More profoundly, though, lyric and law might be seen as two very
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different ways of instating what a "person" is.
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different ways of instating what a "person" is.
Paul-de-Man-Material-Events
on November 4, 1997," or, in Hegel's example, this piece of paper on which I am now writing, but also of the deictic use of "I" to point to me myself alone as a unique I.
These words are "shifters," placeholders.
Instantly, as soon as they are uttered, the words assume the utmost generality and can be shifted to any I, any
here, now, and this. 12 However hard you try, you cannot say this I here and now or this keyboard, processor, and computer screen at this mo- ment that are prostheses of my body and by means of which I think. "I cannot say I. " "Aber was ich sage, Ich, ist eben jeder (but what I say, I, is precisely anyone). " De Man takes the otherness of "jeder" not to refer to another I, "the mirror image of the I," but to name "n'importe qui or even n'importe quoi" (AI 98); that is, anybody at all or even anything at all, just as the name Marion, in de Man's reading of the "purloined ribbon" episode in Rousseau's Julie, is ultimately just a random sound, not even a proper name: "Rousseau was making what- ever noise happened to come into his head; he was saying nothing at all, least of all someone's name" (AR 292).
As de Man says of Rousseau's excuse in Julie for what he had done to Marion, "When everything fails, one can always plead insanity" (AR 289). A certain madness, the madness of words, the reader can see, often infects de Man's own language. He mimes in what he says the materiality of the letter he is naming. At this point his own work becomes a performative utterance working to lead the reader to the edge of unintelligibility, this time by the route of the materiality of the letter, and once more in a way that is counterintuitive, since it is another materiality that is nonphenomenal, unable to be seen, like the "cristal invisible" of that Flemish windowpane on which Hugo's poem was scratched.
The back cover of de Man's Aesthetic Ideology speaks of the "ironic good humor that is unique to him. " I find de Man's irony, especially when it expresses itself in wordplay, much more threatening than this phrase implies, and so have many of de Man's readers or listeners. Such passages as I have been discussing, where the madness of words has crossed over into de Man's own language, are places that readers or auditors have found especially allergenic, that they have especially resisted. The audience of de Man's "Semiology and Rhetoric," for ex- ample, when the essay was presented as a sort of inaugural lecture after de Man took up his professorship at Yale, was more than a little scandalized or even offended by the elaborate pun de Man develops based on the Archie Bunker television show. This pun depends on the difference between lacing your shoes over or under. ("What's the dif- ference? " asks Archie Bunker. ) This leads to the punch line of calling Jacques Derrida an "archie Debunker" (AR 10). The audience did not find that wholly appropriate for such a solemn occasion. The complex double talk that de Man, in an exuberant reading, finds in Proust's
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phrase "torrent d'activite? " (AR 64) has seemed to some readers just going too far. Raymond Geuss especially resisted what de Man says about "mein" and "meinen" in Hegel. De Man's "Reply to Raymond Geuss" patiently laces over and under, that is, explains what he meant and why he is right and Geuss wrong, guilty of "misplaced timidity" (AI 190), an unwillingness to face up to what is truly wild in Hegel's text.
The resistance to de Man, what I have called an allergic reaction to his writings, is not a resistance to theory in the etymological sense of the word theory, a resistance to a generalizable "clear-seeing," but rather a resistance to what in his work precisely cannot be seen clearly, the penumbra of the unknowable, the unintelligible, the nonphenomenal that is everywhere in his work. This is perhaps most threateningly pres- ent not in the radical incompatibility of the cognitive and performative dimensions of language, and not even in what Friedrich Schlegel called the madness and stupidity reached by irony as permanent parabasis, nor even in Kant's materiality of vision, but in the prosaic materiality of the letter. The latter is present at every moment, though for the most part it is invisible, suppressed, covered over, in all those words that sur- round us all the time and that generate the reassuring ideologies in terms of which we live our lives. What is most threatening, most aller- genic, most truly frightening about de Man's writings, is the way they force their readers to confront a darkness of unknowability that is not just out there somewhere, beyond the circle of light cast by the desk's reading lamp. That would be bad enough, but this darkness has woven itself into the light of reason itself and into the "instrument" by which it expresses itself, language. "No degree of knowledge can ever stop this madness, for it is the madness of words" (RR 122).
PAUL DE MAN'S AUTHORITY
Another double genitive there: the authority Paul de Man exerts and the authority in whose name he speaks. This essay began by identifying what is insolent or outrageous about de Man's writings, namely, his calm, laconic assertions that all the basic assumptions of literary stud- ies as a discipline, along with all the greatest authorities in that disci- pline, are often just plain wrong. Where does de Man get his authority to say such things? In the light of my investigation of his materialism I propose now in conclusion three braided answers to the question of what justifies de Man to say what he says. All these may be inferred from de Man's own writing.
First, he might be imagined as replying that what he says, allergenic
as it is, is not his own willful desire to cause trouble, but something that just happens, through reading. De Man's work is all reading of some text or other, primarily canonical texts that are among the most revered and cherished in our tradition. Therefore all these outrageous statements are not de Man speaking, but him speaking in indirect dis- course for what his authors say. It is Shelley, not de Man, who says that nothing is connected to anything else. Hegel or Kleist, not de Man, who repeats the same words or syllables until they become senseless. It is not I, Paul de Man, speaking, but I speaking in the name of, with the authority, of my authors. As Chaucer says, "My auctor wol I folwen if I konne. "13 In the "Reply to Raymond Geuss," de Man says,
The move from the theory of the sign to the theory of the subject has nothing to do with my being overconcerned with the Romantic tradi- tion, or narcissistic, or ("c'est la me^me chose") too influenced by the French. It has, in fact, nothing to do with me at all but corresponds to an inexorable and altogether Hegelian move of the text. (AI 189)
Or, second appeal to authority, what I, Paul de Man, say happens through the rigor of critical reading. This rigor is something that pro- duces the generalizations of theory, something that is wholly rational, logical, transmissible, the product of rigorous thinking that might have been done by anyone with de Man's intelligence and learning. Theory grows out of reading and is authorized by it, though it is in a different register and even though theory and reading, as "The Resistance to Theory" shows, are not symmetrical. Although "the resistance to theo- ry is in fact a resistance to reading," nevertheless "rhetorical readings, like the other kinds, still avoid and resist the reading they advocate. Nothing can overcome the resistance to theory since theory is itself this resistance" (RT 15, 19). In the "Reply to Raymond Geuss," de Man asserts that the commentator should accept the "canonical reading" up to the point where something is encountered in the text that makes it impossible to go on accepting the canonical interpretation. De Man's formulations are couched in the language of ethical obligation and in- evitability: "should," "could," and "necessity. " The necessity arises from the reader's encounter with the text. What happens in reading happens, and it imposes implacable obligations on the reader that exceed the pre- suppositions both of the canonical reading and of "theory":
The commentator should persist as long as possible in the canonical read- ing and should begin to swerve away from it only when he encounters
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difficulties which the methodological and substantial assertions of the system are no longer able to master. Whether or not such a point has been reached should be left open as part of an ongoing critical investiga- tion. But it would be naive to believe that such an investigation could be avoided, even for the best of reasons. The necessity to revise the canon arises from resistances encountered in the text itself (extensively con- ceived) and not from preconceptions imported from elsewhere. (AI 186)
Third source of de Man's authority, deepest and most serious: the scandalous, counterintuitive things de Man says come into language through the encounter, at the limits of the most exigent theoretical rigor and obedient close reading, of the unintelligible. De Man takes the rational to the edge of irrationality, or identifies the unintelligible as that which has always already infected the pursuit of rational knowledge: "after Nietzsche (and, indeed, after any 'text'), we can no longer hope ever 'to know' in peace" (AR 126). Wherever de Man starts, whatever texts he reads, whatever vocabulary he uses leads ulti- mately beyond itself to its limits at the border of a dark unintelligibili- ty, what Friedrich Schlegel called "der Schein des Verkehrten und Verru? ckten oder des Einfa? ltigen und Dummen" ("the appearance of error and madness, or simplemindedness and stupidity"). 14 Three names de Man gives this unintelligibility are performative language, irony, and materiality. Kant may be taken as the paradigmatic model here. Kant's rigor of critical thinking led him to what undid his enter- prise of architectonic articulation, disarticulated it. The same thing can be said of de Man's writing, except that de Man's writing is throughout a long meditation on what happens when thinking encounters that momentary event when the unintelligible, error, madness, stupidity, undoes the rational enterprise of critical thinking, or turns out to have been undoing it all along.
De Man speaks in the name of, on the grounds of, these three quite incompatible but nevertheless inextricably intertwined justifications for the allergens that he generates in words. This authority is, however, no authority in the ordinary sense. It is an authority without authority, or the authority that undoes all grounds for speaking with authority. How can one speak intelligibly on the grounds of the unintelligible? At the limit, and indeed all along the way, de Man's writings are allergenic because they pass on to the reader an allergen, an otherness, with which they have been infected and that is quite other to the calm, im- placable, rational, maddeningly difficult to refute,15 rigor of de Man's
argumentation. Or rather, the latter turns out to be the same as the for- mer, reason to be other to itself.
NOTES
1. Paul de Man, Aesthetic Ideology, ed. Andrzej Warminski (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 131-32; hereafter AI.
