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"Self-penned to one’s other" : reading Joyce writing Derrida Mahon, Peter 2001

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\ "Self-Penned to One's Other": Reading Joyce Writing Derrida by PETER MAHON B.A., The National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 1992 M.A., The National University of Ireland, Maynooth, 1993 A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH) We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBlS October 2001 © Peter Mahon, 2001 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the head of my department or by his or her representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Department of ^ - ^ f r M S H The University of British Columbia Vancouver, Canada Date <T- OcbWev - Z~DD I DE-6 (2/88) 11 Abstract Mimesis has always been understood as the imitation of an eidos, an idea. Understood in this way, philosophy itself, at least from its Platonic inception, is mimetic. This is because philosophical Platonism, even in its Cartesian and Hegelian manifestations, is always a "matter of imitating (expressing, describing, representing, illustrating) an eidos or idea, whether it is a figure of the thing itself, as in Plato, a subjective representation, as in Descartes, or both, as in Hegel" (Dissemination 194). This philosophical eidos or idea is understood to exist "already in the mind like a grid without a word" (The Margins of Philosophy 257). Consequently, mimetic philosophy is governed by a metaphysical understanding of the eidos as that pre-existent entity to which all thought returns as "revelation, unveiling, bringing to light, truth" (Margins 257). In this dissertation, I consider how James Joyce's Finnegans Wake offers strategies and techniques for exploring a non-Platonic writing. Insofar as it explores a non-Platonic writing, Finnegans Wake comes into close contact with Jacques Derrida's Glas. Glas explores, among other things, the sites where the Platonic sense of philosophy is overcome by the senselessness which both comes before, and remains outsid" it. Throughout this dissertation, I isolate these sites in order to explore the ways in which both Finnegans Wake and Glas produce remarkably similar images which resist this type of philosophy even as they give rise to it. My original contibution to both Joycean and Derridean studies lies in my suggestion that reading Joyce, especially Finnegans Wake, amounts to writing Glas insofar as both texts trace the imaginative grammar which both mimics and overruns philosophy. It is this imaginative mimicry that permits both Finnegans Wake and Glas interact productively with each other. iii Table of Contents Abstract ii Table of Contents iii List of Figures iv Figure One v Abbreviations Used in this Text vi Chapter I Imaginary Production 1 Chapter II "Lead Kindly Fowl!" 43 Chapter III To Hen: The "parody' s bird" of Logos 102 Chapter IV "Feelful thinkamalinks": Topoi 173 Chapter V Icon 216 Chapter VI "What is the ti..?" 262 Bibliography 318 List of Figures Figure One The "Tunc" page (recto 24) of The Book of Kells V Figure One: The "Tunc" page (recto 24) of The Book of Kells vi List of Abbreviations Used in this Text BGE Friedrich Nietzsche. Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future. Trans. R.J Hollingdale. London; New York: Penguin Books, 1990. BP Heidegger, Martin. The Basic Problems of Phenomenology. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988. CPR Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Trans. Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998. D Derrida, Jacques. Dissemination. Trans. Barbara Johnson. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981. EG Solomon, Margaret C. Eternal Geomater: The Sexual Universe o/Tinnegans Wake. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1969. JJH O'Shea, Michael J. James Joyce and Heraldry. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1986. KPM Heidegger, Martin. Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics. Trans. Richard Taft. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990. M Derrida, Jacques. Margins of Philosophy. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982. Mem Derrida, Jacques. Memoires: for Paul de Man. Trans. Cecile Lindsay, Jonathan Culler, and Eduardo Cadava. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986. NS Vico, Giambattista. The New Science of Giambattista Vico. Revised translation of the 3rd edition (1774) by Thomas Goddard Bergin and Max Harold Fisch. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1968. OAW Vico, Giambattista. On the Most Ancient Wisdom of the Italians: unearthedfrom the origins of the Latin language: including the disputation with the Giornale de' letterati d'ltalia. Translated with an introduction and notes by L.M. Palmer. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988. SP Derrida, Jacques. Speech and Phenomena, and Other Essays on Husserl's Theory of Signs. Trans. David B. Allison. Preface by Newton Garver. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973. TP Derrida, Jacques. The Truth in Painting. Trans. Geoff Bennington and IanMcLeod. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Vll S&M Hart, Clive. Structure and Motif in Finnegans Wake. London: Faber and Faber, 1962. U Joyce, James. Ulysses. A Critical and Synoptic Edition Prepared by Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and ClausMelchior. New York: Garland Publishing, 1984, 3 volumes. WD Derrida, Jacques. Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978. WJ Weir, Lorraine. Writing Joyce: A Semiotics of the Joyce System, by Lorraine Weir. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. WP Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Will to Power. Trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale. Edited by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage, 1968. Chapter I "Imaginary Production" 1 I "Buildung" without Eidos Finnegans Wake can be read as a book which subjects the Western philosophical eidos to an incredibly rigorous and sustained dismantling. Traditionally, philosophy has been a matter of mimesis or "imitating (expressing, describing, representing, illustrating) an eidos or idea, whether it is a figure of the thing itself, as in Plato, a subjective representation, as in Descartes, or both, as in Hegel" (Dissemination 194).1 Plato and Hegel are thus the most powerful elaborations of philosophical mimesis, a mimesis which imitates an eidos or idea which is understood to be "already in the mind like a grid without a word" (The Margins of Philosophy 257). 2 This conception of the eidos is that to which philosophical thought returns as "revelation, unveiling, bringing to light, truth" (M 257).3 Revealed eidetic truth traditionally takes the form of the temporal present, a "now." Derrida observes that "within philosophy there is no possible objection concerning this privilege to the present-now; it defines the very element of philosophical thought, it is evidence itself, conscious thought itself, it governs every possible concept of truth and sense" (Speech and Phenomena 62).4 Thus by questioning the privilege of the present, the questioner falls "outside" philosophy and good sense, and "remove[s] every possible security and ground from discourse" (SP 62). I will discuss the various ways in which the Wake subjects this conception of the eidos as presence to questioning through what I will call the Joycean imaginary. This imaginary, I will 2 argue, does not permit itself to be understood from within the enclosure of philosophical mimesis. The present chapter is intended to provide a brief overview of the major theoretical basis for this dissertation's exploration for the Wake's non-eidetic imaginary. In the first section of this chapter, I will discuss how the Wakean strategy of disrupting the philosophical eidos gets under way by suggesting to its reader how to use his/ her imagination. I will then explore how the Wake's non-eidetic imaginary functions as the productive site of the philosophical eidos by considering how it shares a certain affinity with what Jacques Derrida calls "catachresis" and "differance" Through this affinity, I will discuss how the philosphical eidos may be catachrestically reinscribed in a non-eidetic imaginary. In the second section of this chapter, I will discuss how Joyce's and Derrida's catachrestic imaginary can be understood to fit into the tradition of non-eidetic productive reading that finds one of its powerful expressions in the method Giambattista Vico presents in his The New Science. Since The New Science discovers the origins of mankind in taking the auspices, Finnegans Wake can be said to participate in and reinscribe Vico's method through its detailed staging of the scene of writing that composes the hen's letter in 1.5. In the final section of this chapter, I will discuss how Vico's method can be understood to be closely related to what Derrida terms differance. My discussion of differance will indicate what leads this dissertation to consider the catachrestic affinity between Joyce's Finnegans Wake and Derrida's Glas as they disrupt, produce, and reinscribe the philosophical conception of the eidos. *** Finnegans Wake can be understood to disrupt the presence of the philosophical eidos 3 right from its very "first" page, where the reader is faced with the loss and withdrawal of a certain textual object. That object is the eponymous hero, Finnegan, who is lost as the result of a fall from a high wall: The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-nuk!) of a once wall strait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev-linsfirst loved liwy. {Finnegans Wake, 003.15-24)5 But Finnegan is no ordinary "object," and the loss and subsequent search for him shapes much of the text. For example, after the crime and fall in 1.1, the Mamalujo, the four old men of the Gospel, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John set out to find him, and clear his name of all rumour and hearsay. 1.2 tries to trace the circumstances of his fall through popular oral history which takes the form of a ballad. However, the ballad only multiplies the confusion by offering a more salacious interpretation of the fall. The ballad's hearsay finally gives way to 1.3's interpretive free-for-all of hearsay. This chapter also presents three very different stagings of the crime, which has now become a fight on a plain in Ireland. Things are further clouded when a vox pop is taken, and all and sundry offer their interpretations and opinions as to what happened. 1.4 tries to marshall all this material by setting up the juridical structure of a trial which has the power to call the "witnesses" to the fall. None of the witnesses can agree on what actually happened. The judges confer and decide that in the face of all the "unfacts" (057.16), the best bet is to wait for the hen's letter about her husband which promises to tell the "cock's trootabout him" (113.12), and which will eventually show up in 1.5: 4 The letter! The litter! And the soother the bitther! Of eyebrow pencilled, by lipstipple penned. Borrowing a word and begging the question and stealing tinder and slipping like soap. (093.24-27) The quest for Finnegan/ HCE motivates the book—even after the letter is recovered—well into book IE. The importance of Finnegan's whereabouts, crime, and fall, lies in his being paradigmatic for the search for "facts" (031.33) or "true truth" (096.27) among all the distracting "unfacts" (057.16) in the text. The textual search for HCE/ Finnegan also implicates the reader as the "unquiring one" (003.20) who is responsible for "framing up the figments [of HCE's disappearance] in the evidential order [and] bring the true truth to light" (096.26-27). "To bring the true truth to light" also means to "unhume the great shipping mogul and underlinen overlord" (097.24).6 However, since the inquiry is also an "wwquiry," the text implies that the search for the truth about Finnegan may be impossible, because Finnegan, the paradigm for truth or meaning in the text, cannot take the form of presence. That Finnegan is incommensurable with presence is underlined in book I, where he is served up as a fish for ritualistic consumption, only in order to disappear again: But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Ag-apemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal's dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and goodridhirring. (007.12-18) Instead of appearing in the feast of the text according to the structure of the doctrinal belief in the 5 "Real Presence" of God during the Eucharist, Finnegan disappears as the "goodridhirring" who does not "appear" as present at all. Finnegan does not hold out any substantial "Real Presence," because he is "noewhemoe." The foodstuff he provides for consumption is precisely not flesh; Jt is only a "fraudstuff." This implies that the search for "Real Presence" in the text is actually a "fraud," a search for a "good red herring," a false lead,7 which is why Finnegan's "presence" never amounts to much more than that of a "fadograph," or a "ghost" (024.27). From the outset of the book, then, Finnegan only presents himself according to the mode of a withdrawal. The text holds out Finnegan's recovery as the paradigm for truth and meaning; but since it also disrupts that truth and meaning by disrupting presence, the Wake can be said to both grasp the structure of the philosophical eidos—where the meaning and truth have the form of a preexistent present idea that is returned to or revealed by thought—and playfully disrupt that conception of the eidos through the figure of Finnegan who never really presents himself at all. The mode of non-presence at the beginning of the Wake does not just attach itself to the withdrawal of Finnegan into some sort of past that is to be determined. Non-presence also stretches into the future which is marked repeatedly in the opening pages of the book by the peculiar form of time, the time of the "not yet": Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passen-core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface. (003.04-14) 6 Within this peculiar form of time, it becomes possible to say that the major events which the Wake says it will go on to consider—the arrival of a stranger, the emergence of the very strange "sosie sisters," the rivalry of the twins "Jhem or Shen," the guilty fall of the builder Finnegan, etc.—have not happened yet, even though they are said to have already happened. This strange "not yet" empties itself of the content of an event, its historical object. The "not yet" remains an empty form of time which seems to mark nothing. As such, it may be said to affect the entire structure of the Wakean textual "unquiry" into Finnegan since it erases not only itself, but also the arrival of any possible Wake&n objects or things-in-themselves, even as it opens the space of their possibility. Non-presence at the start of the Wake is therefore caught between two different modes of time—the past and the future. These two modes of time work with each other in such a way so as to disrupt the presence of the truth in a present "now." But spatial presence is also disrupted because it becomes impossible to say what actually happened, in terms of an event which happens in time and space. Further, this disrupts what might be called the normal structure of reference whereby it would have been possible to say that certain historical events take place in either a past or a future. These temporal and spatial difficulties are unavoidable for a reader of Finnegans Wake, and I will return to them in detail in chapter II. It should not be thought that Finnegans Wake disables the reader by withdrawing the temporal and spatial modes of presence from the text in its opening pages. Despite these difficulties, the text offers a mode for proceeding within the empty time and space of its non-present "unquiry" into the withdrawal of presence into non-presence by counseling its reader to use what might be called after its idiom his or her "immargination": 7 Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen's mau-rer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofar-back for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very wat-er was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edi-fices in Toper's Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. (004.18-27) "Immargination," at least as it is to be found in the Wake, is what proceeds without present truth or meaning. It is what (actively) proceeds in the emptiness of non-presence. It does not communicate meaningful content because it reaches back into a space before "messuages." These "messuages" are almost certainly messages, but they also denote dwelling houses along with their adjacent lands and holdings. Immargination, then, goes back to a time before either the communication of meaning in message or property. In so doing it imagines how "Bygmester Finnegan" "lived." In "immargining," or imagining the life of the lost builder Finnegan, the text portrays him as one who "builds" by piling "buildung supra buildung." This piling produces "a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating from next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitec-titiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop" (004..35-005.02). The word Joyce uses to convey what Finnegan the builder makes— "buildung"—is a complex portmanteau word which compounds both English and German. What Finnegan makes contains the English word 'building' mixed with the German word 'Bildung' (education, culture, and more generally, formation). Also contained in the word "buildung" is a reference to the German word Bild, from which Bildung derives. Bild itself is a complicated 8 word which means picture, image, photo, frame, drawing, painting, appearance, metaphor, etc. Further, Finnegan produces these building-images "from next to nothing." Here, the scene of Finnegan's imaginary production opens a difficulty that is central to the scene of imagination as it is found in the Wake. Imagination takes place in the absence of truth or meaning (in the paradigm of Finnegan) understood as presence, and it can be understood as producing from next to nothing. If Finnegan's burning wall-tower "eriginat[es] from next to nothing" as well, then the scene of imagination in the Wake is abyssal to the extent that Finnegan's imagined life as a b(u)ilder turns out to be (a life of) imaginative production itself. In other words, the imagination imagines a scene of imaginary production which proceeds by piling images (Bild) which "eriginat[e] from next to nothing," on top of each other. As such, it metonymically imagines its actual processes in the scene of Finnegan's b(u)ilding. The imagination becomes a site of confusion where the "imagined" (HCE "b(u)ildung" without model) infects the "imagination" itself (production without present model). The result is that there is no longer an object which can be clearly imagined because it can also function as the imagination that is supposed to be imagining it. The model of the imagination erases itself. "Immargination" produces a picture in the absence of any present object, meaning, signified, referent, or the thing itself. That is to say, the imagination produces without the idiom of philosophy, its eidos. *** However, just because the art of the Wake does without the philosophical idiom of the eidos where the preexistent meaning (eidos) is returned to in thought, this does not mean that its imaginative productions" can simply be thought of as metaphorical. This can be made clear by 9 contemplating that which is made in the imagination: the fire-wall, which is also a sort of "lighthouse"(004.36-005.04). It is this imaginary uninhabitable lighthouse that allows the Wake to be thought of as exceeding the discourse of metaphor. The lighthouse's odd composition puts into question the entire field of metaphor in a manner that recalls Jacques Derrida's "White Mythology" (M 207-271). The Wakean "lighthouse" neatly combines in one figure what Derrida analyzes as "the metaphors of metaphor." The metaphors of metaphor are those privileged metaphors which are found in both the defined metaphors of rhetoric, as well as their definition. This "abyss of metaphor" centres, says Derrida, on "the (artificial) light and (displaced) habitat of classical rhetoric" (253). Even though these two founding metaphors of metaphor—"the light and the house"—are essential for rhetoric's understanding of metaphor "itself," they "do not," says Derrida, "have the same function" (253). The first—the light—names the metaphorical operation insofar as it is "indispensable to the general system in which the concept of metaphor is inscribed" (253). The general system is that of "solar idealization"8 because light traditionally represents the "clarity of spirit," which we know as "intelligence" and "enlightenment" (257). Since the "first light we have doubtless known is the light of day," it is for the latter that the word eidos or idea "was created" (257). In this solar system, the word comes after the prior eidos, just as it does in philosophy. Thus the entire field of metaphor can be understood to exist on the division between "idea" and "word": In effect the entire treatise is rooted in the division between the signified and signifier, sense and the sensory, thought and language, and primarily the division between the idea and the word. Fontanier recalls the etymology and buried origin of the word "idea," as if this were nothing at all, the very moment he opens his book and proposes his great distinction between words and ideas: "Thought is composed of ideas, and the expression of thought by speech is composed of words. First then, let us see what ideas are in 10 themselves: following this we will see what words are relative to ideas, or, if you will, what ideas are represented by words. A - IDEAS. The word Idea (from the Greek eido, to see) signifies relative to the objects seen by the spirit the same thing as image; and relative to the spirit which sees the same things as seen or perception. But the objects seen by our spirit are either physical and material objects that affect our senses, or metaphysical and purely intellectual objects completely above our senses" (p. 41). After which Fontanier classes all ideas into physical or metaphysical (and moral) ideas, simple or complex ideas, etc. An entire stratification of metaphors and of philosophical interpretations therefore supports the concept of that which is called upon to precede language or words, that which is called upon to be previous, exterior, and superior to language and words, as meaning is to expressing, the represented to representation, dianoia to lexis. A metaphorical lexis, if you will, has intervened in the definition of dianoia. It has given the idea. (M 254) Here, Derrida makes clear that it is the sensory component of the idea—the sight of the eye— which intervenes as the eidos, the "idealizing metaphor," and "everything, in the discourse on metaphor, that passes through the sign eidos, with its entire system, is articulated in the analogy between the vision of the nous and sensory vision, between the intelligible sun and the visible sun" (253-254). This includes the entire project of philosophy (understood as ontology), which takes place within metaphor: The determination of the truth of Being in presence passes through the detour of this tropic system. The presence of ousia as eidos (to be placed before the metaphorical eye) or as hupokeimenon (to underlie all physical phenomena or accidents) faces the theoretical organ; which, as Hegel's Aesthetics reminds us, has the power not to consume what it perceives and to let be the object of desire. Philosophy, as a theory of metaphor, first will have been a metaphor of theory. This circulation has not excluded but, on the contrary, has permitted and provoked the transformation of presence into self-presence, into the proximity or properness of subjectivity to and for itself. "It is the history of 'proper' meaning, as we said above, whose detour and return are to be followed." (254) The eye of theory skims across presence, does not enter into a relationship with it, lets it be without consuming it or tampering with it. Metaphor, insofar as it does not interfere with presence while it forces its detour, is what finally transforms presence into (Hegelian) self-presence in that it is the detour of proper meaning (eidos) which returns to itself in the end. Lost 11 meaning can return from its alienation in an abode outside of itself. Since the tower is built in the "immargination" without presence or the eidos, it no longer functions in terms of the metaphorics of this solar system. Nor does it know the distinction between the word and the idea that Derrida analyzes as the one which structures the field of metaphor insofar as the idea, meaning, signified, etc., is understood to preexist the word. The construction of the tower must always "caligulate by multiplicables" (004.32-33) the opacity of the multiple languages of its "baubletop," its own Babel (005.02). Thus, insofar as there is "light" (which has yet to be determined) emitted from the fire on top of the lighthouse, it does not idealize according to the solar system of the philosophical eye. The lighthouse does not help one "see" in this philosophico-rhetorical sense. The second example of the metaphor of metaphor that the Wakean lighthouse displaces is that of "the metaphor of the borrowed dwelling": [the figure of the borrowed dwelling is not] one figure among others; it is there in order to signify metaphor itself, it is a metaphor of metaphor; an expropriation, a being-outside-one' s-own-residence, but still in a dwelling, outside its own residence but still in a residence in which one comes back to oneself, recognizes oneself, reassembles oneself or resembles oneself, outside oneself in oneself. This is the philosophical metaphor as a detour within (or in sight of) reappropriation, parousia, the self-presence of the idea in its own light. The metaphorical trajectory from the Platonic eidos to the Hegelian Idea. The recourse to a metaphor in order to give the "idea" of metaphor: this is what prohibits a definition, but nevertheless metaphorically assigns a checkpoint, a limit, a fixed place: the metaphor/dwelling. (253) Metaphor is checked and made at home in its (new) house, where it confidently refers to its proper sense. This is possible because "every metaphor is an elliptical comparison or analogy" in which "the missing term calls for a noun which names something properly" (243). The noun, or proper name, is therefore that to which metaphor points and refers like a sign. In this way, every borrowed dwelling can be its own proper dwelling because the "return to the borrowed dwelling" 12 implies a return to proper sense or reference of the proper name of the noun. The proper name or sense of that which borrows another's dwelling reappropriates that other for itself. This, says Derrida, traces the "metaphorical trajectory from the Platonic eidos to the Hegelian Idea." If it is always a dwelling that is (re)appropriated, then an uninhabitable place cannot be appropriated. Such a place would disrupt, in a non-metaphorical manner, the circular reappropriation of the proper (name) through metaphor. Without a home, the name is lost and condemned to wander in the desert without any possibility of returning to its "proper name" or home, the eidos or idea of metaphor. As I mentioned above, the tower that Finnegan b(u)ilds is before the philosophical eidos and before the very property of the "messuage," or dwelling house plus its adjacent land and buildings. This is why the "skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly," a cross between a wall and a burning tower, is uninhabitable. As a structure that is built in the imagination before dwellings and property, this tower cannot be considered a home. The lighthouse loses the property of being a home on the one hand because it is literally uninhabitable, and on the other because its is produced prior to the dwelling understood as property. It is this uninhabitable tower that both sets Finnegan on his way in non-presence and keeps him there. Finnegan falls from the tower in the first instance because it was uninhabitable (by him). The tower was never, is not, and will never be a home. Further, after he has fallen from the tower, Finnegan cannot return home to it because it is not a dwelling. He is lost as presence precisely to the extent that he could not live in the tower and cannot return home to it as a (proper) dwelling. Without such a home, "Finnegan" can have no proper name, and can never be named properly. Without a proper name, he falls from the world of propriety and property, and 13 succumbs to the exhaustive series of names in both 1.3 and 1.6 that reach after him without ever reaching him who constantly recedes from presence. This conforms to what Derrida says about the absence of the proper name which gives rise to a series of replacement names which can "be pursued and complicated infinitely" (243). But 1.6 goes further; it generalizes the loss of the proper name to each of the figures in the book and subjects them all to an exhaustive series of names that can only mark their lack of a proper one. It thus becomes clear that in the Wake reference to an eidos, proper name, or thing in itself is impossible and the loss of the proper marks its writing with a sort of permanent exile where "the figure is carried off into the adventure of a long and implicit sentence, a secret narrative which nothing assures us will lead back to the proper name" (243). *** The structure of the Wakean "lighthouse" cannot help but interrupt