he made it possible to
study a large collection of different cultural fields in a unitary way.
Jacques Derrida is different from Cassirer in this respect, he intro-
duced many concepts and ‘concepts’ with which to study culture and
its conflicting fields, for instance ‘différance’, ‘trace’ and ‘supple-
ment’. Derrida’s paramount view of culture, nonetheless, is compara-
ble to the ‘Goethean’ dimensions of the philosophy of Cassirer, in that
it, like Cassirer’s, always finds new ways and new approaches, and it
never excludes cultural practices: philosophy, of course, but also ar-
chitecture, literature, religion, myth, translation, politics, ethics, etc.
can be found analysed in his work.
A striking thing, though, is the almost total absence of a philoso-
phical theme that has acquired a strong position in contemporary phi-
losophy, and is also treated extensively by authors who were impor-
tant to Derrida himself. This theme is nihilism. Striking especially,
102 Peter van Zilfhout
The hypothesis
Now, what is the most important aspect of culture? What makes cul-
ture into culture? It is memory. Of course, perhaps forgetting is as
important for culture as is memory, and maybe we should speak of
‘memoir’ in stead of memory. At the other hand, memory is one of the
human faculties and in this sense it is convenient to speak of ‘mem-
ory’. In connection with our theme, we might say that values also have
a certain ‘memory’, and that traces bear witness of memory, as an
inscription of events that have passed. The next step will be to focus
on the intricate contiguity of memory with another memorable con-
cept, ‘metaphysics’. In order to prevent a debate on the meaning of
‘metaphysics’ I would adhere to the description of metaphysics given
by Martin Heidegger and to follow his path in becoming sensitive for
the internal connection between both memory and metaphysics. The
best way to prepare this is to explore not only the ideas put forward by
Heidegger, but also to return to some ideas of Blanchot, both he and
Heidegger are important thinkers on culture and nihilism. Afterwards
– another hypothesis – we will probably understand that ‘La diffé-
rance’, Derrida’s famous lecture, is the key-lecture of contemporary
philosophy and culture, in that it presents the most relevant and fruit-
ful approach of both visible and traceable cultural issues. But Der-
rida’s text being indirect and modest as usual, his text has to be forced
to give its final force and I propose to do this by the reading of texts of
two of his ancestors.
La différence n’est pas règle intemporelle, fixité de loi. Elle est, comme
la découvre à peu près à la même époque Mallarmé, l’espace en tant qu’
[...] il s’espace et se dissémine [...] et le temps: non pas l’homogénéité
orientée du devenir, mais le devenir lorsqu’il se scande, s’intime, [...]
106 Peter van Zilfhout
Finally, he even speaks of ‘trace’ as a trace that will not even be trace-
able:
What have we found, and how can we apply these thoughts of Blan-
chot in our search for a better understanding of the concept of ‘trace’
in Derrida and the role and place of nihilism in Derrida’s thought, and
in understanding the relation between ‘trace’ and ‘nihilism’ on the one
hand, and ‘memory’ on the other hand?
The reasoning of Blanchot on language, space and difference
culminates in ‘trace sans trace’, the idea of a trace being not a trace,
leaving not a trace. This forms a parallel to the idea of nihilism, cited
earlier, being impossible, but also being present, and doing its work.
(This line of reasoning might explain for the suspicion of Blanchot
being nihilistic in his own thoughts; he constantly provokes us in
discussing thoughts, ideas and words that seem not to exist in the end,
though we can sense their influence.) ‘Memory’, we might conclude is
both existent and non-existant. This aporie prevents us understanding
memory as a pure human faculty and as having a direct link to cultural
events in the past. It is at least a warning to us, not to use ‘memory’ in
a pure and simple, in a traditional way.
A well known essay of Heidegger, that we can start with, is his essay
on Nietzsche in Holzwege, ‘Nietzsches Wort ‘Gott ist tot’’. In this
essay we find for instance the important notion of the ‘empty place’,
left in philosophy by metaphysics, which is itself an equivalent of
nihilism.
auf, sie neu zu besetzen und den daraus entschwundenen Gott durch
anderes zu ersetzen. (208)
Vielmehr wird auch die frühe Spur des Unterschiedes dadurch aus-
gelöscht, dass das Anwesen wie ein Anwesendes erscheint und seine
Herkunft in einem höchsten Anwesendes findet. (336)
And:
Der Unterschied des Seins zum Seienden kann jedoch nur dann als ein
vergessener in eine Erfahrung kommen, wenn er sich schon mit dem
Anwesen des Anwesenden enthüllt und so eine Spur geprägt hat, die in
der Sprache, zu der das Sein kommt, gewahrt bleibt. (336)
stand and observe the connection. If we are to benefit from the philo-
sophy of Derrida, it will certainly be from his use of ‘trace’. Without
this concept, we almost certainly would not have been able to under-
stand the way culture works. Of course, the concept of ‘supplement’
also proved fruitful, but in essence ‘supplement’ is an inference from
‘trace’.
A core essay of Heidegger in understanding nihilism (= meta-
physics) and memory (= also metaphysics) is ‘Die Erinnerung in die
Metaphysik’, published in Nietzsche II.
The importance of the essay lies in the following features we can
derive from this text:
Traces of memory
this because Derrida does not dictate us to invent all kinds of new
words and concepts, but to use what we find in our tradition in a new
way and a new connection.
If we really look at the logic of cultural heritage and the logic of
places of memory in the light of Derrida, we conclude that the mean-
ing of ‘memory’ in these logics are orientated towards a traditional
and metaphysical position. Only with the aid of the ‘concepts’ devel-
oped by Derrida are we able to obtain some distance towards this posi-
tion of memory. And we stress, this being the most important aspect
of our intervention, that without interference we run the risk of main-
taining an important and perhaps crucial element of our culture – the
place of memory, the importance of memory for our future – on the
basis of unreflected nihilism. We should try to prevent this from hap-
pening. Blanchot and Heidegger too have warned us.
This does not imply that we should not remember or that mem-
ory always involves the danger of nihilism pure and simple. If there is
a way out, it will be a way, in the line of Derrida himself, in which the
real memory of a place is intermingled with the distance towards this
place. This is exactly why poetry is such a force in our culture. (Apart
from the saying that poetry also can be, from time to time, a destruc-
tive force.) Poetry is, read with eyes and ears influenced by Derrida,
the one place where memory and nothingness can be reconciled. At
the same time, poetry is realised on real paper in real books. This
brings us to the idea that we should consider a poetry collection as a
genuine ‘place of memory’ and at the same time as a place of noth-
ingsness – a ‘lieu de néant’. A fine example of this is Die Niemands-
rose by Paul Celan, a collection intensely read by Derrida himself.
Die Niemandsrose
Conversation Piece
Heidegger, does not even bear a goal for the future in itself, and there-
fore is like a open space, an empty space. This open or empty space,
represented in our case by the ‘place of memory’, can be filled by any
meaning and can be filled at random.
Derrida has given us ways of thinking to operate in a different
way. His lecture ‘La différance’ bears a possible way out. (Eventually,
all his writings form for us a way-out.) We have to take Heidegger
seriously, of course. Important for memory is the sensibility to the
‘early trace’ in our culture. If we combine this with Derrida, we might
say that in memory the ‘early trace’ is also a ‘trace’ of ‘nobody’ and
‘nothing’. As such, we might call these ‘traces of nihilism’. In fact,
after Nietzsche and after Vattimo, who identified both the two senses
of nihilism, Derrida offers us a third sense of nihilism.The first sense
is the passive and reactive sense of nihilism. In this sense nihilism is a
state that overcomes us. The second sense is the active sense of nihil-
ism, the sense of growing in power towards destruction.
The third sense of nihilism is of a nihilism that is not as visible as
it used to be. It is an acceptance of nihilism staying forever in our
culture. It is a nihilism that accepts fear and death. It is a nihilism that
we only come across as ‘traces’. In our culture we should reserve
space for these traces that are ‘places of nobody’ or ‘places of noth-
ing’. Perhaps these spaces do not need to be a real space, meaning a
space that demands action and public and political remembrance. Per-
haps the best space is within the space of our imagination, as in the
poetry of Paul Celan, in the works of Samuel Beckett, in the paintings
of Francis Bacon.
Traces of Nihilism 117
References
Societies / Sociétés
The Last Instance:
Deconstruction as General Economy1
Joost de Bloois
Derrida’s ‘economic’ thinking, and its vital role in the initial devel-
opment of deconstruction, that constitutes one of the most challenging
elements of Derrida’s theoretical legacy. In fact, it shows the radical
epistemological concerns of the ‘early’ Derrida. The emphasis, within
(contemporary) cultural theory, on deconstructionist strategies and
Derridean figures of thought for their critical value and content has
somewhat obfuscated the radical epistemological displacement Der-
rida aims to carry out in his writings from the 1960’s and 1970’s,
roughly from Writing and Difference to Glas. In this period, central
issues such as writing as critical strategy are addressed by Derrida
within his self-proclaimed project of developing a ‘double science’. It
is this ‘double science’, of which ‘deconstruction’ may be synony-
mous, that dramatically displaces common conceptualizations of cul-
ture, methods and paradigms, in a project that is as ambitious as it is
encompassing and complex. Derrida’s ‘general economy’ plays a
largely affirmative role, rather than the critical outlook associated with
deconstruction, and actively seeks a new epistemology, not in the least
by engaging with dominant discourses within the Humanities at the
time such as anthropology and Marxism.
Derrida’s thinking of (the) economy embraces a powerful and
persistent strand in Derridean theory that offers a radical take on the
initial formulations of the deconstructionist project. Rather than advo-
cating a ‘return’ to the ‘first’ Derrida, with all its overtones of ‘authen-
ticity’ and orthodoxy – the economic figure of the return is precisely
put into question by Derrida – I would like to emphasize that this far-
reaching economic problematic has remained present, and its potential
intact, throughout Derrida’s work, even if its organizing role has been
taken over by the ‘invasive’ question of the (anti-economic) gift and
related ethical concerns (Derrida 1992). Addressing Derrida’s concep-
tualization of economy, and underlining how we might identify its
enduring presence, may allow us to shed a new light on Derrida’s
legacy in cultural theory; a legacy that ‘resists’ now mainstream us-
ages of deconstructionist strategies in the sense that it locates them
within, often unaddressed, broader epistemological concerns.
If Derrida offers a thinking of ‘economy’, he does not propose,
however, a ‘political economy’ in the traditional sense of the word.
For the Derrida of Writing and Difference or Of Grammatology the
notion of ‘economy’ designates a fundamental figure of thought
within Western philosophy and culture (Derrida 2005 and 1997). As
such, although being closely related to our understanding of economic
Deconstruction as General Economy 123
It would make a fairly unconvincing case to state that the Derrida that
has been crucial to the constitution of cultural theory is in fact a mis-
reading. Theory’s emphasis on textuality and writing, largely bor-
rowed from Derrida, is equally present in, if not central to, Derrida’s
readings of Bataille; as he writes in ‘From Restricted to General
Economy’: ‘the drama is first of all textual’ (Derrida 2005: 320). Yet,
this ‘textual drama’ has extraordinarily high stakes. The issue of writ-
ing in Derrida’s readings of Bataille is closely connected to the latter’s
search for a new scientific paradigm. For Derrida, Bataille’s ‘general
economy’ translates as a practice of writing that has strong epistemo-
logical repercussions. Therefore, a prominent subtext seems to run
throughout Derrida’s texts concerning Bataille, which, through a care-
ful examination of Bataille’s conceptualization of ‘general economy’,
constitutes a critical dialogue with the epistemological underpinnings
of the Humanities, in particular anthropology and Marxism.
In ‘From Restricted to General Economy’, Derrida emphasizes
the vital role of writing – as a philosophical-scientific practice – in
Bataille’s work. The paradoxal ‘de-centering ligament’ mentioned
earlier is instituted by means of what Bataille himself calls ‘slippery
words’ (‘mots glissants’. Cf. Bataille 1973). That is to say, by mimick-
ing pivotal terms from discursive science these are emptied out of
their original sense, or in fact of any sense. Bataille’s ‘slippery words’
are so to say consumed, thus leaving the burns of sovereignty in his
text. For instance, Bataille’s exemplary mimic of Hegelian ‘Herr-
schaft’ which is central to Derrida’s interpretation: the very term ‘sov-
ereignty’ is in fact Bataille’s translation of Hegel’s Herrschaft which
alternatively can be read as Lordship (‘maîtrise’) or Sovereignty. For
Bataille, Hegelian Lordship embodies the discursive appropriation of
expenditure (of irretrievable loss). In Hegel’s dialectics of Lordship
and Bondage, Lordship is obtained by facing death: he who has the
will to give up his own life – that is to say, to sacrifice his most pre-
cious ‘good’ – eventually obtains Lordship and will know the seem-
ingly infinite pleasure of a life solely devoted to consumption. For
Bataille, Hegelian Lordship is truly scandalous in the sense that in fact
it makes way for the inevitable victory of the slave. Being compulso-
128 Joost de Bloois
rily productive, the slave will soon bypass his Lord: Lordship is exclu-
sively negative, non-productive, it is living expenditure; as producer
the slave however has access to positivity: identity, autonomy, sci-
ence, history. Hegelian Lordship reduces expenditure to being a mere
moment in the constitution of a restricted economy without loss or
excess, a mere anacrusis to (the possibility of) knowledge.
For Derrida, Bataille thus recognizes that the principal mecha-
nism of Hegelian dialectics, Aufhebung, puts negativity to work: by
positing the moment of alienation (of otherness, of negativity, of the
expenditure without return of identity and meaning) precisely as a
moment within a dialectical movement that inevitably results in posi-
tive knowledge, Aufhebung holds expenditure ‘in reserve’ (thus be-
coming a prime instrument for restriction). By mimicking Hegel’s
discourse step by step, and by crucially rewriting Lordship as Sover-
eignty, Bataille exposes Hegel’s subterfuge, and re-inscribes the very
expenditure that Hegel tried so cautiously to obscure, back into
Hegel’s philosophy.
According to Derrida, this is a prime example of what general
economy as a form of writing does: it establishes yokes between dis-
cursive knowledge (as restricted economy) and its outside, sovereign
expenditure, thus challenging the autonomy of discursive knowledge.
As Derrida shows, Bataille’s writing is in fact a double writing. By
borrowing terms, often the very key-terms from scientific discourse,
and by subsequently bringing into play their very slipperiness,
Bataille’s double writing forces them into a seemingly impossible
common syntax. Or as Derrida argues in Margins, in Bataille “the
Aufhebung – la relève – is constrained into writing itself otherwise. Or
perhaps simply into writing itself. Or better, in taking account of its
consumption of writing” (Derrida 1982: 19).
‘From Restricted to General Economy’ shows how Bataille, in a
daring practice of writing, denounces the subterfuge of Hegelian
negativity. Consequently, Derrida refuses to consider Bataille’s texts
as merely ‘negative’ experimentalism, breaking down semantic and
syntactic signification. On the contrary, for Derrida Bataille’s oeuvre
stages a series of affirmative crises: the dismantling of Hegelian
thought (and, much according to the same strategy, of Marxism, an-
thropology, economics and history in other parts of Bataille’s work) at
the same time introduces a new epistemology. The Copernican reposi-
tioning operated in (the) general economy by no means constitutes a
Deconstruction as General Economy 129
closing point, but rather the condition for a new heterogeneous con-
ceptualization of science and/or philosophy.
A first example of this new epistemology is provided by what we
might call the subtext to Derrida’s analysis of Bataille. In ‘From Re-
stricted to General Economy’ Derrida, through a close reading of
Bataille’s, engages with anthropology and Marxism. Interestingly,
‘From Restricted to General Economy’ is marked by the absence of a
notable figure in French 20th century intellectual history, Alexandre
Kojève. If Derrida states that Bataille’s interpretation of Hegelianism
has been colored – to say the least – by Kojève’s influential seminars
on Hegel (to which Bataille attended on the eve of the Second World
War), at the same time, he carefully avoids any mention to Kojève in
the close reading of Bataille carried out in ‘From Restricted to General
Economy’5. Remarkably, in this essay, Derrida refers to Hegel’s
original German works, whereas Bataille has Kojève’s (and to a lesser
extend, Jean Hyppolite’s) translation and interpretation before him6. In
a sense, Derrida has Bataille reading Hegel dans le texte, and it is pre-
cisely this phantasmagorical scene that reveals Bataille’s originality
and importance (we might read Derrida’s move as a textual subterfuge
as well as an application of the ‘double science’, and ‘double writing’,
he encounters in Bataille’s work). Kojève is important to Derrida be-
cause he embodies two seminal strands of thought, dominating the
French intellectual landscape of the early 1960’s: anthropology and
Marxism. Some twenty-five years after ‘From Restricted to General
Economy’, Derrida will recall the ‘fundamental role’ Kojève has
played for the generation of thinkers that preceded his own (Derrida
1994: 72). In particular, this role entailed an anthropological Marxism
– or Marxist anthropology – that underlined ‘the unity of the anthro-
pos’ (Derrida 1983: 133). Kojève’s thinking, for Derrida, represents
the pinnacle of the ‘humanist metaphysics’ himself is set out to
deconstruct. Derrida is keen to demonstrate that Bataille’s radical re-
inscription of Hegelianism into general economy can in fact be read
metonymically as a displacement of this humanist-metaphysical para-
digm (to which Bataille only seemingly ascribed in his abundant use
of Kojève). Bataille’s critique of Hegel hides a critique of influential
versions of Marxism and anthropology. However, ‘From Restricted to
General Economy’ does not so much offer a critique of pre-struc-
turalist anthropology or pre-Althusserian Marxism, which would have
been rather overdue at the time of writing. Rather, Bataille’s re-in-
scription of Hegelianism in (the) general economy, by means of a
130 Joost de Bloois
Responding to Bataille
Notes
2. See, for example, the work of Bernard Stiegler, Guido Berns and Arkady
Plotnitsky.
