Notes

INTRODUCTION

1. Readers will find a more comprehensive survey of mnemic phenomena in Edward S. Casey, Remembering: A Phenomenological Study (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987); cf. my review article, “On the Verge of Remembering,” in Research in Phenomenology XIX (1989), 251-72.

2. See Jacques Derrida, De la grammatologie (Paris: Minuit, 1967); translated as Of Grammatology by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974). I will cite Derrida’s texts throughout the book by a code letter (here, G), with the page numbers of the French and English editions. I have not used the available translations for my own work, but have translated Derrida’s texts afresh; this is not because I dream of improving on the work of expert translators, but because such close work with the texts—commencing with the effort to translate—is the only way I am able to proceed. A final checking of my own efforts against the published translations (when available) has saved me from many crimes and abominations, and I am grateful to Derrida’s translators for that, and for more than that.

3. The principal text here of course is Jacques Derrida, “La pharmacie de Platon,” in La dissemination (Paris: Seuil, 1972), pp. 69—197; translated as “Plato’s Pharmacy” by Barbara Johnson, in Dissemination (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), pp. 61-171. Cited throughout my book as: D, 69-197/61-171.

4. See Martin Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, 12th ed. (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1972). I shall cite this work throughout as SZ, with the page number. Here again, as with Hegel, Nietzsche, and Freud, I have ventured my own translations.

ONE. SLABS OF WAX

1. Peri mnēmēs kai anamnēseōs, in Parva naturalia, 449b 4 to 453b 11. I have used the Loeb Classical Library edition, vol. VIII, trans. W. S. Hett (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1975 [1st ed. 1936]), pp. 285-313, and the translation with copious notes and discussion by Richard Sorabji, Aristotle on Memory (Providence, Rhode Island: Brown University Press, 1972). I have also used the Loeb edition when referring to other Aristotelian treatises such as “On the Soul.” For references to Plato I have used the Oxford Classical Texts, ed. Ioannes Burnet (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1973 impression), along with the German translation by Schleiermacher and the English translations in Plato, Collected Dialogues, eds. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (New York: Bollingen, 1961). For Theaetetus and Sophist I have referred to vol. III of the Loeb Classical Library edition of Plato, trans. H. N. Fowler (Cambridge, Massachussetts: Harvard University Press, 1977 [1st ed. 1921]).

2. See Sorabji, p. 3 5, for this and the following. I shall refer to his text in the body of my chapter by page number in parentheses.

3. “Out of something, into something,” Aristotle’s description of the “now” of time as discussed by Martin Heidegger, Die Grundprobleme der Phänomenologie (Frankfurt am Main: V. Klostermann, 1975), pp. 343-48; Basic Problems of Phenomenology, trans. Albert Hofstadter (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982), pp. 242-47. I will cite the Grundprobleme, which is vol. 24 in the Martin Heidegger Gesamtausgabe, simply as 24, with page number. See also Krell, Intimations of Mortality: Time, Truth, and Finitude in Heidegger’s Thinking of Being (University Park, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1986), chap. 3.

4. Aristotle’s argument is terribly complex: it involves the assimilation of magnitude, change (or motion), and time to the primary or common power through the medium of the image (which has magnitude), so that memory is imagic both in terms of its objects and in terms of its “perception” of time. Sorabji unravels the several strands of the argument on pp. 74-75. Furthermore, Sorabji is surely right when he argues that time is somehow between thought and perception (cf. pp. 72 and 77), that it cannot be attributed to one or the other exclusively. The problematic nature of time will not be resolved when Kant refines but essentially duplicates these structures in the Schematism of The Critique of Pure Reason.

5. Cf. On Sense and Sensible Objects, 449a 8-10 and 17-20.

6. See Sorabji’s comments on pp. 75-76, which are plausible.

7. By stressing the sense of kinēsis as a movement of self-showing and presencing, I am of course elaborating on Heidegger’s understanding of it in “ Vom Wesen und Begriff der Physis: Aristotle’s Physik B, 1,” in Wegmarken (Frankfurt am Main: V. Klostermann, 1967), esp. pp. 367—71.

8. See Sorabji, pp. 31—34. Perhaps Aristotle is only following the advice of Plato’s Philebus. At 16c Socrates stresses that in relating forms to things and in all the problems of dialectic the crucial matter is to avoid rushing from any given “one” to an unlimited “many”; we must contemplate all the forms that are intermediate or in-between, to metaxy, ta mesa. One of Socrates’ examples is the alphabet and its relation to the infinite possibilities of sound. We shall consider Philebus later in the chapter.

9. Robert Musil, Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften, 2 vols. (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1978), I, 530-31.

10. On “deliberation,” see Nicomachean Ethics 1112a 18-1113a 14.

11. I should also record here at least two indications of the lasting power of ho typos. See Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe, “Typographic,” in Mimésis des articulations (Paris: Flammarion, 1975), pp. 165—270, which is merely one of a series of his Typographies. Lacoue-Labarthe’s principal inspiration here comes from Heidegger’s remarks on typos as das Prägende; see Martin Heidegger, “Zur Seinsfrage,” in Wegmarken, p. 223.

12. Lawrence Sterne, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, vol. V, chapter 42. The helpful editor of my edition (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967) renders Sterne’s graceful phrase (quite correctly) as “slogging it.”

13. See G. S. Kirk and J. E. Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers: A Critical History with a Selection of Texts (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1966), pp. 413-14, 416, and 421.

14. To sēmeion (cf. also to sēma) means a mark or sign, trace or track; an omen, wonder, or portent; a signal (to put to sea, engage in work or battle, etc.); a standard or flag (cf. hē sēmeia); a landmark, boundary or limit; a device on a shield or figurehead on a ship; a signet on a ring; a figure, image, written character, etc. I shall generally render the word as “sign” or “trace.”

15. The following discussion, however abstruse it may appear to be, does not touch on the truly complex issues of the latter half of the Sophist, e.g., the matters of being, oneness, and the “indeterminate dyad,” nor does it mention the peculiar outcome of the first half, namely, the discovery of the “sixth” sophist, who in fact resembles the philosopher Socrates. For a full treatment of these and other issues, which do have an impact on the question of likeness, see John Sallis, Being and Logos: The Way of Platonic Dialogue, 2nd ed. (Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey: Humanities, 1986), chap. 6, esp. pp. 472-78 and 519—32.

16. Sophist, 236c. John Sallis, Being and Logos, pp. 482-83, refers to the ambiguity of phainō, used to refer to any and every bringing to light or self-showing, but also the root of semblance, phantasma, and comments: “The point is that in images as such (whether they are like the original or are only semblances) nonbeing is involved: an image lets the original appear, lets it show itself in some degree; but the image is not the original, and it is the negativity expressed in this ‘is not’ that constitutes the problem. . . . What is important is that this problem arises not only with regard to semblance-making and, specifically, sophistry, but with regard to all image-making. We recall (from our reading of the Republic) that even Socrates, the philosopher, practices image-making, and so we again get a glimpse of the philosopher beside the sophist—very close beside him.”

We shall take up this issue in Republic in a moment. And although I cannot enter into discussion of so complex a matter here, it will not do to ignore the importance of the issue we are now confronting for Jacques Derrida’s demonstration of the “double inscription” of mimēsis. See La dissémination, pp. 159 n. 58 and 211-13 n. 8. For Derrida it is a matter of discerning all those aspects “within philosophy and mimetology” from Plato to Hegel that “exceed the oppositions of concepts in which Plato defines the phantasm” (159). Especially important for memory, reminiscence, and writing will be the duplicity of all duplication, the failure of every effort to separate off “mere seeming” from “really looking like”; that is, to divide all self-showing into two and to exclude the Other in order to embrace the One; that is, to banish absence for the sake of presence. For memory, always on the verge, is duplicitous. See also Jean-Luc Nancy, “Le ventriloque,” in Mimésis des articulations, pp. 271-338, esp. 305-9. Finally, see chapter 4, below.

17. See Liddell-Scott, p. 1970a, III. 2. c. For some Homeric uses, see Iliad 24, 706; Odyssey 8, 461; 20, 199; 24, 402; cf. 13, 39.

18. Martin Heidegger, Nietzsche, 2 vols. (Pfullingen: G. Neske, 1961), I, 207; see Nietzsche, Vol. I: The Will to Power as Art (San Francisco, Harper and Row, 1979), p. 178. See the entire discussion of section 22, but especially pp. 176-78. I shall refer to the English translation by page number in parentheses within the body of my text.

19. On the entire problem of eikasia, and especially dianoetic eikasia, the thinking that knows an image as image (that is to say, within difference), see Jacob Klein, A Commentary on Plato’s “Meno” (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1965), chap. V, esp. pp. 166-67. Note that Klein’s “digression” (from a dialogue we are leaving out of account here!) begins with a discussion of Aristotle’s treatise on memory and then touches on the dialogues we are considering here. Even though Klein’s focus is on the difference between mere memory and active, recollective learning, there are moments—such as the last full paragraph on p. 168—when he confronts problems of iconography and engrammatology.

20. I have tried to interpret Timaeus as comedy—to A. E. Taylor’s posthumous delight and F. M. Cornford’s posthumous horror—by concentrating on one important theme in the dialogue; see Krell, “Female Parts in Timaeus,” Arion, New Series 2/3 (Boston University, 1975), pp. 400-21, from which the following paragraphs derive.