the "solar system" or "homecoming" of the field of metaphor in which philosophy resides. In doing without the (guiding) light of eidos and the homecoming of the proper, it is therefore neither philosophical nor metaphorical. It ironically straddles both sides of this divide, and its irony lies in the fact that this "lighthouse" with its peculiar beacon cannot guide Finnegan—or anyone or anything else for that matter—back home. However, because the lighthouse straddles the divide between the philosophical and the metaphoric, it can also be understood to give rise to their very fields. The tower's erection "gives rise" to these fields as it is erected in a scene of imaginary production which produces/ erects from "next to nothing." Next to nothing is not simply nothing, but it is not simply just any-thing either. It remains to be seen what these remains at the site of production are. 14 First, these remains at the scene of production can be compared to the remains that turn up at the site of the abusive "production" that Derrida finds at work in "catachresis."9 Catachresis concerns first the violent and, forced, abusive inscription of a sign, the imposition of a sign upon a meaning which did not yet have its own proper sign in language. So much so that there is no substitution here, no transport of proper signs, but rather the irruptive extension of a sign proper to an idea, a meaning, deprived of their signifier. "Catachresis, in general, consists in a sign already affected with a first idea also being affected with a new idea, which itself had no sign at all, or no longer properly has any other in language. Consequently, it is every Trope of forced and necessary usage, every Trope from which there results a purely extensive sense; this literal, proper sense of secondary origin, intermediate between the primitive proper sense and the figurative sense is closer to the first than to the second, although it could itself be figurative in principle." (M 255) "Catachresis" is therefore the written "forced, abusive inscription of a sign." It is also a site of production, but this production is not to be thought of as "revelation, unveiling, bringing-to-light, truth" (257). Rather, this written production is the space of an "irruptive extension" which is itself called for by the absence of a proper prior meaning, name or eidos. As such, catachresis creates without an eidos. And yet, it "does not emerge from language, does not create new signs, does not enrich the code; and yet it transforms its functioning, producing, with the same material, new rules of exchange, new values." (257). Since the tower's "erection" "eriginates" from next to nothing (the word "erigenates," which tags the erection of the tower at 004.36, also contains the Latin, erigo, "I erect"), its process is related to a phallic erection. A phallic erection is also a catchresis in Derrida's sense in that it too "transforms [the penis'] functioning, [and] produc[es], with the same material, new rules of exchange, new values." The Wake pushes this catachrestic phallus in the direction of language during the scene of creative composition in II.2, where it reinscribes the "demiurgic" operation in Plato's Timaeus, which discusses the play of the Same and Other (Timaeus 36b-d).10 Here, the childish creator— 15 "Dolph, dean of idlers" (287.18)—composes as he lies in his cot:11 chanching letters for them vice o'verse to bronze mottes and blending tschemes for em in tropadores and doublecressing twofold thruths and devising tingling tailwords too whilest, cunctant that another would finish his sentence for him, he druider would smilabit eggways ned, he, to don't say nothing, would, so prim, and pick upon his ten ordinailed ungles, trying to undo with his teeth the knots made by his tongue, retelling humself by the math hour, long as he's brood reel of funnish ficts apout the shee, how faust of all and on segund thoughts and the thirds the charmhim girlalove and fourther-more and filthily with bag from Oxatown and baroccidents and proper accidence and hoptohill and hexenshoes, in fine the whole damning letter; and, in point of feet, when he landed in ourland's leinster of saved and solomnones for the twicedhecame time (288.01-14) While in his cot, Dolph composes and plays with language and letters, by "changing" them, through the "chance" similarities of various components of certain words with others, into "bronze mottes" and "tropes." These chances form certain "tschemes" which can then be blended together to produce "doublecressing twofold thruths." In other words truth is catachrestically produced through the irruptive extension of signs and words in Dolph's manipulation of language. These extensions produce the "tingling tailwords," and the "truth" produced in this scene is "doubledcrossed," meaning that there can be no inherent preexistent eidetic meaning, intention, or proper name to stop its dissimulation. This is why Dolph is always "content" to let another "finish his sentence for him." This scene of composition is common in Joyce. It is, for example, found in the first chapter of Ulysses where Stephen composes the scene of Clive Kempthorpe's "debagging" after just having caught Buck Mulligan's passing remarks about him: —And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up 16 your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and nobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears. A scared calf s face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me! Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms. (Ulysses 1.160-175) The process of composition is purely imaginative insofar as it cannot be said to arise out of any particular past-present or present experience Stephen has had of Oxford. Stephen's composition is therefore catachrestic in precisely the sense Derrida gives that word because it "eriginates," like the b(u)ildung of Finnegan's tower in the Wake, "from next to nothing." Here, the next to nothing is only Buck's passing remark about Kempthorpe. From this meagre offering, from the same material, from next to nothing, Stephen produces a hilarious reinscription of Oxford's quadrangle. The words of another can also be understood as next to nothing if, like Dolph in his crib, one considers them as just language without the presence of intention, meaning, the eidos. In other words, language in the scene of catachresis can be understood as pure text. This can be made clearer by turning to Derrida's text, "The Double Session" (D 173-286), which sketches a reading of Stephane Mallarme's short work on mime, called "Mimique," as a non-philosophical other to Platonic mimesis. In "Mimique," Mallarme's mime, in the guise of a Pierrot, derails the imitation of an eidetic logos: 17 There is no imitation. The Mime imitates nothing. And to begin with, he doesn't imitate. There is nothing prior to the writing of his gestures. Nothing is prescribed for him. No present has preceded or supervised the tracing of his writing. His movements form a figure that no speech anticipates or accompanies. They are not linked with logos in any order of consequence. "Such is this PIERROT MURDERER OF HIS WIFE composed and set down by himself, a mute soliloquy. . ,"13 "Composed and set down by himself..." Here we enter a textual labyrinth panelled with mirrors. The Mime follows no preestablished script, no program obtained elsewhere. Not that he improvises or lets himself go spontaneously: he simply does not obey any verbal. His gestures, his gestural writing (and Mallarme's insistence on describing the regulated gesture of dance or pantomime as a hieroglyphic inscription is legendary), are not dictated by any verbal discourse or imposed by any diction. The Mime inaugurates; he breaks into a white page: " . . . a mute soliloquy that the phantom, white as a yet unwritten page, holds in both face and gesture at full length to his soul." (D 194-95) Mime differs from imitation in that it, like the Wake imitates "nothing." In imitating nothing, mime therefore differs from all sorts of Platonism, including all its Cartesian and Hegelian forms. But Mallarme still calls this nothing, which "is" not anything that can present itself (D 126), an "Idea." In other words, the Mime recounted mMimique "illustrates but the idea, not any actual action" (195). Thus Mallarme's Mime's gestural writing mimes an idea or eidos, but that idea or eidos is nothing, nowhere presents itself. It is an eidos without logos, and the Mime "is not subjected to the authority of any book" (195). Nevertheless, it was "in a booklet, upon a page, that Mallarme must have read the effacement of the booklet before the gestural initiative of the Mime" (196). This effacement opens mime and gestural writing, and this effacement echoes that of the Wake's opening page: What Mallarme read, then, in this little book is a prescription that effaces itself through its very existence, the order given to the Mime to imitate nothing that in any way preexists his operation: neither an act ("the scene illustrates but the idea, not any actual action") nor a word ^ stilled ode.. .mute soliloquy that the phantom, white as a yet unwritten page, holds in both face and gesture at full length to his sour). In the beginning of this mime was neither the deed nor the word. It is prescribed (we will define this word in a moment) to the Mime that he not let anything be prescribed to him but his own writing, that he not let anything be prescribed to him but his own 18 writing, that he not reproduce by imitation any action (pragma: affair, thing, act) or any speech (logos, word, voice, discourse). The Mime ought only to write himself on the white page he is; he must /?//wse(finscribe himself through gestures and plays of facial expression. At once page and quill, Pierrot is both passive and active, matter and form, the author, the means, and the raw material of his mimodrama. The histrion produces himself here. (198) The auto-effacment of the booklet also entails the loss of the present logos, the inward discourse of speech, or the "hearing-oneself-speak," which constitutes the very mode of phenomenological and philosophical self-present "identity" (SP 70-87). This is because the Mime's gestures no longer imitate the self-present logos which is "shaped according to the model of the [Platonic] eidos" (D 188). The Mime is both active and passive in the face of these prescriptions: he "writes" ("is written") because he "reads" (D 198) (and "is read" [D 224]) by the text. In the realm of the non-Platonic eidos, reading is that which prescribes erasure of the eidos, the prescription to write or produce oneself. Despite all this, it is still an "Idea" that comes to substitute for the eidos (see also D 192-198). However, since "no present" "precedefs] or supervise[s] the tracing of [the Mime's] writing" (194), this "Idea" cannot be understood to present itself at all. Because this reconfigured "Idea" does not present itself, it gives itself as nothing to be read. This nothing, which is still legible, is constituted by differance. As nothing, it is not, and is nowhere subject to the realm of Being, the "is": Perhaps we must attempt to think this unheard-of thought, this silent tracing: that the history of Being, whose thought engages the Greco-Western logos such as it produced via the ontological difference, is but an epoch of the diapherein. Henceforth one could no longer even call this an "epoch," the concept of epochality belonging to what is within history as the history of Being. Since Being has never had a "meaning," has never been thought or said as such, except by dissimulating itself in beings, then differance, in a certain and very strange way, (is) "older" than the ontological difference or than the truth of Being. When it has this age it can be called the play of the trace. The play of a trace which no longer belongs to the horizon of Being, but whose play transports and encloses 19 the meaning of Being: the play of the trace, of the differance, which has no meaning and is not.14 Which does not belong. There is no maintaining, and no depth to, this bottomless chessboard on which Being is put into play. (M 22) That which is produced by the differential play of traces, is for Derrida, the text of writing: "[It] is this constitution of the present, as an 'originary' and irreducibly nonsimple (and therefore, stricto sensu nonoriginary) synthesis of marks, or traces of retentions and pretentions (to reproduce analogically and provisionally a phenomenological and transcendental language that will soon reveal itself to be inadequate), that I propose to call archi-writing, archi-trace, or differance. Which (is) (simultaneously) spacing (and) temporization" (M 13). It is now easy to see that it is the written text, text composed of differantial traces, which is not. Thus if it is text that is imitated, then the one imitating it imitates nothing, and stays within the space of the non-Platonic eidos. This goes to the heart of a difficulty of writing. Writing, according to Dissemination, "refers only to itself," but also refers "each time to another text": "It is necessary that while referring each time to another text, to another determinate system, each organism refer to itself as a determinate structure; a structure that is open and closed at the same time" (D 202). The written text is "haunted by the ghost or grafted onto the arborescence of another text" (202). This odd situation is merely the extension of the principle of differance to include the situation of other written texts which also do not "exist" in any present sense within a more generalized text. In other words, writing is itself—from top to bottom—differantial. But this mirroring of writing and the written which imitates nothing is not to be taken for the unveiling of an ancient Greek or Heideggerian aletheia: One could indeed push Mallarme back into the most "originary" metaphysics of truth if all mimicry [mimique] had indeed disappeared, if it had effaced itself in the scriptural 20 production of truth. But such is not the case. There is mimicry. Mallarme sets great store by it, along with simulacrum. . . . We are faced then with mimicry imitating nothing; faced, so to speak, with a double that doubles no simple, a double that nothing anticipates, nothing at least that is not already double. There is no simple reference. It is in this that the mime's operation does allude, but alludes to nothing, alludes without breakng the mirror, without reaching beyond the looking-glass. "That is how the Mime operates, whose act is confined to a perpetual allusion without breaking the ice or the mirror.'''' This speculum reflects no reality; it produces mere "reality-effects." (D 206) The mime that remains "thus preserves the differential structure of mimicry or mimesis, but without its Platonic or metaphysical interpretation, which implies that somewhere the being of something that is, is being imitated" (206). Mime, mimicry, maintains "the structure of the phantasma as it is defined by Plato: the simulacrum as the copy of the copy. With the exception that there is no longer any model, and hence no copy, and that this structure (which encompasses Plato's text, including his attempt to escape it) is no longer being referred back to any ontology or even to any dialectic" (D 206-207). In other words, the phantasma, simulacrum, or eidolon is produced in the imagination, which doubles (for) the Platonic eidos. The doubleness which simultaneously connects and separates the Platonic and non-Platonic eidos is maintained in the face of the dialectical suppression which would make it simply philosophical. Rather, the non-Platonic eidos "is a simulacrum of Platonism or Hegelianism, which is separated from what it simulates only by a barely perceptible veil, about which one can just as well say that it already runs—unnoticed— between Platonism and itself, between Hegelianism and itself (207). All of this forms an operation, which no longer belongs to the systems of truth, does not manifest, produce, or unveil any presence; nor does it constitute any conformity, resemblace, or adequation between a presence and representation. And yet this operation is not a unified entity but the manifold play of a scene that, illustrating nothing—neither word nor deed—beyond itself, 21 illustrates nothing. Nothing but the many-faceted multiplicity of a lustre which itsef is nothing beyond its own fragmented light. Nothing but the idea which is nothing. The ideality of the idea is here for Mallarme the still metaphysical name that is still necessary in order to mark non-being, the nonreal, the nonpresent. This mark points, alludes without breaking the glass, to the beyond of beingness, toward the epekeina tes ousias: a hymen (a closeness and a veil) between Plato's sun and Mallarme's lustre this "materialism of the idea" is nothing other than the staging, the theater, the visibility of nothing or of the self. It is a dramatization which illustrates nothing, which illustrates the nothing, lights up a space, re-marks a spacing as a nothing, a blank. (D 208) It is this catachrestic reinscription of the eidos that I will follow throughout this dissertation. The written scene of reinscribed eidetic production gives the slip to the way in which philosophy has traditionally interpreted its powerful catachresis: Classical rhetoric, then, cannot dominate, being enmeshed within it, the mass out of which the philosophical text takes shape. Metaphor is less in the philosophical text (and in the rhetorical text coordinated with it) than the philosophical text is within metaphor. And the latter can no longer receive its name from metaphysics, except by a catachresis, if you will, that would retrace metaphor through its philosophical phantom: as "nontrue metaphor." (M 258) Such a philosophical interpretation—which takes the form of rhetoric—does not see abusive production. Rather, it sees only "the twisting return toward the already-there of a meaning, production (of signs, or rather of values), but as revelation, unveiling, bringing to light, truth." This is why "forced metaphors" may be, must be "correct and natural" (M 257). In other words, philosophy does not (cannot) see that it is the principle power of catachresis which gives the philosophical idea because it precedes it. Catachresis is the space of writing that is prior to philosophy, and this is where the Derridean project and the opening pages of Finnegans Wake stake their claim. *** However, this mode of non-philosophic reading, no matter how strange it might seem at first, is also a part of a long tradition of reading texts. That tradition is itself referred to by the 22 Wake in relation to the scene of demiurgic creation discussed above: antiquissimam flaminum amborium Jordani et Jambaptistae mentibus revolvamus sapientiam: totum tute fluvii modo mundo fluere, eadem quae exaggere fututa iterum inter alveum fore futura, quodlibet sese ipsum per aliudpiam agnoscere contrarium, omnem demun amnem ripis rivalibus amplecti. [translation: "...let us turn over in our minds that most ancient wisdom of Giordano and Giambattista: the fact that the whole of the river flows safely, with a clear stream, and that those thing which were to have been on the bank would later be in the bed; finally that everything recognises itself through something opposite and that the stream in embraced by rival banks." (Annotations)] (287.23-28) In other words, Dolph's catachrestic productions in the crib can be understood to fit into the tradition of reading-writing exemplified by Giordano Bruno and Giambattista Vico. In the next section of this chapter, I will examine some of the ways in which Derrida's and Joyce's writing relates to the method of Vico's The New Science. 23 n The (Quasi-) Vichian Reader-Writer The loss of the eidos as a present model to be imitated in imaginary writing also means there can no longer be any imitation of that philosophical eidos (signified meaning, referent, thing-in-itself). In this way, a reader of a text which stages the scene of either imaginary production or writing, also becomes a writer of that text to the extent that the text does not simply exist before the act of reading. Joyce's tower b(u)ildung and Derrida's discussions of both Mallarme's text and catachresis share a great deal with Giambattista Vico's The New Science.15 Vico's cyclical ideal eternal history of mankind is a powerful statement of the tradition of non-eidetic reading, which sees itself as productive writing. In this section, I will explore how Vico's text also sketches that tradition. The New Science is intended, says Vico, to be a "rational civil theology of divine providence" (NS 342). In contemplating "infinite and eternal providence," the foreknowing, beneficent care and government of God, the New Science arrives at "certain divine proofs" (343). By carefully considering these divine proofs, the reader "experiences" in "his mortal body a divine pleasure" (NS 345). But how is this divine pleasure to be felt? The pleasure experienced by the reader of the New Science becomes divine in three stages. The first stage is simply that of the pleasure of creation. Or, as Vico puts it, "he who meditates this Science narrates to himself this ideal eternal history so far as he makes it for himself (NS 349). This re-making of the ideal eternal history of mankind is possible because the "world of nations has certainly been made by men, and it must therefore be found within the 24 modification of our own human mind" (NS 349). The fact that the human mind is responsible for the ideal eternal history of nations means that this history—unlike nature which is made only by God, and therefore only knowable by him—is completely knowable by the human mind. This constitutes the well-known Vichian principle of verum-factum, or "the made is the true," where the produced object is completely known and knowable by its maker. Made from scratch by the human mind, ideal eternal history is produced by Vichian man, who acts without imitating anything. He is therefore the analogue of Mallarme's Mime, who is told "to imitate nothing that in any way preexists his operation: neither an act ('the scene illustrates but the idea, not any actual action') nor a word ('stilled ode. . .mute soliloquy that the phantom, white as a yet unwritten page, holds in both face and gesture at full length to his souT)" (D 198). Vichian man, like the Mime, "ought only to write himself on the white page he is; he must himself inscribe himself through gestures and plays of facial expression" (198). This is why Vico states that "speech was born in mute times as mental [or sign] language, which Strabo in a golden passage [1.2.6] says existed before vocal or articulate language." The signs man produces in this mute "first language" were, says Vico, composed of "gestures or physical objects" (NS 401). The Vichian Mime therefore "make[s] [himself] understood by gestures" (NS 225) before the meaningfully articulated language of the voice. In this way, he produces his own meaning in the performance of these gestures. And because Vichian man is a Mime, he, like Pierrot, produces his own meaning, his own self, in the absence of a prior Platonic eidos or voice. But there is an added complication to this scene of mimicry, which, if read in conjunction with Derrida's analysis of Mallarme's Mime, makes it possible to see the Vichian mime as purely textual. This complication comes to The New Science in the form of providence. 25 Providence is that which acts "without human discernment or counsel, and often against the designs of men" (NS 343), in order to make the history of nations as well. Since the reader of The New Science must also contemplate what "providence has wrought in history," it is this divine providence that must be met by the human mind if it is to know divine pleasure. But how is providence to be met by the human mind? What happens when the mind's contemplative fabrication of providence's work in history rises to meet (providence) itself in the second stage in the reader's experience of divine pleasure? It might also seem that providence precedes man and it his mime. In preceding man and his mime, providence would consitute a sort of eidetic content for Vico's thought, because God, as divine creator, preexists all things human. However, the apparent eidetic content of providence is reinscribed by the very form of the meeting of the human mind and providence which Vico says is necessary in order to experience divine pleasure. This is because Vico sets up his meeting in such a way it does not take the form of an event or an encounter. This apparent paradox can be read in the following manner. If the mind can know completely the ideal eternal history, as Vico claims it does, it can do so only on the basis of knowing that which it has made. This is the previously mentioned verum-factum principle, according to which only the maker of an object can know that object completely and utterly. The principle of "the made is the known" also applies, first and foremost to God, since "in God knowledge and creation are one and the same thing" (NS 349). Since both providence and the human mind "make" human history, God and the human mind meet in its production. In this history, the human mind produces in the exact same way as providence, and it may therefore contemplate the ideal eternal history of nations as if it were (the) divine. In other words, if 26 creation is for God ex nihilo, then the reader who is to experience the divine pleasure of creation must also experience creatio ex nihilo. How does this happen? The reader can only experience creatio ex nihilo if s/he discovers him/ herself as its mime, as its productive writer who writes from scratch. Only then can the reader experience the divine pleasure of God, who creates from nothing. God himself no longer creates from an eidos. Even though God creates without model, he offers himself to man as the model for creation. However, in offering himself as the model of creation which does without a model, God withdraws as a model insofar as he presents the model of imitation or production without model. In effect God tells man to contemplate as he does, without a model. In offering that model, he withdraws as model of imitation, and this leaves man free to experience the divine model of creation without model, ex nihilo. Vichian man is therefore once again put in the position of the Mime in Derrida's examination of Mallarme: "What Mallarme read, then, in this little book is a prescription that effaces itself through its very existence, the order given to the Mime to imitate nothing that in any way preexists his operation" (D198). In withdrawing himself as model even as man goes to meet him in imitation, the meeting of God and man does not take place. God's model therefore withdraws itself in the textual manner discussed in the previous section. The event of the meeting never happens precisely because God effaces himself as model. For Vico, the first stage in the making of history without model is that of taking the auspices. In chapters II and III of this dissertation, I will explore in depth the Wakem analogue to this Vichian making without model: the detailed staging of the scene of writing that composes the hen's letter in 1.5. This detailed staging of the Vichian origins of man as writing allows Finnegans Wake both to participate in and reinscribe Vico's productive method. 