In his now canonical 1967 essay, Jacques Derrida provides
a notorious critique of all brands of critical, humanistic thought by claiming
that the structure of every theoretical framework is founded upon an arbitrary
centrality. That is, all fields of study
merely appropriate the same material resources but attempt to organize these
resources around their own proposed “center” (Derrida’s word). Instead of arguing that successive fields of
study might persistently better approximate the location of the mystical
center, Derrida claims that all fields are engaged with one another in an
endless intercourse of “play,” and that even within themselves all fields
experience perpetual reconfigurations and reorganizations that establish
perpetual patterns of play. In what is
perhaps the essay’s most infamous and controversial statement, Derrida
overturns the existence of the concept of the center:
Nevertheless,
the center also closes off the play which it opens up and makes possible. As center, it is the point at which the
substitution of contents, elements, or terms is no longer possible. At the center, the permutation or the
transformation of elements (which may of course be structures enclosed within a
structure) is forbidden. At least this
permutation has always remained interdicted
(and I am using this word deliberately).
Thus it has always been thought that the center, which is by definition
unique, constituted the very thing within a structure which while governing the
structure, escapes structurality. This is
why classical thought concerning structure could say that the center is,
paradoxically, within the structure and outside it. The
center is at the center of the totality, and yet, since the center does not
belong to the totality (is not part of the totality), the totality has its
center elsewhere. The center is not the
center. (“Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences
279)
The final sentence has
invited everything from praise, mimicry (in the entire practice of
deconstruction), admiration, skepticism, dismissal, and outright
condemnation. Various critics have
attacked its paradox, its impenetrability, and its elitism. Others have praised it for its insight, its
iconoclasm, and its influence. All of
these assessments possess legitimacy, and critics argue over Derrida’s
relevance to this day. However, there is
one looming criticism that persists to this day which I aim to challenge in
this post: the charge of relativism.
Relativism is not directed specifically at Derrida, but
at the whole of what typically is labeled as “postmodern theory,” and it
charges (in short) that theory has abandoned its claims to absolute truth and
correctness in any objective, logical sense (logic itself being a target of the
human sciences). In many cases, from Wittgenstein
to Lyotard, relativism became the first accusation levied against the
postmodernists, despite their vastly different theoretical approaches. In some cases, the figures themselves (or
their claims) appear to invite the criticism: Lyotard, who suggests that
capitalism is the only system to have ever existed (from our perspective); Wittgenstein, who claims
that individuals practice their own language games which in turn constitute
their own forms of life; Baudrillard, who claims that reality itself has
vanished behind the veneer of simulacra; Butler, who claims that bodies do not
exist, but only the system of expressions they project; Latour, who claims that
tuberculosis could not have killed Ramses because tuberculosis wasn’t invented
until 1882 (tuberculosis was discovered, of course, not invented; but Latour is
making a melodramatic comment). All such
theorists invite criticism for these seemingly relativist remarks.
But does Bruno Latour mean that the bacterium which causes
the disease known as tuberculosis didn’t exist in the time of Ramses? Does Baudrillard mean that actual material
reality has vanished, or that we no longer experience it (like in The Matrix)? Does Butler mean that physical bodies don’t
exist? Relativism seems to eschew the
notion of objective reality entirely; but are these theorists honestly adhering
to such a position? And is Derrida, the
ultimate theoretician of deconstruction and poststructuralism, the spokesman
for this apparently frustrating moment of philosophical history?
I argue that relativism represents a misunderstanding of
poststructuralist theory, and I hope to demonstrate this claim in my post.
Relativism encounters its most objectionable
circumstances in sociopolitical circumstances.
A poor man murders a rich man for his wallet, and certain actors argue
that we attempt to understand the murderer’s perspective; this kind of
relativist posturing is extremely common in sociopolitical circles, but it is
not an actionable perspective supported by theorists such as Derrida. In actual material programs and situations,
the nuances of poststructuralist theory often lose their subtlety and become
lost in the rhetorical grandstanding and empathic appeals of those
involved. For those who read
poststructuralist theory (and read it closely), we can see that what look to be
paradoxes, contradictions, or falsities are in fact gestures toward something
else: a higher resolution, an amplified receptivity, or an adapted
perspective. If we pursue the problem in
a dialectical fashion, then we must always be prepared to take the next step;
but the presence of the next step doesn’t negate the existence of truth
entirely. What it does, on the contrary,
is propel us toward it. Dialectics is propulsion.