21. Pursuit of this matter would lead us from Aristotle, Physics IV, 10—14, to Hegel, Encyclopedia, sections 254-61, to Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, section 82 (pp. 432—33m), to Derrida, “Ousia and Gramme: Note to a Footnote in Being and Time” in Marges de la philosophie (Paris: Minuit, 1972), pp. 31-78, an itinerary we cannot now follow, lest we entirely forget memory.

22. Hieronymus Miiller mistranslates, here, adding an euch to the phrase “das will ich [selber] übergeben.” See Platon, Sämtliche Werke, tr. F. Schleiermacher, H. Müller, ed. Walter F. Otto, Ernesto Grassi (Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1959) 6, 164.

23. See 202e-207b; cf. Sophist, 253a and 262d 8 as Bury reads it: grammata instead of pragmata. Engraramatology is not simply grammatology, but is the full-blown science of memory.

24. For ameletēsiai, cf. Symposium 208a 4, where meletē, “rehearsal” or “pursuit,” the German Nachsinnen, is a crucial word for remembering. Note the opening line of the Symposium, where Apollodorus, who must remember the tale recounted to him by Aristodemus, declares himself “not unprepared” (172a 1: ouk ameletētos). In case we miss the point, he repeats the claim not many lines later (cf. 173c 1).

25. That is perhaps the simplest way to formulate the basic prescription of “Plato’s Pharmacy.” See Jacques Derrida, “La pharmacie de Platon,” in La dissémination pp. 69-197, discussed in chapter 4, below.

26. For the moment there seems to be no compelling reason to belabor the sexual connotations of Socrates’ story, whatever the lessons of Timaeus, inasmuch as Phaedrus himself remarks that Socrates is telling Egyptian tales (275b 3). Although it is far afield in terms of centuries, one might do well to compare Socrates’ metaphor here with that rather bizarre passage in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit which contrasts the piddling of representational consciousness with the procreative act of infinite judgment. See G. W. F. Hegel, Phanomenologie des Geistes, “Philosophische Bibliothek” (Hamburg: F. Meiner, 1952), p. 254; and Krell, “Pitch: Genitality/Excrementality from Hegel to Crazy Jane,” in boundary 2, vol. XII, no. 2 (Winter 1984), 113-41.

27. See F. W. J. Schelling, Über das Wesen der menschlichen Freiheit, in Sämtliche Werke (Stuttgart, i860), VII, 363-64. Schelling’s importance for this tradition is reflected in his realization that no word can be spoken without consonants, even in the mouth of God.

28. Ibid., pp. 404-8. See Krell, “The Crisis of Reason in the Nineteenth Century: Schelling’s Treatise on the Essence of Human Freedom (1809),” in The Collegium Phaenomenologicum: The First Ten Years, ed. John Sallis, Jacques Taminiaux, and Giuseppina Moneta (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1988), pp. 13-32. For the following quotation from the Stuttgarter Privatvorlesung, see VII, 478.

TWO. WAXEN GLANDS AND FLESHY HOLLOWS

1. I have used the Loeb Classical Library edition of the Confessions (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1979 [1st ed. 1912]). While referring to the William Watts translation of 1631, along with that by John K. Ryan (Garden City, New York: Doubleday-Image, 1960), I have made my own translations. I will cite the Confessions in the body of my text by Book (in Roman numerals) and chapter (Arabic).

2. See Krell, “Engorged Philosophy: A Note on Freud, Derrida and Differance,” in David Wood and Robert Bernasconi, eds., Derrida and Différance (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1988), pp. 6-11. See also Krell, “Engorged Philosophy II,” in Postmodernism and Continental Philosophy, ed. Hugh J. Silverman and Donn Welton (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988), pp. 49-66.

3. Frances A. Yates, The Art of Memory (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969 [1st ed. 1966]), pp. 61-62. I will cite Frances Yates’s wonderful book in my text by page number in parentheses.

4. See Summa theologiae, prima pars, q. 78 a. 4, which refers to the vis memorativa (but also the phantasia or imaginatio) as a thesaurus (or quasi thesaurus) of forms (or intentiones); cf. q. 79 a. 7, “. . . thesaurus vel locus conservativus specierum .” For Locke, see the remarks on the “Repository of Memory,” below, p. 76.

5. I have used the Pleiade edition of Descartes’ Oeuvres et Lettres, ed. André Bridoux (Paris: Gallimard, 1953), but I also refer to the thirteen-volume Adam and Tannery edition (Paris, 1891—1912), by volume and page number, after the slash solidus in each reference. I have tried wherever possible to compare my own translations with those by E. S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross, The Philosophical Works of Descartes, 2 vols. (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1967 [1st ed. 1911]), and to the new Cambridge translations (1985) by John Cottingham, Robert Stroothoff, and Dugald Murdoch. The latter however appeared only after my work had been completed. My account of Descartes on memory owes an enormous amount to Véronique M. Foti, “Presence and Memory: Derrida, Freud, Plato, Descartes,” in The Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, vol. XI, no. 1 (New School for Social Research, 1986), 67—81, esp. 74-77.

6. Compare both Leibniz’s view that writing liberates the imagination rather than memory and Leroi-Gourhan’s paleoanthropological account of writing as a “liberation of memory.” Both views are discussed in detail and with reference to the literature in Jacques Derrida, De la grammatologie, pp. 116/78 and 125/84. Note too that Kant’s Anthropologic in pragmatischer Hinsicht (1798) confirms the supplementary relation of writing and memory: “It is truly a great convenience, by having a writing tablet securely in one’s pocket, to be able to come back precisely and effortlessly to everything one wanted to keep in one’s head; and the art of writing remains a masterful art, because, even if it were not used to communicate one’s knowledge to others, it still stands in for [die Stelle vertritt] the most extensive and most faithful of memories [des ausgedehntesten und treuesten Gedächtnisses], whose lacks it can supply [dessen Mangel sie ersetzen kann] (185).” As we shall see in chapter 3, Freud remains wholly within this mnemotypographical tradition.

7. See esp. the letters to Meyssonnier, January 29, 1640 (1066-7); to Mersenne, April 1, 1640 (1070-2) and August 6, 1640 (1083); to “Hyperaspites,” August, 1641 (1130-1); to Huyghens, October 13, 1642 (1148); to Mesland, May 2, 1644 [?] (1164-5); and to Arnaud, June 4, 1648 (1303). I am grateful to Veronique Foti for these references, and for her commentary on them, in “Presence and Memory,” which I shall cite in what follows by page number in my text.

8. My account focuses on the following sections of the Treatise: on the general physiology of the blood, brain, and animal spirits, pp. 812-15 and 841-46 of the “Pléiade” edition, Adam-Tannery XI, 127—31 and 165—71; on sense-perception and memory, pp. 850-63 of “Pléiade,” corresponding to XI, 174-89.

9. See 85/180. I have not been able to corroborate in contemporary anatomical studies this off-center situation of the pineal gland: see the discussion in Theodore W. Torrey, Morphogenesis of the Vertebrates (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1962), pp. 508-9: “These structures [the parietal and pineal bodies] have had a unique history in vertebrates, a history linked to the fact that in ancestral vertebrates the conventional bilateral eyes were supplemented by one or two median dorsal eyes. . . . Yet the fossil evidence usually indicates the presence of a single eye alone. . . . The pineal body [in contrast to the parietal] does appear in all vertebrates but appears to be glandular in nature. It has been suspected of being an endocrine organ, but its properties have not been established with certainty.” See the remarkable photograph of the pineal body (called pineal because of its ostensible pinecone shape) by Lennart Nilsson and Jan Lindberg, Behold Man (Boston: Little, Brown, 1974), p. 170. This singular evagination of the brain, somewhere between a gland and a visual organ, fascinated Georges Bataille as much as it had Descartes before him. See Bataille, Visions of Excess, ed. Allan Stoekl (Manchester, England: University of Manchester Press, 1985), pp. 73-90. Whether Descartes was aware of the tradition of the pineal eye I am uncertain. In sections 32 and 35 of the Treatise on the Passions of the Soul (1645-46), where, to be sure, he drops the word environ and locates the gland squarely au milieu du cerveau, as well as in letters to Meyssonnier (January 29, 1640) and Mersenne (April 1, 1640), he describes as the principal attraction of the gland its being the only part of the entire brain that is not dual, bicameral, bilateral, etc. The gland is a kind of chiasm where two images converge in one. Yet there are five other characteristics that induce him to declare it the seat of the soul: (1) it occupies “the most appropriate position” in the midst of the brain (au milieu; but cf. the Traité de l’Homme’s “about” in the middle, and a “bit removed from the center” [855/180], to which we shall have to return), “between all the concavities”; (2) it is served by the carotid arteries, ducts that transport the animal spirits, and is lightly supported, hence highly elastic and mobile, in the sense that it can readily lean in all directions; (3) it is exceedingly soft in substance, and although it must somehow be affected by folds and convolutions, these dare not be excessive; (4) it is the only part of the brain that is smaller in humans than in animals, so that it is meet and just that it should be the seat of intellection; (5) the gland is so soft that not only in “lethargies” but also in human beings generally it disappears soon after death; it is not so much corruptible as volatile, one might say, and Descartes urges Meyssonnier not to wait three or four days to examine the pineal gland of a corpse, but to go in search of it while the cadaver is as fresh as possible. I have commented on these matters in more detail in “Paradoxes of the Pineal: From Descartes to Georges Bataille,” in A. Phillips Griffiths, ed., Contemporary French Philosophy, a special issue of the journal Philosophy (Cambridge University Press, 1988), vol. XXI, 215-28. Finally, it may not be entirely otiose to report that not all philosophers rest content with Descartes’ choice of the pineal gland as the seat of the soul. For example, Jack Shandy, in Tristram Shandy, II, 19, p. 162:

Now, as it was plain to my father that all souls were by nature equal,—and that the great difference between the most acute and the most obtuse understanding,—was from no original sharpness or bluntness of one thinking substance above or below another,—but arose merely from the lucky or unlucky organization of the body, in that part where the soul principally took up her residence,—he had made it the subject of his enquiry to find out the identical place.