27 m Imaginary Production and the Differantial Method (a) Imagination and "Unconsciousness" The Vichian- Joycean mode of production is textual in that it erases the model or eidos to be imitated. Because this mode is textual, it can also be understood as differantial in the sense Derrida gives to the word. Differance is a French neologism coined by Derrida to convey the sort of differentiation in time and space that disrupts simple punctual presence. Reading Vichian-Joycean production in terms of differance is not a neutral operation, because differance inflects Vichian production. But this inflection is also useful in that it opens up this mode of production to the differantial moments in the thought of Heidegger and Hegel. In reading the differantial moments of Hegel and Heidegger, Vichian-Joycean production can also be understood to play an important role in the discipline called theory. In part (a) of this section, I discuss how this differantial opening exposes Joyce's text to the difficult relationship that differance has with Heidegger's thought. Because these difficulties play themselves out in relation to Heidegger's analyses of the imagination in Kant, it becomes possible to make use of the differantial resources of Heidegger's analyses of the imagination in order to develop further this dissertation's exploration of the non-eidetic Joycean imaginary begun in the first section of this chapter. Part (b) traces another effect of inflecting the catachrestic writing of Vichian production with differance. Differance can be understood to offer itself as a shorthand for relating the known (that is, the eidos as philosophical presence, knowledge, meaning, etc.) to the unknown (the non-philosophical, non-present, text, writing). As has been suggested so far, this relation takes the 28 form of production, disruption, catachresis, reinscription, etc., of philosophical meaning. However, by itself, the relation of the known to the unknown remains within the enclosure bounded by the speculative philosophy of Hegel. As Derrida says, Hegelian philosophy "complet[es] itself by "including] and anticipating] all the figures of its beyond, all the forms and resources of its exterior" (Writing and Difference 252).16 Hegelian philosophy constantly watches over the gap between philosophy and all its non-philosophical others in order to appropriate them to itself. Thus, in order not to make the catachrestic writing discussed here seem like a mere moment of Western philosophy, the critique of the Hegelian project is methodologically indispensible for this dissertation. The Vichian structure of the always deferred (non)event of the meeting of human and divine mind discussed in the last section opens Vichian history which writes itself in the absence of an eidetic model. This history, however, does not take the real or actual occurrence of events as its content. Instead, history as Vico conceives of it, can be considered as a place where "Everything happens as if (Acts of Literature 199).17 This mythopoetic structure is also analyzed by Derrida in relation to the Freudian "event" of the paternal slaughter that gives rise to law: Nobody would have encountered [the Freudian event of paternal slaughter] in its proper place of happening, nobody would have faced it in its taking place. Event without event, pure event where nothing happens, the eventiality of an event which both demands and annuls the relation in its fiction. . . . However, this pure and purely presumed event nevertheless marks an invisible rent in history. It resembles a fiction, a myth, or a fable, and its relation is so structured that all questions as to Freud's intentions are at once inevitable and pointless ("Did he believe it or not? Did he maintain that it came down to a real and historical murder?" and so on). The structure of this event is such that one is compelled neither to believe nor disbelieve it. . . . Demanding and denying the story, this quasi-event bears the mark of fictive narrativity (fiction of narration as well as fiction as 29 narration: fictive as the simulacrum of the narration and not only as the narration of an imaginary history). It is the origin of literature at the same time as the origin of law.... Whether or not it has arisen from the imagination, even the transcendental imagination, and whether it states or silences the origin of fantasy, this in no way diminishes the imperious necessity of what it tells, its law. This law is even more frightening and fantastic, unheimlich or uncanny, than if it emanated from pure reason, unless precisely the latter be linked to an unconscious fantastic. As of 1897, let me repeat, Freud stated his "certain insight that there are no indications of reality in the unconscious, so that one cannot distinguish between truth and fiction that has been cathected with affect." The importance of the Freudian or Vichian type of history lies not in its factual accuracy, but rather in what Derrida calls the "the invisible rent" this history makes in "factual history." This rent is the condition for the possibility (and impossibilty) for history insofar as it "demands and denies" a (hi)story. But because the event never actually takes place, this structure of historicity must ceaselessly defer the event according to the spatio-temporal delay which Derrida names differance ,18 This historic non-event can be understood to gather about the imaginary relation to the law. In his The New Science, Vico explicitly conceives of the origin of mankind in terms of the birth of an imaginary law: the first men [. . .] created things according to their own ideas [. . .] by virtue of a wholly corporeal imagination. And because it was corporeal, they did it with marvellous sublimity; a sublimity so great that it excessively perturbed the very persons who by imagining did the creating, for they were called "poets," which is Greek for "creators." (NS 376; see also 185) For Vico, these imaginary laws perturb to excess in order to "teach the vulgar to act virtuously" (376). Derrida, however, is less emphatic than Vico in suggesting that the law originates in the imagination, even as he suggests that the relation to the law has to do with the "imagination." That the law has something to do with the imagination "in no way diminishes the imperious necessity of what it tells, its law. This law is even more frightening and fantastic, unheimlich or 30 uncanny, than if it emanated from pure reason, unless precisely the latter be linked to an unconscious fantastic." Derrida's reticence in naming the imaginary origin of the law is entirely understandable if it is assumed that the imagination merely reproduces the presence of a prior eidos, meaning, referent. Because the imagination, as I have argued above, can be understood to produce in the mode of catachrestic non-presence, it has little to do with presence. Thought about in this manner, the Vichian imagination which does not care about the distinction between the Active or (f)actual, can be understood in terms of what Derrida calls the unconscious where "one cannot distinguish between truth and fiction." If the imagination comes together with what Derrida calls the unconscious then neither the unconscious nor the imagination can be designated by the sort of "metaphysical name" Freud gives "the unconscious" (M 20). In other words, the unconscious imaginary cannot be a metaphysical unconscious which is defined against classical consciousness, or a metaphysical imagination which could be defined against the reality of historical events. Because they both confound the opposition between fiction and reality, the unconscious or conciousness, reason and fantasy, etc., they can be considered to be older or prior to those distinctions. And, to the extent that they defer the conscious event, they themselves are differantial, completely consumed by the "irreducibility of the after-effect, the delay": In this context, and beneath this guise, the unconscious is not, as we know, a hidden, virtual, or potential self-presence. It differs from, and defers itself which doubtless means that it is woven of differences, and also that it sends out delegates, representatives, proxies; but without any chance that the giver of proxies might "exist," might be present, be "itself," somewhere, and with even less chance that it might become conscious. In this sense, contrary to the terms of an old debate full of the metaphysical investments that it has always assumed, the "unconscious" is no more a "thing" than it is any other thing, is no more a thing than it is a virtual or masked consciousness. This radical alterity as concerns every possible mode of presence is marked by the irreducibility of the aftereffect, the delay. In order to describe [these] traces, in order to read the traces of 31 "unconscious" traces (there are no "conscious" traces), the language of presence and absence, the metaphysical discourse of phenomenology is inadequate. (M 20-21) The structure of delay that both composes the unconsciousness and the imaginary and opens their play with each other is also defined as temporalization: The structure of delay (Nachtrdglichkeit) in effect forbids that one make of temporalization (temporization) a simple dialectical complication of the living present as an originary and unceasing synthesis—a synthesis directed back on itself, gathered in on itself and gathering—of retentional traces and protentional openings. The alterity of the "unconscious" makes us concerned not with horizons of modified—past or future— presents, but with a "past" that has never been present, and which will never be, whose future to come will never be a production or a reproduction in the form of presence. Therefore the concept of trace is incompatible with the concept of retention, of the becoming-past of what has been present. One cannot think the trace—and therefore, differance—on the basis of the present, or of the present of the present. (M 21) The temporalization and delay which composes the differantial imaginary or "unconscious" "comes to solicit" "the domination of beings," understood as present "objects" (SP 62ff): "it is the determination of Being as presence or as beingness that is interrogated by the thought of differance. Such a question could not emerge and be understood unless the difference between Being and beings were somewhere to be broached" (M 21). This question is the very one that sets in motion Heidegger's philosophical corpus from Being and Time up to the late texts on Trakl. Without catching a glimpse of this difference—which Heidegger calls the ontological difference—differance, says Derrida, could not emerge. To this extent, therefore, Heidegger's philosophy is indispensable for the thought of differance. But differance also goes beyond Heidegger's thought. Differance surpasses Heidegger's thought to the extent that it is held fast by the fascination with the "meaning or truth of Being," and remains "intrametaphysical" (22). Differance flips around the intrametaphysical meaning and truth of Being, and asks us to think an "unheard-of thought": 32 that the history of Being, whose thought engages the Greco-Western logos such as it produced via the ontological difference, is but an epoch of the diapherein. Henceforth one could no longer even call this an "epoch," the concept of epochality belonging to what is within history as the history of Being. Since Being has never had a "meaning," has never been thought or said as such, except by dissimulating itself in beings, then differance, in a certain and very strange way, (is) "older" than the ontological difference or than the truth of Being. When it has this age it can be called the play of the trace. The play of a trace which no longer belongs to the horizon of Being, but whose play transports and encloses the meaning of Being: the play of the trace, of the differance, which has no meaning and is not.19 Which does not belong. There is no maintaining, and no depth to, this bottomless chessboard on which Being is put into play. (M 22) On the one hand, Heidegger's thought is indispensable for thinking about differance because it tries to disrupt the metaphysical thinking about beings which sees them as being simply present; on the other, because Heidegger still seeks the meaning or truth of Being, differance exceeds his thought and (catachrestically) reinscribes it within the temporalization of delay in differance. Since differance is both due to and reinscribes Heidegger's thought, its temporalizing delay can also be understood to mark the point at which Heidegger's thought exceeds itself. Such a point would therefore mark the necessity of Heidegger's discourse even as it overtakes it. The unusual relationship that differance has with Heidegger's thought is marked by what Derrida calls the "incumbency" of "auto-affection" (SP 83). Auto-affection derives from Heidegger's analysis of the imagination in Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics10 According to Heidegger, the imagination produces time according to the structure of self- or auto-affection. In Derrida's hands, the temporality of auto-affection both makes possible the self-present voice of phenomenological consciousness and disrupts it by introducing a pure difference into it, which doubles the self as other: Why, in fact is the concept of auto-affection incumbent upon us? What constitutes the originality of speech, what distinguishes it from every other element of signification, is that its substance seems to be purely temporal. And this temporality does not unfold a sense that would not itself be nontemporal; even before being expressed, sense is through 33 and through temporal. [...] [As] soon as one takes into account, as it is already analyzed in The Phenomenology of Internal Time-Consciousness, the concept of pure auto-affection must be employed as well. This we know is what Heidegger does in Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, precisely when he is concerned with the subject of time. The "source point" or "primordial impression," that out of which the movement of temporalization is produced, is already auto-affection. First it is a pure production, since temporality is never the real predicate of a being. The intuition of time itself cannot be empirical; it is a receiving that receives nothing. The absolute novelty of each now is therefore engendered by nothing; it consists in a primordial impression that engenders itself [. . .] The process by which the living now, produced by spontaneous generation, must, in order to be a now and retained in another now, [. . .] is indeed a pure auto-affection in which the same is the same only in being affected by the other, only by becoming the other of the same [. . .] [This] pure difference, which constitutes the self-presence of the living present, introduces into self-presence of the living present, introduces all the impurity putatively excluded from it. The living present springs forth out of its nonidentity with itself and from the possibility of a retentional trace. (SP 83-85) Since auto-affection specifically names the operation of differance ml as the imagination, the imagination can therefore be regarded as the site where the "incumbency" of Heidegger's thought for differance plays itself out. Because of this, the recourse to differance in order to explore Vichian, and therefore Joycean, imaginary production also opens onto the question of imagination in Heidegger. If Heidegger's imagination can, through the structure of auto-affection, be thought of in a non-eidetic sense, then it becomes possible to view certain aspects of the Heideggerian analysis of the imagination as being analogous to the workings of the non-eidetic imagination in Finnegans Wake. In chapters II-IV of this dissertation, I will make use of this Vichian-Joycean-Heideggerian opening which allows one to make use of the resources of Heidegger's analysis of the imagination, so that a more detailed picture of the non-eidetic imagination in Finnegans Wake might be sketched. 34 (b) The Known and the Unknown For all its differance, reading imaginative production touches upon philosophy's eidos, its meaning and truth, even if that meaning or truth is considered to be younger than the non-eidetic modes of production that precede it. Differance also plays with the philosophical eidos in the scene of doubling I briefly mentioned in section I. In this doubling, the phantasma, simulacrum, or eidolon produced in the imagination doubles (for) the Platonic eidos. This doubleness connects and separates the Platonic and non-Platonic eidos according to the auto-affective structure just discussed, where the same can only relate to iteslf as other (SP 85). In this sort of difference, the "simulacrum of Platonism or Hegelianism, which is separated from what it simulates only by a barely perceptible veil," is easily taken for Platonism "itself or Hegelianism "itself (D 207). All of this puts the reader of the non-eidetic imagination in Finnegans Wake squarely in the problematic where the phenomenological desire for eidetic presence (or meaning) is ruined by differance's irreparable disruption of presence. And it is precisely this differantial problematic that demands another set of strategic manoeuvres within this dissertation. If the phenomenologist cannot read differance, if the two are incommensurable and "cannot be thought together" (M 19), then the entire c#^era«tfa/-phenomenological problematic can be usefully understood as a problem of idiom and the impossibility of translation. The idiom of philosophical meaning, which is governed by eidos, cannot translate the nonmeaning, or non-presence of differance. In fact, Finnegans Wake designates its own writing, its own "lingo," as incommensurable with metaphysics: For if the lingo gasped between kicksheets, however basically English, were to be preached from the mouths of wickerchurchwardens and metaphysicians in the row and advokaatoes, allvoyous, demivoyelles, languoaths, les-35 biels, dentelles, gutterhowls and furtz, where would their prac-tice be or where the human race itself were the Pythagorean ses-quipedalia of the panepistemion, however apically Volapucky, grunted and gromwelled, ichabod, habakuk, opanoff, uggamyg, hapaxle, gomenon, ppppfff over country stiles, behind slated dwellinghouses, down blind lanes, or, when all fruit fails, under some sacking left on a coarse cart? (116.25-35) The linguistic site of the Wake, its idiomatic "hapaxle, gomenon" (or hapax legomenon, or "once said"), "however basically English," is flooded with a multiplicity of "languoaths" which make its writing the highly stylized, or written poetic idiom of the hen's "polyhedron of scripture" (107.08). This odd idiom is itself composed of the difficult and impossible relationships between the idioms of different languages: It is told in sounds in utter that, in signs so adds to, in universal, in polygluttural, in each auxiliary neutral idiom, sordomutics, florilingua, sheltafocal, flayflutter, a con's cubane, a pro's tutute, strassarab, ereperse and anythongue athall. (117.12-16) The Wake itself thus poses the problem of the incommensurability of more than one idiom as part of its style. So, even if the idiom of differance cannot translate the idiom of presence, there is still a relation, which is still one of incommensurability, that suggests itself otherwise than translation. But it is the very impossibility of translating one idiom into another that brings about the decomposition of the idiom's unity.21 The decomposition of the unity of the idiom is what opens philosophy onto the Wake non-philosophically. If the idiom of philosophy cannot be translated into the Wakean poetic hapax legomenon, then the attempt to read it there must also transform it because it can only be read there, in the absence of a perfect translation, to the extent that it loses sense. As the philosophical idiom loses sense at the Wake, it can also be understood as being 36 struck or shattered because it decomposes, as I suggested above, into its non-philosophical counterpart. The unity of the philosophical eidos ruptures and starts to affect itself with its non-philosophical double, its "same" as "other." But this rupture does not just happen to a prior unity. In affecting itself with itself (as other), the (non)philosophical eidos must already be somehow fractured, doubled. Once again, the Wake locates the site of this originary doubling in the "poor little brittle magic nation" (565.29-30). The shattered and shattering "brittle magic nation" offers the "phanthare," a sort of spectral doubling which is also the troubling reproduction of the father in the son (565.06-32). Because of the brittle imagination, the doubled eidos can no longer be caught by the idiomatic margins of philosophical reasoning or nationality. The blow struck in the "brittle magic nation" is therefore "immarginable" (004.19), without any simple political or national boundary.22 What I have just called the "imagination" is the productive site where (philosophical) meaning relates to (non-philosophical) nonmeaning, the known to the unknown, without reducing the incommensurability of one with the other. This related incommensurability can once again be seen as a resource of differance: Here we are touching on the point of greatest obscurity, on the very enigma of differance, on precisely that which divides its very concept by means of a strange cleavage. We must not hasten to decide. How are we to think simultaneously, on the one hand differance as an economic detour which, in the element of the same, always aims at coming back to the pleasure or the presence that have been deferred by (conscious or unconscious) calculation, and, on the other hand, differance as the relation to an impossible presence, as expenditure without reserve, as the irreparable loss of presence, the irreversible use of energy, that is, as the death instinct, and as the entirely other relationship that disrupts every economy? It is evident—and this is the evident itself—that the economical and the noneconomical, the same and the entirely other, etc., cannot be thought together. If differance is unthinkable in this way, perhaps we should not hasten to make it evident, in the philosophical element of evidentiality which would make short work of dissipating the mirage and illogicalness of differance and would do so with the infallibility of calculations that we are well acquainted with, having precisely recognized their place, 37 necessity and function in the structure of differance. Elsewhere, in a reading of Bataille, I have attempted to indicate what might come of a rigorous and, in a new sense, "scientific" relating of the "restricted economy" that takes no part in expenditure without reserve, death, opening itself to nonmeaning, etc., to a general economy that takes into account the nonreserve, that keeps in reserve the nonreserve, if it can be put thus. I am speaking of a relationship between a differance that can make a profit on its investment and a differance that misses its profit, the investiture of a presence that is pure and without loss here being confused with absolute loss, with death. Through such a relating of a restricted and a general economy, the very project of philosophy, under the privileged heading of Hegelianism, is displaced and reinscribed. The Aufhebung—la releve—is constrained into writing itself otherwise. Or perhaps simply into writing itself. Or, better, into taking account of its consumption of writing. (WD 19) Here, differance also names the relation which the "restricted economy"—the desire for eidetic presence, meaning, etc.—has to the "general economy" of "expenditure without reserve," "death," and "nonmeaning." In relating meaning to nonmeaning, differance relates the known to the unknown. It is precisely this relation that Joyce's text understands through the figure of Stephen Dedalus in the "Ithaca" episode of Ulysses. Stephen's companion, Mr Bloom, has just finished depressing himself about the difficulties of self-improvement in the face of life's uncertainties and difficulties. The text then asks: Did Stephen participate in [Bloom's] dejection? He affirmed his significance as a conscious rational animal proceeding syllogistically from the known to the unknown and a conscious rational reagent between a micro and a macrocosm ineluctably constructed upon the incertitude of the void. (17.1011 -1015) Stephen's procedure in the uncertain void is the movement, just like differance, from the known to the unknown. This procedure in both cases can be understood as being non-eidetic insofar as it reverses the meaningful flow of discourse which, as Derrida points out, moves from the "unknown to the known or knowable, to the always already known or anticipated knowledge" 38 (WD 270). Thus, within Platonic-Hegelian tradition of knowledge it is always a question of a progression towards a prexistent eidos. In Joyce's writing, the writing ofdifferantial imaginary production, "the relation to the absolute possibility of knowledge is suspended," and the "known is related to the unknown" (270-271). In other words, a certain relation of meaning to non-meaning must be maintained if the unsuccessful transaction of differance between the idioms discussed above is to pursued rigorously in this dissertation. With respect to differance, the relation of meaning (presence of the thing itself understood as either referent or signified) to nonmeaning (differantial play) is located "under the privileged heading of Hegelianism." The Hegelian structure of meaning is given a certain amount of privilege precisely because it is constantly preoccupied by its relation to nonmeaning: The slumber of reason is not, perhaps, reason put to sleep, but slumber in the form of reason, the vigilance of the Hegelian logos. Reason keeps watch over a deep slumber in which it has an interest. [. . .] [At] the far reaches of this night something was contrived, blindly, I mean in a discourse, by means of which philosophy, in completing itself, could both include within itself and anticipate all the figures of its beyond, all the forms and resources of its exterior; and could do so in order to keep these forms and resources close by itself by simply taking hold of their enunciation. (WD 252) Differance's relation to such "Hegelianism" makes the recourse to a certain "Hegelian" reflective or speculative philosophy indispensable for this dissertation. Because differance's operation is one of the "displacement and reinscription" of Hegelian thought which "constrains" the Aufhebung (Hegel's term for the simultaneous negation and conservation of terms in the speculative progression towards spirit), "into writing itself otherwise" (M 19), it takes itself as close as possible to the Hegelian thought in order to produce those figures whose effects are no longer anticipated by it. This closeness means that differance must play catachrestically with the terms of the philosophy that tries to anticipate it. In this way the play of differance is 39 reinscription, and it is only through this play that it can thrust the Aufhebung outside the province of meaning wherein it traditionally circulates, and force it to relate to nonmeaning. In other words, differance opens up terms at the heart of speculative philosophy to their surprising nonmeaning. And since philosophy, in its Platonic, Cartesian, and Hegelian manifestations, is essentially always a "matter of imitating (expressing, describing, representing, illustrating) an eidos or idea, whether it is a figure of the thing itself, as in Plato, a subjective representation, as in Descartes, or both, as in Hegel" (D 194), this dissertation concerns itself with the reinscription of the eidos. And since Hegelian philosophy constantly watches over the gap between philosophy and its non-philosophical "others" in order to appropriate them to itself, differance must take Hegel into account in order not to let its catachrestic writing seem like a mere moment of (the Hegelian) philosophy. But how does the other (Hegelian) "eidos" "come to light"? What might it look like? It emerges in the same way that Bataille suggests in "The Solar Anus" (Visions of Excess: Selected Writings, 1927-1939): It is clear that the world is purely parodic, in other words, that each thing seen is a parody of another, or is the same thing in a deceptive form. Ever since sentences started to circulate in brains devoted to reflection, an effort at total identification has been made, because with the aid of a copula each sentence ties one thing to another; all things would be visibly connected if one could discover at a single glance and in its totality the tracings of Ariadne's thread leading thought into its own labyrinth. But the copula of terms is no less irritating than the copulation of bodies. And when I scream I A M THE SUN an integral erection results, because the verb to be is the vehicle of amorous frenzy. Parody is the other eidos that mimics the reflective-speculative eidos in the terms of an "amorous frenzy" that can no longer simply be understood from the point of view of the philosophico-reflective eidos. This non-eidetic writing tends, as the quote from Bataille suggests, towards 40 obscenity. As will become clear over the course of this dissertation, the progression towards the "amorous frenzy" of the unknown also conjures the scatological double of the philosophical eidos, which I will explore in detail. Finally, the differantial protocols for reading imaginary production bring the Wake into close contact with Derrida's Glas. Glas is one of the most sustained attempts to dislocate and reinscribe the Hegelian speculative eidos. It explores, among other things, the sites where the sense of Hegelian reflective philosophy is overcome by the "senselessness" which both comes before, and remains outside it. Throughout this dissertation, I will isolate these sites in order to explore the ways in which both Finnegans Wake and Glas produce remarkably similar images which resist reflective philosophy even as they give rise to it. Chapters V and VI trace the production of these images in terms of the imaginative mimicry or parody of reflective thought. In the imaginative mimicry of Finnegans Wake and Glas, Absolute Knowledge can never come to its full term because the reinscribed or rewritten eidos that becomes legible through it, does without philosophy. This dissertation explores in detail this way of reading philosophy as it is rewritten differantiahy in/ by both Finnegans Wake and Glas. Notes 1 Hereafter, D. 2 Hereafter, M. 3 While there has not yet been a thorough treatment of Finnegans Wake and Glas, the more general textual affinities between Joyce and Derrida have been well documented in the last forty-odd years of Wakean scholarship. Notable works include Derrida's "Two Words for Joyce," in Post-Structuralist Joyce: Essays from the French, and "Ulysses Gramophone: Hear say yes in Joyce," in James Joyce: The Augmented Ninth. Derrida also playfully explores both the Wake and Giacomo Joyce, perhaps Joyce's least well-known work, in the context of his ever deferred exploration of the technique of the "envois" in The Post-Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond. Other Joyceans who have explored the Derrida-Joyce nexus are: Shari Benstock, "The Letter of the Law: La Carte postale in Finnegans Wake" in Philological Quarterly; Christine van Boheemen-Saaf, Joyce, Derrida, Lacan, and the Trauma 41 \ of History: Reading, Narrative and Postcolonialism; Claudette Sartiliot, Citation and Modernity: Derrida, Joyce, andBrecht; and Susan Shaw Sailer, On the Void of To Be: Incoherence and Trope in Finnegans Wake. This "tradition" of reading Derrida and the Wake is, of course, to be situated within the broader discipline of "post-structuralist" Joyce studies. This discipline, which has been studying Joyce's texts since the sixties, is composed of critics such as Hel6ne Cixous, Julia Kristeva, Jean-Michel Rabatd, Stephen Heath, Margot Norris, Colin MacCabe, Lorraine Weir and Derek Attridge, all of whom approach Joyce's texts from a non-hermeneutic point of view. Unfortunately, Derridean scholarship has not yet shown a similar interest in examining Derrida's relationship to Joyce. There are fleeting references to Joyce in some survey discussions of Derrida's thought, such as Christopher Norris' Derrida and Geoffrey Bennington's Jacques Derrida and Legislations, as is noted by Alan Roughley in his book, Reading Derrida Reading Joyce. In Reading Derrida Reading Joyce, Roughley offers a brief and one-sided survey of the Joyce-Derrida terrain, which on his reading would appear to consist solely of the moments when Joyce's "proper name" or book-titles surface are mentioned by Derrida. It is perhaps the concern with simple references that prevents Roughley's book from exploring the complex diegetic and discursive intertextuality of Joyce's and Derrida's texts in any rigorous or systematic manner. This dissertation, on the other hand, sets itself precisely that task. As such, Roughley's book has nothing to offer the type of project which attempts to theorize and construct the site where Derrida's writing is fascinated by the writing of Joyce, and Finnegans Wake in particular, in terms of the auto-affective imagination. Further, I hope that my theorization of the imagination in this dissertation is rigorous enough to at least indicate how important the text of Joyce is for reading Derrida. 