On the Name

M E R I D I A N

Crossing Aesthetics

Werner H a m a c h e r & D a v i d E . Wellbery Editors

Edited by Thomas Dutoit

Stanford University Press

Stanford California

ON THE N A M E

Jacques Derrida

Originally published in French in 1993 as three separate booklets: Pulsions, Saufle

nom, and Khora by Editions Galilee. © 1993 by Editions Galilee Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 1995 by the Board o f Trustees

o f the Leland Stanford Junior University Printed in the United States of America CIP data appear at the end of the book

Contents

Translating the N a m e ? by Thomas

ix

Dutoit

Passions: "An O b l i q u e Offering"

3

Sauf le nom {Post-Scriptum)

35

Khora

89

Notes

131

Translating the Name?

Jacques Derrida's On the Name comprises three essays, w h i c h , if taken together, w o u l d "form a sort o f Essay on the Name"

(see below

p. x i v ) . In 1993 the three essays simultaneously appeared in France as a Collection

o f three separately b o u n d but matching books

published b y Editions Galilee. On the Name,

the title o f this b o o k

published by Stanford University Press, thus is not a translation o f a n y French b o o k title b y Jacques Derrida; it is a name given to w h a t is a hypothetical book in France. T h e title On the Name w o u l d in French be Sur le nom. G i v e n the meanings o f the French preposition sur, one could call this book by other names as well: for example, Over the Name, Above the Name, or About the Name.

(One

should also be aware in this title o f the " n o " [non] which in spoken French sounds exactly the same as " n a m e " [nom], especially in view o f what the first essay says about h o m o n y m y a n d the second essay's concern with a certain negativity.) Moreover, given Derrida's discussion o f " s u r - n a m i n g , " w h i c h runs through the three essays, one might justifiably also read sur le nom (on the name) in the inverted order o f le surnom (the s u r - n a m e ) , with sur as the prefix that it is in English and French. T h e translation throughout this v o l u m e o f surnom

by "sur-

n a m e " could cause s o m e confusion. Surnom means a name, title, or epithet added to a person's name, as in a " n i c k n a m e " such as Earvin " M a g i c " J o h n s o n or W i l l i a m "the C o n q u e r o r . " T h e English "surix

Translating the

X

Name:

n a m e " is thus roughly s y n o n y m o u s with " c o g n o m e n " o r " t o n a m e , " as the OED attests. Moreover, just as surnom gives us the sense of " s u r n a m e " in W i l l i a m "the C o n q u e r o r , " the N o r m a n C o n q u e s t is said to have given us the other meaning of " s u r n a m e , " which surnom no longer has: " T h e N o r m a n C o n q u e s t . . . brought with it the novelty o f family nomenclature, that is to say, the use of hereditary surnames" (Edward A . Freeman, History of the Conquest

of England

Norman

[ N e w York: M a c m i l l a n , 1 8 7 6 ] , 5: 3 7 7 ) . In

English the word " s u r n a m e " still means (and this has even b e c o m e its primary meaning) the "family n a m e " that follows one's first, given, or baptismal name, i.e., that follows one's " p r e - n a m e " o r prenom as it is called in French. U n l i k e the English language, the French language, in its modern usage, has not retained this meaning of surnom.

Indeed, the expression "connaitre quelqu'un par

n o m et par s u r n o m , " an expression which means "to k n o w someone very w e l l , " clearly shows that in French the nom (family name) is something different from the surnom

(sur-name as nickname).

A s the " s u r n a m e " as " n i c k n a m e " can supplement a given name to the point o f replacing it—as Freeman puts it, " i n s o m e cases the surname or nickname seems to have altogether supplanted the baptismal n a m e " (377)—so too has " s u r n a m e " in the contemporary English sense of a hereditary "family n a m e " supplanted " s u r n a m e " in the French sense of surnom

or " n i c k n a m e . " Because o f this

difference between surnom and " s u r n a m e " in c o n t e m p o r a r y French and English, surnom

is translated in these three essays as "sur-

n a m e , " with the hyphen serving to call attention to the " s u r - n a m e " as the "supplemental n a m e " that any surname in fact is. It is necessary to keep " s u r - n a m e " instead of " n i c k n a m e " as noun and verb for surnom and surnommer

because in Derrida's French text

their function is too important not to be carried over into English, even though in English they bear a sense not admitted in modern French. T h e potential confusion between " s u r n a m e " as added name and " s u r n a m e " as family n a m e is perhaps o w i n g to the fact that the family name is originally, as Freeman contends, only a " s u r n a m e " in the sense o f an added name that at some point became heredi-

Translating the

Name?

xi

tary. In this way, the "family n a m e " is itself always just a hereditary nickname, as "the surname o f Black may be borne by a pale m a n , that of Alfredson by one w h o s e father is not n a m e d Alfred, that of Fecham by o n e w h o neither lives at Fecham nor o w n s land there" (378). If one's "family n a m e , " the proper name, is originally lacking in such a w a y that a n i c k n a m e , a sur-name, must, b y repetition,

fill

its lack, then one's name, one's fame, one's renown comes before anything else through an act of re-naming.

Perhaps such is part of

what Derrida suggests w h e n he asks: " W h a t happens, above all, w h e n it is necessary to sur-name [surnommer],

re-naming there

where, precisely, the n a m e comes to be found lacking?" (below, p. xiv). T h e sur-name, b y repetition or " r e - n a m i n g , " constitutes the proper name. Moreover, the translation of re-nommantby retain the complexity of re-nommant.

" r e - n a m i n g " fails to

T o begin with,

renommerand

its deceptive cognate "to r e n a m e " are not normally hyphenated. In other contexts, without the h y p h e n , renommant

might c o m m o n l y

be translated as " r e a p p o i n t i n g " or "re-electing." Renommer

also

means "to name often a n d with praise, to celebrate." If someone has, in everyday French, renom, she or he has " n a m e - r e c o g n i t i o n , " celebrity, or popularity in mainly a positive sense. Renom thus gives " r e n o w n . " ( O n e should recall the w o r d " n a m e " in both " n o w n " or " n o u n " a n d renom;

French has only nom for both " n o u n " and

" n a m e . " ) Also, the noun renommie

is " r e n o w n " or " f a m e . " T h i s

semantic field is active in Derrida's essays. Yet in the quote above, the hyphen in re-nommant

stresses the repetition o f n a m i n g , o f

naming as originally re-naming, a repetition that in the sur-name first constitutes the name, the proper name. T h e surname is a repetition (and a forgetting) that conceals the sur-name, itself a repetition. T h i s superimposition o f one surname ("family n a m e " ) o n t o another (the sur-name) is part of what the surnom or " s u r - n a m e " says by definition, for the prefix " s u r , " derived from Latin allows one to read, as D e r r i d a at times does, surnommer

super,

or sur-

naming as " s u p e r n a m i n g , " " o v e r n a m i n g , " "extra" o r "excess" naming. C o n v e y i n g while distinguishing these various senses of "sur-

Translating the

xii

Name?

n a m i n g " and of " r e - n a m i n g " is part o f the task of translating a n d reading the three essays that make up On the

Name.

T w o of the titles given to these three essays require brief c o m ment. In the third, Khdra,

D e r r i d a has, in keeping with recent

French practice, preferred to transcribe the Greek letter x

(khi)

with " k h " instead of " c h " (thus khdra for x & p a , instead o f chdra, as it has customarily been transcribed). Moreover, khdra is a feminine noun, a n d in Derrida's text the p r o n o u n that replaces it is the feminine elle or " s h e . " Indeed, rather than writing "the khdra"

as

c o m m e n t a t o r s have always done, D e r r i d a writes simply "khdra,"

as

if "khdra"

were a feminine given name. In the beginning o f the

E n g l i s h text, Ian M c L e o d translates elle by " i t , " for there the sense o f elle is that of an impersonal " i t . " Yet as the essay p r o gresses, this elle gradually becomes appropriately translated b y she. B o t h readers familiar with Plato's Timaeusznd

those c o m i n g to it

first through Derrida's Khdra will see that Khdra designates a very problematic space, place, or site. M c L e o d ' s translation o f terms such as lieu, place, a n d site has carefully distinguished these terms and the various idioms in which they occur. W h e r e Derrida distinguishes places and lieu(x) in c o n j u n c t i o n , the translation chooses "places" and "site(s)"; English "positions" should also be heard in the French places. A n o t h e r instance of place being translated by " p l a c e " is the translation of the expression prendre place by "to take place," where the sense is more a " p l a c e " or a "position" being "taken" than "to h a p p e n . " " S i t e ( s ) " is used for lieu(x) only where lieu a n d place ZK in proximity; otherwise "site" translates site, and " p l a c e " translates lieu. T h e particular distinction between "places" (places) a n d "site(s)" (lieu[x])

should not obscure another distinc-

tion operating in Khdra, that between "to situate" (situer) and "to give place" (donner

lieu).

T h e r e is really no o n e adequate English translation for Sauf le nom. T h e most apparent sense in English w o u l d be " E x c e p t the n a m e . " Saufle

nom means precisely that; thus, for example, w h e n

Derrida writes tout sauf le nom, the sense is "everything except the n a m e . " But the preposition "except" fails to convey the other sense

Translating

the

Name?

xiii

of sauf, which as an adjective means "safe." A less obvious translation o f saufle nom is "safe the n a m e , " which should be read with an intonation that pauses after "safe." Transcribed, that intonation would be "safe, the n a m e . " In better, more grammatical English, the sense is that "the name is safe," even the subjunctive "that the name be safe"; thus, for example, tout sauf le nom then w o u l d be in English "totally safe the n a m e , " which m a y be understood in the indicative as "the name is totally safe" or in the subjunctive as "that the name be totally safe." " E x c e p t " for sauf is unfortunate because it loses the signified "safe." T h e r e w o u l d seem to be an alternative: the somewhat literary "save" is s y n o n y m o u s with " e x c e p t . " T h u s , saufle

nom w o u l d be "save the n a m e , " which could be understood

exactly as "except the n a m e . " T h e danger with " s a v e , " however, is that it sounds like a verb in the imperative m o o d . In the French saufle nom, there is no imperative whatsoever. " S a u f " is not a verb, but either a preposition—more c o m m o n than its English cognate " s a v e " — o r an adjective. " S a v e the N a m e " w o u l d be an unfortunate English title for Sauf le nom, since it w o u l d sound as if the essay were a call to "save the n a m e , " a sense that appears in the text only discreetly. Even though " S a v e the N a m e " as a title might be better than " E x c e p t the N a m e " or "Safe, the N a m e , " such a title w o u l d risk giving a false sense o f what the essay is about. Therefore, o w i n g to the double syntax o f saufle nom, everything in the essay has been translated "save its n a m e , " or title. Yet within the essay itself "save the n a m e " has been used to translate the prepositional phrase sauf le nom, a n d "safe, the n a m e " has been added after it in brackets where the possibility o f understanding that adjectival phrase is also present. O f the three essays in On the Name, Passions, translated b y D a v i d W o o d , appeared originally in English and in a shorter form in Derrida:

A Critical Reader, edited by D a v i d W o o d (Oxford: Basil

Blackwcll, 1992). A n earlier, shorter version of Saufle

nom appeared

for the first time also in English, in the translation of J o h n P. l.eavey, Jr., under the title " P o s t - S c r i p t u m " in a v o l u m e entitled Derrida and Negative

Theology, edited by H a r o l d C o w a r d a n d T o b y

Foshay (Albany: State University o f N e w York Press, 1 9 9 2 ) . T h e y

Translating

the

Name?

appear here courtesy o f these publishers. Khdra,

translated by

Ian M c L e o d , appears here for the first time in E n g l i s h , in a revised version from h o w it o r i g i n a l l y a p p e a r e d , in F r e n c h , in Poikilia:

Etudes

offertes a Jean-Pierre

Vernant

(Paris: Ecole des

Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, 1987). In On the Name,

these

three translations have been occasionally modified so that c o m m o n elements harmonize a n d so that each corresponds to the more recent versions o f Passions, Sauf le nom, a n d Khdra published b y Editions Galilee. W h e n the three b o o k s were published in France, each included an u n b o u n d , four-page insert, called in French the Priere

d'insirer

and serving there, as well as here, to articulate the three: Each of these three essays, Passions, Saufle nom, and Khdra, forms an independent work and can be read as such. If it has nonetheless been judged advisable to publish them simultaneously, this is because, in spite of the singular origin of each of them, the same thematic thread runs through the three. They form a sort of Essay on the Name—in three chapters or three steps. Three fictions, too. In following the signs that the dramatis personae of these fictions silently address one to the other, one can hear the question of the name resound there where it hesitates on the edge of the call, of the demand or of the promise, before or after the response. T h e name: What does one call thus? What does one understand under the name of name? And what occurs when one gives a name? What does one give then? One does not offer a thing, one delivers nothing, and still something comes to be which comes down to giving that which one does not have, as Plotinus said of the Good. What happens, above all, when it is necessary to sur-name [surnommer], renaming there where, precisely, the name comes to be found lacking? What makes the proper name into a sort of sur-name, pseudonym, or cryptonym at once singular and singularly untranslatable? Passions says an absolute secret, at once essential and foreign to what one in general calls by the noun/name secret. In order to get there, it was necessary, within the more or less fictive repetition of a "this is my body," and in the course of a meditation on the paradoxes of politeness, to stage the experience of where an incalculable debt flares up: if there is duty [du devoir], shouldn't it consist in not having to [nepas

Translating

the

Name?

devoir], in having to without having to [devoir sans devoir], in having to not have to [devoir ne pas devoir]} In having to not have to act [a devoir ne pas devoir agir] "in conformity with duty [devoir]," not even, as Kant would say, "by duty [devoir]"} What could the ethical or political consequences of that be? What should one understand under the name "duty" [devoir]} And who can undertake to carry it, in and through responsibility? Saufle nom. It's a matter here of salutation and salvation [du salut; the familiar greeting salut is also to wish for the other's salvation or happiness]. On a summer day, two interlocutors converse—that's another fiction—about what turns around [tourne autour] the name, singularly around the name of name, the name of G o d [Dieu] and what becomes of it in what one calls negative theology, there where the Sur-Name names the unnamablc, that is, at the same time what one neither can nor should name, define, or know, because, to begin with, what one sur-names then slips away beyond being, without staying there. Where "negative theology" seems to open onto a "politics" to come (today or tomorrow), such a fiction also risks taking a few steps of an heir who follows the traces or vestiges as a "cherubinic wanderer" (Angelus Silesius). What is a Sur-Name, that which is worth more than the name but also that which comes in the place oithe name? And does it ever put itself forward as the salvation [salut] of the name, which is finally Safe} And very simply, as the salutation, very simply, the "Good Day" or the "farewell" [adieu]} Khora, the oldest of the three essays, is nonetheless not their "matrix" or the originary "imprint-bearer," as one might be tempted to consider it. It only situates an exemplary aporia in the Platonic text. The Timaeus names khora (locality, place, spacing, site), this "thing" that is nothing of that to which this "thing" nonetheless seems to "give place"—without, however, this "thing" ever giving anything: neither the ideal paradigms of things nor the copies that an insistent demiurge, the fixed idea before his eyes, inscribes in it. Insensible, impassible but without cruelty, inaccessible to rhetoric, Khora discourages, it "is" precisely what disarms efforts at persuasion—and whoever would like to find the heart to believe or the desire to make believe: for example, in the figures, tropes, or seductions of discourse. Neither sensible nor intelligible, neither metaphor nor literal designation, neither this nor that, both this and that, participating and not participating in the two terms of a couple, khora— also called "matrix" or

Translating the

Name?

"nurse"—nonetheless resembles a singular proper name, a pre-mmc [pri nom, here literally, colloquially one's "first name"] that is earlier, both maternal and virginal (this is why one says here khdra and not, as usual, the khdra) even though, in an experience that has to be thought, it/she both calls in silence the sur-name that one gives to her and stands beyond every maternal, feminine—or theological—figure. And this silence, from the depths of which khdra thus seems to call her name but in truth calls the sur-name of a first name [prhiom], this silence is perhaps not even any longer a modality or a reserve of speech. N o more than this depth without depth promises the night of a day. On the subject of khdra, there is neither negative theology nor thought of the Good, of the One, or of G o d beyond Being. This incredible and improbable experience is also, among other dimensions, political It announces, without promising, a thought, or rather, a putting to test of the political. And when Socrates makes a show of addressing himself to the others and of speaking of politeia in passing (and as the passerby he is, in a life that is too short), there he begins to resemble it, to resemble her, khdra, to play her in a fiction that will always have gone unnoticed, to figure her, her who is the intangible, the ungraspable, the improbable, totally near and infinitely far away, her who receives everything beyond exchange and beyond the gift. Her as what is necessary [il faut] still, Necessity, without debt. In addition to this insert, each o f the books included the following passage, following a statement o f the essay's publication history: In spite of all that separates them, these texts seem to respond to each other, and maybe to shed light on each other within a single configuration. Under the mobile syntax of these titles, one could read three essays on a name given or on what can happen to the name given (anonymity, metonymy, paleonymy, cryptonomy, pseudonymity), hence to the name received, indeed, to the name owed [nom du], on what perhaps one oughtxa give or to sacrifice as well as what one owes [ce que peut-etre Ton doit] to the name, to the name of name, hence to the sur-name, and to the name of the duty [devoir] (to give or to receive). — Thomas Dutoit

N O T E : A certain " c o n t e x t " forms the theme or center [foyer]

of

these reflections. S o m e contextual instructions are therefore especially necessary for reading a " r e s p o n s e " whose original version (slightly modified here) was translated by D a v i d W o o d and p u b lished in English in a w o r k entitled Derrida:

A Critical

Reader,

edited by D a v i d W o o d (Oxford: Blackwell, 1 9 9 2 ) . T h e work c o n tained twelve essays; the present essay, in principle, was supposed to respond to the others. In the A n g l o - S a x o n tradition o f the " R e a d e r , " this collection of essays was nonetheless conceived o f less as an introduction or c o m m e n t a r y , and even less as h o m a g e , than as the place for a critical discussion, as its title indicated. T h e participants in this discussion were Geoffrey B e n n i n g t o n , Robert Bernasconi, M i c h e l Haar, Irene Harvey, M a n f r e d Frank, J o h n Llewelyn, J e a n - L u c N a n c y , Christopher Norris, Richard Rorty, J o h n Sallis, a n d D a v i d W o o d .

§ Passions: "An Oblique Offering"

Let us imagine a scholar. A specialist in ritual analysis, he seizes u p o n this w o r k , assuming that someone has not presented him w i t h it (something we will never k n o w ) . A t a n y rate, he makes quite a thing o f it, believing he can recognize in it the ritualized unfolding of a ceremony, or even a liturgy, and this becomes a theme, an object o f analysis for h i m . Ritual, to be sure, does not define a field. T h e r e is ritual everywhere. W i t h o u t it, there w o u l d be n o society, n o institutions, no history. A n y o n e can specialize in the analysis o f rituals; it is not therefore a specialty. T h i s scholar, let us call h i m an analyst, m a y also be, for example, a sociologist, an anthropologist, a historian, whatever y o u prefer, an art critic o r a literary critic, perhaps even a philosopher. You or m e . T h r o u g h experience and more or less spontaneously, each o f us can to some degree play the part of an analyst or critic of rituals; no one refrains from it. Moreover, to play a role in this work, to play a role wherever it m a y be, one must at the same time be inscribed in the logic of ritual and, precisely so as to perform properly in it, to avoid mistakes and transgressions, one must to s o m e extent be able to analyze it. O n e must understand its norms and interpret the rules of its functioning. Between the actor and the analyst, whatever the distance or differences m a y be, the boundary therefore appears uncertain. Always permeable. It must even be crossed at some point not only 3

Passions

4

for there to be analysis at all but also for behavior to be appropriate and ritualized normally. But a "critical reader" w o u l d quite properly object that not all analyses are equivalent. Is there not an essential difference between, on the one hand, the analysis of him or her w h o , in order to participate properly in a ritual, must understand its norms, and an analysis w h i c h , instead of aligning itself with the ritual, tries to explain it, to "objectify" it, to give an account of its principle and of its purpose? A critical difference, to be exact? Perhaps, but what is a critical difference? Because in the end if he is to analyze, read, or interpret, the participant must also maintain a certain critical position. A n d in a certain manner, an "objectifying" position. Even if his activity is often close to passivity, if not passion, the participant goes on to critical and criteriological acts: a vigilant discrimination is required from whoever, in o n e capacity o r another, becomes an interested party in the ritual process (the agent, the beneficiary, the priest, the sacrificer, the property m a n , and even the excluded, the victim, the villain or the pharmakos,

w h o may be

the offering itself, because the offering is never a simple thing, but already a discourse, at least the possibility of a discourse, putting a symbolicity to w o r k ) . T h e participant must m a k e choices, distinguish, differentiate, evaluate. H e must operate according to s o m e krinein.

Even the "spectator," here the reader, in the v o l u m e

or outside the v o l u m e , finds himself in the same situation in this regard. Instead o f o p p o s i n g critique to noncritique, instead o f choosing or deciding between critique and noncritique, objectivity and its contrary, it w o u l d be necessary, then, both to mark the differences between the critiques and to situate the noncritical in a place which w o u l d no longer be opposed to, n o r even perhaps exterior to, critique. Critique and noncritique are surely not identical, but, deep d o w n , they may remain the same. In any case, they participate in the same.

Let us then imagine this w o r k being proposed (delivered, offered, given) to a reader-analyst concerned with objectivity. T h i s

Passions

5

analyst may be a m o n g us: any recipient or sender of this book. W e can imagine that without making available an unlimited credit to such a reader. A t any rate the analyst (I choose this word, of course, with the use that Poe made of it in m i n d ) w o u l d be sure, perhaps 1

rashly, that he had c o m e across the coded unfolding o f a ceremony, an unfolding both foreseeable and prescribed. Ceremony is doubtless the most precise and the richest word to bring together all the aspects [traits] o f the event. H o w could I, then, how could y o u , how could w e , how could they, not be ceremonious? W h a t precisely is the subject of a ceremony? But it is here in the description and the analysis of ritual, in deciphering it or, if you prefer, in reading it, that a difficulty suddenly arises, a sort o f dysfunctioning, what could be called a crisis. In short, a critical m o m e n t . Perhaps it w o u l d affect the very unfolding of the symbolic process. W h a t crisis? Was it foreseeable or unforeseeable? A n d w h a t if the crisis even concerned the very concept o f crisis or of critique? S o m e philosophers have got together o r have been gathered together by academic and editorial procedures familiar to us. Let us emphasize the critical determination (impossible because open, open to you, precisely) o f this personal p r o n o u n : w h o is " u s , " w h o are we precisely? T h e s e philosophers, university academics from different countries, are k n o w n and nearly all k n o w each other (here w o u l d follow a detailed description o f each of them, of their type and o f their singularity, of their sexual allegiance—only o n e w o m a n — o f their national affiliation, of their socio-academic status, of their past, their publications, their interests, etc.). S o , o n the initiative o f one o f them, w h o cannot be just any one and is someone whose interests are certainly not uninteresting,

they

agreed to get together and participate in a volume whose focus (relatively determinate, thus indeterminate, one could say secret up to a certain point—and the crisis remains too open to merit the name of crisis yet) will be such and such (relatively determined, etc., relatively identifiable, in principle, by his work, his publications, his proper name, his signatures, "signatures" being perhaps best left in the plural, because it is impossible, at the outset, and even if legal, illegitimate, to preclude their multiplicity). If a critical

Passions

6

difficulty arises in this case, one likely—but this is not yet certain— to put in difficulty the programmes o f ritual or o f its analysis, it does not necessarily have to do with the content, the theses, the positive or negative evaluations, most often infinitely overdetermined. It need not, in short, concern the quality o f the discourse of this or that person, what they translate, or what they make o f their relation to the title, to the pretext, or to the object of the b o o k . T h e critical difficulty concerns the fact that it has been thought necessary to ask, propose, or offer (for reasons which it is possible to analyze) to the supposed signatory o f the texts which are the focus of the b o o k ("me," surely?) the o p p o r t u n i t y o f intervening, as they say, o f " c o n t r i b u t i n g , " which means bringing one's tribute, but d o i n g so freely, in the book. W e will have something to say in due course about the extent o f this freedom; it is almost the entire question. T h e editor of the work, head o f protocol or master of ceremonies, D a v i d W o o d , had suggested that the b o o k might here even begin with a few pages o f text w h i c h , without truly responding to all the others, could appear under the suggestive title of "An O b l i q u e Offering." W h a t ? From w h o m ? T o w h o m ? ( M o r e of this later.) But straightaway, as w e were saying, the unfolding of the ritual risks losing its automatic quality, that is to say, it risks no longer c o n f o r m i n g to the first hypothesis of the analyst. T h e r e is a second hypothesis. W h i c h ? A t a certain place in the system, one o f the elements of the system (an " I , " surely, even if the I is not always, and " w i t h a l l . . . c a n d o r " [sansfacon:

also " w i t h o u t further a d o " ]

2

" m e " ) no longer k n o w s what it should d o . M o r e precisely it k n o w s that it must do contradictory and incompatible things. Contradicting or running counter to itself, this double obligation thus risks paralyzing, diverting, or jeopardizing the successful conclusion o f the ceremony. But does the hypothesis of such a risk go against [a l'encontre] or o n the contrary go along with [a la rencontre] the desire o f the participants, supposing that there were only one desire, that there were a single desire c o m m o n to all of them or that each had in himself only one noncontradictory desire? Because one can imagine that one or more than one participant, indeed the

Passions

7

master o f ceremonies himself, may s o m e h o w desire the failure o f the aforementioned ceremony. M o r e or less secretly, it goes without saying, a n d that is w h y we must tell the secret, not reveal it, but with the example of this secret, pass j u d g m e n t on the secret in general. W h a t is a secret? Certainly, even if this w o r k in no w a y corresponds to a secret ceremony, o n e may imagine that there is no ceremony, however public a n d exposed, which does not revolve around a secret, even if it is the secret of a nonsecret, if only what one calls in French a secret de PolichineUe, a secret w h i c h is a secret for n o o n e . O n the analyst's first hypothesis, the c e r e m o n y w o u l d unfold normally, according to the ritual; it w o u l d achieve its end at the cost of a detour or o f a suspense which not only w o u l d not have at all threatened it, but w o u l d perhaps have confirmed, consolidated, a u g m e n t e d , embellished, or intensified it by an expectation (desire, p r e m i u m o f seduction, preliminary pleasure o f play, foreplay [prilude],

what

Freud calls Vorlust). But what w o u l d h a p p e n on the second hypothesis? T h i s is perhaps the question that, by w a y of a replay and as a token o f boundless gratitude, I w o u l d like to ask, I, in m y turn, a n d in the first instance to all those w h o have generously brought their tribute [apporter

leur tribut]

to this w o r k .

Friendship as well as politeness w o u l d enjoin a d o u b l e

duty:

w o u l d it not precisely be to avoid at all cost both the language ritual'and

of

the language of duty*. Duplicity, the being-double of this

duty, cannot be added up as a i + i = 2 o r a i + 2, but o n the contrary hollows itself out in an infinite abyss. A gesture " o f friendship" or " o f politeness" w o u l d be neither friendly nor polite if it were purely and simply to obey a ritual rule. But this duty to eschew the rule o f ritualized d e c o r u m also demands that one go beyond the very language o f duty. O n e must not be friendly or polite out of duty. W e venture such a proposition, without a d o u b t , against K a n t . W o u l d there thus be a duty not to act according duty:

neither in conformity

to duty, as Kant w o u l d say

to

(pflicht-

mdssig), nor even out of duty (aus Pflicht)^ In what way w o u l d such

Passions

s

a duty, or such a counter-duty, indebt us? A c c o r d i n g to what? According to w h o m ? Taken seriously, this hypothesis in the form o f a question w o u l d be enough to give one vertigo. It w o u l d make one tremble, it could also paralyze one at the edge of the abyss, there where you w o u l d be alone, all alone or already caught up in a struggle with the other, an other w h o w o u l d seek in vain to hold y o u back or to push you into the void, to save you o r to lose y o u . A l w a y s s u p p o s i n g — w e shall return to this—that o n e ever had any choice in this matter. Because w e already risk no longer k n o w i n g where the evidence could lead us, let us venture to state the double a x i o m involved in the hypothesis or in the question with which we inevitably h a d to begin. Doubtless it w o u l d be impolite to appear to be m a k i n g a gesture, for example, in responding to an invitation, out o f simple duty. It w o u l d also be unfriendly to respond to a friend out of duty. It w o u l d be no better to respond to an invitation or to a friend in conformity with duty, pflichtmassig

(rather than out o f duty, aus

Pflicht, and we cite o n c e more the Groundwork

for a Metaphysics

of

Morals o f K a n t , our exemplary "critical reader" [in English in o r i g i n a l — E d . ] , indebted as we are, as his heirs, to the great philosopher o f critique). T h a t w o u l d indeed add to the essential dereliction, o n e further fault: to consider oneself beyond reproach by playing o n appearances just where intention is in default. It is insufficient to say that the " o u g h t " [ilfaut]

o f friendship, like that

of politeness, must not be on the order of duty. It must not even take the form o f a rule, and certainly not o f a ritual rule. A s soon as it yields to the necessity of applying the generality o f a prescription to a single case, the gesture o f friendship or of politeness w o u l d itself be destroyed. It w o u l d be defeated, beaten, and broken by the ordered rigidity o f rules, or, put a different way, of n o r m s . A n axiom from which it is not necessary to conclude further that one can only accede to friendship or politeness (for example, in responding to an invitation, or indeed to the request or the question of a friend) by transgressing all rules and by going against all duty. T h e counter-rule is still a rule. A critical reader will perhaps be surprised to see friendship and

Passions

9

politeness regularly associated here, each distinguished, by a single trait, from ritualized behaviour. For whatever cultural tradition is linked to (Western or otherwise), the hypothesis about politeness and the sharp determination o f this value relates to what enjoins us to go beyond rules, norms, and hence ritual. T h e internal contradiction in the concept o f politeness, as in all normative concepts of which it w o u l d be an example, is that it involves both rules and invention without rule. Its rule is that one k n o w s the rule but is never b o u n d by it. It is impolite to be merely polite, to be polite out o f politeness. W e thus have here a rule—and this rule is recurrent, structural, general, that is to say, each time singular and exemplary —which c o m m a n d s action o f such a sort that one not act s i m p l y by conformity to the normative rule but not even, by virtue of the said rule, out o f respect for it. Let's not beat around the bush [ N ' y allons pas par quatre c h e m i n s ] : what is at issue is the concept of duty, and o f k n o w i n g whether or u p to what point one can rely on it, o n what it structures in the order of culture, of morality, o f politics, o f law, and even o f e c o n o m y (especially as to the relation between debt a n d d u t y ) ;

3

that is to say, whether and u p to what point o n e can trust w h a t the concept o f d u t y lays d o w n for all responsible discourse a b o u t responsible decisions, for all discourse, all logic, all rhetoric

of

responsibility. B y speaking o f responsible discourse on responsibility, w e are implying already that discourse itself must s u b m i t to the norms or to the law of which it speaks. T h i s implication w o u l d seem to be inescapable, but it remains disconcerting: what could be the responsibility, the quality or the virtue o f responsibility, o f a consistent discourse which claimed to s h o w that no responsibility could ever be taken without equivocation and without contradiction? O r that the self-justification o f a decision is impossible, and could not, a priori and for structural reasons, respond absolutely for itself? W e have just said: "n'y allons pas par quatre chemins [an almost untranslatable French expression which invokes the cross or the crucial, the crossing o f w a y s , the four a n d the fork of a crossroad (quadrifurcum)

in order to say: let us proceed directly, w i t h o u t

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IO

detour, without ruse and without calculation]: what is at issue [il s'agit de] is the concept of. . . a n d knowing

whether.

