Sunday, February 14, 2010

Huckabees

In my Writing About Literature class we've been discussing (though not in any great depth) Literary Theory. Our Theory book (Culler's Literary Theory, a Very Short Introduction) has focused on two particular Theorists thus far - Foucault and Derrida. Foucault has some interesting stuff to be sure, but Derrida's ideas really piqued my curiosity.

Derrida focused a decent part of his energy on examining the works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Rousseau, in his novel The Confessions, puts forth an idea about signs: he accepts them, essentially, as substitutes. And, in accordance with traditional theory, the sign is supposed to make itself as transparent as possible to allow the most accurate view of the actual thing it's standing in for (Keats' "camelion" poet and Negative Capability sound familiar?). Rousseau makes his point by referring to the Freudian relationship he had with his caretaker; he thinks of nothing but this woman, and everything around him has some connection to her. Derrida points out a flaw in this method of thought, however, in referencing one particular instance when, in the presence of his "maman," the young Rousseau steals a bite of food that had been in her mouth. Thus, even when the alleged "being" is present, a sign is still necessary to access it. He goes on to say that even if Rousseau were to actually possess the woman, it would only be a possession of the act - another sign of her.

Derrida's conclusion is simply this: nothing has an actual identity. Or rather, the identity lies in the intermediates. All things are actualized by their signs, which, in turn, are merely signs for thought or feeling, which are signs for the being doing the thinking or feeling, which is a sign for the concept that someone else has of said being, usw.

So, if everything is nothing, and nothing can be anything, then everything can be anything, and you've got a start on Deconstructionism. I'm still undecided on how I feel about that. On the one hand, I love the idea that everything (on some level) can be the same, because we're all signs representing one another - or at least representing what someone else might be. It's very equalizing. But on the other hand, something in me screams out against such ambiguity. It might just be that ol' divine potential acting up again, but I find order a lot more appealing than chaos. [Note to self: post musings on ambiguity in self-concept, relationships &c].

I appreciate Derrida for offering some sort of identity concept, and definitely for providing a veritable Vegas-style buffet for thought, but if he's got it right (and I'm a little terrified that he might), the adjustment period is gonna be kinda rough.

2 comments:

  1. I remember the same feeling when my literary theory prof first introduced Derrida. Personally, I think he's a bit overrated. You might dig Heidegger and Hermeneutics, in terms of self-concept and being-in-the-world. Also, Kierkegaard's theistic existentialism as critical theory--in my opinion--rocks.

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  2. We've just skimmed the surface of Hermeneutics, but I like what little I've gleaned about it. It's funny - I just had a discussion about Kierkegaard (most of my knowledge, prior to this conversation, came from Wayne's World). This entire week I decided to be an existential transcendentalist. I think it has been fairly fruitful, too.

    As for other theorists, I'm secretly in love with Roland Barthes. I don't know that I agree with /everything/ he says, but he's got such a lovely style. I really do buy into his conditioned reader ideology, though in brief moments of fitful bleeding-heartedness I find it a little dehumanizing.

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