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•
no longer indicating a particular, derivative, auxiliary form of language in general
(whether understood as communication, relation, expression, signification, constitution of
meaning or thought, etc.), no longer designating the exterior surface, the insubstantial double
of a major signifier, the signifier of the signifier—is beginning to go beyond the extension of
language. In all senses of the word, writing thus comprehends language. Not that the word
“writing” has ceased to designate the signifier of the signifier, but it appears, strange as it may
seem, that “signifier of the signifier” no longer defines accidental doubling and fallen
secondarity. “Signifier of the signifier” describes on the contrary the movement of language:
in its origin, to be sure, but one can already suspect that an origin whose structure can be
expressed as “signifier of the signifier” conceals and erases itself in its own production. There
the signified always already functions as a signifier. The secondarity that it seemed possible to
ascribe to writing alone affects all signifieds in general, affects them always already, the
moment they enter the game. There is not a single signified that escapes, even if recaptured,
the play of signifying references that constitute language. The advent of writing is the advent
of this play; today such a play is coming into its own, effacing the limit starting from which
one had thought to regulate the circulation of signs, drawing along with it all the reassuring
signifieds, reducing all the strongholds, all the out-of-bounds shelters that watched over the
field of language. This, strictly speaking, amounts to destroying the concept of “sign” and its
entire logic. Undoubtedly it is not by chance that this overwhelming supervenes at the
moment when the extension of the concept of language effaces all its limits. We shall see that
this overwhelming and this effacement have the same meaning, are one and the same
phenomenon. It is as if the Western concept of language (in terms of what, beyond its
plurivocity and beyond the strict and problematic opposition of speech [parole] and language
[langue], attaches it
in general to phonematic or glossematic production, to language, to
voice, to hearing, to sound and breadth, to speech) were revealed today as the guise or
disguise of a primary writing: 1 more fundamental than that which, before this conversion,
passed for the simple “supplement to the spoken word” (Rousseau). Either writing was never
a simple “supplement,” or it is urgently necessary to construct a new logic of the
“supplement.” It is this urgency which will guide us further in reading Rousseau.
These disguises are not historical contingencies that one might admire or regret. Their
movement was absolutely necessary, with a necessity which cannot be judged by any other
tribunal. The privilege of the phone does not depend upon a choice that could have been
avoided. It responds to a moment of economy (let us say of the “life” of “history” or of “being
as self-relationship”). The system of “hearing (understanding) -oneself-speak” through the
phonic substance—which presents itself as the nonexterior,
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nonmundane, therefore nonempirical or noncontingent signifier—has necessarily dominated
the history of the world during an entire epoch, and has even produced the idea of the world,
the idea of world-origin, that arises from the difference between the worldly and the non-
worldly, the outside and the inside, ideality and nonideality, universal and nonuniversal, trans-
cendental and empirical, etc .2
With an irregular and essentially precarious success, this movement would apparently have
tended, as toward its telos, to confine writing to a secondary and instrumental function:
translator of a full speech that was fully present (present to itself, to its signified, to the other,
the very condition of the theme of presence in general), technics in the service of language,
spokes-man, interpreter of an originary speech itself shielded from interpretation.
Technics in the service of language: I am not invoking a general essence of technics which
would be already familiar to us and would help us in understanding the narrow and
historically determined concept of writing as an example. I believe on the contrary that a
certain sort of question about the meaning and origin of writing precedes, or at least merges
with, a certain type of question about the meaning and origin of technics. That is why the
notion of technique can never simply clarify the notion of writing.
It is therefore as if what we call language could have been in its origin and in its end only a
moment, an essential but determined mode, a phenomenon, an aspect, a species of writing.
And as if it had succeeded in making us forget this, and in wilfully misleading us, only in the
course of an adventure: as that adventure itself. All in all a short enough adventure. It merges
with the history that has associated technics and logocentric metaphysics for nearly three
millennia. And it now seems to be approach-ing what is really its own exhaustion; under the
circumstances—and this is no more than one example among others—of this death of the
civilization of the book, of which so much is said and which manifests itself particularly
through a convulsive proliferation of libraries. All appearances to the contrary, this death of
the book undoubtedly announces (and in a certain sense always has announced) nothing but a
death of speech (of a so-called full speech) and a new mutation in the history of writing, in
history as writing. Announces it at a distance of a few centuries. It is on that scale that we
must reckon it here, being careful not to neglect the quality of a very heterogeneous historical
duration: the acceleration is such, and such its qualitative meaning, that one would be equally
wrong in making a careful evaluation according to past rhythms. “Death of speech” is of
course a metaphor here: before we speak of disappearance, we must think of a new situation
for speech, of its subordination within a structure of which it will no longer be the archon.
To affirm in this way that the concept of writing exceeds and comprehends that of language,
presupposes of course a certain definition of Ian-
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guage and of writing. If we do not attempt to justify it, we shall be giving in to the movement
of inflation that we have just mentioned, which has also taken over the word “writing,” and
that not fortuitously. For some time now, as a matter of fact, here and there, by a gesture and
for motives that are profoundly necessary, whose degradation is easier to denounce than it is
to disclose their origin, one says “language” for action, movement, thought, reflection,
consciousness, unconsciousness, experience, affectivity, etc. Now we tend to say “writing” for
all that and more: to designate not only the physical gestures of literal pictographic or
ideographic inscription, but also the totality of what makes it possible; and also, beyond the
signifying face, the signified face itself. And thus we say “writing” for all that gives rise to an
inscription in general, whether it is literal or not and even if what it distributes in space is
alien to the order of the voice: cinematography, choreography, of course, but also pictorial,
musical, sculptural “writing.” One might also speak of athletic writing, and with even greater
certainty of military or political writing in view of the techniques that govern those domains
today. All this to describe not only the system of notation secondarily connected with these
activities but the essence and the content of these activities themselves. It is also in this sense
that the contemporary biologist speaks of writing and pro-gram in relation to the most
elementary processes of information within the living cell. And, finally, whether it has