Per Caritatem

It is no secret that de Saussure was one of Derrida’s intellectual influences.  In his 1968 lecture, “Differance,” Derrida summarizes some of the central elements in de Saussure’s linguistic theory.  As Derrida explains, “[t]he first consequence to be drawn from this [de Saussure’s theory] is that the signified concept is never present in itself in an adequate presence that would refer only to itself.  Every concept is necessarily and essentially inscribed in a chain or a system, within which it refers to another and other concepts by the systematic play of differences.”[1] According to de Saussure, there is no stable relationship between a word and that which a word signifies.  So, for example, in English we have the word “door.”  However, it’s arbitrary that the word “door” signifies an actual door.  Why?  Because the Russians say “дверь,” the Germans say “Tür,” and so on.  Thus, de Saussure concludes, there is no inherent connection between the actual door out there and the word, “door.”  So how it is that the (English) word “door” actually signifies an extramental door?  De Saussure’s response goes something like this:  it signifies because the word “door” occupies a particular place within the linguistic system of English as a whole.  Likewise, we all have conceptual frameworks that enable us to situate door semantically.   If you say the English word, “door,” I have certain concepts connected with that word—e.g., doorway, exit, entrance, lock etc.  Thus, I situate the concept “door” with other related-but-different concepts; but it is through this difference that the word “door” is defined.  Does the word “door” have any positive content?  No, нет, Nien.  Rather, it obtains its positive content solely from its place in the linguistic system as a whole.  In addition, the word “door” gets its meaning syntactically.  For example, in English, “door” is a noun, and this determines its function (subject, direct object, etc.) and placement in English sentences (if used at the beginning of a sentence, it will follow a definite or indefinite article or a demonstrative pronoun etc.).  These kinds of functional relationships give me some knowledge, if only a bare minimum, about the signifier in view.

Derrida accepts de Saussure’s theory by and large, but he wants to emphasize the temporal dimension at play—something that de Saussure doesn’t mention at all.  To illustrate what Derrida is after, take the following sentence:  “Dvorak is composer.”  Even if you know very little about Dvorak, when you hear his name pronounced, you make certain connections about the word due to past associations and knowledge.  For instance, as an English speaker, you understand that “Dvorak” is in the subject place of the sentence and is some kind of proper name.

So what does all this have to do with time?  Given that de Saussure’s analysis is synchronic in character, it doesn’t emphasize time at all.  Derrida, however, like many post-Hegelian philosophers, makes time a central feature of his theory.  Here’s an example to help explain. Think about this sentence, “Dvorak is a composer.”  Let’s start with the word, “Dvorak.”  How is the meaning of the word “Dvorak” constituted?  Of course there are words with which you have had no prior associations or words that are mere nonsensical; however, for the most part, we do have at least some prior associations or preunderstandings (what Gadamer calls, “prejudices”) which we bring to the word in the present context in order to interpret its meaning. Let’s say that you have heard the name “Dvorak” spoken in musical contexts, so you associate his name with music and perhaps even classical music.  Then when I begin to say, “Dvorak is …” you automatically bring your prejudgments and prior associations about Dvorak to bear on your present understanding of Dvorak.  Then suppose you attend a lecture about Dvorak and learn that he was a 19^th century Czech composer whose most famous symphony is, “Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, ‘From the New World,’” and who was greatly impressed and influenced by the African American spirituals he heard while visiting the United States.  Now you have new information and associations for the word “Dvorak”; however, the fullness of the meaning of “Dvorak” in its entirety is never present to you.  This is Derrida’s point—the meaning of “Dvorak” and all other words is, as it were, always growing, expanding and changing.  The full meaning of any word is constantly deferred, postponed—an ongoing already-in-part-but-not-yet-in-full.

In short, Derrida accepts Saussure’s idea of language as a self-contained system in which the elements of that system cannot be defined positively through a connection of the elements to extramental reality, but must be explained negatively through the difference that defines each element in its relation to the others.  To this Saussurian theory of difference, Derrida adds his “differance” whereby to understand difference, you must understand it temporally.  That is, Derrida rethinks in temporal categories de Saussure’s claim that the meaning of a sign is due to its difference from other signs.  What this means is that each sign that occurs in language refers to something preceding it and anticipates something that lies in the future.  Therefore, the present signification of a sign is constituted at the intersection of its past and future.  Consider our “Dvorak” example, which is a small-scale way to grasp Derrida’s temporal emphasis.  When I say, “Dvorak is…” you expect some kind of description and whatever follows will then become part of your new (present) understanding of “Dvorak.”  This process repeats itself and results in the constant deferment of complete meaning.  Yet, there is also a large-scale application of Derrida’s theory.  For example, consider your life.  The meaning of your life or mine is likewise always constituted at the intersection of past and future.   One the one hand, there are certain ways in which the past constitutes my present self-understanding—my upbringing as a child, experiences as an adolescent and young adult, past education etc.  Yet, I am still in process—who knows what I will become, as this depends in large part on my future decisions and future happenings (many of which are outside of my control).  Here Derrida engages in a kind of deconstruction of the (Cartesian) self, arguing that I am never fully present even to myself.

There are a number of important consequences that result from Derrida’s theory; however, I’ll have to defer those to a future post!

Notes

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[1] All citations are taken from an anthology edited by Lawrence E. Cahoone, From Modernism to Postmodernism:  An Expanded Anthology, 2^nd edition, (Wiley-Blackwell, 2003), p. 230