That commanding something which the people call “spirit” wants to be master in and around its own house and wants to feel that it is master; it has the will from multiplicity to simplicity, a will that ties up, tames, and is domineering and truly masterful. Its needs and capacities are so far the same as those which physiologists posit for everything that lives, grows, and multiplies. The spirit’s power to appropriate the foreign stands revealed in its inclination to assimilate the new to the old, to simplify the manifold, and to overlook or repulse whatever is totally contradictory—just as it involuntarily emphasizes certain features and lines in what is foreign, in every piece of the “external world,” retouching and falsifying the whole to suit itself. Its intent in all this is to incorporate new “experiences,” to file new things in old files—growth, in a word—or, more precisely, the feeling of growth, the feeling of increased power.
( Nietzsche )
“…what I see and hear of the outer world is purely and simply a selection made by my senses to serve as a light to my conduct….My senses and my consciousness, therefore, give me no more than a practical simplification of reality. In the vision they furnish me of myself and things, the differences that are useless to man are obliterated, the resemblances that are useful to him are emphasized; ways are traced out for me in advance, along which my activity is to travel. These ways are the ways which all mankind has trod before me. Things have been classified with a view to the use I can derive from them. And it is this classification I perceive, far more clearly than the color and shape of things…. The individuality of things escapes us…. In short, we do not see the actual things themselves; in most cases we confine ourselves to reading the labels affixed to them…. The word…intervenes between it and ourselves….Not only external objects, but even our own mental states, are screened from us in their inmost, their personal aspects, in the original life they possess…. We catch only the impersonal aspect of our feelings, that aspect which speech has set down once for all because it is almost the same, in the same conditions, for all men. Thus, even in our own individual, individuality escapes our ken…. [W]e live in a zone midway between things and ourselves, externally to things, externally also toourselves.”
(Bergson)
Ashes or cinders are obviously traces – in general, the first figure of the trace one thinks of is that of the step, along a path, the step that lives a footprint, a trace, or a vestige; but “cinder” renders better what I meant to say with the name of trace, namely, something that remains without remaining, which is neither present nor absent, which destroys itself, which is totally consumed, which is a remainder without remainder. That is, something which is not. To explain it in a consistent manner, one would have to undertake a meditation on Being, on “is,” on what “is” means, what “rest” means in the texts in which I distinguish “to remain” from “to be.” The cinder is not! The cinder is not: This means that it testifies without testifying. It testifies to the disappearance of the witness, if one can say that. It testifies to the disappearance of memory. When I keep a text for memory, what remains there is not cinders apparently. Cinders is the destruction of memory itself; it is an absolutely radical forgetting, not only forgetting in the sense of the philosophy of consciousness, or a psychology of consciousness; it is even forgetting in the economy of the unconscious by repression.
“There is no point in recalling here once again that deconstruction, if there is any, is not a critique, still less a theoretical or speculative operation methodically carried out by someone; rather , if there is any deconstruction, it takes place (which I have said too often, and yet once again in Psyche, to dare to repeat it again) as experience of the impossible.”
(Derrida)