2. Paul de Man, The Rhetoric of Romanticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 262; hereafter RR.
3. I use the word joyfully as an allusion to Nietzsche's "joyful wisdom" or "fro? hliche Wissenschaft. " Anyone who fails to see the exuberant or even comic joy in de Man's writings, anyone who sees him as a "gloomy existentialist," as one commentator calls him, simply lacks an ear. The ironic comedy sometimes surfaces openly, as when he says, apropos of Kant's assertion that the Dutch are all phleg- matic, "interested only in money and totally devoid of any feeling for beauty or sublimity whatsoever": "I have never felt more grateful for the hundred or so kilo- meters that separate Antwerp [de Man's home city] from Rotterdam" (AI 124-25). Another example is what he says as part of an assertion that the self-undoing of Kant's critical enterprise through "the rigor of his own discourse" was not felt as a subjective, affective shudder: "I don't think that Kant, when he wrote about the heavens and the sea there, that he was shuddering in mind. Any literalism there would not be called for. It is terrifying in a way which we don't know. What do we know about the nightmares of Immanuel Kant? I'm sure they were . . . very interesting . . . Ko? nigsberg there in the winter--I shudder to think (AI 134). This joy is no doubt one of the things that is held against de Man, as Derrida's exuberant hijinks--in format, for example--are held against him. Both make ironic jokes about deadly serious matters. There is no room for comedy or for joy either in phi- losophy and theory. They are solemn matters for which you should, if you are a man, always wear a shirt and tie.
4. Paul de Man, The Resistance to Theory (Minneapolis: University of Minne- sota Press, 1986), 3-4; hereafter RT; and RR 121-23.
5. De Man goes on to recognize that the final twist of irony in Greek or Hellenic comedy is that the smart guy is "always being set up by the person he thinks of as being the dumb guy, the alazon. In this case the alazon (and I recognize that this makes me the real alazon of this discourse) is American criticism of irony, and the smart guy is going to be German criticism of irony, which I of course under- stand" (AI 165). This seems to be a rare example of an overt admission by de Man that he is bound to be caught in the traps he sets for others, that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. In the rest of "The Concept of Irony," however, de Man allows precious little in the way of smart-guy attributes either to American criticism of irony, exemplified by Wayne Booth, presented as a dumb guy through and through, or to German and Danish criticism of irony either, with the exception of Friedrich Schlegel. Hegel, Kierkegaard, Benjamin, Szondi, and so on, are all as dumb as Booth, though in different ways. In the vibrating irony of the passage I have quoted from de Man, it is ironic for de Man to claim that he represents American criticism of irony, though of course he is not German either. In any case, for him to say he is "the real alazon of this discourse" is at the same time to say that
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he is the real eiron, since the alazon always turns out to be the disguised eiron, the smartest smart guy, or the only smart guy around.
6. Paul de Man, Allegories of Reading (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), 78; hereafter AR.
7. The anonymous reader of this essay for the University of Minnesota Press strongly resisted this account of de Man's concept of historical events in their mate- riality. "Miller's idea of history, moreover," the reader said, "is of little merit and has, as far as I can tell, very little to do with de Man. " This is a good example of what I mean by an allergic reaction. My own idea of history is not expressed any- where here, only de Man's, although in the sentence beginning "History is wars, battles . . . " I am miming ironically what history is conventionally assumed to be. Can the reader have taken my irony straight? After a careful rereading of my essay, I claim that the citations from de Man I make support what I say about de Man's concept of history. It is de Man's concept, not mine, that scandalizes the reader, makes him (or her) sneeze and cough. I have, however, altered one phrase that ap- parently misled the reader into thinking I understand de Man to be saying that his- tory is caused by "intentional" uses of language and that might therefore mislead you, dear reader. As any careful reader of de Man knows, his theory of the perfor- mative "use" of language (as opposed to its mention) is detached from any con- scious intention in the user. Language works performatively, on its own, most often against the intentions or knowledge of the speaker or writer. As he says, in the con- clusion to "Promises (Social Contract)," "The error is not within the reader; lan- guage itself dissociates the cognition from the act. Die Sprache verspricht (sich)" (AR 277), which means "Language promises" and also "Language makes a slip of the tongue. " I have thought it worthwhile to refer directly to the comments of the Minnesota reader in order to try to forestall similar errors on the part of readers of the published essay.
8. Louis Althusser, "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes to- wards an Investigation," in Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays, trans. Ben Brewster (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1972), 162. See page 159, where Althusser says, "ideology has no history," and goes on to remark: "As we know, this formulation appears in so many words in a passage from The German Ideology. "
9. In an equally important, though much less well known, definition of ideolo- gies near the beginning of "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant" de Man assert- ed that ideologies are on the side of what Kant called "metaphysics," that is, in Kant's use of the term, precritical empirical knowledge of the world. Only critical analysis of ideologies will keep ideologies from becoming mere illusion and critical philosophy from becoming idealism cut off from the empirical world (AI 72). The anonymous reader for the University of Minnesota Press sternly challenged my understanding in this footnote of Kant's use of the term metaphysics. This is another allergic reaction, one that demonstrates just the point I am making about de Man. Surely Kant cannot have meant something so strange as this by "metaphysics"! At the risk of making this footnote tediously long for those who have read Kant and de Man's commentary on Kant, here is the relevant passage from Kant, followed by de Man's comment on it. I think my reader is mystified through having accepted received opinion about what Kant must be saying because everyone knows that is what he says. That received opinion is, precisely, a species of "ideology," even of
"aesthetic ideology. " Kant says: "A transcendental principle is one through which we represent a priori the universal condition under which alone things can become Objects of our cognition generally. A principle, on the other hand, is called meta- physical [Dagegen heisst ein Prinzip metaphysisch], where it represents a priori the condition under which alone Objects whose concept has to be given empirically [empirisch], may become further determined [bestimmet] a priori. Thus the prin- ciple of the cognition of bodies [der Erkenntnis der Ko? rper] as substances, and as changeable substances, is transcendental where the statement is that their change must have a cause [Ursache]: but it is metaphysical where it asserts that their change must have an external cause [eine a? ussere Ursache]. For in the first case bod- ies need only be thought through ontological predicates (pure concepts of under- standing [reine Verstandesbegriffe]), e. g. as substance, to enable the proposition to be cognized a priori; whereas, in the second case, the empirical concept of a body (as a movable thing in space) must be introduced to support the proposition [diesem Satze zum Grunde gelegt werden muss], although, once this is done, it may be seen [eingesehen] quite a priori that the latter predicate (movement only by means of an external cause) applies to body" (Immanuel Kant, Kritik der Urteilskraft, ed. Wilhelm Wieschedel [Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1979], 90; The Critique of Judgement, trans. James Creed Meredith [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982], 20-21). De Man comments, in "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant": "The condition of existence of bodies is called substance; to state that substance is the cause of the motion of bodies (as Kant does in the passage quoted) is to exam- ine critically the possibility of their existence. Metaphysical principles, on the other hand, take the existence of their object for granted as empirical fact. They contain knowledge of the world, but this knowledge is precritical. Transcendental prin- ciples contain no knowledge of the world or anything else, except for the knowl- edge that metaphysical principles that take them for their object are themselves in need of critical analysis, since they take for granted an objectivity that, for the tran- scendental principles, is not a priori available. Thus the objects of transcendental principles are always critical judgments that take metaphysical knowledge for their target. Transcendental philosophy is always the critical philosophy of metaphysics" (AI 71). De Man goes on to associate ideology with metaphysics as Kant defines it. The passage is an important gloss on de Man's definition, or, more properly, "call- ing," of ideology in "The Resistance to Theory," just cited. In the sentences that follow just after the ones already quoted from "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant" de Man associates ideology with Kantian "metaphysics" and argues for an intricate interdependence of critical thought on ideology and of ideology, if it is to other than "mere error," on critical thought. If metaphysics or ideology needs criti- cal thought, critical thought also needs ideology, as its link to epistemological ques- tions. The link is "causal. " The "passage" is a good example of that almost imper- ceptible crossing, in de Man's formulations, of the border between rigorous reading of passages in the author being discussed and statements that are de Man's own, authorized by his own rigor of thought, as it extrapolates from what the author in question says: "Ideologies, to the extent that they necessarily contain empirical mo- ments and are directed toward what lies outside the realm of pure concepts, are on the side of metaphysics rather than critical philosophy. The conditions and modali- ties of their occurrence are determined by critical analyses to which they have no
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access. The object of these analyses, on the other hand, can only be ideologies. Ideological and critical thought are interdependent and any attempt to separate them collapses ideology into mere error and critical thought into idealism. The pos- sibility of maintaining the causal link between them is the controlling principle of rigorous philosophical discourse: philosophies that succumb to ideology lose their epistemological sense, whereas philosophies that try to by-pass or repress ideology lose all critical thrust and risk being repossessed by what they foreclose" (AI 72). The only responsible way to challenge de Man's reading of Kant would be to go back to Kant for oneself and read him with scrupulous care, trying not to be misled by ideological presuppositions about what Kant must be saying. This is extremely difficult, not just because Kant is difficult, but because those ideological presuppo- sitions are so powerful and are unconscious to boot, as Althusser says, that is, a taken for granted assumption that something really linguistic is phenomenal.
10. See de Man's "Reply to Raymond Geuss" (AI 185-92), first published in Critical Inquiry 10:2 (December 1983), a rejoinder to Geuss's "A Response to Paul de Man," in the same issue of Critical Inquiry.
11. Speaking in "Autobiography as De-Facement," of what Ge? rard Genette says about the undecidable alternation between fiction and autobiography in Proust's Recherche, de Man says: "As anyone who has ever been caught in a re- volving door or on a revolving wheel can testify, it is certainly most uncomfortable, and all the more so in this case since this whirligig is capable of infinite acceleration and is, in fact, not successive but simultaneous" (RR 70).
12. Jacques Derrida approaches this problematic from another direction in his second essay on Levinas, "En ce moment me^me dans cet ouvrage me voici," in Psyche? : Inventions de l'autre (Paris: Galile? e, 1987), 159-202.
13. Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, 2:49.
