Jacques Derrida
was a clever man.
Among his efforts to explain his coined term “differance” (one in which he would argue is not a word, nor a concept), he concludes his essay leaving readers with an eyebrow raised. Why? The very nature of the word differance cannot answer the questions “what differs?”, “who differs?”, and “what is differance?” chiefly because in answering such questions Derrida would be discrediting his entire argument surrounding his beliefs about language. In my title I hoped to invoke thoughts about origin, and if not the sky, then where did language come from? Derrida seems to argue against the idea of ‘origin’ in its entirety, particularly in the system of language. It is this very argument of his that would challenge all the assertions about language and knowledge that his predecessors, traditional structuralists, had come to establish in their work. What Derrida fundamentally attacks is “the central assumptions of metaphysics, [that] the components of knowledge and the criteria of truth were presence, substance, essence, and identity” (Rivkin and Ryan, 258). Yet, Derrida opposes this idea that presence is produced by the essence of the thing itself. To Derrida, there is no original presence, but only a supplemental relationship between words, ones of opposition.
Among his efforts to explain his coined term “differance” (one in which he would argue is not a word, nor a concept), he concludes his essay leaving readers with an eyebrow raised. Why? The very nature of the word differance cannot answer the questions “what differs?”, “who differs?”, and “what is differance?” chiefly because in answering such questions Derrida would be discrediting his entire argument surrounding his beliefs about language. In my title I hoped to invoke thoughts about origin, and if not the sky, then where did language come from? Derrida seems to argue against the idea of ‘origin’ in its entirety, particularly in the system of language. It is this very argument of his that would challenge all the assertions about language and knowledge that his predecessors, traditional structuralists, had come to establish in their work. What Derrida fundamentally attacks is “the central assumptions of metaphysics, [that] the components of knowledge and the criteria of truth were presence, substance, essence, and identity” (Rivkin and Ryan, 258). Yet, Derrida opposes this idea that presence is produced by the essence of the thing itself. To Derrida, there is no original presence, but only a supplemental relationship between words, ones of opposition.
Though Locke
acknowledges the risks associated with the subjectivity of language in his
examples of the word gold and liquor, he does not stray from his belief that we
must examine language through a contextual lens. (Locke, 825). I am prompted to
question this approach in comparison to Derrida’s. It is true that if we remove
context from language within critical analysis then it can possibly create a
more accurate space for criticism. Locke seems so concerned with the perfection
and imperfection of words but all the while he is making it more difficult to
criticize because of the importance he places on previous personal
relationships and experiences with language. In this case, I may take Derrida’s
side of the argument in challenging the typical assumptions of language.
“Deconstructing” language may accomplish this goal of escaping cultural and
historical biases.
Deconstruction
also brings authority and discourse into question. Derrida’s method would
remove the “self” as the agent and make room for an objective voice. (Herrick,
254). I tend to agree with this type of linguistic criticism. It’s as simple as
being an unbiased judge during a case study. Sometimes it’s necessary to
neglect context.
Though overall,
upon examining each of the assigned readings a couple of times I did force
myself to think as Derrida would. I began thinking of every word as just the
opposite of another word. In the simplest instance I thought, “there is no
light without darkness” and “there is no good without evil”. True, these words
supplement each other, they define each other. They’re opposites. In Rivkin and
Ryan’s piece “Introduction: Introductory Deconstruction”, the scholars
synthesized a central component of Derrida’s differance: nothing is complete in
itself. They note, “the world is a field of contingency, not of natural order”
(261). Orders of value that people commonly live by do not derive of
“pre-existing truth” (261), but may be “rhetorical acts of linguistic
meaning-making” (261). What I am finally led to question now is, is there no
truth or knowledge that existed before language? Are there not internal,
unspoken truths in the world? Can I not “be” myself without comparing myself to
another? Do I have an opposite? Does everything have an opposite?
-Samantha Stamps
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