. . ." W h a t is

implied by an expression o f such an imperative order? T h a t one could and one should tackle a concept or a problem frontally, in a nonoblique way. T h e r e w o u l d be a concept and a problem (of this or that, o f duty, for example, it matters little for the m o m e n t ) , that is to say, something determinable by a k n o w i n g ("what matters is k n o w i n g whether") and that lies before y o u , there before y o u (problema),

in front of you [in English in the original—Tr.]; from

which comes the necessity to approach from the front,

facing

towards, in a w a y which is at once direct, frontal, and head on [capitale],

w h a t is before y o u r eyes, your m o u t h , your hands (and

not behind your b a c k ) , there, before y o u , like an object pro-posed or posed in advance [pro-pose'oupre-posi],

a question to deal w i t h ,

therefore quite as m u c h a subject proposed (that is to say, surrendered, offered up: in principle one always offers from the front, surely? in principle). C o n t i n u i n g the semantics o f problema,

there

w o u l d also be the question of an ob-subject extended like a jetty or the p r o m o n t o r y o f a headland [cap],''

an armor, or protective

garment. Problema also means, in certain contexts, the excuse given in advance to shirk o r clear oneself o f b l a m e , but also something else that w o u l d perhaps interest us here more. B y m e t o n y m y , if y o u will, problema

can c o m e to designate that w h i c h , as w e say in

French, serves as a "cover" w h e n assuming responsibility for another or passing oneself off as the other, or while speaking in the n a m e o f the other, that which one places before one or behind which one hides. T h i n k o f the passion of Philoctetus, o f Ulysses the oblique—and of the third (terstis), at once innocent witness {testis), drtor-participant but also an actor to w h o m it is given to play a role, instrument and active delegate by representation, lematicchild,

that is the prob-

N e o p t o l e m u s . From this point o f view responsibility

w o u l d be problematic

5

to the further [supplemental]

extent that it

could sometimes, perhaps even always, be what o n e takes, not for oneself, in one's own name and before the other (the most classically metaphysical definition of responsibility) but what one must take for another, in his place, in the n a m e of the other or o f oneself as

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II

other, before another other, and an other of the other, namely the very undeniable of ethics. " T o the further [supplementaire]

extent,"

we said, but we must go further: in the degree to which responsibility not only fails to weaken but o n the contrary arises in a structure which is itself supplementary. It is always exercised in m y name as the name of the other, and that in no w a y affects its singularity. T h i s singularity is posited and must quake in the exemplary equivocality a n d insecurity o f this " a s . " I f the experience o f responsibility could not be reduced to one of duty or o f debt, if the "response" o f responsibility no longer appeared in a concept w i t h respect to which we must " k n o w whether . . . " ; if all this were to challenge the space o f the

problem

and returned not only to within the pro-positional form of the response but even to within the "question'

form o f thought or

language, and thus w h a t is no longer o r not yet problematic or questionable, i.e., critique, namely o f the order of judicative decision, we could no longer, we should not above all approach in a direct, frontal projective,

that is, thetic or thematic way. A n d this

" d o not d o it," this "should not above all," which seems to give the slip to the problem, the project, the question, the theme, the thesis, the critique, w o u l d have nothing to d o w i t h a shortcoming, a lapse in logical or demonstrative rigor, quite the contrary (always s u p posing that the imperative of rigor, stricto sensu, of the most strict rigor, is sheltered from all q u e s t i o n i n g ) . I f there was a s h o r t c o m 6

ing, a n d a shortcoming of justice as m u c h as of reading, it w o u l d occur rather on the side where one w o u l d want to s u m m o n such a " d o - n o t - d o - i t , " a "should-not-above-all-do-it," to appear before s o m e philosophical or moral tribunal, that is to say, before proceedings both critical and juridical. N o t h i n g w o u l d seem more violent or naive than to call for more frontality, more thesis or more thematization, to suppose that one can find a standard here. H o w can one choose between the e c o n o m y or the discretion o f the ellipse with which one credits a writing, a n d an a-thematicity,

an insuffi-

ciently thematic explanation o f which some believe it is possible to accuse a philosopher?

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12

II Instead of tackling the question or the problem head o n , directly, straightforwardly, w h i c h w o u l d doubtless be impossible, inappropriate, or illegitimate, should we proceed obliquely? I have often done s o , even to the p o i n t of d e m a n d i n g obliqueness by n a m e

7

even while acknowledging it, some might think, as a failure o f d u t y since the figure o f the oblique is often associated with lack o f frankness or o f directness. It is doubtless with this fatality in m i n d , this tradition o f the oblique in which I am in s o m e w a y inscribed, that D a v i d W o o d , in order to invite m e , encourage m e , or oblige me to contribute to this v o l u m e , suggests to me [m'offre] that these pages be entitled " A n O b l i q u e Offering." H e had even printed it beforehand on the projected Table o f C o n t e n t s o f the complete manuscript before I had written a line o f this text. Will we ever 8

k n o w whether this "offering" is m i n e or his? W h o takes responsibility for it? T h i s question is as serious and intractable able]

9

[intrait-

as the responsibility for the n a m e one is given or bears, for

the n a m e that one receives or the name that one gives oneself. T h e infinite paradoxes o f what is so calmly called narcissism are outlined here: suppose that X , s o m e t h i n g or someone (a trace, a work, an institution, a child), bears your name, that is to say, your title. T h e naive rendering or c o m m o n illusion [ fantasme

courant] is that

you have given your n a m e to X , thus all that returns to X , in a direct or indirect way, in a straight or oblique line, returns to y o u , as a profit for y o u r narcissism. But as y o u are not your name, nor y o u r title, a n d given that, as the name or the title, X does very well without y o u or your life, that is, without the place toward which something could return— just as that is the definition and the very possibility of every trace, and o f all names and all titles, so your narcissism is frustrated a priori by that from which it profits or hopes to profit. Conversely, suppose that X did not want y o u r name or y o u r title; suppose that, for o n e reason or another, X broke free from it and chose himself another name, w o r k i n g a kind o f repeated severance from the originary severance; then your narcis-

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13

sism, doubly injured, will find itself all the more enriched precisely on account of this: that which bears, has b o r n e , will bear your name seems sufficiently free, powerful, creative, and a u t o n o m o u s to live alone and radically to d o without y o u and your name. W h a t returns to y o u r name, to the secret of your name, is the ability to disappear in your name. A n d thus not to return to itself, which is the condition o f the gift (for example, o f the name) but also of all expansion o f self, of all augmentation o f self, o f all auctoritas. In the two cases of this same divided passion, it is impossible to dissociate the greatest profit and the greatest privation. It is consequently impossible to construct a noncontradictory or coherent concept of narcissism, thus to give a univocal sense to the " I . " It is impossible to speak it or to act it, as " I , " and as Baudelaire put it, sans fagon [without a d o ; without c e r e m o n y ] . T h i s is the secret o f the b o w or o f the instrumental string (neura)

for Philoctetus, for the passion

according to Philoctetus: the child is the problem, always, that is the truth. O n reflection, the oblique does not seem to me to offer the best figure for all the moves that I have tried to describe in that way. I have always been ill at ease with this w o r d of w h i c h I have, however, so often made use. Even if I have d o n e so in a generally negative way, to disrupt rather than to prescribe, to avoid o r to say that o n e o u g h t to avoid, that moreover o n e could not fail to avoid defiance or direct confrontation, the immediate approach. C o n fession or auto-critique, then: o n e has to smile at the hypothesis o f the most hyperbolic hybris, namely the hypothesis that this w h o l e "critical reader" w o u l d add up to an "autocritical reader" (critique of self, but critique of w h o m exactly? T o w h o m w o u l d the reflexive be returned?), a reader that sustains itself and carries itself along, having in particular no more need o f " m e " for this purpose, no need o f an I which itself needs no help from anyone else in asking itself all the questions or putting to itself all the critical objections that o n e could want. (In the syntax o f " X : A Critical R e a d e r , " it will, moreover, always be difficult to determine w h o is the reader of w h o m , w h o the subject, w h o the text, w h o the object, and w h o offers w h a t — o r w h o m — t o w h o m . ) W h a t o n e w o u l d have to crit-

Passions icize in the oblique, today, is without doubt the geometrical

figure,

the compromise still m a d e with the primitiveness o f the plane, the line, the angle, the diagonal, and thus of the right angle between the vertical and the horizontal. T h e oblique remains the choice of a strategy that is still crude, obliged to ward off what is most urgent, a geometric calculus for diverting as quickly as possible both the frontal approach and the straight line: presumed to be the shortest path from one point to another. Even in its rhetorical form and in the figure o f figure that is called oratio obliqua,

this displacement

still appears too direct, linear, in short, e c o n o m i c , in complicity with the diagonal arc. (I think straightaway of the fact that a b o w [arc] is sometimes stretched;

and again of the passion of Philoc-

tetus; to say o f a b o w [arc] that it is stretched [tendu] can mean, in some contexts, that its string is taut and ready to propel the w e a p o n , namely, the deadly arrow, or that the b o w is offered [up], given, delivered, transmitted

{handed

on, over

to [English

in

original—Tr.]). Let us therefore forget the oblique. Is this a w a y o f not responding to the invitation of D a v i d W o o d and of all those w h o m he represents here? O u g h t I to respond to him? H o w is one to k n o w ? W h a t is an invitation? W h a t is it to respond to an invitation? T o w h o m , to w h a t , does this return, what does it a m o u n t to? [a quoi cela revient-il?].

An invitation leaves one

free, otherwise it becomes constraint. It should [devrait]

never

imply: you are obliged to come, you have to c o m e , it is necessary. But the invitation must be pressing, not indifferent. It should never imply: y o u are free not to c o m e and if you don't c o m e , never m i n d , it doesn't matter. W i t h o u t the pressure of some desire—which at once says " c o m e " and leaves, nevertheless, the other his absolute freedom—the invitation immediately withdraws a n d becomes unw e l c o m i n g . It must therefore split a n d redouble itself at the same time, at o n c e leave free a n d take hostage: double act, redoubled act. Is an invitation possible? W e have just glimpsed under what conditions there w o u l d be an invitation, if there is o n e , but even if there is o n e , does it ever present itself, in fact, as such, at the moment? W h a t w e are glimpsing o f the invitation (but o f the call in general, as well) governs by the same "token" the logic of the

Passions

response, both o f the response to the invitation and the response by itself. W h o e v e r ponders the necessity, the genealogy and therefore also the limits of the concept o f responsibility cannot fail to w o n d e r at some point what is meant by " r e s p o n d , " and responsiveness [English in original—Tr.], a precious w o r d for which I can find n o strict equivalent in m y language. A n d to w o n d e r whether "to r e s p o n d " has an opposite, which w o u l d consist, if c o m m o n s e n s e is to be believed, in not responding. Is it possible to m a k e a decision on the subject o f " r e s p o n d i n g " and of "responsiveness"? O n e can today, in m a n y different places, attend to or participate in a congenial a n d disturbing task: restoring morality and, especially, reassuring those w h o had serious reasons for being troubled by this topic. S o m e souls believe themselves to have found in Deconstruction ["la" Deconstruction}—as

if there were o n e , and

only one—a modern form o f immorality, o f amorality, or o f irresponsibility (etc.: a discourse too well k n o w n ; I do not need to continue), while others, more serious, in less o f a hurry, better disposed toward so-called Deconstruction, today claim the o p posite; they discern encouraging signs and in increasing numbers (at times, I must admit, in s o m e o f m y texts) which w o u l d testify to a permanent, extreme, direct, or oblique, in a n y event, increasingly intense attention, to those things which one could identify under the fine names of "ethics," "morality," "responsibility," "subject," etc. Before reverting to not-responding, it w o u l d be necessary to declare in the most direct way that if one had the sense of d u t y and of responsibility, it w o u l d c o m p e l breaking with both these moralisms, with these two restorations o f morality, including, therefore, the remoralization of deconstruction, which naturally seems more attractive than that to which it is rightly o p p o s e d , but which at each m o m e n t risks reassuring itself in order to reassure the other and to promote the consensus o f a new d o g m a t i c slumber. A n d it is SO that one not be in too much o f a hurry to say that it is in the name of a higher responsibility a n d a more intractable

[intraitable]

moral exigency that one declares one's distaste, uneven as it m a y be, for both moralisms. Undoubtedly, it is always following the affir-

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•6

mation o f a certain excess that o n e can suspect the w e l l - k n o w n immorality, indeed the denigrating hypocrisy o f moralisms. B u t nothing allows one to assert that the best names or the most suitable figures for this affirmation are ethics, morality, politics, responsibility, or the subject. Furthermore, w o u l d it be moral and responsible to act morally because o n e has a sense (the word e m p h a sized above) o f duty a n d responsibility? Clearly not; it w o u l d be too easy a n d , precisely, natural, p r o g r a m m e d by nature: it is hardly moral to be moral (responsible, etc.) because one has the sense of the moral, of the highness o f the law, etc. T h i s is the well-known problem o f "respect" for the moral law, itself the " c a u s e " o f respect in the Kantian sense; this problem draws all o f its interest from the disturbing paradox that it inscribes in the heart o f a morality incapable o f giving an account of being inscribed in an affect (Gefiihl)

or in a sensibility of what should not be inscribed there o r

should only enjoin the sacrifice o f everything that w o u l d only obey this sensible inclination. It is well k n o w n that sacrifice and the sacrificial offering are at the heart o f Kantian morality, under their o w n name (Opferung,

Aufopferung).

(Cf., for example, Kant's

Cri-

tique of Practical Reason, L. i, ch. I I I . T h e object o f sacrifice there is always o f the order o f the sensuous motives [mobile sensible], o f the secretly "pathological" interest which m u s t , says K a n t , be " h u m bled" before the moral law; this concept of sacrificial offering, thus o f sacrifice in general, requires the w h o l e apparatus o f the "critical" distinctions o f K a n t i a n i s m : sensible/intelligible, passivity/spontaneity, intuitus

derivativus

I intuitus

originarius,

etc.; the same

goes for the concept of passion; what I a m looking for here, passion according to m e , w o u l d be a concept o f passion that w o u l d be n o n "pathological" in Kant's sense.) All this, therefore, still remains o p e n , suspended, undecided, questionable even beyond the question, indeed, to m a k e use of another figure, absolutely aporetic. W h a t is the ethicity o f ethics? T h e morality o f morality? W h a t is responsibility? W h a t is the " W h a t is?" in this case? etc. T h e s e questions are always urgent. In a certain w a y they must remain urgent a n d unanswered, at a n y rate without a general a n d rule-governed response, without a response

Passions other than that which is linked specifically each time, to the occurrence o f a decision without rules and without will in the course o f a new test o f the undecidable. A n d let it not be said too precipitately that these questions or these propositions are

already

inspired by a concern that could by right be called ethical, moral, responsible, etc. For sure, in saying that ("And let it not be said too precipitately . . . " etc.), one gives a m m u n i t i o n to the officials of anti-deconstruction, but all in all isn't that preferable to the constitution of a consensual euphoria or, worse, a c o m m u n i t y o f c o m p l a cent deconstructionists, reassured a n d reconciled with the world in ethical certainty, good conscience, satisfaction o f service rendered, and the consciousness of duty accomplished (or, more heroically still, yet to be accomplished)? S o the nonresponse. Clearly, it will always be possible to say, and it will be true, that nonresponse is a response. O n e always has, one always must have, the right not to respond, a n d this liberty belongs to responsibility itself, that is, to the liberty that one believes must be associated w i t h it. O n e must always be free not to respond to an appeal or to an invitation—and it is worth remembering this, reminding oneself o f the essence o f this liberty. T h o s e w h o think that responsibility or the sense of responsibility is a good thing, a prime virtue, indeed the G o o d itself, are convinced, however, that one must always answer (for oneself, to the other, before the other, or before the law) and that, moreover, a nonresponse is always a modality determined in the space opened by an unavoidable responsibility. Is there then nothing more to say about nonresponse? O n it or on the subject o f it, if not in its favor? Let us press o n and, in the attempt to convince more quickly, let us take an e x a m p l e , whether or not it is valid for the law. W h a t example? T h i s o n e . A n d certainly, w h e n I say this very example, I already say something more and something else; I say s o m e t h i n g which goes beyond the tode ti, the this of the example. T h e example itself, as such, overflows its singularity as m u c h as its identity. T h i s is w h y there are no examples, while at the same time there are only examples; I have said this, too, often about m a n y examples, n o doubt. T h e exemplarity of the example is clearly never the e x e m -

Passions

[8

plariry o f the example. W e can never be sure of having put an e n d to this very old children's game in which all the discourses, philosophical or not, which have ever inspired deconstructions are entangled by the performative fiction which consists in saying, starting up the g a m e again, "take precisely this e x a m p l e . " If, for example, I respond to the invitation which is made to me to respond to the texts collected here, which do me the honour or the kindness [I'amitU]

of taking an interest in certain o f m y earlier

publications, am I not g o i n g to be heaping u p errors [ fautes]

and

therefore conduct myself in an irresponsible w a y — b y taking on false [mauvaises]

responsibilities? W h a t faults?

i. First of all, that o f endorsing a situation, of subscribing to it and acting as if I found myself at ease in such a strange place, as if I found it normal or natural to speak here, as if we were sitting d o w n at the table in the midst of twelve people w h o were speaking on the whole about " m e " or addressing themselves to " m e . " " I "

[Mot],

w h o a m both a twelfth insofar as I a m part of a g r o u p , one a m o n g others, and already, being thus split or redoubled, the thirteenth insofar as I am not one e x a m p l e a m o n g others in the series o f twelve. W h a t w o u l d it look like if I supposed I could reply to all these m e n and this w o m a n at the same time, o r if I supposed I could begin by responding,

thus disregarding the very scholarly a n d

very singular strategy of each of these eleven or twelve discourses, at once so generous a n d so unself-satisfied and so overdetermined? By speaking last, both in conclusion a n d in introduction, in twelfth o r thirteenth place, a m I not taking the insane risk and adopting the odious attitude of treating all these thinkers as disciples, indeed the apostles, a m o n g w h o m some w o u l d be preferred by m e , others potential evil traitors? W h o w o u l d be J u d a s here? W h a t is someone to d o w h o does not want to be a n d w h o knows himself not to be (but how can one be sure about these things, and how can one extricate oneself from these matrices?) either an apostle (apostolos, a messenger of G o d ) , or Jesus, or Judas? Because it d a w n e d on m e a little late, counting the n u m b e r o f participants gathered here, exactly twelve (who is still to come?), then noticing the words

Passions

19

'oblique offering" and "passion" in his letter, that D a v i d W o o d was perhaps the perverse producer [metteur en scene] of a mystery—and that in fact the "oblique offering," which was no less his than mine, had a flavor that was ironically, sarcastically, eucharistic (no vegetarian—there are at least t w o a m o n g the guests—will ever be able to break with the sublimity o f mystical cannibalism): the "this is m y body which is given for y o u , keep this in remembrance of m e , " is this not the most oblique offering [don\i mented o n all year long in Glasor

Is this not what I c o m -

in m y last seminars on "eating—

the o t h e r " and the "rhetoric of cannibalism"? All the more reason not to respond. T h i s is no Last S u p p e r [Cine],

and the ironic

friendship w h i c h brings us together consists in k n o w i n g this, while peering w i t h a "squinty e y e " [English in original—Tr.] toward this cannibalism in mourning.

2. If I did respond I w o u l d put myself in the situation of someone w h o felt capable

of responding:

he has an answer for

everything, he takes himself to be up to answering each o f us, each question, each objection o r criticism; he does not see that each o f the texts gathered here has its force, its logic, its singular strategy, that it w o u l d be necessary to reread everything, to reconstitute the work and its trajectory, the themes and arguments of each, the discursive tradition and the many texts set to work, etc. T o claim to do all this, and to do it in a few pages, w o u l d smack of a hybrisznA naivete without limit—and from the outset a 1

flagrant

a

lack o f

respect for the discourse, the work, and the offering o f the other. M o r e reasons for not responding. 3. From these t w o arguments we can glimpse that a certain nonresponse can attest to this politeness (without rules) of which we spoke above, and finally to respect for others, that is to say, also to an exigency o f responsibility. It will perhaps be said that this nonresponse is the best response, that it is still a response and a sign of responsibility. Perhaps. Let us wait and see. In any case, one thinks o f that pride, that self-satisfaction, that elementary confidence which it w o u l d take to answer w h e n a g o o d education

Passions

10

teaches children that they must not "answer b a c k " (at any rate in the sense and tradition o f French manners) w h e n g r o w n - u p s speak to them, they must not reproach them or criticize them, a n d certainly not ask them questions. 4. T h e overweening presumption from which no response

will

ever be free not only has to do with the fact that the response claims to measure u p to the discourse of the other, to situate it, understand it, indeed circumscribe it by responding thus to the other and before the other. T h e respondent presumes, with as m u c h frivolity as arrogance, that he can respond to the other and before the other because first of all he is able to answer for himself and for all he has been able to d o , say, o r write. T o answer for oneself w o u l d here be to presume to k n o w all that one could d o , say, or write, to gather it together in an intelligible and coherent synthesis, to stamp it with one a n d the same seal (whatever the genre, the place, or the date, the discursive form, the contextual strategy, etc.), to posit that the same " I think" accompanies all " m y " representations, which themselves form a systematic, h o m o g e n e o u s tissue o f "theses," " t h e m e s , " "objects," o f "narratives," o f "critiques," or o f "evaluations," a tissue which can be subjectivized a n d o f which I w o u l d have a total and intact memory, w o u l d k n o w all the premises and all the consequences, etc.; this w o u l d also be to suppose that deconstruction is o f the same order as the critique whose concept and history it precisely deconstructs. So many dogmatic naivetes that one will never discourage, but all the more reason not to respond, not to act as if one could respond to the other, before the other, and for oneself. S o m e o n e will retort: indeed, but then this nonresponse is still a response, the most polite, the most modest, the most vigilant, the most respectful—both of the other and of truth. T h i s n o n response w o u l d again be a respectable form o f politeness a n d respect, a responsible form of the vigilant exercise o f responsibility. In any case, this w o u l d confirm that one cannot or that one ought not fail to respond. O n e cannot, one ought not to respond with nothing. T h e o u g h t a n d the can are here strangely co-implicated. Perhaps. Let us wait a n d see.

Passions

11

C o n t i n u i n g these four preceding arguments, I w o u l d avoid errors (errors of politeness, moral errors, etc.) b y not responding, by responding elliptically, by responding obliquely. I w o u l d have said to myself: it w o u l d be better, it is fairer, it is more decent, and more moral, not to respond. It is more respectful to the other, more responsible in the face of the imperative o f critical, hypercritical, and above all "deconstructive" thought which insists on yielding as little as possible to dogmas a n d presuppositions. S o you see—if I took heed o f all these reasons, and if, still believing that this nonresponse was the best response, I decided not to respond, then I would run even worse risks. W h i c h ones? 1. T o start with, the first injury or injustice: seeming not to take sufficiently seriously the persons and the texts offered here, to evince toward them an inadmissible ingratitude and a culpable indifference. 2. A n d then to exploit the " g o o d reasons" for not responding to make use o f silence in a w a y that is still strategic: because there is an art of the nonresponse, o r o f the deferred response, which is a rhetoric of war, a polemical ruse. Polite silence can b e c o m e the most insolent weapon and the most deadly irony. O n the pretext o f waiting to have read through, pondered, labored to be able to begin to reply seriously (which will in fact be necessary and which could take forever), nonresponse as postponed or elusive, indeed absolutely elliptical response can always shelter one comfortably, safe from all objection. A n d on the pretext o f feeling incapable of responding to the other, and answering for oneself, does one not undermine, both theoretically a n d practically, the concept o f responsibility, which is actually the very essence o f the socius*. 3. T o justify one's nonresponse by all these arguments, one can still refer to rules, to general n o r m s , but then one falls short of the principle o f politeness a n d o f responsibility that we recalled above: never to believe oneself free o f any debt and hence never to act

Passions

22

simply according to a rule, in conformity to d u t y not even out of duty, still less " o u t o f politeness." N o t h i n g w o u l d be more immoral and more impolite. 4. Certainly, n o t h i n g w o u l d be worse than substituting for an inadequate response, but one still giving evidence of a sincere, modest, finite, resigned effort, an interminable discourse. Such a discourse w o u l d pretend to provide, instead o f a response or a nonresponse, a performative (more or less performante

[literally:

performing, also d y n a m i c , effective] a n d more or less metalinguistic) for all these questions, nonquestions, or nonresponses. Such an operation w o u l d be open to the most justified critiques, it w o u l d offer its body, it w o u l d surrender, as if in sacrifice, the most vulnerable b o d y to the most just blows. Because it w o u l d suffer from a double failure, it w o u l d c o m b i n e two apparently contradictory faults: first, the claim to mastery or to an overview [survol]

(be

it meta-linguistic, meta-logical, meta-metaphysical, etc.) and seco n d , the b e c o m i n g - w o r k o f art (literary performance or performative, fiction, w o r k ) , the aestheticizing play of a discourse from which one expects a serious, thoughtful, or philosophical response.

Ill

S o , w h a t are we to do? It is impossible to respond here. It is impossible to respond to this question about the response. It is impossible to respond to the question by which we precisely ask ourselves whether it is necessary to respond or not to respond, whether it is necessary, possible, or impossible. T h i s aporia without end paralyzes us because it binds us doubly. (I must a n d I need not, I must not, it is necessary and impossible, etc.) In one a n d the same place, o n the same apparatus, I have m y two hands tied or nailed d o w n . W h a t are we to do? But also how is it that it does not prevent us from speaking, from c o n t i n u i n g to describe the situation, from trying to make oneself understood? W h a t is the nature of this language, since already it no longer belongs, no longer belongs simply, either to the question or to the response w h o s e limits w e

Passions have just verified and are c o n t i n u i n g to verify? O f what does this verification consist, when n o t h i n g happens without some sacrifice? Will one call this a testimony {timoignage,

also the act o f " b e a r i n g

witness"—Ed.] in a sense that neither the martyr, the attestation nor the testament w o u l d exhaust? A n d , as w i t h every testimony, providing that it never be reducible, precisely, to verification, to proof or to demonstration, in a w o r d , to knowledge? A m o n g other things, to return to the start o f the scene, w e find that the analyst, the one to w h o m we have given the name, can no longer describe or objectify the p r o g r a m m e d development o f a ritual, still less o f a sacrificial offering. N o one w a n t e d to play the role o f the sacrificeable or o f the sacrificer, all the agents (priests, victims, participants, spectators, readers) not o n l y refuse to act, but even if they w a n t e d to make the prescribed gestures they w o u l d find themselves brought to a halt w h e n faced w i t h these contradictory orders. A n d it is not only a religious sociality whose identity is thus menaced, it is a philosophical sociality, insofar as it presupposes the order (preferably circular) of the appeal [or the call: appel—Tr.],

o f the question and the response. S o m e will say that

this is the very principle of the c o m m u n i t y which sees itself thus exposed to disruption. Others will say that the threat of disruption threatens nothing, that it has always been the instituting or c o n stitutive origin o f religious or philosophical ties, of the social b o n d in general: the c o m m u n i t y lives and feeds on this vulnerability, a n d so it should. If the analyst in fact discovers limits to his w o r k of scientific objectification, that is quite normal: he is a participant in a process which he w o u l d like to analyze, he can virtually play all the roles in it (that is to say, also m i m e t h e m ) . T h i s limit furnishes 1 0

positively the condition of his intelligence, o f his reading, of his interpretations. But what w o u l d be the condition o f this condition? T h e fact that the Critical

Reader

[English in original—Tr.] is a

priori and endlessly exposed to a critical

reading

[English

in

original—Tr.]. W h a t could escape this sacrificial verification a n d so secure the very space o f this very discourse, for

example''.

N o question, n o

response, no responsibility. Let us say that there is a secret here. Let

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14

us testify: There is something secret. [IIy a la du secret.] W e will leave the matter here for today, but not without an exercise on the essence and existence o f such a secret, an exercise that will have an apophatic a s p e c t . " T h e apophatic is not here necessarily dependent on negative theology, even if it makes it possible, too. A n d what w e are attempting to put to the test is the possibility, in truth the impossibility, for a n y testimony to guarantee itself by expressing itself [s'enoncant]

in the following form and g r a m m a r : " L e t us

testify t h a t . . . " W e testify [timoignons]

to a secret that is without content,

w i t h o u t a content separable from its performative experience, from its performative tracing. (We shall not say from its performative enunciation

or from its propositionalargumentation;

and we keep in

reserve a n u m b e r o f questions a b o u t performativity in general.) Let us say, therefore: There is something secret [ ily a la du secret]. It w o u l d not be a matter o f an artistic or technical secret reserved for s o m e o n e — o r for several, such as style, ruse, the signature of talent or the mark o f a genius, the k n o w - h o w that is thought to be incommunicable,

untransmittable,

unteachable,

inimitable.

It

w o u l d not even be a matter of that psycho-physical secret, the art hidden in the depths o f the h u m a n soul, o f which Kant speaks in connection with the transcendental schematism, and of the imagination (eine verborgene Kunst in den Tie/en der menschlichen

Seele).