4 Hereafter, SP. 5 Throughout this dissertation, quotations from Finnegans Wake will follow the line breaks of the 1939 Faber and Faber edition. All other references to Finnegans Wake in the text will be given parenthetically in the form of the page number followed by line number. E.g., 003.14 denotes page 3, line 14. 6 See also Joyce's Book of the Dark, 312 and 404. 7 See John Bishop's fascinating discussion in Joyce's Book of the Dark, 28 and 142. See also The Sigla o/Finnegans Wake, 103. 81 will return to this "solar system" in order to explore its relation to heat and fire in chapter VI. 9 For an extended discussion of catachresis in a semiotic context see Writing Joyce (hereafter WJ), chapter three. 1 0 Joyce filters this creation through Yeats' use of the Timaeus inA Vision. See Sigla, 72-73. 1 1 Clive Hart's Structure andMotifin Finnegans Wake (hereafter S&M) also documents Joyce's use of the scene of demiurgic creation from the Timaeus: "The central passage of II.2—where the marginal notes are allowed to dissolve into the main body of the text before their reappearance with exchange of tone—corresponds to the central point of contact on the sphere of development.... That in disposing his materials in this way Joyce had the Timaeus in mind is made clear by a whole shower of allusions to it" (132). Hart also notes that the use of the Timaeus interacts with the Wakean theme of the "double-cross" (133f). This "X" will become an important figure for reading both Finnegans Wake and Glas in chapter II. 1 2 Hereafter, U. All quotations follow the Gabler format of chapter number and line number. E.g., 1.160 is chapter 1, line 160. 1 3 This booklet was written by Paul Margueritte, and published, according to D 196, by "Calmann-Levy, new edition, 1886." 1 4 It should be noted here that the "nothing'' in Heidegger means Being, as it does in "What is Metaphysics? As is clear from the context here, the "nothing," as Derrida is using it here cannot simply mean the concealed nothing of Being. It rather means the differantial "nothing'' of the text, which is not punctually "present." Margot Norris tackles the relationship between Joyce and Heidegger in her The Decentered Universe o/Finnegans Wake, 73-97. 1 5 Hereafter, NS. All references to this edition will follow Vico's paragraph numbering. The New Science is a standard point of departure for reading the Wake. For a detailed discussion of Vico and Joyce see Joyce's Book of the Dark, 174-215, and WJ, 54-81. Vico and Joyce, edited by Vico scholar Donald Phillip Verene also provides an indispensable overview of Vico's importance for Joyce. For a more introductory approach to Vico and Joyce see The Books at the Wake, 28-43 and S&M 49-52; 57-62. 42 1 6 Hereafter, WD. 1 7 Hereafter, AL. 1 8 Cf. "Differance," passim, M 3-27. 1 9 It should be noted here that the "nothing" in Heidegger means Being, as it does, for example, in "What is Metaphysics?" As is clear from the context here, the "nothing," as Derrida is using it here cannot simply mean the concealed nothing of Being. Rather, it means the differantial "nothing" of the text, which is not punctually "present." 2 0 Hereafter, KPM. 2 1 See Geschlecht 11, 183-193, in Deconstruction and Philosophy: The Texts of Jacques Derrida. 2 2 This "blow" is similar to the "Schlag' analyzed by Derrida in Geschlecht II which disrupts the German tongue with "the mark, the striking, the impression, a certain writing," giving its marks over to what Heidegger calls "a bad polysemy—the one that does not let itself be gathered into a Gedicht or into a unique site (Or)" (189). 43 Chapter H "Auspicium" I (a) "Lead, kindly fowl." (112.09) In this section of the present chapter, I will explore in detail how Vico's The New Science offers the chance of reading Finnegans Wake non-eidetically through the imaginary production of auspicium, or augury. In particular, I will explore how auspicium encapsulates the paradox inherent in the non-eidetic scene of imaginary production, where the model presented withdraws itself as model. I will also explore this scene of imaginary production as it relates to section 1.5 of Finnegans Wake. 1.5 presents this mode as a scene of writing in which a hen leaves behind a letter to be read (and imitated, written, etc.) by the reader. Section II explores how a letter written by a hen can be understood in terms of the differantial "relation to the absolute possibility of knowledge," where the "known is related to the unknown" (WD 270-271; U17.1011-1017). In order to do this, I will discuss in detail how the differential reinscription of the eidos can be thought systematically by utilizing the resources of Martin Heidegger's analyses of temporal self-, or auto-affection and their relation to the productive imag-ination or phantasia. Finally, section III explores the actual marks—the Xs—that the hen writes ml as the letter. These Xs, I will argue, figure the auto-affective production discussed in section TI. As such, these Xs are also to be found in Derrida's Glas where they function as differantial icons or figures for an entirely non-eidetic strategy for reading-and-writing Glas. *** In order to come to grips with what Vico understands by auspicium, it is necessary to 44 return to what he sees as the forgotten origins of human civility and society. Vico attaches considerable theoretical weight to the origins of human civility and society, which, he says, took shape "when the first men began to think humanly" (NS 347). The precise time of the origin of humanity in society is all too often ignored by other thinkers of the origins of human society. By behaving in this manner, these other thinkers violate the principle that "the sciences [of man's origins] must begin where their subject matters began" (NS 347). According to the New Science, the first men began to think humanly with the birth of religion (NS 8). Such thinking began, says Vico, when "heaven must have thundered and lightened." The thunder and lightning terrified the first men, and their fear caused them to attribute the sky's fury to the first god, Jove. Each culture had its own Jove, and from "the thunder and lightning of its Jove each nation began to take auspices, and taking the auspices" - which date from the first appearance of Jove as the sky -constitutes "the first divine institution" (NS 9). For Vico, the observation of the sky while taking the auspices included the observation of birds or augury. Augury gives the word "auspice," itself from the Latin avis specere, or the observation of birds. Through the auspices it became possible to divine - from divinari, to foretell - what the gods had in store for mankind (NS 8), and human history was born, inaugurated by the observation of birds. Augury, the observation of birds in a wish to know what the gods had in store for men, is then the first flush of divine pleasure on the cheeks of the first the men and women who make history. As such, augury must be the first withdrawn order of God who commands man to mime without model. To the extent that the text of Finnegans Wake presents a scene of augury, it may be understood to take part in the same tradition of production without model that Vico's text finds itself part of. In the Wake, the scene of augury takes a textual turn in 1.5, when the reader is placed in the position of a child-like auspex who "observes" "a cold fowl behaviourising 45 strangely on that fatal midden" (110.24-25): Lead, kindly fowl! They always did: ask the ages. What bird has done yesterday man may do next year, be it fly, be it moult, be it hatch, be it agreement in the nest. (112.09-11) The mode of reading the letter in 1.5 is then augury: "Let us auspice it!" (.18). The reader-auspex follows the movements of the bird ("what bird has done yesterday") which reveal the wisdom of the oracles to man ("man may do next year"). However, because the observation of the bird is the first step in Vichian man's non eidetic writing of himself, the reader must be understood to mimic the actions and processes of the bird. The parallels between Vichian writing and the hen's writing can be made clearer by considering the way in which the hen writes without a prior eidetic model. The hen, in short, starts from "scratch": And then. Be old. The next thing is. We are once amore as babes awondering in a wold made fresh where with the hen in the storyaboot we start from scratch. (336.15-18; see also 369.23-370.14) Later in the text, the act of scratching is connected with the act or scene of writing, as the instrument of writing. It is the "pen [that] is upt to scratch, to compound quite the makings of a verdigrease savingsbook in the form of a pair of capri sheep boxing gloves" (412.32-36), as well as the "hairpin slatepencil for Elsie Oram to scratch her toby, doing her best with her volgar fractions" (211.12-13). Writing from scratch not only names the hen's style, but also links the letter's augury to Vico's assertion that the reader of the New Science makes the ideal eternal history for him/herself. If the hen makes these marks (from scratch) in the text, she can be understood to produce without model. In other words, her model of production has no model, and because this scene of textual augury is without model, it can be understood to be pregnant with the structure 46 of Vichian divine pleasure. If the reader imitates the hen's example of imitation without model, the reader can also be understood to imitate a model of production without model. This is possible only because the hen presents a model for production without model, and she can only efface herself in a scene of writing (and signing) the text without model. In other words, the hen withdraws from the text in much the same manner as God withdraws from the production of Vico's ideal eternal history. Thus to follow is to imitate a model that withdraws itself in production. It is difficult to contain the effects of the hen's withdrawal within the letter. This is because the process by which the reader produces the text through the Vichian device of mime without model, marks everything that Finnegans Wake presents. It is only on the ground (if it is still possible to say "ground" as it withdraws) of withdrawal of the preexistent object or model, that it becomes possible to imagine the figures at the Wake. This can be explained in the following manner. First, the withdrawal of the object does away with the ability to make a constative statement about that object. This situation plays itself out around the quasi-Biblical fall which loses Finnegan in 1.1. Finnegan's fall imbues him with a certain amount of guilt. If there is guilt associated with a fall, then there must be a crime. Thus 1.1 sets about trying to reconstruct a primordial crime scene. This scene is related by Kate in the well-known "Museyroom" exhibit of 1.1. The Museyroom presents the crime scene in terms of a battle which was waged in the Phoenix Park. In this battle, Finnegan, in the guise of "the Willingdone" appears "on his same white harse, the Cokenhape." Ranged opposite the Willingdone, "is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch." Also on the field are the female "jinnies," who show off "their legahorns [while] feinting to read in their handmade's book of stralegy while making their 47 war." As the jinnies read their book of strategy, they "make war" and "make water," or urinate. At the same time, the Willingdone spies "on [their] flanks" with his "big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker." As he watches, he "git[s] the band up [French bander, to band, to get an erection]." But while erect, the Willingdone provocatively presents "a profusely fine birdeye view from beauhind this park" (564.07-08) to the three soldiers in the ditch (008.09-36). Because the Phoenix Park in Dublin was famous as a site for the procurement of gay sex, it is easy to see how such a gesture puts in question the "facts" of the Willingdone's "municipal sin business" in the park (005.14). The scene remains hopelessly overdetermined, and it is impossible to say whether or not the Willingdone is guilty of a heterosexual voyeurism or a homosexual exhibitionism.1 All this overdetermination, marks the absence of the truth, of facts, of an eidetic model: Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible where his adjugers are semmingly freak threes but his judicandees plainly minus twos. Neverthe-less Madam's Toshowus waxes largely more lifeliked (entrance, one kudos; exits, free) and our notional gullery is now com-pletely complacent, an exegious monument, aerily perennious. (057.16-22) Second, these "unfacts" produce the all exhibits at the Wake, and the reader is forced to occupy the space of what Vico calls "rumour": 120 Because of the indefinite nature of the human mind, wherever it is lost in ignorance man makes himself the measure of all things. 121 This axiom explains those two common human traits, on the one hand that rumor grows in its course, on the other that rumor is deflated by presence [of the thing itself]. In the long course that rumor has run from the beginning of the world, it has been the perennial source of all the exaggerated opinions which have hitherto been held concerning remote antiquities unknown to us by virtue of that property of the human mind noted by Tacitus in his Life of Agricola, where he says that the unknown is always magnified. 48 The seat of this "magnification" is precisely the imagination, a sort of childish, overly vivid memory run amok: 211 In children memory is most vigorous, and imagination is therefore excessively vivid, for imagination is nothing but extended or compounded memory. Thus, if the exhibits at the Wake are undecideable, it is because the Wake is only concerned with the difficulties and aporias of production without eidos—in the sense of a fully present thing-in-itself—that would put an end to wild imaginings. This why there can be no consensus arrived at regarding the alleged crime, and why there is so much textual time devoted in books I and in to the pursuit of the withdrawing HCE in the apparent hope of getting at the truth surrounding his crime and disappearance. The imaginary dimensions of this scene of writing become even clearer when the Museyroom scene is compared to a similar scene as it is explicitly imagined at the pub in II.3. In II. 3 the customers in the pub discuss the circumstances surrounding HCE's (an avatar of Finnegan) alleged crime and the various rumours regarding his guilt: .. .what matter what all his freudzay or who holds his hat to harm him, let hutch just keep on under at being a vanished consinent and let annapal livibel prettily prattle a lude all her own. And be that semeliminal salmon solemonly angled,ingate and outgate. A truce to lovecalls, dulled in warclothes, maleybags, things and bleakhusen. Leave the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed at night. Simply. As says the mug in the middle, nay brian nay noel, ney billy ney boney. Imagine twee cweamy wosen. Suppwose you get a beautiful thought and cull them sylvias sub silence. Then inmaggin a stotterer. Suppoutre him to been one bigger-master Omnibil. Then lustily (tutu the font and tritt on the boks-woods like gay feeters's dance) immengine up to three longly lurking lobstarts. Fair instents the Will Woolsley Wellaslayers. Pet her, pink him, play pranks with them. She will nod ampro-perly smile. He may seem to appraisiate it. They are as piractical jukersmen sure to paltipsypote. Feel the wollies drippeling out 49 of your fingathumbs. Says to youssilves (floweers have ears, heahear!) solowly: So these ease Budlim! How do, dainty dau-limbs? So peached to pick on you in this way, prue and simple, pritt and spry! Heyday too, Malster Faunagon, and hopes your hahititahiti licks the mankey nuts! And oodlum hoodlum dood-lum to yes, Donn, Teague and Hurleg, who the bullocks brought you here and how the hillocks are ye? (337.06-31) In this imaginative rendering of the scene of the sin in the park, the factual decideability of either HCE's guilt or innocence and the true nature of his crime are not very important. What does it matter what "his freudzay"? It only matters that he is "gone," a "vanished continent." So, in his absence, why not let his wife, Anna Livia, "prettily prattle a lude all her own"? In other words, it is Anna Livia's prattling prelude—the letter which is written in HCE's absence—which offers the self-effacing model for imaginative production without model. This complex structure encapsulates the paradox inherent in the non-eidetic mode of imaginative production. Even if the hen effaces herself, she nonetheless leaves behind a letter to be read (and imitated, written) by the reader. The letter she writes from scratch marks her withdrawal as model and presents it to be read. The letter offers the model of imaginative production without model. It is therefore the peculiar model of the letter, "the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end," that must now be accounted for in a process of production that claims to be one of production without model. (b) Towards the Textual Eidos But, as the reader might expect by now, nothing in the Wake is ever simple, and this might be said to go double for the letter. The complexity of the letter asserts itself when the reader realizes that it does not simply ignore the structural quest for truth: [S]he who shuttered him after his fall and waked him widowt sparing and gave him keen and 50 made him able and held adazillahs to each arche of his noes, she who will not rast her from her running to seek him till, with the help of the okeamic, some such time that she shall have been after hiding the crumbends of his enormousness in the areyou looking-for Pearlfar sea, (ur, uri, uria!) stood forth, burnzburn the gorg-gony old danworld, in gogor's name, for gagar's sake, dragging the countryside in her train, finickin here and funickin there, with her louisequean's brogues and her culunder buzzle and her little bolero boa and all and two times twenty curlicornies for her headdress, specks on her eyeux, and spudds on horeilles and a circusfix riding her Parisienne's cockneze, a vaunt her straddle from Equerry Egon, when Tinktink in the churchclose clinked Steploajazzyma Sunday, Sola, with pawns, prelates and pookas pelotting in her piecebag, for Handiman the Chomp, Esquoro, biskbask, to crush the slander's head. (102.01-17) The wife's letter, now revealed as a site of imaginative production, remains a production concerned with justice and the desire to crush the slanderous rumours that have been spreading like wildfire since HCE's fall and disappearance. This desire to find and present the truth about the crime and disappearance also structures the letter plot of Finnegans Wake. In this plot, the hen, HCE's wife, ALP, composes the letter in order to clear her husband's name. The trajectory of the letter is summed up neatly as follows: "Letter, carried of Shaun, son of Hek, written of Shem, brother of Shaun, uttered for Alp, mother of Shem, for Hek, father of Shaun. Initialled. Gee. Gone" (420.17-19). The letter is addressed to a "Maggy's tea, or your majesty" (116.24), an extremely enigmatic figure in the text who still holds out the possibility, the promise, of truth. The letter offers the chance for the hen to prove, for once and for all, that her husband is innocent of all the charges and allegations made against him. To this extent, the letter can be understood to circulate in the quasi-Hegelian space sketched out above, where "meaning" relates to "nonmeaning" in the form of "evidential truth," the "what actually happened" (M 19). It is this relation that forces the letter into what Derrida calls a certain complicity with Hegel. This complicity "accompanies Hegelian discourse, 'takes it seriously' up to the end, without an 51 objection in philosophical form, while however, a certain burst of laughter exceeds it and destroys its sense, or signals, in any event, the extreme point of'experience' that makes Hegelian discourse dislocate itself, and this can only be done through close scrutiny and full knowledge of what one is laughing at" (WD 253). The essence of taking Hegel seriously lies in taking the mimetic structure of the philosophical eidos—which always searches for truth and meaning— seriously. This is because, as Derrida points out in Dissemination, philosophical Platonism, even in its Cartesian and Hegelian manifestations, is always a "matter of imitating (expressing, describing, representing, illustrating) an eidos or idea, whether it is a figure of the thing itself, as in Plato, a subjective representation, as in Descartes, or both, as in Hegel" (194). I want to suggest that the letter inscribes the relation of meaning, truth, and non-meaning, truth, as the letter itself This is a complicated process, but it begins simply enough with seeing the letter as presenting the truth about HCE. The hen writes the letter because "all schwants (schwrites) is to tell the cock's trootabout him" (113.11-12). Thus the letter is designed to be "very truthful" (.17-18), and, to this extent, can be understood to play with the nature of philosophical evidence. As such, the letter points back to the truth of past event, a reality. It points to the significance of the truth of the matter, to the extent that it is designed to "crush the slander's head." At the same time however, the letter also concerns itself with the distortion of that truth: Well, almost any photoist worth his chemicots will tip anyone asking him the teaser that if a negative of a horse happens to melt enough while drying, well, what you do get is, well, a positively grotesquely distorted macromass of all sorts of horsehappy values and masses of meltwhile horse. Tip. Well, this freely is what must have occurred to our missive (there's a sod of a turb for you! please wisp off the grass!) unfilthed from the boucher by the sagacity of a lookmelittle likemelong hen. Heated residence in the heart of the orangeflavoured mudmound had partly ob-literated the negative to start with, causing some features pal-52 pably nearer your pecker to be swollen up most grossly while the farther back we manage to wiggle the more we need the loan of a lens to see as much as the hen saw. Tip. (111.26-112.02) Here, the text offers a "tip" to the reader, one that pushes him/ her in the direction of the Platonic eidos. But the eidetic evidence of the letter found by the hen has been distorted by the amount of time it has spent underground, and the eidos it presents is far from pristine. It is described by the text as "a positively grotesquely distorted macromass of all sorts of horsehappy values and masses of meltwhile horse," which is itself a distortion of the hippie eidos that puts in an appearance in the library of U 9.84: "Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness of allhorse." Nevertheless, it is temporal and thermal distortion of the text of the letter that brings it into contact with the (distorted) Platonic eidos. There is no pristine Platonic eidos in the letter; there is only distortion, and this distortion is what brings the (distorted) eidos into contact with the letter. All of this distortion takes place in/ as the text of the letter (itself). This distortion causes the reader to lose his/ her sense of direction and become lost in the bushy undergrowth of a "jumble of words": You is feeling like you was lost in the bush, boy? You says: It is a puling sample jungle of woods. You most shouts out: Bethicket me for a stump of a beech if I have the poultriest no-tions what the farest he all means. Gee up, girly! The quad gos-pellers may own the targum but any of the Zingari shoolerim may pick a peck of kindlings yet from the sack of auld hensyne. (111.03-08) If the distortion is experienced as the "puling sample jungle of woods," then words can be understood as being the only possible medium in which the Platonic eidos can come to the text of the letter. But the jumble of words also names the letter itself. Therefore the Platonic eidos can only take place in the Wake as the distortion of text. It therefore undergoes rewriting in the letter, 53 and emerges as a literal or textual "jumble of words." In being rewritten, the eidos is not simply lost. Rewriting redirects all questions about the eidos toward text. This text cannot be read with the naked eye, and its reader stands in need of "the loan of a lens to see as much as the hen saw" (112.01-02). The presence of the hen suggests that the reinscription of the Platonic eidos has something to do with the scene of avian composition, which, as I argued above, does without a prior eidos. This suggestion also implies that the jumble of words can also be understood to do without prior meaning or signified. It is because (the) text displaces eidetic meaning, that it disrupts the Platonic mode of reading. The reader who insists on searching for a prior meaning in the text ends up feeling like s/he is "lost in the bush." This is because a Platonic reader continues to seek a preexistent meaning/ signified/ referent in the text a la the Platonic eidos. S/he tries to anticipate (the) meaning before the jungle/ jumble of words, the state of nature, which can be returned to. For such a reader, words will always serve to uncover preexistent meaning in the text. However, the text of the letter disorients such a reader, and does not allow the unaided Platonic eye to return to read any preexistent meaning in the text. The text of the letter disorients because eidetic meaning is reconfigured as a textual "jumble of words." But this disorientation also impels the reader to struggle with the wordy text of this jungle-book. Instead of simply feeling "lost in the bush" due to the dislocation of sense, which watches over the reader like a parent, the reader is invited to struggle against the tangled underbrush of words, in a manner similar to the scatological struggle in Vico's primaeval forest: Mothers like beasts, must merely have nursed their babies, let them wallow naked in their own filth. And these children, who had to wallow in their own filth, whose nitrous salts richly fertilized the fields, and who had to exert themselves to penetrate the great forest, would flex and contract their muscles in these exertions, and thus absorb nitrous salts into their bodies in greater abundance. They would be quite without fear of gods, fathers, and teachers which chills and benumbs even the most exuberant in childhood. They must 54 therefore have grown up robust, vigorous, excessively big in brawn and bone, to the point of becoming giants. (NS 369) Shit is something that finds its way into the text in a scene of motherly abandonment. The mother merely offers her breast, and then recedes or withdraws from the child. Her withdrawal causes her to neglect her other maternal duties toward the child, such as cleaning and toilet-training. This Vichian mother corresponds to the hen, who also effaces herself in the scene of non-eidetic production. Without its mother, the reader-child defecates anywhere, and thus fertilizes the thick forest of the text. The thickness of the bush in Vico's forest is also responsible for the multiplicity of languages in the world because it "shut [the many different nations] off from each other" (NS 198), and each nation gave birth to its own language. This is why the struggle against the bush of the letter-text's "lingo," "however basically English" (116.25-26), does not take place in just one language: It is told in sounds in utter that, in signs so adds to, in universal, in polygluttural, in each auxiliary neutral idiom, sordomutics, florilingua, sheltafocal, flayflutter, a con's cubane, a pro's tutute, strassarab, ereperse and anythongue athall. (117.12-16) For Vico, the bushiness of the forest is responsible for polyglottism, a situation which demands translation and the construction of the "common mental language" of The New Science: 161 There must in the nature of human institutions be a mental language common to all nations, which uniformly grasps the substance of things feasible in human social life and expresses it with as many diverse modifications as these same things have diverse aspects. A proof of this is afforded by proverbs or maxims of vulgar wisdom, in which substantially the same meanings find as many diverse expressions as there are nations ancient and modern. 