A thoughtful glance ahead into this realm of “Being” can only write it as [Being med kryss]
The drawing of these crossed lines at first only wards off [abwehrt], especially the habit of
conceiving “Being” as something standing by itself. . . . The sign of crossing through
[Zeichen der Durchkreuzung] can, to be sure, . . . not be a merely negative sign of crossing
out [Zeichen der Durchstreichung] . . . . Man in his essence is the memory [or “memorial,”
Gedächtnis] of Being, but of [Being med kryss], This means that the essence of man is a pale
of that which in the crossed intersected lines of [Being med kryss] puts thinking under the
claim of a more originary command [anfänglichere Geheiss]. (QB 8o–81, 82–83)
Language is indeed straining here. The sentence “Man in his essence is the memory
(memorial) of Being” avoids ascribing an agent to the unaskable question of Being.
Heidegger is working with the resources of the old language, the language we already
possess, and which possesses us. To make a new word is to run the risk of forgetting the
problem or believing it solved: “That the transformation of the language which contemplates
the essence of Being is subject to other demands than the exchanging of an old terminology
for a new one, seems to be clear.” This transformation should rather involve “crossing out”
the relevant old terms and thus liberating them, exposing “the presumptuous demand that
[thinking] know the solution of the riddles and bring salvation.” (QB 72–73)
Now there is a certain difference between what Heidegger puts under erasure and what
Derrida does. “Being” is the master-word that Heidegger crosses out. Derrida does not reject
this. But his word is “trace” (the French word carries strong implications of track, footprint,
imprint), a word that cannot be a master-word, that presents itself as the mark of an anterior
presence, origin, master. For “trace” one can substitute “arche-writing” (“archi-écriture”), or
“difference,” or in fact quite a few other words that Derrida uses in the same way. But I shall
begin with “trace/
((xvi))
track,” for it is a simple word; and there also seems, I must admit, some-thing ritually
satisfying about beginning with the “trace.”
To be sure, when Heidegger sets Being before all concepts, he is attempt-ing to free language
from the fallacy of a fixed origin, which is also a fixed end. But, in a certain way, he also sets
up Being as what Derrida calls the “transcendental signified.” For whatever a concept might
“mean,” anything that is conceived of in its being-present must lead us to the already-
answered question of Being. In that sense, the sense of the final reference, Being is indeed the
final signified to which all signifiers refer. But Heidegger makes it clear that Being cannot be
contained by, is always prior to, in-deed transcends, signification. It is therefore a situation
where the signified commands, and is yet free of, all signifiers—a recognizably theological
situation. The end of philosophy, according to Heidegger, is to restore the memory of that free
and commanding signified, to discover Urwörter (originary words) in the languages of the
world by learning to waylay the limiting logic of signification, a project that Derrida describes
as “the other side of nostalgia, which I will call Heideggerian hope.... I . . . shall relate it to
what seems to me to be retained of metaphysics in [Heidegger’s] ‘Spruch des Anaximander,’
namely, the quest for the proper word and the unique name.” (MP 29, SP 159-60)
Derrida seems to show no nostalgia for a lost presence. He sees in the traditional concept of
the sign a hetereogeneity—“the other of the signified is never contemporary, is at best a subtly
discrepant inverse or parallel—discrepant by the time of a breath—of the order of the
signifier” (31, 18). It is indeed an ineluctable nostalgia for presence that makes of this
heterogeneity a unity by declaring that a sign brings forth the presence of the signified.
Otherwise it would seem clear that the sign is the place where “the completely other is
announced as such—without any simplicity, any identity, any resemblance or continuity—in
that which is not it” (69, 47). Word and thing or thought never in fact become one. We are
reminded of, referred to, what the convention of words sets up as thing or thought, by a
particular arrangement of words. The structure of reference works and can go on working not
because of the identity between these two so-called component parts of the sign, but because
of their relationship of difference. The sign marks a place of difference.
One way of satisfying the rage for unity is to say that, within the phonic sign (speech rather
than writing) there is no structure of difference; and that this nondifference is felt as self-
presence in the silent and solitary thought of the self. This is so familiar an argument that we
would accept it readily if we did not stop to think about it. But if we did, we would notice that
there is no necessary reason why a particular sound should be identical with a “thought or
thing”; and that the argument applies even when one “speaks” silently to oneself. Saussure
was accordingly obliged to
((xvii))
point out that the phonic signifier is as conventional as the graphic (74,
51)•
Armed with this simple yet powerful insight—powerful enough to “de-construct the
transcendental signified”—that the sign, phonic as well as graphic, is a structure of difference,
Derrida suggests that what opens the possibility of thought is not merely the question of
being, but also the never-annulled difference from “the completely other.” Such is the strange
“being” of the sign: half of it always “not there” and the other half always “not that.” The
structure of the sign is determined by the trace or track of that other which is forever absent.
This other is of course never to be found in its full being. As even such empirical events as
answering a child’s question or consulting the dictionary proclaim, one sign leads to another
and so on indefinitely. Derrida quotes Lambert and Peirce: “ ‘[philosophy should] reduce the
theory of things to the
theory of signs.’ ... ‘The idea of
manifestation is the idea of a sign’ “
(72, 49), and contrasts them to Husserl and Heidegger. On the way to the trace/track, the word
“sign” has to be put under erasure: “the sign [is med kryss] that ill-named [thing med kryss],
the only one, that escapes the instituting question of philosophy: ‘What is . . . ?’ “
Derrida, then, gives the name “trace” to the part played by the radically other within the
structure of difference that is the sign. (I stick to “trace” in my translation, because it “looks
the same” as Derrida’s word; the reader must remind himself of at least the track, even the
spoor, contained within the French word.) In spite of itself, Saussurean linguistics recognizes
the structure of the sign to be a trace-structure. And Freud’s psychoanalysis, to some extent in
spite of itself, recognizes the structure of experience itself to be a trace-, not a presence-