Later in “Structure, Sign and Play,” Derrida explains the
notion of play, this whimsical component
that constitutes the true nature of a conceptual field:
This
field is in effect that of play, that
is to say, a field of infinite substitutions only because it is finite, that is
to say, because instead of being an inexhaustible field, as in the classical
hypothesis, instead of being too large, there is something missing from it: a
center which arrests and grounds the play of substitutions. One could say […] that this movement of play,
permitted by the lack of absence of a center or origin, is the movement of supplementarity. (“Structure” 289)
The imposition of a
center has the effect of limiting a field; the center establishes boundaries,
limits, borders by which all interior components now gain the semiotic status
of concepts. In effect, the imposition
of the center creates a field of epistemology.
It establishes a framework of knowledge in which its individual terms
and ideas can be said to have substantive meaning. However, Derrida says, by the very nature of
the mutability of the center, the field slips into a state of play. Terms begin to stand in for one another,
trade meanings, and even manifest in forms of mistaken use, misspelling, or
combination with other terms. As these
new terms proliferate, they serve to inspire more substitutions and
interchanges; thus, the state of play is infinite. Derrida does not connect this to the fluidity
of human use (as Wittgenstein does), but to the materiality of language
itself. Humans are not always aware when
they use words incorrectly, substitute one for another, or even introduce a new
term. Language itself, through its
almost parasitical permeance, invites and seduces us. Of course, this grants a degree of
anthropomorphism and intention to language that may not be there; but the point
is that it is not in human actors either.
The intention, the awareness, is nonexistent. Language, like an evolutionary process,
simply adapts.
None of this denies the material existence or objectivity
of language, or of physical reality itself.
Instead, it suggests that material reality as we know it is
changing. The words and equations that
we employ in order to know the world, to calculate it and figure it out, do not
stop at mere representation – they actively alter the matter they appropriate. Like a mirror that reflects the image of an
object, it also has an external effect on that object. In order to reflect, mirrors must capture and
bounce back light, thus bouncing back an image; but in doing so, they bounce
that light back onto the object. Merely
stand in front of a mirror and shine a flashlight into the glass. The mirror will reflect you holding the
flashlight, but it will also bounce the light from the flashlight back onto
you. What the mirror reflects is not an
image of you as you are without a mirror in front of you:
The mirror can only reflect you as you are in front of a
mirror.
The degree, amount, intensity of light present on your
body will never be the same in front of a mirror as it is when there is no mirror
next to you, even if that degree is minuscule. What the mirror reflects is the image of you
being reflected by a mirror. Thus, the
inevitable question arises: which is the
original; the image of your reflection in the mirror, or the body being
reflected? The answer is obvious: there is no
original.
Just as we cannot think of the image in the mirror as an
accurate representation of an eternal truth, neither can we think of networks
of words, signifiers, or concepts as accurate representations of eternal
truths. As soon as the medium intervenes
to reflect its object, it changes its object.
The original is lost.
But the idea persists.
Derrida explicitly comments that the lack of an origin
opens up a field of play, prevents the field from arresting a constant
structure, a structure consistent in its finitude. As we acknowledge the rupture of history from
its origins, we immediately constitute a new origin – a new event.
As Derrida masterfully communicates, every new dismissal of centers,
origins, events, merely introduces new centers, new origins, and new
events. The relativism now appears
immanent: the more we try to establish something closer to truth, the more we
merely introduce new models, new epistemologies, thus appearing to remove
ourselves even further from any high,
spiritual, metaphysical notion of Truth.
This, unfortunately, is a misinterpretation. We are not leaving truth behind, or
abandoning it, because we have mistakenly posited truth as something anterior
and preexistent, something that we must analyze, experiment, and interpret our
way back to. If poststructuralism and
its bedfellows have taught us anything, it is that we need a new definition of truth;
and that this new definition, while resisting the old High Church sacredness of
Logos, is substantial and effective nonetheless.
We can no longer appeal to notions of what the Founding
Fathers originally meant when they wrote the Constitution. Their original meaning, their original
intention, is not only useless; it is
virtually nonexistent for us in our culture. We can only hope to understand what the
Constitution means for us, today, in our culture (and it’s possible that it may
mean incinerating it entirely). We can
no longer ask whether or not Jesus Christ actually walked the earth; we can
only ask what his existence is (and means) to us. We can no longer ask what 9/11 was; we must continue to ask what it is.