Now, from the best accounts he had been able to get of this matter, he was satisfied it could not be where Des Cartes had fixed it, upon the top of the pineal gland of the brain; which, as he philosophized, formed a cushion for her about the size of a marrow pea; though, to speak the truth, as so many nerves did terminate all in that one place,—’twas no bad conjecture;—and my father had certainly fallen with that great philosopher plumb into the centre of the mistake, had it not been for my uncle Toby, who rescued him out of it, by a story he told him of a Walloon officer at the battle of Landen, who had one part of his brain shot away by a musket-ball,—and another part of it taken out after by a French surgeon; ana, after all, recovered, and did his duty very well without it.

10. Cf. Michel Foucault on the changing etiology of hysteria and hypochondria with the decline of the theory of “humours” and the emergence of the physiology of specialized “parts”: for the evaporation of the animal spirits throughout anatomical space would represent or mimic the very motion diagnosed since time immemorial as hysteria. See Foucault, Histoire de la folie à I’âge classique, 2nd ed. (Paris: Gallimard, 1972) II, 3, iii, esp. pp. 306-7; see also Krell, “Female Parts in Timaeus ”, pp. 401-6, 414-16, and note 5 on p. 419.

11. Frapper, to strike with one or more blows. Cf. the noun frappe (f.): “Choc qui fait entrer le poinҫon [puncturing point, cutting edge] formant la matrice d’un caractére ou d’une monnaie; empreinte ainsi obtenue. . . . Pression du cylindre d’une machine à imprimer sur la forme” (Le Petit Robert, 1984).

12. Descartes comments on foetal memory in some detail in his letter (1303—4) to Arnauld of 4 June 1648. The context is that “double power of memory” we have already examined; that is, in addition to corporeal memory, “a certain reflexion of the understanding or of the intellectual memory.” Descartes emphasizes that the second cannot be practiced by the infant in the womb. In the child’s soul generally, even after birth, there are only “confused sensations,” never “pure intellection.” And even though certain of these earliest traces perdure throughout a person’s lifetime, they do not suffice to enable us to remember, especially if they are traces inscribed during the time we were in our mothers’ wombs, a time when intellectual memory was certainly not yet active. Yet because thinking is the essence of the soul, it must be supposed that, even though we remember nothing of it, we must have been thinking all the time in utero. It is in the Cartesian womb precisely as it was in Aristotle’s heaven—we simply do not remember. Or in Schelling’s hell—whence the smiles of contentment.

13. In his “Notes Directed Against a Certain Program” (Haldane-Ross, p. 442; Adam-Tannery, VIII B, 358) Descartes defends himself against the “charge” of innate ideas by reducing them to dispositions. A certain family may be disposed to generosity, a particular individual prone to this or that disease. Precisely with dispositions, it is difficult to distinguish between nature and nurture. Dispositions are like those laws that God imprints in the mind of man or that a monarch “would imprint in the heart of all his subjects, if he had sufficient power to do so” (letter to Mersenne, April 15, 1630 [933], cited by Véronique Fóti, “Presence and Memory”, p. 75). One thinks of Rousseau’s persistent use of this metaphor a century later.

14. Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy, II, 2, pp. 106-8.

15. I have used the edition by Peter H. Nidditch (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1975). I cite the Essay by Book (Roman numeral), chapter (in Arabic), and section (§), in order that readers using other editions can check the references.

16. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. C. B. Macpherson (Harmondsworth: Penguin-Pelican, 1968 [1st ed. 1651], Part I, chap. 1, “Of Sense.” I shall refer to Leviathan in the body of my text simply by part (in Roman) and chapter (Arabic). A more detailed account would of course have to include Hobbes’s Short Tract on First Principles and Elements of Philosophy: The First Section, Concerning Body, something I do not undertake here.

17. Ignis fatuus, a will-o’-the-wisp or jack-a-lantern. The Oxford English Dictionary notes: “A phosphorescent light seen hovering or flitting over marshy ground, and supposed to be the spontaneous combustion of an inflammable gas. . . . When approached, the ignis fatuus appeared to recede, and finally to vanish, sometimes reappearing in another direction. This led to the notion that it was the work of a mischievous sprite, intentionally leading benighted travellers astray.”

18. Martin Heidegger, Was heisst Denken? (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1954), p. 11; English translation by J. Glenn Gray and Fred D. Wieck, What Is Called Thinking? (New York: Harper & & Row, 1968), p. 30; and Vorträge und Aufsätze (Pfullingen: G. Neske, 1954), p. 264; English translation by Frank A. Capuzzi in Early Greek Thinking (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), p. 108.

19. See David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge, 2nd ed. by P. H. Nidditch (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1978); and Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals, ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge, 3rd ed. by P. H. Nidditch (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1975), PP. 1—165. The Coleridge story which follows appears on p. 165 of the Biographia literaria, cited with full publishing information in note 20.

20. In The Selected Poetry and Prose of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Donald A. Stauffer (New York: Modern Library, 1951), pp. 109-428, esp. pp. 164-68. On David Hartley, see Basil Willey, The Eighteenth-Century Background: Studies on the Idea of Nature in the Thought of the Period (Boston: Beacon, 1961 [1st ed. 1940]), chap. 8, esp. pp. 136 and 141—42.

21. One would no doubt have to take up the problem in Henri Bergson’s terms-something I cannot do here—especially in Essai sur les donnees immédiates de la conscience (1889) and Matière et mémoire (1896). (I shall refer to both by page number in Henri Bergson, Oeuvres [Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1963].) Particularly in the latter, Bergson tries to show the limits of a neurophysiological account of the body through an analysis of “pure perception” and “action” in the present. “Pure memory,” in his view, “opens a perspective on what one calls spirit”; whereas pure perception allows us to take up a position between realism and idealism, “pure memory” opens a gap between materialism and spiritualism (218). Whether his doctrine and descriptions of the “two forms of memory” are truly helpful in closing the gap remains doubtful. Yet his description of the “myriad, myriad” systematizations of long-term memories (308-12), his thorough criticisms of associationism, and his detailed discussions of pathologies of the body, aphasias, etc. point clearly in the direction of Merleau-Ponty, and they merit renewed and detailed study. In the following paragraphs I shall refer to Maurice Merleau-Ponty, La structure du comportement (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1942; English translation by Alden L. Fisher, The Structure of Behavior (Boston: Beacon, 1963), parts I and II. See also his “Study Project on the Nature of Perception” (1933) and “The Nature of Perception” (1934), presented by Forrest Williams in Research in Phenomenology, vol. X (1980), pp. 1-20.

22. R. B. Malmo, in Handbook of Psychophysiology, ed. N. S. Greenfield and R. A. Sternbach (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1972), p. 971.

23. See Karl Pribram’s remarks in Memory Mechanisms, ed. K. H. Pribram (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969), p. 295. Cited in the body of my text by page number in parentheses.

24. William Faulkner, Light in August (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1960 [1st ed. 1932]), chap. 10, pp. 173-74.

25. See Edward S. Casey, Remembering: A Phenomenological Study, pp. 15-17; 269—72; and elsewhere. See also my review article, “On the Verge of Remembering,” cited in the Introduction, above.

26. Erwin Straus, Phenomenological Psychology (New York: Basic Books, 1966), chaps. 3—4, pp. 59-73 and 75—100. I shall refer to the text by page number in parentheses.

27. For a critical account of Husserlian phenomenology of memory, see Krell, “Phenomenology of Memory from Husserl to Merleau-Ponty,” in Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, XLII (June 1982), 492-505; see also my “On the Verge of Remembering.”

28. Jean-Paul Sartre, L’être et le neant: Essai d’ontologie phénoménologique (Paris: Gallimard, 1943), P-^I4 6; translated by Hazel Barnes as Being and Nothingness (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956), pp. 107-8.

29. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le visible et l’invisible, ed. Claude Lefort (Paris: Gallimard, 1964) p. 263; English translation by Alphonso Lingis, The Visible and the Invisible (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1968), p. 210. I shall cite the work as VI, with page numbers, in parentheses.

30. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phénoménologie de la perception (Paris: Gallimard, 1945), PP. 490 and 492. I shall cite the work by the letters PP, with page numbers, in parentheses.

31. Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, trans. C. K. Scott-Moncrieff (New York: Vintage, 1970 [1st ed. 1928]), pp. 5-6, with minor changes. Page numbers after the slash solidus refer to A la recherche du temps perdu, 3 vols., “Pléiade” edition (Paris: Gallimard, 1954). For the passage in question, see vol. I, p. 6. See also Casey’s fine pages on Proust, in Remembering, pp. 169—72; 192-93; 206-7.

32. See Marcel Proust, “Projects de Préface,” in Contre Sainte-Beuve, written in 1907-1908, “Pléiade” edition (Paris: Gallimard, 1971), pp. 211—17. See also the final part of Le temps retrouvé in A la recherche du temps perdu, III, 870-73. I am indebted to Jonathan Krell for these references and for discussions about Proust.

33. No doubt one of the things to remember is that the writer is an artificer of images, images that are never icons in the sense we have elaborated, but idols that are never the same. See Walter Benjamin, “Zum Bilde Prousts,” in Illuminationen (Frankfurt au Main: Suhrkamp, 1961), pp. 335-48, and the excellent discussion by Carol Jacobs, The Dissimulating Harmony: The Image of Interpretation in Nietzsche, Rilke, Artaud, and Benjamin (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), chap. 4.

34. Martin Heidegger, Der Ursprung des Kunstwerkes (Stuttgart: P. Reclam, 1960), pp. 70-72; English translation by Albert Hofstadter in Basic Writings, second, revised and expanded edition (San Francisco: Harper & Row, forthcoming).

35. For the following, see Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Résumés de cours: Collège de France, 1952—1960 (Paris: Gallimard, 1968), pp. 66-73. References will be designated R, with page number. The pages of VI that are most relevant here are 137-41.

36. Because it is unavailable in English, as far as I know, I cite here in translation a portion of the Nachschrift to that course presented by Alexandre Métraux in the German edition of the résumés: Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Vorlesungen I (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1973), pp. 303-4, no. 15.

THREE. WAX MAGIC

1. See the 1895 Psychologie and the Freud-Fliess correspondence in Sigmund Freud, Aus den Anfängen der Psychoanalyse, ed. Ernst Kris (New York: Imago, 1950), the former on pp. 379-466. I will refer to this crucial sourcebook by page number in parentheses in the body of my text. I will not be able to refer to the enormous literature that has gathered about the “Project” and will be reading the latter solely for the purposes of a discussion of typography, iconography, and engrammatology. For an excellent bibliography, see Adolf Grünbaum, The Foundations of Psychoanalysis: A Philosophical Critique (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), pp. 3-4 and 287-96.1 have found particularly useful Robert R. Holt, “A Review of Some of Freud’s Biological Assumptions and Their Influence on His Theories,” in Norman S. Greenfield and William C. Lewis, eds., Psychoanalysis and Current Biological Thought (Madison and Milwaukee: University of Wisconsin Press, 1965), pp. 93-124; Mark Kanzer, “Two Prevalent Misconceptions about Freud’s ‘Project’ (1895),” in Annual of Psychoanalysis, vol. I (1973), 88-103; and especially Karl H. Pribram and Merton M. Gill, Freud’s ‘Project’ Re-Assessed (New York: Basic Books, 1976), also with extensive bibliography. Again, I will not try to adjudicate the traditional (neurological) vs. revisionist (mentalistic) debate surrounding the “Project,” but merely point to the remarkable concluding pages of Pribram and Gill (pp. 168-69): here a third voice intervenes to note that “Pribram” and “Gill” ultimately disagree about whether they ultimately disagree. Far more interesting than any of these however will be the paper by Alan Bass, to be published in Richard Rand, ed., Mochlos in America: Our Academic Contract, by The University of Nebraska Press in 1990.

2. Jacques Derrida has painted such a picture (not a tableau) in “Freud and the Scene of Writing” in L’écriture et la différence (Paris: Seuil, 1967), pp. 293—340; English translation, Writing and Difference, by Alan Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), pp. 196—231. The number after the slash solidus in my references will refer to the English translation. I shall refer to this text in parenthesis as ED, with page numbers of the French and English editions.

3. Sigmund Freud, Darstellungen der Psychoanalyse (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1969), p. 58. He repeated the claim in the 1920 Jenseits des Lustprinzips; see Sigmund Freud, Studienausgabe, 12 vols. (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1969ff.), 3, 223. I shall cite this edition as StA, with volume and page numbers.

4. Sigmund Freud, StA Ergänzungsband, pp. 101-6.

5. Sigmund Freud and Josef Breuer, Studien über Hysterie (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1970 [1st ed. 1895]), P.90. shall refer to this text as SH, with page number, in parentheses.

6. See StA 2, esp. 512—19 and 569-77; and 3, esp. 217-21 and 234-43. References to the dual or tripartite neural or psychic systems are of course to be found throughout the so-called metapsychological writings. Derrida’s “Scene” has commented perceptively on these survivals of the principal propositions of the 1895 sketch. See ED, 302-5/203—5, passim. One such survival is identified by Robert Holt (“Biological Assumptions,” p. 94), who relates the opening pages of the “Project” with David Hartley’s conviction “that nerve impulse was a mechanical vibration of ‘the material particles in question . . .[,] the neurons’.” See chap. 2, above, pp. 83-85.

7. Anfängen, p. 386, line 15. Derrida adopts the statement as the epigram to his “Scene,” ED, 296. See Freud’s similar formulation in chapter 4 of Jenseits (twenty-five years after the “Project”!), StA 3, 236.

8. While one finds a certain amount of support in contemporary neurophysiology for Freud’s effort to distinguish between external (or somatic) neural functions and internal (or visceral) functions, there can be no doubt that his binary account vastly oversimplifies the picture: the autonomic, sympathetic, and parasympathetic systems each combine somatic/visceral and sensory binaries, and all involve spinal gray in the dorsal and ventral columns of the spinal cord as well as the cerebellum and cerebrum, so that in higher mammals the whole nervous circuitry is constituted as a bewilderingly complex “feedback” system that no simple binary distinction can portray. See chapter 18 of Torrey, Morphogenesis of the Vertebrates, esp. pp. 490-91, 505, and 514-31. None of this however prevents Karl Pribram from enthusiastically endorsing Freud’s “Project” as a remarkably prescient neurophysiology. See Pribram and Gill, 1976, passim. Commenting on the two principal postulates of Freud’s sketch, the theory of neurons and of neural inertia, neurophysiologist Pribram writes: “Contemporary neurophysiology could find little to fault in this outline of nervous system function” (34).

9. In addition to the new formulations in chapter 7 of Traumdeutung and in the later metapsychology, one would have to mention a number of very early letters to Fliess, especially no. 39, dated January 1, 1896 (see esp. 152-54). Freud congratulates his friend for advancing through medicine to his genuine goal, physiology, taking medicine as a kind of “detour.” (I presume that Unweg [= “impossible path”] is a typographic slip for Umweg [detour]!) Freud confesses that his use of medicine would conduct him toward his own “initial goal,” which he cites as Philosophic. There is no doubt that with the discussion of quality, sensation, and perception, we are in the thick of philosophical problems. We shall no doubt have to revert to this letter and its highly technical discussion of the intermediate W system in just a moment.

10. Before proceeding, we might note that it is in this vicinity that Derrida’s account of the 1895 sketch breaks off; about here, where Freud introduces his account of the sources of pleasure and unpleasure (Lustund Unlustempfindung). Precisely these emerge to play a role in the final pages of Derrida’s account, so that the bulk of the essay (ED, 306-38/206—29) may be viewed as an immense grammatological parenthesis or detour within the breach of Freud’s own sketch.

11. See Sein und Zeit, section 43b, esp. pp. 209-10, and refer back to pp. 50 and 194. See the comments by D. F. Krell and Jacques Derrida on Heidegger and the philosophy of life in Research in Phenomenology, XVII (1987), esp. pp. 23-53 and 171-85. Finally, on Heidegger and “drives,” see 29/30, §§58-61.

12. Ernst Kris notes (409 n. 1) that we are here witnessing the earliest formulation of Freud’s abiding conviction that the ego has the function (in the psychic system) of testing reality, Realitätsprüfung. See, for example, Traumdeutung (StA 2, 76m, 540-42) and “On the Two Principles of Psychic Occurrence” (StA 3, 17-19). However, on the unconscious as the source of the probe, see below. It would be fruitful to compare to the Freudian reality probe Husserl’s efforts to distinguish among perception, memory, and fantasy. See, for example, Edmund Husserl, Phantasie, Bildbewusstsein, Erinnerung: Zur Phänomenologie der anschaulichen Vergegenwärtigungen. Texte aus dem Nachlass, (1898-1925), ed. Eduard Marbach (The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1980). The reference to Husserl will seem less strange once we recall the importance of Franz Brentano’s “act psychology” for both Husserl and Freud. For the latter, see Pribram and Gill, pp. 17-18.

13. See Cours de linguistique générale (Paris: Payot, 1972 [1st ed. 1915], pp. 97-113 and 155-69, on the nature of the linguistic sign, the immutability and mutability of the sign, and linguistic value. See also Derrida, De la grammatologie, pp. 46-69. On the entire question of linguistic association in Freud, see John Forrester, Language and the Origins of Psychoanalysis (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), esp. chap. 2, pp. 40-49.