There is something secret. It w o u l d not be a question of a secret as a representation dissimulated by a conscious subject, nor, moreover, of the content of an unconscious representation, some secret or mysterious motive that the m o r a l i s t

12

or the psychoanalyst might

have the skill to detect, or, as they say, to de-mystify. T h i s secret w o u l d not even be o f the order o f absolute subjectivity, in the rather unorthodox sense, with respect to a history of metaphysics, that Kierkegaard gave to existence and to all that resists the concept or frustrates the system, especially the Hegelian dialectic. T h i s secret w o u l d not belong to any of the stages (aesthetic, ethical, religious

Passions

25

a or b) that Kierkegaard distinguishes. It w o u l d be neither sacred nor profane. There is something secret. B u t to take account o f what we have just suggested, the being-there of the secret belongs no more to the private than to the public. It is not a deprived interiority that one w o u l d have to reveal, confess, a n n o u n c e , that is, to w h i c h one w o u l d have to respond b y accounting for it and thematizing it in broad daylight. W h o w o u l d ever determine the proper extent of a thematization so as to j u d g e it finally adequate? A n d is there any worse violence than that which consists in calling for the response, d e m a n d i n g that one give an account of everything, a n d preferably thematically?

Because this secret is not phenomenalizable. Neither

phenomenal nor n o u m e n a l . N o more than religion, can philosophy, morality, politics, or the law accept the unconditional respect of this secret. T h e s e authorities are constituted as authorities w h o may properly ask for accounts, that is, responses, from those w i t h accepted responsibilities. N o doubt they allow sometimes that there are conditional secrets (the secret of confession, the professional secret, the military secret, the manufacturing secret, the state secret). But the right to secrets is in all these cases a conditional right. Because the secret can be shared there, a n d limited by given conditions. T h e secret becomes simply a problem.

It can a n d must

be made k n o w n under other circumstances. Everywhere that a response and a responsibility are required, the right to a secret becomes conditional. T h e r e are no secrets, only problems for the knowledges which in this respect include not only philosophy, science, and technology, but also religion, morality, politics, and the law. There is something secret. [IIy a du secret.} It concerns neither that into which a revealed religion initiates us n o r that which it reveals (namely a mystery o f passion), nor a learned ignorance (in a Christian brotherhood practicing a kind o f negative theology), nor the content o f an esoteric doctrine (for e x a m p l e , in a Pythagorean,

Passions

Platonic, or neo-Platonic c o m m u n i t y ) . In a n y case it cannot be reduced to these because it makes them possible. T h e secret is not mystical. There is something secret. But it does not conceal itself. Heterogeneous to the hidden, to the obscure, to the nocturnal, to the invisible, to what can be dissimulated and indeed to what is nonmanifest in general, it cannot be unveiled. It remains inviolable even w h e n one thinks o n e has revealed it. N o t that it hides itself forever in an indecipherable crypt or behind an absolute veil. It simply exceeds the play o f veiling/unveiling, dissimulation/revelation, night/day, forgetting/anamnesis, earth/heaven, etc. It does not belong therefore to the truth, neither to the truth as

homoiosisox

adequation, nor to the truth as m e m o r y ( M n e m o s y n e , aletheia),

nor

to the given truth, nor to the promised truth, nor to the inaccessible truth. Its n o n p h e n o m e n a l i t y is without relation, even negative relation, to phenomcnality. Its reserve is no longer o f the intimacy that one likes to call secret, o f the very close or very proper which sucks in or inspires [aspires ou inspires] so m u c h profound discourse (the Geheimnisor,

even richer, the inexhaustible

Unheimliche).

Certainly, one could speak this secret in other names, whether one finds them or gives them to it. Moreover, this happens at every instant. It remains secret under all names and it is its irreducibiliry to the very name which makes it secret, even w h e n o n e makes the truth in its name [ fait la veritt a son sujet] as Augustine put it so originally. T h e secret is that one here calls it secret, putting it for once in relation to all the secrets which bear the same name but cannot be reduced to it. T h e secret w o u l d also be h o m o n y m y , not so m u c h a hidden resource o f h o m o n y m y , but the functional possibility o f h o m o n y m y or o f

mimesis.

There is something secret. O n e can always speak about it, that is not enough to disrupt it. O n e can speak o f it ad infinitum, tell stories' * about it, utter all the discourses which it puts to work and the stories which it unleashes or enchains, because the secret often makes one think o f these secret histories and it even gives one a

Passions taste for them. A n d the secret will remain secret, m u t e , impassive as the khdra, as Khdra foreign to every history, as much in the sense of Geschichte or res gestae as o f knowledge and of historical narrative (epistime,

historia rerum gestarum),

and outside all periodization,

ill cpochalization. It remains silent, not to keep a word in reserve or withdrawn [en retrait], but because it remains foreign to speech [la parole],

without o u r even being able to say in that distinguished

syntagm: "the secret is that in speech which is foreign to speech." It is no more in speech than foreign to speech. It does not answer to speech, it does not say " I , the secret," it does not correspond, it does not answer [ripondre]:

either for itself or to anyone else, before

anyone or anything whatsoever. Absolute nonresponse which one could not even call to account or for something o n account

[acomp-

tes], grant indemnities, excuses, or "discounts"—so m a n y ruses, always, to d r a w it into a process [proces]

that is philosophical,

ethical, political, juridical, etc. T h e secret gives rise to no process [proces]. It m a y appear to give rise to one (indeed it always does s o ) , it may lend itself to it, but it never surrenders to it. T h e ethics o f the discussion m a y always not respect it (according to me it owes it respect, even if this seems difficult or contradictory, because the secret is intractable [intraitable]),

but it will never reduce it. M o r e -

over, no discussion w o u l d either begin or continue w i t h o u t it. A n d whether one respects it or not, the secret remains there impassively, at a distance, out o f reach. In this one cannot not respect it, whether one likes it or not, whether one k n o w s it or not. T h e r e , there is no longer time nor place. A confidence to end with today. Perhaps all I wanted to do was to confide or confirm m y taste (probably unconditional) for literature, more precisely for literary writing. N o t that I like literature in general, nor that I prefer it to something else, to philosophy, for example, as they suppose w h o ultimately discern neither one nor the other. N o t that I want to reduce everything to it, especially not philosophy. Literature I c o u l d , fundamentally do without, in fact, rather easily. If I had to retire to an island, it w o u l d be particularly

Passions

28

history books, m e m o i r s , that I w o u l d doubtless take with m e , and that I w o u l d read in m y own way, perhaps to make literature out o f them, unless it w o u l d be the other way r o u n d , and this w o u l d be true for other books (art, philosophy, religion, h u m a n or natural sciences, law, etc.). But if, without liking literature in general a n d for its o w n sake, I like something about it, which above all cannot be reduced to s o m e aesthetic quality, to some source of formal pleasure [ jouissance],

this w o u l d be in place of the secret. In place o f

an absolute secret. T h e r e w o u l d be the passion. T h e r e is no passion without secret, this very secret, indeed n o secret without this passion. In place of the secret: there where nevertheless everything is said a n d where w h a t remains is n o t h i n g — b u t the remainder, not even o f literature. I have often found myself insisting on the necessity of distinguishing between literature and belles-lettres or poetry. Literature is a m o d e r n invention, inscribed in conventions and institutions w h i c h , to hold on to just this trait, secure in principle its right to say everything.

Literature thus ties its destiny to a certain noncensure,

to the space of democratic freedom (freedom o f the press, freedom of speech, etc.). N o d e m o c r a c y w i t h o u t literature; no literature without democracy. O n e can always want neither one nor the other, a n d there is no shortage of d o i n g without them under all regimes; it is quite possible to consider neither o f them to be unconditional goods and indispensable rights. But in no case can one dissociate one from the other. N o analysis w o u l d be equal to it. A n d each time that a literary w o r k is censured, democracy is in danger, as everyone agrees. T h e possibility o f literature, the legitimation that a society gives it, the allaying of suspicion or terror with regard to it, all that goes together—politically—with

the

unlimited right to ask any question, to suspect all d o g m a t i s m , to analyze every presupposition, even those of the ethics or the politics of responsibility. But this authorization to say everything paradoxically makes the author an author w h o is not responsible to a n y o n e , not even to himself, for whatever the persons or the characters of his w o r k s , thus of what he is supposed to have written himself, say and d o , for

Passions

29

example. A n d these " v o i c e s " speak, allow or make to c o m e — e v e n in literatures without persons and without characters. T h i s authorization to say everything (which goes together with democracy, as the apparent hyper-responsibility o f a "subject") acknowledges a right to absolute nonresponse, just where there can be no question of responding, o f being able to or having to respond. T h i s nonresponse is more original and more secret than the modalities o f power and duty because it is fundamentally heterogeneous to them. W e find there a hyperbolic condition o f d e m o c r a c y which seems to contradict a certain determined and historically limited concept o f such a democracy, a concept which links it to the concept o f a subject that is calculable, accountable, imputable, and responsible, a subject having-to-respond [devant

-

repondre],

having-to-tell [devant - dire] the truth, having to testify according to the sworn word ("the w h o l e truth, nothing but the truth"), before the law [devant la lot], having to reveal the secret, with the exception of certain situations that are determinable a n d regulated by law (confession, the professional secrets o f the doctor, the psychoanalyst, or the lawyer, secrets of national defence or state secrets in general, manufacturing secrets, etc.). T h i s contradiction also indicates the task (task of thought, also theoretico-practical task) for any democracy to c o m e . T h e r e is in literature, in the exemplary

secret o f literature, a

chance of saying everything without touching u p o n the secret. W h e n all hypotheses are permitted, groundless and ad infinitum, about the meaning o f a text, or the final intentions of an author, whose person is no more represented than nonrepresented b y a character or by a n a r r a t o r , ' by a poetic or fictional sentence, which 1

detaches itself from its presumed source and thus remains

locked

away [au secret], w h e n there is no longer even any sense in making decisions a b o u t some secret behind the surface o f a textual m a n ifestation (and it is this situation which I w o u l d call text or trace), when it is the call [appel] of this secret, however, which points back to the other or to something else, w h e n it is this itself which keeps our passion aroused, and holds us to the other, then the secret impassions us. Even if there is none, even if it does not exist,

Passions hidden behind anything whatever. Even if the secret is no secret, even if there has never been a secret, a single secret. N o t o n e . C a n one ever finish with obliqueness? T h e secret, if there is o n e , is not hidden at the corner o f an angle, it does not lay itself open to a double view o r to a squinting gaze. It cannot be seen, quite simply. N o more than a w o r d . A s soon as there are words—and this can be said of the trace in general, and of the chance that it is— direct intuition no longer has any chance. O n e can reject, as we have done, the w o r d " o b l i q u e " ; o n e cannot deny the destinerrant indirection [indirection From

destinerrante:

Socrates to Freud

and Beyond,

see Derrida's The Post

Card:

trans. Alan Bass ( C h i c a g o :

University o f C h i c a g o Press, 1987)—Tr.] as soon as there is a trace. O r , if you prefer, o n e can only deny it. O n e can stop a n d examine [arraisonner]

a secret, m a k e it say

things, make out that [dormer a croire] there is something there w h e n there is not. O n e can lie, cheat, seduce by m a k i n g use o f it. O n e can play w i t h the secret as w i t h a s i m u l a c r u m , with a lure or yet another strategy. O n e can cite it as an impregnable resource. O n e can try in this w a y to secure for oneself a phantasmatic power over others. T h a t happens every day. But this very simulacrum still bears witness to a possibility which exceeds it. It does not exceed it in the direction o f s o m e ideal c o m m u n i t y , rather toward a solitude without any measure c o m m o n to that o f an isolated subject, a s o lipsism o f the ego w h o s e sphere o f belonging (Eigentlichkeit)

would

give rise [lieu] to some analogical appresentation of the alter ego and to some genesis constitutive o f intersubjectivity (Husserl), o r with that of a Jemeinigkeitoi

Dasein whose solitude, Heidegger tells

us, is still a modality of Mitsein.

Solitude, the other name o f the

secret to which the simulacrum still bears witness, is neither o f consciousness, n o r o f the subject, nor o f Dasein, not even o f in its authentic being-able, w h o s e testimony or attestation zeugung)

Heidegger analyzes (cf. Being

and

Dasein (Be-

Time, par. S4fT). It

makes them possible, but what it makes possible does not put an end to the secret. T h e secret never allows itself to be captured or covered over by the relation to the other, b y being-with or by a n y form o f "social b o n d " . Even if it makes them possible, it does not

Passions

answer to t h e m , it is w h a t does not answer. N o

responsiveness

[English in original—Tr.]. Shall w e call this death? D e a t h dealt? Death dealing? I see no reason not to call that life, existence, trace. A n d it is not the contrary. Consequently, if the s i m u l a c r u m still bears witness to a possibility w h i c h exceeds it, this exceeding remains, it (is) the remainder, and it remains such [// (est) le reste, il le rest] even if one precisely cannot here trust any definite witness, n o r even any guaranteed value to bearing witness, or, to put it another way, as the name suggests, to the history o f a n y martyrdom

(martyria).

For one

will never reconcile the value o f a testimony with that o f k n o w l e d g e or o f certainty—it is impossible and it ought not be d o n e . O n e will never reduce the one to the other—it is impossible a n d it ought not be d o n e . T h a t remains, according to m e , the absolute solitude o f a passion without m a r t y r d o m . T R A N S L A T E D BY D A V I D W O O D

S A U F LE N O M

N O T E : T h e first version o f this text was published in English under the title Post-Scriptum

(subtitle: Aporias,

Ways and Voices) in a

v o l u m e devoted to negative theology (Harold C o w a r d and T o b y Foshay, eds., Derrida

and Negative

Theology [Albany: State U n i v e r -

sity o f N e w York Press, 1 9 9 2 ] ) . I had been invited to respond, in the form o f a conclusion, to the papers delivered at a conference having the same title as the v o l u m e , organized under the auspices o f the C a l g a r y Institute for the H u m a n i t i e s in C a n a d a , and under the direction o f H a r o l d C o w a r d . I was not able to attend this colloq u i u m . T h i s Active dialogue was written, therefore, after reading the papers, themselves gathered in the v o l u m e m e n t i o n e d above. I w o u l d like to thank again the authors: T o b y Foshay, Michel D e s p land, M a r k C . Taylor, H a r o l d C o w a r d , D a v i d Loy, and M o r n y Joy. In order to reconstitute a context, the editors of that v o l u m e republished in English translations t w o essays that I had already brought o u t elsewhere, D'un philosophic

ton apocalyptique

adopti

naguere

en

(Paris: Galilde, 1983), " O f an A p o c a l y p t i c T o n e Recently

A d o p t e d in Philosophy," trans. J o h n P. Leavey, J r . , The

Oxford

Literary Review 6: 2 (1984); and " C o m m e n t ne pas parler: D e l e g a t i o n s , " in Psyche': InventionsdeTautre(Paris:

Galilee, 1 9 8 7 ) , " H o w to

Avoid Speaking: D e n i a l s , " trans. Ken Frieden, in Sanford B u d i c k and W o l f g a n g Iser, eds., Languages

of the Unsayable:

Negativity

Theory ( N e w York: C o l u m b i a

in Literature

and Literary

University Press, 1989), p p . 3 - 7 0 .

The Play

of

§ Sauf le nom (Post-Scriptum)

—Sorry, but more than o n e , it is always necessary to be more than o n e in order to speak, several voices are necessary for t h a t . . . —Yes, granted, and par excellence, let us say exemplarily, w h e n it's a matter o f G o d . . . —Still m o r e , if this is possible, w h e n o n e claims to speak about G o d according to w h a t they call apophasis [I'apophase], words, according to the voiceless voice [la voix blanche],

in other the w a y o f

theology called or so-called negative. T h i s voice multiplies itself, dividing within itself: it says o n e thing a n d its contrary, G o d that is without being or G o d that (is) beyond being. T h e apophasis is a declaration, an explanation, a response that, taking on the subject of G o d a negative or interrogative form (for that is also w h a t apophasismeans),

at times so resembles a profession o f atheism as to

be mistaken for it. All the more because the modality of

apophasis,

despite its negative or interrogative value, often recalls that of the sentence, verdict, or decision, o f the statement [in English in the o r i g i n a l — E d . ] . I w o u l d like to speak to y o u , don't hesitate to interrupt m e , of this multiplicity o f voices, o f this quite initial, but interminable as well, end of m o n o l o g i s m — a n d of what f o l l o w s . . .

35

Saufte

,6

nom

— L i k e a certain mysticism, apophatic discourse has always been suspected o f atheism. N o t h i n g seems at once more merited and more insignificant, more displaced, more blind than such a trial [proces].

Leibniz himself was inclined to this. Heidegger recalls

what he said o f Angelus Silesius: " W i t h every mystic there are some places that are extraordinarily bold, full o f difficult metaphors and inclining almost to Godlessness, just as I have seen in the G e r m a n poems o f a certain Angelus Silesius, poems beautiful b e s i d e s . "

1

Inclining, but not g o i n g beyond incline or inclination, not even or almost (beinahe slope [penchant]

zur Gottlosigkeit

o f this clinamen

hinneigend),

and the oblique

does not seem separable from a

certain boldness o f language [langne],

from a poetic or metaphoric

tongue . . . — A n d beautiful besides, don't forget, Leibniz notes this as if it were a matter o f an addition or an accessory (im iibrigen Gedichten),

schdnen

but I w o n d e r if it isn't a matter there, beauty or

sublimity, o f an essential trait o f negative theology. As for the example o f Angelus Silesius . . . —Let's leave this question aside for the m o m e n t : does the heritage o f A n g e l u s Silesius (Johannes Scheffler) belong to the tradition of negative theology in the strict sense o r not? C a n o n e speak here of a "strict sense"? You couldn't deny, I think, that Angelus Silesius keeps an evident kinship with apophatic theology. H i s example signifies for us, at this m o m e n t , only this affinity between the atheism suspected by Leibniz and a certain apophatic boldness. T h i s apophatic boldness always consists in going further than is reasonably permitted. T h a t is o n e o f the essential traits o f all negative theology: passing to the limit, then crossing a frontier, including that o f a c o m m u n i t y , thus o f a sociopolitical, institutional, ecclesial reason or raison d'etre. — I f on the o n e hand apophasis inclines almost toward atheism, can't o n e say that, on the other hand or thereby, the extreme and most consequent forms o f declared atheism will have always testified [temoigne]

to the most intense desire o f G o d ? Isn't that from

Saufle

nom

37

then o n a program or a matrix? A typical and identifiable recurrence? —Yes and no. T h e r e is one apophasis that can in effect respond to, correspond to, correspond with the most insatiable desire

of

God according to the history and the event o f its manifestation or the secret of its nonmanifestation. The other apophasis, the other voice, can remain readily foreign to all desire, in a n y case to every .inthropotheomorphic form o f desire. — But isn't it proper to desire to carry with it its o w n proper suspension, the death or the phantom of desire? T o go toward the absolute other, isn't that the extreme tension of a desire that tries thereby to renounce its o w n proper m o m e n t u m , its o w n movement of appropriation? — T o testify, you were saying, to testify to the desire of God.

The

phrase is not only equivocal, of an equivocity essential, signifying, decisive in its very undecidabiliry, to wit, the equivocity that the double genitive marks ("objective" and "subjective," even before the grammatical or ontological upsurge of a subject or an object), in other words, the equivocity o f the origin and o f the end of such a desire: does it c o m e from G o d in us, from G o d for us, from us for (iod? A n d as w e do not determine ourselves before this desire, as no relation to self can be sure of preceding it, to wit, o f preceding a relation to the other, even were this to be through m o u r n i n g , all reflection is caught in the genealogy o f this genitive. I understand by that a reflection on self, an autobiographical reflection,

for

example, as well as a reflection o n the idea or o n the name o f G o d . But y o u r phrase is otherwise equivocal: w h e n it names

testimony.

l o r if atheism, like aphophatic theology, testifies to the desire o f G o d , if it avows, confesses, or indirectly signifies, as in a s y m p t o m , i he desire of G o d , in the presence of w h o m does it do this? W h o speaks to w h o m ? Let us stay a little while with this question and teign to k n o w what a discourse of negative theology is, with its determined traits and its o w n proper inclination. T o w h o m is this discourse addressed? W h o is its addressee? D o e s it exist before this

Sauf le nom

3«

interlocutor, before the discourse, before its actualization [son passage a I'acte], before its performative accomplishment? Dionysius the Areopagite, for example, articulates a certain prayer, turned toward G o d ; he links it with an address to the disciple, more precisely to the becoming-disciple o f him w h o is thus called to hear. A n apostrophe (to G o d ) is turned toward another apostrophe in the direction o f h i m . . . — N e v e r o f her . . . — N o t to m y k n o w l e d g e , not in this case (but don't hasten to conclude that the scene is unfolding between m e n , a n d above all that the one w h o speaks is a m a n ) . T h e other apostrophe is thus addressed to him w h o , precisely, does not yet k n o w what he knows or should know, but should k n o w with a n o n k n o w l e d g e , according to a certain n o n k n o w l e d g e . T h e h y m n and the didactic b e c o m e allied here according to a m o d e whose essential and thus irreducible originality w o u l d have to be recaptured. It is a matter of a singular m o v e m e n t o f the soul or, if you prefer, o f a conversion o f existence that accords itself to, in order to reveal in its very night, the most secret secret. T h i s conversion turns (itself) toward the other in order to turn (it) toward G o d , without there being an order to .hese two movements that are in truth the same, without one or the other being circumvented or diverted. S u c h a conversion is no doubt not w i t h o u t relation to the m o v e m e n t o f the Augustinian confession . . . — W h o s e autobiographical character and what that confession inaugurates in this regard it w o u l d also be useless to recall; it w o u l d be naive to think that one knows what is the essence, the provenance, o r the history o f autobiography outside events like A u gustine's Confessions.

. .

— W h e n he asks ( h i m s e l f ) , w h e n he asks in truth of G o d a n d already o f his readers w h y he confesses himself to G o d when H e knows everything, the response makes it appear that what is essen-

Sauf le nom

V)

rial to the avowal or the testimony does not consist in an experience of knowledge. Its act is not reduced to informing, teaching, m a k i n g k n o w n . Stranger to k n o w i n g , thus to every determination or to every predicative attribution, confession shares [portage]

this des-

tiny with the apophatic m o v e m e n t . Augustine's response is inscribed from the outset in the C h r i s t i a n order o f love or charity: as fraternity. In order to make them better in charity, A u g u s t i n e addresses himself to "brotherly a n d devout ears" (10.34.51), a n d to the "brotherly m i n d " so that it "loves in m e " w h a t y o u , G o d , "teach us to love" (Amet

in me fraternus

( 1 0 . 4 . 6 ) . Confession

animus

quod amandum

does not consist in m a k i n g

doces)

known—and

thereby it teaches that teaching as the transmission of positive knowledge is not essential. T h e avowal does not belong in essence to the order of cognitive determination; it is quasi-apophatic in this regard. It has nothing to d o w i t h k n o w l e d g e — w i t h knowledge as such. A s act o f charity, love, a n d friendship in C h r i s t , the avowal is destined to G o d and to creatures, to the Father a n d to the brothers in order to "stir u p " love, to augment an affect, love, a m o n g t h e m , a m o n g us (II.I.I). A n d so that w e give thanks to G o d a n d pray to H i m for us in greater n u m b e r s ( 1 0 . 4 . 6 ) . For A u g u s t i n e does not respond only to the question: W h y do I confess to y o u , G o d , w h o k n o w all in advance? A u g u s t i n e speaks of " d o i n g the truth" itatem facere),

(ver-

w h i c h does not c o m e d o w n to revealing, unveiling,

nor to informing in the order of cognitive reason. Perhaps it comes d o w n to testifying. H e responds to the question o f public, that is to say, written testimony. A written testimony seems m o r e public and thus, as s o m e w o u l d be tempted to think, m o r e in conformity w i t h the essence o f testimony, that is also to say, o f its survival through the test o f testamentary attestation. I want "to d o the t r u t h , " he says, in m y heart, in front of y o u , in m y confession, but also " i n m y writing before m a n y witnesses" (in stilo autem

meo coram

multis

testibus) ( 1 0 . 1 . 1 ) . A n d if he confesses in writing (in litteris, per has litteras) (9.12.33; 1 0 . 3 . 4 ) , • * > because he wants to leave a trace for s

his brothers to c o m e in charity in order to stir u p also, at the same lime as his, the love o f readers (qui

haec leguni)

(II.I.I).

m o m e n t of writing is d o n e for "afterwards" [apres].

2

This

B u t it also

4

Sauf le nom

o

follows the conversion. It remains the trace of a present m o m e n t o f the confession that w o u l d have no sense without such a conversion, without this address to the brother readers: as if the act of c o n fession and o f conversion having already taken place between G o d and h i m , being as it were written (it is an act in the sense o f archive or m e m o r y ) , it was necessary to add a post-scriptum—the fessions,

Con-

nothing less—addressed to brothers, to those w h o are

called to recognize themselves as the sons of G o d a n d brothers a m o n g themselves. Friendship here has to be interpreted as charity and as fraternity. But the address to G o d itself already implies the possibility and the necessity of this post-scriptum

that is originarily

essential to it. Its irreducibility is interpreted finally, but we won't elaborate o n that here, in accord with the Augustinian thought o f revelation, memory, a n d time. — W o u l d you say that every post-scriptum

necessarily lets itself be

interpreted in the same horizon? A n d that it has the same structure? — N o , not without numerous precautions. But can a tum ever be interpreted

post-scrip-

in the sense o f hermeneutic reading as well

as of musical performance, for example, without c o m p o s i n g at least indirectly with the Augustinian scansion or score [partition]*.

An

analogous question could be posed for all that we in the West call autobiography, whatever the singularity o f its "here a n d n o w . " — D o you mean that every "here a n d n o w " o f a Western autobiography is already in m e m o r y of the Confessions'

"here a n d n o w " ?

—Yes, but the Confessions themselves were already, in their wildest present, in their date, in their place, an act o f memory. Let us leave Augustine here, although he always haunts certain landscapes o f apophatic mysticism. (Meister Eckhart cites h i m often; he often cites the " w i t h o u t " o f Saint Augustine, that quasi-negative predication of the singular w i t h o u t concept, for example: " G o d is wise without w i s d o m , g o o d without goodness, powerful without

pow-

er.") In this place o f retreat you invited m e to, in this town o f

Sauf le nom

familial exile where your mother has not finished dying, on the shore of the Mediterranean, I was able to carry with me, for these two weeks, only extracts from the Cherubinic

Wanderer o f Angelus

Silesius and the manuscripts of this v o l u m e here. All the time I a m 3

wondering if this w o r k of Silesius indeed c o m e s under negative theology. Are there sure criteria available to decide the belonging, virtual or actual, of a discourse to negative theology? Negative theology is not a genre, first of all because it is not an art, a literary art, even if, as Leibniz justly remarked o f Silesius, it is a matter there also o f " G e r m a n poems . . . poems beautiful besides" full of "difficult metaphors." Is there, to take up again an expression of M a r k Taylor's, a "classic" negative theology? O n e can doubt this, 4

and surely we shall have to return to this grave and limitless question. If the consequent unfolding of so m a n y discourses (logical, onto-logical, theo-logical or not) inevitably leads to conclusions whose form or content is similar to negative theology, where are the "classic" frontiers o f negative theology? T h e fact remains that the finale, the conclusion (Beschlufi)

o f this b o o k , and this

leads us back to the question of the addressee, is an ultimate address. It says something o f the end o f discourse itself a n d is an address to the friend, the extremity o f the envoi, the hail, or the farewell \de Tenvoi, du salut ou de

I'adieu}:

Frcund es ist auch genug. J m fall du mehr wilt lesen, So geh und werde selbst die Schrifft und selbst das Wesen. Friend, let this be enough; if you wish to read beyond, G o and become yourself the writ and yourself the essence. (6: 2 6 3 )

— T h e friend, w h o is male rather than female, is asked, recommended, enjoined, prescribed to render himself, by reading, beyond reading: beyond at least the legibility o f what is currently readable, beyond the final signature—and for that reason to write. N o t to write this or that that falls outside his writing as a note, a nota bene or a post-scriptum

letting writing in its turn fall behind the written,

Sauf le nom

4*

but for the friend himself to b e c o m e the written or Writing, to b e c o m e the essence that writing will have treated. ( N o ) more place, starting from there, b e y o n d , but n o t h i n g more is told us b e y o n d , for a post-scriptum.

T h e post-scriptum

will be the debt or the duty. It

will have to, it should, be resorbed into a writing that w o u l d be nothing other than the essence that w o u l d be nothing other than the being-friend or the becoming-friend of the other. T h e friend will only b e c o m e what he is, to w i t , the friend, he will only have b e c o m e the friend at the m o m e n t w h e n he will have read that, which is to say, w h e n he will have read b e y o n d — t o wit, w h e n he will have gone, and one goes there, b e y o n d , to give oneself up, o n l y by b e c o m i n g writing through writing. T h e b e c o m i n g the becoming-friend,

the becoming-writing,

and

the

(Werden), essence

(Wesen) w o u l d be the same here. —Certainly, but this essence (Wesen) that, in wanting to read more, the friend w o u l d become in writing, in writing itself, in scripting itself [en s'icrivant,

en s'ecriturant],

this essence will have

been n o t h i n g before this becoming, that is, before this writing prescribed to the friend-reader. T h i s essence is born from nothing and tends toward nothing. For earlier, didn't Silesius say . . . — B y w h a t right are these aphorisms, these sententious fragments, or these poetic flashes linked together, as if they formed the c o n t i n u o u s tissue of a syllogism? T h e final BescbluJ? is not the conclusion of a demonstration, but the farewell o f an envoi. Each speaking [parole) is independent. In any case, you cannot logically connect them in a n y manner without posing this problem o f logic, form, rhetoric, or poetics. You c a n n o t treat this peregrination o f writing as a treatise of philosophy or theology, not even as a sermon or a h y m n . —Certainly, but in what remains the same b o o k , one also read: Nichts werden ist GOtt werden. Nichts wird was zuvor ist: wirstu nicht vor zu nicht, So wirstu nimmermchr gebohrn vom ewgen Licht.

