derrida

Why has language become such a calling to me? I have a magnitude of answers—reasons that set me in different directions—that have me arrive at similar, but other explanations. Many thinkers have dedicated their thought to defining deconstruction. Some say deconstruction is literature’s revenge on philosophy—a repetition of dead-end themes in German idealism—a quasi-transcendentalism—an esthetical response to conceptual complacency—a needless and frivolous hermeticism—and in deconstructions expected irony, a resistance to questions which begin “What is…?”

All possible meanings situate the reader, the thinker, the explicator in a situation of limitations. But yet, there is irony in that too—for the limits that language is bound by is the limit of always being able to go beyond, to seek further, to stop nowhere. I say this is binding because language is a discourse that provides an escape of thought, yet withholds attention and time. We need it to explicate the self’s existence—and therefore, it is an escape we seek and which proves to be inescapable. We desire it, we need it, we try and control it yet it controls us and decides the power of control we can have.

It feels impossible. And I wonder why I have chosen it—or why it has chosen me—why I have become so fascinated and entrapped in, not just language, but the deconstruction of it? Some theorists analyze language at a more basic and definitive level. Why have I not chosen to follow that path? Not seek questions, not rival rules, not to work with the flow, not stay within the design?

Perhaps because language is what I have been using my entire life—what people have based their critique of me around—a critique that affects me most deeply. If I cannot use language well than, I will always seem to exist on a superficial basis. Maybe I find I am studying it now because it is in the only instrument I have to study the self I see. I also am not like most people I know—in that I have manuscripts of writing that have recorded who I have been along my way through life.

Derrida, probably the most prestigious deconstructionist within the movement, is not only the most significant contemporary thinker but the most denounced. People use him to derive meaning, and then use his words to analyze his own self. I cannot explain this better at the moment. But what I mean to show is the paradox or maybe just the irony.

After having a public journal for a little less than half of my life, I have proof that one uses his self to analyze and critique his self. And that also observers take your own words and pin them against you, when they were supposedly all meant for yourself. The idea of being judged is also an inescapable effect—an effect that starts from the instant one visually sees you (written, face to face, memory, imagination—all uses the psychic text of sight). Derrida’s writing undermines usual ideas about texts, meanings, concepts and identities. The reactions that were aroused were criticism and abuse. And there is a simple reason—deconstruction is controversial. Just as the self is controversial. It can not be entirely known and it can’t be escaped because we are inside of ourselves. So why doesn’t one give up? The recognition that we cannot have control over it drives us to seek control—to obtain power, to prove wrong, to find access. A lot of individuals avoid this issue—they simply choose not to think of it. Sure, there are plenty of other things to be consumed with and be subject to. What gets me is that the individual self is language. We read meaning into everyone. They contain meaning—they use language to explain their meaning and we use language to explore what we are told. Letting someone talk usually brings on a level of commitment—the commitment to actually listen—and whenever I do, I feel as though it is rewarding because I am always surprised about the meaning that unfolds, about the life I am able to read. Again I can’t talk to many people about this subject. It bores them, they think I am thinking too much—and this is fine because there are many things I can’t pretend to be interested in. All of us find meaning where others do not. But I can’t help but use in my defense—if the individual is really just a body of text, why would anyone ignore it? They must be fearful of the undertaking, the dedication, the challenge of curiosity. When people turn their back to it, they are basically saying that it has less meaning to them—that there are other things more meaningful. But what is more meaningful than our relation to others? Rilke said that all we can achieve here is to recognize ourselves completely in what can be seen on earth. The man is brilliant and was also one of the few individuals that Heidegger admired. These men thought and saw beyond and thanks to their obsessive questioning and complexity they advanced where we are today. Maybe you’ve got to piss a few people off, have them not understand you, have a divide take place in order to make a difference and illustrate the commitment to irrationality that proved to be rational with time, even if the impact transcended your physical time. The more involved thinkers get with a certain thread of thought, the more addicted they become. The thread of thought is not necessarily a trend—and it is better that it is not. I have always been addicted to something—I’m just glad that this time it is productive, or rather, something that produces meaning.