14. Friedrich Schlegel, Kritische Schriften (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1964), 501-2. 15. I do not mean that it is impossible to disagree with what de Man says or to
challenge his positions, as I have done elsewhere (by way of calling attention to the way de Man cannot expunge one trope, prosopopoeia, from his own language, though he rejects prosopopoeia as a false projection), or as I am doing here in stressing what is "unintelligible" in what de Man says, or as Jacques Derrida does with exemplary care and delicacy in his essay in this volume apropos of de Man's sense of the relation of Rousseau's Confessions to literary history. I mean that chal- lenging de Man persuasively and responsibly is not all that easy, and that de Man will most often have foreseen and effectively forestalled the objections that it occurs to a skeptical or antagonistic reader to make.
Anthropomorphism in Lyric and Law
Barbara Johnson
Anthropomorphism. n. Attribution of human motivation, characteristics, or be- havior to inanimate objects, animals, or natural phenomena.
--American Heritage Dictionary
Through a singular ambiguity, through a kind of transposition or intellectual quid pro quo, you will feel yourself evaporating, and you will attribute to your . . . tobacco, the strange ability to smoke you.
--Baudelaire, Artificial Paradises
Recent discussions of the relations between law and literature have tended to focus on prose--novels, short stories, autobiographies, even plays--rather than on lyric poetry. 1 Literature has been seen as a locus of plots and situations that parallel legal cases or problems, either to shed light on complexities not always acknowledged by the ordinary practice of legal discourse, or to shed light on cultural crises and de- bates that historically underlie and inform literary texts. But, in a sense, this focus on prose is surprising, since lyric poetry has at least historically been the more law-abiding or rule-bound of the genres. Indeed, the sonnet form has been compared to a prison (Wordsworth),2 or at least to a bound woman (Keats),3 and Baudelaire's portraits of lyric depression (Spleen)4 are often written as if from behind bars. What are the relations between the laws of genre and the laws of the state? 5 The present essay might be seen as asking this question through the juxtaposition, as it happens, between two sonnets and a prisoners' association.
More profoundly, though, lyric and law might be seen as two very
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different ways of instating what a "person" is. There appears to be the greatest possible discrepancy between a lyric "person" (emotive, sub- jective, individual) and a legal "person" (rational, rights-bearing, insti- tutional). In this essay I will be trying to show, through the question of anthropomorphism, how these two "persons" can illuminate each other.
My argument develops out of the juxtaposition of two texts: Paul de Man's essay "Anthropomorphism and Trope in the Lyric,"6 in which I try to understand why for de Man the question of anthropo- morphism is at the heart of the lyric, and the text of a Supreme Court opinion from 1993, Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council. 7 This case has not become a household name like Roe v. Wade or Brown v. Board of Education, and probably with good reason. What is at stake in it appears trivial--at bottom, it is about an association of prisoners suing for the right to have free ciga- rette privileges restored. But the Supreme Court's task is not to decide whether the prisoners have the right to smoke (an increasingly contest- ed right, in fact, in the United States). The case has come before the court to resolve the question of whether the prisoners' council can be counted as a juridical "person" under the law. What is at stake, then, in both the legal and the lyric texts is the question, What is a person?
I
I will begin by discussing the article by Paul de Man, which is one of the most difficult, even outrageous, of his essays. Both hyperbolic and elliptical, it makes a number of very strong claims about literary his- tory, lyric pedagogy, and the materiality of "historical modes of lan- guage power" (262). Toward the end of his text, de Man somewhat unexpectedly reveals that the essay originated in an invitation to speak on the nature of lyric. But it begins with some general remarks about the relation between epistemology and rhetoric (which can stand as a common contemporary way of framing the relations between law and literature). The transition between the question of the lyric and the question of epistemology and rhetoric is made through the Keatsian chiasmus, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"8 which de Man quotes on his way to Nietzsche's short and "better known than understood" (239) essay "On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense. "9 "What is truth? " Nietzsche asks in that essay's most oft-quoted moment: "a mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms. " Thus it would seem that Nietzsche has answered, "Truth is trope, trope truth" or "epistemology is rhetoric, rhetoric epistemology. " But de Man wants
to show in what ways Nietzsche is not saying simply this. First, the list of tropes is, he says, "odd. " Although metaphor and metonymy are the names of tropes that designate a pure structure of relation (metaphor is a relation of similarity between two entities; metonymy is a relation of contiguity), de Man claims that anthropomorphism, while structured similarly, is not a trope. It is not the name of a pure rhetorical struc- ture, but the name of a comparison one of whose terms is treated as a given (as epistemologically resolved). To use an anthropomorphism is to treat as known what the properties of the human are.
"Anthropomorphism" is not just a trope but an identification on the level of substance. It takes one entity for another and thus implies the constitution of specific entities prior to their confusion, the taking of something for something else that can then be assumed to be given. Anthropomorphism freezes the infinite chain of tropological transfor- mations and propositions into one single assertion or essence which, as such, excludes all others. It is no longer a proposition but a proper name. (241)
Why does he call this a proper name? Shouldn't the essence that is taken as given be a concept? If "man" is what is assumed as a given, why call it a proper name? (This question is particularly vexed when the theorist's proper name is "de Man. ") The answer, I think, is that "man" as concept would imply the possibility of a proposition. "Man" would be subject to definition, and thus transformation or trope. But proper names are not subjects of definition: they are what they are. If "man" is taken as a given, then, it can only be because it is out of the loop of qualification. It is presupposed, not defined.
Yet the examples of proper names de Man gives are surprising: Narcissus and Daphne. Nietzsche's triumvirate of metaphor, metonymy, and anthropomorphism then functions like the plot of an Ovidian metamorphosis: from a mythological world in which man and nature appear to be in metaphorical and metonymic harmony, there occurs a crisis wherein, by a process of seamless transformation, a break never- theless occurs in the system of correspondences, leaving a residue that escapes and remains: the proper name. De Man's discussion of Baudelaire's sonnets will in fact be haunted by Ovidian presences: Echo is lurking behind every mention of Narcissus, while one of the re- curring cruxes is whether there is a human substance in a tree. It is per- haps not an accident that the figures that occupy the margins of de Man's discussion are female. If de Man's enduring question is whether
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linguistic structures and epistemological claims can be presumed to be compatible, the question of gender cannot be located exclusively either in language (where the gender of pronouns, and often of nouns, is in- herent in each language) or in the world. By extension, the present dis- cussion of the nature of "man" cannot fail to be haunted by the ques- tion of gender.
The term anthropomorphism in Nietzsche's list thus indicates that a given is being forced into what otherwise would function as a pure structure of relation. In addition, Nietzsche calls truth an army of tropes, thus introducing more explicitly the notion of power, force, or violence. This is not a notion that can fit into the oppositions between epistemology and rhetoric, but rather disrupts the system. In the text of the Supreme Court decision that I will discuss in a moment, such a disruption is introduced when the opposition on which the case is based, the opposition between natural person and artificial entity, opens out onto the question of policy. There, too, it is a question of truth and power, of the separation of the constative--what does the law say? from the performative--what does it do?
The bulk of de Man's essay is devoted to a reading of two sonnets by Baudelaire: "Correspondances" and "Obsession," which I here reproduce. 10
Correspondances
La Nature est un temple ou` de vivants piliers Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles; L'homme y passe a` travers des fore^ts de symboles Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.
Comme de longs e? chos qui de loin se confondent Dans une te? ne? breuse et profonde unite? ,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarte? ,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se re? pondent.
Il est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants, Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies, --Et d'autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,
Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens, Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.
[Correspondences
Nature is a temple, where the living pillars Sometimes utter indistinguishable words; Man passes through these forests of symbols Which regard him with familiar looks.
Like long echoes that blend in the distance Into a unity obscure and profound,
Vast as the night and as the light,
The perfumes, colors, and sounds correspond.
There are some perfumes fresh as a baby's skin, Mellow as oboes, verdant as prairies,
--And others, corrupt, rich, and triumphant,
With all the expansiveness of infinite things, Like ambergris, musk, benjamin, incense, That sing the transports of spirit and sense. ]
Obsession
Grands bois, vous m'effrayez comme des cathe? drales; Vous hurlez comme l'orgue; et dans nos coeurs maudits, Chambres d'e? ternel deuil ou` vibrent de vieux ra^les, Re? pondent les e? chos de vos De profundis.
Je te hais, Oce? an! tes bonds et tes tumultes,
Mon esprit les retrouve en lui; ce rire amer
De l'homme vaincu, plein de sanglots et d'insultes, Je l'entends dans le rire e? norme de la mer.
Comme tu me plairais, o^ nuit! sans ces e? toiles Dont la lumie`re parle un langage connu!
Car je cherche le vide, et le noir, et le nu!
Mais les te? ne`bres sont elles-me^mes des toiles Ou` vivent, jaillissant de mon oeil par milliers, Des e^tres disparus aux regards familiers.
[Obsession
You terrify me, forests, like cathedrals;
You roar like organs; and in our cursed hearts, Chambers of mourning that quiver with our dying, Your De profundis echoes in response.
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210 Barbara Johnson
How I hate you, Ocean! your tumultuous tide
Is flowing in my spirit; this bitter laughter
Of vanquished man, strangled with sobs and insults, I hear it in the heaving laughter of the sea.
O night, how I would love you without stars, Whose light can only speak the words I know! For I seek the void, and the black, and the bare!
But the shadows are themselves a screen
That gathers from my eyes the ones I've lost,
A thousand living things with their familiar looks. ]
Both poems end up raising "man" as a question--"Correspondances" looks upon "man" as if from a great distance, as if from the outside; "Obsession" says "I," but then identifies with "vanquished man" whose laugh is echoed in the sea.