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nom

43

To become Nothing is to become God Nothing becomes what is before: if you do not become nothing. Never will you be born of eternal light. (6: ijo) H o w is this becoming to be thought? Werden: at once birth and change, formation and transformation. T h i s c o m i n g to being starting from nothing and as nothing,

as God and as Nothing,

as the

N o t h i n g itself, this birth that carries itself without premise, this becoming-self as b e c o m i n g - G o d — o r N o t h i n g — t h a t is what appears impossible, more than impossible, the most impossible possible, more impossible than the impossible if the impossible is the simple negative modality of the possible. — T h i s thought seems strangely familiar to the experience of what is called deconstruction. Far from being a methodical technique, a possible o r necessary procedure, unrolling the law o f a program a n d applying rules, that is, unfolding possibilities, deconstruction has often been defined as the very experience o f the (impossible) possibility of the impossible, o f the most impossible, 5

a condition that deconstruction shares with the gift, the " y e s , " the 6

" c o m e , " decision, testimony, the secret, etc. A n d perhaps death. — T h e becoming-nothing, as becoming-self or as becomingG o d , the b e c o m i n g (Werden) as the engendering of the other, ever since the other, that is w h a t , according to Angelus Silesius, is possible, but as more impossible still than the impossible. T h i s " m o r e , " this b e y o n d , this hyper (iiber)

obviously introduces an

absolute heterogeneity in the order a n d in the modality o f the possible. T h e possibility of the impossible, of the " m o r e impossible" that as such is also possible ("more impossible than the i m p o s sible"), marks an absolute interruption in the regime of the possible that nonetheless remains, if this can be said, in place. W h e n Silesius writes: Das iiberunmbglichstc ist mbglich. Du kanst mit deinem Pfeil die Sonne nicht erreichcn, Ich kan mit meinem wol die ewge Sonn bestreichcn.

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44

The most impossible is possible With your arrow you cannot reach the sun, With mine I can sweep under my fire the eternal sun. (6: 153)

T h e uber of uberunmoglichste,

moreover, can signify just as well

" m o s t " o r " m o r e than": the most impossible or the more than impossible. Elsewhere: Geh hin, wo du nicht kanst: sih, wo du sihest nicht: Hor wo nichts schallt und klingt, so bistu wo G O t t spricht. G o there where you cannot; see where you do not see; Hear where nothing rings or sounds, so are you where G o d speaks. (1: 1 9 9 )

— T h e possibility o f the impossible, o f the "most impossible," o f the more impossible than the most impossible, that recalls, unless it announces, what Heidegger says of death: "die Moglichkeit der schlechthinnigen D a s e i n s u n m o g l i c h k e i t " ("the possibility of the absolute impossibility o f D a s e i n " ) . W h a t is, for Dasein, 7

for its

possibility, purely and simply impossible is what is possible, and death is its name. I w o n d e r if that is a matter of a purely formal analogy. W h a t if negative theology were speaking at bottom o f the mortality of Dasein? A n d o f its heritage? O f what is written after it, according to [d'apres]

it? W e shall no doubt come back to this.

—All the apophatic mystics can also be read as powerful discourses on death, on the (impossible) possibility o f the proper death o f being-there that speaks, and that speaks o f what carries away, interrupts, denies, or annihilates its speaking as well as its o w n Dasein.

Between the existential analytic o f being-to-death or

being-for-death, in Being and Time, and the remarks of Heidegger on the theological, the theiological, and above all on a theology in

Sauf le nom

which the word " b e i n g "

8

45

w o u l d not even appear, the coherence

seems to m e profound and the continuity rigorous. — W h a t w o u l d this hyper-impossibility have to d o , in the singular obscurity o f this sun, with friendship? W i t h the address to the friend? — T h e questions o f address a n d destination, o f love and friendship (beyond even determinations o f philia

or charity) could lead

us in numerous directions. In our place here and in the little time at our disposal this summer, allow m e to privilege o n e , only o n e , o f these questions. W h a t reunites us here, the two of us, after the C a l g a r y c o l l o q u i u m on negative theology? M a r k Taylor often questioned himself o n the experience o f what gathers or reunites, o f gathering.''

T h i s c o l l o q u i u m has already taken place. W e were not

there. A c o l l o q u i u m is a place one goes to (as to a synagogue, that place one comes to to gather together) to address oneself to others. At this c o l l o q u i u m in which we were not able, despite our desire, to participate directly, we had nonetheless promised, y o u recall, to bring ourselves together in a certain form, w i t h s o m e delay, a n d by writing: that is, after the event

[apres c o u p ] . In any case, the

possibility o f a c o l l o q u i u m — a n d then o f speaking w i t h o n e another—was indeed a n n o u n c e d to us, a c o l l o q u i u m whose title bore the words "negative theology." T h i s project could be a n n o u n c e d only under certain conditions. W h a t was required was to desire to share there. W h a t was one already able to share there? W h o then addresses w h o m ? A n d what does "friendship" signify in this case? — F r o m the very beginning, and from the first w o r d o f o u r promise, you remember, we had thought we had to forgo, for countless reasons, a post-scriptum

that was a long and detailed

response. W e have had above all to forgo an original discussion that is on the same scale as so many contributions w h o s e richness and rigor, diversity t o o , w e have admired and that we will still have much to learn from and to meditate on. Every immediate response w o u l d be hasty a n d presumptuous, in truth irresponsible and not

Sauf le nom

46 very "responsive."

It will be necessary to postpone once more a true

post-scriptum. — W h a t you seemed to care about, you said to m e , was to testify to a gratitude w h o s e meaning w o u l d not be without relation to what is called here negative theology and that in its turn w o u l d not risk, not too much, b e c o m i n g ingratitude, an inversion that lies in wait to threaten all apophatic m o v e m e n t s . A n d then no d o u b t you have more affinity at the outset, an immediate affinity, given or cultivated, with particular participants, with particular discourses held here . . . —What's the use o f denying it? But also what's the use o f remarking or underlining it? T h e s e shared portions

[partages],

these c o m m o n inclinations, or these crossed paths appear from the reading of o u r respective texts, in particular those that are p u b lished right here. A n d if I have not yet ever met the other participants o f the c o l l o q u i u m , it is also true that m y friendship and m y admiration, m y gratefulness to M a r k Taylor, are not separable from his thought or his writings—including the text which he is publishing in the proceedings of this c o l l o q u i u m . Nevertheless, I w o u l d like to speak of another " c o m m u n i t y " (a w o r d I never m u c h liked, because o f its connotation of participation, indeed fusion, identification: I see in it as m a n y threats as promises), o f another being-together than this one here, o f another gathering-together of singularities, of another friendship, even though that friendship no doubt owes the essential to being- or gathering-together. I mean the friendship that permits such a meeting, and that very polylogue through which are written and read those for w h o m "negative theology," through the enigma o f its name and its original lack of meaning, still signifies something and pushes them to address one another under this name, in this name, and by this title. H o w , today, can o n e speak—that is, speak together, address someo n e , testify—on the subject o f and in the name of negative theology?

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47

H o w can that take place today, today still, so long after the inaugural openings of the via negativa? Is negative theology a " t o p i c " [English in original—Ed.]? H o w w o u l d what still c o m e s to us under the domestic, E u r o p e a n , Greek, and Christian term of negative theology, o f negative way, o f apophatic discourse, be the chance of an incomparable translatability in principle without limit? N o t of a universal tongue, o f an ecumenism or of s o m e consensus, but o f a tongue to c o m e that can be shared more than ever? O n e should wonder w h a t signifies in this regard the friendship of the friend, if one withdraws it, like negative theology itself, from all its d o m i n a n t determinations in the G r e e k or Christian w o r l d , from the fraternal 1 0

(fraternalist) a n d phallocentric schema o f p h i l i a or charity, as well as from a certain arrested form o f democracy. —Friendship and translation, then, and the experience o f translation as friendship, that is what you seem to wish we were speaking about. It is true that one imagines with difficulty a translation, in the current sense o f the term, whether it is competent o r not, without some philein,

w i t h o u t some love or friendship, without

some " l o v e n c e " [aimance],

as y o u w o u l d say, borne [porte'e] toward

the thing, the text, or the other to be translated. Even if hatred can sharpen the vigilance o f a translator a n d motivate a demystifying interpretation, this hatred still reveals an intense form o f desire, interest, indeed fascination. — T h o s e are experiences o f translation, it seems to m e , that m a k e up this " C o l l o q u i u m , " a n d almost all the authors even give this to be remarked. Let it be said in passing, a translation (the nonoriginal version o f a textual event that will have preceded it) also shares that curious status of the post-scriptum

about which w e are g o i n g

around in circles. —In w h i c h , rather, w e discuss [nous dibattons\, [nous nous cUbattons].

w e flounder

H o w does negative theology always run the

risk o f resembling an exercise of translation? A n exercise and

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48

nothing but? A n d an exercise in the form of a post-scriptum?

How

w o u l d this risk also give it a chance? —Let's start again from this proposition, if you like: " W h a t is called 'negative theology,' in an idiom o f G r e c o - L a t i n filiation, is a language

[langage]."

— O n l y a language? M o r e or less than a language? Isn't it also what questions a n d casts suspicion o n the very essence or possibility o f language? Isn't it w h a t , in essence, exceeds language, so that the "essence" o f negative theology w o u l d carry itself outside o f language? — D o u b t l e s s , but what is called "negative theology," in an idiom of G r e c o - L a t i n

filiation,

is a language, at least, that says, in one

m o d e or another, what w e have just specified about language, that is, about itself. H o w does one leap out o f this circle? — C o n s e q u e n t l y , to believe y o u , an admissible disputing testation recevable)

[con-

o f this proposition o f the type S is P ("what is

called ' N T ' . . . is a l a n g u a g e , " etc.) could not take the form o f a refutation. It could not consist in giving a critique o f its falseness, but in suspecting its vagueness, emptiness, or obscurity, in accusing it of not being able to determine either the subject or the attribute o f that j u d g m e n t , of not even proving this learned ignorance, in the sense ennobled by Nicolas of C u s a or certain supporters of negative theology. T h e proposition ( " W h a t is called 'negative t h e o l o g y ' . . . is a language") has no rigorously determinable reference: neither in its subject nor in its attribute, we just said, but not even in its copula. For it happens that, however little is k n o w n of the said negative theology . . . — Y o u a v o w then that we do indeed k n o w something about it, w e don't speak o f it in the v o i d , we c o m e after this k n o w l e d g e , however minimal a n d precarious. W e preunderstand i t . . .

Sauf le nom

49

— T h e preunderstanding then w o u l d be the fact from which we should indeed start, in relation to which w e w o u l d be placed-after [ post-posh].

W e c o m e after thefact [apres le fait]: and the discursive

possibilities o f the via negativa are doubtless exhausted, that is what remains for us to think. Besides, they will be very quickly exhausted; they will always consist in an intimate and immediate exhaustion [exhaustion]

o f themselves, as if they could not have a n y

history. T h a t is w h y the slightness o f the reference corpus (here The Cherubinic

Wanderer, for example) or the rarefaction o f examples

should not be a serious problem. W e are in absolute exemplarity as in the aridity of the desert, for the essential tendency is to formalizing rarefaction. Impoverishment is de rigueur.

— T h e s e discursive possibilities are exhausted as formal possibilities, no doubt, and if we formalize to the extreme the procedures o f this theology. W h i c h seems feasible and tempting. T h e n n o t h i n g remains for y o u , not even a n a m e or a reference. You can speak of exhaustion [d'epuisement]

only in the perspective o f this complete

formalization and in posing as extrinsic to this formal or c o n c e p tual completeness those "difficult metaphors . . . inclining almost to Godlessness," that poetic beauty, too, which Leibniz speaks about concerning Angelus Silesius. T h u s you w o u l d oppose one form to the other, that o f onto-logical formalism to that o f poetics, and w o u l d remain prisoner o f a problematic opposition between form and content. B u t this so traditional disjunction

between

concept and metaphor, between logic, rhetoric, a n d poetics, between sense a n d language, isn't it a philosophical p r e j u d g m e n t not only that one can or must deconstruct, but that, in its very possibility, the event named "negative theology" will have powerfully contributed to calling into question? —I only w a n t e d to recall that w e preunderstood already

and

therefore that we write after preunderstanding negative theology as a "critique" (for the m o m e n t let's not say a "deconstruction") o f the proposition, o f the verb " b e " in the third person indicative and o f

Sauf le nom everything that, in the determination of the essence, depends o n this m o o d , this time, and this person: briefly, a critique o f ontology, of theology, and o f language. T o say " W h a t is called 'negative theology', in an idiom o f Greco-Latin

filiation,

is a language" is

then to say little, almost nothing, perhaps less than nothing. — N e g a t i v e theology means (to say) very little, almost nothing, perhaps something other than something. W h e n c e its inexhaustible exhaustion . . . — T h a t being the case, can o n e be authorized to speak of this apparently elementary factum,

perhaps indeterminate, obscure, or

void a n d yet hardly contestable, to wit, o u r preunderstanding o f what is "called 'negative t h e o l o g y ' . . . , " etc.? W h a t we are identifying under these two w o r d s , today, isn't it first o f all a corpus, at once open a n d closed, given, well-ordered, a set of statements [un ensemble d'enoncis\

recognizable either by their family resemblance [ E n -

glish parenthetical gloss in the original—Ed.] or because they c o m e under a regular logicodiscursive type w h o s e recurrence lends itself to a formalization? T h i s formalization can b e c o m e m e c h a n i c a l . . . —All the more mechanizable a n d easily reproducible, falsifiable, exposed to forgery a n d counterfeit since the statement of negative theology empties itself b y definition, b y vocation, o f all intuitive plentitude. Kendsis o f discourse. If a phenomenological type o f rule is followed for distinguishing between a full intuition and an e m p t y or symbolic intending [visie]

forgetful o f the originary perception

supporting it, then the apophatic statements are, must be on the side o f the empty and then o f mechanical, indeed purely verbal, repetition of phrases without actual or full intentional meaning. A p o p h a t i c statements represent what Husserl identifies as the m o ment of crisis (forgetting of the full and originary intuition, empty functioning o f s y m b o l i c language, objectivism, etc.). But in revealing the originary and final necessity o f this crisis, in d e n o u n c i n g from the language of crisis the snares of intuitive consciousness a n d

Saufle

nom

o f phenomenology, they destabilize the very axiomatics of the phenomenological, which is also the ontological and transcendental, critique. Emptiness is essential and necessary to them. If they guard against this, it is through the m o m e n t o f prayer or the h y m n . But this protective m o m e n t remains structurally exterior to the purely apophatic instance, that is, to negative theology as such, if there is any in the strict sense, which can at times be doubted. T h e value, the evaluation,

of the quality, of the intensity, or of the force

o f events of negative theology w o u l d then result from this

relation

that articulates /AM void [vide] o n the plentitude o f a prayer or an attribution (theo-logical, theio-logical, or onto-logical) negated [niie],

lets say denegated [diniie].

T h e criterion is the measure of a

relation, and this relation is stretched between two poles, one of which must be that o f positivity de-negated. — F r o m what does this redoubtable mechanicity result, the facility that there can be in imitating or fabricating negative theology (or, as well, a poetry o f the same inspiration, o f which w e indeed have examples)? From the fact, I believe, that the very functioning of these statements resides in a formalization. T h i s formalization essentially does without, tends essentially to d o w i t h o u t all content and every idiomatic signifier, every presentation or representation, images and even names o f G o d , for example, in this tongue o r that culture. In brief, negative theology lets itself be approached (preunderstood) as a corpus largely archived w i t h propositions whose logical modalities, grammar, lexicon, and very semantics are already accessible to us, at least for what is determinable in them. — W h e n c e the possibility o f a canonizing monumentalization o f works that, o b e y i n g laws, seem docile to the norms of a genre and an art. T h e s e works repeat traditions; they present themselves as iterable, influential or influenceable, objects of transfer, o f credit and o f discipline. For there are masters and disciples there. Recall Dionysius and T i m o t h y . T h e r e are exercises and formations, there are schools, in the Christian mystical tradition as well as in an

Sauf le nom ontotheological or meontological (more Greek) tradition, in its exoteric or esoteric forms. —Certainly, and he is already a disciple, however inspired, the one w h o wrote that not only G o d but the deity surpasses knowledge, that the singularity o f the u n k n o w n G o d overflows the essence and the divinity, thwarting in this manner the oppositions of the negative and the positive, o f being and nothingness, o f thing and n o n t h i n g — t h u s transcending all the theological attributes: Der unerkandte GOtt. Was GOtt ist weif? man nicht: Er ist nicht Licht, nicht Geist, Nicht Wonnigkeit, nicht Eins [Derrida's version: Nicht Wahrheit, Einheit, Eins], nicht was man Gottheit heist: Nicht WeifSheit, nicht Verstand, nicht Liebe, Wille, Giitte: Kein Ding, kein Unding audi, kein Wesen, kein Gemiitte: Er ist was ich, und du, und keine Creatur, Eh wir geworden sind was Er ist, nie erfuhr. The unknowable God What G o d is one knows not: He is not light, not spirit, Not delight, not one [Not truth, unity, one], not what is called divinity: Not wisdom, not intellect, not love, will, goodness: No thing, no no-thing either, no essence, no concern: He is what I, or you, or any other creature, Before we became what He is, have never come to know. ( : M) 4

— T h e following m a x i m [sentence] is precisely addressed to Saint Augustine as if to someone close, a master and a predecessor that he can amicably or respectfully challenge: " S t o p , my Augustine: you have penetrated G o d to the bottom [ergriinden], the entire sea in a small pit [Grublein]"

before

one will find

(4: 2 2 ) .

— A n g e l u s Silesius had his o w n peculiar genius, but already he was repeating, continuing, importing, transporting. H e w o u l d

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53

transfer or translate in all the senses of this term because he already was post-writing.

T h i s heir kept the archive, kept in m e m o r y the

teaching of C h r i s t o p h Koler. H e had read Tauler, R u y s b r o e c k , B o e h m e , and above all Eckhart. — W h a t we ought to start from, if I understand you rightly (and this w o u l d be the a priori scriptum

o f o u r a posteriori,

to wit, of this post-

w e are engaged in), is this astonishing fact

[fait], this

already done [d^ja fait], this all done [tout fait]: while negating or effacing all, while proceeding to eradicate every predicate a n d claiming to inhabit the d e s e r t . . . — T h e desert is one o f the beautiful and difficult metaphors that Leibniz was n o d o u b t speaking of, but I a m also struck by its recurrence, in other words, by the typical striking that reproduces the metaphor like a seal. T h u s : Man mufi noch iiber GOtt. . . . Wol sol ich dann nun hin? Jch muf? noch iiber G O t t in eine wiiste ziehn. One must go beyond God . . . What should my quest then be? I must beyond G o d into a desert flee. (i: 7 )

O r again: Die Einsamkeit. Die Einsamket ist noth: doch sey nur nicht gemein: So kanstu uberall in einer Wiisten seyn. Solitude Solitude is necessary, but be only not (in) public, So you can everywhere be in a desert. (2:117)

A n d elsewhere it is a question of "desert times" [in diser wiisten

Zeit

[ 3 : 1 8 4 ] ) . Isn't the desert a paradoxical figure o f the aporia? N o [pas

Saufle

M

nom

de] m a r k e d out [trace"] or assured passage, no route in any case, at the very most trails that are not reliable ways, the paths are not yet cleared [frayis\,

unless the sand has already re-covered them. But

isn't the uncleared w a y also the condition of decision or event, which consists in opening the way, in (surpassing,

thus in g o i n g

beyond?

In (sur)passing the aporia? — D e s p i t e this desert, then, what we call negative theology grows and cultivates itself as a memory, an institution, a history, a discipline. It is a culture, with its archives and its tradition. It a c c u m u lates the acts of a tongue [iangue].

T h a t in particular is what the

phrase " W h a t is called 'negative theology,' in an idiom o f G r e c o Latin filiation, is a language" w o u l d suggest. H o w e v e r much one recalls (one precisely must recall and recall that that proves the possibility o f the m e m o r y kept) that negative theology "consists," through its claim to depart from all consistency, in a language that does not cease testing the very limits o f language, and exemplarily those o f propositional, theoretical, or constative language . . . — B y that, negative theology w o u l d be not only a language and a testing o f language, but above all the most thinking, the most exacting, the most intractable experience of the "essence" of language: a discourse o n language, a " m o n o l o g u e " (in the heterological sense that Novalis or Heidegger gives to this word) in which language and tongue speak for themselves and record [prennent

acte

de\ that die Sprache spricht. W h e n c e this poetic or fictional d i m e n sion, at times ironic, always allegorical, about which some w o u l d say that it is only a form, an appearance, or a s i m u l a c r u m . . . . It is true that, simultaneously, this arid

fictionality

tends to d e n o u n c e

images, figures, idols, rhetoric. A n iconoclastic

fiction

must be

thought. — H o w e v e r m u c h one says, then, that beyond the theorem a n d constative description, the discourse o f negative theology "consists" in exceeding essence and language, b y testifying it

remains.

Saufle

nom

55

— W h a t does " r e m a i n " mean here? Is it a modality of "being"? —I don't know. Perhaps this, precisely, that this theology w o u l d be nothing . . . —To be nothing, wouldn't that be its secret or declared vow? W h a t do you believe you are thus threatening it with? O u r discussion still supposes that this theology is something (determinable) and not nothing a n d wants to be or b e c o m e s o m e t h i n g rather than nothing. N o w we meant, just a m o m e n t ago too, to claim the contrary . . . — A question o f reading or hearing [I'oreille].

In any case, nega-

tive theology w o u l d be nothing, very simply nothing, if this excess or this surplus (with regard to language) did not imprint some mark on s o m e singular events of language and did not leave some remains o n the b o d y of a tongue . . . — A corpus, in sum. — S o m e trace remains right in this corpus, becomes this corpus as sur-vivance

o f apophasis (more than life a n d more than death),

survivance o f an internal onto-logico-semantic auto-destruction: there will have been absolute rarefaction, the desert will have taken place, nothing will have taken place but this place. Certainly, the " u n k n o w a b l e G o d " ("Der

unerkandte

GOtt,"

4: 2 1 ) , the ignored or

unrecognized G o d that we s p o k e about says nothing: of h i m there is nothing said that might hold . . . —Save his n a m e [Sauf son nom; "Safe, his n a m e " ] . . . —Save the name that names nothing that might hold, not even a divinity (Gottheit),

nothing w h o s e withdrawal [dirobement\

does

not carry away every phrase that tries to measure itself against him. " G o d " " i s " the name of this bottomless collapse, of this endless

Sauf le nom

S6

desertification o f language. But the trace o f this negative operation is inscribed in and on and as the event (what comes, what there is and w h i c h is always singular, what finds in this kenosis the most decisive condition o f its c o m i n g or its upsurging). There is this event, w h i c h remains, even if this remnance is not more substantial, more essential than this G o d , more ontologically determinable than this name o f G o d of w h o m it is said that he names nothing that is, neither this nor that. It is even said of him that he is not what is given there in the sense o f esgibf. H e is not what gives, his is beyond all gifts {"GOtt

iiber alle Gaben,"

4: 30).

— D o n ' t forget that that is said in the course o f a prayer. W h a t is prayer? N o , one should not ask " W h a t is prayer?," prayer in general. It is necessary to attempt to think prayer, in truth to test it out (to pray it, if o n e can say that, and transitively) through this particular prayer, this singular prayer in which or toward which prayer in general strains itself For this particular prayer asks nothing, all the while asking more than everything. It asks G o d to give himself rather than gifts: " G i e b s t u mir dich nicht selbst, so hastu nichts gegeben"; " I f y o u don't give yourself to m e , then you have given n o t h i n g . " W h i c h interprets again the divinity o f G o d as gift or desire o f giving. A n d prayer is this interpretation, the very b o d y of this interpretation. In and on, you said, that implies, apparently, some topos. . . — . . .

o r some khdra (body without body, absent b o d y but

unique b o d y and place [lieu] of everything, in the place o f everything, interval, place [place], spacing). W o u l d you also say of khdra, as y o u were just d o i n g in a m u r m u r , "save its n a m e " [sauf son nom; safe, its name]? Everything secret is played out here. For this location displaces and disorganizes all our onto-topological prejudices, in particular the objective science o f space. Khdra

is over

there but more " h e r e " than any " h e r e " . . . —You well k n o w that, in nearly all its Greek, Christian, o r Jewish networks [filieres],

L

the via negativa conjugates reference to

1

Saufle

nom

G o d , the n a m e o f G o d , w i t h the experience o f place. T h e desert is also a figure o f the pure place. But figuration in general results from this spatiality, from this locality o f the word

[parole].

—Yes, Angelus Silesius writes this about the w o r d (das

Wort),

that is to say, about the divine word as well, a n d some translate Wort here just simply by G o d : Der Ort ist doss Wort. Der ort und's Wort ist Eins, und ware nicht der ort (Bey Ewger Ewigkcit!) es ware nicht das Wort. The place is the word The place and the word is one, and were the place not (of all eternal eternity!) the word would not be. (i: 2 0 5 )

— N o t objective nor earthly, this place comes under no geography, geometry, or geophysics. It is not that in which is found a subject or an object. It is found in us, w h e n c e the equivocal necessity o f at once recognizing it and getting rid o f it: Der Orth is selbst in dir. Nicht du bist in dem Orth, der Orth der ist in dir! Wirfstu jhn aufi, so steht die Ewigkeit schon hier. The place is itself in you It is not you in the place, the place is in you! Cast it out, and here is already eternity. (n

— T h e here (hier)

185)

o f eternity is situated there, already

already there, it situates this throwing [jet] \rejet] (Auswerfen

(schon):

or this throwing up

is difficult to translate: at once exclusion, putting

aside, throwing out [rejet],

but first o f all throwing that puts

outside, that produces the outside and thus space, separates the

Sauf le nom place from itself: khora).

It is from this already that the post-

scriptum finds its place—and fatally. — A s if in response, it is already in correspondence with what M a r k Taylor will have written of the "pretext of the text," which "is a before that is (always) yet to c o m e . " O r again w h e n he plays without playing with the word, the w o r d for w o r d , such as it takes place or takes up residence in the o t h e r s tongue: " W h a t is the Ort of the

W-ort>"

n

— T h e event remains at once in a n d on language, then, within and at the surface (a surface o p e n , exposed, immediately overflowed,

outside o f itself). T h e event remains in and on the m o u t h ,

on the tip [bout] o f the tongue, as is said in English and French, or on the edge o f the lips passed over b y words that carry themselves toward G o d . T h e y are carried [porters], both exportedand by a m o v e m e n t o f ference

deported

(transference, reference, difference) to-

ward G o d . T h e y name G o d , speak o f h i m , speak him, speak to him, let him speak in them, let themselves be carried b y h i m , m a k e (themselves) a reference to just w h a t the name supposes to name beyond itself, the nameable beyond the name, the unnameable nameable. A s if it was necessary both to save the n a m e a n d to save everything except the n a m e , save the name [saufle n o m ] , as if it was necessary to lose the n a m e in order to save what bears the name, or that toward which one goes through the name. B u t to lose the n a m e is not to attack it, to destroy it o r w o u n d it. O n the contrary, to lose the name is quite simply to respect it: as name. T h a t is to say, to p r o n o u n c e it, which comes d o w n to traversing it toward the other, the other w h o m it names a n d w h o bears it. T o p r o n o u n c e it w i t h o u t p r o n o u n c i n g it. T o forget it by calling it, by recalling it (to oneself), which comes d o w n to calling or recalling the other . . . —Certainly, but it is then necessary to stop submitting language, and the n a m e in language (by the way, is the n a m e , the proper name or the name par excellence in language and what w o u l d this inclusion mean?) to generality, to whatever figure or topological

Sauf le nom

59

schema? W e speak here in a n d on a language that, while being opened by this ference, says the inadequation of the reference, the insufficiency or the lapse of k n o w i n g , its incompetence as to what it is said to be the k n o w i n g of. Such an inadequation translates and betrays the absence o f a c o m m o n measure between the opening, openness [aperite],

revelation, knowledge o n the one hand a n d on

the other a certain absolute secret, nonprovisional, heterogeneous to all manifestation. T h i s secret is not a reserve of potential riel] k n o w i n g , a potential [en puissance]

[poten-

manifestation. A n d the

language of ab-negation or of renunciation is not negative: not only because it does not state in the mode of descriptive predication and or the indicative proposition simply affected w i t h a negation ("this is not t h a t " ) , but because it denounces as m u c h as it renounces; and it denounces, enjoining; it prescribes overflowing

this

insuffi-

ciency; it mandates, it necessitates d o i n g the impossible, necessitates going (Geh, G o ! ) there where one cannot g o . Passion of, for, the place, again. I shall say in French: ilya

lieude(which

means

ilfaut,

"it is necessary," "there is g r o u n d for") rendering oneself there where it is impossible to go. O v e r there, toward the name, toward the beyond o f the n a m e in the name. T o w a r d w h a t , toward he or she w h o remains—save the n a m e [saufle

nom, or "safe, the n a m e " —

E d . ] . G o i n g where it is possible to go w o u l d not be a displacement or a decision, it w o u l d be the irresponsible unfolding of a program. T h e sole decision possible passes through the madness o f the undecidable and the impossible: to g o where (wo, Ort, Wort) it is impossible to go. Recall: Geh hin, wo du nicht kanst: sih, wo du sihest nicht: Hor wo nichts schallt und klingt, so bistu wo Gott spricht. (i: 199)

— A c c o r d i n g to y o u , it is this normative denunciation on the ground o f impossibility, this sweet rage against language, this jealous anger of language within itself and against itself, it is this passion that leaves the mark o f a scar in that place where the

Saufle

6o

nom

impossible takes place, isn't it? O v e r there, on the other side of the world? T h e other side of the w o r l d , is that still the world, in the w o r l d , the other w o r l d or the other of the world, everything save the world [tout sauf le monde, also "totally safe, the w o r l d " — E d . ] ? —Yes, the w o u n d is there, over there. Is there some other thing, ever, that may be legible? S o m e other thing than the trace o f a w o u n d ? A n d s o m e other thing that m a y ever take place? D o y o u k n o w another definition o f event? — But nothing is more illegible than a w o u n d , as well. I suppose that in your eyes legibility and illegibility do not equal two in this place. A c c o r d i n g to y o u , it is this trace in any case that becomes legible, renders and renders itself legible: in and o n language, that is, at the edge o f language . . . — T h e r e is only the edge in language . . . T h a t is, reference. From the supposed fact that there is never anything but reference, an irreducible reference, one can just as well conclude that the referent—everything save the name [tout saufle

nom, also "totally safe,

the n a m e " — E d . ] — i s or is not indispensable. All history of negative theology, I bet, plays itself out in this brief and slight axiom. —"At the edge o f language" w o u l d then mean: "at the edge as language," in the same and double m o v e m e n t : w i t h d r a w i n g robement)

and overflowing [dibordement].

the force, as the movementsof

the injunction take place over the edge

[par-dessus bord], as they draw their energy from taken place—even

[di-

But as the m o m e n t a n d having

already

if it is as a promise—the legible-illegible text, the

theologico-negative m a x i m [sentence] remains as a post-scriptum. is originarily a post-scriptum,

It

it c o m e s after the e v e n t . . .

