it is always possible for a text to become new, since the white spaces open up its structure to an indefinitely disseminated transformation. (Derrida)
the infinitely small point of meaning which the languages barely brush … What can an infinitely small point of meaning be? What is the measure to evaluate it? The metaphor itself is at once the question and the answer. (Derrida)
The king has indeed a body (and it is not here the original text but that which constitutes the tenor of the translated text), but this body is only promised, announced and dissimulated by the translation. The clothes fit but do not cling strictly enough to the royal person. This is not a weakness; the best translation resembles this royal cape. (Derrida)
And yet nothing is more necessary than this wisdom. It is ethics itself: to learn to live-alone, from oneself, by oneself Life does not know how to live otherwise. And does one ever do anything else but learn to live, alone, from oneself, by oneself?
This is, therefore, a strange commitment, both impossible and necessary, for a living being supposed to be alive: “I would like to learn to live.” It has no sense and cannot he just unless it comes to terms with death. 2 Mine as (well as) that of the other. Between life and death, then, this is indeed the place of a sententious injunction that always feigns to speak like the just. (Derrida)
What follows advances like an essay in the night-into the unknown of that which must remain to come-a simple attempt, therefore, to analyze with some consistency such an
exordium: “I would like to learn to live. Finally” Finally what.
If it-learning to live-remains to be done, it can happen only between life and death. Neither in life nor in death alone. What happens between two, and between all the “two’s” one likes, such as between life and death, can only maintain itself with some ghost, can only talk with or about some ghost s’ entretenir de quelque fantome. So it would be necessary to learn spirits. Even and especially if this, the spectral, is not. Even and especially if this, which is neither substance, nor essence, nor existence, is never present as such. The time of the “learning to live, a time without tutelary present, would amount to this, to which the exordium is leading us: to learn to live with ghosts, in the upkeep, the conversation, the company, or the companionship, in the commerce without commerce of ghosts. To live otherwise, and better. No, not better, but more justly But with them. No being-with the other, no socius without this with that makes being-with in general more enigmatic than ever for us. And this being-with specters would also be, not only but also, a politics of memory, of inheritance, and of generations. (Derrida)
the law imposed by the name of God who in one stroke commands and forbids you to translate by showing and hiding from you the limit (Derrida)
they do not ask the question; they stage it or overflow this stage in the direction of that element of the scene which exceeds representation. (Derrida)
If I am getting ready to speak at length about ghosts, inheritance,
and generations, generations of ghosts, which is to say about certain others who are not present, nor presently living, either to us, in us, or outside us, it is in the name of justice. of justice where it is not yet, not yet there, where it is no longer, let us understand where it is no longer present, and where it will never be, no more than the law, reducible to laws or rights. 3 It is necessary to speak of the ghost, indeed to the ghost and with it (Derrida)
To be just: beyond the living present in general-and beyond its simple negative reversal. A spectral moment, a moment that no longer belongs to time, if one understands by this word the linking of modalized presents (past present, actual present: “now,” future present). We are questioning in this instant, we
are asking ourselves about this instant that is not docile to time,
at least to what we call time. Furtive and untimely, the apparition
of the specter does not belong to that time, it does not give time,
not that one: “Enter the ghost, exit the ghost, re-enter the ghost”
(Hamlet). (Derrida)
the future has the form of a past which I will never have witnessed and which for this reason remains always promised – and moreover also multiple. (Derrida)
not toward death but toward a living-on [sur-vie], namely, a trace of which life and death would themselves be but traces and traces of traces, a survival whose possibility in advance comes to disjoin or dis-adjust the identity to itself of the living present as well as of any effectivity. There is then some spirit. Spirits. And one must reckon with them. One cannot not have to, one must not
