sound . . . and the natural sequence is reversed” (p. 47) [p. 25]. Male-branche explained
original sin as inattention, the temptation of ease and idleness, by that nothing that was
Adam’s “distraction,” alone culpable before the innocence of the divine word: the latter
exerted no force, no efficacy, since nothing had taken place. Here too, one gave in to ease,
which is curiously, but as usual, on the side of technical artifice and not within the bent of the
natural movement thus thwarted or deviated:
First, the graphic form [image] of words strikes us as being something permanent and stable,
better suited than sound to constitute the unity of language throughout time. Though it creates
a purely fictitious unity, the superficial bond
((36))
of
writing is much easier to grasp than the natural bond,
the only true bond, the bond of sound
(p. 46; italics added) [p. 25].
That “the graphic form of words strikes us as being something permanent and stable, better
suited than sound to constitute the unity of language throughout time,” is that not a natural
phenomenon too? In fact a bad nature, “superficial” and “fictitious” and “easy,” effaces a
good nature by imposture; that which ties sense to sound, the “thought-sound.” Saus-sure is
faithful to the tradition that has always associated writing with the fatal violence of the
political institution. It is clearly a matter, as with Rousseau for example, of a break with
nature, of a usurpation that was coupled with the theoretical blindness to the natural essence
of language, at any rate to the natural bond between the “instituted signs” of the voice and
“the first language of man,” the “cry of nature” (Second Dis-course).* Saussure: “But the
spoken word is so intimately bound to its written image that the latter manages to usurp the
main role” (p. 45; italics added) [p. 24]. Rousseau: “Writing is nothing but the representation
of speech; it is bizarre that one gives more care to the determining of the image than to the
object.” Saussure: “Whoever says that a certain letter must be pronounced a certain way is
mistaking the written image of a sound for the sound itself. . . . [One] attribute[s] the oddity
[bizarrerie] to an exceptional pronunciation” (p. 52) [p. 3o] 2 What is intolerable and
fascinating is indeed the intimacy intertwining image and thing, graph, i.e., and phonè, to the
point where by a mirroring, inverting, and perverting effect, speech seems in its turn the
speculum of writing, which “manages to usurp the main role.” Representation mingles with
what it represents, to the point where one speaks as one writes, one thinks as if the represented
were nothing more than the shadow or reflecti’pn of the representer. A dangerous promiscuity
and a nefarious complicity\ between the reflection and the reflected which lets itself be
seduced narcissistically. In this play of representation, the point of origin becomes
ungraspable. There are things like reflecting pools, and images, an infinite reference from one
to the other, but no longer a source, a spring. There is no longer a simple origin. For what is
reflected is split in itself and not only as an addition to itself of its image. The reflection, the
image, the double, splits what it doubles. The origin of the speculation becomes a difference.
What can look at itself is not one; and the law of the addition of the origin to its
representation, of the thing to its image, is that one plus one makes at least three. The
xxx fotnote start xxx
•
« Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité. » Derrida’s references are to
the Pléiade edition, vol. 3. Mine, placed within brackets, to “A Discourse on the Origin of
Inequality,” The Social Contract and Discourses, tr. G. D. H. Cole (London, 1913).
xxx fotnote slutt xxx
((37))
historical usurpation and theoretical oddity that install the image within the rights of reality
are determined as the forgetting of a simple origin. By Rousseau but also for Saussure. The
displacement is hardly anagrammatic: “The result is that people forget that they learn to speak
before they learn to write and the natural sequence is reversed” (p. 47) [p. 25]. The violence
of forgetting. Writing, a mnemotechnic means, supplanting good memory, spontaneous
memory, signifies forgetfulness. It is exactly what Plato said in the Phaedrus, comparing
writing to speech as hypomnesis to mnémè, the auxilliary aide-mémoire to the living memory.
Forgetfulness because it is a mediation and the departure of the logos from itself. Without
writing, the latter would remain in itself. Writing is the dissimulation of the natural, primary,
and immediate presence of sense to the soul within the logos. Its violence befalls the soul as
unconsciousness. Deconstructing this tradition will therefore not consist of reversing it, of
making writing innocent. Rather of showing why the violence of writing does not befall an
innocent language. There is an originary violence of writ-ing because language is first, in a
sense I shall gradually reveal, writing. “Usurpation” has always already begun. The sense of
the right side appears in a mythological effect of return.
“The sciences and the arts” have elected to live within this violence, their “progress” has
consecrated forgetfulness and “corrupted manners [moeurs].” Saussure again anagrammatizes
Rousseau: “The literary language adds to the undeserved importance of writing. . . Thus
writing assumes undeserved importance [une importance à laquelle elle n’a pas droit] » (p.
47) [p. 25]. When linguists become embroiled in a theoretical mistake in this subject, when
they are taken in, they are culpable, their fault is above all moral; they have yielded to
imagination, to sensibility, to passion, they have fallen into the “trap” (p. 46) [p. 25] of
writing, have let themselves be fascinated by the “influence [prestige] of the written form”
(ibid.), of that custom, that second nature. “The language does have a definite and stable oral
tradition that is independent of writing, but the influence [prestige] of the written from
prevents our seeing this.” We are thus not blind to the visible, but blinded by the visible,
dazzled by writing. “The first linguists confused language and writing, just as the humanists
had done before them. Even Bopp. . . . His immediate successors fell into the same trap.”
Rousseau had already addressed the same reproach to the Grammarians: “For the
Grammarians, the art of speech seems to be verv little more than the art of writing.” 3 As
usual, the “trap” is artifice dissimulated in nature. This explains why The Course in General
Linguistics treats first this strange external system that is writing. As necessary preamble to
restoring the natural to itself, one must first disassemble the trap. We read a little further on:
((38))
To substitute immediately what is natural for what is artificial would be necessary; but this is
impossible without first studying the sounds of what is language; detached from their graphic
signs, sounds represent only vague notions, and the prop provided by writing, though
deceptive, is still preferable. The first linguists, who knew nothing about the physiology of
articulated sounds, were constantly falling into a trap; to let go of the letter was for them to