Without Dominick Franco, my research assistant, the manuscript would not have gone to
press. Michael Ryan criticized each version of the Translator’s Preface with a sharp and
inspired eye and helped untiringly with library materials. I cannot thank him enough for his
incredibly meticulous and informed reading of the final proofs. And Catty, indifferent yet
devoted companion through a season of solitary labor.
I am grateful to Grammatology for having brought me the friendship of Marguerite and
Jacques Derrida.
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
((viii))
((ix))
Translator’s Preface
If you have been reading Derrida, you will know that a plausible gesture would be to begin
with a consideration of “the question of the preface.” But I write in the hope that for at least
some of the readers of this volume Derrida is new; and therefore take it for granted that, for
the moment, an introduction can be made.
Jacques Derrida is maître-assistant in philosophy at the Ecole Normale Supérieure in Paris.
He was born forty-five years ago of Sephardic Jewish parents in Algiers.1 At nineteen, he
came to France as a student. He was at Harvard on a scholarship in 1956-57. In the sixties he
was among the young intellectuals writing for the avant-garde journal Tel Quel. 2 He is now
associated with GREPH (Groupe de Recherche de l’Enseignement Philosophique)—a student
movement that engages itself with the problems of the institutional teaching of philosophy. He
was for a time a visit-ing professor on a regular basis at the johns Hopkins University, and
now occupies a similar position at Yale. He has an affection for some of the intellectual
centers of the Eastern seaboard—Cambridge, New York, Baltimore—in his vocabulary,
“America.” And it seems that at first these places and now more and more of the intellectual
centers all over the United States are returning his affection.
Derrida’s first book was a translation of Edmund Husserl’s “Origin of Geometry,” with a long
critical introduction. This was followed by La voix et le phénomène, a critique of Husserl’s
theory of meaning. In between appeared a collection of essays entitled L’écriture et la
différence. De la grammatologie came next, followed by two more collections—La
dissémination and Marges de la philosophie. There was a little noticed introduction to the
Essai sur l’origine des connaissances humaines by Condillac, en-titled “L’archéologie du
frivole,” and Positions, a collection of interviews. This year his monumental Glas has
appeared. 3
Jacques Derrida is also this collection of texts.
In an essay on the “Preface” to Hegel’s
Phenomenology of the Mind, Jean Hyppolite writes:
((x))
When Hegel had finished the Phenomenology . . . he reflected retrospectively on his
philosophic enterprise and wrote the “Preface.” ... It is a strange demonstration, for he says
above all, “Don’t take me seriously in a preface. The real philosophical work is what I have
just written, the Phenomenology of the Mind. And if I speak to you outside of what I have
written, these marginal comments cannot have the value of the work itself. . . . Don’t take a
preface seriously. The preface announces a project and a project is nothing until it is
realized.”4
It is clear that, as it is commonly understood, the preface harbors a lie. “Prae-fatio” is “a
saying before-hand” (Oxford English Dictionary—OED). Yet it is accepted as natural by
Hyppolite, as indeed by all of us, that “Hegel reflected retrospectively on his philosophic
enterprise and wrote his ‘Preface’.” We may see this as no more than the tacit acceptance of a
fiction. We think of the Preface, however, not as a literary, but as an expository exercise. It
“involves a norm of truth,” although it might well be the insertion of an obvious fiction into
an ostensibly “true” discourse. (Of course, when the preface is being written by someone
other than the author, the situation is yet further complicated. A pretense at writing before a
text that one must have read before the preface can be written. Writing a postface would not
really be different—but that argument can only be grasped at the end of this preface.)
Hegel’s own objection to the Preface seems grave. The contrast between abstract generality
and the self-moving activity of cognition appears to be structured like the contrast between
preface and text. The method of philosophy is the structure of knowing, an activity of
consciousness that moves of itself; this activity, the method of philosophical discourse, struc-
tures the philosophical text. The reader of the philosophical text will recognize this self-
movement in his consciousness as he surrenders himself to and masters the text. Any
prefatory gesture, abstracting so-called themes, robs philosophy of its self-moving structure.
“In modern times,” Hegel writes, “an individual finds the abstract form ready made.”5
Further,
let [modern man] read reviews of philosophical works, and even go to the length of reading
the prefaces and first paragraphs of the works themselves; for the latter give the general
principles on which everything turns, while the reviews along with the historical notice
provide over and above the critical judgment and appreciation, which, being a judgment
passed on the work, goes farther than the work that is judged. This common way a man can
take in his dressing-gown. But spiritual elation in the eternal, the sacred, the infinite, moves
along the high way of truth in the robes of the high priest .6
Yet, as Hyppolite points out, Hegel damns the preface in general even as he writes his own
“Preface.” And Derrida suggests that a very significant part of Hegel’s work was but a play of
prefaces (Dis 15f). Whereas Hegel’s