While these approaches may deny the importance of an original, or even
its existence altogether, they do not deny that there is something of truth in what these figures, images,
symbols mean to us. Just as Derrida’s
systems engage in infinite play, so do our modes of production, our networks of
signification, our fields of knowledge; but despite their endless play, they
can still construct ideas, and where there are ideas, there are truths.
I will not take this space to explore Alain Badiou’s new
and radical concept of multiple truths, of truths that cause ruptures in the
fabric of what is known and expected, although this philosophy seems to have
some relevance here. The task of
distinguishing “multiple truths” from simply an obfuscation of relativism is
too expansive and tiresome for a blog post.
I’m more interested in the perpetuation of poststructuralism and its
related methodologies, sciences and studies which, in my opinion, have not
nearly had their say. The new movement
deemed “speculative realism,” instead of tossing poststructuralism to the
dustbin, is instead providing a bold new reinterpretation of its claims, even
if some of them unsuccessfully sail the narrow strait between the Scylla of insanity
and the Charybdis of obscurity.
But beyond even the radical methodologies being boldly
crafted by the speculative realists, there remains much substantive content to
dredge up from the depths of poststructuralism.
If there is any literary form that is conjuring the old specters, it is
Science fiction. Studies in Science
fiction, particularly those conducted by Fredric Jameson, Carl Freedman, and N.
Katherine Hayles have brought poststructuralist terminology together with
Science fiction literature (although Jameson’s and Freedman’s brand of Marxist
hermeneutics opposes poststructuralism in some ways). Despite its recent disfavor in academic
circles, including literary departments, the allure of poststructuralism
lingers on.
But what does all this mean for relativism? As the title suggests, this is only an
initial step; in my personal opinion, Derrida’s writings offer something as far
from relativism as we can get. They
offer a complex, rigorous, rational study of the operations of language,
signification, and systems of communication (whether these be systems of
language, knowledge, or culture). If
Derrida suggests that there is no center, it is not to emphasize the relativity
of meaning and truth, but to merely suggest that systems, by their very nature, resist concretization. The more we try to calculate and capture
language, the more it calcifies; and, consequently, the more quickly it dies.
Rather than consign these theorists and philosophers to
the dustbin of relativism, we need to see how their ideas can illuminate truth
in different ways. To conclude, an
example: in discussions of freedom, the object is typically referred to as a
constant, an ideal, something essential that can be discerned and achieved. Freedom is thus taken to mean something
strict and definite. In this sense,
freedom is equated with truth. While I do not intend to dispel the myth of
freedom, I do think there is something to the myth of how freedom has been
conceptualized; and that is to say, how it has been formed around the
gravitational singularity of a center. In my opinion, this center is that of the individual. The individual constitutes a certain concept
of freedom, and much of science and knowledge seems to support this center; but
this center, despite its apparent universality, is still a historical construct. It is still, despite any disbelief in the
matter, something that we have made
as a center.
Without the individual, the concept of freedom does not
disappear; it merely morphs, it adapts. Without
the individual, we do not lose touch with freedom as a truth. It merely functions
as a truth in a different way. Truth, in
this sense, still exists, and exists powerfully; but it can only ever exist in
simultaneity with the culture that organizes it. Like the mirror that reflects that object
being reflected, truths can only be true for the entities for which they are
true. Tautologies galore, and I do not
deny this; but there’s more.
Once made into truths, into centers, these things (for what are they prior to their
centralization?) complete a complex retroactivity. By their very centralization – by their being
made into truths – they achieve the illusion that they were truths all
along. That their essence of truth-ness
existed prior to their projection; that they were prescribed as truths. This very process of truth-making is more
than simple illusion and false consciousness; for if that was the case, then
this would mean that there is an ultimate baseline, a ground zero of truth that
we can work our way back to. The true
illusion, in fact, is that there is any origin at all, any ground zero. The appearance of illusion is an illusion. The wild retroactive loop by which they
appear as truth – by which they appeal real
– makes them real, makes them into truth. Ascribing relativity is merely a dismissal of
the complexity of the situation. The “truth”
(oh, the ubiquity of a word…) is that truth doesn’t preexist us, it isn’t
anterior to us; it is made along with us, and this making exists within a
constant state of play.
We should not see this as a diminishing or diminution of
truths. It is not a debasement or
degradation. It is the process of the
process of truth. The realization of the
realization.
The revelation that all truth has ever been is a
continual process of revelation.