162 This common mental language is proper to our Science, by whose light linguistic scholars will be enabled to construct a mental vocabulary common to all the various articulate languages living and dead. We gave a particular example of this in the first edition of the New Science. There we proved that the names of the first family fathers, in a great number of dead and living languages, were given them because of the various 55 properties which they had in the state of the families and in that of the first commonwealths, at the time when the nations were forming their languages. Finnegans Wake, however, radicalizes Vico's procedure of "constructing] a mental vocabulary common to all the various articulate languages living or dead," by juxtaposing the forested origin of nations in response to the thunder of the gods with a particular scene of Hebrew writing, or "Soferim Bebel" (118.18). This scene of Hebrew writing does not imply that the letter is somehow written in Hebrew (the mere appearance of the text would defeat such a claim). Rather, the scene of the letter's writing should be thought of as the product of Hebrew writers (Hebrew, Soferim) who write in the shadow of Babel ("Bebel").2 The written Babel motif casts it shadow across the scene of the fall from the tower and the famous thunder-word that accompanies it: "The fall bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarr-hounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy" (003.15-18). Here, insofar as the thunderword is composed of the word for thunder in many different languages, it recalls what Vico calls the common sense of the different peoples who were separated by the primaeval forest.3 But Joyce includes the Babel motif in Vico's forest in order to use its story of the confusion of languages to shatter any remnants of the Platonic/ philosophic eidos which would have guided the construction of the tower to completion. In the storm of different tongues that is Babel, Joyce implies that the multiplicity of languages displaces the eidetic model. In this way the Babelian motif of the confused eidos may be understood to mirror the operation of the hen's letter insofar as it displaces the eidos with letter-text. It also disrupts the Vichian distinction between the gentes and the Hebrews: both races must struggle through the jungle of woods/jumble of words.4 If the absence or loss of the Platonic eidos in imaginative production can be understood as being the same as its dislocation by a purely textual, or written eidos, then the letter offers yet 56 another instance of what was analyzed in chapter I in terms of the catachresis of Finnegan's imag-inary production of the tower. Because the textual eidos necessitates the loss or absence of the (Platonic, philosophic) eidos, both catachrestic scenes offer the chance for understanding some of the ways in which imaginary production disrupts (the) presence (of the eidos). But what has yet to be discussed is how the imaginary is itself structured so that it rigorously disrupts/ dislocates presence, which always takes the form of privileging the present form of the now (SP 63). In order to show how all presence (signified, referential, etc.) rests on imaginary reinscription, I will explore in the next section of this chapter how the dislocation of the presence of the eidos is is structurally given over to non-presence. I will also explore the various ways in which this non-presence is radicalized by Finnegans Wake. 57 n The Site of the Textual Eidos: The Auto-Affective Imag-inary [The dominance of the now] designates the locus of a problem in which phenomenology confronts every position centered on nonconsciousness that can approach what is ultimately at stake, what is at bottom decisive: the concept of time. (SP 63) Mark Time's Finist Joke. Putting Allspace in aNotshall. (455.29) If the eidos is, to a degree, to be maintained as textual, then how is the reader to grasp its reinscription? Its very textuality suggests that it already begins to slip outside the realm of (Platonic) philosophies because it dislocates the eidos. Nevertheless, insofar as it retains the name eidos, it may be understood to retain something of philosophy in it. To this extent, it can be understood to be the reinscriptive site of differance as it was discussed in chapter I. But differance, insofar as it names the relation which the "restricted economy"—-the desire for eidetic presence, meaning, etc.—has to the "general economy" of "expenditure without reserve," "death," and "nonmeaning" (M 19), also reverses the traditional eidetic progression towards anticipated knowledge where an unreconstructed eidos is at issue. It suspends "the relation to [the] absolute possibility of knowledge," where, in a formulation that recalls U17.1011-1015, the "known is related to the unknown" (WD 270-271). But differance, as I argued in chapter I, also calls for the reinscription of the eidos within differance. In this section of the present chapter, I will explore how the differantial reinscription of the eidos can be developed by utilizing the resources of self-, or auto-affection as they are to be found in Heidegger's analyses of the imagination. I will argue that the auto-affective imagination produces the differantial reinscription of the eidos as text. This will then clear the ground for a more extensive systematic development of the reinscribed eidos in terms of the differantial imagination in chapters two and 58 three. Further, because the reconfiguration of the eidos cannot be considered apart from the process of imaginary production, Heidegger's texts are also useful because they provide an extended analysis of the eidos in a scene of the productive imag-ination, or phantasia. Heidegger's analyses span two books in particular: Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics and The Basic Concepts of Phenomenology,5 and I will return to them on several occasions over the course of the next three chapters of this dissertation. In this excerpt from the BP, Heidegger considers the role of the imagination in production: If we take a being as encountered in perception, then we have to say that the look of something is based on its characteristic form. ... For Greek ontology, however, ... [t]he look is not grounded in the form but the form, the morphe, is grounded in the look. ... But, if the relationship between the look and the form is reversed in ancient thought, the guiding clue for their interpretation cannot be the order of perception and perception itself. We must rather interpret them with a view to production. What is formed is, as we can also say, a shaped product. The potter forms a vase out of clay. All forming of shaped products is effected by using an image, in the sense of a model, as guide and standard. The thing is produced by shaping, forming. It is this anticipated look of the thing, sighted beforehand, that the Greeks mean ontologically by eidos, idea. The shaped product, which is shaped in conformity with the model, is as such the exact likeness of the model. ... The anticipated look, the proto-typical image, shows the thing as what it was before the production and how it is supposed to look as a product. The anticipated look has not yet been externalized as something formed, actual, but is the image of the imag-ination, of fantasy, phantasia, as the Greeks say - that which forming first brings freely to sight, that which is sighted. It is no accident that Kant, for whom the concepts of form and matter, morphe and hule, play a fundamental epistemological role, conjointly assigns to imagination a distinctive function in explaining the objectivity of knowledge. The eidos as the look, anticipated in imagination, of what is to be formed gives the thing with regard to what the thing already was and is before all actualization. Therefore the anticipated look, the eidos, is also called to ti en einai, that which a being already was. ... The eidos, that which a thing already was beforehand, gives the kind of thing, its kin and descent, its genos. Therefore, thingness [or reality, Sachheit] is also identical with genos, which should be translated as stock, family, generation. ... The determination of phusis also points toward the same direction of interpretation of the what. Phuein means to let grow, procreate, engender, produce, primarily to produce its own self. What again makes products or the produced product possible (producible) is again the look of what the product is supposed to become and be. The actual thing arises out of phusis, the nature of the thing. Everything earlier than what is actualized is still free from the imperfection, one-sidedness, and sensibilization given necessarily with all actualization. ... The look, 59 eidos, and the form, morphe, each encloses in itself that which belongs to a thing. As enclosing, it constitutes the limiting boundary of what determines the thing as finished, complete. The look, as enclosing the belongingness of all the real determinations, is also conceived as constituting the finishedness, the completedness, of a being. Scholasticism says perfectio; in Greek it is the teleion. This boundedness of the thing, which is distinctively characterized by its finishedness, is at the same time the possible object for an expressly embracing delimitation of the thing, for the horismos, the definition, the concept that comprehends the boundaries containing the reality of what has been formed. (BP 106-108) The image (Bild) which Heidegger neatly sketches here does not sit in full presence outside the theatre of production. This is because Heidegger's entire project attempts to extract the project of metaphysics from the horizon of Being understood as presence. It does not sit outside of the theatre of production at all because it is very much part of the process of production insofar as it gives the "look" for that process, and, more importantly for what I am trying to argue here, is itself the product of what Heidegger here calls phantasia, or the imag-ination. The image is a phantasm that cannot be understood as a preexistent presence which guides thought—either understanding or reason—back to itself. Rather, the image is produced in the theatre of imaginary production prior to these faculties. In other words, to read the imag-ination in Heidegger is to see the entire philosophical corpus of the West as the product of the imag-ination which produces the images that metaphysics, through the faculties of reason and understanding, will make present. Heidegger's complex analysis of the imagination may be summed up as follows. Knowledge in general is composed of intuition and conception. Intuition is essentially sensible. It takes the forms of time and space. Concepts are the products of the understanding, and they unify the stuff of empirical, or sensible, intuition. Before there can be something like knowledge, both intuitions and concepts must be brought together. The synthesis of intuitions and concepts that occurs before knowledge is imaginary: "Synthesis in general ... is the mere result of 60 imagination, a blind but indispensable function of the soul, without which we should have no knowledge whatsoever but of which we are scarcely ever conscious" (KPM 62-63, citing Kant, CPR A73/ B105). Further, it is the imagination which forms "the horizon of objects" (KPM 97). This means that the imagination marks the formation of objects, even before those objects become knowledge, logical or even present. Objects are imaginary productions, first and foremost, and are only intelligible when understood in terms of that imagination. Even though the imagination is for Heidegger, a sort of originary unity, it is nevertheless composed of two heterogeneous parts: intuition and conception. The imagination uses its two heterogeneous parts to form what Heidegger calls "looks" or images. In his analysis of the imaginary synthesis, Heidegger focuses on both pure intuitions and pure concepts. In these pure intuitions and concepts, nothing is present, nothing presents itself to be seen; in short, there can be no present being or thing. By doing this, Heidegger sets about expunging the metaphysical concept of Being as presence from his discourse. This sort of presence in its turn derives from a conception of time: the temporal present which takes the form of the "now." Regarding this now Derrida observes that "within philosophy there is no possible objection concerning this privilege to the present-now; it defines the very element of philosophical thought, it is evidence itself, conscious thought itself, it governs every possible concept of truth and sense" (SP 62). In questioning the privilege of the present, the questioner falls "outside" philosophy and good sense, and "remove[s] every possible security and ground from discourse" (62). For Heidegger, the pure intuitions which are prior to the experience of some-thing present are space and time (KPM 31). These intuitions are not (represented in the (re)presenting of an object (32), but they are necessary if an object is to be experienced. They are also older than presence because they are the '"within which' what is at hand [or merely present] can first be 61 encountered" (32). Thus, they "give" "what is intuited immediately" "as a whole" (32). This intuition is "original" intuition in that it lets something "spring forth" (99). With respect to this originary "springing forth," it is the intuition of time that has a certain "preeminence" because "space gives in advance merely the totality of those relations according to which what is encountered in the external senses would be ordered" (KPM 34). Time, on the other hand, is not confined to external sense: At the same time, however, we find givens of the "inner sense" which indicate no spatial shape and no spatial references. Instead, they show themselves as a succession of states of our mind (representations, drives, moods). What we look at in advance in the experience of these appearances, although unobjective and unthematic, is pure succession. (34)6 Because of its "preeminence,"7 "pure sensibility," or pure intuition, is the "pure succession" of time (121). And if it is the "transcendental power of the imagination" which is the origin of pure sensibility as intuition, then the imagination must in some way be productive of time (121). Time is produced in the imag-ination. Because "intuition means the taking-in-stride of what gives itself (122), intuition must take in its stride in time, which is itself intuited as "the succession of a sequence of nows" (121). But because "it is not possible to intuit a single now insofar as it has an essentially continuous extension in its having-just-arrived and its coming-at-any-minute. The taking-in-stride of pure intuition must in itself give the look [image] of the now, so that indeed it looks ahead to its coming-at-any-minute and looks back on its having just arrived." Thus intuition "cannot be the taking-in-stride of a 'present moment'" (122). In the place of this presence is the self- or auto-affection of time: Time is only pure intuition to the extent that it prepares the look of succession from out of itself, and it clutches this as such to itself as the formative taking-in-stride. This pure intuition activates itself with the intuited which was formed in it, i.e., which was formed without the aid of experience. According to its essence, time is pure affection of itself. Furthermore, it is precisely what in general forms something like the "from-out-of-itself-toward-there...," so that the upon which [das Worauf-zu] looks back and into the 62 previously named toward there...." (KPM 132) Time "affects itself," binds itself to itself according to the structure of self- or auto-affection. This auto-affective spacing of time makes it the non-present product of the imag-ination. In other words, time is imaginatively produced as that which cannot be understood in terms of presence, cannot "be experienced" as such (132). This is because the image or eidos formed there is no longer present, and this temporal-imaginary structure relates back to the scenes of writing and imaginary production discussed above, where production takes place without the benefit of a presently preexistent (i.e., philosophical) eidos. As soon as there is time, as soon as there is the temporal succession of "nows," auto-affection is "incumbent upon us": Why, in fact is the concept of auto-affection incumbent upon us? What constitutes the originality of speech, what distinguishes it from every other element of signification, is that its substance seems to be purely temporal. And this temporality does not unfold a sense that would not itself be nontemporal; even before being expressed, sense is through and through temporal [...] [As] soon as one takes the movement of temporalization into account, as it is already analyzed in The Phenomenology of Internal Time-Consciousness, the concept of pure auto-affection must be employed as well. This we know is what Heidegger does in Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, precisely when he is concerned with the subject of time. The "source point" or "primordial impression," that out of which the movement of temporalization is produced, is already auto-affection. First it is a pure production, since temporality is never the real predicate of a being. The intuition of time itself cannot be empirical; it is a receiving that receives nothing. The absolute novelty of each now is therefore engendered by nothing; it consists in a primordial impression that engenders itself!.] (SP 83) Auto-affection is incumbent in that it gives the structure of the pure voice and the pure presence to self At the same time, however, it permits the presentness of time "to be conceived anew on the basis [. . .]of difference within auto-affection" (68). Husserl tries to keep what he calls the "primordial retention" of the "now" out of the realm of "non-perception," by keeping it within the zone of "primordial impression" of phenomenological perception which always takes place in a present "now" that is "extended" (64-65). But he is unable to do so because retention has to do with the non-perceptual retentive 63 memory. Memory inscribes a "nonpresent, a past and unreal present" as an originary "difference" in the very phenomenological form of the simple present of the "now." The "extension" of the presence of the "now" does not only take the form of a memory trace of the past, however; it also takes the form of a "primary expectation," or "protention," which is also "non-perceptual" (65). In extending the "now" into presence, perception, which always has the form of the present "now," is seen to be composed of two "non-perceptual" "non-presences": As soon as we admit this continuity of the now and the not-now, perception and non-perception, in the zone of primordiality common to primordial impression and primordial retention, we admit the other into the self-identity of the Augenblick [i.e., of the present now]; nonpresence and nonevidence are admitted into the blink of the instant. There is the duration of the blink, and it closes the eye. This alterity is in fact the condition for presence, presentation, [. . .] in general [. . .] The difference between retention and reproduction [or expectation], between primary and secondary memory, is not the radical difference Husserl wanted it to be; it is rather a difference between two modifications of nonperception. (65) This extension of the present is also thematized by the Wake "for ancients link with presents as the human chain extends, have done, do and will again" (254.08-09). Because these extensions either retentive or protentive are neither guided nor gathered by a presence that lies either in a past (present) or future (present), they cannot be understood as either Platonic anamnesis or Hegelian teleological anticipation.8 Thus auto-affection always plays with reproduction, memory and otherness in an imaginary scene that does not rely on a prior present eidos, precisely because it is "spontaneously generative": "The process by which the living now, produced by spontaneous generation, must, in order to be a now and to be retained in another now, affect itself without recourse to anything empirical but with a new primordial actuality in which it would become a non-now, a past now -this process is indeed a pure auto-affection in which the same is the same only in being affected by the other, only by becoming the other of the same" (85). This "other of the same" is the 64 famous differantial "trace": The living present springs forth out of its nonidentity with itself and from the possibility of a retentional trace. It is always already a trace. This trace cannot be thought out on the basis of a simple present whose life would be in itself; the self of the living present is primordially a trace [...] [Sense] is never simply present; it is always already engaged in the movement of the trace, that is in the order of "signification." It has always already issued forth from itself into the "expressive stratum" of lived experience. Since the trace is the intimate relation of the living present with its outside, the openness upon exteriority in general, upon the sphere of what is not "one's own," etc., the temporalization of sense is, from the outset, a "spacing. " As soon as we admit spacing both as "interval" or difference and as openness upon the outside, there can no longer be any absolute inside, for the "outside" has insinuated itself into the movement by which the inside of the nonspatial, which is called "time," appears, is constituted, is "presented." Space is "in" time; it is time's pure leaving-itself; it is the "outside-itself' as the self-relation of time. The externality of space, externality as space, does not overtake time; rather it opens as pure "outside" "within" the movement of temporalization. If we recall now that the pure inwardness of phonic auto-affection supposed the purely temporal nature of the "expressive" process, we see that the theme of a pure inwardness of speech, or of the "hearing oneself speak," is radically contradicted by "time" itself. The going-forth "into the world" is also primordially implied in the movement of temporalization. (86) The intervallic exteriority of the trace in auto-affection opens the intimacy of the subject and speech up (even as it forms them), and opens the relation between the signifier and signified to a reading which is simultaneously motivated and arbitrary because it plays with a certain proximity to the signified: Ideally, in the teleological essence of speech, it would be possible for the signifier to be in absolute proximity to the signified aimed at in intuition and governing the meaning. The signifier would become perfectly diaphanous due to the absolute proximity to the signified. This proximity is broken when, instead of hearing myself speak, I see myself write or gesture. This absolute proximity of the signifier to the signified, and its effacement in immediate presence, is the condition for Husserl's being able to consider the medium of expression as "unproductive" and "reflective." (80) This recalls the "sensory kernel" that lies at the heart of metaphor (M 250) mentioned in chapter I. In tracing the underlying figures of philosophy and rhetoric—the catachrestic, or nontrue metaphors—the reader comes into contact with the deep structures of philosophy and rhetoric wherein "the body furnishes the vehicle for all the nominal examples in the physical 65 order" (256). This "proximity" is what prevents, for example, the analyses in "White Mythology" from treating the "historical or genealogical (let us not say etymological) tie of a signified concept to its signifier (to language) [as] a reducible contingency" (253). However, given all that has been said relating to the proper noun of reference, whether it be the thing-in-itself or the signified eidos, the body, the sensory kernel must escape from the structure of eidetic reference. It escapes because it is (self-)affect, and opens the field of (re)motivation where the body forms an outside, even a world, that is represented as constantly coming under the sway of time.9 In this way—as auto-affective surface—does the body offer itself as an non-eidetic exterior that escapes the structure of signification: "I see myself, either because I gaze upon a limited region of my body or because it is reflected in a mirror." In these cases, "what is outside the sphere of'my own' has already entered the field of this auto-affection, with the result that it is no longer pure" (SP 82). This means that "auto-affection supposed that a pure difference comes to divide self-presence. In this pure difference is rooted the possibility of everything we think we can exclude from auto-affection: space, the outside, the world, the body, etc" (82). This structures the non-perceptual genealogical opening of the body at the Wake.10 The temporization of the affective body is troped in the Wake as the "hevnly buddhy time" of 234.14. This form of body time—also invites the exteriority of the body into time in such a way that it both marks it and disrupts it. This marking and disruption takes place around yet another Augenblick, or fluttering eyelid. In the Wake the wink is made by "dem dandypanies," the flora-girls, who "know[ ] de play of de eyelids." The seductive play of the girls' eyelids produces a scene of ejaculatory ecstasy in the one winked at who is immersed in "his gamecox spurts and his smile likequid glue" (243.16-17). In this way, the wink allows the auto-affective interruption of the body to make itself felt in the text as the rhythmic contraction 66 and release of orgasm. But despite the presence of the seminal fluid of "likequid glue," the orgasmic eruption is not exhausted by being coded as male. The girls' winking eyelids call attention, through their rhythmic fluttering action, which is said to be "ripely rippling, unfilleted those lashbetasselled lids on the verge of closing time" (474.07-08), to the orgasmic flow of another female figure in the text: the river ALP. The eyelids mimic the thrill of the river as it plays with itself under succession after succession of lapping waves which shudder and skim across its surface. The river, which is also the flow of time in the book can be understood to enact auto-affection in the guise of a sort of lesbian wink. But the play of eyelids means they are always on the "verge of closing." Thus, this "lesbic" closing also plays with the "verge," which, as the text of Glas is always quick to remind its reader, is also a phallus, a prick. In offering a body that is possessed of confused genitalia and desires, the wink goes a long way towards presenting a bodily analogue to the disruptive effects of expectation and memory which destroy present perception in the Wake. This bodily analogue forcefully disrupts the dream of the proper present body that might lurk behind the text's play with genealogy. But, in actual fact, the mode of lurking behind has itself already been displaced by the structure of production without present eidos. In these spaces and places that punctuate the flow of time, the text of the Wake asks its readers to "sojournemus," to live in water: Horn of Heatthen, highbrowed! Brook of Life, back-frish! Amnios amnium, fluminiculum flami-nulinorum! We seek the Blessed One, the Harbourer-cum-Enheritance. Even Canaan the Hateful. Ever a-going, ever a-coming. Between a stare and a sough. Fossilisation, all branches. Wherefore Petra sware unto Ulma: By the mortals' frost! And Ulma sware unto Petra: On my veiny life! (264.05-14) 67 In these watery spaces, time flows, and opens up a flowing succession of intervals, "nows," perhaps, which are "ever a-going," and "ever a-coming." But this should not be understood to mean there is no retention or expectation in this form of time. These intervals are stretched by the text. This stretching is firmly underlined by the recurrent motif which fuses the river and temporality in a figure that is saturated by the nonperceptual categories of retention and protention: Teems of times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo. Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be. (215.22-24) The intervals of time are yet big enough for the "Blessed One" to fall into and get lost. As temporal intervals in the river of time, these spaces or gaps in time disrupt the very presence of the Blessed One who has been sought since he disappeared in 1.1. This disruption is in fact due to the process of differantial temporizing which affects Finnegan/ HCE with a sort of absence. But this absence is not to be understood as a negative or real absence. On the contrary, Finnegan's or HCE's absence functions in such a way that he is lost for/ as presence. Nothing in the text can guarantee that he will be found again in full propria persona. He can only ever come and go in/ as a series of avatars that are borne on the succession of lapping-flowing waves of time figured as a river. However, the spatio-temporal differance of auto-affection takes a somewhat antagonistic turn during its JVakean transposition into the "dime-cash" problematic of 1.6. In this dime-cash problematic time and space become the twin brothers—Shem and Shaun—who perpetually fight with each other throughout the book. Their intuitive battle interrupts the letter plot of book 1.1.5 deals with the document/ text of the letter, and 1.7 deals with the author of the letter which 125.23 identifies as "Shem the Penman." As the interval between the letter's examination (1.5) 68 and its invention of the author (1.7), I.6's discussion of these forms of intuitions must, in some way, be important for the analysis of the letter in terms of imagination. On its most basic level, the eleventh question of 1.6 is an argument against time. Shaun is asked if he would help a poor beggar (Shem) who might ask him for food (for thought), or "thomethinks to eath" (149.03). "No, blank ye!" he roars, and goes on in a highly indignant fashion to give exhaustive reasons as to why: So you think I have impulsivism? Did they tell you I am one of the fortysixths? And I suppose you heard I had a wag on my ears? And I suppose they told you too that my roll of life is not natural? But before proceeding to con-clusively confute this begging question it would be far fitter for you, if you dare! to hasitate to consult with and consequentially attempt at my disposale of the same dime-cash problem elsewhere naturalistically of course, from the blinkpoint of so eminent a spatialist. (149.11-19) The intuitive problematic—that of space and time—undergoes Wake&n transformation and emerges as "the same dime-cash problem." This happens because "time," as the old adage has it, "is money." But, in underwriting the cash-dime problem as a whole, time appears to take on a certain pre-eminence with respect to intuition.11 Shaun is therefore placed in a somewhat ironic position as he denigrates time, his begging brother, "from the blinkpoint of so eminent a spatialist." But because the "blinkpoint" involves seeing time, as I have suggested above, as productive spacing, a "spatialist," who sees nothing but space, will dismiss time as something that is a lie, that is not to be trusted. For a spatialist, the two markers of time's treachery are a) its exchangeability (it is also money) and b) its transferability (it can also be given as charity to beggars). As such, it can only "beg questions" without answering them. Shaun cites several authorities to back up his over-determined "blinkpoint" of time and the beggar's plea for help, and finally settles on Professor Bryllar's 69 research to sum up his objections to his beggar-brother: But, on Professor Llewellys ap Bryllars, F.D., Ph. Dr's showings, the plea, if he pleads, is all posh and robbage on a melodeontic scale since his man's when is no otherman's quandour (Mine, dank you?) while, for aught I care for the contrary, the all is where in love as war and the plane where me arts soar you'd aisy rouse a thunder from and where I cling true'tis there I climb tree and where Innocent looks best (pick!) there's holly in his ives. (151.32-152.03) The formulation offered by Shaun here is incredibly slippery, but it seems to come down to this: space, the where, is superior because it is "the all," whereas the when is "no otherman's quandour [Latin, quando, when]." In other words, Shaun's objection to his brother—who is now clearly identified with time12—hinges on a view contrary to the one he held earlier. Time, he now insists, is non-transferable because one man's when [quando] is his own alone, and presumably accessible to no-one but him. Time is idiomatic, whereas space ("the all is where") is the universal element. Shaun's formulations on space may be connected with Heidegger's examination of the everywhere of space: The unity of space is not that of a concept, but rather the unity of something which in itself is a unique one. The many spaces are only limitation of the one, unique space.... The unified, unique space is wholly itself in each of its parts. (KPM 32) The Wake&n equivalent of this "unified and unique" space is the "Eins within a space and a wearywide space" in the tale of the "Mookse and the Gripes" as it is told in 1.6. Space needs to be only once (Eins), and its "oneness" (Eins) is everywhere. Individual spaces are limitations of purely intuitive (and therefore non-eidetic) space. This space then gets its fullest systematic exposition later on in the same chapter: My heeders will recoil with a great leisure how at the out-break before trespassing on the space question where even michelangelines have fooled to dread I proved to mindself as to 70 your sotisfiction how his abject all through (the quickquid of Pro-fessor Ciondolone's too frequently hypothecated Bettlermensch) is nothing so much more than a mere cashdime however genteel he may want ours, if we please (I am speaking to us in the second person), for to this graded intellecktuals dime is cash and the cash system (you must not be allowed to forget that this is all contained, I mean the system, in the dogmarks of origen on spurios) means that I cannot now have or nothave a piece of cheeps in your pocket at the same time and with the same man-ners as you can now nothalf or half the cheek apiece I've in mind unless Burrus and Caseous have not or not have seemaultaneous-ly sysentangled themselves, selldear to soldthere, once in the dairy days of buy and buy. (160.35-161.14) The space system—the "cash" system—as it is presented here is locked into a logic of non-contradiction wherein one person cannot occupy the space of another. In the exposition offered by Shaun, this is translated into not being able to have (or not have) the same "piece of cheeps" that another has in his trouser pockets. However, Burrus and Caseous can only chase the (same) piece of cheese if they "have seemoultaneously sysentangled themselves" at a specific time in the past, designated as "once in the dairy days of buy and buy" (. 14). If the two brothers have been intertwined in the past, this also means that both brothers are forevermore capable of being "seemoultaneously sysentangled." Further, the extent to which they come together implies a temporal wrinkle in disruption of the "dogmarks" of noncontradiction inherent in Shaun's outline of the spatial system. Temporization is denigrated by Shaun because it is inherently contradictory. It is idiomatic yet transferable. It can permit two different things to occupy the same space as well as the same things occupy two different spaces by virtue of the simple fact that it is always flowing past. This flow scandalizes noncontradiction because it facilitates the relation of one man's idiomatic time to another's by allowing them occupy the same space, but it does not translate those idioms for each other. Rather, time maintains their untranslatability even as it makes them available to be read. This has an effect which is similar to the one analyzed 71 above relating to the impossible translation of philosophy and differance: each idiom loses sense, but remains, to a degree legible in the absence of total sense or meaning. Both men's times simply regard each other, exchange looks with each other, in less-than-perfect comprehension. But because each time is so different, time can be as baffled by itself as space. In this way, the idioms of time and space relate to each other, flow together according to a synthesis that is shot through in its entirety with differance. The mechanics of this differantial synthesis are laid out in 1.4, where the fusion of the spatio-temporal twins is figured as the fusion of tree and stone (148.32-168.14; also 215.31-216.06). Insofar as the tree is temporal, and the stone spatial (Annotations, 213), time and space may be understood to come together in an auto-affective manner in the synthetic figure of "Treestone" (113.19), or "Tristan." The "symphysis" tree and stone undergo does not remove all the differences between the two: cumjustled as neatly with the tristitone of the Wet Pinter's as were they isce et ille equals of opposites, evolved by a onesame power of nature or of spirit, iste, as the sole condition and means of its himundher manifestation and polarised for reunion by the symphysis of their antipathies. Distinctly different were their duasdestinies. (092.06-11) Thus, even though the twins are a "symphysis" of tree and stone, they remain distinctly different. Read in this way, Tristan figures differance in his many appearances throughout the book (see for example, 104.22, 113.19, 158.01, 230.13, 279.F1, 389.24, 394.24, 424.28). The differantial Tristan crosses himself because he/ it can never simply be him-/ itself, always relates to him-/ itself as (br)other. This is why he can also be understood to not just figure, but also allegorize differance. Because differance is itself allegorical, to the extent that allegory literally means "to speak (agoria) otherwise (alios)," the auto-affective fusion of the twins in Tristan differantially 72 figures differance, the relationship where the same relates to itself as other (SP 85). I will return to this reflexive structure in the next chapter. The temporal-differantial structure which fuses the twins returns again and again in the Wake, and each time it does so, it undergoes further feminizations of the sort discussed above. Each feminization, I want to suggest, draws differance closer and closer to the womanly O, which figures both the womb and the vagina as the site where the antagonistic twins are brought together as differance: "You may spin on youthlit's bike and multiplease your Mike and Nike with your kickshoes on the algebrars, but volve the virgil page, the O of woman is long" (270.22-26). The O of woman is where the brothers cross. However, even though the O of woman is the site of brotherly fusion, its fusion is not simply a peaceful space where oppositional differences are overcome in perfect unity or harmony. This is because the woman is not herself unified: Every admirer has seen my goulache of Marge (she is so like the sister, you don't know, and they both dress A L I K E !) which I titled The Very Picture of a Needlesswoman which in the presence ornates our national cruetstand. This genre of portraiture of changes of mind in order to be truly torse should evoke the bush soul of females so I am leaving it to the experienced victim to complete the general suggestion by the mental addition of a wallopy bound or, should the zulugical zealot prefer it, a congorool teal. The hatboxes which composed Rhomba, lady Trabezond (Marge in her ex-celsis), also comprised the climactogram up which B and C may fondly be imagined ascending and are suggestive of gentlemen's spring modes, these modes carrying us back to the superimposed claylayers of eocene and pleastoseen formation and the gradual morphological changes in our body politic which Professor Ebahi-Ahuri of Philadespoinis (111) whose bluebutterbust I have just given his coupe de grass to neatly names a boite a surprises. (165.13-30) Marge's "changes of mind" recall Heidegger's analysis of the "inner sense" of time which is 73 produced by the temporal succession of drives or moods (KPM 34). Marge can only relate to herself through the compartmentalized "hatboxes" of her successive "changes of mind." These successions embroil the self in a flurry of states of mind—drives, moods, etc.—which are traditionally recognized as being the cause of a woman's fickleness (see also 292.11). This mode of self-affection is, according to the Shaun-like professor's commentary, characteristic of the "bush soul of females." Woman's hatboxes and changes of mind allegorize the affective succession of temporality in which her self can only relate to itself as another in a succession of different moods. Each "mood-box" is one in a succession of "boitefs] a surprises" which never settles down to form a predictable pattern. This tangled bush-box of others-selves problematizes space in that it permits two different things—self/ other—to occupy the same space, a temporal proposition that the professor-Shaun has already found to be scandalous (160.35-161.14). Driven by the need to keep things cleanly separate in space, the professor-Shaun tries to (re)theorize the boxy "bush soul of females" as the site of the clean separation called birth ("proper parturience"). However, his attempts to clean-up the female box are all the while magnetized by the slang for a vagina, "box." This is why Shaun's reconsideration of female boxes quickly becomes his rumination on the vagina which gives rise to the proper birth that separates mother from son, which is then to be reinforced by proper toilet training. In a world without time, clean space would properly separate the son from the mother in a successful parturition. The cleanliness of this separation is finally figured in the successful completion of toilet training. But the cleanly operating O is distracted by the other, unpredictable O, the series of "boxes," which is the site of scandalous fusion: "My solotions for the proper parturience of matres and the education of micturious mites must stand over from the moment till I tackle this tickler hussy for occupying my uttentions" (166.27-29). It is the O-Q that both provides and removes the ground 74 for the professor-Shaun's spatial argument. The O-Q intrudes on both sides of Shaun's spatial analyses as the condition for proper separation as well as the site of contamination. As such, it relates to itself always as other. This play of the O-Q in Shaun's mind puts his discourse squarely in the problematic of the spatial difficulties caused by temporality's ability to permit different things to occupy the same space. He tries to escape the problem once again by making an example of a female figure (yet another self-lubricating woman), Margareena. This time, however, the professor-Shaun's meditations on space become an alphabetical consideration of Margareena's promiscuity with Antonius, Burrus and Caseous. Through his consideration of her promiscuity, the professor-Shaun gropes towards the same place which can be occupied by another: Margareena she's very fond of Burrus but, alick and alack! she velly fond of chee. (The important influence exercised on everything by this eastasian import has not been till now fully flavoured though we can comfortably taste it in this case. I shall come back for a little more say farther on.) A cleopatrician in her own right she at once complicates the position while Burrus and Caseous are contending for her misstery by implicating her-self with an elusive Antonius, a wop who would appear to hug a personal interest in refined chees of all chades at the same time as he wags an antomine art of being rude like the boor. This Antonius-Burrus-Caseous grouptriad may be said to equate the qualis equivalent with the older socalled talis on talis one just as quantly as in the hyperchemical economantarchy the tan-tum ergons irruminate the quantum urge so that eggs is to whey as whay is to zeed like your golfchild's abe boob caddy. (166.30-167.08) The professor-Shaun is fascinated by Margareena's ability to accommodate three male figures at once. As such a promiscuous space, she starts to pull the professor-Shaun's ruminations on space into the sort of time where different objects can occupy the same space. Margareena's promiscuous space allies her to time. Shaun, unable to control his fascination for this spatio-temporality, rounds on the beggar-brother, Shem, who asks him for aid, indicting him as the one 75 who is lead astray by time's promiscuous intuition: And this is why any simple philadolphus of a fool you like to dress, an athemisthued lowtownian, exlegged phatrisight, may be awfully green to one side of him and fruitfully blue on the other which will not screen him however from appealing to my gropesarch-ing eyes, through the strongholes of my acropoll, as a boosted blasted bleating blatant bloaten blasphorus blesphorous idiot who kennot tail a bomb from a painapple when he steals one and wannot psing his psalmen with the cong in our gregational pompoms with the canting crew. (167.08-17) The promiscuity of intuition leads in Shaun's opinion to idiocy, being two colours at once, and an inability to distinguish things which look alike. But this inability to distinguish has already attached itself to Shaun's portrait of Margareena and leads him to say that "she is so like the sister, you don't know, and they both dress ALIKE!" (165.14-15). Shaun's attempts to displace his weakness onto his brother make it clear that it is Shaun's fascination that is on trial. This becomes clearer later still in 1.6 when Shaun's fascination with Margareena's promiscuity starts, at the end of his exposition of the preeminence of space, to fuse him with his brother, Shem: She that will not feel my ful-moon let her peel to thee as the hoyden and the impudent! That mon that hoth no moses in his sole nor is not awed by conquists of word's law, who never with humself was fed and leaves his soil to lave his head, when his hope's in his highlows from whisking his woe, if he came to my preach, a proud pursebroken ranger, when the heavens were welling the spite of their spout, to beg for a bite in our bark Noisdanger, would meself and Mac Jeffet, four-in-hand, foot him out? ay! were he my own breastbrother, my doubled withd love and my singlebiassed hate, were we bread by the same fire and signed with the same salt, had we tapped from the same master and robbed the same till, were we tucked in the one bed and bit by the one flea, homo-gallant and hemycapnoise, bum and dingo, jack by churl, though it broke my heart to pray it, still I'd fear I'd hate to say! (167.35-168.12) 76 But it is not until the final question and answer of the chapter, number twelve, that this fusion is itself expressed in its most condensed form: 12. Sacer esto? Answer: Semus sumus! (168.13-14) The reference here is to the Law of the Twelve Tables VIII. 21: "Patrons si clienti fraudem fecerit, sacer esto." (If the patron abuses the client, let him be accused.) (Annotations). Originally, this was a penalty where the offender was sacrificed (sacer). But later, as Rome became more civilized, the sacer penalty became one of disgrace. Thus the questioner, Shem, follows through on Shaun's indictment of Shem, by asking him if the beggar - Shem - should be sacrificed/ disgraced - "Sacer esto?" Interestingly, Shaun's response to this question becomes temporal despite itself. His answer, "Semus sumus," means both "We (sumus) are the same," or "We are Shem." In both ways then, time get the last word as both brothers - perhaps despite themselves - come to occupy the same space: Shem the Penman, the figure of the author-forger-son in the text. The O-O of the woman is the spatio-temporal site that allows for what 293 .LI-4 calls the Uteralterance or the Interplay of Bones in the Womb. The O is also the site of flowing-together in the water (eau) of the mother-river, ALP. The play of the watery-0 makes "Professor Llewellys ap Bryllars'" conclusion that one "man's when is no otherman's quandor" (151.35) fall in the face of time: Shaun and Shem have formerly "seemoultaneously sysentangled themselves" together, in the O where they have previously occupied each other's spatio-temporality. The complexity of this O-space is marked by the in-fighting that takes place there: it is the site of the "Uteralterance or the Interplay of Bones." But even though the womb allows the brothers to flow together, it does not allow them to simply 77 meld into each other with absolutely nothing left over. In this way, the womb preserves the proverb "how one once meet melts in tother wants poignings [one man's meat is another's poison]" (143.18-19). In other words, occupying another's place/ time does not mean that either one has to adopt the other's idiomatic constitutional preferences, and the womb preserves differences even as it brings together. It is the site of differance, and this is also why its peculiar mode of bringing together is called "Putting truth and untruth together" at (168.08-10). The successive auto-affection of time originarily produced in the imagination (KPM 121), makes it possible to see the woman's O as a site of productive imagination. Indeed, that site of the non-eidetic "heliotropical noughttime," produces the fusion of the two brothers, where they form a distorted eidos, which the Wake terms an "idolon," a false image, which etymologically derives from the same stock as the philosophical eidos: In the heliotropical noughttime following a fade qf trans-formed Tuff and, pending its viseversion, a metenergic reglow of beaming Batt, the bairdboard bombardment screen, if taste-fully taut guranium satin, tends to teleframe and step up to the charge of a light barricade. Down the photoslope in syncopanc pulses, with the bitts bugtwug their teffs, the missledhropes, glitteraglatteraglutt, borne by their cornier waive. Spraygun rakes and splits them from a double focus: grenadite, damny-mite, alextronite, nichilite: and the scanning firespot of the sgunners traverses the rutilanced illustred sunksundered lines. Shlossh! A gaspel truce leaks out over the caeseine coatings. Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there caoculates through the inconoscope stealdily a still, the figure of a fellow-chap in the wohly ghast, Popey O'Donoshough, the jesuneral of the russuates. The idolon exhibisces the seals of his orders: the starre of the Son of Heaven, the girtel of Izodella the Calot-tica, the cross ofMichelidesApaleogos, the latchet of Jan of Nepomuk, the puffpuff and pompom of Powther and Pall, the great belt, band and bucklings of the Martyrology of Gorman. It is for the castomercies mudwake surveice. The victor. (349.06-25) Here the idolon is produced by the decomposition of the philosophical idiom's unity (Geschlecht 78 II, 183), the unity of its eidos. Reading the untranslatable eidos of philosophy in the Wake causes it to be read as a lack of sense. As such the eidos becomes an idol, a false image, a simulacrum of the eidos. In this way, the philosophical idiom loses sense within the bounds of the Wake, and it decomposes into its non-philosophical counterpart, the idol, the false image. The unity of the philosophical eidos is here ruptured, and starts to affect itself with its non-philosophical double, its differantial, imaginative other. Once again, this rupture does not happen to a prior unity; that prior unity is only possible on the grounds of its being able to affect itself with itself (as other). The idolon interrupts the punctual presence of the eidos by opening it up along the lines of differantial temporization in precisely the same way that I argued both expectation and retention disrupt present perception. This means that there is only a (non)philosophical eidos, and it is always already fractured, doubled, by differance. In chapter IH I will explore this site of bringing together in terms of the hen's "ygathering" (010.32). Given the foregoing discussion, it is apparent that the structure of differantial temporization is of major importance for this dissertation. It precisely marks "the locus of a problem in which phenomenology confronts every position centered on nonconsciousness that can approach what is ultimately at stake, what is at bottom decisive: the concept of time" (SP . 63). This locus is also the locus of what chapter I calls reinscriptive differance, which denotes the relation the "restricted economy"—the desire for eidetic presence, meaning, etc.—has with the "general economy" of "expenditure without reserve," "death," and "nonmeaning" (WD 19), the known to the unknown. And it is the imag-inary production of time as differance that best sketches the relation the known has with the unknown for texts—such as Derrida's and Joyce's—that explore forms of writing which have little to do with presence. 79 m X: The Wake Glosses Glas (a) From Signature to Text The letter, which, as I argued above, is a site of productive or imaginative textual augury in Finnegans Wake, can also be understood as the maternal womb, yet another site of productive imagination. But this observation does not yet confront what the hen writes in/ as the letter. To do that, the reader-writer as auspex should pay due care and attention to the marks she leaves behind. This also means that the reader-writer is placed in the position of the son who, regardless of gender, follows the maternal writing in /as text. In this section, I will argue that this maternal bond is figured in the Xs the hen writes in the letter. These Xs, because thet are non-eidetic, can be read as the iconic analogues for the type of differantial, or spatio-temporal production discussed in the previous section of this chapter. Thus, and once again, the reader must return to the scene of the hen's textual dance as she scratches about on the midden heap in 1.5: The bird in the case was Belinda of the Dorans, a more than quinquegintarian (Terziis prize with Serni medal, Cheepalizzy's Hane Exposition) and what she was scratching at the hour of klokking twelve looked for all this zogzag world like a goodish-sized sheet of letterpaper originating by transhipt from Boston (Mass.) of the last of the first... (111.05-10) That this dance is textual is underlined by the fact that the hen uncovers what the text calls a "goodishsized sheet of letterpaper" - the letter itself. As she uncovers this sheet of paper, she also "writes" (upon) it and the midden-heap. The text guides the reader to the figure she traces at line .07, by associating her "scratching" with the word "zogzag." The "zogzag" or zig-zag scratches cross in a repetitive change of direction, and trace out, on the midden and in the body 80 of the letter, the reiterated scratches of the "four crosskisses" found in the letter at 111.17: Dear whom it proceded to mention Maggy well & allathome's health well only the hate turned the mild on the van Houtens and the general's elections with a lovely face of some born gentleman with a beautiful present of wedding cakes for dear thankyou Chriesty and with grand funferall of poor Father Michael don't forget unto life's & Muggy well how are you Maggy & hopes soon to hear well & must now close it with fondest to the twoinns with four crosskisses for holy paul holey comer holipoli whollyisland pee ess from (locust may eat all but this sign shall they never) affectionate largelooking tache of tch. (111.10-20) Further, these Xs, which trace the "Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise," (019.20), also sign the letter, in much the same way as the X that is traced across the printer's backside in Joyce's poem "Gas from a Burner": Who was it said: Resist not evil? I'll burn that book, so help me devil. I'll sing a psalm as I watch it burn And the ashes I'll keep in a one-handled urn. I'll penance do with farts and groans Kneeling upon my marrowbones. This very next lent I will unbare My penitent buttocks to the air And sobbing beside my printing press My awful sin I will confess. My Irish foreman from Bannockburn Shall dip his right hand in the urn And sign crisscross with reverent thumb Memento homo upon my bum. But these Xs do not sign or mark the letter-writer's identity. This is because the letter is also to be understood as the product of mother and son through a sort of "dictation" (420.17-19). Read in this manner, the "Tiberiast duplex" (123.30), which elsewhere denotes the writer of the letter, is composed of mother and son. This du-plex immediately cleaves the writer, marking "him" as a lack of unity. In other words, du-plicity affects the writer through the model-less model of production discussed above. The model—here, the mother-hen—withdraws, or effaces 81 herself in the productions of the reader-son, which she nevertheless gives to him in the form of what the text calls "uttering." This uttering should not be regarded as the originary speech that constitutes the full import of the letter because it too remains an uttering for her, from elsewhere (420.18). The duplicity which affects the writer is perhaps most interesting here because it can also be read as offering a complex Wakean analogue to the non-phenomenological imaginary of auto-affection discussed in the previous section of this chapter. The hen's withdrawal affects the writer with a lack of unity, which is marked in the text as the split between the ear and the eye, "mikealls or nicholists," or "browned or nolensed": Let us now, weather, health, dangers, public orders and other circumstances permitting, of perfectly convenient, if you police, after you, policepolice, pardoning mein, ich beam so fresch, bey? drop this jiggerypokery and talk straight turkey meet to mate, for while the ear, be we mikealls or nicholists, may sometimes be in-clined to believe others the eye, whether browned or nolensed, find it devilish hard now and again even to believe itself. (113.23-29) Her withdrawal may therefore be understood to set in train a series of tensions which mark the letter-text's disruption of the simple unity of the reader-writer by calling two reading figures to the fore. These figures are as antagonistic as the auto-affective twins in that they are prone to fight with each other because they cannot see eye to eye: I am a worker, a tombstone mason, anxious to pleace avery-buries and jully glad when Christmas comes his once ayear. You are a poorjoist, unctuous to polise nopebobbies and tunnibelly soully when 'tis thime took o'er home, gin. We cannot say aye to aye. We cannot smile noes from noes. Still. One cannot help noticing that rather more than half of the lines run north-south in the Nemzes and Bukarahast directions while the others go west-east in search from Maliziies with Bulgarad for, tiny tot though it looks when schtschupnistling alongside other incuna-bula^ has its cardinal points for all that. (113.34-114.07) 82 These two auto-affective readers can only squint at each other in a text wherein they are figured as two lines which cross each other—one running "north-south," and the other running "west-east." The crossed text splits the reader who becomes cross-eyed (in a way) by following the Xs left in the text by the hen as she withdraws in criss-crossing the mound. The zig-zagging that signs the letter with "four crosskisses" (111.17), is also a form of writing. But the Xs do not figure the letter's writing iconically simply because they sign the hen's writing. The Xs which sign the letter are capable of expansion insofar as they also figure the auto-affective antagonistic criss-crossing of two reader-writers as the actual writing of the letter, which is itself scripted "boustrephodontically,"13 by a "writing" that travels "thithaways end to end and turning, turning and end to end hithaways writing and with lines of litters slittering up and louds of latters slettering down, the old semetomyplace and jupetbackagain from tham Let Rise