108, SP 96-97) (Derrida will argue, on p. 6o passim
(40) of the
Grammatology, that Saussure
too is unable to accept non-intuition as a norm, but must see it as “crisis.”)
Such is Derrida’s intimate play with Husserl’s text: always to produce the counter-reading out
of the latter’s protective hedging. Perhaps all texts are at least double, containing within
themselves the seeds of their own de-
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struction. In Husserl’s case, the doubleness shows itself in an extraordinary transparency. “An
underlying motif . . . disturb[s] and contest[s] the security of . . . [the] traditional distinctions
[made in Husserl’s text] from within.” (VP 92, SP 82; italics mine) (Although he had not
made a theme of ... the work of difference in the constitution of sense and signs, he at bottom
recognized its necessity.” (VP 114, SP roi; italics mine) No doubt the effort at helping
Husserl’s discourse dehisce sharpened Derrida’s thoughts of grammatology. But the
relationship between the two is in-terminably interpretive and has no place in a preface.
Speech and Phenomena, Derrida’s study of Husserl, is thus a philosophical companion-text to
the study of Rousseau in Part II of the Grammatology.)
Hegel’s shadow upon Derrida is diffuse and gigantic. We shall lose sight of the provisional
outlines of the book Grammatology if we pursue indefinitely the remoter ancestors of the
common noun “grammatology.” Derrida’s discussion of Hegel, “the first philosopher of
writing,” in the Grammatology and “Le puits et la pyramide: introduction à la sémiologie de
Hegel” (MP 79.-127) is explicit and clear. It prepares us for the joyous and magnificent
unstitching of some Hegelian texts in Glas. It is an intimate intertextuality to which I direct
your attention, and there make an end. I shall speak of Hegel a little toward the end of this
Preface.
Let it finally be said that, within this framework, counting the proper names of predecessors
must be recognized as a convenient fiction. Each proper name establishes a sovereign self
against the anonymity of textuality. Each proper name pretends that it is the origin and end of
a certain collocation of thoughts that may be unified: “The names of authors or of doctrines
have here no substantial value. They indicate neither identities nor causes. It would be
frivolous to think that ‘Descartes,’ ‘Leibniz,’ ‘Rousseau,’ etc. are names of authors, of the
authors of movements or dis-placements that we thus designate. The indicative value that I
attribute to them is first the name of a problem” (147–48 99). Proper names are no more than
serviceable “metonymic contractions.”
III
“Structuralism” is the name of the problematics that we recognize most readily on the
European scene of the sixties. What is Derrida’s relationship to structuralism?
Definitions of movements of thought are always contingent and pro-visional. Here for the
sake of exposition I shall use a shorthand definition:
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structuralism is an attempt to isolate the general structures of human activity. Thus the
structuralism I speak of is largely the study of literature, linguistics, anthropology, history,
socio-ecnomics, psychology. A structure is a unit composed of a few elements that are
invariably found in the same relationship within the “activity” being described. The unit
cannot be broken down into its single elements, for the unity of the structure is defined not so
much by the substantive nature of the elements as by their relationship. When Aristotle
described tragedy as “the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude,
complete in itself .. . with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its
catharsis of such emotions,” he was describing the active structure of tragedy. We know
Freud’s psychic “description” in terms of the narcissistic and oedipal structures. In Roland
Barthes’s words: “. . . to find in it [the object] certain mobile fragments whose differential
situation engenders a certain meaning; the fragment has no meaning in itself, but it is none-
theless such that the slightest variation wrought in its configuration produces a change in the
whole.”55 Derrida, like Nietzsche, would find it merely symptomatic of the human desire for
control to isolate such “units” in an “object” in any but the most provisional way: “. . . . a
structural study of the historical ensemble—notions, institutions. . . . How are these elements
in ‘the historical ensemble’ organized? What is a ‘notion’? Do philosophical notions have a
privilege? How do they relate to scientific concepts?” (ED 70)
The study of human activity in terms of the structure of the sign we might call semiotic or
semiological structuralism. Can Derrida—substituting the structure of writing (the sign “sous
rature”) for the structure of the sign—simply be dubbed a grammatological structuralist
historian of philosophy, and there an end? No doubt. But to grasp the implications of that
formulaic description, we might launch, not only a shorthand definition, but a thumbnail
“historical outline,” that would be useful for the exigencies of the present discussion. It must
of course be remembered that any such outline would have to be rigorously undone if “the
direct object” of study were the movement “itself.”
In the broad sense, structuralist descriptions have always been with us; it is customary to cite
Aristotle and Plato. In the narrow sense, however, it is customary to locate the beginnings of
modem structuralism in the fol-lowing proper names: the Russian Formalists in literary
criticism, Marcel Mauss in anthropology, Ferdinand de Saussure and N. S. Troubetzkoy in
linguistics. The Formalists, reacting against what seemed like the fluid, rhapsodic style of
Symbolist criticism (deconstructed, Symbolist criticism establishes its own variety of rigor),
engaged in the isolation of objective categories descriptive of the “literariness” of the literary
text.56 Out of this enthusiasm came such significant texts as Vladimir Propp’s codification of
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motif/structures in folk tales,57 motif/structures that can be seen to inhabit the most
sophisticated narratives. East European Structuralism has been developing the Formalists’
investigative methods over the last few decades, but Derrida is most concerned with
structuralism as it came to live in France.
For the study of the “laws” of the variations in the configuration of structures, the working
analogies came from the study of linguistic structures. Troubetzkoy, studying the
configuration of phonemes in the production of meaning, gave one analogy. Ferdinand de
Saussure, describing the structure of the sign itself—“I mean by sign the whole that results