prohibition
heavily superimposed, in
certain societies, upon the use of the proper name: “They
are not allowed . . . to use proper names” [p. 270], Lévi-Strauss observes.
Before we consider this, let us note that this prohibition is necessarily derivative with regard
to the constitutive erasure of the proper name in what I have called arche-writing, within, that
is, the play of difference. It is because the proper names are already no longer proper names,
because their production is their obliteration, because the erasure and the imposition of the
letter are originary, because they do not supervene upon a proper inscription; it is because the
proper name has never been, as the unique appellation reserved for the presence of a unique
being, anything but the original myth of a transparent legibility present under the obliteration;
it is because the proper name was never possible except through its functioning within a
classification and therefore within a system of differences, within a writing retaining the
traces of difference, that the interdict was possible, could come into play, and, when the time
came, as we shall see, could be transgressed; transgressed, that is to say restored to the
obliteration and the non-self-sameness [non-propriété] at the origin.
This is strictly in accord with one of Lévi-Strauss’s intentions. In “Universalization and
Particularization” (The Savage Mind, Chapter VI) it will be demonstrated that “one ... never
names: one classes someone else .. . [or] one classes oneself.” 6 A demonstration anchored in
some examples of prohibitions that affect the use of proper names here and there. Un-
doubtedly one should carefully distinguish between the essential necessity of the
disappearance of the proper name and the determined prohibition which can, contingently and
ulteriorly, be added to it or articulated within it. Nonprohibition, as much as prohibition,
presupposes fundamental obliteration. Nonprohibition, the consciousness or exhibition of the
proper name, only makes up for or uncovers an essential and irremediable im-propriety.
‘When within consciousness, the name is called proper, it is already classified and is
obliterated in being named. It is already no more than a so-called proper name.
If writing is no longer understood in the narrow sense of linear and phonetic notation, it
should be possible to say that all societies capable of producing, that is to say of obliterating,
their proper names, and of bringing classificatory difference into play, practice writing in
general. No reality or concept would therefore correspond to the expression “society without
writ-ing.” This expression is dependent on ethnocentric oneirism, upon the vulgar, that is to
say ethnocentric, misconception of writing. The scorn for writing, let us note in passing,
accords quite happily with this ethnocen-
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trism. The paradox is only apparent, one of those contradictions where a perfectly coherent
desire is uttered and accomplished. By one and the same gesture, (alphabetic) writing, servile
instrument of a speech dreaming of its plenitude and its self-presence, is scorned and the
dignity of writing is refused to nonalphabetic signs. We have perceived this gesture in
Rousseau and in Saussure.
The Nambikwara—the subject of “A Writing Lesson”—would therefore be one of these
peoples without writing. They do not make use of what we commonly call writing. At least
that is what Lévi-Strauss tells us: “That the Nambikwara could not write goes without saying”
[p. 288]. This incapacity will be presently thought, within the ethico-political order, as an
innocence and a non-violence interrupted by the forced entry of the West and the “Writing
Lesson.” We shall be present at that scene in a little while.
How can access to writing in general be refused to the Nambikwara except by determining
writing according to a model? Later on we shall ask, confronting many passages in Lévi-
Strauss, up to what point it is legitimate not to call by the name of writing those “few dots”
and “zigzags” on their calabashes, so briefly evoked in Tristes Tropiques. But above all, how
can we deny the practice of writing in general to a society capable of obliterating the proper,
that is to say a violent society? For writing, obliteration of the proper classed in the play of
difference, is the originary violence itself: pure impossibility of the “vocative mark,”
impossible purity of the mark of vocation. This “equivocation,” which Rousseau hoped would
be “eliminated” by a “vocative mark,” cannot be effaced. For the existence of such a mark in
any code of punctuation would not change the problem. The death of absolutely proper
naming, recognizing in a language the other as pure other, invoking it as what it is, is the
death of the pure idiom re-served for the unique. Anterior to the possibility of violence in the
current and derivative sense, the sense used in “A Writing Lesson,” there is, as the space of its
possibility, the violence of the arche-writing, the violence of difference, of classification, and
of the system of appellations. Before out-lining the structure of this implication, let us read the
scene of proper names; with another scene, that we shall shortly read, it is an indispensable
preparation for the “Writing Lesson.” This scene is separated from the “Writing Lesson” by
one chapter and another scene: “Family Life.” And it is described in Chapter 26 [23] “On the
Line.”
The Nambikwara make no difficulties and are quite indifferent to the presence of the
anthropologist with his notebooks and camera. But certain problems of language complicated
matters. They are not allowed, for instance, to use proper names. To tell one from another we
had to do as the men of the line do and agree with the Nambikwara on a set of nicknames
which would serve for identification. Either Portuguese names, like Julio, Jose-Maria, Luisa;
or sobriquets such as Lebre, hare, or Assucar, sugar. I even knew one whom Rondon or one
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of his companions had nicknamed Cavaignac on account of his little pointed beard—a rarity
among Indians, most of whom have no hair on their faces. One day, when I was playing with
a group of children, a little girl was struck by one of her comrades. She ran to me for
protection and began to whisper some-thing, a “great secret,” in my ear. As I did not
understand I had to ask her to repeat it over and over again. Eventually her adversary found
out what was going on, came up to me in a rage, and tried in her turn to tell me what seemed
to be another secret. After a little while I was able to get to the bottom of the incident. The
first little girl was trying to tell me her enemy’s name, and when the enemy found out what
was going on she decided to tell me the other girl’s name, by way of reprisal. Thenceforward
it was easy enough, though not very scrupulous, to egg the children on, one against the other,
till in time I knew all of their names. When this was completed and we were all, in a sense,
one another’s accomplices, I soon got them to give me the adults’ names too. When this
[cabal] was discovered the children were reprimanded and my sources of information dried
up. 7
We cannot enter here into the difficulties of an empirical deduction of this prohibition, but we
know a priori that the “proper names” whose interdiction and revelation Lévi-Strauss
describes here are not proper names. The expression “proper name” is improper, for the very
reasons that The Savage Mind will recall. What the interdict is laid upon is the uttering of
what functions as the proper name. And this function is consciousness it-self. The proper
name in the colloquial sense, in the sense of consciousness, is (I should say “in truth” were it