Looking at the word differance, Derrida claims that the “a” is two contradicting ideas of being a tacit monument. How can something be understated, yet be so great or epic? With this statement alone, Derrida gives an example of this in between state. Could differance be that state of something being in between both tacit and monumental? It seems like the use of the “a” would be such a subtle change to the word difference, but it would take on a complete different meaning and understanding.
Derrida states the resemblance of “a” to that of the pyramids, is only in the capital form; which means that differance remains silent, secret and discreet. Obviously, placing a capital “a” (differAnce) would not be the subtle and discreet manner that Derrida is speaking of. Thus, he stems on our ability to envision the capital A, and to associated it with the monumental pyramids, while keeping it tacit with a lower case a. This idea leads me to believe that there is always more to what the naked eye can see. I may look at the letter “a” and see a only an “a”, but others may see it as pyramid or even a symbol of the beginning. Thus Derrida awakens the individual to be more aware of one's surroundings as things go beyond the temporal world.
“In fact or theory we can always erase or lessen this spelling mistake, and, in each case, while these are analytically different from one another but for practical purpose the same, find it grace, unseemly, or, indeed, supposing the greatest ingenuousness, amusing”(p127).
Ironically, as I type this in my word document, my computer is constantly changing the “a” to that of an “e”. Are we constantly changing theories and facts of our history to suit our purposes?
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Maria, this is a very cogent reflection on Derrida's essay, and I appreciate the way that you grapple with his (very) complex elaboration of differance. When you say "Thus Derrida awakens the individual to be more aware of one's surroundings as things go beyond the temporal world."—isn't it rather, though, that we could *never* go "beyond the temporal" according to Derrida? In fact, that when we think we achieve going "beyond the temporal" aren't we, in fact, in an act of *spacing*, which is itself inevitably conjoined to the *temporal*? Derrida seems to suggest that we are always caught in these moves between the spacing of time, and the temporalizing of space; this is what we can never ever get out of—but also, what makes all of life possible and livable, from friendships (as Calvin suggested today) to the (unfinished) entirety of 'history' itself (as we also discussed). We find ourselves in a venture that can only be thought (but barely!) because differance—it is on the very level of conceiving and *thinking the possibility of* that differance works. It is not a word nor a concept...and yet it is something we always rely on. This is difficult to think, as Derrida says. But, as you neatly put it, so is that silent shift from the lowercase 'a' to the 'A' that (always) lingers around it.
ReplyDeleteIn relation to "Differance," while Maria focused on the "difference" aspects, I found myself recently considering the "defer" half of the melded word. I was thinking about the psychology of the deconstructionist, and how the argument of almost any sort of postmodern theorist seems to lead to a life of deferring. (It's interesting, by the way, that "deferance" is not a word--as if one may defer as an active verb, but may not exist in a state of constant deferring.)
ReplyDeleteDerrida's essay is full of questions, often to the point of self-deprecation; however, this constant backtracking on his own point actually manages to prove his point as one different, unprecedented. He defers to all sorts of unknowns, possibilities, and questions, admitting the little that he knows about his own theory. In a deconstructionist mindset, though, this sort of behavior makes perfect sense (or. more appropriately perhaps, perfect nonsense)--for, the attitude of thorough knowledge of one's ideas is one that is decidedly not postmodern.
It seems as if the deconstructionist mind lives in a constant state of "I could be wrong, I could be wrong, I could be wrong..."
Perhaps that's why deconstructionism, structuralism, and differance reared their confusing heads in the postmodern age. This time (or, this recently past time, as is still in debate) is one characterized most definitely by confusion, by the world letting the people down, by God letting the people down, by the people letting the people down, so very often, that thus was born a sense of "fuck it all, the world makes no sense, let's make fun of it."
Or, I could be wrong. However, as Derrida's ensuing terror-child, deconstructionism, is so apt to point out to just about anyone, so could you.
Well, we do have the word 'deference' in our vocabulary; and this is very much part of what Derrida means with differance: to differ is to defer to another time—to be deferent *to* time itself, we might say.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure that I know what "postmodern theorist" means in relation to Derrida's essay here. Sometimes I worry that we use the word "postmodern" instead of being precise about what we actually mean by this word. We could also call Derrida a "traditionalist" (he relies on a lot of traditional thought and the history of philosophy to develop his ideas); or we could call Derrida a "modernist" (because often uses puns and subtle rewordings to signal the materiality of language). So I think if we are going to call him a postmodernist, we should take the time to be very specific about what we *mean* by "postmodern." This term is used in so many ways that it threatens to be imprecise a lot of the time.
Often, we say "postmodern" when we in fact mean "Romantic"—and this sort of sounds like the way you are using the term here, Kerry: an attention to self-deprecation (though I would want to see evidence of that from Derrida's text) and overwhelming confusion that can result in reckless abandon (but again, I don't see this anywhere in "Differance"). These sentiments might be closer to the late Romantic period, I think, than to current literary and philosophical modes of expression. In fact, I would suggest that the contemporary moment, if anything, *lacks* that kind of self-awareness *and* that sense of self-deprecating dark humor. (Sure, there are select pockets of people who are mostly interested in making fun of the world, but I would point out that if they are using technologies like the Internet or TV or music to do so, then they are absolutely taking the world seriously *enough* to rely on reliable structures of communicability in order to make fun of it; thus people sometimes miss the media for the message.) Derrida had a sense of humor, certainly—but it was on the level of linguistics and philosophy—a serious philosophy that always took the world in its wholeness and complexity seriously, in turn.
As for deconstruction (not "deconstructionism"—there's no such thing as that) being apt to point out that everyone could be wrong, I don't see this happening in "Differance." Rather, Derrida might just say that differance happens, all the time, no matter if we are 'right' or 'wrong'—in fact being 'right' or 'wrong' is not really what's at stake in the essay. Differance is simply (and complexly) the condition of communication: we have to differ and defer in order to communicate, and this creates a little gap between both terms that is always there—and remember, this condition or gap ultimately, according to Derrida, should give us "hope." Because of differance, we *can* communicate; and that's not just something to "make fun of."