14. See Jacques Lacan, Ecrits (Paris: Seuil, 1966), pp. 501-2; on the 1895 Entwurf see also Lacan, L’éthique de la psychanalyse (Paris: Seuil, 1986), pp. 45-53. The latter focuses less on the question of language than on ethics—the ethics of satisfaction, hallucination, Nebenmensch, and the principles of pleasure and reality.

15. Freud’s account of language here is highly dependent on that of his 1891 monograph on aphasias. An illuminating extract of that work appears as Appendix C to “Das Unbewusste” in StA 3, 168—73. The two preceding Appendices, on Freud’s relation to the neurologies of Ewald Hering and Hughlings Jackson—involving Freud’s early commitment to fundamentally unlocalizable unconscious representations and a general psycho—physical parallelism, and by no means a reductionism—are also enlightening. They make it even more difficult to read the Entwurf as anything but a massive, tortuous, and tortured regression.

FOUR. OF TRACINGS WITHOUT WAX

1. See Rodolphe Gasché, The Tain of the Mirror (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1986), chap. 9, “A System beyond Being.” I will refer to Gasché by page number within parentheses in the body of my text.

2. See Krell, “Engorged Philosophy II,” cited in note 2 of chap. 2, above, for the modest beginnings of such a review.

3. Martin Heidegger, Unterwegs zur Sprache (Pfullingen: G. Neske, 1959), p. 244; see the English translation in the revised, expanded edition of Basic Writings, forthcoming.

4. See Jacques Derrida, “Differance,” in Marges de la philosophie, pp. 1-29, esp. pp. 8-9; 13-14. English translation, Margins of Philosophy, by Alan Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), pp. 1-27, esp. pp. 7-8; 12-13.

5. See Krell, “The Perfect Future: A Note on Heidegger and Derrida,” in Deconstruction and Philosophy: The Texts of Jacques Derrida, ed. John Sallis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 114-21.

6. Bergson’s inclusion here may seem odd, inasmuch as his Essai sur les données immédiates de la conscience, published in the year of Heidegger’s birth, resists Kant’s thesis concerning time. Yet even if for Bergson space is “the fundamental given,” so that time is merely “the phantom of space which obsesses reflexive consciousness” (67), Bergson’s is nonetheless a transcendental inquiry. Which is no doubt why Heidegger’s copy of Les Données was so heavily marked. (We shall be hearing some day from Sabine Mödersheim of the Husserl Archive, Freiburg-im-Breisgau, about those marginalia.) Finally, when one hears Bergson say (70) that “the instant one attributes the least homogeneity to duration one surreptitiously introduces space,” one cannot help speculating on the radicalized Bergsonism of Derridean espacement.

7. F. de Saussure, Cours de linguistique générale, p. 30.

8. See Martin Heidegger, Hegels Phänomenologie des Geistes, Gesamtausgabe vol. 32 (Frankfurt am Main: V. Klostermann, 1980) section 5, “The presupposition of the Phenomenology [of Spirit], its absolute beginning with the Absolute.”

9. On creux, se creuser in Merleau-Ponty, see chap. 2, above. With regard to “trace” in Levinas, cf. the following from “Violence and Metaphysics: Essay on the Thought of Emmanuel Levinas” (ED, 194/132): “The notion of a past whose meaning could only be thought in the form of a (past) present marks the impossible-unthinkable-unsayable not only for a philosophy in geileral but also for a thinking of being that would like to take a step outside of philosophy. This notion nonetheless becomes a theme in the meditation on the trace that announces itself in the most recent writings of Levinas.” Derrida is presumably thinking of Levinas’s “The Trace of the Other” (1963). On this entire subject, see Robert Bernasconi, Between Levinas and Derrida (Bloomington: Indiana University Press), forthcoming.

10. See Derrida, “Chôra,” in Poikilia: Etudes offertes à Jean-Pierre Vernant (Paris: Ecole des Hautes Etudes, 1987), pp. 265-96, cited by page number within parentheses in the body of my text. I am aware that virtually every point I will be making here, or have already made in chapter 1, would have been sharpened and clarified by more attention to Ronna Burger, Plato’s ‘Phaedrus’: A Defense of a Philosophic Art of Writing (University, Alabama: University of Alabama Press, 1980), esp. chap. VI, “The Art of Writing,” pp. 90—109.

11. Phaedrus, 278a; G, 26-27/15-16; see chap. 1, above, pp. 42-44.

12. The selfsame ambiguity within fixing or fixating constitutes the principal enigma of Heidegger’s third lecture course on Nietzsche. According to Heidegger, the question for Nietzsche—the question that requires a confrontation with Western metaphysics in its entirety—is whether and how artistic transfiguration differs decisively from perspectival knowing with regard to fixation (Festmachung). If the cognitive project petrifies and paralyzes becoming and all life, the artistic project should be in harmony with the chaos of becoming and thus should enhance life. Yet both projects appear to involve fixation of appearances—and there is no doubt that such fixation is continuous with Plato and Platonism. See Martin Heidegger, Nietzsche, I, 616 passim; Nietzsche, vol. 3: The Will to Power as Knowledge and as Metaphysics (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), pp. 123ff. and throughout.

13. D, 99/87, and Krell, “Body Spaces: Merleau-Ponty and Georges Bataille,” an unpublished lecture presented in 1987 to the Architectural Association, London.

14. See Jacques Derrida, “Logique de la vivante,” in Otobiographies (Paris: Galilée, 1984), pp. 33-69; English translation, The Ear of the Other: Autobiography, Transference, Translation, ed. Christie V. McDonald (New York: Schocken, 1985), pp. 3-19; and Krell, “Consultations with the Paternal Shadow,” in Exceedingly Nietzsche, ed. D. F. Krell and D. Wood (London: Routledge, 1988), pp. 80-94.

15. John Llewelyn, Derrida on the Threshold of Sense (London: Macmillan, 1986), pp. 81-82. The quotations appear in La Carte postale: de Socrate à Freud et au-delà (Paris: Aubier-Flammarion, 1980), pp. 209 and 212; The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond, tr. Alan Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 194 and 197. See also Llewelyn’s excellent account of Derrida on Timaeus and Sophist, pp. 74—80. Other pages in the “Envois” of La Carte postale of particular relevance to memory are: 17/12, 28-31/23-26, 39/34, 59-60/52-53, 70-73/63-65, 133/121, 191/ 177, 214/199, and 263-65/246-48.

16. L. A. Post, Thirteen Epistles of Plato (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1925); reprinted in Hamilton and Cairns, p. 1567. See Derrida’s “Envois,” passim, esp. pp. 65-66/58 and 91-92/82-83.

FIVE. OF PITS AND PYRAMIDS

1. I have used the Philosophische Bibliothek edition throughout, ed. Otto Pöggeler and Friedhelm Nicolin (Hamburg: F. Meiner, 1969). I will cite this edition as E, with section (§) number. I will not attempt a careful reconstruction of the three editions (1817, 1827, 1830) and all their variants. See also the “Appendices” (Zusätze) to the relevant paragraphs in the Jubiläumsausgabe of Hegel’s Encyclopedia, “System der Philosophic,” ed. Ludwig Boumann (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: F. Frommann, 1965 [1st ed. 1845]), 10, 328—58. In the edition by M. J. Petry, Hegel’s Philosophy of Subjective Spirit, 3 vols. (Dordrecht, Holland: D. Reidel, 1978), see esp. 3, 144-217 and 401-36. Finally, see the useful collection of Hegel’s own notes to the first (1817) edition of the Enzyklopädie, “Hegels Vorlesungsnotizen zum subjektiven Geiste,” ed. Friedhelm Nicolin and Helmut Schneider, Hegel-Studien, Band 10 (1975), esp. the notes to §§ 375-6, 378, 381, and 383, pp. 59, 61-64, and 67-69.

2. Jacques Derrida, Marges de la philosophie, pp. 79—127/69-108. For an excellent account of imagination in these pages of the Encyclopedia, see John Sallis, Spacings—Of Reason and Imagination in Texts of Kant, Fichte, and Hegel (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 132-57.

3. Quoted in John C. Greene, The Death of Adam: Evolution and Its Impact on Western Thought (New York: New American Library, 1961), p. 86.

4. M. J. Petry, ed. and tr., Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature, 3 vols. (London: Allen & Unwin, 1970), II, 24.

5. See Jacques Derrida, “Différance,” in Marges de la philosophic, pp. 1-29/1-27.

6. “. . . schwächere Umbildung zur Seite.” My reading differs from that of Petry at 11, _i5.

7. Quoted in Greene, p. 69.

8. G. W. F. Hegel, Werke in zwanzig Bänden (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1970), 4, 39. We will return to the Propaedeutics when we take up the psychology of memory and remembrance.

9. See Krell, “Pitch: Genitality/Excrementality from Hegel to Crazy Jane,” referred to above in note 26 of chap. 1.

10. Hegel’s metaphor sparks a recollection of Freud’s astonishing remarks on the origins of fabric weaving. See his second set of introductory lectures on psychoanalysis, Neue Folge, StA 1, 562.

11. See F. W. J. Schelling, Sämtliche Werke, VII, 360; and Georges Bataille, Visions of Excess, p. 13. See also Krell, “The Crisis of Reason in the Nineteenth Century: Schelling’s Treatise on Human Freedom (1809),” and Krell, “Paradoxes of the Pineal: From Descartes to Georges Bataille,” cited in note 28 of chap. 1, above.