3. As Derrida writes in Glas in a pun on Bataille’s name: “Batail est d’abord
le nom pour le battant d’une cloche. Mise en mouvement pas le branle, il
vient heurter la panse (on dit aussi le pens) comme une sorte de marteau inté-
rieur.” (Derrida 1974: 254). Batail(le) – Eng.: ‘clapper’ – functions as an
‘interior hammer’ that makes things move…
4. Bataille borrows this notion from the French school of sociology and
anthropology, where it was coined by Émile Durkheim and used by Marcel
Mauss. He gives it a distinguished Bataillean twist: for Bataille the ‘total
social fact’ includes those practices of expenditure that precisely constitute a
blind spot for sociology and anthropology as established sciences.
5. Apart from footnote 7, where Derrida acknowledges Kojèves influence,
especially in relation to Bataille’s cross-eyed reading of Hegel and Marx,
only to ignore Bataille’s usage of Kojèves writings as his principal translation
of Hegel (Derrida 2005: 435).
6. Cf. Bataille 1988: 327 sq.
7. For a detailed reading of Derrida’s work as general economy see Joost de
Bloois, L’Économie générale: Derrida sur les traces de Bataille, PhD Thesis,
Utrecht University, 2003.
References
In the German tradition, during the second half of the 19th century
particularly the ideas of Immanuel Kant became the starting point for
the development of a legal theory that abridged the problem of valid-
ity to its normative-legal aspects. In connection with a broad rediscov-
ery of the Prussian philosopher several “Neokantian scholars” inter-
preted the separation between law and ethics, that in Kant’s view had
still to be subject to civil rights, in a radical way (Stammler 2008;
1911; Kelsen 1928; 1979; 2008). So, whereas with Kant the principle
of universal reason had still demanded requirements with regard to
contents of law, in the 19th century’s legal positivism this impetus had
been lost. Not a higher reason beyond the law was accepted as being
the cause of legal validity, but only the fact of law-making itself.
Rather than trying to justify new normative visions of order, the scien-
tific agenda called for processing the existing “positive” law of the
recently founded “German Reich” towards a consistent legal order.
Necessary to meet this purpose seemed to be first of all an exact de-
marcation of the object to be investigated. Maybe the most prominent
effort of this kind has been undertaken by Hans Kelsen who with his
“Pure Theory of Law” wanted to demonstrate the logical functionality
of a legal order. According to him, the object of law theory (Rechts-
lehre) is only the positive law being “made” at the discretion of the
legislator. Therefore it is necessary to conduct a structural analysis of
such a “pure” law in a way being as exact as possible and “free of all
ethical-political value judgements” (Kelsen 2008, 192).
separation of law and ethics reduces the law to its formal function it
has to fulfil as being a state’s instrument for governance.3 This isola-
tion of law, however, was applied in a twofold sense. For the validity
of a norm can neither be derived from a metaphysical level of moral
obligation, nor from the physical level of social being. Consequently,
Kelsen argues, a legal order necessarily eludes every effort of both
deductive and inductive derivation.
The consequence for Kelsen’s notion of validity is that, although
he just refers to “validity” in general, Kelsen implicitly differentiates
between a formal-juridical and a factual validity – i.e. between the
norm as being a valid “ought” statement which prescribes certain
forms of conduct and the norm as being valid due to successfully be-
ing put into practice. Only the former is object to and can be analysed
within legal theory.4 The factual validity, however, – i.e. if a legal
norm is actually applied and obeyed – cannot be theorized within a
“pure” theory of law and is, therefore, an object of socio-political re-
search. Contrary to the formal validity, it is not based on an underly-
ing reason, but only due to the fact that the state is able to enforce it.
But how can the formal validity of a norm be justified? How can a
state’s legal order gain validity in a cognitive sense?
Since no single norm is able to be derived from outside the legal sys-
tem, Kelsen argues, a norm can only be justified by another norm. The
reason for the validity of a norm can thus only be based on the validity
of that other norm.5 Every logically stringent system of norms con-
strued in this manner, however, can neither be thought of as being a
chaotic circle of mutual derivation nor as being a complex of coequal
elements. Instead, according to Kelsen, it inevitably holds a hierarchic
structure, since that norm which represents the reason for validity of
another norm necessarily has to be estimated as a “higher” or su-
perordinated norm (Kelsen 2008, 193 et seq.). The resulting structure
of super- and subordination is interpreted by Kelsen as a stepped ar-
chitecture of the legal order (Stufenbau der Rechtsordnung). Conse-
quently, when trying to locate a certain norm’s last reason of validity,
a causal chain of cause and effect would be generated that again and
again would refer to a even higher norm. In order to avoid the result-
ing infinite regress Kelsen comes up with his concept of a “Basic
Norm”, which every norm of a legal system can be derived from and
Symbolic Representation and Différance 143
which necessarily finalizes every attempt to identify the last reason for
the validity of a norm.6 Hence, the Basic Norm issues not only the
ultimate reason for the validity of single norms, but also of the legal
system as a whole. Being the logical basis for all other norms of the
system, it deduces its own validity only from itself and provides unity
for a legal system.7
Kelsen, however, does not conceive this Basic Norm in a practical
sense as actual part of the hierarchical system of norms, but assigns it
a mere constructive, enabling character. The topmost position of a
positive legal order is instead occupied by the constitution of the state,
as the validity of every norm is inevitably limited to a certain spatial
area – a political territory. Consequently, in an actual sense the norma-
tive hierarchy of a legal order is headed by the constitution (Kelsen
2008, 222). The constitution arranges the creation of general legal
norms, organises the state’s regime and – as being usual in modern
democracies – often also imposes demands in respect of content on
future laws.8 Being asked for the reason for the validity of the consti-
tution itself, however, the answer can only be that this validity – the
assumption that it is a binding norm –, ultimately, has to be presup-
posed (Kelsen 2008, 200). In spite of being considered in a formal-
logical sense as mere specification of a preceding Basic Norm, the
constitution is assigned a factual priority. This putative contradiction
is again ultimately based on a differentiation between formal and prac-
tical-genealogical logic of Kelsen’s causal argumentation. Unlike a
constitution, Kelsen maintains, the “hypothetical” Basic Norm is nei-
ther a normative commitment nor an arbitrary product of human free
will, but an intellectual tool that is needed for the purpose of justifying
a certain given constitution ex post. Its function, therefore, consists in
reasoning the objective validity of a positive, subjective legal order.9
Only by the help of a Basic Norm the logical unity of law can be
realized retroactively. Hence, as Kelsen argues, this Basic Norm can
be comprehended in analogy to Kant as a transcendental-logical pre-
supposition of the legal order (Kelsen 2008, 201 et seq.; See Kant
1998, 193 et seq.). It epitomizes the hypothetical reason for validity of
the constitution as well as the whole legal order derived from this
constitution.
144 Maik Herold
Particularly in the late 1920s Hans Kelsens legal positivism was in-
tensely discussed. Here, a fundamentally different notion of the role
and validity of a legal order was developed especially by Rudolf
Smend. In the theoretic debates of the Weimar Republic he rejected
the normative positivism of Hans Kelsen due to being an ineligible
substantialist reduction (Smend 1928).
Rudolf Smend’s central question has also been directed at the source
of validity of a state’s legal order. His theoretical starting-point
thereby emerged from the fundamental notion, that – in contrast to
hitherto existing paradigms of legal theory – an examination of the
legal foundations of the state cannot act on the assumption of substan-
tial parameters. In the historical context of a transformation of the
constitutional order in Germany from Empire to Weimar Republic
Smend observed profound legal changes as well as moments of conti-
nuity. So the implementation of Parliamentarianism was indeed ac-
companied by a vital adjustment of the constitutional order, but at the
same time this change was based on the pretended shifting of signifi-
cation of partially identical legal texts – i.e. on the reinterpretation of
written and unwritten constitutional norms.10 Due to these observa-
tions both the political will and the sheer existence of the state as well
as the validity of its legal order appeared to be deeply equivocal (Meh-
ring 1994, 33).
Smend accordingly developed a theoretical position which tried to
explain a legal order as dynamic “process of living” deriving its valid-
ity from a kind of “daily plebiscite” (Smend 1928, 127; 136 et seq.).
Being a “mental collective entity” (geistiges Kollektivgebilde) the
state is neither a static substance, nor an inactive entity, but part of the
vibrant reality of spiritual life. Hence, its legal order requires enduring
rearrangement, reformation and advancement in order to be regarded
as existent at all. Only by this process that Smend calls “integration”
the legal and political order of the state is able to become valid over
and over again. The state only exists, Smend maintains, because and
forasmuch as he is integrating itself.11 The life of the political com-
munity therefore comprises an ongoing pursuit for unity. It takes place
by permanently reasoning and illustrating their own existence. But is
Symbolic Representation and Différance 145
Similarly, the antagonism between a valid order and its ultimate rea-
son for validity is, according to Derrida, based on such presentism.
Symbolic Representation and Différance 149
A statical view of the relationship between a state’s legal order and its
ultimate reason for validity is advanced by Kelsen. For him the causal
connection becomes present in a factual connection between the con-
stitution and its origin. According to this logic, the constitutional logos
which has been at work in the act of founding and constitution-making
has perpetuated its true and pure meaning within the constitution.
Consequently, the constitution – as well as every single norm derived
from it in a formal-logical sense – is per se in a position to establish a
direct presence of its actual transcendental reason for validity.
Central for this notion is an assumption of supratemporal avail-
ability, i.e. the imagination that the pure and true meaning of a tran-
scendental reason for validity of a legal order could be recorded and
later perfectly retrieved at any subsequent point in time.26 Thereby, the
direct availability of the momentum of foundation is warranted, for
example, by the material continuity of a written document that seem-
ingly has already been attendant at the order’s origin – or by a per-
ceived stability and invariability of unwritten legal principles. The
normative validity of a constitution is, according to this logic, auto-
matically ensured with the act that establishes this connection between
a legal order and its original reason – which is the act of foundation.
Therefore, in Kelsen’s legal positivism for instance, every question
concerning the reason for the validity of single legal norms implicitly
refers to a preceding event of legal enactment. By pointing to this
completed act of foundation of the legal order, every question for va-
lidity can exhaustively be answered.
the ultimate reason can be specified within this logical system, but
only with the help of its “outside”. In this way the irreducible presence
of the trace or track of a “constitutive outside” in the “inside” of a
legal order becomes obvious. A division between inside and outside,
between “pure first” and “flawed second” is made impossible.27
When Vorländer argues that in every political community there
has to be an institution that embodies this “pure first” – no matter if
being considered in a general sense as “common notions of order” or
in a temporal sense as “accomplished act of foundation” in which
these notions of order seemed to be fully present – and visibly puts it
in perpetuity, he, in principle, argues just like Kelsen.28 Similarly both
approaches argue, that the origin of the order can only deploy a dura-
ble integrating effect, if it engages in a permanent realization. In con-
trast to the comprehension of legal positivism, however, Vorländer
assumes this process – in a Derridean sense – being essentially recon-
structive, for the meaning of a constitutional logos not being able to be
mirrored by its “purity”29 Instead, only by an incessant reinterpretation
of this causal signification such a dynamic process of integration can
steadily be successful and, therefore, is able to generate validity for a
state’s legal order. Holding validity therefore is – as also Derrida
points out – a process approximating a permanent (new) foundation.30
In a general sense, Derrida has not only proved the necessity of a tran-
scendental signified, but also its actual impossibility. This impossibil-
ity is, as Derrida maintains, a central consequence of the principle of
différance. So does, consequently, the prerequisite of validity consist
just in the absence of a last reason for it?
Derrida’s concept of différance also gains its meaning from the
notion of an irreducible temporalization of all being, thinking and
sense. The ubiquitous time-factor can ultimately not be overcome by
the help of media storage, but makes every durable availability of
sense impossible. The time is thus, according to Derrida, the actual
initiator of a permanent deferral of all meaning (Krauß 2001, 39).
According to Derrida, no stable and self-present mechanism can exist
which guarantees the identical repetition of past sense without being
itself subject to the principle of enduring deferral of all sense. There-
fore, not only the permanently necessary back reference of a valid
legal order to its transcendental-logical reasons for validity, but also
every form of sense itself can impossibly resort to a principle of iden-
tical iteration, but is instead inevitably subject to iterability – i.e. to an
implicit and continuous change of meaning (Derrida 1982, 315; Krauß
2001, 40). The difference between two different attempts of recon-
struction of an apparently identical logos is subject to a difference as
well.
Thus, just like Kelsen’s Basic Norm or Gebhardt’s idée directrice,
every idea of a transcendental signified in general is, as Derrida main-
tains, a form of metaphysical presentism which, consequently, is not
allowed to be understood in a substantial manner. Neither notionally
nor in reality could this logos as such become present.31 The dif-
férance has to be comprehended precisely as a radical temporality of
every type of meaning – a temporality that cannot be interpreted as
sequence of fixed moments, but which generally makes any presence
of sense impossible.32 The différance thus not only avoids the identical
iteration of a signified, but in the first place it divides the signified in
itself (Krauß 2001, 41). Also the permanent change of meaning of the
reason for validity of a political-legal order is, hence, not allowed to
be considered as a sequence of fixed conditions or situations of mean-
154 Maik Herold
Due to being the last reason for the validity of a state’s legal order, in
Kelsen’s model the Basic Norm has to fulfill exactly this paradox
double requirement of basic necessity and fundamental impossibility.
Since, as Kelsen argues, a pure normative-logical chain of reasoning is
infinite in principle, every legal order is in need of an element by
means of which any discourse of normative justification can be termi-
nated within that legal system. This element, moreover, has to be able
to make further attempts of reasoning impossible which possibly
could jeopardize its rank as ultimate causal entity. In Kelsen’s logic it
therefore holds not only a legal, but also a social purpose. While sug-
gesting the availability of a last reason for validity which is actually
unavailable, the Basic Norm is designed in a way that makes a closer
Symbolic Representation and Différance 155
5. Conclusion
Notes
theory, which usually distinguished between a legal and a political side of the
state. (See Jellinek 1959.)
5. “From the circumstance that something is cannot follow that something
ought to be; and that something ought to be, cannot be the reason that some-
thing is.” (Kelsen 2008, 193; 1979, 206.)
6. See Kelsen 2008, 193. Kant had quite similar thoughts. “One can
therefore conceive of external lawgiving which would contain only positive
laws; but then a natural law would still have to precede it, which would
establish the authority of the lawgiver (i.e. his authorization to bind others by
his mere choice).” (Kant 1996, 17.)
7. “The basic norm is the common source for the validity of all norms that
belong to the same order – it is their common reason for validity. […] It is
the basic norm that constitutes the unity in the multitude of norms by
representing the reason for the validity of all norms that belong to this order.”
(Kelsen 2008, 195) The Basic Norm, Kelsen continues, is expressed by a
constitution that occupies the next subordinated level of a normative
hierarchy. Every constitutional norm is only permitted if it can be traced back
to this “Grundnorm”.
8. As, for instance, civil and human rights.(See Kelsen 2008, 224.) Thereby
constitutions can occur in codified form as constitutional document being
traced back to a formative act of foundation or they can be based on
unwritten customs and habits. (See Kelsen 2008, 222.)
9. This means to reinterpret the actual subjective sense of the factual
constitution-making process in favor of an assumed objective sense of its
outcome – the constitution. (See Kelsen 2008, 202.)
10. This becomes particularly obvious when using the example of pro-
portional representation (See Smend 1919, 60 et seq.) or the phenomenon of
“unwritten constitutional law” which Smend had already discussed
elaborately in a study of 1916. (See Smend 1916, 39 et seq.)
11. “Der Staat ist nur, weil und insofern er sich ständig integriert, in und aus
den Einzelnen aufbaut ...”. (Smend 1928, 138.)
12. See Smend 1928, 172 et seq. Concerning the distinction between per-
sonal, factual and functional factors of integration see Smend 1928, 142 et
seq. Smends analyses of Parliamentarianism can be interpreted as an initial
point of his argumentation here. For in contrast to Carl Schmitt, Smend sees
this Parliamentarianism as the decisive factor of stability in the German state
of Weimar. Since in a republican state the people is not per se politically
existent, a functional mechanism is required that brings this unity about. This
mechanism does not imperatively have to serve an instrumental purpose, but
its main goal consists in performing the representation and assertion of this
political unity. (Smend 1928, 154 f.)
13. See Smend 1928, 190. Consequently, constitutions just want to give hints
and comprise its subject only schematically. Constitutional law does not
Symbolic Representation and Différance 161
articulate the same rigid and heteronomic entitlement for validity as the law
of subordinated organizations. (Smend 1928, 191.)
14. Such a perspective leads back to the problem of a so called “halved
constitution”. (See Vorländer 2006b, 229 et seq.)