—an event, if I understand right, that w o u l d have the form o f a seal, as if, witness w i t h o u t witness, it were c o m m i t t e d to keeping a secret, the event sealed with an indecipherable signature, a set o f initials, a line [dessin] before the letter.

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— T h e scaled event corresponding to the experience o f a trait (drawn line, Zug, edge, border, overflowing, relation to the other, Zug,

Bezug, ference, reference to s o m e other thing than self, dif-

terance), the deferred action [l'apres-coup\ a writing after the other:

is indeed the c o m i n g of

post-scriptum.

— T h e trace of this w o u n d e d writing that bears the stigmata o f its own proper inadequation: signed, assumed, claimed . . . — . . . o f its o w n proper disproportion also, of its hubris

thus

countersigned: that cannot be a simple mark identical to s e l f . . . — . . . as if there ever were a n y . . . — T h a t cannot be a signature uneffaced, ineffaceable, invulnerable, legible for what it is o n a surface, right o n a support that w o u l d only equal o n e with (it)self. T h e very surface serving as support for the signature [le subjectile

meme] remains improbable.

T h i s mark takes place after taking place, in a slight, discreet, but powerful m o v e m e n t o f dis-location, on the unstable and divided edge o f what is called language. T h e very unity o f what is called language becomes enigmatic a n d uncertain there. A n d so the phrase " W h a t is called 'negative theology' . . . is a language" says at once too m u c h and too little. It no longer has the intelligibility of a sure a x i o m , no longer gives the chance o f a consensus, the charter of a c o l l o q u i u m , or the assured space of a communication. —Let's not yet discredit the phrase. Let's provisionally keep it, as a guiding thread, as if w e had need o f it and the desire o f g o i n g further. —Don't all the apophatic theologemes have the status o r rather i he m o v e m e n t , the instability of this trajectory? Don't they resemble arrows, darts [traits],

a grouped firing o f arrows destined to

point in the same direction? B u t an arrow is only an arrow; it is

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never an end in itself. It is everything save what it aims for, save what it strikes, even, indeed, save w h a t it w o u n d s ; this is what makes the arrow miss even that which it touches, which thereby remains safe . . . —Silesius says this well w h e n he speaks precisely of the possibility of the most impossible or o f the m o r e than the most impossible ("Das iiberunmogiichste ist m o g l i c h " ) . It specifies, you recall: With your arrow you cannot reach the sun, With mine I can sweep under my fire the eternal sun. (6: 153)

—Let's keep this proposition ( " W h a t is called 'negative theology' . . . is a language"). Let's try to question it in its most manifest meaning, at face value [in English in o r i g i n a l — E d . ] . A n d let's c o m e back to the theme of philein,

let's say rather of lovence [aimance]

as

transfer or translation. — T h e s e themes are not localizable, but let's go on. — D o y o u w a n t us to act as if they were? T h e appearance gives us to believe that the expression "negative theology" has no

strict

equivalent outside two traditions, philosophy or ontotheology o f Greek provenance, N e w Testament theology or Christian mysticism. T h e s e two trajectories, these two paths [trajets] thus arrowed w o u l d cross each other in the heart o f what w e call negative theology. Such a crossing . . . — E v e r y t h i n g here, y o u realize, seems crucial: these two paths, the kreuzweise

Durchstreichung

the crossroads o f under which H e i -

degger erases the w o r d being (which his theology to c o m e w o u l d have had, he says, to dispense w i t h ) , and the Gevier to which he claims then to refer, the Christian cross under which M a r i o n himself erases the w o r d " G o d " (a way, perhaps, to save the name o f G o d , to shield it from all onto-theological idolatry: G o d without

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63

also understandable as " G o d without being

G o d " and hearable as " G o d without letter"; also the title of a book by J e a n - L u c M a r i o n that has been translated as God Without

Being:

Hors Texte, by T h o m a s A . Carlson (Chicago: University of C h i c a g o Press, 1 9 9 1 ) — E d . ] . —That's true. In any case, the expression "negative theology" names most often a discursive experience that is situated at one o f the angles formed by the crossing of these two lines. Even if one line is then always crossed [English parenthetical gloss in the origin a l — E d . ] , this line is situated in that place. Whatever the translations, analogies, transpositions, transferences, metaphors, never has a n y discourse expressly given itself this title (negative theology, apophatic m e t h o d , via negativa)

in the thoughts o f Jewish, M u s -

lim, Buddhist culture. — A r e you sure that this title has never been claimed by a n y author for his very o w n discourse, even in the traditions you invoke? — I was only w a n t i n g to suggest that in the cultural or historical zone in which the expression "negative theology" appears as a sort of domestic and controlled appellation, the zone in sum o f that Christian philosophy whose concept Heidegger was saying was as mad and contradictory as that of a squared circle, apophasis has always represented a sort of paradoxical hyperbole. —That's a n a m e quite philosophical and quite Greek. — F r o m this paradoxical hyperbole, let's retain here the trait necessary to a brief demonstration. Let's be more modest, to a working hypothesis. Here it is. W h a t permits localizing negative theology in a historial site and identifying its very o w n idiom is also what uproots it from its rooting. W h a t assigns it a proper place is what expropriates it and engages it thus in a m o v e m e n t of universalizing translation. In other words, it is what engages it in the element of the most shareable [partageable]

discourse, for example,

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that o f this conversation or o f this c o l l o q u i u m in which are crossed thematics Christian and non-Christian (Jewish, M u s l i m , H i n d u , Buddhist, etc.), philosophical and nonphilosophical,

European

and n o n - E u r o p e a n , etc. — D o y o u see in this engagement something

that is allied with this

singular friendship y o u spoke about just a m o m e n t ago with gratefulness—and apropos gratitude? —I don't know. All this remains very preliminary, as precipitated as a post-scriptum

can be. If I use words as philosophical and Greek

as "paradoxical h y p e r b o l e , " I d o so first of all, a m o n g other things, to point [faire signe] toward a well-known passage of Plato's Republic.

Huperbole

names the m o v e m e n t o f transcendence that car-

ries or transports beyond being or beingness [itantitf\

epekeina tes

ousias. T h i s excessive m o v e m e n t , the firing o f this displacing arrow [cettefleche

en aUplacement\

encourages saying: X " i s " beyond what

is, beyond being or beingness. Let X here be the G o o d , it matters little for the m o m e n t , since we are analyzing the formal possibility of saying: X " i s " b e y o n d what " i s , " X is without being (X) [sans (T)etre). T h i s hyperbole announces. It announces in a double sense: it signals an open possibility, but it also provokes thereby the opening o f the possibility. Its event is at once revealing and producing, post-scriptum

and p r o l e g o m e n o n , inaugural writing. Its event an-

nounces w h a t comes a n d makes c o m e w h a t will c o m e from now o n in all the movements in hyper, ultra, au-dela,

beyond, iiber, which

will precipitate discourse or, first of all, existence. T h i s precipitation is their passion. —You said "existence," if I understand right, in order not to say "subject," " s o u l , " "spirit," " e g o , " nor even Da-sein. A n d yet

Dasein

is open to being as being by the possibility o f g o i n g beyond the present o f what is. Passion: transcendence. — T o be sure, and Heidegger does indeed understand

Dasein

thus: he describes the m o v e m e n t of its transcendence by explicitly

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65

citing the Platonic epekeina tes ousias. But then he seems to understand/hear the beyond as the beyond o f the totality o f beings and not as the beyond o f being itself, in the sense o f negative theology. N o w the hyperbolic movements in the Platonic, Plotinian, o r Neoplatonic style will not only precipitate beyond being or G o d insofar as he is (the supreme being [itant]),

but beyond G o d even

as name, as n a m i n g , named, or nameable, insofar as reference is made there to some thing. T h e n a m e itself seems sometimes to be there no longer safe . . . T h e name itself seems sometimes to be no longer there, save [sauf, safe] . . . — . . . besides, the beyond as beyond G o d is not a place, but a m o v e m e n t o f transcendence that surpasses G o d himself, being, essence, the proper o r the self-same, the Selbst o r Self o f G o d , the divinity o f G o d (GOttheit)—in

which it surpasses positive theology

as well as what Heidegger proposes to call theiology, course on the divinity (theion)

that is, dis-

o f the divine. Angelus Silesius,

again, w h o was saying, you recall: Man muf noch iiber GOtt. Jch mu(? noch iiber G O t t in eine wiiste ziehn. (.: 7 )

but also: Die uber-GOttheit. Was man von GOtt gesagt, das gniiget mir noch nicht: Die uber-GOttheit ist mein Leben und mein Liecht. The beyond divinity What was said of God, not yet suffices me: The beyond divinity is my life and my light. (1: 15)

— C a r r y i n g itself b e y o n d , this movement radically dissociates being and knowing, a n d existence a n d k n o w l e d g e . It is, as it were, a

66

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fracture o f the cogito (Augustinian or Cartesian) as the cogito gives me to k n o w not o n l y that, but what and who I am. T h i s fracture is as valid for me as for G o d ; it extends its crack into the analogy between G o d and m e , creator and creature. T h i s time the analogy does not repair, n o r reconcile, but aggravates the dissociation. Man weij? nicht was man ist. Jch weifi nicht was ich bin. Jch bin nicht was ich weiK: Ein ding und nit ein ding: Ein stiipffchin und ein kreifi. One knows not what one is I know not what I am. I am not what I know: A thing and not a thing: a point and a circle. d:

5)

A n d here is, hardly m u c h farther, the analogy, the wie: Jch bin wie Gott, un Gott wie ich. Jch bin so grofi als GOtt: Er ist als ich so klein: Er kan nich iiber mich, ich unter Jhm nicht seyn. / am as God, and God as I I am as big as G o d : He is as small as I: He cannot be over me, I cannot be under him. (i: 10)

—I a m always sensitive to this unusual alliance o f two powers and of two voices in these poetic aphorisms or in these declarations without appeal, above all w h e n the / a d v a n c e s there in this way, at once alone with G o d a n d as the example that authorizes itself to speak for each o n e , to dare testify for the other (to testify for the witness), without waiting for any response or fearing discussion. C o n t r a r y to what w e said at the beginning of o u r conversation, there is also a m o n o l o g i s m or soliloquy in these imperturbable discourses: nothing seems to disquiet them. T h e s e two powers are, on the one hand, that o f a radical critique, of a hyper-critique after which nothing more seems assured, neither philosophy nor theology, nor science, nor g o o d sense, nor the least doxa, a n d on the other

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67

hand, conversely, as we are settled beyond all discussion, the authority o f that sententious voice that produces or reproduces mechanically its verdicts with the tone o f the most d o g m a t i c assurance: nothing or no one can oppose this, since we are in passion: the assumed contradiction a n d the claimed paradox. — T h e double power of these two voices is not without relation to the double bind of ex-appropriation or o f the uprooting rooting I spoke about just before. In effect, this theology launches or carries negativity as the principle o f auto-destruction in the heart o f each thesis; in any event, this theology suspends every thesis, all belief, all '/ox,1.

. .

— I n w h i c h its epokhehas

s o m e affinity w i t h the skepsis of scepti-

cism as well as w i t h the phenomenological reduction. A n d contrary to what we were saying a while ago, transcendental p h e n o m e n o l ogy, insofar as it passes through the suspension of all doxo, o f every positing o f existence, of every thesis, inhabits the same element as negative theology. O n e w o u l d be a good propaedeutic for the other. — I f you like, but this is not incompatible with what we said about the language o f crisis. B u t let's leave that. On the one

hand

then, placing the thesis in parenthesis or in quotation marks ruins each ontological or theological proposition, in truth, each philosopheme as such. In this sense, the principle of negative theology, in a m o v e m e n t of internal rebellion, radically contests the tradition from which it seems to c o m e . Principle against principle. Parricide and uprooting, rupture o f belonging, interruption of a sort o f social contract, the one that gives right to the State, the nation, more generally to the philosophical c o m m u n i t y as rational and logocentric community. Negative theology uproots itself from there after the fact [apr'es coup], in the torsion or conversion of a second movement o f uprooting, as if a signature was not countersigned but contradicted in a codicil or in the remorse o f a post-scriptum

at the

bottom o f the contract. T h i s contract rupture programs a whole series o f analogous and recurrent movements, a whole outbidding

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68 of the necplus

ultra that calls to witness the epekeina tes ousias, and

at times w i t h o u t presenting itself as negative theology (Plotinus, Heidegger, Levinas). But on the other hand, a n d in that very way, n o t h i n g is more faithful than this hyperbole to the originary ontotheological injunction. T h e post-scriptum

remains a countersignature,

even if it

denies this. A n d , as in every h u m a n or divine signature, there the name is necessary [ily

faut

le nom].

Unless, as was suggested a

m o m e n t ago, the name be what effaces itself in front o f what it names. T h e n "the name is necessary" w o u l d mean that the name is lacking [fait defaut]:

it must be lacking, a name is necessary

[ilfaut

un nom ] that is lacking [fosse defaut]. T h u s managing to efface itself, it itself will be safe, will be, save itself [sera sauf l u i - m e m e ] . In the most apophatic m o m e n t , w h e n one says: " G o d is n o t , " " G o d is neither this n o r that, neither that nor its contrary" or "being is n o t , " etc., even then it is still a matter of saying the entity

[ttant]

such as it is, in its truth, even were it meta-metaphysical, metaontological. It is a matter o f holding the promise o f saying the truth at any price, o f testifying, o f rendering oneself to the truth of the name, to the thing itself such as it must be named by the name, that is, beyond the name. T h e thing, save the name. It is a matter o f recording the referential transcendence of w h i c h the negative w a y is only o n e way, one methodic approach, one series o f stages. A prayer, too, a n d a testimony o f love, but an "I love y o u " on the w a y to prayer and to love, always o n the way. Angelus Silesius, a m o n g others, specifies this well w h e n he adds, in a sort of note or postscriptum to sentence i: 7, "Man

muj?noch

iiber GOtt":

" b e y o n d all

one k n o w s o f G o d or can think o f h i m , according to negative contemplation [nach der verneinenden

beschawung],

a b o u t which

search through the mystics." — T h e n y o u wouldn't say that the Cherubinic

Wanderer comes

under negative theology. — N o , certainly not in a n y sure, pure, and integral although the Cherubinic

Wandererowcs

fashion,

m u c h to it. But I w o u l d no

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69

more say that o f any text. Conversely, I trust no text that is not in some way contaminated with negative theology, and even a m o n g those texts that apparently d o not have, want, or believe they have any relation with theology in general. Negative theology is everywhere, but it is never by itself. In that w a y it also belongs, w i t h o u t fulfilling, to the space o f the philosophical or onto-theological promise that it seems to break [renter]:

to record, as we said a

m o m e n t ago, the referential transcendence o f language: to say G o d such as he is, beyond [par deld] his images, b e y o n d this idol that being can still be, beyond what is said, seen, or k n o w n o f h i m ; to respond to the true name of G o d , to the name to which G o d responds and corresponds beyond the name that we k n o w h i m by or hear. It is to this end that the negative procedure refuses, denies, rejects all the inadequate attributions. It does so in the name of a way o f truth and in order to hear the n a m e o f a just voice. T h e authority o f which w e spoke a m o m e n t a g o c o m e s to the negative procedure from the truth in the name and o n the way [vote] which it raises the voice [voix]—the mouth: aletheiazs

of

voice that speaks through its

the forgotten secret that sees itself thus unveiled

or the truth as promised adequation. In any case, desire to say and rejoin what is proper to G o d . — B u t what is this proper, if the proper o f this proper consists in expropriating itself, if the proper o f the proper is precisely, justly [ justement],

to have nothing o f its o w n [en propre] ? W h a t does " i s "

mean here? —Silesius never fails to expose, precisely, justly, the name of G o d [ justement;

for a re- and disadjustment of justement

and " j u s t i c e , "

see Derrida's Spectres de Marx (Paris: Galilee, 1993); Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning,

and the New

Interna-

tional, trans. Peggy K a m u f ( N e w York: Routledge, 1 9 9 4 ) — E d . ] . Gottes Eigenschaffi. Was ist GOtts Eigenschaffi? sich in Geschopff ergiesscn Allzeit derselbe seyn, nichts haben, wollen, wissen.'

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70

God's own proper What is G o d s own proper? to pour forth in creation. To be the same in all times, to have, want, know nothing.* (2:132)

But the post-scriptum

adds a decisive philosophical precision: a

remorse reinscribes this proposition within the ontology that o p poses essence to accident, necessity to contingency: "Understand this accidentaliter [ Verstehe accidentaliter] or in a contingent way [oder zufdlliger weise]: for what G o d wants and knows, he knows and wants essentially [wesentlich]. Thus he has nothing else (by way of property [or quality: mit Eigenschaffi]). G o d "therefore no longer has a n y t h i n g " and, if he gives, as the G o o d o f Plotinus (Enneads,

6.

7-15-16-17),

it is also w h a t he does

not have, insofar as he is not only beyond being but also beyond his gifts (kai tou didomenou

to didon epekeina en). A n d to give is not to

engender, nor is it to give

birth.

N o w this revolution, at once interior and exterior, which makes philosophy, onto-theological metaphysics, pass over the other edge of itself, is also the condition o f its translatability. W h a t makes philosophy go outside itself calls for a c o m m u n i t y that overflows its tongue a n d broaches [entame]

a process o f universalization.

— W h a t makes it go outside itself w o u l d c o m e to it thus already from the outside, from the absolute outside. T h a t is w h y the revolution could not be only internal

[intestine].

—That's exactly what the revolution says, what the mystics and the theologians o f apophasis say w h e n they speak o f an absolute transcendence that announces itself within. All that comes d o w n to the same or, indifferently, to the other. W h a t we've just said about philosophical Greece is also valid for the Greek tradition or translation of the Christian revelation. On the one hand one can say this, o f a history of Christianity . . .

in the interior, if

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7'

— B u t for a while now I have the impression that it is the idea itself o f an identity or a self-interiority of every tradition (the one metaphysics, the one onto-theology, the one phenomenology, the one Christian revelation, the one history itself, the one history o f being, the one e p o c h , the one tradition, self-identity in general, the o n e , etc.) that finds itself contested at its root. — I n effect, a n d negative theology is one o f the most remarkable manifestations o f this self-difference. Let's say then: in what one could believe to be the interior of a history o f Christianity (and all that we have read of Silesius is through and through overdetermined by the themes o f Christian revelation; other citations w o u l d have demonstrated this at a n y m o m e n t ) , the apophatic design is also anxious to render itself independent o f revelation, of all the literal language of N e w Testament eventness [Mnementialite],

of

the c o m i n g of C h r i s t , of the Passion, o f the d o g m a of the Trinity, etc. A n immediate but intuitionless mysticism, a sort o f abstract kenosis, frees this language from all authority, all narrative, all d o g m a , all belief—and at the limit from all faith. At the limit, this mysticism remains, after the fact [apres coup], independent o f all history o f Christianity, absolutely independent, detached even, perhaps absolved, from the idea o f sin, freed even, perhaps redeemed, from the idea o f redemption. W h e n c e the courage and the dissidence, potential or actual, o f these masters (think o f E c k h a r t ) , w h e n c e the persecution they suffered at times, w h e n c e their passion, whence this scent of heresy, these trials, this subversive marginality o f the apophatic current in the history o f theology and of the C h u r c h . — T h u s , what we were analyzing a while a g o , this rupture o f the social contract but as a process o f universalization (in a way, a kind of spirit of the Enlightenment [Lumieres]),

is what w o u l d be

regularly reproduced . . . —You could almost say normally, inevitably, typically

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as dissidence or heresy, pharmakos

to be excluded or

sacrificed, another figure o f passion. For it is true that, on the other hand,

and according to the law o f the same double

bind

the

dissident uprooting can claim to fulfill the vocation or the promise o f Christianity in its most historic essence; thereby it responds to the call a n d to the gift o f C h r i s t , as it w o u l d resonate everywhere, in the ages o f ages, rendering itself responsible for testifying before h i m , that is, before G o d (Aufklarung

rather than E n l i g h t e n m e n t ,

but let's leave . . . ). Besides, hidden or visible, metaphoric or literal (and with regard to the apophatic vigilance, this rhetoric on rhetoric moves itself as if into a state of d o g m a t i c s o m n a m b u l i s m ) , the reference to the Gospel is most often constitutive, ineffaceable, prescribed. Recall, for example, this "figure" o f Christian interiorization that makes here o f the heart a M o u n t of Olives, as Saint Paul speaks elsewhere o f the circumcision o f the heart: Der Oelberg. Sol dich del? Herren Angst erlosen von beschwerden, So muG dein Hertze vor zu einem Oelberg werden. Mount of Olives Should the Lord's agony redeem you of your sin, Your heart must become first a Mount of Olives. (2: 81)

— But don't you believe that a certain Platonism—or N e o p l a t o nism—is indispensable and congenital here? " P l a t o , in order to dispose to Christianity" [Pensies6\il219],

said Pascal, in w h o m one

could at times discern the genius or the machine o f apophatic dialectics . . . —As is the case everywhere. A n d w h e n Silesius names the eyes o f the soul, h o w is one not to recognize there a vein of the Platonic heritage}

But that can be found again elsewhere and without

filiation.

O n e can always affirm and deny a filiation; the affirma-

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tion or the assumption o f this inherited

73 debt as de-negation is the

double truth of filiation, like that of negative theology. — B u t isn't it more difficult to replatonize or rehellenize creationism? N o w creationism often belongs to the logical structure o f a g o o d many apophatic discourses. In this way, creationism w o u l d also be their historic limit, in the double sense o f this w o r d : the limit in history and the limit as history. Like that o f hell, the concept of creature is indispensable to Angelus Silesius. W h e n he says to us, " G o there where y o u cannot g o , " it is to develop the title, in a way, of this m a x i m [maxime],

to wit, "GOtt

ausser

Creatur,"

" G o d outside the creature" (i: 199). If the proper of G o d is not to have properties ( H e is everything save what H e has), it is, as we heard, because G o d pours forth "in creation" (ins Geschopf)

. . .

— B u t what if that signified, in place of being a creationist d o g m a , that creation means expropriating production a n d that everywhere there is ex-appropriation there is creation? W h a t if that were only a redefinition o f the current concept of creation? O n c e m o r e , one should say of n o matter what or n o matter w h o m what o n e says o f G o d or some other thing: the thought of w h o m e v e r concerning w h o m e v e r or whatever, it doesn't matter [n'importe]. O n e w o u l d respond thus in the same w a y to the question " W h o am I?" " W h o are y o u ? " " W h a t is the other?" " W h a t is a n y b o d y or anything as other?" " W h a t is the being o f beings [letre de letant]

as

completely other?" All the examples are g o o d ones, even if they all show that they are singularly though unequally g o o d . T h e " n o matter" of the " n o matter w h o m " or o f the " n o matter w h a t " w o u l d open the way to a sort o f serene impassibility, to a very shrill insensibility, if I can put it this way, capable o f being stirred by everything, precisely because o f this element o f indifference that opens o n t o no matter what difference. T h i s is how I sometimes understand the tradition o f Geldzenbeit,

this serenity that allows for

being without indifference, lets go w i t h o u t abandoning, unless it abandons without forgetting or forgets without forgetting—a se-

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rcnity w h o s e insistance one can trace from Meister Eckhardt to Heidegger.

12

—I have no objection to this hypothesis. A s you describe this Gelassenheit,

you are very careful not to talk about love, and here

love is probably only a particular figure for all that this letting can affect (without, however, affecting it). But w h y not recognize there love itself, that is, this infinite renunciation which s o m e h o w surrenders to the impossible [se rend a l'impossible] ? T o surrender to the other, and this is the impossible, w o u l d a m o u n t to giving oneself over in g o i n g toward the other, to c o m i n g toward the other but without crossing the threshold, and to respecting, to loving even the invisibility that keeps the other inaccessible. T o surrendering one's weapons [rendre les armes].

(And rendre here no longer means

to restore o r to reconstitute an integrity, to gather up in the pact or in the symbolic.) T o give oneself up [se rendre]

and to surrender

one's weapons [ rendre les armes] w i t h o u t defeat, w i t h o u t m e m o r y or plan o f war: so that this renunciation not be another ruse o f seduction or an added stratagem of jealousy. A n d everything w o u l d remain intact—love, t o o , a love without jealousy that w o u l d allow the other to be—after the passage o f a via negativa.

Unless I

interpret it too freely, this via negativa does not only constitute a movement

o r a moment of deprivation, an asceticism or a provi-

sional kenosis. T h e deprivation should remain at w o r k (thus give up the w o r k ) for the (loved) other to remain the other. T h e other is G o d or no matter w h o m , more precisely, no matter what singularity, as soon as any other is totally other [tout autre est tout autre]. For the most difficult, indeed the impossible, resides there: there where the other loses its name or can change it, to b e c o m e no matter w h a t other. Passible a n d impassible, the Gelassenheit itself in us, it is exertedon

exerts

this indifference b y some other. It plays at

and plays with indifference, without playing. T h a t explains, besides, if not a certain quietism, at least the role that

Gelassenheit

plays in the thought of Silesius, and first o f all the role that play itself does not fail to play in the thought o f divine creation:

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GOtt spielt mit dem Geschbpffe. Difi alles ist ein Spiel, das Jhr die GOttheit macht: Sie hat die Creatur umb Jhret willn erdacht. God plays with creation. All that is play that the Deity gives Itself: It has imagined the creature for Its pleasure. U=

198)

—Negative theology then can only present itself as one o f the most playful forms o f the creature's participation in this divine play, since " I " am " a s " " G o d , " you recall. T h e r e remains the question of what gives rise and place to this play, the question o f the place opened for this play between G o d a n d his creation, in other terms, tor ex-appropriation. In the m a x i m "GOtt verbthat

ausser Creatur"

the ad-

says the place {wo) gathers the w h o l e enigma. G o

toi] there where y o u cannot go [te rendre],

[Rends-

to the impossible, it is

indeed the only way o f g o i n g or c o m i n g . T o go [se rendre] where it is possible is not to surrender [se rendre],

there

rather, it is to be

already there and to paralyze oneself in the in-decision o f the n o n event

[anivinement]: Geh hin, wo du nicht kanst: sih, wo du sihest nicht: Hor wo nichts schallt und klingt, so bestu wo Gott spricht. (1: 1 9 9 )

T h i s adverb of place says the place {wo) of the w o r d of G o d , of G o d as w o r d , and "Der Ort ist das Wort" (1: 205) indeed affirms the place as word [parole]

of God.

—Is this place created by G o d ? Is it part of the play? O r else is it G o d himself? O r even what precedes, in order to m a k e them possible, both G o d a n d his Play? In other words it remains to be known if this nonsensible (invisible and inaudible) place is opened by G o d , by the name o f G o d (which w o u l d again be some other thing, perhaps), or if it is "older" than the time o f creation, than

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time itself, than history, narrative, w o r d , etc. It remains to be k n o w n (beyond knowing) if the place is opened by appeal (response, the event that calls for the response, revelation, history, etc.), or if it remains impassively foreign, like Khora, to everything that takes its place and replaces itself and plays within this place, including what is named G o d . Ixt's call this the test o f Khora . . . — D o w e have any choice? W h y choose between the two? Is it possible? But it is true that these two "places," these two experiences o f place, these two ways are no d o u b t of an absolute heterogeneity. O n e place excludes the other, one (sur)passes the other, one does w i t h o u t the other, one is, absolutely, without the other. But what still relates them to each other is this strange preposition, this strange

with-without

or w i t h o u t - w i t h ,

without

[English

in o r i g i n a l — E d . ] . T h e logic of this junction or o f this joining (conjunction-disjunction) permits a n d forbids at once what could be called exemplarism. E a c h thing, each being, y o u , m e , the other, each X , each name, and each name o f G o d can b e c o m e the example o f other substitutable X ' s . A process o f absolute formalization. A n y other is totally other. [ Tout autre est tout autre.] A name o f G o d , in a tongue, a phrase, a prayer, becomes an example of the name and o f names o f G o d , then o f names in general. It is necessary [ilfaut]

to

choose the best o f the examples (and it is necessarily the absolute g o o d , the agathon,

which finds itself to be, then, epekeina

ousias), but it is the best as example:

tes

for what it is and for what it is

not, for what it is and for what it represents, replaces, exemplifies. A n d the "it is necessary" (the best) is also an example for all the "it is necessary's" that there are and can be. —// faut

does not only mean it is necessary, but, in French,

etymologically, "it lacks" o r " i s w a n t i n g . " T h e lack or lapse is never far away. — T h i s exemplarism joins and disjoins at once, dislocates the best as the indifferent, the best as well as the indifferent: on one side, on one way, a profound and abyssal eternity, fundamental

but

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77

accessible to messianism in general, to the teleo-eschatological narrative and to a certain experience or historical (or historial) revelation; on the other side, on the other way, the nontemporality of an abyss without bottom or surface, an absolute impassibility (neither life nor death) that gives rise to everything that it is not. In fact, two abysses. — B u t the two abysses Silesius speaks about are t w o examples o f the first abyss, the profound, the one that you have just defined first, although it is not in any way "first," precisely. Silesius writes: Ein Abgrund ruffi dem andern. Der Abgrund meincs Geists rufft immer mit Geschrey Den Abgrund GOttes an: sag welcher tieffer sey? One abyss calls the other The abyss of my spirit always invokes with cries The abyss of G o d : say which may be deeper? (i: 68)

—It is just this singular exemplarism that at once roots and uproots the idiom. Each idiom (for example, G r e e k onto-theology or Christian revelation) can testify for itself a n d for what it is not (not yet or forever), without this value o f testimony (martyrdom) being itself totally determined by the inside o f the idiom (Christian martyrdom, for example). T h e r e , in this testimony offered not to oneself but to the other, is produced the horizon o f translatability— then o f friendship, o f universal c o m m u n i t y , o f European decentering, beyond the values of philia,

of charity, of everything that can

be associated with them, even beyond the European interpretation of the n a m e o f Europe. — A r e you implying that it is on this condition that one can organize international and intcrcultural colloquiums on "negative theology"? (I w o u l d now put quotation marks a r o u n d this expression.)