12. Derrida’s “Pit” must be supplemented by remarks in De la grammatologie, p. 40/ 25. Here Derrida discusses what is perhaps the most revealing reversal in §459, one that tends to modify Derrida’s own thesis on the suppression of writing and the privilege of speech in metaphysics. Hegel celebrates alphabetic script as an “educational” or “formative” device for spirit’s developing interiority. He identifies “the resounding word” with the “more formal” and abstract element of thought thinking itself. However, the peculiarity of the alphabetic script, that is, its phonetic character, is itself suppressed “in the interest of vision.” In the act of reading, alphabetic script itself becomes a kind of hieroglyphics. While reading we no longer need to be conscious of the sounds, the phonemes. The transformation of alphabetic into hieroglyphic script results from a “capacity for abstraction” that is essential to thought. Hegel speaks (that is, writes) of a “hieroglyphic reading” that is “for itself a deaf reading and a mute writing.” True, in a final reversal Hegel reasserts the privilege of the audible: “visible language” comports itself to resonant language “merely as a sign,” and intelligence expresses itself “immediately and unconditionally” through speech. Yet it is a mutilated speech, tongueless, ripped from the gorge, and speaking to readers who have no ears; and it is a mutilated reading and writing, groping its way about the verge. I have commented briefly on the suppression of the voice in metaphysics in “Engorged Philosophy,” and also in “Engorged Philosophy II,” both cited in chapter 2.

13. See §464. Cf. Hegel’s Grundlinien der Philosophic des Rechts (7, 146 and 161) on the mysterious exteriority of “spiritual production” in book printing and in signs generally. See also Derrida’s careful analysis of mechanical memory: Marges, 123—27/ 105-8. Lest we decide too quickly that Hegel’s celebration of mechanical repetition or rote memorization as the summit of intelligence is a mere quirk on his part, consider the researches of Hermann Ebbinghaus at the University of Berlin in the 1880s, researches that undergird not only the empirical psychology of memory but also the modern testing of intelligence. Ebbinghaus designed series of nonsense syllables, reading them aloud to scores of subjects until they could reproduce them without hesitation. He searched for statistical constants involving the relation of retention to (1) the speed in learning syllables of various lengths; (2) the number of repetitions; (3) elapsed time; (4) repeated learning; and (5) the associative sequence of members in the series. Perhaps those who in the modern world prove to have excellent memories—and who are presumed (as the very title of Jean Piaget’s Memoire et intelligence [Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1968] suggests) to have high intelligence—are precisely those who through docility or credulity conform to the examiner’s short-term demands. Perhaps, on the contrary, they are merely destined to become confirmed Hegelians. Perhaps, finally, these two possibilities are not as distinct as one might have liked. See Krell, “Phenomenology of Memory: Some Implications for Education,” in Phenomenology and Education, ed. Bernard Curtis and Wolfe Mays (London: Methuen, 1978), pp. 138-42.

14. In the penultimate section of his critique of aesthetic judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft, §59, “On Beauty as Symbol of Ethicality”; B 254-60), Kant introduces hypotyposis. Any thorough study of typography would have to take it into account, even though Kant does not relate the notion specifically to memory—about which in general he has very little to say. Hypotyposis has to do with the subsumption of intuitions (as examples) under empirical concepts or of schemata under pure concepts of the understanding. (Of course, hypotyposis cannot properly be performed for concepts of reason, to which no intuition can be assigned.) Kant writes: “All hypotyposis (presentation [Darstellung], subiectio ad adspectum), as a making sensible [Versinnlicbung], is twofold: either schematic, when the corresponding intuition is given a priori to a concept grasped by the understanding; or symbolic, when such an intuition [eine solche]is subsumed under a concept that can only be thought by reason and to which no sensible intuition can approximate [angemessen sein kann]; an intuition in which the process of judgment is only analogically related to what it observes when it schematizes; that is, an intuition by which only the rule of the process, not the intuition itself, and therewith only the form of reflection without regard to content, accords with the concept.” The nightmarish syntax of symbolic hypotyposis and the bewildering analogical intuition which is not properly an intuition suggest the crucial importance of hypotyposis in the Kantian hierarchy of cognition. Both schematic and symbolic modes of representation-via-intuition are subsumed under the subsuming power of hypotyposis: both are exhibitiones not of mere characters or word-signs but of represented reality (Realität). Here Kant is no doubt close to the iconographic repetition of intuition, first as things and then as names, in Hegelian psychology. The fact that symbolic hypotyposis is the very mechanism that expresses the analogical relation between ethicality and the beautiful, between intelligibility and the sensuous, between the freedom of imagination and the lawfulness of understanding, and between particularity and universality makes one wonder whether this sophisticated grandchild of typography is somehow meant to achieve the unity of the Critical project as a whole. How both Erinnerung and Gedächtnis, the very sites of traditional typographies up to and including Hegel, can be absent from the three critiques (when, after all, tantum scimus, quantum memoria tenemus [Anthropologic, 184], why they must be relegated to pragmatic anthropology, are questions that would detain us long on the verge.

15. Jacques Derrida, “De l’économie restreinte à l’économie générale, Un hegelianisme sans reserve,” in ED, 406/276. See also Paul de Man, “Sign and Symbol in Hegel’s Aesthetics,” in Critical Inquiry 8 (Summer 1982), pp. 761-75. De Man is right to complain that Hegelian Denken about Gedächtnis seems “as remote as can be from the sounds and the images of the imagination or from the dark reach of words . . .”; but whether one can say that in Hegel’s system Gedächtnis utterly “effaces” Erinnerung is open to question (772—73). After all, as we shall now insist (as also below, in chapter 7), the very illimitability and ubiquity of remembrance removes it from the grasp of Denken and Gedächtnis. This matter, crucial to the verge, apparently plays no role in the Geuss-de Man “debate” (Critical Inquiry 10 [December 1983], 375-90).

16. M. Merleau-Ponty, Résumés de cours, p. 81.

17. L’être et le néant, II, 1, iii, p. 129. In a similar vein, Merleau-Ponty writes: “Thus all consciousness is unhappy, since it knows it leads a double life and regrets the innocence from which it feels itself expelled.” Not merely for Sartre, but for all contemporary thought, “the dialectic is truncated.” See Merleau-Ponty, “L’existentialisme chez Hegel,” in Sens et nonsens (Paris: Nagel, 1966), p. 120.

18. Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe in 15 Bänden, ed. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari (Berlin and Munich: de Gruyter/DTV, 1980), 12, 476. Hereinafter cited in the body of my text by volume and page.

19. See Krell, “Lucinde’s Shame: Hegel, Sensuous Woman, and the Law,” in “Hegel and Legal Theory,” Cardozo Law Review, vol. 10, nos. 5-6 (March/April 1989), 1673-86.

20. See Sämtliche Werke, VII, 375 and 394-99.

21. Jean Hyppolite, “Hegel’s Phenomenology and Psychoanalysis,” in W. Steinkraus, ed., New Studies in Hegel’s Philosophy (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971), p. 58. Eugen Fink feels his way toward that trauma of spirit as he interprets those very lines of Hegel’s Phenomenology (PG, 86-87) to which we referred a page or two ago-on the remembering and forgetting of phenomenological and natural consciousness (respectively!). Fink understands such trauma, amnesia, and anamnesis in terms of Heidegger’s question of being, which we shall take up in the next chapter. Yet Fink’s comments on Hegel are highly suggestive and worth quoting at length—see Eugen Fink, Hegel: Phänomenologische Interpretationen der “Phänomenologie des Geistes” (Frankfurt am Main: V. Klostermann, 1977), pp. 88-89.

Hegel observes that sensuous certainty always has this experience of itself, to be sure—but that it always forgets the experience. The power of oblivion enables us to abide, as we usually do, in sensuous certainty. The power of oblivion permeates our entire existence. Human beings are creatures that are aware of being, although for the most part they forget about it. Oblivion of being is as originary as the inchoate openness of being. If Hegel explicitly designates oblivion as that counterforce, then the path of knowing, from sensuous certainty all the way to absolute knowing, loses its compelling character, a character that is often attributed to it. The path is a necessary one, yet its necessity does not take the form of a process regulated by some law of nature. It is a historical necessity. The dialectic or sensuous certainty is an experience that such certainty must have of itself, but that it can also forget again.