"Correspondances" is probably the most canonical of Baudelaire's poems in that it has justified the largest number of general statements about Baudelaire's place in literary history. The possibility of literary history ends up, in some ways, being the real topic of de Man's essay. De Man will claim that the use of this sonnet to anchor the history of "the symbolist movement" is based on a reading that ignores a crucial element in the poem, an element that, if taken seriously, will not allow for the edifice of literary history to be built upon it.
"Correspondances" sets up a series of analogies between nature, man, symbols, and metaphysical unity, and among manifestations of the different physical senses, all through the word "comme" ("like"). A traditional reading of the poem would say that the lateral analogies among the senses (perfumes fresh as a baby's skin, mellow as oboes, green as prairies) are signs that there exists an analogy between man and nature, and man and the spiritual realm.
De Man focuses on this analogy-making word, "comme," and notes an anomaly in the final instance. Whereas the first uses of "comme" in the poem equate different things into likeness, the last one just intro- duces a list of examples--there are perfumes that are rich and corrupt, like musk, ambergris, and frankincense. This is thus a tautology-- there are perfumes like . . . perfumes. De Man calls this a stutter. He writes, "Comme then means as much as 'such as, for example'" (249). "Ce Comme n'est pas un comme comme les autres" (249), writes de Man in a sudden access of French. His sentence performs the stutter he
attributes to the enumeration of the perfumes. Listing examples would seem to be quite different from proposing analogies. If the burden of the analogies in "Correspondances" is to convince us that the meta- phorical similarities among the senses point to a higher spiritual unity, then sheer enumeration would disrupt that claim.
There is another, more debatable, suggestion in de Man's reading that attempts to disrupt the anthropomorphism of the forest of sym- bols. De Man suggests that the trees are a mere metaphor for a city crowd in the first stanza. If the living pillars with their familiar glances are metaphorically a city crowd, then the anthropomorphism of nature is lost. Man is surrounded by tree-like men, not man-like trees. It is not "man" whose attributes are taken on by all of nature, but merely a crowd of men being compared to trees and pillars. De Man notes that everyone resists this reading--as do I--but the intensity with which it is rejected does make visible the seduction of the system that puts nature, god, and man into a perfect unity through the symbol, which is what has made the poem so important for literary history. Similarly, if the last "comme" is sheer enumeration rather than similarity, the transports in the last line of the poem would not get us into a transcen- dent realm, but would be like getting stuck on the French transporta- tion system (which, as de Man points out, uses the word "correspon- dance" for changes of station within the system). All these tropes would not carry us away into the spiritual realm, but would be an infi- nite series of substitutions. The echoes would remain echoes and not merge into a profound unity.
If "Correspondances" is said to place man in the center of a uni- verse that reflects him in harmony with all of nature, the poem "Obses- sion" places all of nature and the universe inside the psychology of man. Even the senses are projections. "Obsession" is the reading of "Correspondances" as hallucination. While "Correspondances" is en- tirely declarative, "Obsession" is almost entirely vocative. (Interestingly, de Man does not comment on another anomaly in the meaning of the word "comme"--the "comme" in "Obsession" that means "How! "-- which is surprising, since it enacts precisely what he calls "the tropo- logical transformation of analogy into apostrophe" [261]. ) Nature is addressed as a structure haunted by the subject's obsessions. Every- where he looks, his own thoughts look back. For psychoanalytically inclined readers, and indeed for de Man himself in an earlier essay,11 "Obsession" demystifies "Correspondances. " There is no profound unity in the world, but only, as Lacan would say, paranoid knowledge. 12
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But de Man sees the psychological gloss as another mystification, an- other anthropomorphism--the very anthropomorphic mystification that it is the duty of lyric, and of lyric pedagogy, to promote. "The lyric is not a genre, but one name among several to designate the defensive motion of understanding" (261). De Man concludes provocatively: "The resulting couple or pair of texts indeed becomes a model for the uneasy combination of funereal monumentality with paranoid fear that characterizes the hermeneutics and the pedagogy of lyric poetry" (259). What comes to be at stake, then, is lyric poetry itself as a poetry of the subject. By juxtaposing lyric and law in this essay, I am implicit- ly asking whether there is a relation between the "first person" (the grammatical "I") and the "constitutional person" (the subject of rights).
"Only a subject can understand a meaning," claims Lacan. "Con- versely, every phenomenon of meaning implies a subject. "13 What de Man seems to be arguing for here is the existence of a residue of lan- guage or rhetoric that exists neither inside nor outside the "phenome- non of meaning. " Does lyric poetry try to give a psychological gloss to disruptions that are purely grammatical? Are the periodizations in lit- erary history such as Parnassian and Romantic merely names for rhetorical structures that are not historical? For de Man, "Obsession" loses the radical disruption of "Correspondances" by making enu- meration into a symptom, which is more reassuring than endless repe- tition. It is as though de Man were saying that "Obsession," despite or rather because it is so psychologically bleak, falls back within the pleasure principle--that is, the psychological, the human--whereas "Correspondances," which seems so sunny, contains a disruption that goes beyond the pleasure principle. When de Man says that we can get "Obsession" from "Correspondances" but not the other way around, this is a way of repeating Freud's experience of the disruption of the pleasure principle in Beyond the Pleasure Principle, a study in which Freud grappled with the very limits of psychoanalysis. Freud noticed that there were experiences or facts that seemed to contradict his no- tion of the primacy of the pleasure principle in human life (negative pleasures, the repetition compulsion, the death instinct). As Derrida has shown, Freud kept bringing the beyond back within explainability, and the beyond of Freud's theory kept popping up elsewhere. 14 He could, in effect, get the pleasure principle to explain its beyond, but not anticipate it. The beyond of the pleasure principle could only exist as a disruption.
De Man makes the surprising claim that "Correspondances" is not
a lyric, but contains the entire possibility of lyric: "'Obsession,' a text of recollection and elegiac mourning, adds remembrance to the flat surface of time in 'Correspondances'--produces at once a hermeneu- tic, fallacious, lyrical reading of the unintelligible" (262). The act of making intelligible, whether in the lyric or in the terminology of liter- ary history, is for de Man at the end of the essay always an act of "re- sistance and nostalgia, at the furthest remove from the materiality of actual history. " This would mean that "actual history" is what escapes and resists intelligibility. Here is how de Man ends the essay:
If mourning is called a "chambre d'e? ternel deuil ou` vibrent de vieux ra^les," then this pathos of terror states in fact the desired consciousness of eternity and of temporal harmony as voice and as song. True "mourning" is less deluded. The most it can do is to allow for non- comprehension and enumerate non-anthropomorphic, non-elegiac, non-celebratory, non-lyrical, non-poetic, that is to say, prosaic, or, bet- ter, historical modes of language power. (262)
Earlier in the essay, de Man had said of Nietzsche's general analysis of truth that "truth is always at the very least dialectical, the negative knowledge of error" (242). In another essay, de Man speaks of "litera- ture as the place where this negative knowledge about the reliability of linguistic utterance is made available. "15 Negativity, then, is not an assertion of the negative, but a nonpositivity within the possibility of assertion. This final sentence is clearly a version of stating negative knowledge. But it is also a personification. "True 'mourning'" is said to be "less deluded. " Stressing the word it as the agent, he writes, "the most it can do is to allow for non-comprehension. " "True mourning" becomes the subject of this negative knowledge. The subjectivizations performed by lyric upon the unintelligible are here rejected, but by a per- sonification of mourning. Is mourning--or rather, "true 'mourning'"-- human or inhuman? Or is it what makes it impossible to close the gap between "man" and rhetoric? In other words, does this type of personi- fication presuppose knowledge of human essence, or does it merely confer a kind of rhetorical agency? Is it anthropomorphic? Is there a difference between personification and anthropomorphism? Is the text stating its knowledge as if it were a human, or is it just performing the inescapability of the structures it is casting off? Has de Man's conclu- sion really eliminated anthropomorphism and reduced it to the trope of personification, or is anthropomorphism inescapable in the notion of mourning? Is this what lyric poetry--so often structured around the
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relation between loss and rhetoric--must decide? Or finesse? The least we can say is that de Man has given the last word in his own text to a personification.
II
That which henceforth is to be "truth" is now fixed; that is to say, a uniformly valid and binding designation of things is invented and the legislature of lan- guage also gives the first laws of truth: since here, for the first time, originates the contrast between truth and falsity. The liar uses the valid designations, the words, in order to make the unreal appear as real, e. g. , he says, "I am rich," whereas the right designation of his state would be "poor. "
--Nietzsche, "Truth and Falsity in an Ultramoral Sense"
The case of Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council is based on a provision in the United States legal code permit- ting a "person" to appear in court in forma pauperis. The relevant leg- islation reads in part:
Any court of the United States may authorize the commencement, prose- cution or defense of any suit, action, or proceeding, civil or criminal, or appeal therein, without prepayment of fees and costs or security there- for, by a person who makes affidavit that he is unable to pay such costs or give security therefor. 16
In other words, a "person" may go to court without prepayment of fees if the "person" can demonstrate indigence. The question to be de- cided by the court is whether this provision applies to artificial persons such as corporations or councils, or whether it is meant to apply only to individuals. In the case that led to Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council, a council of prisonors in California has tried to bring suit against the correctional officers of the prison for the restoration of the practice of providing free cigarettes for indigent prisoners, which was discontinued. They try to sue in forma pauperis on the grounds that the warden forbids the council to hold funds of its own. The court finds that they have not sufficiently proven indigence. They are allowed to appeal in forma pauperis in order to en- able the court to decide whether the council, as an artificial legal per- son, is entitled to sue in forma pauperis. The appeals court decides that they are so entitled, but this conflicts with another court ruling in an- other case. The Supreme Court therefore gets to decide whether the provisions for proceeding in forma pauperis should apply only to natu-
ral persons, or also to legal persons such as associations and councils. The case is therefore about what a person is, and how you can tell the difference between a natural person and an artificial person.