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— F o r example. It is necessary in a n y case to think the historial and a-historial possibility o f this project. W o u l d you have imagined such a c o l l o q u i u m o n l y a century ago? But what seems possible becomes thereby infinitely problematic. T h i s d o u b l e paradox resembles a double aporia: simultaneous negation a n d reaffirmation of G r e e k onto-theology and metaphysics, uprooting and expansion of Christianity, in E u r o p e and outside of E u r o p e , at the very m o m e n t w h e n vocations, some statistics tell us, seem on the w a n e there . . . — I am thinking o f what is happening in E u r o p e itself, in which the Pope appeals to the constitution or to the restoration o f a E u r o p e united in C h r i s t i a n i t y — w h i c h w o u l d be its very essence, and its destination. H e tries to demonstrate, in the course of his voyages, that the victory over the totalitarianisms o f the East has been carried off thanks to and in the name o f Christianity. In the course o f the so-called G u l f War, the allied western democracies often kept up a Christian discourse while speaking o f international law. T h e r e w o u l d be too m u c h to say here, and that is not the subject o f the c o l l o q u i u m . — O n the one h a n d , this negation, as reaffirmation, can seem to d o u b l e bolt the logocentric impasse o f European domesticity (and India in this regard is not the absolute other o f E u r o p e ) . But on the other h a n d , it is also w h a t , w o r k i n g on the open edge of this inferiority o r intimacy, lets [laisse] passage, lets the other be. —Laisser is a difficult w o r d to translate. H o w are they g o i n g to translate it? B y "to leave," as in the phrase that won't be long in c o m i n g w h e n we will shortly have to go our separate ways (I leave y o u , I am going, I leave) or else "to let"? — H e r e we must have recourse to the G e r m a n idiom. Silesius writes in the tradition o f the Gelassenheit

that, as w e noted above,

goes from Eckhart, at least, to Heidegger. It is necessary to leave all, to leave every " s o m e t h i n g " through love o f G o d , and no d o u b t to

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leave G o d himself, to abandon h i m , that is, at once to leave him and (but) let him (be beyond being-something). Save his name [saufson nom]— which must be kept silent there where it itself goes [/'/ se rend lui-meme]

to arrive

there, that is, to arrive at its o w n

erfacement. Das etwas muj? man lassen. Mensch so du etwas liebst, so liebstu nichts fiirwahr: GOtt ist nicht difs und das, drumb I.iK das Etwas gar. One must leave the something Man, if you love something, then you love nothing truly: God is not this and that, leave then forever the something. (1=44) O r again: Die geheimste Gelassenheit. Gelassenheit faht GOtt: G O t t aber selbst zulassen, Jst ein Gelassenheit, die wenig Menschen fassen. The most secret abandon Abandon seizes G o d ; but to leave G o d Himself, Is an abandonment that few men can grasp. (2: 9 2 )

— T h e a b a n d o n m e n t of this Gelassenheit, this Gelassenheit

the a b a n d o n m e n t to

does not exclude pleasure or enjoyment; o n the

contrary, it gives rise to them. It opens the play of G o d (of G o d and with G o d , o f G o d with self and with creation): it opens a passion to the enjoyment of

Qod:

Wie kan man GOttes genissen. GOtt ist ein Einges Ein, wer seiner wil geniessen, Mufi sich nicht weniger als Er, in Jhn einschlissen. How one can enjoy God God is a Unique One; whoever wants to enjoy Him Must, no less than He, be enclosed in Him. (1: 83)

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— T o let passage to the other, to the totally other, is hospitality. A double hospitality: the o n e that has the form of Babel (the c o n struction o f the Tower, the appeal to universal translation, but also the violent imposition o f the name, of the tongue, and of the idiom) and trie o n e (another, the same) o f the deconstruction

o f the

T o w e r o f Babel. T h e t w o designs are moved by a certain desire of universal community, beyond the desert of an arid formalization, that is, beyond e c o n o m y itself. B u t the two must deal [trailer]

with

what they claim to avoid: the untreatable itself. T h e desire o f G o d , G o d as the other n a m e o f desire, deals in the desert with radical atheism.

—In listening to y o u , o n e has more and more the feeling that desert is the other name, if not the proper place, of desire. A n d the at times oracular tone of apophasis, to which w e alluded a few m i n utes ago, often resounds in a desert, which does not always c o m e d o w n to preaching in the desert. — T h e m o v e m e n t toward the universal tongue oscillates between formalism, or the poorest, most arid, in effect the most desertlike techno-scientificity, and a sort of universal hive o f inviolable secrets, o f idioms that are never translated except as untranslatable seals. In this oscillation, "negative theology" is caught, comprised and comprehensive at once. B u t the Babelian narrative (construction a n d deconstruction at once) is still a (hi)story. T o o full o f sense. H e r e the invisible limit w o u l d pass less between the Babelian project a n d its deconstruction than between the Babelian place (event, Ereignis, history, revelation, eschato-teleology, messianism, address, destination, response and responsibility, construction and deconstruction) and " s o m e t h i n g " without thing, like an indeconstructible Khdra,

the o n e that precedes itself in the test, as if

they were t w o , the o n e and its double: the place that gives rise a n d place to Babel w o u l d be indeconstructible, not as a construction whose foundations w o u l d be sure, sheltered from every internal o r external deconstruction, but as the very spacing o f de-construction. T h e r e is where that happens and where there are those " t h i n g s "

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called, for example, negative theology and its analogues, deconstruction and its analogues, this c o l l o q u i u m here and its analogues. — W h a t do you mean, by reassuring yourself in these "analogies"? T h a t there is a singular chance in the transfer or the translation o f that o f which negative theology w o u l d be a sort of

analogon

or general equivalent, in the translatability uprooting but also returning this analogon

to its Greek or Christian e c o n o m y ? T h a t

this chance w o u l d be that o f a singularity d o i n g today s o m e other thing than losing itself in the c o m m u n i t y ? —Perhaps. But I w o u l d not yet speak o f h u m a n , nor even anthropotheocentric, c o m m u n i t y or singularity, nor even o f a Gevier in which what is called " a n i m a l " w o u l d be a mortal passed over in silence. Yes, the via negativa w o u l d perhaps today be the passage of the idiom into the most c o m m o n desert, as the chance of law [droit] and o f another treaty o f universal peace (beyond what is today called international law, that thing very positive but still so tributary o f the European concept of the State a n d of law, then so easy to arraign [arraisonner]

for particular States): the chance o f a

promise and of an a n n o u n c e m e n t in a n y case. — W o u l d you g o so far as to say that today there is a "politics" and a " l a w " o f negative theology? A juridico-political lesson to be d r a w n from the possibility of this theology? — N o , not to be d r a w n , not to be deduced as from a program, from premises or axioms. But there w o u l d no more be any "politics," " l a w , " or " m o r a l s " without this possibility, the very possibility that obliges us from now on to place these w o r d s between quotation marks. T h e i r sense will have trembled. — But you admit at the same time that " w i t h o u t " a n d "not w i t h o u t " [pas sans] are the most difficult w o r d s to say a n d to hear/understand, the most unthinkable or most impossible. W h a t

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S:

does Silesius mean, for example, w h e n he leaves us the

inheritance

of this m a x i m : Kein Tod ist ohn ein Leben. No death is without life (i: 3fl

and better: Nichts lebet ohne Sterben. G O t t selber, wenn Er dir wil leben, muK er sterben: Wie danckstu ohne Tod sein Leben zuererben? Nothing lives without dying G o d himself, If He wants to live for you, must die: How do you think, without death, to inherit his own life? (1: 33)

— H a s anything more profound ever been written on inheritance? I understand that as a thesis on what inherit means (to say). B o t h to give the n a m e and to receive it. Save [Sauf

Safe]—

—Yes, as the " w i t h o u t , " heritage, inheritance, filiation, if you prefer, is the most difficult thing to think and to " l i v e , " to " d i e . " But don't forget that these maxims o f Silesius, notably those that immediately surround them (1: 30, 31, 3 2 , 34, etc.), have a Christian sense, a n d the post-scripta o f m a x i m s 31 a n d 32 ("God

dies and lives

in us I I d o not die or live: G o d himself dies in m e , " etc.) cite Saint Paul in order to explain h o w it is necessary to read. T h e y teach h o w to read b y reading Saint Paul, and not otherwise. A post-scriptum

of

Christian reading or self-interpretation can c o m m a n d the whole perspective of the Cherubinic

Wanderer, and of all the "without's",

including " GOtt mag nichts ohne mich" (1: 9 6 ) , including " GOtt ist ohne Willen" not, the "Ohne

(1: 2 9 4 ) , a n d including, whether Heidegger likes it o r warumb"

o f " D i e R o s ' ist ohn w a r u m b " (1: 289). I f

Heidegger doesn't like this, it is necessary for him to write another post-scriptum,

which is always possible, and represents another

experience o f inheritance.

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T h e difficulty of the " w i t h o u t " spreads into what is still called politics, morals, o r law, which are just as threatened as promised by apophasis. Take the example o f democracy, o f the idea o f d e m o c racy, o f d e m o c r a c y to c o m e (neither the Idea in the Kantian sense, nor the current, limited, and determined concept of democracy, but democracy as the inheritance o f a promise). Its path passes perhaps today in the world through (across) the aporias of negative theology that w e just analyzed so schematically. — H o w can a path pass through aporias? — W h a t w o u l d a path be w i t h o u t aporia? W o u l d there be a w a y [dMf] without what clears the w a y there where the w a y is not o p e n e d , whether it is blocked or still buried in the nonway? I cannot think the notion of the w a y without the necessity o f deciding there where the decision seems impossible. N o r can I think the decision and thus the responsibility there where the decision is already possible and programmable. A n d w o u l d one speak, could one only speak of this thing? W o u l d there be a voice [voix] for that? A name? —You recognize that the possibility, then, o f speaking or w a l k i n g seems just as impossible. S o difficult in a n y case that this passage through aporia seems first of all (perhaps) reserved as a secret for a few. T h i s esoterism seems strange for a democracy, even for this d e m o c r a c y to c o m e that you define no more than apophasis defines G o d . Its to-come w o u l d be jealously thought, watched over, hardly taught by a few. Very suspect. —Understand m e , it's a matter of maintaining a double injunction. T w o concurrent desires divide apophatic theology, at the edge o f nondesire, around the gulf and chaos of the Khora: the desire to be inclusive o f all, thus understood by all (community, koine)

and

the desire to keep or entrust the secret within the very strict limits o f those w h o hear/understand it right, as secret, and are then capable or worthy o f keeping it. T h e secret, no more than d e m o c -

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racy or the secret o f democracy, must not, besides, cannot, be entrusted to the inheritance of no matter w h o m . Again the paradox of the example: the no-matter-who (any example sample) must also give the good example. Understand me w h e n I say that, I am still citing Silesius, in this sort o f post-scriptum

that he adds to the

m a x i m on " The blessed silence (Dos seelige Stilleschweigen)"

(i: 19). It

is a matter o f rightly understanding a silence, as elsewhere, the Gelassenheit:

" W i e scelig ist der M e n s c h , der weder wil noch

weils!"; " H o w blessed the man w h o neither wishes nor k n o w s ! " A n d here is the N o t a B e n e as post-scriptum:

" D e r G O t t (verstch

mich recht) nicht gibet L o b noch Preifi"; " T o G o d (understand me right) give neither praise nor glory." A n d you remember that "few m e n " are ready to grasp the exemplary Gelassenheit,

the one that

not only grasps, but k n o w s how to abandon G o d (2: 92). T h e reserved, the most refined, the rarest secret is that of one Gebassenheit and not o f the other, o f this Gelassenheit

here a n d not o f

another that resembles it, of this leaving-the-other-here and not o f the other. F r o m where w o u l d this sereniry of a b a n d o n m e n t be given (by what? by w h o m ? ) , this serenity which w o u l d also be understood, beyond all knowledge, as not giving anything to G o d [a Dieu],

not even A d i e u , not even to his name.

— T o give a name, is that still to give? Is that to give s o m e thing? A n d something ever other than a sur-name, such as G o d or

Khdra,

for e x a m p l e . . . — O n e can have doubts about it from the m o m e n t w h e n the name not only is nothing, in any case is not the " t h i n g " that it names, not the " n a m e a b l e " or the renowned, but also risks to bind, to enslave or to engage the other, to link the called, to call h i m / h e r to respond even before a n y decision or any deliberation, even before a n y freedom. An assigned passion, a prescribed alliance as much as a promise. A n d still, if the name never belongs originarily and rigorously to s/he w h o receives it, it also no longer belongs from the very first m o m e n t to s/he w h o gives it. A c c o r d i n g to a formula that haunts o u r tradition from Plotinus to Heidegger, w h o

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does not cite h i m , and to Lacan, w h o cites neither the former nor the l a t t e r , " and better than ever, the gift of the name gives that which it does not have, that in w h i c h , prior to everything, m a y consist the essence, that is to say—beyond being—the nonessence, of the gift. — O n e last question. O n e m a y foresee it better, Angelus Silesius does not represent the whole, nor even the best example o f "classic" or canonic negative theology. W h y bring everything back to him? — H e r e you have to believe in the accident or in the contingency of a (hi)story: an autobiographical chance [ale'a], if you like, that is happening to m e this summer. I chose to bring here with m e this given b o o k , the Cherubinic

Wanderer (and only extracts at that), to

bring it to this family place, in order to watch over a mother w h o is slowly leaving us and no longer knows how to name. As u n k n o w n as he remains to m e , Silesius begins to be more familiar and more friendly to me. I have been c o m i n g back to him recently, almost secretly, because of sentences that I have not cited today. A n d furthermore, it takes up little room w h e n one is traveling (seventy pages). Isn't negative theology—we have said this enough—also the most economical formalization? T h e greatest power of the possible? A reserve o f language, almost inexhaustible in so few words? T h i s literature forever elliptical, taciturn, cryptic, obstinately w i t h drawing, however, from all literature, inaccessible there even where it seems to go [se rendre), the exasperation o f a jealousy that passion carries beyond itself; this w o u l d seem to be a literature for the desert or for exile. It holds desire in suspense, and always saying too much or too little, each time it leaves you without ever going away from y o u . T R A N S L A T E D BY J O H N P. L E A V E Y , J R .

Thus myth puts in play a form of logic which could be called—in contrast to the logic of noncontradiction of the philosophers—a logic of the ambiguous, of the equivocal, of polarity. How can one formulate, or even formalize, these see-saw operations, which flip any term into its opposite whilst at the same time keeping them both apart, from another point of view? The mythologist was left with drawing up, in conclusion, this statement of deficit, and to turn to the linguists, logicians, mathematicians, that they might supply him with the tool he lacked: the structural model of a logic which would not be that of binarity, of the yes or no, a logic other than the logic of the logos. —Jean-Pierre Vernant, "Raisons du mythe," Mythe et societi en Grice anciennc (Paris, 1 9 7 4 ) , p. 2 5 0 .

§ Khdra

Khdra reaches us, and as the name. A n d w h e n a name comes, it immediately says more than the name: the other of the n a m e and quite simply the other, whose irruption the n a m e announces. T h i s announcement does not yet promise, no more than it threatens. It neither promises nor threatens anyone. It still remains alien to the person, only n a m i n g i m m i n e n c e , even only an i m m i n e n c e that is alien to the m y t h , the time, a n d the history o f every possible promise and threat. It is well k n o w n : what Plato in the Timaeus designates b y the name of khdra seems to defy that "logic of noncontradiction o f the philosophers" o f which Vernant speaks, that logic " o f binarity, o f the yes or n o . " H e n c e it might perhaps derive from that "logic other than the logic o f the logos." T h e khdra,

which is neither

"sensible" nor "intelligible," belongs to a "third g e n u s "

(triton

genos, 48a, 52a). O n e cannot even say o f it that it is neither this nor that or that it is both this and that. It is not enough to recall that khdra names neither this nor that, or, that khdra says this a n d that. T h e difficulty declared by T i m a e u s is shown in a different way: at times the khdra appears to be neither this n o r that, at times both this and that, but this alternation between the logic of exclusion and that o f participation—we shall return to this at length—stems perhaps only from a provisional appearance and from the constraints o f rhetoric, even from some incapacity for n a m i n g .

8

9

9

Khora

o

T h e khora seems to be alien to the order of the " p a r a d i g m , " that intelligible and i m m u t a b l e model. A n d yet, "invisible" and without sensible form, it "participates" in the intelligible in a very troublesome and indeed aporetic w a y (apordtata,

51b). A t least we

shall not be lying, adds T i m a e u s , at least we shall not be saying what is false (ou pseudometha)

in declaring this. T h e prudence o f

this negative formulation gives reason to ponder. N o t lying, not saying what is false: is this necessarily telling the truth? A n d , in this respect, what about testimony, bearing witness

[ttmoignage]}

Let us recall once m o r e , under the heading o f our preliminary approach, that the discourse on the khora, as it is presented, does not proceed from the natural or legitimate logos, but rather from a hybrid, bastard, or even corrupted reasoning (logismo notho).

It

comes "as in a dream" (52b), which could just as well deprive it of lucidity as confer u p o n it a power or divination. D o e s such a discourse derive, then, from myth? Shall we gain access to the thought o f the khora by c o n t i n u i n g to place our trust in the alternative logoslmythos}

A n d what if this thought called also

for a third genus of discourse? A n d what if, perhaps as in the case o f the khora, this appeal to the third genre was only the m o m e n t of a detour in order to signal toward a genre beyond genre? B e y o n d categories, and above all beyond categorial oppositions, which in the first place allow it to be approached or said? A s a token of gratitude and admiration, here then is homage in the form o f a question to Jean-Pierre Vernant. T h e question is addressed to the one w h o taught us so m u c h and gave us so m u c h pause for thought a b o u t the opposition mythosllogos,

certainly, but

also a b o u t the unceasing inversion of poles; to the author of " R a i s o n s d u m y t h e " and o f Ambigu'ite

et renversement:

h o w are we

to think that w h i c h , while g o i n g outside of the regularity of the logos, its law, its natural or legitimate genealogy, nevertheless does not belong, stricto sensu, to mythos} B e y o n d the retarded or j o h n n y come-lately opposition o f logos and mythos, how is one to think the necessity of that w h i c h , while giving place to that opposition as to so many others, seems sometimes to be itself no longer subject to the law of the very thing which it situates}

W h a t o f this place}

It is

Khdra

91

nameable? A n d wouldn't it have s o m e impossible relation to the possibility of naming? Is there s o m e t h i n g to think there, as I have just so hastily said, and to think according to necessity?

I

T h e oscillation o f which we have just spoken is not an oscillation a m o n g others, an oscillation between two poles. It oscillates between two types of oscillation: the double exclusion (neither/

nor)

and the participation (both this and that). But have we the right to transport the logic, the para-logic or the meta-logic of this superoscillation from o n e set to the other? It concerned first o f all types o f existent thing

(sensible/intelligible, visible/invisible,

form/

formless, icon, or m i m e m e / p a r a d i g m ) , but we have displaced it toward types o f discourse (mythosl logos) or of relation to what is or is not in general. N o doubt such a displacement is not self-evident. It depends on a sort of m e t o n y m y : such a m e t o n y m y w o u l d displace itself, b y displacing the names, from types [genres] being to types [genres]

of

o f discourse. But on the one hand it is

always difficult, particularly in Plato, to separate the two problematics: the quality o f the discourse depends primarily o n the quality of the being of which it speaks. It is almost as if a n a m e should only be given to w h o m (or to what) deserves it and calls for it. T h e discourse, like the relation to that w h i c h is in general, is qualified or disqualified by what it relates to. O n the other h a n d , the m e t o n y m y is authorized b y passing through genre, from o n e genre to the other, from the question of the genres/types o f being to the question o f the types o f discourse. N o w the discourse on the khdra is also a discourse o n genre/type (genos)

and on different types of

type. Later we will get on to genre as gens, or people (genos,

ethnos),

a theme which appears at the o p e n i n g o f the Timaeus.

In the

narrow context on which we are dwelling at present, that of the sequence on the khdra, w e shall encounter two further genres of genre or types of type. T h e khdra is a triton genos in view of the two types of being (immutable and intelligible/corruptible, in the p r o cess o f b e c o m i n g and sensible), but it seems to be equally deter-

9

Khora

2

mined w i t h regard to the sexual type: T i m a e u s speaks of " m o t h e r " and " n u r s e " in regard to this subject. H e does this in a m o d e which we shall not be in a hurry to name. A l m o s t all the interpreters of the Timaeus g a m b l e here o n the resources o f rhetoric without ever w o n d e r i n g about them. T h e y speak tranquilly about metaphors, images, similes.

1

T h e y ask themselves n o questions about this

tradition of rhetoric w h i c h places at their disposal a reserve o f concepts w h i c h are very useful but w h i c h are all built u p o n this distinction between the sensible a n d the intelligible, which is precisely w h a t the thought of the khora can no longer get along w i t h — a distinction, indeed, of which Plato u n a m b i g u o u s l y lets it be k n o w n that this thought has the greatest difficulty getting along with it. T h i s problem o f rhetoric—particularly o f the possibility o f naming—is, here, no mere side issue. N o r is its importance limited to s o m e pedagogic, illustrative, or instrumental dimension (those w h o speak o f metaphor w i t h regard to the khora often add: didactic metaphor). W e shall be content for the m o m e n t with indicating it, and situating it, but it is already clear that, just like the khora a n d with just as m u c h necessity, it cannot easily be situated, assigned to a residence: it is more situating than situated, an opposition which must in its turn be shielded from some grammatical or ontological alternative between the active and the passive. W e shall not speak o f metaphor, but not in order to hear, for example, that the khora is properly a mother, a nurse, a receptacle, a bearer o f imprints or gold. It is perhaps because its scope goes beyond or falls short of the polarity o f metaphorical sense versus proper sense that the thought of the khora exceeds the polarity, n o d o u b t analogous, o f the mythos and the logos. Such at least w o u l d be the question which w e should like here to p u t to the test of a reading. T h e consequence which w e envisage w o u l d be the following: w i t h these two polarities, the thought o f the khora w o u l d trouble the very order of polarity, of polarity in general, whether dialectical o r not. G i v i n g place to oppositions, it w o u l d itself not submit to any reversal. A n d this, which is another consequence, w o u l d not be because it w o u l d inalterably be itself b e y o n d its name but because in carrying bey o n d the polarity of sense (metaphorical or proper), it w o u l d no

Khdra

93

longer belong to the horizon of sense, nor to that of meaning as the m e a n i n g o f being. After these precautions and these negative hypotheses, y o u will understand w h y it is that w e left the n a m e khdra sheltered from any translation. A translation, admittedly, seems to b e always at w o r k , both in the Greek language a n d from the G r e e k language into s o m e other. Let us not regard a n y o f them as sure. T h i n k i n g a n d translating here traverse the same experience. If it must b e attempted, such an experience o r experiment [experience]

is n o t only but of concern

for a w o r d or an a t o m o f m e a n i n g but also for a w h o l e tropological texture, let us not yet call it a system, and for ways o f approaching, in order to name them, the elements o f this "tropology." W h e t h e r they concern the w o r d khdra itself ("place," " l o c a t i o n , " " r e g i o n , " " c o u n t r y " ) or what tradition calls the

figures—comparisons,

im-

ages, a n d metaphors—proposed by T i m a e u s ("mother," " n u r s e , " "receptable," " i m p r i n t - b e a r e r " ) , the translations remain caught in networks o f interpretation. T h e y are led astray by retrospective projections, which can always b e suspected o f being anachronistic. T h i s anachronism is not necessarily, not always, a n d not only a weakness from w h i c h a vigilant a n d rigorous interpretation w o u l d be able to escape entirely. W e shall try to show that n o - o n e escapes from it. Even Heidegger, w h o is nonetheless o n e o f the only ones never to speak o f " m e t a p h o r , " seems to us to yield to this teleological retrospection, against w h i c h , elsewhere, he so rightly puts us 2

on o u r guard. A n d this gesture seems highly significant for the whole of his questioning and his relationship to the "history-ofphilosophy." W h a t has just been said o f rhetoric, o f translation, or o f teleological anachronism, could give rise to a misunderstanding. W e must dispel it w i t h o u t delay. W e w o u l d never claim to propose the exact w o r d , the mot juste, for khdra, n o r to name it, itself, over and above all the turns a n d detours o f rhetoric, nor finally to approach it, itself, for what it will have been, outside of a n y point o f view, outside of any anachronic perspective. Its n a m e is not an exact word, not a mot juste. It is promised to the ineffaceable even if what

Khora

94

it names, khora, is not reduced to its name. Tropology and anachronism are inevitable. A n d all we w o u l d like to show is that it is structure which makes them thus inevitable, makes o f them s o m e thing other than accidents, weaknesses, or provisional moments. It is this structural law which seems to me never to have been approached as such b y the whole history of interpretations o f the Timaeus.

It w o u l d be a matter o f a structure and not o f some

essence o f the khora, since the question or essence n o longer has a n y meaning w i t h regard to it. N o t having an essence, h o w could the khora be [se tiendrait-elle]

beyond its name? T h e khora is anach-

ronistic; it " i s " the anachrony within being, or better: the anachrony o f being. It anachronizes being. T h e " w h o l e history o f interpretations," we have just said. W e will never exhaust the immense literature devoted to the

Timaeus

since antiquity. It is out of the question to deal with it here in its entirety. A n d , above all, to presuppose the unity or homogeneity o f this w h o l e , the very possibility o f totalizing it in s o m e ordered apprehension. W h a t w e shall presuppose, by contrast, and o n e could still call it a " w o r k i n g hypothesis," is that the presumption of such an order (grouping, unity, totality organized b y a telos) has an essential link w i t h the structural anachronism o f which w e spoke a m o m e n t ago. It w o u l d be the inevitable effect produced by something like the khora— w h i c h is not something, a n d which is not like anything, not even like what it w o u l d be, itself, there beyond its name. R i c h , n u m e r o u s , inexhaustible, the interpretations come, in short, to give form to the meaning o f khora. T h e y always consist in giving form

to it by determining it, it w h i c h , however, can "offer

itself" or promise itself only by removing itself from a n y determination, from all the marks or impressions to which we say it is exposed: from everything which we w o u l d like to give to it without hoping to receive anything from it . . . But what w e are putting forward here of the interpretation o f the khora—of

Plato's text o n

the khora—by speaking a b o u t a form given or received, about mark or impression, about knowledge as information, etc., all o f that already draws on what the text itself says about the khora, draws o n

Khdra

95

its conceptual and hermeneutic apparatus. W h a t we have just put forward, for example, for the sake of the example, on the subject of "khdra"

in the text of Plato, reproduces or simply brings back, with

all its schemas, Plato's discourse o n the subject o f the khdra. A n d this is true even d o w n to this very sentence in which I have just made use of the w o r d schemas. T h e skhemata are the cut-out figures imprinted into the khdra, the forms w h i c h inform it. T h e y are o f it without belonging to it. T h u s there are interpretations which w o u l d c o m e to give form to "khdra"

by leaving on it the schematic mark o f their imprint and by

depositing on it the sediment o f their contribution. A n d yet, "khdra"

seems never to let itself be reached or touched, m u c h less

broached, a n d above all not exhausted b y these types of tropological or interpretative translation. O n e cannot even say that it furnishes them with the support o f a stable substratum or substance. Khdra is not a subject. It is not the subject. N o r the support [subjectile].

The

hermeneutic types cannot inform, they cannot give form to khdra except to the extent that, inaccessible, impassive, " a m o r p h o u s " (amorphon,

51a) a n d still virgin, w i t h a virginity that is radically

rebellious against a n t h r o p o m o r p h i s m , it seems to receive these types and give place to them. B u t if T i m a e u s names it as receptacle (dekhomenon)

or place (khdra),

these names do not designate an

essence, the stable being of an eidos, since khdra is neither of the order of the eidos nor o f the order of m i m e m e s , that is, o f images of the «'b-c) Desire o f Socrates, o f the one w h o receives everything, once again: to give life, to see life a n d movement given to a graphi,

to see

a zoography b e c o m e a n i m a t e d , in other w o r d s , a pictural representation, the description or the dead inscription o f the living. T o give birth—but this is also war. A n d therefore death. T h i s desire is also political. H o w w o u l d one animate this representation o f the political? H o w w o u l d one set in m o t i o n , that is, set w a l k i n g / m a r c h i n g , a dead representation of the politeia?

By s h o w i n g the city in relation

to other cities. O n e will thus describe b y words, b y discursive painting, a State's m o v e m e n t of going outside o f itself. T h a n k s to a second graphic fiction, one will go outside o f the first graphe.

The

latter was more dead, less living than the second one to the extent that it described the city in itself, internal to itself, at peace with its o w n intcriority, in its domestic economy. T h e possibility o f war makes the graphic image—the description—of the ideal city go o u t , not yet into the living a n d mobile real, but into a better image, a living image o f this living a n d mobile real, while yet showing a functioning that is internal to the test: war. In all the senses o f the w o r d , it is a decisive exposition o f the city.

8

At the m o m e n t w h e n he asks that one should at last get out o f this graphic hallucination to see the image o f the things themselves in m o v e m e n t , Socrates points at, without d e n o u n c i n g them, poets a n d sophists: b y definition they are incapable of getting out o f the simulacrum o r the mimetic hallucination in order to describe political reality. Paradoxically, it is to the extent that they are always outside, without a place o f their o w n a n d with no fixed abode, that these members o f the mimetikon o f the poietikon

ethnos, or the genos ton sophistdn or

genos remain powerless, incapable of speaking of

the political reality inasmuch as it is measured on the precisely, in the test o f war.

outside,

Khora

" 9

A t the same time, affecting to rank himself on the side o f this ethnos or of this genos, Socrates confesses that he too is incapable of g o i n g outside, by himself and o f himself, of his m y t h o m i m e t i c o graphic dream in order to give life and m o v e m e n t to the city. ("I k n o w myself well e n o u g h to k n o w that I will never be capable o f celebrating as one should this city a n d its citizens [in war, negotiation, and m o v e m e n t ] . M y incapacity is not surprising; but I have formed the same judgment about the poets," iod.) A supplementary irony: Socrates is not content to side for a m o m e n t with the men o f the zoographic simulacrum; he declares that he does not despise their genos or their ethnos. T h i s confers on the play between the text and the theme, between what is d o n e and what is declared, as between the successive inclusions o f the " r e c e p tacles" for themes and theses, a structure without an indivisible origin. In this theatre of irony, where the scenes interlock in a series o f receptacles without end and without b o t t o m , how can one isolate a thesis or a theme that could be attributed calmly to the "philosophyof-PIato," indeed to philosophy us the Platonic thing? T h i s w o u l d be to misrecognize or violently deny the structure of the textual scene, to regard as resolved all the questions o f topology in general, including that o f the places o f rhetoric, and to think o n e understood what it means to receive, that is, to understand. It's a little early. A s always.

IV

S h o u l d one henceforth forbid oneself to speak of the philosophy o f Plato, o f the ontology o f Plato, or even of Platonism? N o t at all, and there w o u l d undoubtedly be no error o f principle in so speaking, merely an inevitable abstraction.