till Hum Lit" (114.16-19). The zig-zagging Xs thus also figure the hen's style of writing as crossed. It is this crossed writing that is mimicked by a reader in a theatre of production without model, and subjects him/ her as a writer to the auto-affective split. In this complex scene of writing, the reader-writer of the text is constantly disrupted by the influences of a mother and a rival. In marking any potential reader-writer with the auto-affective split, auto-, or self-affection also opens that reader-writer to what Heidegger calls their finitude, their death: "[Self-affection] forms the essence of something like self-activating. However, if it belongs to the essence of the finite subject to be able to be activated as a self, then time as pure self-affection forms the essential structure of subjectivity" (KPM 132). A subject subject to finitude is subject to death and temporality. It is precisely this aspect of auto-affection that the text explores at the end of 1.5 where the stakes of this readerly-writerly splitting are upped considerably. The letter-83 text literally presents itself as something sharp and dangerous which can harm the reader-writer and shred the tranquillity of the traditional reading subject who searches for sense and meaning while safely tucked inside his or her "singleminded men's asylum" (124.07). In contradistinction to this complacent reader, the reader-writer of the letter-text believes that it holds out the possibility of escaping from this asylum of sense. For this reader-writer, the letter-text is an invitation to scale "the circumflexuous wall" (124.06-07) of this enclosure, and to make oneself at large in the text as an outlaw.14 To be an "outlex" (169.03) allies the reader-writer with the writer figure in the Wake, Shem. It is also to lose one's "respectable stemming" and become a notorious bastard (169.03 -08). However becoming an illegitimate outlaw writer is as fatal as auto-affection because it cuts him/ her up: the wall of the asylum is "accentuated by bi tso fb rok engl a ssan dspl itch ina" (124.06-08). These sharp edges split the "singleminded asylum" into antagonistic finite reader-writers who can no longer see eye to eye because they are strangers to each other. These sharp edges also become the cross and nails that stretch and split the reader and produce the stigmata of the "stabs and foliated gashes" (.02) in the body of the letter-text. This stigmata then performs a double service: it offers the reader his or her place in the text as one of sacrifice by crucifixion, and permits the reader think of his or her outlaw body in the same differantial or textual terms as the body of the letter-text in a scene of non-eidetic genealogy. (b) The Auto-Affective X In Finnegans Wake, letter-writing repeatedly crosses itself and constitutes the reader as the auto-affective site of two antagonistic textual tendencies that pull him/ her in two directions at once: north-south and east-west along the two lines of the letter-text which repeatedly cross in 84 (as) the letter-text. Not only that, but the hen's crossed writing also marks both the mound and the letter, in an operation that produces the letter as it recovers it. The hen, and the one who mimics her, therefore produce the letter in a theatre of production without model, without Platonic eidos. This non-eidetic textual operation, I now want to suggest, offers the first step in understanding the status of the attempted escape from the singleminded asylum that tears the reader to ribbons. The attempted escape is, as I have just pointed out, troped in the text as the disruption of the "singleminded man," who is torn and gashed by the text which pulls in two directions at once. The importance of this auto-affective splitting cannot be overestimated in reading what the text calls its doubled "tune's dimissage" (298.07). Splitting also offers the reader-writer the "one true clue" (124.06) for addressing the text. This "clue" also offers reading-writing the letter as a scene where the text and reader are subjected to certain "wounds, four in type" (.03). In other words, the reader who wishes to read-write the letter-text well must submit to a scene wherein s/he will be pulled in two directions and receive four wounds. The scene suggested by these X-wounds can be made clearer by reconsidering the role Xs play in the letter. Since the "four crosskisses" (111.17) not only cross and sign the letter's page, but also denote the very form of its writing, they can from the very outset be understood as being subject to almost constant metonymic change. The precise contours of this type of change can be seen when the "four crosskisses" morph, over the course of chapter 1.5, into the four obeli (or "t") which mark "errors" in the letter-text: all those red raddled obeli cayennepep-percast over the text, calling unnecessary attention to errors, omissions, repetitions and misalignments: (120.14-16) These obeli put the "tune's dimissage" centre-stage and open a connection with the 85 description of the Book of Kells given by Sir Edward Sullivan in a paragraph that could pass for a description of the text of Finnegans Wake itself: There are a considerable number of errors in orthography in the pages of the Irish manuscript, many of which have never been corrected. One important instance of correction is to be found on fol. 219 R., where the text of the preceding page, fol 218 V., has been erroneously repeated. Attention is drawn to the error by four obeli in red, running down the middle of the page between the lines, and others around the margins, and red lines around the corners. Peculiar spellings of words occur also. (The Book of Kells described by Sir Edward Sullivan. With 24 colour reproductions from the original pages 24)15 For both Finnegans Wake and the Book of Kells, the red obeli mark the occasions of scribal oversight and error. According to Finnegans Wake, the obeli-kisses in both the Book of Kells and the letter, can be understood as communicating with the large traced "X" that is to be found on the so called "Twwc" page (f. 124r): the cruciform postscript from which three basia or shorter and smaller oscula have been overcarefully scraped away, plainly inspiring the tene- 1 brous Tunc page of the Book of Kells (and then it need not be lost sight of that there are exactly three squads of candidates for the crucian rose awaiting their turn in the marginal panels of Columkiller, chugged in their three ballotboxes, then set apart for such hanging committees, where two was enough for anyone, starting with old Matthew himself, as he with great distinction said then just as since then people speaking have fallen into the custom, when speaking to a person, of saying two is company when the third person is the person darkly spoken of, and then that last labiolingual basium might be read as a suavium if who-ever the embracer then was wrote with a tongue in his (or per-haps her) cheek as the case may have been then) and the fatal droopadwindle slope of the blamed scrawl, a sure sign of imper-fectible moral blindness; (122.20-36) Here, the text of the letter claims filiation to the Tunc page on the basis of the shared Xs which are also kisses (basium). The letter even goes so far as to suggest that it "plainly inspir[ed] the tenebrous Tunc page of the Book of Kells." It is this mysterious filiation of the Tunc page and the letter, I want to suggest, that offers a way of reading the Wakem "tune's dimissage" that is 86 not governed by the presence of a preexistent and meaningful philosophical eidos, or, for that matter referent. In the Book of Kells, the Tunc page illustrates the text of the crucifixion of Christ and the two thieves—"Tunc crucifixerant XPI cum eo duos latrones" ( Then were there two thieves crucified with him)—from Matthew 27:38 in a decorative line of script which itself takes the shape of a cross.16 This textual figure, called a rebus, is a "structural device in Irish art which Joyce shares with the Book of Kells" (James Joyce and Heraldry 126).17 In the Wakean version of the rebus, the X takes up the crossed lines of letter-text to form a visual pun similar to the one the Tunc page makes on the scene of crucifixion where "the 'X' of the text (the cipher of Christ)" is figured in "the cross of Christ's death" (126). In this pun-structure, text dispenses with the need for a referent (here, for example, the "cross" of Christ's death, and Christ "himself), precisely because that referent appears itself in a decorative textual form. Because the rebus is a figure which embodies both literal and visual puns, a physical object can stand-in for a name, and "speak." Such speaking objects comprise what Vico calls heraldry, the "official" language of the heroic age. Heraldic speech is therefore speech expressed in "symbolic" form by utilizing "signs and...heroic devices" (NS 140). These devices are also known as "canting arms": In The Books at the Wake, James Atherton gives close attention to the number of heraldic motifs in FW. He first identifies heraldry as the language of Vico's second, heroic age, and cites Vico's description from the New Science: "The second [language] was by blazonings with which arms are made to speak" (Atherton 32). This idea of arms "made to speak" is especially evocative of the canting arms which occupy so prominent a position in Joycean heraldry (cf. the French expression for canting arms, "armes parlantes." (JJH 92) Because the rebus employs a visual pun, the figurative "X" on the "Tunc" page of the Book of Kells can no longer simply represent the text's meaningful content. Meaning is displaced by the rebus-X because it metonymically and generally plays with both the text's 87 meaning, as well as its form. This metonymy-generality is played out in the crossings of the letter-text's obeli-crosskisses which draw the reader's attention both towards and away from a particular part of the letter, contaminating it with its whole. In this way, the X of the obelus or kiss, each of which is only one small part of the letter, communicates with the entire letter itself which, as I mentioned above, can itself be understood as one large cross: One cannot help noticing that rather more than half of the lines run north-south in the Nemzes and Bukarahast directions while the others go west-east in search from Maliziies with Bulgarad for, tiny tot though it looks when schtschupnistling alongside other incuna-bula,it has its cardinal points for all that. (114.02-07) As it plays imaginatively with size, the Wake&n "X-shape" allows for a figurative or decorative substitution of a part of the text to represent the whole of the text in a way that disrupts meaning. The "tune's dimissage," which can be read in terms of the iconic rebus which plays with crosses and death in a scene of crucifixion, makes it possible to say that the mechanics of the letter's iconic Xs offer the scene of readerly production to be read in a parodic catachresis of Christ's crucifixion in which the reader figures as Christ who is erected and killed on the cross of the text. In crucifixion, the cross operates by stretching and erecting the victim across its frame, squeezing the spirit out of him/her, in much the same way that the letter draws the reader in two directions at once across the lines of the letter-text. If the reader is to become competent in reading the textual auspices of the hen, then s/he must stretch him/herself in the directions provided by the topic of the cross in the text. In making him-/ herself competent, the (Vichian) reader of the Wake who makes him/herself after the hen, also makes the cross-text of the letter in a scene that does without meaning understood in the eidetic or referential sense. Meaning in death is impossible because it has to do with the type of death Derrida outlines in Bataille, where meaning in death relies on "the condition where I would see 88 [meaning] would be to get out of, to emerge from the 'tissue' [of the body and of the 'vulgar knowledge' that speculative dialectics tries to 'overcomes']! And doubtless I must immediately say: the condition in which I would see would be to die. At no moment would I have the chance to see\" (WD 176). Bataille offers an alternative to this death which "desires to deny the existence of death," in what he calls the "gay anguish, anguished gaiety" in the face of death. Such gaiety, which is as close as possible to the desire to deny death (WD 259), "present[s] me with 'absolute rending' in an aspic in which it is my joy that finally rends me asunder, but in which abatement would follow if I was totally torn apart, without measure" (259). This type of gay death takes place for example, at "Finnegan's Wake," and insofar as it does not look for meaning, forms the "blind spot of Hegelianism, around which can be organized the representation of meaning, is the point at which destruction, suppression, death and sacrifice constitute so irreversible an expenditure, so radical a negativity—here we should have to say an expenditure and a negativity without reserve—that they can no longer be determined as negativity in a process or a system." This point wherein lies the gay death, "cannot be inscribed in discourse, except by crossing out predicates or by practising a contradictory superimpression that then exceeds the logic of philosophy" (259). The death of the catachrestic Christ-reader can be understood as being held by very determined points in the letter. These points mark where the lines of text running east-west and north-south cross at "cardinal" and "doubtful points" (112.07-09). But these points set up a play that proceeds by "by crossing out predicates or by practising a contradictory superimpression that then exceeds the logic of philosophy," because as "points," they are also "crosses" in that the "points" are composed of "points" where lines "cross," and the "crosses" are "crosses" only insofar as the are "lines" which cross at specific "points." The play of contradictory 89 superimpression here takes the form of a quasi-metonymic relation that violates logic by not only inscribing the described in the description, but also ceaselessly putting into question the possibility of ever making a positive identification of either a cross or a point, or vice versa. These cross-points are figured in the obeli-daggers (f) insofar as they are precisely "cross-points" (120.14-16). Above, these cross-points were understood to punctuate the letter's penmanship by drawing the reader's attention to the "errors, omissions, repetitions and misalignments" in its text. But these cross-points also pierce the letter later: Yet on holding the verso against a lit rush this new book of Morses responded most remarkably to the silent query of our world's oldest light and its recto let out the piquant fact that it was but pierced butnot punctured (in the university sense of the term) by numerous stabs and foliated gashes made by a pronged instrument. These paper wounds, four in type, were gradually and correctly understood to mean stop, please stop, do please stop, and O do please stop respectively, and following up their one true clue, the circumflexuous wall of a singleminded men's asylum, accentuated by bi tso fb rok engl a ssan dspl itch ina, Yard inquiries pointed out -* that they ad bin "provoked" ay A fork, of a grave Brofesor; ath e's Break — fast — table;; acutely professionally piqued, to=introduce a notion of time [upon a plane (?) su ' ' fac'e'] by punct! ingh oles (sic) in iSpace?! (123.34-124.12) But the cross-points (f) do not just fragment the text with all manner of punctuation marks, diacritical marks, accents and other icons: they also mark the points where the reader's (Christie) corpse becomes textual in that both the letter and the corpse are affected with time by these cross-points. The cross-points mark the site of the Christie death as one which exceeds the logic of philosophy they give it over to the differantial auto-affection of time discussed above. This death is also gay to the extent that it does not look for meaning in death; in fact it does not look for meaning at all. These cross-points also bring together the body of the competent reader and the body of 90 the text of the letter. But this connection of rent body and punctured text, while it implies a genealogy of the text and the reader's body, does not imply any true etymological genealogy of the text. There is no true body referent behind the text, insofar as that body is affected by time which pierces it and cuts it with cross-points that stretch it in order to draw attention to the distortions, errors, mistakes and other general redundancies of the text. Any genealogy or etymology must pass through the writing of these obeli. Both the (text of) the letter and the body of the crucified reader bear the stigmata of the letter's punctuation. But these marks also turn out to be holes put there by the hen, in the guise of "Dame Partlet," from Chaucer's The Nun's Priest's Tale. The expression means "hen," but also, figuratively, "woman." Careful examination of the letter's manuscript reveals that the fourleaved shamrock or quadrifoil jab was more recurrent wherever the script was clear and the term terse and that these two were the selfsame spots naturally selected for her perforations by Dame Partlet on her dungheap.... (124.20-24) It is the "mother-hen"—the one who makes her "son," the reader-writer who makes him/herself—who also sacrifices that son, and inflicts the four wounds of the stigmata on him/her with her obelus-beak. The shape of the weapon and the wounds themselves cross in the auto-affective Xs which also write and sign the letter. But because the hen makes the reader-writer non-eidetically, the reader-writer's death must also be part of that making, In this way, the finitude of auto-affection writes the Wake's letter as death. (c) The Quasi-Rabbinical Jesus: Finnegans Wake Regards Glas The auto-affective sacrificial death of the Wakem reader-writer split by crucifixion shares some traits with the figure of the "real" Jesus who shows up in Glas insofar as this Jesus 91 also "break[s] in two and flee[s]" (cf. 92a). In a way that is remarkably similar to the X in letter-text in the Wake, the affective figure of "Jesus" (or %) in Glas gives a differantial icon or figure that offers a non-eidetic strategy for reading-and-writing Glas. Because the figure of Jesus is "broken in two," or split, he plays two similar but different roles in reading Glas. On the one hand, he is eidetic, and as such plays an absolutely central role in Hegel's philosophy insofar as Hegel sees him as occupying a seminal position with respect to the Spiritual Aufhebung of the father's filiation with his son. This position is crucial to Hegelian philosophy because the Aufhebung-J esus radicalizes the philosophical difference (that is, difference determined as opposition) and the abstract, veiled, universal form of the Jewish God who cannot "manifest the concrete spirit" precisely because "he has no acknowledged son" (3 la). There can be no father without a son. Thus, it is Jesus, the acknowledged son of the Christian God, who allows his father to manifest (himself) as concrete spirit. The Christian God manifests himself by "dividing himself in his seed that is his [proper] other, or rather that is himself as the object for himself, the other for him and that returns to him, in which he returns to himself: his son [fils]" (31a). In other words, the father is the son, the son is the father. The filiation of father and son names the very structure and trajectory of that which Hegel's philosophy pursues through all history, art and religion: spirit. However, spirit, in its most radical formulation is thoroughly philosophical, which is to say that it surpasses even the Christian religion. Nevertheless, it is Christian filiation that best figures the heavily eidetic self-conscious return of spirit to itself, for "spirit is neither the father nor the son, but filiation, the relation of father to son, of son to father, of father to father through the mediation of the son, of the son to the son through the mediation of the father. The spirit is the element of the Aufhebung in which the seed returns to the father" (31a). 92 On the other hand, there is another (piece of) Jesus, one who is to be read as a catachresis of the Jesus who "has departed; leaving his disciples without present, leaving them suspended between memory and hope, he has separated himself from the world" (91a). In leaving, in losing presence, this Jesus becomes suspended between memory and hope. It is memory and hope, or, what I have already analyzed above in terms of the auto-affective extension of a present between retention and anticipation that extends this Jesus' presence. This other Jesus cannot be simply present, and any presence that he may have had is suspended (precisely) between two modifications of non-presence and non-perception. Jesus does not simply leave behind or forget his body as his spirit departs. The body is not present when the tomb is opened. Jesus splits, and Christianity "repeats, a little higher up, the Jewish cutting [coupure]; the disciples remained as sheep without a shepherd; the name [Jesus] has not yet been recognized. The check [echec, also "failure"] of filiation, of the family, of the city, hypocrisy, calculus, violence, appropriation. Stones/ Peters [Pierres]" (92a). Here, the name "Jesus" has not yet been recognized dialectically because Jesus is (not yet) himself. If this "Jesus" (the name) remains a little too Jewish (i.e., is not yet Christian), he is perhaps best marked by the crossed legs of the chrismon (%). He is irremediably caught in the split, which turns out to be the medium of Jewish thought and its relation to the law. Jesus becomes Jewish (again) because his split affects the surface and figure of Christianity in their entirety. Christianity is therefore doubled, and along with it, "the structure of the relief, too" (92a). These two reliefs (Aufhebung), are also two (rival) Jesuses who relate to each other according to the Jewish conception of justice, where "both Xs must [. . .] take account of one another, [and] reflect, record and inscribe themselves equally in one another" (59a), according to the law of "an eye for an eye." To read Jesus thus—as auto-affectively doubled—is to "risk" what the text of Glas calls 93 "Jewish reading" (84a). Performing a Jewish reading of Jesus necessarily involves disrupting (the) Hegelian (priority of) sense because Jesus operates according to the Jewish economy of justice and the law which understands the mirroring rivalry of two Xs who are at odds with each other. The Jewish risk involves reading the doubleness that simultaneously offers Jesus auto-affectively (i.e., differantially) and under Jewish law. This means that the reader-writer of Jesus in the text must become familiar with, and follow closely Hegel's description of the objective structures of rabbinical law to the extent that they can be read as the inassimilable remains of the Aufhebung. But these remains do not simply have nothing to do with the Aufhebung to the extent that they are also completely saturated by the structure of differance discussed above. Hegel's main difficulty with the Jews lies in their "unintelligible" relation to the law (47a). This is because the Judaic (moral) order is one of what he calls "abstract right and duty, of the objective law, the duty of fidelity, fidelity as duty" (35a). This duty does not forbid the desire for say, infidelity, and as such remains objective. Thus Jesus preaches the interiorization of the interdict through love in marriage, where desire is no longer other than the interdiction of infidelity (35a). I am freer because I am no longer subject to an outside interdiction. The Jewish relation to the law therefore remains without love and as such is mired in unfree abstract objectivity. It is caught in an economy of "violence and slavery" (36a), that can be traced back to the Jew's being "cut off from" nature after the aggression of the flood. The Jew is cut off from nature because he vows vengeance against nature; this then leads to the contract with God who promises Noah "to place the elements [and nature] at his service" in return for his obedience (38a). With Abraham, the cut is repeated: Abraham wants to tear apart "the [natural] communal 94 bonds of life," the bonds of family. Thus he "breache[s]/broache[s] his history and engenders] the history of the Jewish people." Abraham can therefore be understood to write himself outside the bonds of love and family, and as a result, his lineage "never touches the earth" (40a). But this cut only retains that which is cut from it: Abraham cuts the bonds of family "only in order to become the stronger father of a more determinate family. What remains of/from the cut becomes stronger." As a result, the Jew arranges himself so that the cut part [le coupe] remains attached to the cut. Jewish errance limited by the adherence and the countercut. The Jew is cutting only in order to treat thus, to contract the cut with itself. (41a) Abraham behaves like a master over his family, but is in fact a slave (42a; 44a): he is subject to the contract of obedience to God, which prohibits him from loving anything, even his own son, Isaac. Because he cannot love, he can only feel "fear" and cause it in others (42a). The Jew therefore does not understand anything of life; he "kills, transforms to dead, that is materializes everything he touches and everything not his own. [. . .] He petrifies, makes everything ugly, transforms everything into matter" (44a). It is this relation, where the master remains a slave, which remains for Hegel the "unintelligible" aspect of the Jewish relation to the law (47a). The unintelligibility of the Jews has everything to do with the imagination. The Jew is caught at the level of the imagination which marks an "impossible adequation," because it does not incarnate itself, does not attain adequate actuality. Thus Jewish appeal to the imagination "remains abstract, disordered, artificial" (48a), and makes Hebrew poetry a poetry "of the negative sublime: an impotent, crushed, overwhelmed effort for expressing the infinite in [. . .] phenomenal representation" (48a). In other words, Jews are "incapable of seeing [. . .] the invisible in the visible, the sensible in the insensible, of letting themselves be affected by their unity." This is why idols remain "just stone and wood to them; it sees not, it hears not, it hears 95 not, etc.