Justice Souter's majority opinion begins with something that in many ways resembles de Man's stutter of infinite enumeration. In order to find out what the legal meaning of "person" is, Souter turns to what is called the "Dictionary Act. " The Dictionary Act gives instruc- tions about how to read acts of Congress. It states:
In determining the meaning of any Act of Congress, unless the context indicates otherwise, the word "person" includes corporations, compa- nies, associations, firms, partnerships, societies, and joint stock com- panies, as well as individuals. (1 United States Code 1)
Thus, the word person does include artificial entities unless the context indicates otherwise. Now the court asks, but what does "context" mean? It turns to Webster's New International Dictionary, where it notes that it means "the part or parts of a discourse preceding or fol- lowing a 'text' or passage or a word, or so intimately associated with it as to throw light on its meaning. " The context, then, is the surround- ing words of the act. Of course, Webster's does offer a second meaning for the word context, "associated surroundings, whether material or mental"--a reference not to the surrounding text but to the broader reality or intentionality--but Souter dismisses this by saying, "we doubt that the broader sense applies here. " Why? Because "if Congress had meant to point further afield, as to legislative history, for example, it would have been natural to use a more spacious phrase, like 'evi- dence of congressional intent,' in place of 'context. '"
The word natural, which is precisely at issue here, since we are try- ing to find out whether the statute applies only to natural persons, is here applied precisely to an artificial person, Congress, which is per- sonified as having natural intentionality. "If Congress had meant . . . " The Court's decision repeatedly relies on this type of personification: it is as though Souter has to treat Congress as an entity with intentions, even natural intentions, in order to say that Congress could not have meant to include artificial entities in its ruling. There is a personifica- tion of an artificial entity, Congress, embedded in the very project of interpreting how far the law will allow for artificial entities to be con- sidered persons.
Turning to the Dictionary Act for person and to Webster's diction- ary for context, Souter also notes that he has to define indicates. The
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difficulty of doing so pushes him into a volley of rhetorical flourishes: "A contrary 'indication' may raise a specter short of inanity, and with something less than syllogistic force. " "Indicates," it seems, means more than nonsense but less than logical necessity.
here, now, and this. 12 However hard you try, you cannot say this I here and now or this keyboard, processor, and computer screen at this mo- ment that are prostheses of my body and by means of which I think. "I cannot say I. " "Aber was ich sage, Ich, ist eben jeder (but what I say, I, is precisely anyone). " De Man takes the otherness of "jeder" not to refer to another I, "the mirror image of the I," but to name "n'importe qui or even n'importe quoi" (AI 98); that is, anybody at all or even anything at all, just as the name Marion, in de Man's reading of the "purloined ribbon" episode in Rousseau's Julie, is ultimately just a random sound, not even a proper name: "Rousseau was making what- ever noise happened to come into his head; he was saying nothing at all, least of all someone's name" (AR 292).
As de Man says of Rousseau's excuse in Julie for what he had done to Marion, "When everything fails, one can always plead insanity" (AR 289). A certain madness, the madness of words, the reader can see, often infects de Man's own language. He mimes in what he says the materiality of the letter he is naming. At this point his own work becomes a performative utterance working to lead the reader to the edge of unintelligibility, this time by the route of the materiality of the letter, and once more in a way that is counterintuitive, since it is another materiality that is nonphenomenal, unable to be seen, like the "cristal invisible" of that Flemish windowpane on which Hugo's poem was scratched.
The back cover of de Man's Aesthetic Ideology speaks of the "ironic good humor that is unique to him. " I find de Man's irony, especially when it expresses itself in wordplay, much more threatening than this phrase implies, and so have many of de Man's readers or listeners. Such passages as I have been discussing, where the madness of words has crossed over into de Man's own language, are places that readers or auditors have found especially allergenic, that they have especially resisted. The audience of de Man's "Semiology and Rhetoric," for ex- ample, when the essay was presented as a sort of inaugural lecture after de Man took up his professorship at Yale, was more than a little scandalized or even offended by the elaborate pun de Man develops based on the Archie Bunker television show. This pun depends on the difference between lacing your shoes over or under. ("What's the dif- ference? " asks Archie Bunker. ) This leads to the punch line of calling Jacques Derrida an "archie Debunker" (AR 10). The audience did not find that wholly appropriate for such a solemn occasion. The complex double talk that de Man, in an exuberant reading, finds in Proust's
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phrase "torrent d'activite? " (AR 64) has seemed to some readers just going too far. Raymond Geuss especially resisted what de Man says about "mein" and "meinen" in Hegel. De Man's "Reply to Raymond Geuss" patiently laces over and under, that is, explains what he meant and why he is right and Geuss wrong, guilty of "misplaced timidity" (AI 190), an unwillingness to face up to what is truly wild in Hegel's text.
The resistance to de Man, what I have called an allergic reaction to his writings, is not a resistance to theory in the etymological sense of the word theory, a resistance to a generalizable "clear-seeing," but rather a resistance to what in his work precisely cannot be seen clearly, the penumbra of the unknowable, the unintelligible, the nonphenomenal that is everywhere in his work. This is perhaps most threateningly pres- ent not in the radical incompatibility of the cognitive and performative dimensions of language, and not even in what Friedrich Schlegel called the madness and stupidity reached by irony as permanent parabasis, nor even in Kant's materiality of vision, but in the prosaic materiality of the letter. The latter is present at every moment, though for the most part it is invisible, suppressed, covered over, in all those words that sur- round us all the time and that generate the reassuring ideologies in terms of which we live our lives. What is most threatening, most aller- genic, most truly frightening about de Man's writings, is the way they force their readers to confront a darkness of unknowability that is not just out there somewhere, beyond the circle of light cast by the desk's reading lamp. That would be bad enough, but this darkness has woven itself into the light of reason itself and into the "instrument" by which it expresses itself, language. "No degree of knowledge can ever stop this madness, for it is the madness of words" (RR 122).
PAUL DE MAN'S AUTHORITY
Another double genitive there: the authority Paul de Man exerts and the authority in whose name he speaks. This essay began by identifying what is insolent or outrageous about de Man's writings, namely, his calm, laconic assertions that all the basic assumptions of literary stud- ies as a discipline, along with all the greatest authorities in that disci- pline, are often just plain wrong. Where does de Man get his authority to say such things? In the light of my investigation of his materialism I propose now in conclusion three braided answers to the question of what justifies de Man to say what he says. All these may be inferred from de Man's own writing.
First, he might be imagined as replying that what he says, allergenic
as it is, is not his own willful desire to cause trouble, but something that just happens, through reading. De Man's work is all reading of some text or other, primarily canonical texts that are among the most revered and cherished in our tradition. Therefore all these outrageous statements are not de Man speaking, but him speaking in indirect dis- course for what his authors say. It is Shelley, not de Man, who says that nothing is connected to anything else. Hegel or Kleist, not de Man, who repeats the same words or syllables until they become senseless. It is not I, Paul de Man, speaking, but I speaking in the name of, with the authority, of my authors. As Chaucer says, "My auctor wol I folwen if I konne. "13 In the "Reply to Raymond Geuss," de Man says,
The move from the theory of the sign to the theory of the subject has nothing to do with my being overconcerned with the Romantic tradi- tion, or narcissistic, or ("c'est la me^me chose") too influenced by the French. It has, in fact, nothing to do with me at all but corresponds to an inexorable and altogether Hegelian move of the text. (AI 189)
Or, second appeal to authority, what I, Paul de Man, say happens through the rigor of critical reading. This rigor is something that pro- duces the generalizations of theory, something that is wholly rational, logical, transmissible, the product of rigorous thinking that might have been done by anyone with de Man's intelligence and learning. Theory grows out of reading and is authorized by it, though it is in a different register and even though theory and reading, as "The Resistance to Theory" shows, are not symmetrical. Although "the resistance to theo- ry is in fact a resistance to reading," nevertheless "rhetorical readings, like the other kinds, still avoid and resist the reading they advocate. Nothing can overcome the resistance to theory since theory is itself this resistance" (RT 15, 19). In the "Reply to Raymond Geuss," de Man asserts that the commentator should accept the "canonical reading" up to the point where something is encountered in the text that makes it impossible to go on accepting the canonical interpretation. De Man's formulations are couched in the language of ethical obligation and in- evitability: "should," "could," and "necessity. " The necessity arises from the reader's encounter with the text. What happens in reading happens, and it imposes implacable obligations on the reader that exceed the pre- suppositions both of the canonical reading and of "theory":
The commentator should persist as long as possible in the canonical read- ing and should begin to swerve away from it only when he encounters
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difficulties which the methodological and substantial assertions of the system are no longer able to master. Whether or not such a point has been reached should be left open as part of an ongoing critical investiga- tion. But it would be naive to believe that such an investigation could be avoided, even for the best of reasons. The necessity to revise the canon arises from resistances encountered in the text itself (extensively con- ceived) and not from preconceptions imported from elsewhere. (AI 186)
Third source of de Man's authority, deepest and most serious: the scandalous, counterintuitive things de Man says come into language through the encounter, at the limits of the most exigent theoretical rigor and obedient close reading, of the unintelligible. De Man takes the rational to the edge of irrationality, or identifies the unintelligible as that which has always already infected the pursuit of rational knowledge: "after Nietzsche (and, indeed, after any 'text'), we can no longer hope ever 'to know' in peace" (AR 126). Wherever de Man starts, whatever texts he reads, whatever vocabulary he uses leads ulti- mately beyond itself to its limits at the border of a dark unintelligibili- ty, what Friedrich Schlegel called "der Schein des Verkehrten und Verru? ckten oder des Einfa? ltigen und Dummen" ("the appearance of error and madness, or simplemindedness and stupidity"). 14 Three names de Man gives this unintelligibility are performative language, irony, and materiality. Kant may be taken as the paradigmatic model here. Kant's rigor of critical thinking led him to what undid his enter- prise of architectonic articulation, disarticulated it. The same thing can be said of de Man's writing, except that de Man's writing is throughout a long meditation on what happens when thinking encounters that momentary event when the unintelligible, error, madness, stupidity, undoes the rational enterprise of critical thinking, or turns out to have been undoing it all along.