15. See Vorländer 2006b, 237 et seq. Every type of law has a political
foundation and every type of politics uses the idea of generally valid rules.
Every legal norm is anent its validity reliant on political decisions and is,
concerning its meaning, shaped by the central notions of order of the
respective political culture. Every political decision reciprocally preserves,
reproduces and modifies effective, valid law. (See Bonacker 2001, 136.)
16. Vorländer 2006b, 240. Besides a discursive realization there also have to
be expressive forms of constitutional realization and visualization – like
memorial places, ritual services or celebrated constitutional jubilees.
(Vorländer 2006b, 240 et seq.)
17. See Vorländer 2004a, 17 et seq. The process of how a constitution is able
to integrate a socio-political community has been approached by André
Brodocz and Thorsten Bonacker, who developed a general theory of
symbolic integration by norms using both recent approaches of cultural
theory as well as poststructuralist discourse theory. (Brodocz 2003; Bonacker
2003.)
18. Since the normative valid is built up by the political, cultural and
discursive context of a legal order, it is a fluctuating outcome of political and
cultural discourses of interpreting that order. According to Vorländer and
Gebhardt’s approach, a lack of factual impact inevitably would become a
problem for the law’s formal validity as well. If a legal order cannot
effectively be implemented since its norms are indeed lawful but, for
instance, not regarded to be morally just, then its formal validity is actually
invalid, too.
19. See Vorländer 2006b, 237; Gebhardt 1995, 9. This notion of a symbolic
aspect of constitutions is traced back to the American constitutional theorists
Edward S. Corwin (1936) and Max Lerner (1937).
20. For this semiotic comprehension of culture see Cassirer 1965; Posner
1991. The human being accordingly is not an “animal rationale” as Neo-
kantian approaches (like Kelsens legal positivism) suggest, but rather an
“animal symbolicum”. (Cassirer 2006, 31.)
21. As Derrida maintains, constructing such antagonisms has a systematic
nexus to reductionism. (Derrida 2001, 355.)
22. According to Derrida, the notion of scripture has always been an ancillary
form of the speech. (Derrida 1997, 7.) Due to the invisibility of sound waves
every speaker seemingly experiences itself being self-present in its own
voice. The written word apparently lacks this kind of pure self-affection and
consequently is regarded as being a “deduced” or “flawed” second. (Derrida
1997, 18 et seqq.) Every logocentrism therefore implicitly involves a form of
phonocentrism. (Derrida 1997, 11 et seq.)
162 Maik Herold
23. According to Derrida the substantialist notion of the sign, which conducts
a strict division between the side of the signifier and of the signified, is also a
direct consequence of a “vulgar concept of time”. (Derrida 1997, 72.)
24. By demonstrating that the authority of the state – i.e. the validity of a
political/legal order – can only be sustained by referring to its origin and
delivering its founding to posterity, Hannah Arendt has developed a similar
argument using the example of the ancient Roman Republic. (See Arendt
1993, 120 et seqq.) According to her, all positive, man-made laws require a
transcendental source in order to become bestowed legality, i.e. formal
validity. (Arendt 1990, 161 et seq.; Schulze Wessel 2002.)
25. Thomas Paine, for instance, considered the constitution as being the
“political Bible of the state”. (See Paine 1963, 185.)
26. A suchlike imagination of intentional communication in a elongated
situation can, for instance, be found in the substantialist notions and
definitions of memory of Jan and Aleida Assmann. (Assmann 2006.)
27. Concerning the notion of the “trace” see Derrida 1997, 46 et seqq.; 66; 69
et seqq.; Derrida 2004, 23 et seq.
28. Serving as a “charter of foundation”, the constitution fulfills this function
in the rationalist modern age. (Vorländer 2002a, 251.)
29. According to Derrida, the question for the ultimate reason for the validity
of law becomes urgent not only at a legal order’s mystical point of founding,
but is always calling for an answer when certain constitutional meanings
shall be recalled or remembered. (See Derrida 1992, 38.) Only by its
permanent repetition the validity-creating sense of a constitution and its
derivative legal order can be “hold in time”. That this prerequisite of
permanent reconstruction not at all takes place in a static manner, Derrida
expresses by means of the notion of the “play”. (Derrida 2004, 23 et seq.)
30. See Derrida 1992, 23; 38. Being an “emergent institution” the con-
stitution itself can thus be considered as process. Its regulatory impact
depends on how it is able to bring about validity. (See Vorländer 2006c, 256.)
31. According to Derrida, no central, original or transcendental signified is
able to be present outside a system of differences – it actually is unthinkable.
(Derrida 2001, 354.)
32. For the différance not only involves the permanent deferral of the
meaning of fixed elements, but also a permanent and simultaneous deferral of
these differences in meaning at one “point” in time. Derrida accordingly
criticises the “linearistic” notion of time which traditionally has dominated
philosophy. (See Derrida 1997, 72 et seq.)
33. Describing the deferral as primal or original or rather saying “that
difference is originary is simultaneously to erase the myth of a present
origin.” (Derrida 2001, 255.)
34. Concerning the similar problem of law and justice see Derrida 1992, 22 et
seq.; Bonacker 2001, 136 et seq. By showing that the notion of justice is both
necessary and impossible for every system of law, Derrida hereby approaches
Symbolic Representation and Différance 163
the respective fundamental paradox in a similar, but more specific way. For
“justice” – in a perspective of political theory – is only one possible, abstract
and transcendental notion of a political order’s end among others as
“democracy”, “freedom”, etc.
35. Accordingly a constitutional court has only the function to pronounce this
logic and to dispel potential misapprehensions. In this sense it does not
produce decisions, but only new, more specific norms which formal validity
is guaranteed by their logical consequentiality. The argument of the cultural
approach is entirely different. It emphasizes the contingency of judicial
decisions and respectively refer to the constitutional court as having a form of
interpretative power. (See Vorländer 2006a.)
36. From a perspective of second order observing, in turn, this difference
between participating and observing perspective itself can be observed.
37. Concerning the difference between embodiment and symbolic expression,
between “signs of presence” and “signs of representation” see Rehberg 2001,
29.
38. For as symbol the constitution articulates the contents of a political
culture. (Gebhardt 1995, 9.)
39. Thereby the natural connection between constitution and Basic Norm
seems to be established not only in a formal-logical, but also in a historical-
traditional sense. The Basic Norm is not only a norm of justification, but also
of formation, which meaning is preserved in the constitution. Kelsen’s legal
positivism thus becomes a constitutional positivism.
40. This permanent process of integration not only represents a concrete
function of politics, but has in Smend’s theory become the meaning of the
political itself.
References
What form this research on the preservation of the planet will take is
not at all clear now, of course. . . . By far the most difficult task in this
project is how to invent a way to persuade, not advertise, culturally as
well as politically, that there is no other future for any of us. . . . For
such a future we need to re-imagine our common and universal
culture, as we have never done in human history.
Masao Myoshi
1.
In Steven Spielberg’s 2002 adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s Minority
Report, the narrative concerns the pre-emption of “future” crimes by a
form of memory and time backloop. The film’s three sensors are able
to foresee crimes and arrest culprits in advances, the pre-emption
thereby foreclosing the deed (with the would be criminal). However,
on occasion, there is a dissenting opinion among the three, that pro-
duces a minority report on the “future.” I will use this phrase, “minor-
ity report” – and the accompanying image of a memory backloop that
can be controlled, or not – to examine the following hypothesis: that
the alternative modernities of today may have to do with certain rup-
tures in our time frame coming from a type of “outside.”1 That is,
there are what one may call the X-factors of the post-global era: gla-
cial melt-off, the inundation of coasts and cities, mass extinctions, the
168 Tom Cohen
2.
It is worth noting that representations of “climate change” catastro-
phes only recently returned in massive ways to the American media
after an effective white-out orchestrated by Bush: suddenly movies
and television specials and media columnists are flooded, so to speak,
with bedazzled specials. And since no one expects any realistic geopo-
litical response, nor the expenditures being seriously committed, one
has every reason to assume that the predicted will occur. In fact, cal-
culations of arctic melt-off has been accelerated by half a century in
the last five years against earlier calculations (Bangkok submerging in
170 Tom Cohen
twenty years, now, and so on).5 One might say: this is not my view of
course; I think(s) it will all work out, and that we will invent a new
technology, as Bush predicted. But the perspective of this news forms
an interesting imaginary: it creates a spectral “present” assured of a
cataclysmic future gifted to the heirs of the present – suddenly chil-
dren and grandchildren are spoken of, but with ghosted imagery. In-
deed, the unborn are now deeply at stake in the present: the Ponzi
scheme of hypermodernity – like that of Wall Street and the global
credit meltdown – shifts megadebt to the future, but also steals from
them their heritage, resources, biodiversity. A certain present has can-
nibalized the future, in this sense. The ghost of these futures, more-
over, puts the present in a Hamlet position. (I won’t share the predic-
tions with you – from scientists above all – but it is not pretty at all
and sweeps aside all of the current models of economic and political
priorities.) It knows too much, from a ghost that does not coincide
with the court reality of the moment of affluence the end of the oil era
generated. This “alternative modernity” suddenly links the artefacted
present of today to prehistorial and zoographic time-lines. It is too
much – and I think, today, one finds monstrous temporalities in play
(for instance, the sixth mass extinction event on earth, defining the
anthropocene era, as it is called now). In this scenario, the current
academic hegemon of “cultural studies” perhaps bursts, and its con-
solidated models of oppressive regimes and colonial positioning shifts
from its declared topos, the otherness of the other, the other as human
subject, and (as if all these positions were now placed on one side), a
supposedly “wholly other” that is not human, not divine, and involves
prehistorial traces. The term “wholly other,” circulated by Derrida, is
at best a place-holder here, and a weak one, saturated with theotropic
resonance. Such forms of alterity arrive in the mode of New Orleans’
floods, or avian flu, or biodiversity collapse. But here the violent re-
configuration and traffic of diverse temporalities have become con-
fused, cinematized, as a journalist notes: “By the clock of geology,
this climate shift is unfolding at a dizzying, perhaps unprecedented
pace, but by time scales relevant to people, it’s happening in slow
motion.” As the global present enters its Bodega Bay phase or trance
(“our little hamlet,” as its called in Hitchcock’s The Birds), what ar-
rives from without, or from within the archive’s material premises and
technics for that matter?6
This constructed “present” is asked to think itself not in class,
nationality, or even geopolitical terms but in speciesist terms – and be-
“Climate Change” 171
yond that, biological events. On the one hand, “cultural studies” al-
ready mourns the contemporary scene it archives, and it is of a piece
with the latter’s representational machine. At the point it would re-
cover the otherness of the excluded voice in its specificity and histori-
cal context, cultural studies loses this site in the morphing of the dis-
empowered into a “disposable” (and faceless) underclass.
What emerges could be called time wars within a non-present:
the invocation of speciesist and biomorphic perspectives shifts the
model from a human-to-human narrative toward a non-human domain
that, because it has no aura and no personification, cannot easily enter
the commodified media stream. And this is for good reason. One
shifts from a preoccupation with a so-called “otherness of the other” –
by which is meant the other person, citizen, sexuality, status as per-
former or memory victim – to what stands outside it.
3.
It was Masao Myoshi who perhaps first posed a question of a “plane-
tary” crisis that would suspend the model of the political as practiced
before a situation after which there would be nothing “for any of us.”
In “Turn to the Planet: Literature, Diversity & Totality” he argues:
“Perhaps we need a new organization, one that is truly global and
inclusive as all. There is one such core site for organizing such an
inclusiveness, though entirely negative at present: the future of the
global environment.” (Myoshi, 295). Myoshi contracts the time-frame
of predicted terrestrial decline – in advance of today’s accelerating
updates on passing the “tipping point” already of arctic meltdown – so
that the “present” were viewed as a point in a virtual continuum.
While there is “no other future for any of us” (297), Miyoshi is not
sure what “form this research on the preservation of the planet will
take” at all. It must “reimagine our common and universal culture, as
we have never done in human history.” Yet Myoshi cannot relinquish
from this address his utopian program, proceeding to forecast a revo-
lutionary redistribution of the address of all production across social
barriers. Inscribed in that redemptive language, such a future remains
unimaginable. No “planetary” discourse emerges, and in fact the sub-
text for many of these announcements comes from a counter narrative,
similar to that in a recently suppressed Department of Defense report
on the military threat of “climate change” to Homeland Security
(which makes, according to the report, that of “terrorism” almost a
joke). In all such reports, it is the underclass and the “disposable”
172 Tom Cohen
And in fact, Spivak will back away from this term, or probe when it is
dismissed from the left for breaking with any recognizable politics (as
currently defined).
The title of Jameson’s Archaeology of the Future (2005) is sug-
gestive, since it names an inversion in the structure of contempora-
neity as such – and it suggests a new field, somewhat counter-
intuitive, that we may call “Future Studies.” (There are already such
programs, among elsewhere in Taiwan.) If all cultural and literary
studies involve memory and transmission, archival work in every
sense, then any “future” studies would appear to upend or flip that
archive, reading it against virtual or programmed “futures” – including
those on the dystopic or catastrophic menu.9 When Jameson refer-
ences Benjamin’s weak messianism to the suddenness of the arrival of
the “Messiah,” his need to retain a utopian dimension regresses as he
omits the import of Benjamin’s project – which references non-linear
or non-human time only to produce an active reconfiguration and rup-
ture of the spell of memory programs and archival reflexes the latter
calls “historicism.” For Jameson, “Benjamin sought a different kind of
figuration for this ultimate event of our collective social life, this ulti-
mate mystery, when he had recourse to the language of the messi-
anic.” (335) Any “future studies,” one may conjecture, entails re-
orienting the critical archive toward something in excess of the logics
that suffuse the humanities’ referential premises – that the “global”
confluence of its collective histories and technologies partakes of a
biopolitical impasse that is terrestrial and not subject to regimes or
ideologies. The ways that “reference” and the “senses” have been
programmed or institutionalized, what precedes “ideology” or casts it,
is addressed as if from what Benjamin calls a “prehistorical” trace –
which inhabits the contemporary, as in Kafka, yet invokes a prefigural
counter-gaze. When Bush chose to promote a war on terror to which
it can attach human faces as agencies it would have to now be read
against his active suppression of the problematic of “climate science”
and oil depletion. The crashing of that strategy was a matter of time,
but not much time would be required. More is involved than a service
to the oil industry backers, since what still has a face and human agent
to rally against alone remains a political and televisual tool.10
4.
I return to the opening question. Cultural studies’ global hegemony
requires modest scrutiny in this regard. It has had the most remarkable
“Climate Change” 175
Butler is, perhaps without marking it, talking about the image itself,
media. She is interested in the dividing line across which the human is
constructed: “I am referring not only to humans not regarded as hu-
mans, and thus to a restrictive conception of the human that is based
upon their exclusion.” (128) But at the limit of this inquiry is precisely
a negotiated backloop to a humane order: “If the humanities has a
future as cultural criticism, and cultural criticism has a task at the pre-
sent moment, it is no doubt to return us to the human where we do not
expect to find it, in its frailty and at the limits of its capacity to make
sense.” (151) Here, it is still and precisely the human “other” with
whom we would be reconciled in a recalibration of mourning. Butler’s
discourse is crafted as an apologia for “humanistic studies” before its
institutional enemies and remains trapped in an anthropocentric model
without reference to the evolving shifts outside its referential horizon
or the historial bubble of the “post 9/11” catalogue. But is mourning
itself the problem, part of the anthropomorphic impulse that, as here,
“Climate Change” 177
retracts Butler’s focus from the terrestrial and “global” orders to one
of recognition?
5.
This shift from human on human histories (post-colonial, social jus-
tice) to the imbrication, if not dispossession, by a non-anthropic other
that exceeds and displaces the gamebord begins elsewhere, and ear-
lier. For instance, when the non-human historiography of Braudel is
coupled with Deleuzian dynamism – that is, referencing the organic
and non-organic forms of shifting “bio-mass” and energy structures
that pass between planetary domains – in Manuel De Landa’s A Thou-
sand Years of Nonlinear History (1997), which allows no anthropo-
centric perspective to emerge in sketching three parallel histories of
the “Geological,” the “biological,” and the “linguistic”:
we still have to deal with the world of referents, with the thousands of
routinized organizations that have accumulated over the years, with the
spread of standardized languages, and with the homogenized gene pools
of our domestic plans and animals. . . . Changing our way of thinking
about the world is a necessary first step, but it is by no means sufficient:
we will need to destratify reality itself, and we must do so without the
guarantee of a golden age ahead. (273)
6.
So, I have tracked the phrase alternative modernities to an alterity that
exceeds modernity and the social “other,” now wired through prehis-
torial and nonlinear configurations. I have suggested that this horizon
is what stands at the rim of the archive – without the aura of a medi-
atric face. And I have suggested that, today, in the backlooping implo-
sions of the global economy this coincides with a virtual if prolonged
shock to the hosting arrangements of human societies with the tech-
nics of earth. The interesting leap of work like de Landa’s involves
passing into a fully technicized mode of address. It rewrites nature or
earth or anthropos as outmoded referents and reference itself as a po-
litical construction: politics has become epistemology. It implies that
the wars for the future definition of the “planetary” – the question
Myoshi raised – may be described as coming wars of reinscription, not
of this or that social injustice alone but of the memory programs from
which reference and “experience,” consumption and perception issue.