—with this litany they fancy themselves wonderfully wise; they despise the idol because it does not manage them, and they have no inkling of its deification (Vergottlichung) in the enjoyment of its beauty or in the intuition of love" (49a). This sensitivity to empty signifiers leads to the structure of the tabernacle: The tabernacle gives its name and its place to the Jewish family dwelling. That establishes the Jewish nation. The Jewish nation settles in the tabernacle adores therein the sign of God and his covenant. At least such would be believed. Now the tabernacle (texture of "bands" whose excess we must continually reuse, Exodus 26) remains a signifier without signified. The Jewish hearth forms an empty house. Certainly, sensible to the absence of all sensible form, the Jews have tried to produce an object that gave in some way rise, place, and figure to the infinite. But this place and this figure have a singular structure: the structure encloses its void within itself, shelters only its own proper interiorized desert, opens onto nothing, confines nothing, contains as its treasure only nothingness: a hole, an empty spacing, a death. A death or a dead person, because according to Hegel space is death and because this space is also an absolute emptiness. Nothing behind [derriere] the curtains. Hence the ingenuous surprise of a non-Jew when he opens, is allowed to open, or violates the tabernacle, when he enters the dwelling or the temple, and after so many ritual detours to gain access to the secret center, he discovers nothing—only nothingness. No center, no heart, an empty space, nothing. One undoes the bands, displaces the tissues, pulls off the veils, parts [ecarte] the curtains: nothing but a black hole or a deep regard, without color, form, and life. (49a) This emptiness, the Jewish hearth in which one looks for a centre "under a sensible cover [enveloppe]—the tent of the tabernacle, the stone of the temple, the raiment shrouding the text of the covenant—is finally discovered as an empty room, is not uncovered, never ends being uncovered, as it has nothing to show" (50a). Because it is empty of all proper content, its "vacant center would signify that the Jewish essence is totally alienated. Its ownness, its property would be infinitely foreign to itself (50a). So the alienated Jew has no properness, and because he is the slave "of an invisible sovereign," his relation to that law is one of the letter, since the spirit is absent: So the Jews are all slaves of an invisible sovereign: between them and their sovereign, no legal and rational mediation, only heads of tribes appearing or disappearing according to 96 the state of forces. The powers are real, not juridical. There are indeed empiric powers, officials or "scribes (Schreiber)." But the scribes are not guided by the spirit of the a law. They obey rules, precepts, and commandments (Befehle). Their writing is heteronomic. And as this literality remains empiric, the prescription can always be violated when the situation of forces permits or requires it. (53 a) Jewish law remains external, written without spirit because the "Jewish tongue [langue] speaks without yet knowing how to speak, without being able to develop fully the sperm of the [Christian] logos. It is the childhood of the tongue" (73a). To raise this "Pharisaic letter" would involve the literal body of the letter's being "animated, aerated, roused lifted up, benumbed by the spiritual intention." In this way, the letter would become Christian speech (54a). Lacking logos, and speaking childishly, the Jew cannot fly like the conceptual eagle, and so he falls. The Jew falls because his logic "remain(s) the stone's" (55a). The Jew "holds back, pulls the Aufhebung towards the earth. The case of the Jew does not refer to a past event. He indicates the system of a figure in the synchrony of the spirit. He is even what as such resists history" (55a). But, by breaking in two and fleeing, Jesus also splits (irremediably) the religion of Christianity, and this gap or "cleavage stays in absolute religion; and it stays for all time and all the figures of Christianity" (55a). Christ's split divides Absolute Religion—Christianity—once and forever. As a result, Christianity "cannot resolve in this world the painful opposition between the living and the dead, the divine and the real" (91a). The Christie corpse is the rem(a)inder of this split: They have often lived emigrating, in waiting, in the sign. Everything happens around a sepulcher. No doubt the memory of the rotting body was first effaced in the intuition of the glory, but it has returned, was insistent, to the very extent the split continued its work. (91a) In the (split) Christian religion the (split) God is suspended between heaven and earth, weighted down by his corpse: "A kind of weight 'draw[s]' it 'down to earth (ihn zur Erde zieht), and the 'God is thus supposed to hover (schweberi) midway between heaven's infinity, where there are 97 no limits, and earth, this gathering together of plain restrictions'" (91a). Unable to simply depart for Heaven because he is weighed down by his corpse, Jesus remains behind: "In his wandering and his teaching, the Christ stays nailed down or rotting: 'monstrous connection (ungeheure Verbindung)"' (92a). Filiation, the return of Christ (to the father) is prevented. The other Jesus therefore disrupts filiation with (return to) the eidetic father. In the place of this filiation, Glas offers a "regard' that (forcefully) reinscribes (catachrestically) the "new testament" of son returning to father through the maternal bond: In painting, a regard is the disposition of two figures who see one another. Example from Littre: "He has a regard of a Christ and a Virgin in his collection." The regard is also the opening of a hole through which one watches over water drainage. Double regard. Cross-eyed [bigle: bi-gl] reading. While keeping an eye on the corner column [la colonne d'angle] (the contraband), read this as a new testament. (113bi) The regarding bond reinscribes filiation by letting mother and child, Christ and Virgin, watch each other as the "contraband" of columns. The contraband, or illegal, filiation of the regard halts the simple passage of the father through the mother. It opens up a strange contraband of regarding columns wherein mother and son resemble each other in a way that is different from filiation. This resemblance means that they relate to each other (according to the form of Jewish economical law) as two "Xs [that] must [...] take account of one another, [and] reflect, record and inscribe themselves equally in one another" (59a). Mother and son are rival columns that exchange regards in a scene of non-filiation. The X names the general shape of this contraband filiation, and reveals that each rival column is already crossed by the look of the other, is already doubled.18 The regard of columns can also be read as a description of a page of Glas. Each page in the book is composed of two columns of text. Column (a), on the right, pursues a reading of Hegelian philosophy, and column (b), on the left, pursues a reading of the texts of Jean Genet. 98 Each column is disrupted by smaller insertion of text (i) (also called a "judas" (113bi)) which comments on the content of the column in which it appears. However, the content of each column is reflected (and distorted) in the other, and the scene of the Immaculate contraband or catachresis can be read as a paradigm for reading-writing Glas. Since the X of the regard is also a hole, it opens up two figures to each other according to the maternal bond, which reinscribes the guaranteed filiation of father and son. Because the X is also a hole, it (re)opens the play of contradictory superimpression that takes the form of a quasi-metonymic relation that violates logic by not only inscribing the described in the description, but also by ceaselessly erasing the possibility of ever positively identifying the obelus as either a cross or a point (or vice versa), this crossed-hole also disrupts each figure's individuality by inscribing the one in the other with difference. As such, the regard is also a figure for differance, which is also figured in the text as an "X": X, an almost perfect chiasm(us), more than perfect, of two texts, each sets facing [en regard] the other: a gallery and a graphy that guard one another and disappear from view. (43-44b) This "X" is also the "%" that traces what Derrida elsewhere calls "the general intersection of Glas, of its beginnings or ends in twisted and spaced-out bands" (The Truth in Painting 166).19 These (maternal) bands form the tabernacle that encloses nothing, which is empty and has no proper content. For this reason this bond is treacherous: the hole that opens up one text to another is also a "judas" (113bi). This judas is the other Jesus that betrays the smooth operation of the Hegelian Aujhebung even as he plays with it. Jesus plays at double-cross. In this way the "duplex" of the X can be understood to mark the general structure of the crossed style writing that is found in both the letter-text of Finnegans Wake and Glas to the extent that the X marks the auto-affective loss of meaning. This X is always written because 99 "everything" "passes through [its] chiasmus, all writing is caught in it—frequents it." The written loss of meaning names the form of the chiasmus, the %, [.. . ] not as the symbol of the unknown but because there is here a sort of fork (the series quadrifircum, grid, grill, key, etc.) which is moreover unequal, one of its points extending its scope [ported] further than the other, a figure of the double gesture and the crossing [.] (TP 166, citing Positions) And because this X writes the entire text of Glas in a metonymic fashion, it also conforms to the general structure of the X in the Wake that marks both part and whole of the letter. The X turns the letter into a sort of tabernacle around which bands (O) are also contracted (IOUs): Tubbernacul in tipherairy, sons, travel-lers in company and their carriageable tochters, tanks tight anne thynne for her contractations tugowards his personeel. Echo, choree chorecho! O I you O you me! (584.31-34) In this way the X can be understood as a very determined point which opens Joyce's text onto Derrida's (and vice versa) so that both of these texts can, like columns, regard each other "without end" (43b). But the regard also sketches a mode of reading these texts together that disrupts the activity of reading understood as the quest for meaning. The X opens the temporal relation of one idiomatic text to another. As such, the regarding X does not translate those idioms for each other, but rather retains them in their untranslatability for each other. But because these texts can still read each other badly, which is to say, in the absence of complete sense, such reading is always incomplete. Both texts simply regard each other, exchange looks with each other, in less-than-perfect comprehension. As such, it is the X figure that allows the reader to imagine Glas and Finnegans Wake together according to the "gallery and the graphy" of (any) two texts that read each other, badly, i.e., with imperfect sense. Both texts therefore usher the crossed style of writing figured in the X or x centre stage where it flourishes as an iconic figure for reading-writing both texts. And 100 because it functions as both content and form, the X is also subject to the structured rebus-like play that loses meaning because it denotes both form and content prior to their separation. But the X, in both Finnegans Wake and Glas, always comes back to a relationship with the mother. It is this complex relationship—that of the maternal bond—which disrupts filiation by offering itself as a non-eidetic, textual model to be imitated by a reader-writer. In this writing from scratch, as I have argued above, the reader steps into the topos of a cross which the mother-hen prepares for him. But as the hen makes, she mars. In crossing out and puncturing the letter, the hen's writing inflicts a notion of time upon the plane surface of the reader-letter by punching holes in it (123.34-124.12). The womb, which is also the site of imaginative production, fuses with the letter, and letter-writing becomes womb-writing. This writing fuses the rival twins, Mick and Nick, who cross in the letter, but cannot see eye to eye (113.34-114.20). In so doing, the womb/ letter-writing also fuses the rival twins in 1.6, where they take the form of the intuitions of time and space, in auto-affection. As such auto-affective fusion, the X can also be read as the iconic analogue of differance which opens the economy of the regard wherein one idiomatic text reads another without perfect sense. All this fusive writing can be understood as the "ygathering" (010.32) of a "parody's bird" (011.09) which offers an alternative to the "gathering" of the philosophical logos. In the following chapter, I will explore the ways in which the "gathering" of this "parody's bird" as she scratches about on the mound can be understood as imaginatively parodying such a preexistent logos. Notes 1 This undecideability is accentuated later in 1.2 when Finnegan (as HCE) meets "a cad with a pipe" in the Phoenix Park (035.11), who asks him for the time. HCE's responds that the time is "twelve of em sidereal and tankard time" 101 (.33-34). The exchange is gay slang for assent in an anonymous sexual encounter which implies erection. Indeed, HCE faces the cad "standing full erect" (036.15). 2 Babel, is of course the Old Testament story of the tower built by the Shem, the tribe of descendents from Noah's son, Shem. This tower was intended to rival the beauty and complexity of Yahweh's creation. Yahweh, when he realized what was happening, decided to thwart the Shem's efforts by introducing foreign languages among the work crews, so the carpenter could no longer speak to the bricklayer, and so on. With the breakdown in communication, construction on the tower ceased, and it remained a sort of truncated stump. 3 Among these thunder-words are: Japanese, kaminari; Hindustani, karak; Greek, brontao (I thunder); French, tonnerre; Irish, tornach; Portugese, trovao; Danish, tordenen. 4 These giants and their shit are contrasted by Vico with the Hebrews, an originary distinction that splits the entire human race "into two species: the one of giants, the other men of normal stature; the former gentile, the latter Hebrews" (NS 172). The Hebrews were smaller from the beginning "on account of their cleanly upbringing and their fear of God and of their fathers." Because of this they "continued to be of the proper stature in which God had created Adam and Noah and his three sons; it was perhaps in abomination of giantism that the Hebrews had so many ceremonial rites pertaining to bodily cleanliness" (NS 371). 5 Hereafter, BP. 6 This paragraph also acts as a window which opens Sein und Zeit onto the text of Finnegans Wake. The interaction of these two texts would not add anything further here regarding Heidegger's discussion of time in KPM. However, the value of "Being-in" as it is analyzed in Sein und Zeit opens some interesting questions regarding the structure of language in both Derrida's Speech and Phenomena and Of Grammatology, and its relation to Finnegans Wake. These questions are far beyond the scope of this dissertation, and must be pursued elsewhere. 7 The privileging of time however, does not amount to a disqualification of space. The question of the "universality of time as pure intuition" and "the question of whether space as pure intuition was thereby displaced" must "remain open for the present" (35). 81 will discuss this in greater detail in chapter three. 9 This forms the structure of Derrida's reading of Nietzsche in Spurs. The "spurs" in question motivate. 101 will return to this "genealogical opening" in more detail in chapters IV-VI. 1 1 Another explanation of how time can become money lies in Vico's The New Science. It was during the Vichian "age of the heroes," that money was first invented (NS 342ff). These hero-warriors were very war-like, but their speech was mute. In order to get around this muteness, the heroes communicated with each other through what Vico calls the "mute speech" of heraldry and hoisted battle standards. Money derives from this culture of war and symbols. In bringing time and money together, the questions chapter changes the Vichian battle standards into the "intuitive symbols" of space and time. Finally, the references to money and war serve to alert the reader familiar with Vico that there is a battle brewing between space and time in 1.6. 1 2 See also Roland McHugh's discussion of time in Sigla, 31-6. Both of us are endebted to Glasheen's "Rough Notes on Joyce and Wyndham Lewis," in^ 4 Wake Newslitter, 8.5, 67-75. 1 3 See also 018.33-34 of the Wake. 1 4 In Vico, the first altars (arae), the fields of grain, were also the "asylums" (NS 777) where the intruders, or hostiae were either sacrificed, cut up, or subjugated as slaves by the paterfamilias (NS 776ff). 1 5 See also Mc Hugh, Annotations, 120, and figure one. 1 6 See figure one. 1 7 Hereafter, JJH. 1 8 Insofar as the productive scene of contraband has to do with the rival-mother, it can also be related to the Wakean scene of letter writing. I will explore this contraband and its tabernacle in relation to the letter's envelope-writing in more detail in chapter VI. 1 9 Hereafter, TP. 102 Chapter HI To Hen\ The "parody's bird" of Logos I one might say that between memory of being and memory of the other there is perhaps the disjunction of allegory. (Memoires: for Paul deMan 79)1 But we will analyze the metaphysical exchange, the circular complicity of the metaphor of the eye and the ear. (M xiii) According to Georges Bataille in "The Solar Anus," parody doubles philosophical reflection, which is always concerned with proper meaning. Reflection means "to bend back or reflect," and designates the process of reflection or its product, the reflected image. Reflection also means to consider, and can relate to either the subject or the object. In philosophical reflection, the eidos (meaning, signified) becomes present to itself as either subjective or objective self-consciousness. For example, the subject's reflection on the object reflects the object's immanent reflection on itself. Because the subject's reflection on the object is immanent to the subject, the subject must be capable of reflecting upon itself. When the subject reflects upon itself, it mirrors both the object's reflection into itself as essence and the subject's reflection on the object. At this point subject and object are impossible to separate completely. Reflective meaning bends back, or returns to itself as logos, Greek for speech, reason, account, discourse, etc. Logos itself derives from legein, to gather, collect. Thus, the philosophical scene is always one of gathering into the presence of self-consciousness, which presents the horizon wherein things come to be as reflected meaning. Finnegans Wake also presents a scene of gathering where the hen, in the guise of a "parody's bird" (011.09), scuttles about on the midden "ygathering" (010.32) bits of rubbish to put in her sack. In this chapter, I will read the hen's \ 103 "ygathering" as a parodic reinscription of reflective philosophy's gathering of logos. The hen's parodic gathering is imitated by the reader-auspex of Finnegans Wake. In this theatre the object which the reader imitates withdraws, as I argued in the previous section, and, as it does so, reflects the reader who imitates it. To the extent that she withdraws, the scene of the hen's gathering can be understood to offer itself as a scene of imaginary production. As I argued in chapter n, imaginary production can be read in terms of auto-affection, even though auto-affection is for Heidegger just one component of the imagination. This is due to auto-affection's metonymic figuration of the entire mechanism of the imagination. For Heidegger the imagination is basically a synthesizing power. It is the site prior to knowledge which synthesizes the components of knowledge—intuition and conception. In the imagination both intuition and conception are not yet knowledge and are allied to imaginary production. The imagination is, strictly speaking, an unknown synthesis of intuition and conception. Because it is a site of unknowing synthesis, conception must bear the traces of the intuition in the form temporal auto-affection, and vice versa. Thus the entire synthesizing power of the imagination must then be affected by auto-affection, which relates the same to its non-philosophical other. In this way it remains possible to mark the difference between intuition and conception, even if they are no longer opposed to each other, and no longer really very different from each other because they can be synthesized. If the relation between the two components of the imagination is one of auto-affection, the entire imagination is auto-affective. The imagination can only affect itself as the imagination through the auto-affection of intuition and conception. However, auto-affection cannot account for the hen's gathering to the extent that, as I argued in the last chapter, she is the principle that brings about the fusion of the rival twins in her womb (293.L1-4). This fusion plays itself out as auto-affection in the twins' interactions in 104 questions 11 and 12 of the "Questions and Answers" chapter (1.6). In the course of these twenty pages of text, the twins, who are figured as the twin intuitions of time and space, play out the spatio-temporal fusion of auto-affection (148.33-168.14). Because auto-affection can be understood as being produced in the coming together of the twins, it is subject to another impulse in the text. This contrary impulse, I suggest, corresponds to the hen's parodic gathering which always points in the general direction of unity. Unity is the other component of the imagination which Heidegger calls conception. Conception, says Heidegger is a "gathering" (KPM 36). In this chapter, I will explore the hen's parodic gathering as the auto-affective other of imaginary intuition, conception. Because the auto-affective relation between the two components of the imagination cuts into both auto-affective intuition and conceptual gathering, concentrating on the hen's mode of gathering makes it possible to see how auto-affection might be understood to gather. But since it can only gather auto-affectively, the hen's conception cannot be of the order of the philosophical eidos which would attempt to gather itself into self-present meaning or knowledge. Thus, even though the hen's conception unites, it cannot ever overcome the auto-affective differance that prevents its products from being perfectly gathered, perfectly present, even as it suggests a mode of gathering. To the extent that auto-affection names the disruption of identity where the same relates to itself as other (SP 85), imaginary production allegorizes itself. Allegory, which derives from the Greek "alios" other, and "-agoria" speaking, literally always "speaks otherwise." However, even though Heidegger's analysis of the imagination can be read as isolating the process of allegorization in auto-affection, he never explores it as such. This, I will argue in the latter sections of this chapter, opens a gap between Heidegger's analysis of the imagination and the 105 text of Finnegans Wake. Finnegans Wake exceeds the Heideggerian imagination because it radicalizes the operation of the auto-affective imaginary by allegorizing that operation in the complex scene of writing that draws together brother /brother/ mother, intuition and conception. I will discuss how this radical allegory of imaginary writing creates the textual horizon, or the conditions for the possibility and impossibility, for appearing in the text of Finnegans Wake. Finally, I will explore the ways in which the allegorization of the auto-affective imaginary writes the text of both Finnegans Wake and Glas. (a) "ygathering" (010.32): "bi tso fb rok engl a ssan dspl itch ina" (124.07-08) As I argued in chapters I and II, the reader of the letter in Finnegans Wake is placed in a reading position that divides him/ her as reader-writer. The reader-writer's division is registered in the letter as the incompatibility of (at least) two modes of interpretation: There was a time when naif alphabetters would have written it down the tracing of a purely deliquescent recidivist, possibly ambidextrous, snubnosed probably and presenting a strangely profound rainbowl in his (or her) occiput. To the hardily curio-sing entomophilust then it has shown a very sexmosaic of nym-phosis in which the eternal chimerahunter Oriolopos, now frond of sugars, then lief of saults, the sensory crowd in his belly coupled with an eye for the goods trooth bewilderblissed by their night effluvia with guns like drums and fondlers like forceps persequestellates his vanessas from flore to flore. (107.09-18) In other words, the letter, a "polyhedron of scripture" (.08), does not settle down to provide one possible interpretation. The letter can be read from two different points of view—that of a quasi-phrenologist or that of an entomologist. Nevertheless, these two very different modes of interpretation share a common trait. They both search for an author: "Say, baroun lousadoor, who in hallhagal wrote the durn thing anyhow?" (107.36-108.01). The search for the author of the letter (which produces multiple interpretive strategies) is here represented as a quasi-106 Hegelian ("hallhagal") search for meaning. But the search for a unified author is also frustrated by darkness and distance of time: All's so herou from us him in a kitchernott darkness, by hasard and worn rolls arered, we must grope on till Zerogh hour like pou owl giaours as we are would we salve aught of moments for our aysore today. (107.20-23) Our author is difficult to see because s/he is in the distance, far off (Armenian, herou, far) from us readers. S/he is "worn" away by a thousand (Armenian, hasard) and "worn" (one) "rolls." The search for the author comes up with nought because it might take until "Zerogh hour." Since the lack of an author is intolerable, the letter sets about counselling its reader in how to overcome the distance from the author who remains in the shadows. The reader needs to "stoop" down to its text, the better to "inspect" it: Closer inspection of the bordereau would reveal a multiplicity of person-alities inflicted on the documents or document and some prevision of virtual crime or crimes might be made by anyone unwary enough before any suitable occasion for it or them had so far managed to happen along. In fact, under the closed eyes of the in-spectors the traits featuring the chiaroscuro coalesce, their con-trarieties eliminated, in one stable somebody similarly as by the * providential warring of heartshaker with housebreaker and of dramdrinker against freethinker our social something bowls along bumpily, experiencing a jolting series of prearranged disappoint-ments, down the long lane of (it's as semper as oxhousehumper! generations, more generations and still more generations. (107.23-35) Closer inspection of the text is the key to overcoming the appearance of a multiplicity of personalities inflicted on the documents, in order to reveal the identity of the author. Under the "closed eyes" of the reader-inspectors, the traits of multiplicity "coalesce" into the "one stable somebody" of a recognizable author. "Close inspection" has the power to unite the dispersed author(s), and it can be understood as corresponding to the X-structure that unites and separates 107 the writers and readers of the letter who cannot see eye to eye (113.34-114.20). Since this X is also the X that the hen traces as the letter, and the X with which she signs it, closer inspection of the letter's writing brings together the author. Further, because the scene of letter-writing is also that of imaginative production, the X is also the sign that the reader imitates as s/he writes him/ herself. In other words, the X also coalesces the reader-writer together as the writer(s) of the letter's "document or documents" into "one stable somebody." In bringing together, the X performs the same function as the hen-mother's womb in that it is the site for the auto-affective fusion of the rival brothers (293.L1-4; compare 148.33-168.14, and 349.06-20). The function of the written X of the hen's tracing/ writing on the mound is also characterized by the text as "gathering." When the reader first meets the hen in book 1.1, she is a "parody's bird" who scratches about on the midden after a holocaustic battle between the father, the "Willingdone," and his sons, the "Lipoleums," which has reduced the world to rubble: ...there's that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipealittle, kicksalittle,severalittle,eatalittle,whinealittle,kenalittle, helfalittle,pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardfields! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs. The three of crows have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer; Wail, 'tis well! She niver comes out when Thon's on shower or when Thon's flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon's blowing toom-cracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindme-rollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows in beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. (010.31-011.13) The hen crosses the battlefield-midden "ygathering" the debris of "the spoiled goods" of battle 108 which then "go into her nabsack" (.18-. 19). As she gathers/she does so literally from scratch, next to nothing, just as Finnegan builds imaginatively from next to nothing (004.18-005.04). In this way, the hen's gathering can be read as a reinscription of Finnegan's theatre of imaginative production without the benefit of the eidos. By gathering without the benefit of a present model, her "ygathering" parodies the gathering of the logos, which, as Vico points out, is itself a "gathering" which can be traced through the Latin word for "law," lex (NS 240). Instead of (re)producing present meaning, the hen's gathering comes closer to the gathering Vico isolates which "collect[s] [lex] letters, and mak[es], as it were, a sheaf of them for each word, [and is] called legere, reading" (NS 240). However, this gathering in which letters are collected, does not settle down into a present meaning. Although the hen gathers in a scene of imaginary production, her "ygathering" cannot be fully grasped in terms of the analysis of auto-affection carried out in the previous chapter. The rival twins represent time and space in 1.6.11, which are always gathered by a female principle such as the womb (293.L1-4), or Margareena and Nuvoletta (148.32-168.14). It is this female gathering that produces spatio-temporal auto-affection. Three aspects of what I am calling here "female gathering," can now be outlined with reference to auto-affection. First, insofar as female gathering produces auto-affection, it cannot be understood to (re)produce present meaning. Secondly, gathering produces the auto-affection that is subject to a certain amount of sway by the female principle of non-present unity in the text. Finally, if I grant a certain privilege to the hen's gathering here among all the different examples of the female principle of non-present unity, it is because she explicitly gathers gathering into one insofar as her name parodies the fully present gathering of the neo-Platonic logos, the One, or, in Greek, to hen (110.22). Since the hen gathers in a scene of imaginary production, which cannot be simply 109 grasped in terms of auto-affection insofar as she produces it, she can be understood to correspond to the other aspect of the imagination as it is analyzed by Heidegger, conception. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, the isolated elements of "pure knowledge" are "time as universal, pure intuition" and the "concepts," or "notions" which are "thought in pure thinking" (KPM 41). Under the heading of the Veritative Synthesis, Heidegger examines the interdependency of these two parts of knowledge. In this synthesis, "pure intuition is offered in its own right ... in the direction of pure thinking" (44). This "offering" is called by Heidegger "affecting." This "affection" is not simply that of being affected through the senses. Rather, intuition (as time) affects thinking, and Heidegger says that "our pure thinking always stands before the time which approaches it" (44). But it is also the case that this intuition must fit with the conceptual determining that is called thinking: This reciprocal preparing-themselves-for-each-other takes place in that act which Kant generally calls synthesis. In it, both pure elements come together from themselves from time to time; it joins together the seams allotted to each, and so it constitutes the essential unity of pure knowledge. This synthesis is neither a matter of intuition nor of thinking. Mediating "between" both, so to speak, it is related to both. Thus in general it must shar