lose their foothold; to me, it means a first step in the direction of truth (p. 55. Opening of the
chapter on Phonology) [p. 32].
For Saussure, to give in to the “prestige of the written form” is, as I have just said, to give in
to passion. It is passion—and I weigh my word—that Saussure analyzes and criticizes here, as
a moralist and a psychologist of a very old tradition. As one knows, passion is tyrannical and
enslaving: “Philological criticism is still deficient on one point: it follows the written language
slavishly and neglects the living language” (p. 14) [pp. 1-2]. “The tyranny of writing,”
Saussure says elsewhere (p. 53) [p. 31]. That tyranny is at bottom the mastery of the body
over the soul, and passion is a passivity and sickness of the soul, the moral perversion is
pathological. The reciprocal effect of writing on speech is “wrong [vicieuse],” Saussure says,
“such mistakes are really pathological” (p. 53) [p. 31]. The inversion of the natural
relationships would thus have engendered the perverse cult of the letter-image: sin of idolatry,
“superstition of the letter”’ Saussure says in the Anagrams 4 where he has difficulty in
proving the existence of a “phoneme anterior to all writing.” The perversion of artifice
engenders monsters. Writing, like all artificial languages one would wish to fix and remove
from the living history of the natural language, participates in the monstrosity. It is a deviation
from nature. The characteristic of the Liebnizian type and Esperanto would be here in the
same position. Saussure’s irritation with such possibilities drives him to pedestrian
comparisons: “A man proposing a fixed language that posterity would have to accept for what
it is would be like a hen hatching a duck’s egg” (p. iii) [p. 76]. And Saussure wishes to save
not only the natural life of language, but the natural habits of writing. Spontaneous life must
be protected. Thus, the introduction of scientific exigencies and the taste for exactitude into
ordinary phonetic writing must be avoided. In this case, rationality would bring death,
desolation, and monstrousness. That is why common orthography must be kept away from the
notations of the linguist and the multi-plying of diacritical signs must be avoided:
Are there grounds for substituting a phonologic alphabet for a system [l’orthographe] already
in use? Here I can only broach this interesting subject. I think that phonological writing
should be for the use of linguists only. First, how would it be possible to make the English,
Germans, French, etc. adopt a uniform system! Next, an alphabet applicable to all languages
would probably be weighed down by diacritical marks; and—to say nothing of the distressing
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appearance of a page of phonological writing—attempts to gain precision would obviously
confuse the reader by obscuring what the writing was designed to ex-press. The advantages
would not be sufficient to compensate for the inconveniences. Phonological exactitude is not
very desirable outside science (p. 57) [P. 34].
I hope my intention is clear. I think Saussure’s reasons are good. I do not question, on the
level on which he says it, the truth of what Saussure says in such a tone. And as long as an
explicit problematics, a critique of the relationships between speech and writing, is not
elaborated, what he denounces as the blind prejudice of classical linguists or of common
experience indeed remains a blind prejudice, on the basis of a general presupposition which is
no doubt common to the accused and the prosecutor.
I would rather announce the limits and the presuppositions of what seems here to be self-
evident and what seems to me to retain the character and validity of evidence. The limits have
already begun to appear: Why does a project of general linguistics, concerning the internal
system in general of language in general, outline the limits of its field by excluding, as
exteriority in general, a particular system of writing, however important it might be, even
were it to be in fact universal? 5 A particular system which has precisely for its principle or at
least for its declared project to be exterior to the spoken language. Declaration of principle,
pious wish and historical violence of a speech dreaming its full self-presence, living itself as
its own resumption; self-proclaimed language, auto-production of a speech declared alive,
capable, Socrates said, of helping itself, a logos which believes itself to be its own father,
being lifted thus above written discourse, infans (speechless) and infirm at not being able to
respond when one questions it and which, since its “parent[’s help] is [always] needed” (ton
patrbs aei deitai boithon—Phaedrus 275d) must therefore be bom out of a primary gap and a
primary expatriation, condemning it to wandering and blindness, to mourning. Self-
proclaimed language but actually speech, deluded into believing itself completely alive, and
violent, for it is not “capable of protect[ing] or defend[ing] [itself]” (dunatös men amenai
éauto) except through expelling the other, and especially its own other, throwing it outside and
below, under the name of writing. But however im-portant it might be, and were it in fact
universal or called upon to become so, that particular model which is phonetic writing does
not exist; no practice is ever totally faithful to its principle.
Even before speaking, as I shall do
further on, of a radical and a priori necessary infidelity, one can already remark its massive
phenomena in mathematical script or in punctuation, in spacing in general, which it is
difficult to consider as simple accessories of writing. That a speech supposedly alive can lend
itself to spacing in its own writing is what relates it originarily to its own death.
Finally, the “usurpation” of which Saussure speaks, the violence by
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which writing would substitute itself for its own origin, for that which ought not only to have
engendered it but to have been engendered from itself—such a reversal of power cannot be an
accidental aberration. Usurpation necessarily refers us to a profound possibility of essence.
This is with-out a doubt inscribed within speech itself and he should have questioned it,
perhaps even started from it.
Saussure confronts the system of the spoken language with the system of phonetic (and even
alphabetic) writing as though with the telos of writing. This teleology leads to the
interpretation of all eruptions of the nonphonetic within writing as transitory crisis and
accident of passage, and it is right to consider this teleology to be a Western ethnocentrism, a
premathematical primitivism, and a preformalist intuitionism. Even if this teleology responds
to some absolute necessity, it should be problematized as such. The scandal of “usurpation”
invites us expressly and intrinsically to do that. How was the trap and the usurpation possible?
Saussure never replies to this question beyond a psychology of the passions or of the
imagination; a psychology reduced to its most conventional diagrams. This best explains why
all linguistics, a determined sector inside semiology, is placed under the authority and
superiority of psychology: “To determine the exact place of semiology is the task of the
psychologist” (p. 33) [p. i6]. The affirmation of the essential and “natural” bond between the
phone and the sense, the privilege accorded to an order of signifier (which then becomes the
major signified of all other signifiers) depend expressly, and in contradiction to the other
levels of the Saussurian discourse, upon a psychology of consciousness and of intuitive
consciousness. ‘What Saussure does not question here is the essential possibility of
nonintuition. Like Husserl, Saus-sure determines this nonintuition teleologically as crisis. The
empty symbolism of the written notation—in mathematical technique for example—is also for