At this point the humanist reserve of cultural studies bursts into its
long-gestated others. One might turn to work such as Bernard
Stiegler’s, where the thinking of technics passes through Foucault’s
return to Plato’s hypomnemata – the underlying inscriptions and mas-
ter settings, out of which, for men, there is world. Stiegler’s explora-
tions of tertiary memory – and the implicit rift in the perceptual access
to different “times” – returns to an “(a)materiality” entirely co-
dependent on anterior tracks.
There is an intractable Westernness to these configurations, and
an instinct for relapse in each style. Myoshi, requiring the utopian
program be taken on in any response to “climate change”; Jameson
deploys a regressed notion of allegory; Spivak turns back from the
referential impasse of “planetarity”; Butler moves toward the equivo-
cations of penetrating otherness; de Landa diverts to descriptive histo-
180 Tom Cohen
7.
“Climate change” arrives as a mnemonic chiasmus. Its spectralities
appear in slow motion, in a graduated drip or melt, posted as irreal
futurity. Yet as a complex it presents a structural caesura to artefacted
and tranced-out “global” present, this horizon does not, as common
sense suggests, belong strictly to the sciences, to economics and tech-
nologies to sort out (or, more definitively, not). Nor to the prospect of
a regressed, post-democratic, and militarized geopolitical order prac-
ticing, in its defining first stages, regional competitions in a post-
global “suicidal auto-immunitary” contest. Rather than evoking
“homeland security,” it implies an exteriorization of any metaphorics
of the home, the interior, an epistemological and cognitive mutation, a
“critical climate change.” What emerges in the random samplings
above, where this rim is being tested, failingly, by 20th century critical
styles, is that a hermeneutic reflex and semantic ritual tied to these
remains at work. There is still the reflex to save face, to stop and take
one’s furniture and investments with one: the reflex of “saving” the
revolution (Myoshi), or saving the “other’s” face (Butler), or saving
“utopia” (Jameson). These participate in, indeed undergird, the hyper-
consumptions of the “global” imaginary and various sites where her-
meneutic defaults and walls intervene, and are equally symptomatic.
Rather than this horizon being passed to the sciences and socio-
economic planners, the site returns us to one of inscriptions, nano-
settings, memory programs. What emerges as central are very small
things--the link of alphabeticism to monotheistic cognitive programs,
the retraction of personification or models of “reference” or herme-
neutics machines, the naturalization of media streams. The X of the X
factors names not only a structural chiasmus that numbs any sense of
daily cognition – the slow motion cinematics of deferred non-futures,
irreal and politically unassimilable – but the location of this “threat
without enemy” outside (yet generated by) the “anthropological ma-
chine.” It arrives at once as a terrestrial technics beyond mourning and
prefigural. This opens upon what can only be called coming wars of
reinscription – that is, in a 21st century horizon defining itself as one
of permanent and invisible war within the archive, memory programs,
and what can only for a while still be called “other materialities.”
182 Tom Cohen
8.
But there is a question of what critical apparatus will adapt to the
problematic of “climate change,” that is, what critical mutation ac-
companies a de-anthropomorphization as if from without. It remains
to ask what in deconstruction provides orientation?
On the surface, perhaps nothing. Not only did Derrida, who lived
to write on “terrorism,” never address it (though it was in public dis-
course for a good decade before his death), but those who want to
represent “deconstruction” as a franchise today have yet to turn to-
ward this non-anthromorphic domain, where a certain divide between
the archive as mnemonics and a geomorphic agency as if outside of it
(global warming, resource depletion, desertification, mass extinction
events) is spuriously maintained. As Timothy Clark remarks: “What
Derrida once called ‘Western metaphysics’ is now also a dust cloud of
eroded top-soil, a dying forest and what may now be the largest man-
made feature detectable from space, the vast floating island of plastic
debris that spans a large part of the Pacific ocean.” (Clark, 46) And
the few efforts to mobilize such an extension, viewed as extension,
have been disappointing or regressive. (see Wood 2007)
Derrida, of course, placed the motif of assaulting what Specters
of Marx calls “anthropomorphism and human narcissism” as a prime
motif of deconstruction. (Derrida 1994) Using Freud’s narrative of the
three major shocks or “blows” to that (Copernicus, Darwin, and Freud
himself), Derrida, assimilating Marx, suggests the fourth “blow” is the
disclosure of the founding technic, and tele-technicity, of the (human)
world, that is, deconstruction. And yet he had nothing to say about a
mutation of terrestrial systems that will definitively, or irreversibly,
dispossess human dwelling and primacy, predicted to effect “popula-
tion culling,” resource wars, and the undermining of the premises of
life over its brief technological history (say, 5,000 years), not to men-
tion its hyperaccelerations in the carbon and fossil-fuel era, transform-
ing the wastes of anterior organic life forms into energy, “light,”
speed. Climate change appears nowhere in Derrida, and yet one could
say, in speaking of the “trace,” that almost everything seems to lead
there. Instead, the so-called “late Derrida” produces elaborate and
rogue deconstructive readings, without abatement, of “ethics,” of “re-
ligion,” and somewhat on “politics.” These are the fabled domain
many of his recent commentators have been deciphering, as if these
represented a turning of the page and welcome anchor in the most
central of humanist discourses. Derrida, of course, would deny such a
“Climate Change” 183
9.
But much has changed. Neo-liberalism is collapsed, and the “free
market” has imploded and morphed into its other (socialization by the
state, the bailout and so on). The stateless or homeless have now
morphed into “disposable” humans, triaged in New Orleans as an un-
derclass or harvested for organs in Egypt. “Human rights” is almost a
joke, brushed aside internationally except in council, its pretexts
openly reversed by the so-called war on terror alone (with the U.S.
leading the way). “Futures” appear consumed or disappearing, ice-
sheets accelerating their meltoff, and the sixth mass extinction event
in earth’s history will be complete in decades (by man). The ocean’s
acidity may collapse the marine food chain, with dissolved crustaceon
shells, leaving jelly-fish alone to bob about – not a good food source.
There are already food riots in portions of the earth, and water wars,
including between localities, are predicted in the decades to come –
perhaps nuclear (opines a DoD study on “climate change”). The pros-
pect of micro-organic mutations and pandemics is deemed a certainty,
and biological weapons appear back on the menu (if they were ever
away). This list goes on, but “climate change” as an inclusive term for
these effects is not on the list – and it is not so much that there is no
space in the decalog, but that it turns the premise of the decalog Der-
rida offers inside out. Derrida would only write of human to human
injustice, or failing institutions. That is, he was also miming the politi-
cal in the sense he already bracketed or dismissed, to weave into the
spectragenic.
In a certain sense, if “climate change,” which involves non-
anthropomorphic and non-organic dynamics, is absent alone from
Derrida’s concerns, does it, so to speak, emerge as the secret of de-
construction? There would be two symptoms here to note. The first
would involve Derrida’s seeming ban on addressing the “future,” un-
der the logic that such would necessarily repeat a program that fore-
closes the arrival of the future as per definition unknowable. Yet this
gesture (repeated like a mantra among followers) confuses the posi-
tion of the ethical subject at the moment of decision with the general
flow of consequences and accumulation in collective and material
flows. And second, it appears to arrive from an outside of the archive,
and Derrida, to some extent like Benjamin, understood that to alter
possible futures (where the specter always arrives from), one recasts
the heritage, the past itself, the programmatic legacies out of which
perception, value, reference, and memory are generated. Only through
“Climate Change” 185
10.
In the above examples of Spivak and Butler, an anomaly of decon-
structive branching occurs, where the turn toward cultural intervention
and institutional politics veered from Derrida’s seeming deconstruc-
tive networking of archival powers, programs, texts, and speech acts
as a pivot for a general epistemographic “politics of memory.” Yet
186 Tom Cohen
which includes the human dead or specter, and can be extended to but
not beyond the animal, which may look back.
One could speculate that there had always been two corridors in
“deconstruction,” the one non-anthropomorphic and putting “man”
permanently into question; the other, turned back into human institu-
tions and wishing to transpose archival programs into differential. The
swing toward the latter was most rewarding, engaged the passions of
humanists variably invested in (personally, institutionally) such dis-
courses collectively. The “late Derrida,” so called, immersed himself
in this strategy of embeddedness, on which perhaps he saw the best
chance of survival for his work to pass to the future. Yet if one could
imply, as Hägglund does, that rather than a late “turn” to ethics, relig-
ion, and to some degree contemporary politics, one asks instead that
this later phase be read from the early critique as the same but dis-
guised writing, then the turn toward the non-anthropomorphic column
re-emerges as what had all along been the rupture.
The scandal of Hägglund’s book, in a way, is two-sided: that it
would need to be written at all (testifying to the overwhelming trend
to re-inscribe deconstruction in hermeneutic and theotropic folds), and
that, reduced to its representations of Derrida’s early programmatics,
the latter appear, in these summaries, so minimal. It appears more a
corrective than an embarcation, which its title indicates in choosing to
stand opposite the theological reappropriation. And in focusing on the
“ethical” moment and its temporal dilemma, even as a counter-
reading, Hägglund turns away, still, from the now material domains
which unfold the 21st century and require different experiments and
extensions of the logics of trace – without guarantee or even recupera-
tive prescriptions. One is tempted, despite all the discourse on mourn-
ing and legacy that Derrida helped promote, to anticipate a decon-
struction without deconstruction(ism) to come, particularly if it should
turn out that “climate change” broadly may have been what a certain
“spirit of deconstruction” was turning toward all along.
188 Tom Cohen
Notes
1. This paper was in its original form a response to a the topic of envisioning
“alternative modernities” at a symposium at the Shanghai Institute of Social
Sciences, in June, 17, 2006.
2. To hear the term minority otherwise, not to mention the officiousness of a
“report” (as in Kafka’s “Report to the Academy” by an ape), is also to
suspend the empowering of the colonized, enslaved, repressed, or subaltern
histories whose rectifying of “social justice” served a necessary function but
which got stuck in identity politics and the reclamation of familiar subject
positions (supposedly to have been harpooned in the reversal). From the point
of view of any preliminary questioning of how 21st century “climate change”
or its horizons impacts on the humanities—that is, the site of memory
transmission and the programming of experience—one must reserve this site
for what is outside of the “anthropological machine” (Agamben) as such, or
its detritus. What has neither face nor charisma, accesses other time-lines,
arrives itself as a caesura within any continuity of 20th century legacies of
theory simply—such as now, following the mediacratic and post-democratic
trance of Bush’s America, seems to find the regathering of orthodoxies and
cadres around dead master-thinkers, as in a state of mourning. Is the complex
we name “climate change” with its non-anthropic agencies and unraveling
eco-systems what knocks now from without on the door of the entire history
here—for a general re-orientation, an alteration of references, a compression
of time-weaves, even though it makes one decisive shift: displacing the
human-on-human narratives with a third, a “threat without enemy” before
which cultural identities are repositioned before a so-called planetary,
speciesist, and irreversible mutation.
3. In his essays on Kafka and elsewhere Walter Benjamin evokes the term
“prehistorical” to identify a literary agency that burrows through the narrative
landscape—pouring out sideways into Deleuze’s focus later on a “becoming
animal” in Kafka into non-anthropomorphic sites. The term “prehistorial”
does not allude to dinosaurs, but to a situating of the “modernity” in question,
always also from the perspective of the “species” and its relation to time, and
the immemorial programming of hunter gatherers in advance of whatever
“contemporaneity” is put in play. Such an alternative time—or ways of
casting epochality—is allied in Benjamin to what he calls “natural history,”
which always references a break that is, or coincides, with a semioclasm, a
caesura or shock. At the end of the Theses this is marked by reference to the
insignificant place of the human in geological time that recalls “human
history” to its tiny fraction of time and links the rupture of such time-lines to
a semioclastic break—to a renogiation of pasts and virtual futures. The
gesture is important, since it detaches the project of “materialistic
historiography” from the historicism it is embedded in; that is, it does not
“Climate Change” 189
speak of the fascist “enemy” even as the Nazi state, which is only its
gathering symptom.
4. We can term this a site of exscription. The Birds, I would argue, stands as
both a parable and acceleration of this ex-scription –the myriad wings and
slashes atomizing letters into marks, putting out a received program of the
visible or the eye (that is also linked to teeth and consumption). One can read
Hitchcock’s The Birds not only as a work on the horizons under discussion,
but as doing so from the point of view of cinematized memory. The earth
already promises, to some eyes, biopolitical wars and strategic “population
culling” that make 20th century “world” wars appear as late-imperial contests.
It is interesting, though, that like the “global war on terror,” these wars
promise to also be invisible, autogenic, nanological and archival. And they
are underway, possibly even decided. In any event, these will be in a certain
sense epistemological (hence “inscriptions”). Tipping points have all passed,
and the scientists are turning to Plan B—how to adapt to or throw up geo-
engineered retaining walls of sorts (heat-resistant crops, particles in the
atmosphere to deflect sun, resource banks for disappearing plants and genes).
5. Bush’s suppression of “climate change” is more chilling than not, since
the questioning of climate science as delaying tactic was transparent: they
knew, they have better data than the public. This suggests, if anything, they
knew it was irreversible, and might as well be accelerated to secure resources
for a survivable class.
6. Just browsing, one routinely encounters media items and symptoms. One
occasion produced recently: a New York Times column exploring the surprise
secret of “global warming” (that it can release giant methane bubbles on the
sea bed raising temperatures by thirteen degrees instantly); a PBS show (The
Dimming of the Sun) relaying that the only thing keeping the temperature
from leaping forward is the blocking of solar rays by the same pollution that
is strangling major cities—so that removing that, now, yields a bigger threat;
and another, on the so-called 6th extinction event of life forms. Moreover,
television had shifted from proleptic educational premises delivered in future
past conditionals (“We were warned”) or apocalyptic fantasies to Discovery
shows on “Life After People,” tracking earth after the anthropocene era
concludes. The topic had suddenly entered, writes a commentator in the New
Yorker, its “mass-entertainment moment.” The American media turned, late,
to something Bush had chosen to suppress under the “war on terror”
rhetoric—which had the advantage of a still human enemy or agent, a poster
face (Osama, Saddam). It is the shift back in media terms from the usable
trauma of “9/11” to the disclosures of “Katrina.” These became accompanied
by speaking of the “uninhabitable planet” (or not) to be left to future
generations, future “nows” that, the logic goes, will look back at this time as
a decade whose obliviousness blighted millennia to come. The subtext of the
logic is a kind of joke: the obvious impossibility of turning any of the
acceleration around until after the “tipping point” is exceeded—since
190 Tom Cohen
geological time is other, and what is set in motion will combine and
accelerate (inundated cities and coasts, vast droughts). The rhetoric is
interesting, suggesting that beyond the news cycles, the “we” of the address
that still thinks it is in a model of infinite expansion, and is in a time-bubble.
So these X-factors have a subtle effect on the acceleration and networking of
times; one’s place in a hinge generation or decade is already accountable for
eviscerations that would alter the biopolitical equation of the human in the
revoked “futures.”
7. See “Now the Pentagon tells Bush: climate change will destroy us,” by
Mark Townsend and Paul Harris, The Observer, February 22, 2004
(http://www.asiaing.com/pentagon-climate-report.html).
8. Yet the sub-trauma corresponds to the motif of the premise of surveil-
lance and detection, say, in Hitchcock’s Spellbound, where the total amnesiac
Peck goes into proto-psychotic stares at the sight of the series of lines or bars
that, a signature of cinematics, a technic of spacing before any letter or image
takes shape, a compressed kill-chain of prefigural heart beats citing and
folding upon themselves.
9. Yet if human history is here condensed and penetrated by what is outside
of it then, as Benjamin notes in section XVIII of the Theses, human time
contracts to a fraction of terrestrial and biomorphic history as such and can be
reconfigured in different ways.
10. Thus, “alternative modernities” could allude to the micro-habitats or
communities whose temporal stitching vary. It could allude to those
immersed in internet communities who create separate personas, languages,
and status on line; to the Iraqi militiaman who killed an ice-vendor because in
the 7th century there was no ice sold (or the reversions to child sacrifice to
Kali in northern India); or to the American voters who bring 19th century
ways of digesting the image based on identification and pictures of talking
heads manipulated by word-repetitions, information white-outs, affective
programming by Rovean programming of mass media. The concept of the
“tipping point” enters the picture—since with the now accelerated melt-off
projected over the next half-century (a nothing in terrestrial terms), and entire
contract to different terrestrial futures is established that is quite direct. This
time-rift that parallels living off a credit card culture of deferred invisible
debt, a derealization, was briefly evoked on American TV by a commercial
of a man stepping aside from a rushing train to reveal his granddaughter still
there, implying that a wreck is certain for another in one’s place.
