((84))
only word by which the members designate their ethnic group is the word ‘man’.” (GP pp. 32
and passim)
But it is not enough to denounce ethnocentrism and to define anthropological unity by the
disposition of writing. Leroi-Gourhan no longer describes the unity of man and the human
adventure thus by the simple possibility of the graphie in general; rather as a stage or an
articulation in the history of life—of what I have called differance—as the history of the
grammè. Instead of having recourse to the concepts that habitually serve to distinguish man
from other living beings (instinct and intelligence, absence or presence of speech, of society,
of economy, etc. etc.), the notion of program is invoked. It must of course be understood in
the cybernetic sense, but cybernetics is itself intelligible only in terms of a history of the
possibilities of the trace as the unity of a double movement of protention and retention. This
movement goes far beyond the possibilities of the “intentional consciousness.” It is an
emergence that makes the grammè appear as such (that is to say according to a new structure
of nonpresence) and undoubtedly makes possible the emergence of the systems of writing in
the narrow sense. Since “genetic inscription” and the “short programmatic chains” regulating
the behavior of the amoeba or the annelid up to the passage beyond alphabetic writing to the
orders of the logos and of a certain homo sapiens, the possibility of the gramme structures the
movement of its history according to rigorously original levels, types, and rhythms. 28 But
one cannot think them without the most general concept of the gramme. That is irreducible
and impregnable. If the expression ventured by Leroi-Gourhan is accepted, one could speak of
a “liberation of memory,” of an exteriorization always already begun but always larger than
the trace which, beginning from the elementary programs of so-called “instinctive” behavior
up to the constitution of electronic card-indexes and reading machines, enlarges differance
and the possibility of putting in reserve: it at once and in the same movement constitutes and
effaces so-called conscious subjectivity, its logos, and its theological attributes.
The history of writing is erected on the base of the history of the grammè as an adventure of
relationships between the face and the hand. Here, by a precaution whose schema we must
constantly repeat, let us specify that the history of writing is not explained by what we believe
we know of the face and the hand, of the glance, of the spoken word, and of the gesture. We
must, on the contrary, disturb this familiar knowledge, and awaken a meaning of hand and
face in terms of that history. Leroi-Gourhan describes the slow transformation of manual
motricity which frees the audio-phonic system for speech, and the glance and the hand for
writing 29 In all these descriptions, it is difficult to avoid the mechanist, technicist, and
teleologi-cal language at the very moment when it is precisely a question of retrieving the
origin and the possibility of movement, of the machine, of the
((85))
tech?, of orientation in general. In fact, it is not difficult, it is essentially impossible. And this
is true of all discourse. From one discourse to another, the difference lies only in the mode of
inhabiting the interior of a conceptuality destined, or already submitted, to decay. Within that
conceptuality or already without it, we must attempt to recapture the unity of gesture and
speech, of body and language, of tool and thought, before the originality of the one and the
other is articulated and without letting this profound unity give rise to confusionism. These
original significations must not be confused within the orbit of the system where they are
opposed. But to think the history of the system, its meaning and value must, in an
exorbitant
way, be somewhere exceeded.
This representation of the anthropos is then granted: a precarious balance linked to manual-
visual script. 30 This balance is slowly threatened. It is at least known that “no major change”
giving birth to “a man of the future” who will no longer be a “man,” “can be easily produced
without the loss of the hand, the teeth, and therefore of the upright position. A tooth-less
humanity that would exist in a prone position using what limbs it had left to push buttons
with, is not completely inconceivable.” 31
What always threatens this balance is confused with the very thing that broaches the linearity
of the symbol. We have seen that the traditional concept of time, an entire organization of the
world and of language, was bound up with it. Writing in the narrow sense—and phonetic
writing above all—is rooted in a past of nonlinear writing. It had to be defeated, and here one
can speak, if one wishes, of technical success; it assured a greater security and greater
possibilities of capitalization in a dangerous and anguishing world. But that was not done one
single time. A war was declared, and a suppression of all that resisted linearization was
installed. And first of what Leroi-Gourhan calls the “mythogram,” a writing that spells its
symbols pluri-dimensionally; there the meaning is not subjected to successivity, to the order
of a logical time, or to the irreversible temporality of sound. This pluri-dimensionality does
not paralyze history within simultaneity, it corresponds to another level of historical
experience, and one may just as well consider, conversely, linear thought as a reduction of
history. It is true that another word ought perhaps to be used; the word history has no doubt
always been associated with a linear scheme of the unfolding of presence, where the line
relates the final presence to the originary presence according to the straight line or the circle.
For the same reason, the pluri-dimensional symbolic structure is not given within the category
of the simultaneous. Simultaneity coordinates two absolute presents, two points or instants of
presence, and it remains a linearist concept.
The concept of linearization is much more effective, faithful, and intrinsic than those that are
habitually used for classifying scripts and de-scribing their history (pictogram, ideogram,
letter, etc.). Exposing more
((86))
than one prejudice, particularly about the relationship between ideogram and pictogram, about
so-called graphic “realism,” Leroi-Gourhan recalls the unity, within the mythogram, of all the
elements of which linear writing marks the disruption: technics (particularly graphics), art,
religion, economy. To recover the access to this unity, to this other structure of unity, we must
‘de-sediment “four thousand years of linear writing.” 32
The linear norm was never able to impose itself absolutely for the very reasons that
intrinsically circumscribed graphic phoneticism. We now know them; these limits came into
being at the same time as the possibility of what they limited, they opened what they finished
and we have already named them: discreteness, differance, spacing. The production of the
linear norm thus emphasized these limits and marked the concepts of symbol and language.
The process of linearization, as Leroi-Gourhan de-scribes it on a very vast historical scale,
and the Jakobsonian critique of Saussure’s linearist concept, must be thought of together. The
“line” represents only a particular model, whatever might be its privilege. This model has
become a model and, as a model, it remains inaccessible. If one allows that the linearity of