incident was already related there and it may be useful to refer to it. Three specific points
omitted from Tristes Tropiques can be found in the thesis. They are not without interest.
1. This small group of Nambikwara 20 nevertheless uses a word to designate the act of
writing, at least a word that may serve that end. There is no linguistic surprise in the face of
the supposed irruption of a new power. This detail, omitted from Tristes Tropiques, was
indicated in the thesis:
The Nambikwara of group (a) do not know anything about design, if one excepts some
geometric sketches on their calabashes. For many days, they did not know what to do with the
paper and the pencils that we distributed to them. Some time later, we saw them very busily
drawing wavy lines. In that they imitated the only use that they had seen us make of our
notebooks, namely writing, but without understanding its meaning or its end. They called the
act of writing iekariukedjutu, namely: “drawing lines.”
It is quite evident that a literal translation of the words that mean “to write” in the languages
of peoples with writing would also reduce that word to a rather poor gestural signification. It
is as if one said that such a language has no word designating writing—and that therefore
those who practice it do not know how to write—just because they use a word meaning “to
scratch,” “to engrave,” “to scribble,” “to scrape,” “to incise,” “to trace,” “to imprint,” etc. As
if “to write” in its metaphoric kernel, meant something else. Is not ethnocentrism always
betrayed by the haste with which it is satisfied by certain translations or certain domestic
equivalents? To say that a people do not know how to write because one can translate the
word which they use to designate the act’of inscribing as “drawing lines,” is that not as if one
should refuse them “speech” by translating the equivalent word by “to cry,” “to sing,” “to
sigh?” Indeed “to stammer.” By way of simple analogy with respect to the mechanisms of
ethnocentric assimilation/exclusion, let us recall with Renan that, “in the most ancient
languages, the words used to designate foreign peoples are drawn from two sources: either
words that signify ‘to stammer,’ ‘to mumble,’ or words that signify ‘mute.’ “ 21 And ought
one to conclude that the Chinese are a people without writing because the word wen
designates many things besides writing in the narrow sense? As in fact J. Geniet notes:
The word wen signifies a conglomeration of marks, the simple symbol in writing. It applies to
the veins in stones and wood, to constellations, represented by the strokes connecting the
stars, to the tracks of birds and quadrupeds on the ground (Chinese tradition would have it
that the observation of these tracks suggested the invention of writing), to tattoo and even, for
example, to the designs that decorate the turtle’s shell (“The turtle is wise,” an ancient text
says—gifted with magico-religious powers—“for it carries designs on its back”). The term
wen has
designated,
by extension, literature and social courtesy. Its
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antonyms are the words wu (warrior, military) and
zhi (brute matter not yet polished or
ornamented). 22
2.In this operation, which consists of “drawing lines” and which is thus incorporated into the
dialect of this subgroup, Lévi-Strauss finds an exclusively “aesthetic” signification: “They
called the act of writing iekariukedjutu, namely ‘drawing lines,’ which had an aesthetic
interest for them.” One wonders what the import of such a conclusion could be and what the
specificity of the aesthetic category could signify here. Lévi-Strauss seems not only to
presume that one can isolate aesthetic value (which is clearly most problematic, and in fact it
is the anthropologists more than anyone else who have put us on guard against this
abstraction), but also to suppose that in writing “properly speaking,” to which the
Nambikwara would not have access, the aesthetic quality is extrinsic. Let us merely mention
this problem. Moreover, even if one did not wish to treat the meaning of such a conclusion
with suspicion, one could still be troubled by the paths that lead to it. The anthropologist has
arrived at this conclusion through a sentence noted in another subgroup: “Kihikagnere
mu~iene” ((NB! ordet foran inneholder et spesialtegn som likner en speilvendt S.)) translated
by “drawing lines, that’s pretty.” To conclude from this proposition thus translated and
recorded within another group (bl), that drawing lines held for group (al) an “aesthetic
interest,” which implies only an aesthetic interest, is what poses problems of logic that once
again we are content simply to mention.
3.When, in Tristes Tropiques, Lévi-Strauss remarks that “the Nambikwara could not write . . .
they were also unable to draw, except for a few dots and zigzags on their calabashes,”
because, helped by instruments furnished by them, they trace only “wavy horizontal lines”
and that “with most of them, that was as far as they got,” these notations are brief. Not only
are they not to be found in the thesis, but, in fact, eighty pages further on (p. 123), the thesis
presents the results at which certain Nambikwara very quickly arrived and which Lévi-Strauss
treats as “a cultural innovation inspired by our own designs.” It is not merely a question of
representational designs (cf. Figure 19, p. 123) showing a man or a monkey, but of diagrams
describing, explaining, writing, a genealogy and a social structure. And that is a decisive
phenomenon. It is now known, thanks to unquestionable and abundant information, that the
birth of writing (in the colloquial sense) was nearly everywhere and most often linked to
genealogical anxiety. The memory and oral tradition of generations, which sometimes goes
back very far with peoples supposedly “without writing,” are often cited in this connection.
Lévi-Strauss himself does it in the Conversations (p. 29) [p. 26]:
I know, of course, that the societies we call primitive often have a quite stag-gering capacity
for remembering, and we have been told about Polynesian
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communities who can recite straight off family trees involving dozens of generations; but that
kind of feat obviously has its limits.
Now it is this limit which is crossed more or less everywhere when writing—in the colloquial
sense—appears. Here its function is to conserve and give to a genealogical classification, with
all that that might imply, a supplementary objectification of another order. So that a people
who accede to the genealogical pattern accede also to writing in the colloquial sense,
understand its function and go much farther than Tristes Tropiques gives it to be understood
(“that was as far as they got”). Here one passes from arche-writing to writing in the colloquial
sense. This passage, whose difficulty I do not wish to underestimate, is not a passage from
speech to writing, it operates within writing in general. The genealogical relation and social
classification are the stitched seam of arche-writing, condition of the (so-called oral)
language, and of writing in the colloquial sense.
“But their leader saw further into the problem.” The dissertation tells us that this leader is
“remarkably intelligent, aware of his responsibilities, active, enterprising, and ingenious.” “He
was a man of about thirty-five, married to three women.” “His attitude to writing is most