not be able to reckon with them, which are more than one: the more than one/no more one [Ie plus d’un]. (Derrida)
a whole chemistry of information largely under the sway of unconscious drives, as well as affects and phantasms that were already in place before calculation, (Derrida)
Plus d’un [More than one/No more one]: this can mean a crowd, if not masses, the horde, or society, or else some population of ghosts with or without a people, some community with or without a leader-but also the less than one of pure and simple dispersion. Without any possible gathering together. (Derrida)
First suggestion: haunting is historical, to be sure, but it is not dated, it is never docilely given a date in the chain of presents , day after day, according to the instituted order of a calendar. (Derrida)
One would even have to say that he represented it or staged it. In the shadow of a filial memory (Derrida)
It is something that one does not know, precisely, and one does not know if precisely it is, if it exists, if it responds to a name and corresponds to an essence. One does not know: not out of ignorance, but because this non-object, this non-present present, this being-there of an absent or departed one no longer belongs to knowledge. At least no longer to that which one thinks one knows by the name of knowledge. (Derrida)
One does not know if it is living or if it is dead. Here is-or rather there is, over there, an unnameable or almost unnameable thing: something, between something and someone, anyone or anything, some thing, “this thing,” but this thing and not any other, this thing that looks at us, that concerns us [qui nous regarde], comes to defy semantics as much as ontology (Derrida)
Nor does one see in flesh and blood this Thing that is not a thing, this thing that is invisible between its apparitions, when it reappears. This Thing meanwhile looks at us and sees us not see it even when it is there. A spectral asymmetry interrupts here all specularity. (Derrida)
the tangible intangibility of a proper body without flesh, but still the body
of someone as someone other. And of someone other that we will not hasten to determine as self, subject, person, consciousness, spirit, and so forth. This already suffices to distinguish the specter not only from the icon or the idol but also from the image of the image, from the Platonic phantasma, as well as from the simple simulacrum of something in general to which it is nevertheless so close and with which it shares, in other respects, more than one feature. (Derrida)
Paradoxically, the absence of horizon conditions the future itself. The emergence of the event ought to puncture every horizon of expectation. (Derrida)
Another suggestion: This spectral someone other looks at US,6 we feel ourselves being looked at by it, outside of any synchrony, even before and beyond any look on our part, according to an absolute anteriority (which may be on the order of generation, of more than one generation) and asymmetry, according to an absolutely unmasterable disproportion. (Derrida)
1. First of all, mourning. We will be speaking of nothing else. It consists always in attempting to ontologize remains, to make them present, in the first place by identifying the bodily remains and by localizing the dead (all ontologization, all semanticizationphilosophical,hermeneutical, or psychoanalytical-finds itself caught up in this work of mourning but, as such, it does not yet think it; we are posing here the question of the specter, to the specter — Derrida
Repetition and first time: this is perhaps the question of the event
as question of the ghost. What is a ghost? What is the effectivity or
the presence of a specter, that is, of what seems to remain as ineffective,
virtual. insubstantial as a simulacrum? Is there there, between the thing itself and its simulacrum, an opposition that holds up? Repetition and first time, but also repetition and last time, since the Singularity of any first time, makes of it also a last time. Each time it is the event itself, a first time is a last time. Altogether other. Staging for the end of history. Let us call it a
hauntology. (Derrida)
Each time it is the event itself, a first time is a last time. Altogether other. Staging for the end of history. Let us call it a hauntology. This logic of haunting would not be merely larger and more powerful than an ontology or a thinking of Being (of the “to he,” assuming that it is a matter of Being in the “to be or not to be,” but nothing is less certain). It would harbor within itself,hut like circumscribed places or particular effects, eschatology and teleology themselves. It would comprehend them, but incomprehensibly.the discourse about the end?
