But, why do we write?

As if American and Greek philosophers were not difficult enough to understand, Jacques Derrida proceeds to write an 11 page explanation of the difference between "difference" and "differance." The essay is thick with explanations, examples, and ideas of Derrida that are extremely difficulty to comprehend. In the English speaking language, the term "difference" is defined as a point or way in which people or things are not the same. This term is not difficult to understand. As we were taught throughout our lives, we learned that there is a difference between a cat and a dog, a man and a woman, an apple and an orange, Brussels sprouts and cake, and so forth. The term "difference" is a simple idea for us to understand because it can be explained simply. We simply know through teachings that when things are not the same, there is a difference. Furthermore, we have been molded to believe that no two things are ever the same and, therefore, there is a difference in everything.

Yet, Derrida has decided that he wanted to create a new word for us to comprehend. This term is "differance," with an a. Simply stated, Derrida came up with the word "differance" as a sort of play on words. Stemmed from the French word "différer," which means both "to defer" and "to differ," Derrida puts into thought the substance of language and the deconstruction of language, writing, and texts.

Properly defined, deconstruction is stated as a method of critical analysis of philosophical and literary language that emphasizes the internal workings of language and conceptual systems, the relational quality of meaning, and the assumptions implicit in forms of expression. Tim Herrick sheds some light on the goals in developing deconstruction as created by Derrida.

Herrick informs the reader that the goals in developing deconstruction consist of revealing hidden mechanisms influencing the meaning of written language, demonstrating the concealed power of symbols in order to shape thinking, and underling the fact that not one single person can escape the elusive qualities of language. Simply put, no matter how in tune an author might feel in his writing, the author is never in complete and conscious control of the meanings of any written texts; not even his own.

What I have learned from Derrida is something I have never agreed with in past philosophers who wrote about the "death of the authors" or the "death of language." Derrida says there's no substance in language, yet I cannot accept that. Language, words, writing, and anything related to these terms provide substance. They not only provide substance to the reader's mind, but also substance to life, to being, to truth, and to meaning.

I can agree with what Derrida mentioned about how ideas and objects of thought bear the trace of other things, moments, and presences. As much I hate the subject, this is the reason we study history. We learn more from things we already know, and nothing is ever truly new. It brings for the idea of everything being defined as something that is "recreated," "reimagined," or "refurbished" in language, and moments, and anything.

Derrida states, "differance belongs neither to the voice nor to writing in the ordinary sense and takes place between speech and writing and beyond the tranquil familiarity that binds us to one and to the other." For me, this idea reflects the question of "why;" why do we write?

We write because it's not about the writing or the speeches we give from a piece of work, but it is about the tranquil familiarity we feel when we write. In explains the ways in which we know what we are writing, how we are writing, and why we are writing; simply because it binds us to one and to the other.