Does Fink here endeavor to step back from the radicality of his statement that oblivion deprives the path of knowing (or, for that matter, the hierarchy of transition) of its compelling character by inserting kann into the dialectic, instead of allowing the muβ to retain its compelling power? Does he not slack the tension of Hegel’s dialectic in order to diminish the monstrous power of the negative? Does not the reduction of oblivion to a mere possibility enable him to pursue the established itinerary of spirit? Would not such pursuit be under the sway of oblivion? Ever only on the verge of phenomenological remembrance? But to continue:

The oblivion can be so profound that human beings are assured that with sensuous certainty they have taken the measure of the actual, that what the senses show them they may safely take to be being, indeed, being [das Seiende] in the proper sense. Only human beings can forget themselves so profoundly, elevating the inconstant and ephemeral-nugatory to the truly actual, thus comprehending even less than the brute animals. Hegel says of the animals that in their desperation they immediately approach the reality ot sensuous things and, completely certain of their nothingness, devour them. The human being who is trapped in the sensuous, having forgotten being, no longer catches a glimpse of the profound meaning of the ancient mystery of bread and wine, that sacrament of the Earth whereby nontransient or perdurant being [Sein] is celebrated in the annihilation of the nugatory sensuous/sensible [des nichtigen Sinnfälligen] and in the metamorphosis of transiency. Hegel, in his magnificent language, interrupting the arduous path of his disciplined thought from time to time with a poetic image, says: “. . . to those who assert the truth and certainty of the reality of sensuous objects it [can] be said that they must be sent back to the most elementary of the schools of wisdom, namely, that of the ancient Eleusinian mysteries of Ceres and Bacchus, where they can for the first time learn the secret of eating bread and drinking wine; for the initiate who knows these mysteries comes not only to doubt the being of sensuous things but also to despair of such being.” (PG, 87)

Dionysian wine as an elixir of remembrance rather than oblivion? Remembrance of the nothingness of its own spirit? The nothingness of a mere image interrupting rigorous prose? A mere image of animals and Bacchants consuming and being consumed by a nothing? Dreaming of perdurance and sustenance as they swallow and are swallowed? If Hegel espies “all nature celebrating these open mysteries” (open? mysteries? diese offenbaren Mysterien, PG, 88), no wonder Fink concludes his commentary (352) by counterposing to Hegel the mythos of Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: “Remain true to the Earth!”

22. “The Rhine,” in Hölderlin, Werke und Briefe, ed. F. Beissner and J. Schmidt (Frankfurt am Main: Insel, 1969), p. 150:

23. “Mnemosyne,” first version, p. 198:

24. M. Merleau-Ponty, Résumés de cours, p. 81.

SIX. OF HAVING-BEEN

1. I will not repeat here my discussions of ecstatic temporality and the vicissitudes of fundamental ontology. See Krell, Intimations of Mortality, chapters 2 and 3; “The Perfect Future,” in Deconstruction and Philosophy: The Texts of Jacques Derrida, pp. 114-21; and “Beneath the Time of the Line,” in Writing the Future, ed. David Wood (London: Routledge, 1989), pp. 106—11.

2. See Martin Heidegger, Schellings Abhandlung über das Wesen der menschlichen Freiheit (1809) (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1971), p. 229.

3. See William McNeill, The Modification of ‘Being and Time Ph.D. Thesis, University of Essex, 1987.

4. I say “virtually” because of the important statement in section 65 (SZ, 330)—to which I referred only briefly above—that comes at the culmination of Heidegger’s initial sketch of temporality as the ontological meaning of care: “The original and proper future is the toward-itself, toward its self, existing as the impassable possibility of nullity [die unuberholbare Moglichkeit der Nichtigkeit]. The ecstatic character of the original future consists precisely in the fact that the future closes our ability to be [schliesst das Seinkonnen]; that is to say, that the future is itself closed [selbst geschlossen ist], and that as such it makes possible the resolutely un-closed [entschlossene] existentiell understanding of nullity.” Such closure, the essential finitude of temporality, haunts fundamental ontology in all its transformations. Again, I refer readers to chapters 2 and 3 of Intimations of Mortality, esp. p. 60. And I remember to thank John Sallis, who first pointed out to me the importance of the above passage on schliessen.

5. In his 1927 lecture course on the “fundamental problems of phenomenology” (24, 411), Heidegger poses the problem of oblivion, Vergessen, as an autonomous, positive, ecstatic mode of temporality (ein eigener positiv ekstatischer Modus der Zeitlichkeit) with even greater radicality: “The ecstasis of forgetting something has the character of disengagement vis-a-vis one’s ownmost having-been, indeed in such a way that this disengagement-in-the-face-of closes off what it faces. Because forgetting closes off having-been—such is the peculiar nature of that ecstasis—it closes itself off to itself [verschliesst es sich für sich selbst]. Oblivion is characterized by the fact that it forgets itself. It lies in the ecstatic essence of forgetting that it forgets not only the forgotten but also the forgetting itself. The vulgar prephenomenological view of things is that forgetting is nothing at all. Oblivion is an elementary mode of the temporality in which at first and for the most part we are our own having-been.” Are it, to be sure, by having always already forgotten it. Such oblivion appears to be perfect.

6. A second example, a second sighting of the same gorge. At the top of SZ, 260 two kinds of holding are juxtaposed: first, Heidegger raises the question as to whether Dasein can ever properly understand its “ownmost, nonrelational and impassable, certain and as such undetermined possibility,” that is, whether it can “hold itself in an appropriate being toward its end [my emphasis]”; second, some eight lines later, the opening words of §53, “Existential projection of an appropriate being toward death,” read as follows: “Factically, Dasein persists [hält sich: holds itself] at first and for the most part in an inappropriate being toward death.” The slippage that occurs between these two holds runs through the entire second division of Being and Time, which must show that an appropriate being toward death is possible both existentielly and existential-ontologically without jettisoning its own hold on the essentially “indifferent” structure of the average everyday zunächst and zumeist. And, finally, a third sighting of the same abyss. In §58, “Understanding the call [of conscience], and guilt,” to which I referred earlier, Heidegger’s effort to achieve ontic attestation of the ontological possibility of a resolute openedness that runs ahead into an appropriate future confronts the nothing, das Nichts. “Being the (null) ground of a nullity” expresses the guilt of Dasein (SZ, 285). Yet guilt sleeps, and must be called to wakefulness; the meaning of the call is understood when “the existential sense” of guilt is “held.” “Held” by being “heard aright,” “heard aright” through “readiness for being able to be called” (SZ, 287). Dasein is ready, insists Heidegger, slipping now into the perfect, because “it has chosen itself [Es hat sich selbst gewählt].” Willing to have a conscience, Gewissen-haben-wollen, we learn in §60 (SZ, 296), is “readiness for anxiety.” Which, we remember, is always on the verge of waking, always on the very verge of remembering. And which therefore does not temporalize, does not propriate, does not rescue.

7. See Krell, “Daimon Life, Nearness and Abyss: An Introduction to Za-ology,” in Research in Phenomenology, XVII (1987), 23-53, esp. note 14; and Jacques Derrida, De l’esprit: Heidegger et la question (Paris: Galilée, 1987), pp. 75-90 passim.

8. See, again, Jacques Derrida, De l’esprit, throughout. I have discussed Derrida’s extraordinary text in “Spiriting Heidegger,” Research in Phenomenology, XVIII (1988), 205-30.

9. See SZ, 396-97. Heidegger apparently taught a semester-long course on this text, although we do not know precisely when he did so. See my note to “Plan of the English Edition” in Martin Heidegger, Nietzsche, Vol. 3: The Will to Power as Knowledge and as Metaphysics, pp. xi-xii, along with pp. viii and 248-49. Otto Pöggeler still argues that 1928 is the more likely date than the date stated in the Gesamtausgabe prospectus, i.e., 1938-39.

10. See “Of Redemption,” in Also sprach Zarathustra, Part II, 4, 177-82; Martin Heidegger, Nietzsche, Vol. 2: The Eternal Recurrence of the Same (San Francisco: Harper &; Row, 1984), pp. 223-27. See also Intimations of Mortality, chap. 8, pp. 132-35. Finally, see the many rich sketches in Nietzsche’s unpublished notes contemporaneous with Untimely and relating to memory: Studienausgabe, 7, 636ff.

11. Again, see chaps. 2 and 3 of Intimations of Mortality.

12. See Pierre Klossowski, Nietzsche et le cercle vicieux (Paris: Mercure de France, 1969), pp. 93-103. I shall return to this theme in chapter 7, in the context of memory and affirmation.

13. See Martin Heidegger, “Die Erinnerung in die Metaphysik,” in Nietzsche, II, 481-90. The tone of this brief piece resounds throughout the “intimations” of Heidegger’s vast Beitrage zur Philosophic of 1936-38 (Frankfurt am Main: V. Klostermann, 1989), especially its second part, Anklang.

14. The play on Vermögen, mögen, möglich is already familiar to us from Heidegger’s “Letter on ‘Humanism’.” See Basic Writings, ist ed., p. 196.

15. See Heidegger’s use of Behalten in his 1927 lecture course Basic Problems of Phenomenology, 24, 367, 375, 412, 432 and all of section 21a on absence, Abhanden-heit, and the nothing.

16. To be sure, Heidegger knows of the passages in question: see Nietzsche, Vol. II: The Eternal Recurrence of the Same, section 6, opening paragraph; see also my commentary, pp. 253—59; and 268—81. On this important shift in Heidegger’s thinking between 1937 and 1951, see Wolfgang Müller-Lauter, “Das Willenswesen und der Übermensch: Ein Beitrag zu Heideggers Nietzsche-Interpretation,” in Nietzsche-Studien, Band 10/11 (1981-1982), 132-92.

17. In my brief remarks on the very similar passage in “Who Is Nietzsche’s Zarathustra?” (cf. WhD? 39 and Vorträge und Aufsätze, p. 116) I assumed that Heidegger’s account had all the force of his own voice behind it. My student and friend Joel B. Shapiro convinces me that Heidegger may well wish to distance himself from that account. Let us then put in abeyance any attempt to identify the voice that speaks in the following account; let us take it as a matter of memory, reminiscence, and writing from Aristotle through Nietzsche—and perhaps Heidegger. The “brief remarks” I refer to appear in John Sallis, ed., Deconstruction and Philosophy, p. 119, lines 14ff. from the bottom.