De Man speaks in the name of, on the grounds of, these three quite incompatible but nevertheless inextricably intertwined justifications for the allergens that he generates in words. This authority is, however, no authority in the ordinary sense. It is an authority without authority, or the authority that undoes all grounds for speaking with authority. How can one speak intelligibly on the grounds of the unintelligible? At the limit, and indeed all along the way, de Man's writings are allergenic because they pass on to the reader an allergen, an otherness, with which they have been infected and that is quite other to the calm, im- placable, rational, maddeningly difficult to refute,15 rigor of de Man's
argumentation. Or rather, the latter turns out to be the same as the for- mer, reason to be other to itself.
NOTES
1. Paul de Man, Aesthetic Ideology, ed. Andrzej Warminski (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 131-32; hereafter AI.
2. Paul de Man, The Rhetoric of Romanticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 262; hereafter RR.
3. I use the word joyfully as an allusion to Nietzsche's "joyful wisdom" or "fro? hliche Wissenschaft. " Anyone who fails to see the exuberant or even comic joy in de Man's writings, anyone who sees him as a "gloomy existentialist," as one commentator calls him, simply lacks an ear. The ironic comedy sometimes surfaces openly, as when he says, apropos of Kant's assertion that the Dutch are all phleg- matic, "interested only in money and totally devoid of any feeling for beauty or sublimity whatsoever": "I have never felt more grateful for the hundred or so kilo- meters that separate Antwerp [de Man's home city] from Rotterdam" (AI 124-25). Another example is what he says as part of an assertion that the self-undoing of Kant's critical enterprise through "the rigor of his own discourse" was not felt as a subjective, affective shudder: "I don't think that Kant, when he wrote about the heavens and the sea there, that he was shuddering in mind. Any literalism there would not be called for. It is terrifying in a way which we don't know. What do we know about the nightmares of Immanuel Kant? I'm sure they were . . . very interesting . . . Ko? nigsberg there in the winter--I shudder to think (AI 134). This joy is no doubt one of the things that is held against de Man, as Derrida's exuberant hijinks--in format, for example--are held against him. Both make ironic jokes about deadly serious matters. There is no room for comedy or for joy either in phi- losophy and theory. They are solemn matters for which you should, if you are a man, always wear a shirt and tie.
4. Paul de Man, The Resistance to Theory (Minneapolis: University of Minne- sota Press, 1986), 3-4; hereafter RT; and RR 121-23.
5. De Man goes on to recognize that the final twist of irony in Greek or Hellenic comedy is that the smart guy is "always being set up by the person he thinks of as being the dumb guy, the alazon. In this case the alazon (and I recognize that this makes me the real alazon of this discourse) is American criticism of irony, and the smart guy is going to be German criticism of irony, which I of course under- stand" (AI 165). This seems to be a rare example of an overt admission by de Man that he is bound to be caught in the traps he sets for others, that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. In the rest of "The Concept of Irony," however, de Man allows precious little in the way of smart-guy attributes either to American criticism of irony, exemplified by Wayne Booth, presented as a dumb guy through and through, or to German and Danish criticism of irony either, with the exception of Friedrich Schlegel. Hegel, Kierkegaard, Benjamin, Szondi, and so on, are all as dumb as Booth, though in different ways. In the vibrating irony of the passage I have quoted from de Man, it is ironic for de Man to claim that he represents American criticism of irony, though of course he is not German either. In any case, for him to say he is "the real alazon of this discourse" is at the same time to say that
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he is the real eiron, since the alazon always turns out to be the disguised eiron, the smartest smart guy, or the only smart guy around.
6. Paul de Man, Allegories of Reading (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), 78; hereafter AR.
7. The anonymous reader of this essay for the University of Minnesota Press strongly resisted this account of de Man's concept of historical events in their mate- riality. "Miller's idea of history, moreover," the reader said, "is of little merit and has, as far as I can tell, very little to do with de Man. " This is a good example of what I mean by an allergic reaction. My own idea of history is not expressed any- where here, only de Man's, although in the sentence beginning "History is wars, battles . . . " I am miming ironically what history is conventionally assumed to be. Can the reader have taken my irony straight? After a careful rereading of my essay, I claim that the citations from de Man I make support what I say about de Man's concept of history. It is de Man's concept, not mine, that scandalizes the reader, makes him (or her) sneeze and cough. I have, however, altered one phrase that ap- parently misled the reader into thinking I understand de Man to be saying that his- tory is caused by "intentional" uses of language and that might therefore mislead you, dear reader. As any careful reader of de Man knows, his theory of the perfor- mative "use" of language (as opposed to its mention) is detached from any con- scious intention in the user. Language works performatively, on its own, most often against the intentions or knowledge of the speaker or writer. As he says, in the con- clusion to "Promises (Social Contract)," "The error is not within the reader; lan- guage itself dissociates the cognition from the act. Die Sprache verspricht (sich)" (AR 277), which means "Language promises" and also "Language makes a slip of the tongue. " I have thought it worthwhile to refer directly to the comments of the Minnesota reader in order to try to forestall similar errors on the part of readers of the published essay.
8. Louis Althusser, "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes to- wards an Investigation," in Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays, trans. Ben Brewster (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1972), 162. See page 159, where Althusser says, "ideology has no history," and goes on to remark: "As we know, this formulation appears in so many words in a passage from The German Ideology. "
9. In an equally important, though much less well known, definition of ideolo- gies near the beginning of "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant" de Man assert- ed that ideologies are on the side of what Kant called "metaphysics," that is, in Kant's use of the term, precritical empirical knowledge of the world. Only critical analysis of ideologies will keep ideologies from becoming mere illusion and critical philosophy from becoming idealism cut off from the empirical world (AI 72). The anonymous reader for the University of Minnesota Press sternly challenged my understanding in this footnote of Kant's use of the term metaphysics. This is another allergic reaction, one that demonstrates just the point I am making about de Man. Surely Kant cannot have meant something so strange as this by "metaphysics"! At the risk of making this footnote tediously long for those who have read Kant and de Man's commentary on Kant, here is the relevant passage from Kant, followed by de Man's comment on it. I think my reader is mystified through having accepted received opinion about what Kant must be saying because everyone knows that is what he says. That received opinion is, precisely, a species of "ideology," even of
"aesthetic ideology. " Kant says: "A transcendental principle is one through which we represent a priori the universal condition under which alone things can become Objects of our cognition generally. A principle, on the other hand, is called meta- physical [Dagegen heisst ein Prinzip metaphysisch], where it represents a priori the condition under which alone Objects whose concept has to be given empirically [empirisch], may become further determined [bestimmet] a priori. Thus the prin- ciple of the cognition of bodies [der Erkenntnis der Ko? rper] as substances, and as changeable substances, is transcendental where the statement is that their change must have a cause [Ursache]: but it is metaphysical where it asserts that their change must have an external cause [eine a? ussere Ursache]. For in the first case bod- ies need only be thought through ontological predicates (pure concepts of under- standing [reine Verstandesbegriffe]), e. g. as substance, to enable the proposition to be cognized a priori; whereas, in the second case, the empirical concept of a body (as a movable thing in space) must be introduced to support the proposition [diesem Satze zum Grunde gelegt werden muss], although, once this is done, it may be seen [eingesehen] quite a priori that the latter predicate (movement only by means of an external cause) applies to body" (Immanuel Kant, Kritik der Urteilskraft, ed. Wilhelm Wieschedel [Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1979], 90; The Critique of Judgement, trans. James Creed Meredith [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982], 20-21). De Man comments, in "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant": "The condition of existence of bodies is called substance; to state that substance is the cause of the motion of bodies (as Kant does in the passage quoted) is to exam- ine critically the possibility of their existence. Metaphysical principles, on the other hand, take the existence of their object for granted as empirical fact. They contain knowledge of the world, but this knowledge is precritical. Transcendental prin- ciples contain no knowledge of the world or anything else, except for the knowl- edge that metaphysical principles that take them for their object are themselves in need of critical analysis, since they take for granted an objectivity that, for the tran- scendental principles, is not a priori available. Thus the objects of transcendental principles are always critical judgments that take metaphysical knowledge for their target. Transcendental philosophy is always the critical philosophy of metaphysics" (AI 71). De Man goes on to associate ideology with metaphysics as Kant defines it. The passage is an important gloss on de Man's definition, or, more properly, "call- ing," of ideology in "The Resistance to Theory," just cited. In the sentences that follow just after the ones already quoted from "Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant" de Man associates ideology with Kantian "metaphysics" and argues for an intricate interdependence of critical thought on ideology and of ideology, if it is to other than "mere error," on critical thought. If metaphysics or ideology needs criti- cal thought, critical thought also needs ideology, as its link to epistemological ques- tions. The link is "causal. " The "passage" is a good example of that almost imper- ceptible crossing, in de Man's formulations, of the border between rigorous reading of passages in the author being discussed and statements that are de Man's own, authorized by his own rigor of thought, as it extrapolates from what the author in question says: "Ideologies, to the extent that they necessarily contain empirical mo- ments and are directed toward what lies outside the realm of pure concepts, are on the side of metaphysics rather than critical philosophy. The conditions and modali- ties of their occurrence are determined by critical analyses to which they have no
Paul de Man as Allergen 203
204 J. Hillis Miller
access. The object of these analyses, on the other hand, can only be ideologies. Ideological and critical thought are interdependent and any attempt to separate them collapses ideology into mere error and critical thought into idealism. The pos- sibility of maintaining the causal link between them is the controlling principle of rigorous philosophical discourse: philosophies that succumb to ideology lose their epistemological sense, whereas philosophies that try to by-pass or repress ideology lose all critical thrust and risk being repossessed by what they foreclose" (AI 72). The only responsible way to challenge de Man's reading of Kant would be to go back to Kant for oneself and read him with scrupulous care, trying not to be misled by ideological presuppositions about what Kant must be saying. This is extremely difficult, not just because Kant is difficult, but because those ideological presuppo- sitions are so powerful and are unconscious to boot, as Althusser says, that is, a taken for granted assumption that something really linguistic is phenomenal.