“Climate Change” 191
References
Among the details Derrida narrates, it is those about his own reactions
to things French – the literature, the language, and other French users’
accents – that are the most captivating, in large part because of his
mildly exhibitionistic and often self-flagellating sense of candor. Be-
ing introduced to French literature, for instance, is, he writes, an ex-
perience of alienation as well as of enjoyment: not only does it rein-
force the haughtiness of the literary from non-literary culture; it also
effectuated “a brutal severance . . . fostering a more acute partition:
the one that separates French literature – its history, its works, its
models, its cult of the dead, its modes of transmission and celebration,
its ‘posh districts,’ its names of authors and editors – from the culture
‘proper’ to ‘French Algerians’” (45).8 And although Derrida’s French
was undoubtedly of native fluency, he writes that he has not quite lost
his “French Algerian” accent, adding, in a derisively self-revelatory
tone, that “I would like to hope, I would very much prefer, that no
publication permit my ‘French Algerian’ to appear,” believing in the
meantime that no one “can detect by reading” that he is “French Alge-
rian” (46; emphasis Derrida’s)9 – that is, that he can pass as authentic
as long as his speech is seen and not heard. This pursuit of linguistic
purity, gauged at the level of speech despite Derrida’s famous critique
of phonocentrism, a purity that must remain untarnished by any un-
seemly accents, leads to a ready intolerance of those who do not
measure up, an intolerance that borders on (racial) discrimination.10
Again, it is through Derrida’s unyielding honesty that we begin to
grasp the depth of his anguish over this issue. Impure French accents
tend to make him squirm, yet he also cannot forgive himself for feel-
ing and reacting that way: these compulsive attitudes, judgments, and
reactions, which he frankly acknowledges, imbue the following series
of confessions with noticeable intensities:
plicit principles, all the lines of conduct consistent with the rules of
the logic of challenge and riposte (and no other conduct) by means of
unlimited inventions which the stereotyped unfolding of a ritual would
in no way demand” (Algeria 1960, 116), could not Derrida’s work –
indeed, his lifelong preoccupation with language as différance, as
temporal non-coincidence and deferment – be seen as nothing less
than the “creative reinvention” emerging from an actively adapting
habitus? Characteristically, this creative invention specializes in leav-
ing language in a spectral rather than fully ontologized state, as
though to ward off the potential blasphemy (or curse) of any form of
substantiation, especially political substantiation (such as coloniza-
tion).
Accordingly, where the word “mastery” may carry the meaning
of cultural supremacy in a more Manichean reading of colonialism,
Derrida insists that the master himself is never completely master:
“contrary to what one is often most tempted to believe, the master is
nothing. And he does not have exclusive possession of anything” –
including “his language,” which he “does not possess exclusively, and
naturally” (23; emphasis Derrida’s). Bourdieu, describing the dynam-
ics of ritualized exchanges in Kabyle society, puts it this way: “even
the most ritualized exchanges, in which all moments of the action and
their unfolding are rigorously prescribed, allow a confrontation of
strategies, inasmuch as the agents remain the masters of the time-lag
between the obligatory moments and consequently are able to act
upon their opponents by playing with the tempo of the exchange”
(Algeria 1960, 116; emphasis Bourdieu’s). Is it a mere coincidence
that, of all possible strategies from his agents, what Bourdieu under-
scores is that of time-lag, the type of (economic-linguistic) maneuver
of which Derrida was, in his own way, “master”?
It follows that whereas the ethnographic orientation of
Bourdieu’s work highlights a type of difference that is culturally in-
flected (Kabyle society confronting French colonialism and modern
capitalism) – with strong implications of the cultural inequity that
entails – Derrida, arguably, goes one step further in the registering of
such inequity. Cultural difference and inequity are reconceptualized
by him as mere determinable differentiations that, in the end, do not
conjure what is the most significant about the legacy of language,
including the linguistic order under colonial dictation. To this extent,
Derrida reads colonialism as both specific and universal: colonialism
is a specific instance of the appropriation of language by the use of
Reading Derrida on Being Monolingual 201
Notes
omnipresence en moi. Il m’aura de tout temps précédé. C’est moi” (Le mono-
linguisme, 13-14; emphasis Derrida’s).
3. “Je n’ai qu’une langue, ce n’est pas la mienne”; “Or jamais cette langue,
la seule que je sois ainsi voué à parler, tant que parler me sera possible, à la
vie à la mort, cette seule langue, vois-tu, jamais ce ne sera la mienne. Jamais
elle ne le fut en vérité” (Le monolinguisme, 13; 14).
4. “Je n’ai jamais parlé, jusqu’ici, de ‘langue étrangère”; “En disant que le
seule langue que je parle n’est pas la mienne, je n’ai pas dit qu’elle me fût
étrangère” (Le monolinguisme, 18; emphasis Derrida’s).
5. For other autobiographical reflections by Derrida, see, for example,
Derrida and Geoffrey Bennington, Circumfession: Fifty-Nine Periods and
Periphrases. Jacques Derrida, trans. Geoffrey Bennington (Chicago: U of
Chicago P, 1993); Points . . . Interviews, 1974-1994, trans. Peggy Kamuf et
al. (Stanford: Stanford UP, 1995).
6. See, for instance, Albert Memmi, The Colonizer and the Colonized, intro.
Jean Paul Sartre, trans. Howard Greenfeld (Orion, 1965; Beacon, 1967),
expanded edition with afterword by Susan Gilson Miller (Boston: Beacon,
1991); Ngugi wa Thiong’o, “The Language of African Literature,” Colonial
Discourse and Postcolonial Theory: A Reader, ed. Patrick Williams and
Laura Chrisman (New York: Columbia UP, 1994), 435-55 (this piece is an
excerpt from Ngugi, Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in
African Literature [London: James Currey, 1986] 8-33); Chinua Achebe,
“The African Writer and the English Language,” Colonial Discourse and
Postcolonial Theory: A Reader, 428-34 (this piece is an excerpt from
Achebe, Morning Yet on Creation Day [New York: Anchor/Doubleday,
1975], 91-103.)
7. See Hédi Abdel-Jaouad, “Derrida’s Algerian Anamnesis; or Autobiog-
raphy in the Language of the Other,” in Remembering Africa, ed. Elisabeth
Mudimbe-Boyi (Postmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2002), 266; 260. This essay
offers a nuanced and compelling discussion of Derrida’s numerous auto-
biographical publications besides Monolingualism of the Other.
8. “[U]n sevrage sans ménagement livrait […] une partition plus aiguë, celle
qui sépare la littérature française – son histoire, ses oeuvres, ses modèles, son
culte des morts, ses modes de transmission et de célébration, ses ‘beaux-
quartiers’, ses noms d’auteurs et d’éditeurs – de la culture ‘propre’ des
‘Français d’Algérie’” (Le monolinguisme, 77).
9. “[J]e crois pouvoir espérer, j’aimerais tant qu’aucune publication ne laisse
rien paraître de mon ‘français d’Algérie’. Je ne crois pas, pour l’instant et
jusqu’à démonstration du contraire, qu’on puisse déceler à la lecture, et si je
ne le déclare pas moi-même, que je suis un ‘Français d’Algérie’” (Le mono-
linguisme, 77; emphasis Derrida’s).
10. For a discussion of Derrida’s “hang-up” over pure French, see Réda
Bensmaïa, “La langue de l’étranger ou la Francophonie barrée,” Rue Descar-
tes 37 (“L’étranger dans la mondialité”) (2002): 65-73. Bensmaïa’s sympa-
Reading Derrida on Being Monolingual 207
Harvard UP, 1984), in particular Part II. It should be noted that Bourdieu was
not the first person to invoke the philosophical concept of habitus (which is
present in the works of other thinkers) but adopted and re-elaborated it from
Marcel Mauss. In the essay “Les techniques du corps” (Journal de psycholo-
gie XXXII, nos. 3-4, 15 mars-15 avril 1936; reprinted in Mauss, Sociologie et
anthropologie [Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1950]), Mauss re-
vived “habitus” to designate the totality of learned habits, bodily skills, and
other practices that take the form of embodied actions or accepted, non-
discursive knowledges in a particular society. Mauss’s point is that habitus is
social by nature: “It does not designate those metaphysical habitudes, that
mysterious ‘memory’, the subjects of volumes or short and famous theses.
These ‘habits’ do not vary just with individuals and their imitations; they
vary especially between societies, educations, proprieties and fashions, pres-
tiges. In them we should see the techniques and work of collective and indi-
vidual practical reason rather than, in the ordinary way, merely the soul and
its repetitive faculties” (See Part IV, “Body Techniques,” in Mauss, Sociol-
ogy and Psychology: Essays, trans. Ben Brewster [London, Boston and
Henley: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979], 101; emphasis Mauss’s). Instead of
the year 1936, as given in Mauss’s Sociologie et anthropologie, 363, Brew-
ster’s translation gives 1935 as the year of the original publication of Mauss’s
essay (see Mauss, Sociology and Psychology, 122).
16. Pierre Bourdieu, Travail et Travailleurs en Algérie (Paris and The Ha-
gue: Mouton, 1963); Algérie 60 (Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1978). For pur-
poses of the present essay, page references, included in parentheses in the
text, will be made to Algeria 1960 (containing the essays “The disenchant-
ment of the world,” “The sense of honour,” “The Kabyle house or the world
reversed”), ed. Pierre Bourdieu, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge and Paris:
Cambridge UP and Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 1979).
The English text is a shortened version because it does not include the data
and other supporting material of Bourdieu’s research apparatus that are pro-
vided in the original French.
17. For an informed assessment of Bourdieu’s contributions, including a
judicious critique of their methodological flaws, see John Frow, Cultural
Studies and Cultural Value (Oxford: Clarendon P, 1995), 27-47. The works
by Bourdieu that Frow discusses do not include Algeria 1960.
18. As is well known, Bourdieu has criticized Derrida’s radical philosophy
as in keeping with Kantian notions of taste, aesthetic judgment, and social
distinction (and their accompanying monopoly of the definition of humanity);
see “Postscript: Towards a ‘Vulgar’ Critique of ‘Pure’ Critiques,” Distinc-
tion, 485-500 (the brief reference to Derrida is on 494-95). Although I do not
necessarily agree with Bourdieu’s criticism in this regard, a discussion of it
will need to be postponed for another occasion because my focus in this es-
say is the more restricted one of Derrida’s account of monolingualism as it
pertains to his experience with French colonialism.
Reading Derrida on Being Monolingual 209
19. “Le ‘manque’ n’est pas dans la méconnaissance d’une langue (le fran-
çais), mais dans la non-maîtrise d’un langage approprié (en créole ou en
français).” Édouard Glissant, Le discours antillais (Paris: Seuil, 1981), 334.
For an English translation of Glissant’s book, see Edouard Glissant, Carib-
bean Discourse Selected Essays, trans. and with an intro. J. Michael Dash
(Charlottesville: U P of Virginia, 1989).
20. “[P]arce que la langue n’est pas son bien naturel, par cela même il peut
historiquement, à travers le viol d’une usurpation culturelle, c’est-à-dire tou-
jours d’essence coloniale, feindre de se l’approprier pour l’imposer comme
‘la sienne’. C’est là sa croyance, il veut la faire partager par la force ou par la
ruse, il veut y faire croire, comme au miracle, par la rhétorique, l’école ou
l’armée” (Le monolinguisme, 45).
21. “Je ne peux pas, là encore, analyser de front cette politique de la langue
et je ne voudrais pas me servir trop facilement du mot ‘colonialisme’. Toute
culture est originairement coloniale… Toute culture s’institue par l’imposi-
tion unilatérale de quelque ‘politique’ de la langue. La maîtrise, on le sait,
commence par le pouvoir de nommer, d’imposer et de légitimer les appella-
tions” (Le monolinguisme, 68).
22. This is borne out in a thought-provoking moment recorded in the
documentary Derrida, when Derrida recalls his experience with racism and
anti-semitism during his childhood in Algeria. The paradox of that experi-
ence, he says, was that after being expelled from the French schools (and thus
from francité), he was not happy or comfortable being enclosed in the Jewish
community either – that a part of him rejected solidarity with that commu-
nity.
23. “Il n’est pas possible de parler hors de cette promesse . . . qui donne,
mais en promettant de la donner, une langue, l’unicité de l’idiome. Il ne peut
être question de sortir de cette unicité sans unité. Elle n’a pas à être opposée à
l’autre, ni même distinguée de l’autre. Elle est la monolangue de l’autre. Le
de ne signifie pas tant la propriété que la provenance: la langue est à l’autre,
venue de l’autre, la venue de l’autre (Le monoliguisme, 127; emphases Derri-
da’s).
24. “[I]l revient toujours à une langue d’appeler l’ouverture hétérologique
qui lui permet de parler d’autre chose et de s’adresser à l’autre” (Le monolin-
guisme, 129).
25. “Il est impossible de compter les langues” (Le monolinguisme, 55). In a
similar vein, Naoki Sakai asks: “Can the multiplicity of languages without
which translation seems unnecessary be measured numerically, so that one
can assume that languages are countable? What constitutes the unitary unit of
a language that is not implicated in another language or other languages?”
Sakai, Translation and Subjectivity: On “Japan” and Cultural Nationalism,
foreword by Meaghan Morris (Minneapolis and London: U of Minnesota P,
1997), 3.
210 Rey Chow
References
Images
215
Ginette Michaud
Le dessin a toujours été plus que le dessin. S’il a toujours requis l’art et
la technique – indispensables – du dessinateur, il a toujours signifié plus
et autre chose. Pour dire les choses carrément, à gros traits anguleux, et
pour mettre le dessin au carré, voici donc quelques lignes de force:
dessiner, désigner, signer, enseigner.
[...]
(Je serais tenté pour ma part d’insister en particulier sur la nécessité
d’une méditation philosophique du dessin, notamment depuis une
tradition qui, de Platon à Kant, Heidegger et tant d’autres, a toujours
cherché la voie de la pensée, comme de son enseignement, dans une
réflexion sur la figure eidétique, la représentation, la ligne, la limite et
le trait.)
Derrida, “Le dessin par quatre chemins”
Les mots ouvrent l’œil, la peinture tout le temps ferme les yeux, intus
ubique, le dedans est partout. Entretemps sans temps.
Derrida, “Sauver les Phénomènes (pour Salvatore Puglia)”
Ce qui compte dans l’image, ce n’est pas simplement ce qui est immé-
diatement visible, mais aussi bien les mots qui habitent les images,
l’invisibilité qui détermine la logique des images, c’est-à-dire l’inter-
ruption, l’ellipse, toute cette zone d’invisibilité qui presse la visibilité.
Derrida, “Le cinéma et ses fantômes”
[...] je ne crois pas que l’on puisse opposer simplement ici l’écriture à la
parole, ou l’image, ou, disons, la structure audiovisuelle. C’est pourquoi
j’ai essayé de proposer l’élaboration d’un système d’écriture ou de texte
qui ne fût pas simplement opposable à la parole ou à l’image. Je crois
que la parole et l’image sont des textes, elles sont des écritures. À ce
moment-là, la distinction n’était pas entre l’écriture et la parole, mais
entre plusieurs types de textes, plusieurs types d’inscriptions, de
reproductions, de traces. (1989, 69)
Cet axiome est donc essentiel dans la pensée du visible chez Derrida.
Il y revient dans plusieurs textes sur les arts, dans presque tous en fait,
mais c’est dans “Penser à ne pas voir”, peut-être parce que cette
conférence est elle-même sous le signe de l’improvisation (donc d’un
ne-pas-prévoir), qu’il en donnera l’une des formulations les plus clai-
res:
L’eidos, la détermination de l’être, chez Platon, comme eidos, vous le
savez, veut dire précisément le contour d’une forme visible. Ce n’est
pas de la visibilité sensible qu’il s’agit mais d’une visibilité d’un nous
intelligible, une visibilité intelligible. [...] L’eidos, en tant que ontos on,
est une visibilité non visible – au sens sensible –, mais c’est une
visibilité qui a besoin d’une lumière. Cette lumière lui vient de ce que
Platon appelle donc le bien, agathon, qu’il compare au soleil. Le soleil
rend visible mais il fait aussi croître, il fait être. Cette lumière qui rend
possible l’être, c’est-à-dire l’eidos en tant qu’étant véritable, ce soleil
lui-même n’est pas visible. C’est un trait formel que je voudrais sou-
ligner: ce qui rend visible les choses visibles n’est pas visible, au-
trement dit la visibilité, la possibilité essentielle du visible n’est pas
visible. Axiome absolument indéplaçable: ce qui rend visible n’est pas
222 Ginette Michaud
Pour transposer cela du côté du dessin, nous serions donc tentés de dire
que ce que le dessin montre comme visibilité, c’est une monstration de
l’invisible. Les dessinateurs, les peintres ne donnent pas à voir “quelque
chose”, et les grands surtout; ils donnent à voir la visibilité, ce qui est
tout autre chose, qui est absolument irréductible au visible, qui reste
invisible. Quand on a le souffle coupé devant un dessin ou devant une
peinture, c’est qu’on ne voit rien; ce qu’on voit pour l’essentiel, ce n’est
pas ce qu’on voit, c’est tout d’un coup la visibilité. Donc l’invisible.