Platonism

w o u l d mean, in

these conditions, the thesis or the theme which one has extracted b y artifice, misprision, a n d abstraction from the text, torn out o f the written

fiction

o f " P l a t o . " O n c e this abstraction has been

supercharged and deployed, it will be extended over all the folds of the text, o f its ruses, overdeterminations, a n d reserves, which the

120

Khora

abstraction will c o m e to cover u p and dissimulate. T h i s will be called Platonism or the philosophy of Plato, which is neither arbitrary n o r illegitimate, since a certain force o f thetic abstraction at w o r k in the heterogeneous text o f Plato can r e c o m m e n d one to d o so. It works and presents itself precisely under the name o f philosophy. I f it is not illegitimate and arbitrary to call it as it is called, that is because its arbitrary violence, its abstraction, consists in m a k i n g the law, u p to a point and for a while, in d o m i n a t i n g , according to a m o d e which is precisely all of philosophy, other motifs o f thought which are also at w o r k in the text: for example, those which interest us here both b y privilege a n d from another situation—let us say, for brevity, from another historical

situation,

even though history depends most often in its concept on this philosophical heritage. " P l a t o n i s m " is thus certainly one o f the effects o f the text signed by Plato, for a long time, and for necessary reasons, the d o m i n a n t effect, but this effect is always turned back against the text. It must be possible to analyze this violent reversion. N o t that we have at o u r disposal at a given m o m e n t a greater lucidity or new instruments. Prior to this technology or this methodology, a new situation, a new experience, a different relation must be possible. I leave these three words (situation,

experience,

relation)

without

c o m p l e m e n t in order not to determine them too quickly and in order to a n n o u n c e new questions through this reading of khora. T o say, for example, situation or topology o f being, experience of being or relation to being, w o u l d perhaps be to set oneself u p too quickly in the space opened up by the question o f the m e a n i n g of being in its Heideggerian type. N o w , it will appear later, a propos the Hcideggerian interpretation o f khdra, that o u r questions are also addressed to certain decisions o f Heidegger and to their very horizon, to what forms the horizon o f the question o f the meaning of being a n d of its epochs. T h e violent reversion o f which we have just spoken is always interested and interesting. It is naturally at w o r k in this ensemble without limit which we call here the text. In constructing itself, in being posed in its d o m i n a n t form at a given m o m e n t (here that o f

Khdra

121

the Platonic thesis, philosophy, or o n t o l o g y ) , the text is neutralized in it, n u m b e d , self-destructed, or dissimulated: unequally, partially, provisionally. T h e forces that are thus inhibited continue to maintain a certain disorder, some potential incoherence, a n d s o m e heterogeneity in the organization of the theses. T h e y introduce parasitism into it, a n d clandestinity, ventriloquism, and, above all, a general tone o f denial, which one can learn to perceive by exercising one's ear or one's eye o n it. " P l a t o n i s m " is not only an example o f this m o v e m e n t , the first " i n " the whole history o f philosophy. It c o m m a n d s it, it c o m m a n d s this whole history. A philosophy as such w o u l d henceforth always be " P l a t o n i c . " H e n c e the necessity to continue to try to think what takes place in Plato, with Plato, what is shown there, what is hidden, so as to w i n there or to lose there.

Let us return to the Timaeus. A t the point we have now reached, how can we recognize the present of the talc? W h o is presented there? W h o holds the discourse there? T o w h o m is the speech addressed? Still to Socrates: we have already insisted on this singular dissymmetry: but that remains still too indeterminate, by definition. A t this point, then, three instances o f textual fiction are mutually included in one another, each as content given form in the receptacle of another: F i , the Timaeus

itself, a unit(y) that is already

difficult to cut up; F 2 , the conversation o f the evening before ( T h e Republic,

Politeia?

T h i s debate is well k n o w n ) ; and F3, its present

rdsume\ the description of the ideal

politeia.

But this is merely to begin ( i 7 a - i o b ) . In front of the dead picture [tableau mort, a pun on tableau vivant—Tt.}

Socrates thus demands

that one pass o n to life, to m o v e m e n t a n d to reality, in order to speak at last o f philosophy and politics, those things that the mimetikon

ethnos, the poietikon

genos, and the ton sophiston

genos

are, somewhat like Socrates, incapable of. H e addresses his interlocutors as a different genos, a n d this apostrophe will m a k e them speak while according to them the necessary right and competence for that. In effacing himself and in rendering u p the w o r d , Socrates seems also to induce and to program the discourse o f his addressees,

122

Khora

whose listener a n d receiver he affects to b e c o m e . W h o will speak henceforth through their mouths? Will it be they, Socrates' addressees? O r Socrates, their addressee? T h e genos o f those w h o by nature and by education participate in the t w o orders, philosophy and politics ( " a n a ctutpoxepcov cpxioei Ktxt tpocpfi uexexov," 2 0 a ) , sees itself thus being assigned the w o r d by the one w h o excludes himself from their genos and pretends to belong to the genos o f the simulators. S o y o u n g Critias accepts (F4) to recount a tale w h i c h he had already told the night before, o n the road, according to old oral traditions (ekpalaias

akoes, 2 o d ) . In the course o f this tale, w h i c h ,

the night before, already repeated an old a n d ill-determined tradition, y o u n g Critias recounts another tale ( F 5 ) , which old Critias, his ancestor, had himself told o f a conversation which he (said he) had with S o l o n , a conversation in the course of which the latter relates (F6) in his turn a conversation which he (said he) had with an Egyptian priest a n d in the course of which the latter relates (F7) in his turn the origin of Athens: according to Egyptian scriptures. N o w it is in this last tale (the first one in the series o f narrative events, the last one to be reported in this telling of tellings) that the reference to Egyptian w r i t i n g returns. In the course of this first-last tale, the most mythic in its form, it is a matter of reminding the Greeks, w h o have remained children, of what the childhood o f Athens was. N o w , Athens is a figuration o f a city w h i c h , though it did not have the correct usage o f writing, nonetheless served as a model to the Egyptian city from which the priest came—hence as an exemplary paradigm in the place from w h i c h , in short, he advances this tale. T h a t place, which seems to inspire or produce the tale thus has another place, Athens, as its model. S o it is A t h e n s or its people w h o , as the apparent addressees or receptacles o f the tale, w o u l d thus be, according to the priest himself, its utterers, producers, or inspirers, its informers. In fiction Fi—itself written, let us never forget that—there is thus developed a theory or a procession o f writing referring, in

writing,

to an origin older than itself ( F 7 ) . In the center, between F3 and F 4 , is a sort of reversal, an apparent

Khdra

'23

catastophe, and the appearance is that w e think we're passing then at last into reality, exiting from the s i m u l a c r u m . In truth, everything still remains confined in the space of the zoographic

fiction.

W e can gauge the ironic ingenuity that Socrates needs in order to congratulate himself here on passing over to serious things and going beyond the inanimate painting to get on to real events at last. Indeed, he applauds w h e n Critias announces to h i m that he is getting ready to recount w h a t his grandfather told him Solon had told him on the subject of w h a t an Egyptian priest had confided to him about "the marvelous exploits accomplished b y this c i t y " ( 2 0 e ) , o n e of these exploits being "the greatest o f all" (panton de hen megiston). Therefore, w e will say ( m i m i c k i n g the argument o f Saint A n s e l m , unless it be that of G a u n i l o n ) : an event w h i c h must have been real or else it w o u l d not have been the greatest o f all. That's well said, replies Socrates in his enthusiasm, eu legeis. A n d he goes o n to ask at once w h a t is this exploit, this effective w o r k

(ergon)

w h i c h was not reported only as a fiction, a fable, s o m e t h i n g said, s o m e t h i n g one is content to talk about (ou legomenon)

but also as a

high fact really accomplished (ontos) b y that city, in former times about w h i c h S o l o n thus heard tell. W e ought, then, to speak at last of a fact (ergon) veritably, really accomplished. N o w w h a t happens? Let us note first that the essential w o u l d c o m e to us from Solon's m o u t h , himself quoted by two generations o f Critiases. N o w w h o is Solon? H e is hastily presented as a poet o f genius. If political urgency had left him the leisure to devote himself to his genius, he w o u l d have surpassed H e s i o d or H o m e r ( 2 i a - b ) . After what Socrates has just said about poets, after the "realist" turn which the text pretended to take, this is a further excess o f irony, w h i c h destabilizes even m o r e the firmness o f the theses and themes. It accentuates the d y n a m i c tension between the thetic effect and the textual fiction, berween on the one hand the "philosophy

or

the "politics" which is here associated with h i m — c o n t e n t s of identifiable and transmissible meanings like the identity of a k n o w l edge—and on the other hand a textual drift [derive]

w h i c h takes

the form of a m y t h , in a n y event of a "saying" (legomenon),

whose

I2

4

Khdra

origin appears always undefined, pulled back, entrusted to a responsibility that is forever a d j o u r n e d , without a fixed and determinable subject. From one telling to the next, the author gets farther and farther away. So the m y t h i c saying resembles a discourse without a legitimate father. O r p h a n or bastard, it is distinguished from the philosophical logos, w h i c h , as is said in the Phaedrus,

must have a father to answer for it and about it. T h i s

familial schema by w h i c h one situates a discourse will be found again at w o r k at the m o m e n t o f situating, if w e can still say this, the place [lieu] o f any site [site], namely khdra. O n the one h a n d , khdra w o u l d be the "receptacle—as it were, the n u r s e — o f any birth" (";tdoT|c. e l v a i YEVEOECOC. imoSojrnv a u t n v olov Ti9f|vnv," 4 9 a ) . A s a nurse, she thus drives from that tertium

quid whose logic c o m -

m a n d s all that is attributed to it. O n the o t h e r h a n d , a little further o n , another suitable " c o m p a r i s o n " is proposed to us: " A n d it is convenient to c o m p a r e [proseikasai

prepei)

the receptacle to a

mother, the paradigm to a father, and the intermediary nature between the two to a child [ekgonon]"

(sod). A n d yet, to follow this

other figure, although it no longer has the place of the nurse but that o f the mother, khdra does not couple with the father, in other words, with the paradigmatic model. S h e is a third gender/genus ( 4 8 c ) ; she does not belong to an oppositional couple, for e x a m p l e , to that w h i c h the intelligible paradigm forms with the sensible b e c o m i n g and w h i c h looks rather like a father/son couple. T h e " m o t h e r " is supposedly apart. A n d since it's only a figure, a schema, therefore one o f these determinations w h i c h khdra receives, khdra is not more of a m o t h e r than a nurse, is no m o r e than a w o m a n . T h i s triton genos is not a genos, first o f all because it is a u n i q u e individual. S h e does not belong to the "race of w o m e n " (genos

gynaikdn)P

Khdra marks a place apart, the spacing w h i c h keeps a dissymmetrical relation to all that w h i c h , " i n herself," beside or in addition to herself, seems to make a couple with her. In the couple outside o f the couple, this strange m o t h e r w h o gives place without engendering can no longer be considered as an origin. She/it eludes all anthropo-theological schemes, all history, all revelation, and all truth. Preoriginary, before and outside o f all generation, she no

Khdra

125

longer even has the m e a n i n g o f a past, o f a present that is past. Before signifies no temporal anteriority. T h e relation o f independence, the nonrelation, looks m o r e like the relation o f the interval or the spacing to w h a t is lodged in it t o be received in it. A n d yet the discourse on khdra, conducted by a bastard reasoning w i t h o u t a legitimate father (logismd tini nothd, 5 2 b ) , is inaugurated b y a new return [retour]

to the origin: a n e w raising o f the

stakes in the analytic regression. B a c k w a r d steps [retours en arriere] give t o the w h o l e o f the Timaeus

its rhythm. Its proper time is

articulated by m o v e m e n t s w h i c h resume from even farther back the things already dealt with farther back. T h u s : If, then, we are really [OVTCOCJ to tell how the world was born, we must bring in also the Errant Cause [ m i TO xfjq nXavwuevnc, ET5OC; amac.] and in what manner its nature is to cause motion. So w e must return upon our steps [ndA.iv] thus, and take up again, for these phenomena, an appropriate new beginning [npoerr|icot)aav erepav dpxnv] and start once more upon our present theme from the beginning, as we did upon the theme o f our earlier discourse [vuv oikco nepl TOUTCOV rcdA.iv dpKTEov drt' dpxnc.] (48a-b). W e will not begin again at the beginning. W e will not go back, as is stated immediately after, to first principles o r elements o f all things (stoikheia

tou pantos).

W e must g o further o n w a r d , take up again

everything that w e were able t o consider hitherto as the origin, g o back behind and below [en dega] the elementary principles, that is, behind and below the opposition o f the paradigm and its copy. A n d w h e n , in order to do this, it is a n n o u n c e d that recourse will b e m a d e only to probable affirmations ("tr|v TCOV EIKOTCOV A,6ycov 8v>vtxuiv," o r again "TO TCOV EIKOTCOV S o y u a , " 4 8 d - e ) , it is in order also to propose to "divide further" the principle (48c): " N o w let us divide this n e w beginning m o r e a m p l y than our first. W e then distinguished two forms [8t>o Eton] o f being; now, w e must point o u t a third [xptTov ixKko yevoq fjutv 8nA.coT£ov]." Let us take things up again from farther back, w h i c h can be translated thus: let us go back behind a n d below the assured discourse o f philosophy, w h i c h proceeds by oppositions o f princi-

126

Khora

pic and counts on the origin as o n a normal

couple. W e must g o

back toward a preorigin which deprives us o f this assurance and requires at the same time an impure philosophical

discourse,

threatened, bastard, hybrid. T h e s e traits are not negative. T h e y d o not discredit a discourse w h i c h w o u l d simply be interior to philosophy, for if it is admittedly not true, merely probable, it still tells what is necessary on the subject of necessity. T h e strange difficulty o f this w h o l e text lies indeed in the distinction between these two modalities: the true and the necessary. T h e bold stroke consists here in going back b e h i n d a n d below the origin, or also the birth, toward a necessity which is neither generative nor engendered and which carries philosophy, "precedes" (prior to the time that passes or the eternal time before history) and "receives" the effect, here the image o f oppositions (intelligible and sensible): philosophy. T h i s necessity [khdra is its sur-name) seems so virginal that it does not even have the figure o f a virgin a n y longer. T h e discourse on khora thus plays for philosophy a role analogous to the role which khdra "herself" plays for that which philosophy speaks of, namely, the cosmos formed or given form according to the paradigm. Nevertheless, it is from this cosmos that the proper—but necessarily inadequate—figures will be taken for describing khdra: receptacle, imprint-bearer, mother, or nurse. T h e s e figures are not even true figures. Philosophy cannot speak directly, whether in the mode o f vigilance or o f truth (true or probable), about what these figures approach. T h e dream is between the t w o , neither one nor the other. Philosophy cannot speak philosophically of that which looks like its " m o t h e r , " its " n u r s e , " its "receptacle," or its "imprint-bearer." A s such, it speaks only o f the father and the son, as if the father engendered it all on his o w n . O n c e again, a h o m o l o g y or analogy that is at least formal: in order to think khdra, it is necessary to go back to a beginning that is older than the beginning, namely, the birth o f the c o s m o s , just as the origin o f the Athenians must be recalled to them from beyond their o w n memory. In that which is formal about it, precisely, the analogy is declared: a concern for architectural, textual (histological) and even organic composition is presented as such a little

Khdra

127

further o n . It recalls the organicist motif of the Phaedrus:

a well-

c o m p o s e d logos must look like a living body. T i m a e u s : " N o w that, like the builders [tektosin],

we have the materials [hyle:

material,

w o o d , raw material, a word that Plato never used to qualify

khora,

let that be said in passing to a n n o u n c e the problem posed b y the Aristotelian interpretation o f khdra as m a t t e r — J D ] ready sorted to our hands, namely, the kinds o f cause [necessary cause, divine c a u s e — J D ] we have distinguished, which are to be c o m b i n e d in the fabric [synyphanthenai]

o f reasoning [logos] which remains for

us to d o . Let us go back, then, o n c e more, briefly, to the beginning [palin ep'arkhen),

and rapidly trace the steps that led us to the point

from which we have now reached the same position o n c e more; a n d then attempt to crown our story with a completion fitting all that has gone before [teleuten ton mythd kephalen]"

(69a).

T R A N S L A T E D BY IAN M C L E O D

Notes

Passions TRANSLATOR'S N O T E : I would like to thank Leslie Hill, Peter Larkin, and Will McNeill for their considerable help in uprooting errors and suggesting numerous felicitous phrasings and construals. Without their help this translation would have betrayed considerably greater linguistic eccentricity. i. What does the narrator suggest on the subject of the analysis and the analyst in The Purloined Letter, but especially in the first pages of The Murders in the Rue Morgue? To give the greatest sharpness to the unruleboundconcept of the analyst, he suggests that the analyst would have to proceed beyond calculation, even without rules: "Yet to calculate is not in itself to a n a l y z e . . . . But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rules that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence [my emphasis—JD], a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps do his companions. . . . It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic." See Edgar Allan Poc, Poetry and Tales (New York: Library of America), pp. 3 8 8 - 8 9 . In The Purloined Letter (ibid., pp. 6 9 1 - 9 2 ) , Dupin quotes Chamfort and denounces as "folly" the convention by which mathematical reason would be "the reason par excellence," and as a perfectly French "scientific trickery" the application of the term "analysis" only to 'algebraic operations." Note already, since this will be our theme, that these exchanges between the narrator and Dupin take place in secret, in a "secret place." Like them, with them, we are au secret [isolated, shut

'3'

132

Notes to Pages

6-9

away—Tr.], as we say in French, and "in the secret." which does not mean that we know anything. It is at least and precisely what the narrator, in a form written and published by Poe, tells (us): twice the secret is told (even the address supplied: "at an obscure library in the rue Montmartre," then "in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St Germain," then "in his little back library, or book closet, No 3 3 , Rue Dunot, Faubourg St Germain" [ibid., p. 6 8 0 ] ) without for all that the same secret ever being penetrated at all. And this is because it is all a matter of trace, both in the trace of discourse, and in the discourse of inscription, of transcription or, if one wishes to follow convention, of writing, both in the writing of literature, and in the literature of fiction, both in the fiction of narration, and placed in the mouth of a narrator, to whom, for all these reasons, nothing requires us to give credit. That a secret can be announced without being revealed, or, alternatively, that the secret is manifest, this is what there is [ily a] (es gibt) and will always remain to translate, even here, etc. 2 . "I was deeply interested in the little family history which he detailed to me with all the candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is the theme" (Edgar Allan Poe, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, in Poetry and Tales, p. 4 0 0 ) . "Je fus profondement interesse" par sa petite histoire de famille, qu'il me raconta minutieusement avec cette candeur et cct abandon—ce sans-facon du mot—qui est le propre de tout Francais quand il parle de ses propres affaires" (Poe, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, trans. Charles Baudelaire in his Oeuvres completes: Histoires extraordinaires [Paris: Louis Conard, 1 9 3 2 ] , p. 6 ) . Is it enough to speak French, to have learned to speak French, to be or to have become a French citizen to appropriate for oneself, to appropriate oneself to, what is, according to Baudelaire's translation, so strictly personal—a translation more appropriating than appropriate—"le propre de tout Francais" (the property of all French people)? 3. One ought not to have. On devrait ne pas devoir, even for reasons of economy, to dispense with here [[aire ici I'economie de] a slow, indirect, uncertain analysis of that which, in certain determined linguistic and cultural regions \aires] (certain, hence not all nor all equally), would root duty in debt. Even before getting involved in that, we cannot detach ourselves from a feeling, one whose linguistic or cultural conditioning is difficult to assess. It is doubtless more than a feeling (in the most common sense of the term, that of the sensibility or the "pathological" of which Kant spoke), but we keenly feel this paradox: a gesture remains

Note to Page 9 a-moral (it falls short of giving affirmation, unlimited, incalculable, or uncalculating, without any possible reappropriation, against which one must measure the ethiciry or the morality of ethics), if it was accomplished out of duty in the sense of "duty of restitution," out of a duty which would come down to the discharge of a debt, out of such a duty as having to return what has been lent or borrowed. Pure morality must exceed all calculation, conscious or unconscious, of restitution or reappropriation. This feeling tells us, perhaps without dictatinginything, that we must go beyond duty, or at least beyond duty as debt: duty owes nothing, it must owe nothing, it ought at any rate to owe nothing [le devoir ne doit rien, ildoit ne rien devoir, il devrait en tous cos ne rieti devoir]. But is there a duty without debt? How are we to understand, how translate a sayingwh'xch tells us that a duty ought to prescribe nothing [un devoir doit ne rien devoir] in order to be or to do what it should be or should do, namely, a duty, its duty? Here a discrete and silent break with culture and language announces itself, and it is, it would be, this duty. But if debt, the economy of debt, continues to haunt all duty, then would we still say that duty insists on being carried beyond duty? And that between these two duties no common measure should resist the gentle but intractable [intraitable] imperative of the former? Now, who will ever show that this haunting memory of debt can or should ever cease to disturb the feeling of duty? Should not this disquiet predispose us indefinitely against the good conscience? Does it not dictate to us the first or the last duty? It is here that conscience and etymologico-semantic knowledge are indispensable, even if as such they must not have the last word. We must be content here with indicative references {here provides the rule: a place, a certain limited number of pages, a certain time, a deadline [English in original—Tr.], yes, time and space ruled by a mysterious ceremony). O n e would have to cross-reference between them, and try, if possible, to link them up in a network. O n e very accidental trajectory would follow the movements back and forth [aller et retours: also "return tickets"; "outgoing and returns" would perhaps capture a more financial idiom—Tr.), for example, between the determination of duty in The Critique of Practical Reason or The Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, the determination of debt and of culpability in the Kantian metaphysics of law, the meditation of Being and Time on the "attestation" (Bezeugung), call (Ruf), and on originary Schuldigsein (being-guilty), and (for example) the second essay of The Genealogy of Moralson "guilt" (Scbuld), "bad conscience" (Schlechtesgewissen) and the

•34

Note to Page 9

like (und Verwandtes), in which Nietzsche begins (section 2 ) by recalling "the long history of the origin of responsibdity" ("die lange Geschichtc von der Herkunft der Vcrantwortlichkcit") and asks (section 4 ) whether "these genealogists of morality had ever had the faintest suspicion that, for example, the central moral concept of guilt [zum Beispiel jener moralische Hauptbegriff"Schuld" ] draws its origin from the very material concept of'debt' [Schulden]." In the same movement, Nietzsche recalls (section 6 ) the cruel aspect (Grausamkeit) of "old Kant's" categorical imperative. Freud would not be far away, the Freud of Totem and Taboo on the religions of the father and the religions of the son, on the origin of remorse and of the moral conscience, on the sacrifices and the puttings to death that they require, on the accession of the conlr.iicrn.il law (let us say, of a certain concept of democracy). Accidental back and forth movements [alter et retours—see above, Tr.], comings and goings, then, between all these already canonical texts and meditations of a type apparently different but in fact very close—and closer to our time, for example, the most recent proposals of Emilc Benvcniste (Indo-European Language and Society, trans. Elizabeth Palmer [Miami: University of Miami Press, 1 9 7 3 ] , ch. 1 6 , "Lending, Borrowing and Debt") or of Charles Malamoud (Lien de vie, noeud mortel: Les Representations de la dette en Chine, au Japon et dans le monde indien [Paris: E H E S S , 1 9 8 8 ] ) . Two quotations will explain better, if more obliquely, the direction which I ought to pursue here, but cannot. One from Benveniste (pp. 1 4 8 - 4 9 ) , the other from Malamoud (pp. 7 , 8, 1 3 , 1 4 ) . Each quotation finds ample expansion, of course, in the work of these two authors. Benvcniste: " T h e sense of the Latin debeo 'owe' seems to result from the composition of the term de * habeo, a compound which is not open to doubt since the Latin archaic perfect is still dehibui (for instance, in Plautus). What does debeo mean? The current interpretation is 'to have something (which one keeps) from somebody': this is very simple, perhaps too much so, because a difficulty presents itself immediately: the construction with the dative is inexplicable, debere aliquid alicui. "In Latin, contrary to what it might seem, debere does not constitute the proper expression for 'to owe' in the sense of 'to have a debt.' The technical and legal designation of the 'debt' is aes alienum in the expressions 'to have debts, to settle a debt, in prison for debt.' Debere in the sense of 'to have debts' is rare, it is only a derived usage. " T h e sense of debere is different, although it is also translated by 'to

Note to Page o

135

o w e ' One can 'owe' something without having borrowed it: for instance, one owes' rent for a house, although this does not involve the return of a sum borrowed. Because of its formation and construction, debeo should be interpreted according to the value which pertains to the prefix de, to wit: 'taken, withdrawn from"; hence 'to hold [habere] something which has been taken from [de] somebody.' "This literal interpretation corresponds to an actual use: debeo is used in circumstances in which one has to give back something belonging to another and which one keeps without having literally 'borrowed' it: debere is to detain something taken from the belongings or rights of others. Debere is used, for instance, 'to owe the troops their pay' in speaking of a chief, or the provisioning of a town with corn. The obligation to give results from the fact that one holds what belongs to another. That is why debeo in the early period is not the proper term for debt. " O n the other hand, there is a close relation between 'debt,' 'loan,' and 'borrowing,' which is called mutua pecunia: mutuant pecuniam solvere 'pay a debt.' The adjective mutuus defines the relation which characterizes the loan. It has a clear formation and etymology. Although the verb muto has not taken on this technical sense, the connection with mutuus is certain. We may also cite munus and so link up with an extensive family of Indo-European words which, with various suffixes, denote the notion of 'reciprocity.' . . . The adjective mutuus indicates either 'loan' or 'borrowing,' according to the way in which the expression is qualified. It always has to do with money [pecunia] paid back exactly in the amount that was received." Malamoud: "In the modern European languages to which we have just alluded, there appears to be a direct relationship between the forms of the verb devoir, which deal with obligation properly speaking or with obligation as probability, and those which mean 'being in debt [dene].' This relationship appears at one time in the fact that 'duty [devoir]' used absolutely is the equivalent of'being indebted, being in debt,' with, when appropriate, a substantive complement indicating what debt consists of ('I owe [dois] a hundred francs'); at other times, in the very name of debt, which, in a more or less perceptible fashion for the speaker who is not an etymologist, derives from the verb devoir [should, ought, must—Tr.): the debt, is what is du [owed, due], what is carried into 'debit', the French term dette [debt], derives from the Latin debitum, which itself, past participle of debere, devoir, is used in the sense of'debt.'

i 6 3

Note to Page o

"In debt are combined duty and fault [faute; also lack): a connection for which the history of the Germanic languages provides evidence: the German Schuldmeans both 'debt' and 'fault' [faute], and schuldigmeans both 'guilty' and 'debtor.' But Schuld derives from the Gothic skuld which itself is connected with a verb skulan 'to have an obligation', 'to be in debt' (it translates, in the Gospel, the Greek verb opheild, which has these two acceptations) and also 'to be at fault.' On the other hand, from the same Germanic radical, "skal but with another treatment of the initial letter, derives the German verb sollen 'should (do)' [devoir (faire)) and the English shall, which, although enjoying a specialist usage today in the expression of the future, meant, at a much older stage of the language, 'duty' in the full sense. "Groups of this type, more or less dense, more or less articulated, appear in a great number of Indo-European languages. They do not always delineate the same configurations, and each particular situation would demand a careful study. . . . " T h e linguistic analyses of Jacqueline Pigeot for Japanese, of Viviane Aileron for Chinese, show, with all the requisite nuances, that the sphere of moral debt is clearly distinct from that of material debt, and that neither is connected with the morphemes corresponding to the word devoir [ought/should] as an auxiliary of obligation or of probability. T h e configurations that we notice in the languages that we have mentioned cannot be detected either in Japanese or Chinese. It is not quite the same for Sanskrit: there is no word devoir in Sanskrit, and there is no etymological connection between the different names for moral obligation and the name of debt. On the other hand, debt, named by a term which refers just as well to economic debt (including that which results from borrowing money with interest) as it does to moral debt, is presented, in Brahmanism, as the prototype and the principle by which debts are explained. . . . "However, the notion of criance [belief, credence, credit, also debt, claim!—Tr.] can also lend itself to polysemic games: one only has to recall that in French croyance [belief] and criance are originally one and the same word, that in German Glaiibigermeans both croyant [believer] and criancier [creditor). But the connection between faire cridit [to give credit] and croire [believe] is less fecund, ideologically, than that which binds devoir [duty/ought] to etre en dette [being in debt]. . . . "That man, according to Brahmanism, is born 'as debt', that this debt is the mark of his mortal condition, docs not mean that human nature is

Notes to Page 10

137

determined by original sin. As the Sanskrit word ma, dette, can sometimes be colored by faute [fault, lack], the German philologists of the last century, influenced perhaps by the ambiguity of the word Schuld, as both 'debt' and 'fault', suggested making ma derive from the same IndoEuropean radical as Latin: reus, 'accused', 'culpable.' T h e erymology is erroneous, as would be a similarity between fundamental debt and original sin. Debt is neither the sign nor the consequence of a fall, nor, moreover, of any such occurrence. It does not result from a contract, but directly places man in the condition or the status of debtor. This status itself is made concrete and is diversified in a series of duties or of partial debts, which are invoked, in the Hindu laws, to justify the rules of positive law which organize the administration of material debt. . . . " T h e most concrete example, and if we may say so, the best illustration of this 'connection and drawing together [colligence] of heaven and earth' which would be debt, was provided for us by Hou Ching-lang, who shows us excellently how man buys his destiny by pouring into the celestial treasury the bad money of a true sacrifice." 4. On this "problematic" of the semantic configuration of cap, of capital, of the capital of front (in the double sense of "front"—for example, a military front or faire front [to face someone] as in affrontement [face, brave, tackle], or confrontation [confrontation]—and the prominence of the face, the forehead [English in original—Tr.]), of the frontal and of the frontier, I would refer the reader particularly to my L'Autre Cap, followed by La Democratic ajoumie (Paris: Minuit, 1 9 9 1 ) ; in English, The Other Heading, trans. Pascale-Anne Brault and Michael B. Naas (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1 9 9 2 ) . 5. T h e child is the problem. As always. And the problem is always childhood. Not that I am distinguishing here, as we used to do in my student days, and in the tradition of Gabriel Marcel, between problem and mystery. The mystery would rather depend here on a certain problematicity of the child. Later I will try perhaps to distinguish the secret from both the mystery and the problem. In the Sophoclean tragedy which bears his name, Philoctetus makes this supplementary use of the word problema: the substitute, the deputy, the prosthesis, whatever or whoever one puts forwardxo protect oneself while concealing oneself, whatever or whoever comes in the place or in the name of the other, delegated or diverted responsibility. It is at the moment when, abandoned by his friends after a serpent bite had left a fetid wound on his body, Philoctetus still keeps the secret of the Heraclean bow, an invincible bow from which

i3«

Notes to Pages 11—12

they will temporarily separate him. Right now, they are in need of both the weapon and the secret. Acting always indirectly, after many detours and stratagems, without ever facing him [ faire front], Ulysses gives the order that the bow be seized. Philoctetus accuses, protests, or complains. He is astonished at the offerings, he no longer recognizes a child and bewails his hands: "Hands o f mine [O kheires], quarry of Odysseus' hunting, now suffer your lack of the loved bowstring. You who havenever had a healthy thought or noble, you Odysseus, how you have hunted me, how you have stolen upon me with this boy [Neoptolemus] as your shield [labdn problema sautou paidia]; because I did not know him that is no mate to you but worthy of me . . . now to my sorrow you have me bound hand and foot, intend to take me away, away from this shore on which you cast me once without friends or comrades or city, a dead man among the l i v i n g . . . . To you all I have long been dead. G o d hated wretch, how is it that now I am not lame and foul-smelling? How can you burn your sacrifice to G o d if I sail with you? Pour your libations? This was your excuse for casting me away" ( 1 0 0 8 - 3 5 ; trans. David Grene in David Grene and Richmond Lattimore, eds., The Complete Greek Tragedies, Sophocles / / [ N e w York: Washington Square Press, 1 9 6 7 ] ) . 6 . I refer to the related treatment of the secret, the stricture, the Passion, and the Eucharist in Glas (Paris: Galilee, 1 9 7 4 ) , pp. 6 0 - 6 1 ; in in English, Glas, trans. John P. Leavey, Jr., and Richard Rand (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1 9 8 6 ) , pp. 5 0 - 5 1 .