10. See de Man's "Reply to Raymond Geuss" (AI 185-92), first published in Critical Inquiry 10:2 (December 1983), a rejoinder to Geuss's "A Response to Paul de Man," in the same issue of Critical Inquiry.
11. Speaking in "Autobiography as De-Facement," of what Ge? rard Genette says about the undecidable alternation between fiction and autobiography in Proust's Recherche, de Man says: "As anyone who has ever been caught in a re- volving door or on a revolving wheel can testify, it is certainly most uncomfortable, and all the more so in this case since this whirligig is capable of infinite acceleration and is, in fact, not successive but simultaneous" (RR 70).
12. Jacques Derrida approaches this problematic from another direction in his second essay on Levinas, "En ce moment me^me dans cet ouvrage me voici," in Psyche? : Inventions de l'autre (Paris: Galile? e, 1987), 159-202.
13. Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, 2:49.
14. Friedrich Schlegel, Kritische Schriften (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1964), 501-2. 15. I do not mean that it is impossible to disagree with what de Man says or to
challenge his positions, as I have done elsewhere (by way of calling attention to the way de Man cannot expunge one trope, prosopopoeia, from his own language, though he rejects prosopopoeia as a false projection), or as I am doing here in stressing what is "unintelligible" in what de Man says, or as Jacques Derrida does with exemplary care and delicacy in his essay in this volume apropos of de Man's sense of the relation of Rousseau's Confessions to literary history. I mean that chal- lenging de Man persuasively and responsibly is not all that easy, and that de Man will most often have foreseen and effectively forestalled the objections that it occurs to a skeptical or antagonistic reader to make.
Anthropomorphism in Lyric and Law
Barbara Johnson
Anthropomorphism. n. Attribution of human motivation, characteristics, or be- havior to inanimate objects, animals, or natural phenomena.
--American Heritage Dictionary
Through a singular ambiguity, through a kind of transposition or intellectual quid pro quo, you will feel yourself evaporating, and you will attribute to your . . . tobacco, the strange ability to smoke you.
--Baudelaire, Artificial Paradises
Recent discussions of the relations between law and literature have tended to focus on prose--novels, short stories, autobiographies, even plays--rather than on lyric poetry. 1 Literature has been seen as a locus of plots and situations that parallel legal cases or problems, either to shed light on complexities not always acknowledged by the ordinary practice of legal discourse, or to shed light on cultural crises and de- bates that historically underlie and inform literary texts. But, in a sense, this focus on prose is surprising, since lyric poetry has at least historically been the more law-abiding or rule-bound of the genres. Indeed, the sonnet form has been compared to a prison (Wordsworth),2 or at least to a bound woman (Keats),3 and Baudelaire's portraits of lyric depression (Spleen)4 are often written as if from behind bars. What are the relations between the laws of genre and the laws of the state? 5 The present essay might be seen as asking this question through the juxtaposition, as it happens, between two sonnets and a prisoners' association.
More profoundly, though, lyric and law might be seen as two very
205
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different ways of instating what a "person" is. There appears to be the greatest possible discrepancy between a lyric "person" (emotive, sub- jective, individual) and a legal "person" (rational, rights-bearing, insti- tutional). In this essay I will be trying to show, through the question of anthropomorphism, how these two "persons" can illuminate each other.
My argument develops out of the juxtaposition of two texts: Paul de Man's essay "Anthropomorphism and Trope in the Lyric,"6 in which I try to understand why for de Man the question of anthropo- morphism is at the heart of the lyric, and the text of a Supreme Court opinion from 1993, Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council. 7 This case has not become a household name like Roe v. Wade or Brown v. Board of Education, and probably with good reason. What is at stake in it appears trivial--at bottom, it is about an association of prisoners suing for the right to have free ciga- rette privileges restored. But the Supreme Court's task is not to decide whether the prisoners have the right to smoke (an increasingly contest- ed right, in fact, in the United States). The case has come before the court to resolve the question of whether the prisoners' council can be counted as a juridical "person" under the law. What is at stake, then, in both the legal and the lyric texts is the question, What is a person?
I
I will begin by discussing the article by Paul de Man, which is one of the most difficult, even outrageous, of his essays. Both hyperbolic and elliptical, it makes a number of very strong claims about literary his- tory, lyric pedagogy, and the materiality of "historical modes of lan- guage power" (262). Toward the end of his text, de Man somewhat unexpectedly reveals that the essay originated in an invitation to speak on the nature of lyric. But it begins with some general remarks about the relation between epistemology and rhetoric (which can stand as a common contemporary way of framing the relations between law and literature). The transition between the question of the lyric and the question of epistemology and rhetoric is made through the Keatsian chiasmus, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"8 which de Man quotes on his way to Nietzsche's short and "better known than understood" (239) essay "On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense. "9 "What is truth? " Nietzsche asks in that essay's most oft-quoted moment: "a mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms. " Thus it would seem that Nietzsche has answered, "Truth is trope, trope truth" or "epistemology is rhetoric, rhetoric epistemology. " But de Man wants
to show in what ways Nietzsche is not saying simply this. First, the list of tropes is, he says, "odd. " Although metaphor and metonymy are the names of tropes that designate a pure structure of relation (metaphor is a relation of similarity between two entities; metonymy is a relation of contiguity), de Man claims that anthropomorphism, while structured similarly, is not a trope. It is not the name of a pure rhetorical struc- ture, but the name of a comparison one of whose terms is treated as a given (as epistemologically resolved). To use an anthropomorphism is to treat as known what the properties of the human are.
"Anthropomorphism" is not just a trope but an identification on the level of substance. It takes one entity for another and thus implies the constitution of specific entities prior to their confusion, the taking of something for something else that can then be assumed to be given. Anthropomorphism freezes the infinite chain of tropological transfor- mations and propositions into one single assertion or essence which, as such, excludes all others. It is no longer a proposition but a proper name. (241)
Why does he call this a proper name? Shouldn't the essence that is taken as given be a concept? If "man" is what is assumed as a given, why call it a proper name? (This question is particularly vexed when the theorist's proper name is "de Man. ") The answer, I think, is that "man" as concept would imply the possibility of a proposition. "Man" would be subject to definition, and thus transformation or trope. But proper names are not subjects of definition: they are what they are. If "man" is taken as a given, then, it can only be because it is out of the loop of qualification. It is presupposed, not defined.
Yet the examples of proper names de Man gives are surprising: Narcissus and Daphne. Nietzsche's triumvirate of metaphor, metonymy, and anthropomorphism then functions like the plot of an Ovidian metamorphosis: from a mythological world in which man and nature appear to be in metaphorical and metonymic harmony, there occurs a crisis wherein, by a process of seamless transformation, a break never- theless occurs in the system of correspondences, leaving a residue that escapes and remains: the proper name. De Man's discussion of Baudelaire's sonnets will in fact be haunted by Ovidian presences: Echo is lurking behind every mention of Narcissus, while one of the re- curring cruxes is whether there is a human substance in a tree. It is per- haps not an accident that the figures that occupy the margins of de Man's discussion are female. If de Man's enduring question is whether
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208 Barbara Johnson
linguistic structures and epistemological claims can be presumed to be compatible, the question of gender cannot be located exclusively either in language (where the gender of pronouns, and often of nouns, is in- herent in each language) or in the world. By extension, the present dis- cussion of the nature of "man" cannot fail to be haunted by the ques- tion of gender.
The term anthropomorphism in Nietzsche's list thus indicates that a given is being forced into what otherwise would function as a pure structure of relation. In addition, Nietzsche calls truth an army of tropes, thus introducing more explicitly the notion of power, force, or violence. This is not a notion that can fit into the oppositions between epistemology and rhetoric, but rather disrupts the system. In the text of the Supreme Court decision that I will discuss in a moment, such a disruption is introduced when the opposition on which the case is based, the opposition between natural person and artificial entity, opens out onto the question of policy. There, too, it is a question of truth and power, of the separation of the constative--what does the law say? from the performative--what does it do?
The bulk of de Man's essay is devoted to a reading of two sonnets by Baudelaire: "Correspondances" and "Obsession," which I here reproduce. 10
Correspondances
La Nature est un temple ou` de vivants piliers Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles; L'homme y passe a` travers des fore^ts de symboles Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.
Comme de longs e? chos qui de loin se confondent Dans une te? ne? breuse et profonde unite? ,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarte? ,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se re? pondent.
Il est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants, Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies, --Et d'autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,
Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens, Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.
[Correspondences
Nature is a temple, where the living pillars Sometimes utter indistinguishable words; Man passes through these forests of symbols Which regard him with familiar looks.
Like long echoes that blend in the distance Into a unity obscure and profound,
Vast as the night and as the light,
The perfumes, colors, and sounds correspond.
There are some perfumes fresh as a baby's skin, Mellow as oboes, verdant as prairies,
--And others, corrupt, rich, and triumphant,
With all the expansiveness of infinite things, Like ambergris, musk, benjamin, incense, That sing the transports of spirit and sense. ]
Obsession
Grands bois, vous m'effrayez comme des cathe? drales; Vous hurlez comme l'orgue; et dans nos coeurs maudits, Chambres d'e? ternel deuil ou` vibrent de vieux ra^les, Re? pondent les e? chos de vos De profundis.