(P, 66)
Par ailleurs, il ne serait pas faux de dire que, d’une certaine façon, tout
le travail sur l’image de Jacques Derrida, qu’elle soit picturale, photo-
graphique, cinématographique ou chorégraphique (car une image peut
aussi danser), se soumet à cette injonction qui le hante et qui lui intime
ces mots: “N’oublie jamais; n’oubliez jamais de voir ce à travers quoi
vous voyez, l’élément apparemment diaphane de la visibilité. [...] On
224 Ginette Michaud
2. Point de vue d’aveugle, donc, quant au visible. Qu’en est-il dans ces
conditions quant au mot? Entendons par là pour le moment, sans les
différencier, les gestes appelés autant qu’interdits par la chose de l’art
Jacques Derrida, les Yeux Bandés 225
Si, comme nous l’avons vu, il ne saurait être question pour Derrida de
simplement décrire, narrer, interpréter, comment dès lors procéder
pour lire à notre tour Lignées? On peut relever un certain nombre
d’indices inscrits dans le texte même où il est déclaré d’entrée de jeu:
“J’entre comme un voleur dans l’histoire de ses lettres et traits barrés”
(L, 805): effraction, brèche, fracture sont ainsi désignées comme l’une
des toutes premières modalités évoquées, posant d’emblée la lecture
comme violence. Dans le petit faufilage que je suivrai ici – faufilage
ou filature qui me sont d’ailleurs dictés par la lecture de Derrida lui-
même qui, à un moment donné, après avoir accordé une grande impor-
tance à la déconstruction en construction (ou la construction en dé-
construction) de plusieurs motifs architecturaux (maison, pont, esca-
230 Ginette Michaud
[...] Elle nous présente des concepts, en somme, les figures d’un art
conceptuel au-delà des mots, mais c’est pour expérimenter un certain
épuisement de la langue et des noms, pour nous faire parler, pour nous
donner envie de construire un monument de légendes en l’honneur de
ce qui au fond n’est jamais ni... ni..., ni ceci ni cela, ni l’être ni le non-
être, ni l’oiseau ni le nid, ni le chien ni la niche. (L, 982)
Celui qui se demandait ce qu’il cherchait “ici” puis “avec elle” peut
donc donner comme “réponse” à son insondable question, au terme de
sa course – il dit bien qu’il s’agit d’un “Spéculer” d’un autre genre:
“Spéculer sur ses traits: fugue plutôt que socle” (L, 840) –, cette phrase
en équilibre instable, de construction précaire, qui, comme les dessins
eux-mêmes, “fait plutôt que ce qu’elle montre” (L, 866):
Dès lors, quel récit? Un récit qui ne cesse de mettre au jour sa propre
hallucination projective, qui dit “S’avancer dans la dureté des mots
comme on marche sur des pierres, [...] pousser un vocable du pied” (L,
857); un récit qui “accumule des mots”, comme elle ses traits, “en vue
de monceaux de livres sur un amoncellement de pierres anguleuses
destinées non pas à les supporter, comme pétrogriffures, mais à les
taire, à les enterrer en silence, à les réduire au rien qu’ils sont en face
de telles architectures plus muettes que des bibliothèques” (L, 838); un
récit qui inlassablement se débat dans un corps-à-corps avec cette
question, qu’il ne cesse de tordre et de retordre comme la vrille de sa
signature: “Que faire, qu’est-ce que le faire, plutôt (faire est le nom),
sinon projeter? Comment voir sans projeter? Mais comment voir en
projetant? C’est la torsion ou la conversion du regard qui l’engage
ainsi au cœur de la chose même sans la moindre assurance, par une
escalade en vrille qui métonymise n’importe quoi.” (L, 879) “Tout ce
que je peux projeter, halluciner, narrer, tout le sens d’une histoire
s’effondre aussitôt qu’on peut arrêter cette certitude: l’absence de tout
dessein” (L, 949): tout du long, ce récit à la ligne brisée, en zig-zag,
titubant, toujours sous la menace de la chute imminente – récit émi-
nemment travaillé par la faille d’une verticalité, d’autant plus redouta-
Jacques Derrida, les Yeux Bandés 233
ble qu’on ne sait même plus dans ces dessins ordonnancer le haut et le
bas: “Qu’est-ce que la verticalité? Comment faire? c’est-à-dire faire
tenir debout? Comment distinguer le haut du bas? Comment distin-
guer l’un et l’autre aux angles et même à l’ovale de ses traits s’ils
n’appartiennent plus aux données terrestres du calculable? Ses chiffres
seuls, au dos du dessin, ses numéros seuls me donnent l’ordre, et
l’ordre du haut en bas” (L, 856) –, ne perd jamais de vue cette schize
sketchée par le dessin: il lui faut “Travailler à la dénégation” par fidé-
lité au dessin où il s’est agi, de son côté à elle, de “Dessiner pour ne
pas dire, pour dire sans dire ce que je vous dis que je ne dis pas. Je fais
de même, donc je dessine autant qu’elle qui parle peut-être plus que
moi. Rhétorique du trait qui fait semblant de présenter le corps même,
le visage, le corps du délit et le visage qui voit, qui parle, qui se mon-
tre visible [...]” (L, 953). Le “conteur” de ce récit – il préfère cette
désignation, en hommage à Walter Benjamin peut-être, à celle de nar-
rateur – voudrait comme elle se contenter “de tirer les traits” (L, 941),
de seulement toujours inciser le commencement d’une histoire d’un
coup, sans plus pouvoir distinguer entre le fond et la forme, de rendre
caduques les questions qui lui viennent malgré tout (“Comment un
trait en engendre-t-il un autre, d’un dessin l’autre, d’une figure un
fond? Quelle est sa grammaire?” [L, 888]), il voudrait que, comme elle
qui “vous permet de loger votre histoire, au moins pour une étape, un
relais”, ce qu’il donne à lire ne soit “pas une histoire, surtout pas la
sienne, mais la condition de toutes les histoires que vous pourriez vous
raconter” (L, 945). Il lui envie (toutes sortes de jalousies dans ce rap-
port au dessin chez Derrida...) que “Le moindre bloc de dessin livre au
désir un potentiel de passages incomparablement plus riche. Libérant
de la généalogie, de la dramaturgie, de la thaumaturgie, voire de la
traumaturgie, il passe l’homme” (L, 984). Lui “le conteur, qui a lu
beaucoup de livres et tant d’histoires” (L, 946), le “pédagogue né”, le
“docteur ès lettres” (L, 976), il se rend à ce qu’elle fait, à “son art de
faire dans un espace vierge et sans mémoire, au fond d’un silence
étranger à la hantise même des mots qu’il expulse sans ménagement”
(L, 962); il apprend de ses formes illisibles – “De toute façon, cela me
reste et doit me rester illisible pour autant que je veux continuer à voir
chacune de ces vignettes à l’encre de Chine. Cela peut tenir à quelque
inaptitude, incompétence ou impuissance de ma part, mais peu im-
porte. Il faut le secret – qu’il n’y a pas. Il faut que cela reste illisible
pour s’exposer, non comme un secret indéchiffrable mais comme une
forme (lignes, limites, bords) sans secret” (L, 980) – qu’elles ne sont là
234 Ginette Michaud
que “pour vous faire parler, c’est-à-dire pour vous induire en narration
là où justement le trait rappelle et met en espace le fait têtu qu’il n’y a
pas d’histoire qui tienne. Vous vous tromperiez à tous les coups si
vous faisiez des histoires là où elle se contente de tirer les traits” (L,
941). Il apprend d’elle à “renoncer au déchiffrement” et à “ouvrir ainsi
les yeux”: “On vous montre des maisons, des cases, des nids, des ni-
ches, mais personne ne les habite. On ne vous a fait croire au secret,
c’est encore une hypothèse de ma part, que pour vous faire renoncer à
comprendre le sens et donc pour vous permettre d’assister à
l’événement du dessin, voire d’y participer. Il n’y a personne dans la
niche” (L, 980). Rien à voir. “Il faut le secret – qu’il n’y a pas” (L,
980).
tends vers eux des paupières digitales [...]” (L, 932). Oui, je l’avoue,
j’aime cette phrase, “le bandeau sur les yeux, les yeux bandés”, qui
invente des “paupières digitales”: une tout autre manière de lire.
*
Une ligne encore, en forme de post-scriptum, au sujet d’un micro-
événement de langue, entre le mot et le regard, qui arrive dans Li-
gnées, un lapsus calami qui touche précisément à la vue et à un
certain chiasme, X, Chi qui avait longtemps retenu l’attention de
Derrida dans La Vérité en peinture. Est-ce d’ailleurs un lapsus? Qui
pourrait jamais en décider? Quoi qu’il en soit, dans Lignées, à deux
reprises, se substitue de manière tout à fait intéressante et
remarquable au verbe “vois” le vocable “voix”: “Je la vois tituber, je
la voix s’avancer en chancelant au bord du toit...” (L, 928), dit-il, et
plus loin, de nouveau: “je la voix danser, légère, suspendue au-dessus
du sol” (L, 961). Quand on sait la ligne de lecture pour lors
imprévisible que ce X, lettre en forme de traits croisés, ouvrira dans la
scène de lecture de Voiles sept ans plus tard entre Derrida et Cixous,
entre “Un ver à soie21” et “Savoir”, on se demande ce qu’on croit
voir dans ce petit événement d’écriture, à peine visible, à peine lisible
mais non pour autant illisible, minime différance inaudible, dessin
sans dessein qui trace par cette lettre hors grammaire passant de la
vue à la voix un autre corps graphique, qui esquisse un pas de danse.
Voilà bien, me semble-t-il, une autre façon encore chez Jacques
Derrida de faire “art du trait”: “À chaque instant, dit-il, le souci de
l’ordre à venir devrait donc vous pousser à démolir toutes ces
superstructures, à alléger le trait, à mettre à nu le corps même du
retrait.” (L, 993) Alléger le trait, c’est bien là ce qu’il fait.
236 Ginette Michaud
Notes
1. Ces textes sur les arts font actuellement l’objet d’un travail d’édition que
j’ai entrepris avec mes collègues Joana Masó et Javier Bassas (à paraître,
Paris, Galilée). Manière de “suite” attendue à La Vérité en peinture, le recueil
en préparation, qui couvre quinze ans d’écriture (1989-2004), réunira les
principaux textes, entretiens et interventions du philosophe sur la question
des arts, et au premier chef des arts visuels (peinture, dessin, mais aussi pho-
tographie, vidéo, cinéma), où se font sensibles les tracés les plus inventifs de
sa pensée. Sur l’architecture, cet art du disegno entrelaçant lui aussi dessin et
dessein – que Derrida décrit mieux en parlant du lieu où “le désir peut ha-
biter” (Derrida 1986, 24) – cf. la parution d’un recueil en italien portant pré-
cisément sur l’architecture (Derrida 2008). Par ailleurs, si, comme le dit for-
tement Derrida dans “Penser à ne pas voir”, “dans le dessin, l’expérience du
dessin [...], il y va de l’expérience du trait, de la trace différentielle” (Derrida
2005, 71. Abrégé en P), l’architecture est aussi, on le verra, tout autant que le
trait du dessin, au foyer, sinon le foyer (dans tous les sens de ce mot), de
Lignées, ce texte de Derrida qui retiendra tout à l’heure mon attention.
2. Dans cette intervention sous le signe de “La nuit, le secret, le forclos”,
Derrida revient longuement sur les affinités qui lient la philosophie et le théâ-
tre, et tout particulièrement en ce qui a trait à l’autorité de la présence et de la
visibilité: là comme partout dans son œuvre, il remet fortement en question
l”´Autorité du regard, autorité de l’optique, autorité de l’éidétique, du theô-
rein, du théorétique”, pour lui opposer un tout autre point de vue: “si, depuis
toujours, l’invisible travaille le visible, si par exemple la visibilité du visible
– ce qui rend visible la chose visible – n’est pas visible, alors une certaine
nuit vient creuser d’abîme la présentation même du visible. […] Il s’agirait
donc de laisser la place à l’invisible au cœur du visible, au non-théorisable au
cœur du théorique, au non-théâtral – comme au coup de théâtre – au cœur du
théâtre” (Derrida 2006, 143).
3. Comme le note également Jean-Luc Nancy, “toute l’histoire de l’art et de
la pensée de l’art, […] c’est un concept très tardif, moderne, qui n’est pas
plus ancien que le dix-huitième siècle et qui reçoit ses premières analyses
philosophiques à partir essentiellement de Kant” (Nancy 2005).
4. “Photographie comme skiagraphie, écriture de la lumière comme écriture
de l’ombre”, écrit Derrida dans “Aletheia”, en faisant remarquer de manière
intéressante par rapport à la tradition métaphysique en Occident que “les
Japonais n’écrivent pas comme les Américains, les Français, les Allemands,
ils jouent autrement de l’ombre, ils calculent différemment, pourrait-on dire
ici, l’idiome de la lumière dans l’ombre” (Derrida 1996a, 76. C’est Derrida
qui souligne. Sauf indications contraires, les italiques sont toujours de
Derrida). Sur cette question, cf. mon texte, “Ombres portées. Quelques
remarques autour des skiagraphies de Jacques Derrida” (Michaud 2010).
Jacques Derrida, les Yeux Bandés 237
viens d’exposer. Je me suis plutôt exposé et laissé prendre, une fois de plus:
par un autre pour un autre. Je me suis laissé prendre en photographie
(instantané ou photomaton) ou surprendre par un radar qui juge et sanctionne
la vitesse sans vous laisser le temps ni la place de prendre la parole pour faire
valoir vos droits, comme il le faudrait. Je signe toutefois sincèrement ce que
vous venez peut-être de lire. Non comme le symptôme d’une ‘vérité’, la
mienne, plutôt comme une prière, celle dont Aristote disait si justement
qu’elle n’est ‘ni vraie ni fausse’.” (Derrida 2004, 16) Je me permets de
renvoyer à mon essai intitulé Veilleuses (Michaud 2009) et à “Ombres
portées” (Michaud 2010) où je développe cette question.
9. Cf. Derrida 1990a, 129-30. Jacques Derrida indique comme référence
dans Mémoires d’aveugle: Andrew Marvell, Eyes and Tears (Complete
Poems, Grande-Bretagne, 1972).
10. On pensera ici au passage célèbre de Joyce dans Ulysses (1986, 31):
“Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through
my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack,
the nearing end, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs.
Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them
bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them,
sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionnaire, maestro di color che sanno.
Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your
five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.”
“Thought through my eyes”: tout le progamme derridien est saisi dans cette
formule fulgurante.
11. Cf. ce que Derrida écrit de la “modalité du croire tout à fait singulière”
induite par l’image cinématographique: “Il serait passionnant d’analyser le
régime du crédit dans tous les arts: comment on croit à un roman, à certains
moments d’une représentation théâtrale, à ce qui est inscrit dans la peinture
et, bien sûr, ce qui est tout autre chose, à ce que le cinéma nous montre et
nous raconte. Au cinéma, on croit sans croire, mais ce croire sans croire reste
un croire. On a affaire, sur l’écran, avec ou sans les voix, à des apparitions
auxquelles, comme dans la caverne de Platon, le spectateur croit, apparitions
qu’on idolâtre parfois. Puisque la dimension spectrale n’est ni celle du vivant
ni celle du mort, ni celle de l’hallucination ni celle de la perception, la moda-
lité du croire qui s’y rapporte doit être analysée d’une façon absolument ori-
ginale. Cette phénoménologie-là n’était pas possible avant le cinématographe
car cette expérience du croire est liée à une technique particulière, celle du
cinéma, elle est historique de part en part. Avec cette aura supplémentaire,
cette mémoire particulière qui nous permet de nous projeter dans les films
d’antan. C’est pour cela que la vision du cinéma est tellement riche. Elle
permet de voir apparaître de nouveaux spectres tout en gardant en mémoire
(et de les projeter alors sur l’écran à leur tour) les fantômes hantant les films
déjà vus” (Derrida 2001b, 78).
Jacques Derrida, les Yeux Bandés 239
12. Jacques Derrida commente ici une photo de Frédéric Brenner intitulée
“Citoyens protestant contre un acte antisémite” (Billings, Montana, États-
Unis, 1994, dans Photographies, p. 222-223) (Derrida 2003, 103).
13. Il est intéressant de souligner combien la peinture, toute muette soit-elle,
est fortement empreinte de voix, et souvent violemment, pour Derrida. En
témoigne ce passage au sujet des tableaux de Salvatore Puglia: “Ils [les mots]
donnent lieu, ils le donnent, ce lieu, en silence, car un vocable semble se taire
tout à coup en explosant quand il “entre” en peinture, comme on le dit avec
des mots et comme on ne devrait plus désormais le dire, quand l’intrus
pénètre par explosion dans (intus) l’espace muet du tableau, quand il
l’explore curieusement, avec la curiosité inquiète de qui veut encore sauver
ce dont il se dépouille. Il l’explose sans plus jamais lui permettre, enfin pres-
que, de s’exposer, elle, la peinture, y provoquant, convoquant, invoquant
l’implosion de la voix même qui donne à penser en donnant lieu. [...] / Ils
semblent se taire, ses mots, mais au cœur d’un hurlement. Ce sont des fous
qui montrent la raison du doigt. Ils viennent de perdre la fonction dite norma-
lement discursive, les voici déchaînés: soit dans leur phonie alphabétique,
soit dans leur acharnement graphique, dans l’aphonie du trait. Mais le son et
le trait ne s’entendent plus, ils ne se réfléchissent plus l’un l’autre. Ils se dés-
accordent, ils se discordent mais justement (Dik: Eris). [...] / Aucun poème
ne donnera à penser l’essence de la poésie, l’intraductible histoire d’un nom
propre, comme peut le tenter, sinon le faire à coup sûr une certaine mise en
œuvre des mots dans l’espace muet de la peinture” (Derrida 1995, 15-16).