(Derrida)
After the end of history, the spirit comes by coming back [revenant]. it figures both a dead man who comes back and a ghost whose expected return repeats itself, again and again. (Derrida)
“analysis as untangling, untying, detaching, freeing, even liberation — and thus also, let us not forget, as solution. The Greek word analuein, as is well known, means to untie and thus to dissolve the link. It can thus be rigorously approached, if not translated, by the Latin solvere (to detach, deliver, absolve, or acquit). Both solutio and resolutio have the sense of dissolution, dissolved tie, extrication, disengagement, or acquittal (for example, from debt) and that of solution of a problem: explanation or unveiling. The solutio linguae is also the tongue untied.” (Derrida)
Now, one may very well wish to take a breath. Or let out a sigh: after the expiration itself, for it is a matter of the spirit. What seems almost impossible is to speak always of the specter, to speak to the specter, to speak with it, therefore especially to make or to let a spirit speak. (Derrida)
What is the time and what is the history of a specter? Is there a present of
the specter? Are its comings and goings ordered according to the linear succession of a before and an after, between a present-past, a present-present, and a present-future, between a “real time” and a “deferred time” (Derrida)
Before knowing whether one can differentiate between the specter of the past and the specter of the future, of the past present and the future present, one must perhaps ask oneself whether the spectrality effect does not consist in undoing this opposition, or even this dialectic, between actual, effective presence and its other. (Derrida)
This impression has left behind a trace which has never been perceived, whose meaning has never been lived in the present, i.e., has never been lived consciously. (Derrida)
Mourning always follows a trauma. I have tried to show elsewhere that the work of mourning is not one kind of work among others. It is work itself, work in general, the trait by means of which one ought perhaps to reconsider the very concept of production-in what links it to trauma, to mourning, to the idealizing iterability of exappropriation, thus to the spectral spiritualization that is at work in any tekhne. (Derrida)
All phantasms are projected onto the screen of this ghost (that is, on something
absent, for the screen itself is phantomatic, as in the television of the future which will have no “screenic” support and will project its images-sometimes synthetic images–directly on the eye, like the sound of the telephone deep in the ear). (Derrida)
The specter appears to present itself during a visitation. One represents it to oneself, but it is not present, itself, in flesh and blood. This non-presence of the specter demands that one take its times and its history into consideration, the singularity of its temporality or of its historicity. (Derrida)
The paradox must be sharpened: the more the new erupts in the revolutionary crisis, the more the period is in crisis, the more it is “out of joint,” then the more one has to convoke the old, “borrow” from it. Inheritance from the “spirits of the past” consists, as always, in borrowing. Figures of borrowing, borrowed figures, figurality as the figure of borrowing. (Derrida)
A question of credit, then, or of faith. But an unstable and barely visible dividing line crosses through this law of the fiduciary. It passes between a parody and a truth, but one truth as incarnation or living repetition of the other, a regenerating reviviscence of the past, of the spirit, of the spirit of the past from which one inherits. The dividing line passes between a mechanical reproduction of the specter and an appropriation that is so alive, so interiorizing, so assimilating of the inheritance and of the “spirits of the past” that it is none other than the life of forgetting, life as forgetting itself. (Derrida)
The figures of the ghost are first of all faces. It is a matter then of masks, if not, this time, of a helmet and a visor. But between the spirit and the specter, between tragedy and comedy, between the revolution on the march and what installs it in parody, there is only the difference of a time between two masks. It is a matter of spirit … (Derrida)
One must take another step. One must think the future, that is, life. That is, death. (Derrida)
“- So, this non-knowing . . . it is not a limit . . . of a knowledge, the limit in the progression of a knowledge. It is, in some way, a structural non-knowing, which is heterogeneous, foreign to knowledge. It’s not just the unknown that could be known and that I give up trying to know. It is something in relation to which knowledge is out of the question. And when I specify that is is a non-knowing and not the secret, I mean that when a text appears to be crypted, it is not at all in order to calculate or to intrigue or to bar access to something that I know and that others must not know; it is a more ancient, more originary experience, if you will, of the secret. It is not a thing, some information that I am hiding or that one has to hide or dissimulate; it is rather an experience that does not make itself available to information, that resists information and knowledge, and that immediately encrypts itself … (Derrida)