7 . I have made use o f the word oblique very often, too often and for a long time. I no longer remember where, nor in what context. In Margins of Philosophy, certainly (the loxos of "Tympan"), and in Glas, in any case. Very recently, and in a very insistent way, in "Force of Law: T h e 'Mystical Foundation of Authority'" (in "Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice," Cardozo Law Review 11, nos. 5 - 6 [ 1 9 9 0 ] : 9 2 8 , 9 3 4 , 9 4 4 - 4 7 ; reprinted in Drucilla Cornell, Mark Rosenfeld, and David Gray Carlson, eds., Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice [New York: Routledge, 1 9 9 2 ] , and in Du droit a la Philosophic [Paris: Galilee, 1 9 9 0 ] , esp. pp. 7 i f f ) . On the oblique inclination of clinamen, cf. " M e s chances: Au rendezvous de quelques stereophonies epicuriennes," in Confrontation (Paris, 1 9 8 8 ) (previously published in English in Taking Chances [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1 9 8 4 ] ) . 8. Without asking his approval, I think I may quote certain fragments of the letter which he wrote to me on 2 8 May 1 9 9 1 . 1 leave it to the reader to decide how far this letter (including the entry for "oblique" from the

Notes to Page 12

'39

Oxford English Dictionary, which did not fail to accompany the consignment) will have prescribed the logic and the lexicon of this text. Perhaps I had already, again, uttered the word oblique in the course of an earlier conversation to which David Wood was thus referring. Fragments to share out, therefore, in the course of the ceremony, and David ventures to speak of "passion," as he ventures elsewhere to distinguish (perhaps to associate, aut... autot vel and without doubt to call up Shakespeare and the ghost of Marc Antony), praise and murder, praising to the skies and burying, "to praise" and "to bury." ("Its remit," he says of the book, "is neither to praise nor to bury Derrida, but . . ." but what, exactly?) Here, then, is the fragment of the letter of 2 8 May 1 9 9 1 , and his "germ of a passion": "Dear Jacques, As you will see, I have taken you at your/my word, using my phrase 'an oblique offering' to describe what you agreed would be the only appropriate mode of entry into this volume. It is hardly suprising, perhaps, that the most oblique entry into this collection of already oblique offerings would be the most vertical and traditional auto-critique, or confession, or levelling with the reader (see e.g. S. Kierkegaard's A First and Last Declaration' at the end of Concluding Unscientific Postscript: 'Formally and for the sake of regularity I acknowledge herewith (what in fact hardly anyone can be interested in knowing) that I am the author, as people would call it o f . This (and the whole sequence of thematizations of the interleavings of texts that you have offered us) suggests to me that the problem of an oblique entry might not simply be a problem, but a stimulus, the germ of a passion. Obviously, I would be equally happy (?) with something not yet published in English that would function in this text in an appropriate way: as a problematizing (or indeed reinscription) of the very idea of critique, as a displacement of the presumed subject of the collection ('Derrida'), as something that will faire trembler [French in the original, an allusion to Derrida's use of this expression in De la grammatologie ( 1 9 6 7 ) — ^ . ] the 'on' of writing on Derrida." The allusive reference to Kierkegaard is very important to me here, because it names the great paradoxical thinker of the imitation of Jesus Christ (or of Socrates)—of the Passion, of attestation, and of the secret. 9 . If elsewhere it has often forced itself upon me, the French intraitable is doubtless difficult to translate. In a word, it can mean at one and the same time (1) what cannot be traiti [treated, dealt (this is the impossible, or the inaccessible, it is also the theme impossible discourse: one would not know how to thematize it

word [dire] with] of an or to

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formalize it, one would not know how to treat it [en traiter]); and ( 2 ) something whose imperative rigor or implacable law allows for no mercy and remains impassive before the required sacrifice (for example, the severity of duty or the categorical imperative). Which is as much as to say that the word intraitable is itself intraitable (for example, untranslatable) —and this is why I said that it had forced itself on me. 1 0 . Other titles for this aporetic paradox: mimesis, mimicry, imitation. Morality, decision, responsibility, etc. require that one act without rules, and hence without example: that one never imitates. Mime, ritual, identifying conformity have no place in morality. And yet, the simple respect for the law, as (well as) for the other, this first duty, is it not to accept this iterability or this iterative identification which contaminates the pure singularity and untranslatability of the idiomatic secret? Is it by chance that, touching on this logic, Kant quotes, but against the example, the very example of passion, of a moment of the sacrificial passion of Christ, who provides the best example of what it is necessary not to do, namely, to offer oneself as an example. Because G o d alone—the best and only possible example?—remains, in Kant's eyes, invisibly secret and must himself put his exemplary value to the test of moral reason, that is, to a pure law whose concept conforms to no example. The reference to Mark 1 0 : 1 7 , and to Luke 1 8 : 1 8 , lies behind the passage in Kant's Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, which comes not long after the condemnation of suicide ("to preserve one's life is a duty"; "sein Leben Z u erhalten, ist Pflicht" [Berlin: de Gruyter]), 4 : 3 9 7 ; trans. Lewis White Beck [New York: Bobs-Merrill, 1 9 5 9 ] , p. 1 4 ; hereafter, page numbers of the English translation will be in italic]; it is, in short, what one would like to reply to someone who invites you, directly or indirectly, to commit suicide or to sacrifice your own life): "Nor could one give poorer counsel to morality than to attempt to derive it from examples [von Beispie/en]. For each example of morality which is exhibited to me must itself have been previously worthy to serve as an original example, i.e., as a model [ob es auch wurdigsei, zum urspriinglichen Beispiele, d.i. zum Muster, zu dienen]. By no means could it authoritatively furnish [offer, an die Hand zu geben] the concept [den Begriff] of morality. Even the Holy One of the Gospel must be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before He is recognized as such: even He says of Himself, 'Why call ye me [whom you see] good? None is good [the archetype of the good, das Urbilddes Guten] except G o d only [whom you do not see].' But whence do we have the concept of G o d as the highest good? Solely from the idea

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of moral perfection which reason formulates a priori and which it inseparably connects with the concept of a free will. Imitation has no place in moral matters, and examples serve only for encouragement [nur zur Aufinunterung]. That is, they put beyond question the practicability of what the law commands, and they make visible that which the practical rule expresses more generally. But they can never justify our guiding ourselves by examples and our setting aside their true original [ihr wahres Original) which lies in reason" ( 4 : 4 0 8 - 9 ; 2$). Elsewhere, in connection with the imperative of morality (Imperatif der Sittlichkeit): "But it must not be overlooked that it cannot be shown by any example [durcb kein Beispiel] [i.e., it cannot be empirically shown] whether or not there is [ob esgebe] such an imperative" (4: 4 1 9 ; This is a most radical claim: no experience can assure us of the "there is" at this point. G o d himself cannot therefore serve as an example, and the concept of G o d as sovereign Good is an idea of reason. It remains that the discourse and the action (the passion) of Christ demonstrates in an exemplary way, singularly, par excellence, the inadequacy of the example, the secret of divine invisibility and the sovereignty of reason; and the encouragement, the stimulation, the exhortation, the instruction (Aufinunterung) is indispensable for all finite, that is to say, sensory beings, and for all intuitive singularity. The example is the only visibility of the invisible. There is no legislator that can be figured [figurable) outside reason. Put another way, there are only "figures" of the legislator, never any legislator proprio sensu, in particular any legislator to sacrifice (Moses, Christ, etc.). But no finite being will ever provide an economy of these figures, nor of mimesis in general, nor of anything that iterability contaminates. And passion is always a matter of example. On the motives which act in secret (insgeheim), duty, sacrifice, example, and respect, it is necessary above all to return, of course, to the third chapter of Kant's Critique of Practical Reason ("The Motives of Pure Practical Reason"). 1 1 . Apophasis: [ 1 6 5 7 ] "a kind of an Irony, whereby we deny that we say or do that which we especially say or do" (OxfordEnglish Dictionary)— Tr.

1 2 . Geheimnis, geheim. It is precisely in respect of duty that Kant often evokes the necessity of penetrating behind secret motives (hinter die geheimen Triebfedern), to see if there might not be a secret impulse of selflove (kein geheimer Antrieb der Selbstliebe) behind the greatest and most moral sacrifice (Aufopferung), the sacrifice that one believes can be

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achieved properly by duty {eigentlich aus Pflicht), by pure duty (aus reiner Pflicht), when one accomplishes it in a manner solely in conformity to duty (pflichtmassig). This distinction is equivalent in Kant's eyes to that which opposes the letter (Buchstabe) to the spirit (Geist), or legality (.LegalitUt) to moral legislation (Gesetzmassigkeit) (cf. further the beginning of ch. 3 of the Critique of Practical Reason). But if, as Kant then recognized, it is "absolutely impossible to establish by experience with complete certainty a single case" in the world in which one could eliminate the suspicion that there is a secret (that is to say, that which would allow us to distinguish between "out of duty" and "conforming to duty"), then the secret no more offers us the prospect of some interpretation \dichifjrement], even infinite, than it allows us to hope for a rigorous decontamination between "in conformity with duty" and "out of pure duty." Nor to finish with mimesis, whose principle of iterabiliry will always connect the constitutive mimesis of one (the "in conformity with duty," pflichtmiissig) to the nonmimesis constitutive of the other ("out of pure duty," aus reiner Pflicht), as nonduty to duty, nondebt to debt, nonresponsibility to responsibility, nonresponse to response. The decontamination is impossible not by virtue of some phenomenal or empirical limit, even if indelible, but precisely because this limit is not empirical; its possibility is linked structurally to the possibility of the "out of pure duty." Abolish the possibility of the simulacrum and of external repetition, and you abolish the possibility both of the law and of duty themselves, that is, of their recurrence. Impurity is principally inherent in the purity of duty, i.e., its iterabiliry. Flouting all possible oppositions: there would be the secret [la serait le secret]. The secret of passion, the passion of the secret. To this secret that nothing could confine, as Kant would wish, within the order of "pathological" sensibility, no sacrifice will ever disclose its precise meaning. Because there is none. 13. In this paragraph I have translated histoire mostly as story (though history was usually also possible) except in those cases where history was clearly more appropriate—Tr. 1 4 . I attempt elsewhere this "de-monstration" of the secret in connection with Baudelaire's La Fausse Monnaie (in Donner le temps, 1: La Fausse Monnaie, [Paris: Galilee, 1 9 9 1 ) ; Given Time. 1. Counterfeit Money, trans. Peggy Kamuf [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1 9 9 2 ] ) . As for the exemplary secret of literature, allow me to add this note before concluding. Something of literature will have begun when it is not possible to decide whether, when I speak of something, I am indeed speaking of

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"43

something (of the thing itself, this one, for itself) or if I am giving an example, an example of something or an example of the fact that I can speak of something, of my way of speaking of something, of the possibility of speaking in general of something in general, or again of writing these words, etc. For example, suppose I say " I , " that I write in the first person or that I write a text, as they say "autobiographically." N o one will be able seriously to contradict me if I claim (or hint by ellipsis, without thcmatizing it) that I am not writing an "autobiographical" text but a text on autobiography of which this very text is an example. N o one will seriously be able to contradict me if I say (or hint, etc.) that I am not writing about myself but on " I , " on any I at all, or on the I in general, by giving an example: I am only an example, or I am exemplary. I am speaking of something ("I") to give an example of something (an " I " ) or of someone who speaks of something. And I give an example of an example. What I have just said about speaking on some subject does not require utterance [la parole], i.e., a discursive statement and its written transcription. It is already valid for every trace in general, whether it is preverbal, for example, for a mute deictic, the gesture or play of an animal. Because if there is a dissociation between myself [raw] and " I " ["moi"), between the reference to me and the reference to (an) " I " through the example of my " I , " this dissociation, which could only resemble a difference between "use" and "mention" [both in English in original—Tr.], is still a pragmatic difference and not properly linguistic or discursive. It has not necessarily to be marked in words. The same words, the same grammar, can satisfy two functions. Simultaneously or successively. No more than in irony, and other similar things, does the difference between the two functions or the two values need to be thematized (sometimes it must not— and that is the secret), neither explained earnestly, nor even marked by quotation marks, visible or invisible, or other nonverbal indices. That is because literature can all the time play economically, elliptically, ironically, with these marks and nonmarks, and thus with the exemplarity of everything that it says and does, because reading it is at the same time an endless interpretation, a pleasure [jouissance] and an immeasurable frustration: it can always mean, teach, convey, more than it does, or at any rate something else. But I have said, literature is only exemplary of what happens everywhere, each time that there is some trace (or grace, i.e., each time that there is something rather than nothing, each time that there is (esgibt) and each time that it gives [fadonne] without return, without reason, freely, and if

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there is what there is then, i.e., testimony, bearing witness) and even before every speech act [English in original—Tr.] in the strict sense. The "strict" sense is, moreover, always extended by the structure of exemplarity. It is beginning from these undecidabilitics or from these aporias, across them, that one has a chance of being able to accede to the rigorous possibility of testimony, if there is such a thing: to its problematic and to the experience of it. I am always speaking about myself, without speaking about myself. This is why one cannot count the guests who speak or who squeeze around the table. Are they twelve or thirteen, or more or less? Each can be redoubled ad infinitum. As this last note is a note on the first notes to which it could respond, let me add here: it is owing to this structure of exemplarity that each one can say: I can speak of myself without further ado [sans fafon: also directly, without ceremony], the secret remains intact, my politeness unblemished, my reserve unbreached, my modesty more jealous than ever, I am responding without responding (to the invitation, to my name, to the word or the call [appel] which says " I " ) , you will never know whether I am speaking about myself, about this very self, or about another self, about any self or about the self in general, whether these statements concern [relivent de) philosophy, literature, history, law, or any other identifiable institution. Not that these institutions can ever be assimilated (it has been said often enough, and who could contradict it?), but the distinctions to which they lend themselves become rigorous and reliable, statutory and stabilizable (through a long history, certainly) only so as to master, order, arrest this turbulence, to be able to make decisions, to be able tout court. It is of this, and for this, that literature (among other things) is "exemplary": it always is, says, does something other, something other than itself, an itself which moreover is only that, something other than itself. For example or par excellence: philosophy.

Sauf le nom 1. "Ben jenen Mystikern gibt es cinige Stellen, die aufserordentlich kiihn sind, voll von schwierigen Metaphcrn und beinahe zur Gottlosigkcit hinneigend, so wie ich Gleichcs bisweilen in den deutschen—im ubrigen schoncn—Gedichten eines gewisscn Mannes bemerkt habe, der sich Johannes Angelus Silesius nennt" (Leibniz, letter to Paccius, 2 8 January 1 6 9 5 , in L. Dutens, ed., Leibnitii opera [Geneva, 1 7 6 8 ] : 6 : 5 6 ) .

Notts to Pages

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'45

Cited by Martin Heidegger, Der Satz vom (irund (Pfullingen: Neskc, •957)> P' 68; The Principle of Reason, trans. Reginald Lilly (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), p. 35 [translation modified]. 2. Aurelius Augustine, Confessionum, ed. Martin Skutella (Stuttgart: Tcubner, 1981); The Confessions of St. Augustine, trans. Rex Warner (New York: New American Library, 1963), pp. 243, 212, 257, 210 (translation modified), 207, 212, 257 respectively—Trans. . Angelus Silesius (Johannes Scheffler), Cherubinischer Wandersmann, ed. Louise Gnadingcr (Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam, 1984); The Cherubinic Wanderer, trans. Maria Shrady (New York: Paulist, 1986). The translation by Shrady, which is a selection, does not contain all the maxims cited and has been modified in the translations cited. Concerning the editions he uses, Derrida states: "La Rose est sans pourquoi [extracts from Ptlerin Cherubinique, trans. Roger Munier (Paris: Arfuyen, 1988)]. I nearly always modify the translations and reconstitute the original transcription in Old German, as it is found published in the complete edition of Cherubinischer Wandersmann, by H. Plard [Paris: Aubicr, 1946, bilingual ed.]. Some of the maxims cited refer to this edition and are not found in the extracts proposed by Roger Munier." In this English translation I have followed Gnadinger's critical edition and indicated the one significant difference of versions in brackets in maxim 4: 21—Trans. 3

4. Mark Taylor, " n O nOt n O , " in Harold Coward and Toby Foshay, eds., Derrida and Negative Theology (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), pp. 176 and 186. 5. See, notably, J . Derrida, "Psyche": Invention de l'autre," in Psycht: Inventions de l'autre (Paris: Galilee, 1987), notably p. 59; "Psyche: Inventions of the Other," trans. Catherine Porter, in Lindsay Waters and Wlad Godzich, eds., Reading de Man Reading (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989), p. 60. 6. Numerous references to this subject are gathered in J . Derrida, Donner le temps, 1. La Fausse Monnaie (Paris: Galilee, 1991); Given Time, 1. Counterfeit Money, Peggy Kamuf (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 7. Martin Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, 16th ed. (Tubingen: Nicmcyer, 1986), §50, p. 250; Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (New York: Harper, 1962), p. 294. On this Heidcggcrian theme, cf. Apories (Paris: Galilee, 1994); Aporias, trans. Thomas Dutoit (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993).

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8. " C o m m e n t ne pas parler," in Psychi. 9. For example, see ibid., pp. 1 6 8 and 1 8 7 . 1 0 . See J . Derrida, " T h e Politics of Friendship," trans. Gabriel Motzkin. TheJournal of Philosophy^*,, 11 (November 1 9 8 8 ) : 6 3 2 - 4 4 . That is the very schematic resume of ongoing research on the history' and the major or canonic traits of the concept of friendship. 11.

Pp.

174

and

175.

1 2 . Cf. "Nombre de oui," in Psychi; "A Number of Yes," trans. Brian Holmes, Qui Parle 2 , no. 2 ( 1 9 8 8 ) : 1 2 0 - 3 3 . 13. On Plotinus, sec above, p. 7 0 . On Heidegger and Lacan, cf. Donner le temps, pp. 1 2 - 1 3 ,

Khdra NOTE : The first version of this text appeared in Poikilia: Etudes offertcs a Jean-Pierre Vernant (Paris: Ecolc des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Socialcs, 1987).

1. We hope to come back to this point, one of the most sensitive ones of our problematic, often and at length, in particular by sketching a history and a typology of the interpretations of khdra, or rather, when we shall try to describe the law of their paradoxes or of their aporias. Let us note for the moment only that in these two works—which, in the French language and separated by an interval of seventy years, propose a synoptic table and conclude with a general interpretation of all the past interpretations—the meta-linguistic or mcta-interpretativc recourse to these values of metaphor, of comparison, or of image is never questioned for what it is. N o question on interpretive rhetoric is posed, in particular, no question on what it necessarily borrows from a certain Platonic tradition (metaphor is a sensory detour for acceding to an intelligible meaning), which would render it little suited to provide a metalanguage for the interpretation of Plato and in particular of a text as strange as some passages of the Timaeus on khdra Rivaud speaks thus of a "crowd of comparisons and metaphors whose variety is surprising" (p. 2 9 6 ) , of "metaphors" and of "images" brought back to an "idea," that of the "in what" (p. 2 9 8 ) , even if, against Zcller. he refuses to "see only metaphors in Plato's formulations" (p. 3 0 8 ) . ("La Theorie de la khdra ct la cosmogonie du Timie," in Le Problime du devenir et la notion de matiire, 1 9 0 5 , ch. 5 ) . Luc Brisson in turn speaks of "the metaphor of the dream used by Plato to illustrate his description" (Le mime et I'autre dans la structure

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ontologique an Timet de Platon, 1 9 7 4 . p. 1 9 7 , cf. also pp. 2 0 6 , 2 0 7 ) . He even systematizes operative recourse to the concept of metaphor and proposes classifying all the said metaphors at the moment of determining what he calls "the ontological nature of the "spatial milieu" (we shall come back later to this title and to the project it describes): "This [determining the "ontological nature" of the "spatial milieu"] poses a considerable problem, for Plato only speaks of the spatial milieu by using a totally metaphorical language, which gets away from any technical quality. That is why we shall first analyze two sequences of images: one of them bearing on sexual relations, and the other on artisanal activity" (p. 2 0 8 , cf. also pp. 2 1 1 , 2 1 2 , 2 1 4 , 2 1 7 , 2 2 2 ) . O f course, it is not a question here of criticizing the use of the words metaphor, comparison, or image. It is often inevitable, and for reasons which we shall try to explain here. It will sometimes happen that we too will have recourse to them. But there is a point, it seems, where the relevance of this rhetorical code meets a limit and must be questioned as such, must become a theme and cease to be merely operative. It is precisely the point where the concepts of this rhetoric appear to be constructed on the basis of "Platonic" oppositions (intelligible/sensible, being as «dWimage, etc.), oppositions from which khora precisely escapes. T h e apparent multiplicity of metaphors (or also of mythemes in general) signifies in these places not only that the proper meaning can only become intelligible via these detours, but that the opposition between the proper and the figurative, without losing all value, encounters here a limit. 2 . Heidegger does this in particular in a brief passage, in fact a parenthesis, in his Introduction to Metaphysics. Let us do no more than quote here the translation, and we shall come back to it at length in the last part of this work: "(The reference to the passage in Timaeus [5od-e] is intended not only to clarify the link between the paremphainon and the on, between also-appearing [des Miterscheinens] and being as permanence, but at the same time to suggest that the transformation of the barely apprehended essence of place [topos; Ones] and of khora into a "space" [Raum] defined by extension [Ausdehnung] was prepared [vorbereitet] by the Platonic philosophy, i.e. in the interpretation of being as idea. Might khdra not mean: that which abstracts itself from every particular, that which withdraws, and in such a way precisely admits and 'makes place' [Platz macht] for something else?") (Pp. fO—fti English trans, by Ralph Manheim, Martin Heidegger, An Introduction to Meta-

I4»

Notes to Pages

ioi-i)

physics [Garden City, N.Y.: Doublcday, 1 9 6 1 ) , p. 5 5 , t.m.) Among all the questions posed for us by this text and its context, the most serious will no doubt bear upon all the decisions implied by this "is prepared" (vorbereitet). 3. Vorlesungen iiber die Geschichte der Phibsophie, EinUitung, 8 , 2 b , Verhdltnis der Philosophic zur Religion, Werke 1 8 (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp), p. 1 0 3 . 4 . Marcel Deticnne and Jean-Pierre Vernant, Les Ruses de ['intelligence, la mitis des Grecs, p. 6 6 . Gaia is evoked by the Egyptian priest of the Timaeus, in a discourse to which we shall return. It is at the moment when he recognizes the greater antiquity of the city of Athens, which, however, has only a mythic memory and whose written archive is located as if on deposit in Egypt ( 2 3 d - c ) . Cf. also Heidegger, Nietzsche, 1: 3 5 0 : "Chaos, khaos, khaine, signifies the yawning [das Giihnen], the gaping, that which is split in two [Auseinanderklaffende). We understand khaos in close connection with an original interpretation of the essence of the aletheia inasmuch as it is the abyss which opens (cf. Hesiod, Theogony). The representation of Chaos, in Nietzsche, has the function of preventing a 'hum.iniz.uion' [Vermenschung] of existence in its totality. T h e 'humanization' includes as much the moral explanation of the world on the basis of the resolution of a Creator, as its technical explanation on the basis of the activity of a great artisan [Handwerker] (the Demiurge)." 5. "An interpretation decisive [massgebende Deutung] for Western thought is that given by Plato. He says that between beings and Being there is [bestehe] the khorismos; the khorais the locus, the site, the place [Ort]. Plato means to say: beings and Being are in different places. Particular beings and Being arc differently placed [sind verschieden geortet\. Thus when Plato gives thought to the Khorismos, to the different location of beings and Being, he is asking for the totally different place [nach dem ganz anderen Ort] of Being, as against the place of beings." {Was heisst Denken? [Tubingen: Max Niemeycr, 1 9 5 4 ] , pp. 1 7 4 - 7 5 , English translation by J . Glenn Gray, Martin Heidegger, What Is Called Thinking? [New York: Harper & Row, 1 9 6 8 ] , p. 2 2 7 , t.m.) Later we shall return at length to this passage and its context. 6 . This is one of the motifs which link this essay to the one I wrote on Geschlecht in Heidegger. Cf. the introduction to that essay, "Geschlecht, difference scxucllc, difference ontologique," in Psychi: Inventions de I'autre (Paris: Galilee, 1 9 8 7 ) . 7 . Capital fourth section, 1 4 , 5. In another context, that of a seminar

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149

held at the Ecole Normalc Supc'ricure in 1 9 7 0 (Theory of Philosophical Discourse: The Conditions of Inscription of the Text of Political Philosophy—the Example of Materialism), these reflections on the Timaeus intersected with other questions which here remain in the background and to which I shall return elsewhere. Other texts were studied, in particular those of Marx and Hegel, for the question of their relation to the politics of Plato in general, or of the division of labor, or of myth, or of rhetoric, or of matter, etc. 8. T h e possibility of war breaks into the ideality, in the ideal description of the ideal city, in the very space of this fiction or of this representation. The vein of this problematic, which we cannot follow here, seems to be among the richest. It might lead us in particular toward an original form of fiction which is On the Social Contract. According to Rousseau, the state of war between States cannot give rise to any pure, that is purely civil, law like the one which must reign inside the State. Even if it has its original law, the law of the people (genos, race, people, ethnic group), war makes us come back to a sort of specific savagery. It brings the social contract out of itself. By this suspension, it also shows the limits of the social contract: it throws a certain light on the frontiers of the social contract itself and of the theoretical or fabulous discourse which describes it. Thus it is at the end of the book of this ideal fiction that Rousseau in a few lines gets on to the problems which he is not going to deal with. We would have to analyze closely this conclusion and these considerations on war, the singular relation which they maintain with the inside of the social contract at the moment where they open onto its outside. It is both a thematic relation and a formal relation, a problem of composition: Rousseau seems to rub his eyes so as to perceive the outside of the fable or of the ideal genesis. He opens his eyes, but he closes the book: "Chap. X , Conclusion. After having set down the true principles of political law and tried to found the State on this basis, it remains to support it by its external relations: which would include the law of nations, commerce, the law of war and conquest, public law, leagues, negotiations, treaties, etc. But all that forms a new object too vast for my short sight: I should have fixed it ever closer to me." 9 . Cf. Nicole Loraux, "Sur la race des femmcs," in Les En/ants d'Athina (Paris: 1 9 8 1 , pp. 7 5 f f ) . In the context which we are here delimiting, sec also, in the preceding chapter. "L'Autochtonie: Une Topique athdnienne," that which concerns Athens in particular: "nurse (trophos), fatherland, and mother at the same time" (Panegyricof Isocrates) and the

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"rival and complementary poles, logos and mythos" which "share the theatrical stage, in mutual confrontation but also in complicity" (pp. 6 7 7 2 ) . A s for the race o f men (genos antbropon), the Egyptian priest o f the Timaeus assigns "places" to it: these are the places propitious for memory, for the conservation o f archives, for writing and for tradition, these temperate z o n a which provide protection from destruction by excesses o f heat and cold ( 2 2 e - 2 3 a ) .

Crossing Aesthetics

Jacques Derrida, On the Name David Wills, Prosthesis Maurice Blanchot, The Work of Fire Jacques Derrida, Points...:

Interviews,

IQJ4-1994

J . Hillis Miller, Topographies Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe, Musica Ficta (Figures of Wagner) Jacques Derrida, Aporias Emmanuel Levinas, Outside the Subject Jean-Francois Lyotard, Lessons on the Analytic of the Sublime Peter Fenves, "Chatter": Language and History in Kierkegaard Jean-Luc Nancy, The Experience of Freedom Jean-Joseph Goux, Oedipus, Philosopher Haun Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic Jean-Luc Nancy, The Birth to Presence

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Derrida, Jacques. [Selections. English. 1995] O n the name / Jacques Derrida ; edited by T h o m a s Dutoit. p.

cm. — (Meridian)

Includes bibliographical references. Contents: Translating the name.' / by T h o m a s Dutoit — Passions — Sauf le nom (Post-scriptum) — Khora ISBN 0 - 8 0 4 7 - 2 5 5 4 - 3 ( d . ) :

ISBN 0-8047-2555-1 (pbk.) :

I. Emotions (Philosophy)

2. Names.

Timaeus.

4. Deconstruction.

II. Derrida. Jacques. Passions. English. Sauf le nom. English.

English.

V. Title.

B2430.D482E5

3. Plato.

I. Dutoit, T h o m a s . III. Derrida, Jacques.

IV. Derrida, Jacques. Khdra.

V I . Series: Meridian (Stanford, Calif.)

1995

194—dc20 94-42209 CIP © T h i s book is printed on acid-free paper. It was typeset in A d o b e G a r a m o n d and Lithos by Keystone Typesetting, Inc. Original printing 1995 Last figure below indicates year of ihis printing: 07

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