14. Voici comment il décrit le dispositif de cette scène dans l’atelier, de cette
très unheimlich rencontre entre lui et ces Primati: “Quelles scènes me font
ces toiles? Quelle scène quand je suis seul avec elles, avec chacune d’elles,
moi plus petit, démesurément plus petit que chacune d’elles? Est-ce une
bonne façon de poser la question à leur sujet, au sujet de leur sujet, de
m’interroger ou de les solliciter du regard? De répondre surtout à leur si-
lence? Je renonce d’avance à décrire ce qu’il y aurait à voir dans
l’incommensurable de ces œuvres. Ce que j’en dirai ne donne rien à voir en
vérité, rien à voir avec ce que je vous invite à aller y voir vous-même – plus
précisément à aller à votre tour vous y voir les regarder. Moi, c’est autre
chose, quand je parle de la scène que me font, de leur très-haut, ces immenses
toiles, je tente seulement de dire ce qu’elles touchèrent, si je puis encore dire,
en moi, dès la première rencontre, dans l’atelier de Camilla Adami.” (Derrida
2001c, 5)
15. D’ailleurs, s’agit-il jamais vraiment de “tête-à-tête” ou de “vis-à-vis”
lorsque Derrida se trouve en présence de la Chose sans nom ni titre qui, dans
l’œuvre, le regarde? Il s’efforcerait plutôt de maintenir une certaine obliquité,
une inclination du regard, clinamen qui fait baisser, détourner, voire fermer
les yeux.
16. Ce passage est en italique dans le texte, partie où parlent plus d’une voix
à l’intérieur du “rêveur”.
240 Ginette Michaud
Ouvrages cités
Premier extrait
Face à son portrait peint par Dominique Renson, Jacques Derrida rap-
pelle qu’il a un rapport compliqué à sa propre image, et notamment à
l’image de son visage. Ce rappel fait advenir au sein même du point
de vue théorique l’élément psychique: un rapport compliqué à sa pro-
pre image génère un désir iconoclaste, une pulsion de destruction, si
on peut dire. Mais, dans la mesure où cet élément psychique est avan-
cé, reconnu comme tel…, il est également théorisé, déjà réinscrit dans
la problématique de l’iconographie. Qui plus est, Jacques Derrida va
s’identifier à Narcisse ou emprunter le masque de Narcisse et déclarer
qu’il reçoit le portrait comme un cadeau “au vieux Narcisse”: c’est-à-
dire comme un don et un poison, un gift. Pulsion iconoclaste et narcis-
sisme se rencontrent, se croisent dans une situation qualifiée par Jac-
ques Derrida d’unheimlich.
Narcissisme, Unheimlichkeit, désir, pulsion: tout un vocabulaire
issu du champ psychanalytique se donne à entendre. Il est intéressant
pour apporter quelques éléments supplémentaires d’interroger le texte
intitulé “Il n’y a pas le narcissisme”. Il s’agit d’un entretien repris
dans Points de suspension au cours duquel Jacques Derrida reprend,
comme il le fait souvent, un concept psychanalytique, le narcissisme,
pour le prolonger et le compliquer. Comment? Eh bien par l’affirma-
tion qui a donné son titre à l’entretien – “Il n’y a pas le narcissisme” –
et qui met à mal l’aspect conceptuel de cet élément psychique: il est
impossible de déterminer une essence de ce qu’on appelle “narcis-
sisme”. Pourquoi? Parce que, pour Jacques Derrida, il y a différents
narcissismes dont certains sont ouverts, généreux, compréhensifs,
hospitaliers. Et le non-narcissisme ne serait qu’une économie de ces
narcissismes qui permettent d’accueillir l’autre comme autre. Para-
doxalement, il faut du narcissisme pour préserver de la destruction le
rapport à l’autre. C’est en me réappropriant narcissiquement le rapport
à l’autre que je l’accueille et le préserve. Et Jacques Derrida d’insister
sur la dimension iconographique: “[…] il faut que [le rapport à
l’autre] esquisse un mouvement de réappropriation dans l’image de
soi-même pour que l’amour soit possible, par exemple.” (1992, 212-
13; je souligne).
Du narcissisme l’entretien va alors passer à la question de l’écri-
ture et du désir de l’idiome. Quand on écrit, on désire “signer de ma-
nière idiomatique, c’est-à-dire irremplaçable”, dit Jacques Derrida
(1992, 213), mais ce désir doit se confronter à la langue commune, à
248 Michel Lisse
Deuxième extrait
“Je suis Narcisse et Echo.”, voilà ce que déclare Jacques Derrida, fil-
mé à côté d’un miroir qui lui renvoie sa propre image alors qu’il ré-
pond à une question sur… Narcisse et Echo. Si Jacques Derrida s’est
identifié à Narcisse ou a feint de s’identifier à lui en remerciant Domi-
nique Renson pour son portrait, cette fois, dans cette nouvelle scène,
l’identification est double: Narcisse et Echo. Ou bien deux masques
sont superposés sur le visage. Ou encore, deux personnages sont joués
par l’acteur Derrida… qui déclare: “Je fais Narcisse et Echo à moi tout
seul.” C’est pourquoi le titre retenu pour cette contribution comporte
la marque du pluriel: iconographies de Jacques Derrida. Plus d’un
portrait seront tracés.
Glissement supplémentaire: la réponse de Jacques Derrida va
porter sur le personnage d’Echo et en particulier sur sa ruse: “parler en
son propre nom tout en répétant”. En répétant les propos de l’autre.
On pourrait y lire une définition de l’écriture, la question de la créa-
tion d’un idiome à partir de la langue… Et également une définition
de la déconstruction du portrait: Jacques Derrida, condamné à être
filmé, mis en image, portraituré…, utilise ses images pour écrire de
multiples manières son image. Dans cette scène, en jouant du miroir,
de son reflet filmé dans celui-ci, en mettant en scène la mise en scène,
décrivant la situation: “l’image et la voix sont enregistrées”… Et en-
core faut-il ajouter que l’identification à une figure féminine pourrait
également être une façon de prendre la place de la réalisatrice, de cette
Echo qui filme et enregistre le vieux Narcisse qu’est Jacques Derrida.
Iconographies de Jacques Derrida 249
Troisième extrait
Quatrième extrait
Notes
Ouvrages cités
But what about the legacy of deconstruction itself? What about the
deconstruction always already at work in the way in which, after Der-
rida, deconstruction is received? Is there a ‘proper’ way of receiving
that legacy?
In this article, I examine the way Jean-Luc Nancy deals with Derrida’s
legacy in his deconstruction of Christianity. Within the core of Chris-
tianity’s construction, something always already subverts and decon-
structs that very doctrine, so Nancy argues. As if Christianity has itself
prepared the ‘enlightened’ criticism it provoked, which is why now
current ‘enlightened’ thought should take that critical, deconstructive
part of Christianity seriously. Christianity’s construction is inherently
‘touched’ by a procedure of auto-deconstruction. It is this “touch” that
should be transferred in the future tradition of both Christianity and its
criticism. Referring to the Derridian notion of ‘deconstruction’,
Nancy’s analyses focalize on that ‘touch’.
spirit, but the body or, which amounts to the same thing, the bodily
nature of Jesus’ appearance. It marks the “resurrection of his body”.
So, I must not only believe in the sacred value I put forward (here, the
logic is sacrificial); I must also believe I will be believed (here, the
logic is testimonial). I need faith in the faith others will have in what I
declare to be sacrosanct.4 This “fiduciary” faith (foi) in the testimonial
capacity of my message, however, necessarily hands over the sacred
to the public space full of uncontrolled communication where, inevi-
tably, the sacred message is open to profanation, desecration, violation
et cetera. To be valued as sacred and untouchable, life has to be
handed over to a public communication field where anyone can touch
this sacred value and use or misuse it in the most unholy ways.
Does this mean that, for Derrida, nothing is sacred, that sacredness is
phony? Certainly not. There are, and always will be, sacred things; but
they will never really and fully be what they claim to be. They will
always be already contaminated by the non-sacred supplement of a
profaning testimonial logic indispensable to their own performance as
sacred. Similarly, there never will be a world definitely delivered from
anything sacred or sacrosanct, a world where each value or message is
exchangeable for whatever other value or message. The logic of
communicational exchange is impossible without the supplementary
Noli Me Tangere 259
logic treating the concerned value or message as safe and sound, un-
hurt, sacred, sacrosanct.5
In the Lazarus episode, the dead man leaves the tomb bound in his
bandages and wrapped in a shroud. This is not a scene out of a horror
movie: it is a parable of the lifted and upright stance in death. Not an
erection – either in a phallic or monumental sense, although these two
could be taken up and worked with in this context – but a standing
upright before and in death. (NT 18, 34)
260 Marc De Kesel
fetish. The strange thing is that only if the erected phallus were to “fall
down” would it really show what it claims to show: life.
Here it becomes clear why Derrida’s reference to the phallus and its
erection/fall obviously illustrates the double bind logic as revealed in
the performance of religion (and other discourses): an erect phallus is
already contaminated by its fall to come, just as conversely, the
“fallen” phallus is already affected by the erection to come. Both
eclipse one another in a kind of elliptic logic.10 This phallic construc-
tion contains its deconstruction as its inner condition both of possibil-
ity and impossibility. Thus its deconstruction contains construction as
its inner condition both of possibility and impossibility. Deconstruc-
tion is not only part of the construction, construction is also always at
work already in deconstruction.
What does this imply, for instance, concerning the Maria Magdalene
pericope in John 20, as interpreted by Nancy? That it is, indeed, the
untouchable itself – the very “Noli me tangere” – which has always
been touched already, but not only in the way the transcendental struc-
ture of touching is revealed (as Nancy contends), but also in the way
that this revelation itself has always been contaminated by a less tran-
scendental touch, by the banality of untrue touching. The clear opposi-
tion between the transcendental and the empirical touch, between the
phenomenologically unrepresentable truth of touching and its repre-
sentation is never without being deconstructed at the level of the most
authentic truth-revelation. Even at this moment, we have always ap-
propriated the inappropriable already; and we do so in a way that
262 Marc De Kesel
makes the choice between appropriation and its opposite for ever un-
decidable.
This is Derrida’s way of redefining the core of what after all thinking
is, including first of all critical thinking. We owe Plato our traditional
idea of criticism as separating truly real things from false representa-
tions, from mimesis. In our cave full of shadows, we have to find the
way out to true reality. For Derrida, however, there is no outside to the
mimesis in which we live. The world is a generalized representation, a
construction made of representations which, relying inevitably on
some supplementary logic, deconstructs the representational logic and
prevents it both from arriving at some supposed “real” world outside
or closing in on itself. Within the limits of this condition, critical
thought will still be possible and greatly needed, but it will never be
able to claim a truth, which is located outside the mimesis, outside the
representation, in a realm of authentic presence. Mimesis will still
require criticism, but that criticism will no longer be able definitely to
liberate us from that very mimesis.
about people’s inclination to believe, since God is not what they be-
lieve God is, for only God is God.
The problem here is not only Nancy’s refusal to discuss the dark his-
tory of Christianity’s power. The crucial point to be made is that, de-
claring the issue to be of less importance, Nancy leaves un-discussed
the possibility that both power and the abuse of power may be sus-
tained even by Christianity’s (self-)critical tendencies. The true side of
Christianity may be as responsible for its dark pages as its false ones.
This is an extremely important hypothesis, which a so-called decon-
struction of Christianity cannot simply dispense with in one single
sentence. It simply touches the heart of the entire deconstructive pro-
ject. In fact, Nancy misses the opportunity to consider the possibility
of an inner and dangerous weakness, which may be characteristic of
all modern religious criticism, including his own deconstruction of
Christianity. What if the “weapons”, with which one fights against the
abuse of power can turn into the criminal power’s most efficient in-
struments? What if the deconstruction side of Christianity’s dark side
Noli Me Tangere 267
is useful at the same time for its very construction? In leaving Christi-
anity’s dark history aside, Nancy avoids a confrontation with the pos-
sibly dark sides of his own deconstructive thought. “But that is not our
purpose here”, he writes, and adds that, for now, just “one remark
must suffice”:
One can even wonder if Nancy is serious when he writes that here,
“unconditional” refers to the deconstructibility of the “alienation” or
“alterity”, which are to be opened by Christianity (“However, ‘uncon-
ditional’ means not undeconstructible”). Is the line of Nancy’s reason-
268 Marc De Kesel
ing not simply the other way round? Is the “alienation”, the openness
towards its own inner openness, not the final aim of Nancy’s decon-
struction? And is it not simply logical to conclude that this openness
or “alienation” is undeconstructible in itself? That it incessantly de-
constructs the system without being deconstructed itself? In the note
accompanying this sentence, Nancy seems to admit this. There he
writes that the “undeconstructible” can only have the shape of the
“active infinite [infini actuel]”, present in experiences as “death, the
truth, birth, the world, the thing, and the outside” (D 10 n12): these are
all shapes of the inner openness revealed and realized by the incessant
self-deconstruction at work in Christianity. Again, however, is that
openness, that “alienation” or “alterity”, not in itself undeconstruc-
tible? And even the term “alienation” or “alterity”, of course, will
surely finally become too much of a representation covering the “infi-
nitely simple” experience of being’s openness. However, if I under-
stand Nancy correctly, that experience as such is not to be decon-
structed. It is the very raison d’être of any deconstruction. According
to Nancy, Christianity has a truth (not in the ontological, but in the
phenomenological sense of the word), a truth which is unconditional
and, in that sense, undeconstructible. Or, to put it in the terms of the
next sentences in Nancy’s essay: within the closing universe of the
logos, Christianity saves the “alogon”. And this “alogon” – so one
must conclude against Nancy’s own saying – cannot be deconstructed,
it is the “undeconstructible” that any deconstruction wants to save, to
behold, and to restore.
constituting the world, an openness towards what does not exist but
“defines and mobilizes ex-istence” (that is, the human Dasein which,
for Nancy, is always Mitdasein)17 as being open to an “inaccessible
alterity”. All this repeats what has already been explained above. The
summarizing idea he puts forward is not very new either: “Christianity
can be summed up, as Nietzsche, for one, knew well, as the precept of
living in the world as outside of it.” It is Heidegger’s famous idea that,
as human beings, we are in a sense outside the world of beings, since
we are not simply being (seiendes) but Dasein and Mitdasein having
its locus in the world’s “inner outside”, or, more precisely coinciding
with (with being) that inner outside.
proper way? Can we appropriate it? The only answer possible accord-
ing to Nancy is that we cannot. Such presumed appropriation denies
the inappropriable alterity of that very position. Every authentic re-
sponse of a Dasein to the injunction proceeding from that inner out-
side position affirms this. It acknowledges the impossibility of appro-
priating its own position, of getting “settled” in its own inner outside.
This, however, is only one side of the coin, for it is also the question if
one is able not to appropriate this position. Has the Dasein not always
denied the impossibility first of all of a self-appropriation, has it not
“for the most part” – zunächst und zumeist (to use the expression of
Heidegger’s Sein und Zeit)19 – covered up being’s openness with re-
presentations, and is it not from this “inauthentic” position that it is
susceptible to the injunction of authentically taking its Dasein upon
itself?
Affirming that we are “in, but not of the world” consists in affirming
our subject position as mere openness towards the world, as an open
space within it. Yet, at the same time, it consists in acknowledging
that we can never definitely escape from repressing or covering up
this openness. We will never be definitely freed from supposing that
we belong to a world separated from the one, the openness of which
we are; that we inevitably start from the supposition of being free
subjects independent of the world and that we will never be able to
leave that starting position finally behind. To put it in Heideggerian
terms: the pretention to be beyond the every day life mentality
(Altäglichkeit) is the best definition of this mentality. To take on the
the impossibility of going beyond is part of Dasein’s authentic mode
Noli Me Tangere 271
The risks inherent in the ambiguous side of the human subject position
– to know we are being’s openness and to know that this very knowl-
edge is not able to appropriate this openness – can be illustrated by the
way this being in, not of the world functioned in the early ages of
Christianity. What is more: in the light of this Christian subject posi-
tion, a kind of disposition to perversion comes to the fore – a disposi-
tion laying bare an intrinsic possibility, if not of the subject position in
general, at least of the one the modern subject is in.
With this subject position, modernity has taken over the possibility of
a perverse21 double bind logic enabling the modern subject always to
be right. The modesty of science lies in the fact that it relates to reality
from a neutral position, renouncing any subjectivity; yet it is precisely
from this empty and neutral position that modernity embraces reality
with a historically unseen omnipotence, showing its dark side in its
capacity, for instance, to destroy man and the world by means of nu-
clear weapons. Similarly, the point from where a modern bourgeois
takes part in the world is on the one hand an extremely modest point
forcing him to declare he is equal to – and equally free as – anyone in
the entire world, which makes him really someone of the world. On
the other hand, however, he is able at the same time to assume he is
free of that world, flirting with the idea of spending his life far from
the turbulence of social life or, another possibility, of criticizing – and
even revolutionizing – that social world. The double bind logic is at its
clearest in the so-called post-modernist position. Claiming all grand
narratives to be dead and truth to have become an empty pretention,
the post-modernist subject in fact tells the truth about everyone who
dares to claim truth. He claims nothing less, in fact, than the absolute
truth, the truth about all truths and, in that sense, the apocalyptical and
eschatological truth we met in Christian doctrine – apart from the fact
that post-modernity lacks any kind of eschatological reservation.