This disadjustrnent will no doubt never end. Doubtless it will reverse itself, and we’ll have the revolution within the revolution, the future revolution that, without mourning, wins out over the past revolution: it will finally be the event, the advent of the event, the coming of the future-to-come. (Derrida)
“it is always possible for a text to become new, since the white spaces open up its structure to an indefinitely disseminated transformation.” (Derrida)
it will not hide itself, driven back behind the bereaved rhetoric of antique models and the grimace of death masks. It will exceed the form, it will break out of the clothes, it will overtake signs, models; eloquence, mourning. (Derrida)
Such difference without presence appears, or rather baffles the process of appearing, by disclosing any orderly time at the center of the present. The present is no longer a mother-form around which are gathered and differentiated the future (present) and the past (present). What is marked in this hymen between the future (desire) and the present (fulfillment), between the past (remembrance) and the present (perpetration), between the capacity and the act, etc., is only a series of temporal differences without any central present, without a present of which the past and future would be but modifications. Can we then go on speaking about time, tenses, and temporal differences? … (Derrida)
“Multiplicity and migration of languages, certainly, and within language itself, Babel within a single language … multiplicity within language, insignificant difference as the condition of meaning. But by the same token, the insignificance of language, of the properly linguistic body : it can only take on meaning in relation to a place. By place, I mean just as much the relation to a border, country, house, or threshold, as any site, any situation in general from within which, practically, pragmatically, alliances are formed, contracts, codes and conventions established which give meaning to the insignificant , institute passwords, bend language to what exceeds it, make of it a moment of gesture and of step, secondarize or ‘reject’ it in order to find it again.” (Derrida)
far from knowing first what ‘life’ or ‘family’ mean whenever we use these familiar values to talk about language and translation; it is rather starting from the notion of a language and its ‘sur-vival” in translation that we could have access to the notion of what life and family mean. (Derrida)
by a kind of spacing that punctuates it … if thought belongs from the beginning to no one … blended into the continuum of something always – already – there … the origin is suspended by this multiple punctuation … moving again … (Derrida)
Well, I’m remembering God this morning, the name, a quotation, something my mother said, not that i’m looking for you, my God, in a determinable place and to reply to the question … and neither my will nor my power is today to “go beyond” … but to quote the name of God as I heard it perhaps the first time … (Derrida)
Someone, you or me, comes forward and says: I would like to learn
to live finally.
Finally but why?
To learn to live: a strange watchword. Who would learn? From
whom? To teach to live, but to whom? Will we ever know? Will
we ever know how to live and first of all what “to learn to live”
means? And why “finally”
By itself, out of context-but a context, always, remains open,
thus fallible and insufficient-this watchword forms an almost
unintelligible syntagm. Just how far can its idiom be translated
moreover? (Derrida)
The debt does not involve living subjects but names at the edge of the language. (Derrida)
and this openness opens the unity, renders it possible, and forbids it totality. Its openness allows receiving and giving. (Derrida)
At stake, in sum, is that which in me could learn to say ‘me’ only by cultivating an idiom where — for reasons I do not understand very well but which I would like to try to elucidate a little with you, as if I were in analysis with you — the word ‘resistance’ does not play just any role. (Derrida)
But to learn to live, to learn it from oneself and by oneself, all alone,
to teach oneself to live (“I would like to learn to live finally”), is
that not impossible for a living being? Is it not what logic itself forbids? To live, by definition, is not something one learns.Not from oneself, it is not learned from life, taught by life. Only from the other and by death. In any case from the other at the edge of life. At the internal border or the external border, it is a heterodidactics between life and death. (Derrida)
There is a power of language, therefore, at once a dynamis, an enveloped virtuality, a potentiality that can be brought or not to actuality; it is hidden, buried, dormant. This potentiality is also a power (Macht), a particular efficacy that acts on its own, in a quasi-autonomous manner (facon) without the initiative and beyond the control of speaking subjects. (Derrida)