18. To confront the puzzle of “passing by” as an epochal recuperation of what-has-been in Western history is to broach the question of Heidegger and practical philosophy-Heidegger and political philosophy. As Reiner Schürmann struggles to provide an introductory characterization of the “anarchy principle,” he invokes “a deposing of the very principle of epochal principles, and the beginning of an economy of passage.” See Reiner Schürmann, Heidegger on Being and Acting: From Principles to Anarchy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), p. 9; my emphasis. I sense here a filiation with my own preoccupations with the transcendental parcours, the existential Vorbei, ontotheological Vorbeigang, and Nietzschean Übergang/Untergang. Whether and how an economy of passage can sustain “deposition” of the “very principle of epochal principles” remains the stinging nettle. But there we are. In memory of a time of transition, our time, shared by many, one has to regret the narcissism and egoism impacted in discourses on memory, including my own. If there is a collective memory, and if (as Casey argues in his chapter 10, “Commemoration”) there is an essentially public space of memory, are we not always on the verge of a politics of memory? On Vorbeigang, see the Beiträge, pp. 393-417.

19. See Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe, “Typographie” in Sylviane Agacinski et al., Mimésis des articulations (cited in note 11 of chap. 1), pp. 173-90, esp. p. 185. For a number of reservations concerning Lacoue-Labarthe’s reading of Heidegger’s Nietzsche, see Krell, “A Hermeneutics of Discretion,” Research in Phenomenology XV (1985), 1-27.

20. Martin Heidegger, Wegmarken (cited in chapter 1, note 7), p. 239.

SEVEN. OF ASHES

1. See Pierre Klossowski, Nietzsche et le cercle vicieux, cited in note 12 of chap. 6; I shall refer to this text as CV in the body of my text, with page number; an English translation of one of its chapters, “L’experience de l’Eternel Retour” appears in David B. Allison, ed., The New Nietzsche: Contemporary Styles of Interpretation (New York: Delta, 1977; reprinted in 1987 by MIT Press), pp. 107—20. Jacques Derrida, Memoires: For Paul de Man (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), French edition (which I shall cite first) by Galilee, 1988, cited as MPM; Ulysse gramophone: Deux mots pour Joyce (Paris: Galilee, 1987), cited as UG; the first half of this volume has been translated by Geoff Bennington in Post-structuralist Joyce: Essays from the French, ed. Derek Attridge and Daniel Ferrer (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 145—59, and I shall refer to it by page number; Schibboleth: pour Paul Celan (Paris: Galilée, 1986), cited as SH; Feu la cendre (Paris: Des femmes, 1987), cited as LAC; De l’esprit: Heidegger et la question, cited in note 7 of chap. 6, above, and quoted here as DE; “Fors,” Preface to Le verbier de l’Homme aux loups, by Nicolas Abraham and Maria Torok (Paris: Aubier-Flammarion, 1976), cited as Fors; these are by no means the only works that treat of affirmation, the double-yes, mourning, and ash, but they will serve as this chapter’s principal sources.

2. SH, 32, 36-38. See Paul Celan, Gesammelte Werke, 5 vols. (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1986), I, 154:

3. SH, 83; Celan, Gesammelte Werke, I, 197-99: Derrida’s extracts are from the first third of this long poem:

4. See Jacques Derrida, “Ousia et Gramme,” in Marges, pp. 59-61/52-53; see also note 21 of chap. 1.

5. CV, 107. On Zarathustra’s silence and laughter, see the final twenty lines of “On Redemption,” ASZ II (4, 181-82): “—But at this point in his speech it happened that Zarathustra suddenly grew taciturn [innehielt] and had the look of someone who is terrified utterly. . . .” For the impact of Klossowski’s “vicious circle” on a reading of Heidegger’s interpretation of eternal return, see my “Analysis” to Martin Heidegger, Nietzsche, Vol. 2: The Eternal Recurrence of the Same, pp. 268-81, esp. p. 279.

6. Hölderlin, Werke und Briefe, I, 198-202:

7. See Derrida, Otobiographies, pp. 65-66; also Krell, “Consultations with the Paternal Shadow,” in Exceedingly Nietzsche, pp. 88-89.

8. Jacques Derrida, La voix et le phénomène (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1967), pp. 104-8; English translation, Speech and Phenomena, by David B. Allison (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1973), pp. 93-97. Derrida’s “Logique de la vivante” is cited in chap. 4, note 14.

9. See Jacques Derrida, “Interpreting Signatures (Nietzsche/Heidegger): Two Questions,” in The Gadamer-Derrida Encounter: Texts and Commentary, ed. Diane Michelfelder and Richard Palmer (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), pp. 58-71.

10. Paul de Man, Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism, 2nd, revised ed. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), pp. 89-90; cf. MPM, 70/57.

11. Paul de Man, “The Rhetoric of Temporality,” in Blindness and Insight, pp. 222 and 226; cf. MPM, 91/82—83. A nagging doubt persists, to be sure, that de Man’s emphasis on the instant de passage and on the failure of memory as constituting the “authentic experience of temporality” may cripple what one might call political memory. Although the tendency to compare the “cases” of de Man and Heidegger is usually the familiar tendency to rush to judgment, at least one aspect remains troubling: if “authenticity” serves as an attempted hold on things, and ultimately a kind of desired hegemony over them, a terrible sort of oblivion may well infest it. Yet the remedy—if there is one—is surely not an even more desperate hankering after an authentically authentic theory of an authentic politics, dressed up in the vogue rags of emancipatory discourse. I find Geoffrey Hartmann’s response to the political issue thoughtful (see “Blindness and Insight,” in The New Republic for March 7, 1988, pp. 26—31), and I cite its concluding sentence: “De Man’s critique of every tendency to totalize literature or language, to see unity where there is no unity, looks like a belated, but still powerful, act of conscience.” Derrida’s own response, “Like the Sound of the Sea Deep within a Shell: Paul de Man’s War,” appears in Critical Inquiry 14 (Spring 1988), 590-652, translated by Peggy Kamuf. In the French edition of MPM, pp. 147-232. It too emphasizes de Man’s resistance to totalizing discourse, a resistance put to rout by the very professors and journalists who are ardent to condemn de Man and all the works of “deconstruction.” De Man’s own memory, Derrida suggests, must have remained a site of ordeal, mourning, and even agony for him. They are certainly such now for his doubly bereaved friends and readers.

12. Paul de Man, Allegories of Reading: Figural Language in Rousseau, Nietzsche, Rilke, and Proust (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 277; cf. MPM, 100/94—95.

13. DE, 150. Heidegger invokes the project of an “immanent critique” in the lecture, “The End of Philosophy and the Task of Thinking,” in Zur Sache des Denkens (Tübingen: M. Niemeyer, 1969), p. 61; see Basic Writings, 1st ed., pp. 370 and 373.

14. Little has been written on Schmerz in Heidegger’s language essays, as far as I am aware. I expect to hear more on it from Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Christopher Fynsk, as well as from Derrida’s work on the third generation (of) Geschlecht, still to come. And I look forward to the reflections of James Urpeth, at the University of Essex, who is now writing on the topic.

15. See Gottfried von Strassburg, Tristan: Text, Nacherzählung, Wort-und Begriffser-klarungen, ed. Gottfried Weber (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967), pp. 849-51; G. F. Benecke et ai, Mittelhochdeutsches Wörterbuch (Hildesheim, 1963), vol. II, pp. 177—82. My thanks to Ursula Willaredt.

16. I shall cite James Joyce’s Ulysses by page and line, as though by chapter and verse, in the edition by Hans Walter Gabler, Wolfhard Steppe, and Claus Melchior (New York: Random House, 1986). Here: U, 282.1917-18.1 shall cite Finnegans Wake in the 8th printing (“With the author’s corrections incorporated in the text”) published by The Viking Press (New York, 1971), again by page and line numbers.

17. See Edmund Husserl, L’origine de la géométrie, translated and introduced by Jacques Derrida (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1962), pp. 104-5; Derrida, Dissemination, p. 99 n. 17/88 no. 20; and La Carte postale, esp. pp. 257-58/240—41.

18. On the concept and uses of genealogy, see Of Grammatology, 26/14, 52-55/35-37, 149-50/101—2, 182/125, 196/135, and 202/140. For recent hesitations with regard to genealogy, see “Interpreting Signatures (Nietzsche/Heidegger): Two Questions,” in Michelfelder-Palmer, passim; cf. MPM, 38/15, 88/78.

19. The burst of laughter signals Derrida’s own debt to Bataille, as the spray of chuckles signals mine. See “From a Restricted to a General Economy: An Hegelianism without Reserve,” in ED, 369-407/251—77, esp. 376/255-56.

20. See “Le retrait de la metaphore,” in Psyche (Paris: Galilee, 1987), pp. 63-93; see also “Telepathie,” also related to Feu la cendre and La Carte postale, in Psyché, pp. 237-70; finally, for further discussion of the double-yes of affirmation, see “Nombre de oui,” in Psyché, pp. 639—50.

21. The word par (LAC, 61, line 3), should be pas, in accord with the text in Anima 5 and as spoken in the “Bibliothèque des Voix” version.