8. Cf. NT 15-16, 29-30: “Only thus does the ‘resurrection’ find its non-
religious meaning. What for religion is the renewal of a presence that bears
the phantasmagoric assurance of immortality is revealed here to be nothing
other than the departing, into which presence actually withdraws, bearing its
sense in accordance with this parting. Just as it comes, so it goes: that is to
say that it is not, in the sense of something being fixed within presence, im-
mobile and identical to itself, available for a use or a concept. ‘Resurrection’
is the uprising [surrection], the sudden appearance of the unavailable, of the
other and of the one disappearing in the body itself and as the body. This is
not a magical trick. It is the very opposite: the dead body remains dead, and
that is what creates the ‘emptiness’ of the tomb, but the body that theology
will later call ‘glorious’ (that is, shining with the brilliance of the invisible)
reveals that this emptying is really the emptying out of presence. No, nothing
is available here: don’t try to seize upon a meaning for this finite and finished
life, don’t try to touch or to hold back what essentially distances itself and, in
distancing itself, touches you with its very distance […].”
9. J. Derrida, “Faith and Knowledge”, 48-49.
10. For the metaphor of the “ellipsis”, which is used in this context, see
Derrida, “Faith and Knowledge”, 39. It is one of the basic schemes of Der-
rida’s deconstructive theory, already elaborated in his early writings. See e.g.
the last essay in Writing and Difference, entitled “Ellipsis” [Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press, 1978; orig. 1967], 295-300.
11. A Derridian deconstruction lays bare how a supposed identity (in this
case the “book” that is the result of “writing” and “closes” itself off from
“difference”; Derrida refers here to the work of Edmond Jabès) is based in an
“originary repetition”. It is difference and repetition, which form the basis of
what is considered as sameness and identity. See Writing and Differ-
ence, 295: “Repetition does not reissue the book but describes its origin from
the vantage of a writing, which does not yet belong to it, or no longer belongs
to it, a writing which feigns, by repeating the book, inclusion in the book.”
12. Idem, Of Grammatology [Baltimore and London: John Hopkins Uni-
versity Press, 1997; orig. 1967], 158.
13. See e.g. Jan Assmann, Die Mosaische Unterscheidung oder Der Preis
des Monotheismus [Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag, 2003]; Jan Assmann, Mo-
notheismus und die Sprache der Gewalt [Vienna: Picus Verlag, 2006]; Marc
De Kesel, “Religion und/als Kritik”, in Marc De Kesel & Dominiek Hoens
(eds.), Wieder Religion: Christentum im zeitgenössischen kritischen Denken
(Lacan, Zizek, Badiou u.a.) [Vienna: Turia & Kant, 2006], 15-39.
14. In “A Deconstruction of Monotheism”, listing the characteristics of the
“self-deconstructive character of Christianity”, he first mentions that “mono-
theism is in truth atheism” (D 35, 55). Cf. also “Atheism and Monotheism”
(D 14-28, 27-45).
15. This is why the truly atheist position is more difficult than commonly
presumed. It is not a matter of believing there is no God, but of fighting that
Noli Me Tangere 277
said of unconditionality (a word that I use not by accident to recall the char-
acter of the categorical imperative in its Kantian form) is that it is
independent of every determinate context, even of the determination of a
context in general.” J. Derrida, Limited Inc [Evanston: North-western Univer-
sity Press, 1988; orig. 1977/1990], 152; my emphasis.
Part(ie) IV
Fictions
Les Ecritures du « comme si »
Héritage de Derrida
Mireille Calle-Gruber
C’est dans la langue et à la langue, une fois encore, que ça arrive. Non
pas si mais comme si. Non pas comme mais comme si.
« Que faisons-nous quand nous disons « comme si »?, demande
Derrida dans son livre, qui fut d’abord une conférence prononcée à
l’Université de Stanford en 1998 au titre de « L’avenir de la profes-
sion ou L’université sans condition (grâce aux « Humanités », ce qui
pourrait avoir lieu demain) », et qui, publiée en 2001 en un volume
282 Mireille Calle-Gruber
Ceci sera sans doute comme une profession de foi: la profession de foi
d’un professeur qui ferait comme s’il vous demandait la permission
d’être infidèle ou traître à ses habitudes
(Ibid., 11, incipit; italiques dans le texte).
ces combats pour l’université qui passent, aux yeux de ceux qui ne
lisent pas, pour des provocations et pour des combats contre
l’université, ma chance, donc, grâce à vous, c’est que des circonstan-
ces comme celles-ci nous engagent comme elles m’engagent, bien au-
delà de la convention, du rite ou de la loi du genre. Elles nous rappel-
lent à nos responsabilités. » (Derrida 1999).
L’université lieu de chance et d’hospitalité, au plus grand risque.
Et de débat. De « conflit des facultés » c’est-à-dire de conflit sur les
limites toujours divisibles toujours traversables entre les disciplines
(Derrida les désigne: droit, théologie, sciences religieuses, en réfé-
rence à Kant, à quoi il ajoute la médecine, les mathématiques et
surtout les Humanités et dans celles-ci la littérature), mais aussi conflit
des capacités que promet ou suscite chaque discipline. Restera à
considérer les modes de cette inconditionnalité.
[…] à travers une histoire du travail, écrit Derrida, qui n’est pas
simplement le métier, puis du métier qui n’est pas toujours la profession,
puis de la profession, qui n’est pas toujours celle de professeur, je
voudrais relier cette problématique de l’université sans condition à un
gage, à un engagement, à une promesse, à un acte de foi, à une
déclaration de foi, à une profession de foi. Dans l’université, cette
profession de foi articule de façon originale la foi au savoir, et par
excellence dans ce lieu de présentation de soi du principe d’incondition-
nalité qu’on surnommera les Humanités.
(Derrida 2001, 23)
On sait trop la finesse d’écriture de Derrida pour ne pas lire ici le sur-
lignage, lequel dit, au féminin, le tout-autre (elle au lieu du secret); et
pointe, avec le double sens, l’échappée (pas « le secret » mais « au
lieu du secret », à la place de). L’ambivalence du rapport à la littéra-
ture est ici explicitée sans ambiguïté. C’est la littérature en ce qu’elle
porte à de l’autre, au dépassement. En un mot, c’est la faculté
d’apocalypse de la littérature. Elle est la scène de la révélation, non
pas de contenus ou de manières de dire, mais « des voix de l’autre en
soi » (Derrida 1983, 30). « Comment discerner les voix de l’autre en
soi? » demande Derrida dans D’un ton apocalyptique adopté naguère
en philosophie, cherchant à entendre le ton, c’est-à-dire la tension qui
fait la différence tonale et tonique, la hauteur de voix, la qualité de
timbre, fait jouer le performatif sur tous les tons. Seule la littérature
donne le temps, donne l’oreille capable de les entendre.
Nombreux sont les textes derridiens travaillés par les voix, no-
tamment « la voix de la raison » et « la voix de l’oracle » (ibid., 32;
par référence à Kant), en dialogue fugué, en contrepoint, disjonction,
discord, telles les interlocutions dans Un ver à soie qui sont aussi une
déconstruction de la démarche déconstructionniste:
– Ton épître contre saint Paul est à double tranchant, ce que tu dis de la
circoncision aussi. Dans tout ce que tu donnes à entendre, avec de petits
290 Mireille Calle-Gruber
– C’est pas demain la veille. Oui, je suis contre, mais oui, mais oui.
Contre ceux qui prescrivent le voile et autres choses semblables, contre
ceux qui le proscrivent aussi, et croient pouvoir l’interdire en imaginant
que c’est bien, que c’est possible et que cela a du sens.
(Derrida 1997, 41)
***
C’est dire qu’on n’en finira pas. Qu’il « n’y a pas que la mort
dans la mort ». Qu’un « monde imaginaire se rêve, dans la mort, qui
procède des morts eux-mêmes ». Qu’il y a « l’imagination de l’inima-
ginable » (Quignard 2006, 59).
On n’en finit pas. Il y a un toi sans toi. Il y a les épiphanies dans
la langue, et de l’une à l’autre langue. « The Angel is My
Watermark » (Miller).
Il y a: l’aura.
Bibliographie
Their root [that is, that of language and things] is in a name, for the
letters are like branches, which appear in the manner of flickering
flames, which are mobile, and nevertheless linked to coal […]. It
follows therefore that everything is in the root, which is the one name.
Isaac the Blind (in Scholem 1987, 277)
Does this make the words warm or cold [Les mots, ça fait chaud ou
froid?]? Neither warm nor cold. And the grey form of these letters?
Between black and white, the color of writing resembles the only
“literality” of the cinder that still inheres in a language. In a cinder of
words, in the cinder of a name, the cinder itself, the literal – that which
he loves – has disappeared. The name “cinder” is still a cinder of the
cinder itself.
J. Derrida 1992, 47
Nothing seems more far-off from each other than Derrida’s oeuvre
and the mystical texts drafted by the incipient movement of cabbalists
in French Provence. For whereas Derrida adopts a highly critical atti-
tude towards mysticism and the experience of a full divine presence,
those mystical thinkers had the audacity of talking about a God en-
counter, while even using a concrete language that suggested physical
contact.
True, mysticism is a disparate thing and cannot be reduced to a
single, homogeneous phenomenon. And also Derrida’s work is multi-
faceted and not liable to univocal interpretations. And yet, Derrida’s
readers are facing a philosophical articulacy which is wholly alien to
the medieval textual practices of the early cabbalists.
In this article I will compare variegate themes from Provencal
cabbala to Derrida. One of the most immediate reasons for doing so is
very external, if not merely heuristic: in both cases we are dealing
296 Rico Sneller
But it was not only Habermas who associated Derrida with cabbala;
American authors such as Susan Handelman and Elliot R. Wolfson, as
well as the Israeli cabbala scholar Moshe Idel, did the same (Krapnick
2
98f; Wolfson; Idel 122f; Cohen, 141). It is not without meaning, I think,
that the latter authors are greatly familiar with cabbalistic literature,
and that they not just haphazardly point at superficial resemblances
between Derrida’s work and cabbalistic thinking.
Isaac’s theosophy
mahshabah, ‘thinking’; the second one haskl, ‘insight’ (cf. the Greek
nous or the Latin intellectus); the third one hokhmah, ‘wisdom’. This
division is not fully unambiguous: at times Isaac seems to conceive of
‘insight’ as being part of divine ‘thinking’ itself, at other times as just
a part of the inferior ‘wisdom’. The latter, divine wisdom (hokhmah),
is the principle of the subsequent ramification of the remaining other
seven sefiroth. Isaac calls them dibburim. Dibbur (dabar in biblical
Hebrew) is rendered adequately, curiously enough, both by ‘word’
and by ‘thing’. However, what is entirely homonymous to us seems to
be connected without any tension in the Hebrew dibbur or dabar.
This theosophy’s indebtedness to Neo-platonic notions3 will be-
come clear if we pay attention to the fact that Isaac distinguishes a
sphere which is even superior to divine ‘thinking’. This sphere is indi-
cated by the term ‘en-sof: ‘infinite’ or ‘boundless’, literally: ‘without
end’. Isaac is the first one to bestow upon the originally purely adver-
bial notion ‘en-sof a substantive meaning, by adding to it the Hebrew
article ha: ha-’en-sof, ‘the infinite’, ‘the boundless’. This infinity is
the source of divine life itself. It is fully inaccessible to ‘thinking’, not
even to God’s own. Scholem notices that the Hebrew expression ‘en-
sof is not to be taken in a privative sense, since privation in Hebrew
would require another word (bilti) (Scholem 1987, 266). In other
words: it will not make sense to compare Isaac’s theosophy to Chris-
tian negative theology (i.e. pseudo-Dionysius’), or to its ‘domesti-
cated’ form in Thomas Aquinas. Neither would Hegel’s critique of
schlechte Unendlichkeit (‘bad infinity’), a conception of infinity that
merely inverts finitude, apply here.
As a Jewish mystic Isaac fervently denies the ‘en-sof’s openness
to speculation or meditation. Mystical intuition can never transgress
the boundary of divine mahshabah, God’s thinking. It is here that
something announces itself which goes beyond divine thinking, i.e. its
radically hidden cause. In his commentary on the Sefer Yetsirah Isaac
writes: “For the created being does not have the power, [even] where
it seeks to grasp the interior which the mahshabah indicates [being
contained within it], of grasping [at the same time] ‘en-sof. For every
meditation of the hokhmah out of the intelligere [or: from the degree
named haskl] relates to the subtlety of its infinite thought [or: its
mahshabah (founded) in the ‘en-sof]” (Scholem 1987, 275). Scholem
comments on this in the following way: “‘en-sof is eliminated as an
object of the mystic’s speculation. The highest degree of interest to the
Derrida and the Provence Cabbala 301
True, Derrida has very soon seen himself confronted with the accusa-
tion of being too hermetic an author. However, this obviously does not
turn him immediately into a cabbalist. Derrida has always deplored
that his work is often considered by so many readers as inaccessible. It
has never been his explicit intention, so he remarks, to write difficult
texts. His texts having sometimes become enigmatic or impenetrable
is something he did not foresee. Deconstruction, Derrida holds, is not
an accomplishment of one single genius but rather something taking
place within texts themselves. Derrida finds himself engaged in this
deconstructive process in an particular way (Derrida 1987b, 391). The
complexity of his work is in fact not a property of this work itself but
rather one of the text discussed.
Derrida and the Provence Cabbala 305
Primacy of writing
The unsayable
the contrary, confronts each preset moral code to its very break-
through brought about by an external appeal. Only in later cabbalists
this antinomistic orientation can be detected more clearly, especially
in Sabbetai Zvi, a 17th Century Jewish heretic. But I will not go further
into this here.
Prayer
Conclusion
Notes
1. Unless one would rely here upon the fundamental mediating role of
German Romanticism (Schelling, Novalis, Schlegel) and the 20th Century
avant-garde (Mallarmé, Breton, Ponge, Sollers).
2. Let us ascribe to pure coincidence the fact that Derrida’s family settled in
the neighbourhood of Nice after the Algerian war of independence, and that
Provencal cabbalists claimed to have received revelations of Elijah (Elie was
Derrida’s Jewish name).
3. We may not forget that Plotinus’ main sources were the Jews Philo of
Alexandria and Numenios of Apamaea.
4. This image is quoted by Derrida in the version of rabbi Levi Berdichev in
Derrida 1972, 383.
5. Undoubtedly Hermann Cohen’s notion of Korrelation is a rationalistic
form of this debhequth. Cohen himself relates this notion to the Kantian cate-
gory of ‘relation’.
6. This term remains operative until Derrida’s last texts. Cf. Derrida 2003.
Derrida and the Provence Cabbala 313
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A l’ombre des Roses de Personne
Jacques Derrida et Paul Celan
Sjef Houppermans
Die Niemandsrose
Diesem
beschneide das Wort,
diesem
schreib das lebendige
Nichts ins Gemüt […]
In Eins
IN EINS
TOUT EN UN
Schibboleth
Non, la circoncision d’une parole n’est pas datée dans l’histoire. Dans
ce sens elle n’a pas d’âge mais elle donne lieu à la date. Elle ouvre la
parole à l’autre, et la porte, elle ouvre l’histoire, le poème, et la
philosophie, et l’herméneutique, et la religion. De tout ce qui s’appelle
– du nom et de la bénédiction du nom, du oui et du non, elle fait tourner
l’anneau, pour affirmer ou pour annuler. (112)
Il aboutit ainsi à ce même anneau dont s’était servi le poète. Les autres
motifs nommés figurent également à une place éminente chez Celan.
Ainsi pour les vers
Béliers
der verkieselten Stirn einers Widders dans la tête sclérosée d’un bélier
brenn ich dies Bild ein, zwischen je brûle cette image, où, entre
die Hörner, darin, les cornes,
im Gesang der Windungen, das dans le chant des torsions,
Mark der geronnenen se gonfle la moëlle
Herzmeere schwillt. des mers coagulées du coeur.
Wo- Contre
Gegen quoi
rennt er nicht an? Ne se rue-t-il pas?
Die Welt ist fort, ich muss Le monde est absent, je dois
dich tragen. te porter.
Notes
1. Pour toutes données concrètes sur Celan j’ai consulté surtout Markus
May, Peter Gossens et Jürgen Lehmann (Hrsg) Celan Handbuch – Leben –
Werk – Wirkung. Stuttgart – Weimar:.Metzler, 2008. Leur conclusion sur
Niemandsrose: «Die Niemandsrose ist also ein Sprachkosmos, der Erinne-
rung, Standortbestimmung, Sprachschöpfung und Bekenntnis zum wider-
ständigen Handeln miteinander verschränkt, als Entwurf aber die Offenheit
und Beweglichkeit dieser Dichtung, ihr Unterwegssein, ebenso betont wie ihr
utopisches Potential. » (87).
2. Il y avait de la terre en eux, et
ils creusaient.
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2007).
Marion, Jean-Luc, “L’impossible et le don”, dans Crépon, Marc et Worms,
Frédéric (éd.), Derrida, la tradition de la philosophie (Paris: Éditions
Galilée, 2008), 155-170.
Marx, Karl et Engels, Friedrich, L’idéologie allemande (1845/46), trad. R.
Cartell et Gilbert Badia (Paris: Éditions Sociales, 1968).
Marx, Karl, Die Frühschriften, éd. par Siegfried Landshut (Stuttgart: Kröner
Verlag, 1953, rééd. 1971).
Mauss, Marcel,”Les techniques du corps”, Journal de psychologie XXXII,
nos. 3-4, 15 mars-15 avril 1936; reprinted in Mauss, Sociologie et
anthropologie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1950).
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