Of Grammatology

In Part 2 of the work, Derrida demonstrates Deconstruction by dismantling the culture–nature binary and exploring how its destruction contributes to a larger discussion about logocentrism. Metaphysics, per its system of binaries, positions culture and nature as two opposing forces. Within this traditional system, nature is superior to culture. Derrida illustrates this perception through the example of Lévi-Strauss and his biased assessment of the Nambikwara people. Lévi-Strauss takes an outdated and racist view of the Nambikwara people, referring to their practices as “primitive” and “uncivilized.” He simultaneously suggests that their way of life is more natural and, therefore, privileged above a life of culture and civilization. Derrida uses deconstruction to challenge Lévi-Strauss’s assertion that the Nambikwara people, prior to his arrival, had no writing of their own and that his introduction of writing also introduced violence.

First, Derrida challenges the notion that certain groups, including those that do not utilize a phonetic alphabet like the Western alphabet, are more in tune with nature. Derrida sees Lévi-Strauss’s perception as innately flawed. Lévi-Strauss failed to recognize the complex and unique culture of the Nambikwara people. The use of words like “savage,” “barbaric,” and “uncivilized” reveal the prevalent ethnocentric nature of the arguments by Lévi-Strauss and Rousseau. In his development of the theme of The Rejection of Logocentrism, Derrida suggests that the privileging of speech over writing—or, in this case, of nature over culture—stems from ethnocentrism. Lévi-Strauss’s understanding of the Nambikwara people is shaded by prejudice. Derrida proposes that violence is an elemental part of the human condition. Lévi-Strauss fails to see that violence was always part of the Nambikwara way of life because he fails to understand that the lives of those he observed are as complex and nuanced as his own. Lévi-Strauss also fails to take into consideration how his own presence as a spectator contributed to the advancement of violence. In fact, as a spectator, he became a tool for inflicting pain on others, particularly via the illicit sharing of proper names.

Ethnocentrism is further evident in how Lévi-Strauss speaks about the form of writing utilized by the Nambikwara people. He dismisses their writing as dots and lines, suggesting that this writing lacks meaning or an association to the signified. Derrida explains that this dismissal comes from a logocentric view that perpetuates the idea that the only true form of writing is phonetic with a direct association to speech. When Lévi-Strauss introduces his own form of writing to the people, the chief uses it to enact violence and exert power over others. Lévi-Strauss concludes that a direct link must exist between writing and violence. However, Derrida explains that violence among the Nambikwara people was neither new nor linked only to phonetic writing.

Ultimately, Derrida determines that that these two forces, culture and nature, do not occupy opposing poles. Instead, they emerge simultaneously and inform one another. The Nambikwara people had a culture of their own, one that was independent of Lévi-Strauss’s structuralist understanding. Their culture was also interwoven with their nature—that is, human nature—and hence bears the marks of technology, violence, kindness, and a host of other emotions and faculties.

Now that Rousseau has challenged logocentrism and the metaphysical association of writing and violence, he turns his attention to the examination of the inauthenticity of the written language. Like Plato and many of his predecessors, Rousseau argues that the written word is a weakened and adulterated version of the truth of the spoken word, which has its roots in the metaphysics of presence. A person thinks “tree” and speaks it. This relationship represents a one-to-one connection of signifier and logos. Rousseau suggests that the written word adds a layover connection. The written word is aligned with the spoken word rather than the thought itself. Metaphysics of presence thus suggests that the word, whether spoken or written, has a clear definition, one outlined by what the tree is rather than what it is not.

Rousseau further suggests that writing is inauthentic because each signifier stands in for another signifier rather than the signified. This claim connects to Plato’s assertion that a written word represents a sound rather than an idea or concrete object. Written language has a greater length of distance between the signifier and the signified than the spoken word, so it is less authentic. Its meaning becomes diluted and deferred. Rousseau argues that writing produces an infinite chain of supplements, each weaker than the one before. Take, for example, the word “mother.” The word is full of traces and distractions. Writing requires more words to clarify meaning, but each of these words contain their own traces, weakening the original meaning. This simple six-letter word does little to conjure the complexity of what it signifies. In short, Rousseau suggests that the written word fails to reach the totality of the signifier.

Rousseau argues that the world is full of supplements. Culture, for example, is a supplement to nature. Living in a system of culture, which is the system that dominates modernity, is a less dynamic or meaningful experience than a life that unfolds entirely in nature. According to Rousseau, supplements can only ever offer illusions or mirages of the original idea. Humans may content themselves with culture, believing that they are living meaningful lives, but they are separated from the original and authentic—that which has a more divine origin. Writing, according to Rousseau, suffers from this inferiority. While the language of writing may be enticing or engaging, it is a poor substitute for the rich and powerful experience of oral communication. Rousseau would suggest that the desire to speak rather than write when sharing, for example, detailed directions indicates that spoken language is more transparent and meaningful.

Derrida, however, emphasizes and celebrates the intricate web of signifiers that comprises writing and embraces the traces that he believes appear in both written and spoken language. These traces form the foundation of deconstruction and the methodology he uses to expose The Instability of Meaning. Deconstruction utilizes the text as its own form of cosmology; in other words, one can derive the observable universe of meaning and the author’s intent from the text alone. While Rousseau suggests the web of signifiers cheapens meaning, Derrida credits it with an important element of deconstruction: the disappearance of the signified.

For Derrida, there is no difference between speech and writing. Both are their own forms of supplements. The more a text wants to refine meaning through additional supplements, the longer the chain of supplements becomes and the further the language gets from the original idea: “an infinite chain, ineluctably multiplying the supplementary mediations that produce the sense of the very thing they defer: the mirage of the thing itself” (171). Derrida’s methodology breaks down language and concepts to show how fragile they really are. For the philosopher, this methodology is more authentic than a clear-cut line between signifier and signified, because it is indicative of the complexity of human experience.