Je te hais, Oce? an! tes bonds et tes tumultes,
Mon esprit les retrouve en lui; ce rire amer
De l'homme vaincu, plein de sanglots et d'insultes, Je l'entends dans le rire e? norme de la mer.
Comme tu me plairais, o^ nuit! sans ces e? toiles Dont la lumie`re parle un langage connu!
Car je cherche le vide, et le noir, et le nu!
Mais les te? ne`bres sont elles-me^mes des toiles Ou` vivent, jaillissant de mon oeil par milliers, Des e^tres disparus aux regards familiers.
[Obsession
You terrify me, forests, like cathedrals;
You roar like organs; and in our cursed hearts, Chambers of mourning that quiver with our dying, Your De profundis echoes in response.
Anthropomorphism in Lyric and Law 209
210 Barbara Johnson
How I hate you, Ocean! your tumultuous tide
Is flowing in my spirit; this bitter laughter
Of vanquished man, strangled with sobs and insults, I hear it in the heaving laughter of the sea.
O night, how I would love you without stars, Whose light can only speak the words I know! For I seek the void, and the black, and the bare!
But the shadows are themselves a screen
That gathers from my eyes the ones I've lost,
A thousand living things with their familiar looks. ]
Both poems end up raising "man" as a question--"Correspondances" looks upon "man" as if from a great distance, as if from the outside; "Obsession" says "I," but then identifies with "vanquished man" whose laugh is echoed in the sea.
"Correspondances" is probably the most canonical of Baudelaire's poems in that it has justified the largest number of general statements about Baudelaire's place in literary history. The possibility of literary history ends up, in some ways, being the real topic of de Man's essay. De Man will claim that the use of this sonnet to anchor the history of "the symbolist movement" is based on a reading that ignores a crucial element in the poem, an element that, if taken seriously, will not allow for the edifice of literary history to be built upon it.
"Correspondances" sets up a series of analogies between nature, man, symbols, and metaphysical unity, and among manifestations of the different physical senses, all through the word "comme" ("like"). A traditional reading of the poem would say that the lateral analogies among the senses (perfumes fresh as a baby's skin, mellow as oboes, green as prairies) are signs that there exists an analogy between man and nature, and man and the spiritual realm.
De Man focuses on this analogy-making word, "comme," and notes an anomaly in the final instance. Whereas the first uses of "comme" in the poem equate different things into likeness, the last one just intro- duces a list of examples--there are perfumes that are rich and corrupt, like musk, ambergris, and frankincense. This is thus a tautology-- there are perfumes like . . . perfumes. De Man calls this a stutter. He writes, "Comme then means as much as 'such as, for example'" (249). "Ce Comme n'est pas un comme comme les autres" (249), writes de Man in a sudden access of French. His sentence performs the stutter he
attributes to the enumeration of the perfumes. Listing examples would seem to be quite different from proposing analogies. If the burden of the analogies in "Correspondances" is to convince us that the meta- phorical similarities among the senses point to a higher spiritual unity, then sheer enumeration would disrupt that claim.
There is another, more debatable, suggestion in de Man's reading that attempts to disrupt the anthropomorphism of the forest of sym- bols. De Man suggests that the trees are a mere metaphor for a city crowd in the first stanza. If the living pillars with their familiar glances are metaphorically a city crowd, then the anthropomorphism of nature is lost. Man is surrounded by tree-like men, not man-like trees. It is not "man" whose attributes are taken on by all of nature, but merely a crowd of men being compared to trees and pillars. De Man notes that everyone resists this reading--as do I--but the intensity with which it is rejected does make visible the seduction of the system that puts nature, god, and man into a perfect unity through the symbol, which is what has made the poem so important for literary history. Similarly, if the last "comme" is sheer enumeration rather than similarity, the transports in the last line of the poem would not get us into a transcen- dent realm, but would be like getting stuck on the French transporta- tion system (which, as de Man points out, uses the word "correspon- dance" for changes of station within the system). All these tropes would not carry us away into the spiritual realm, but would be an infi- nite series of substitutions. The echoes would remain echoes and not merge into a profound unity.
If "Correspondances" is said to place man in the center of a uni- verse that reflects him in harmony with all of nature, the poem "Obses- sion" places all of nature and the universe inside the psychology of man. Even the senses are projections. "Obsession" is the reading of "Correspondances" as hallucination. While "Correspondances" is en- tirely declarative, "Obsession" is almost entirely vocative. (Interestingly, de Man does not comment on another anomaly in the meaning of the word "comme"--the "comme" in "Obsession" that means "How! "-- which is surprising, since it enacts precisely what he calls "the tropo- logical transformation of analogy into apostrophe" [261]. ) Nature is addressed as a structure haunted by the subject's obsessions. Every- where he looks, his own thoughts look back. For psychoanalytically inclined readers, and indeed for de Man himself in an earlier essay,11 "Obsession" demystifies "Correspondances. " There is no profound unity in the world, but only, as Lacan would say, paranoid knowledge. 12
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But de Man sees the psychological gloss as another mystification, an- other anthropomorphism--the very anthropomorphic mystification that it is the duty of lyric, and of lyric pedagogy, to promote. "The lyric is not a genre, but one name among several to designate the defensive motion of understanding" (261). De Man concludes provocatively: "The resulting couple or pair of texts indeed becomes a model for the uneasy combination of funereal monumentality with paranoid fear that characterizes the hermeneutics and the pedagogy of lyric poetry" (259). What comes to be at stake, then, is lyric poetry itself as a poetry of the subject. By juxtaposing lyric and law in this essay, I am implicit- ly asking whether there is a relation between the "first person" (the grammatical "I") and the "constitutional person" (the subject of rights).
"Only a subject can understand a meaning," claims Lacan. "Con- versely, every phenomenon of meaning implies a subject. "13 What de Man seems to be arguing for here is the existence of a residue of lan- guage or rhetoric that exists neither inside nor outside the "phenome- non of meaning. " Does lyric poetry try to give a psychological gloss to disruptions that are purely grammatical? Are the periodizations in lit- erary history such as Parnassian and Romantic merely names for rhetorical structures that are not historical? For de Man, "Obsession" loses the radical disruption of "Correspondances" by making enu- meration into a symptom, which is more reassuring than endless repe- tition. It is as though de Man were saying that "Obsession," despite or rather because it is so psychologically bleak, falls back within the pleasure principle--that is, the psychological, the human--whereas "Correspondances," which seems so sunny, contains a disruption that goes beyond the pleasure principle. When de Man says that we can get "Obsession" from "Correspondances" but not the other way around, this is a way of repeating Freud's experience of the disruption of the pleasure principle in Beyond the Pleasure Principle, a study in which Freud grappled with the very limits of psychoanalysis. Freud noticed that there were experiences or facts that seemed to contradict his no- tion of the primacy of the pleasure principle in human life (negative pleasures, the repetition compulsion, the death instinct). As Derrida has shown, Freud kept bringing the beyond back within explainability, and the beyond of Freud's theory kept popping up elsewhere. 14 He could, in effect, get the pleasure principle to explain its beyond, but not anticipate it. The beyond of the pleasure principle could only exist as a disruption.
De Man makes the surprising claim that "Correspondances" is not
a lyric, but contains the entire possibility of lyric: "'Obsession,' a text of recollection and elegiac mourning, adds remembrance to the flat surface of time in 'Correspondances'--produces at once a hermeneu- tic, fallacious, lyrical reading of the unintelligible" (262). The act of making intelligible, whether in the lyric or in the terminology of liter- ary history, is for de Man at the end of the essay always an act of "re- sistance and nostalgia, at the furthest remove from the materiality of actual history. " This would mean that "actual history" is what escapes and resists intelligibility. Here is how de Man ends the essay:
If mourning is called a "chambre d'e? ternel deuil ou` vibrent de vieux ra^les," then this pathos of terror states in fact the desired consciousness of eternity and of temporal harmony as voice and as song. True "mourning" is less deluded. The most it can do is to allow for non- comprehension and enumerate non-anthropomorphic, non-elegiac, non-celebratory, non-lyrical, non-poetic, that is to say, prosaic, or, bet- ter, historical modes of language power. (262)
Earlier in the essay, de Man had said of Nietzsche's general analysis of truth that "truth is always at the very least dialectical, the negative knowledge of error" (242). In another essay, de Man speaks of "litera- ture as the place where this negative knowledge about the reliability of linguistic utterance is made available. "15 Negativity, then, is not an assertion of the negative, but a nonpositivity within the possibility of assertion. This final sentence is clearly a version of stating negative knowledge. But it is also a personification. "True 'mourning'" is said to be "less deluded. " Stressing the word it as the agent, he writes, "the most it can do is to allow for non-comprehension. " "True mourning" becomes the subject of this negative knowledge. The subjectivizations performed by lyric upon the unintelligible are here rejected, but by a per- sonification of mourning. Is mourning--or rather, "true 'mourning'"-- human or inhuman? Or is it what makes it impossible to close the gap between "man" and rhetoric? In other words, does this type of personi- fication presuppose knowledge of human essence, or does it merely confer a kind of rhetorical agency? Is it anthropomorphic? Is there a difference between personification and anthropomorphism? Is the text stating its knowledge as if it were a human, or is it just performing the inescapability of the structures it is casting off? Has de Man's conclu- sion really eliminated anthropomorphism and reduced it to the trope of personification, or is anthropomorphism inescapable in the notion of mourning? Is this what lyric poetry--so often structured around the
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relation between loss and rhetoric--must decide? Or finesse? The least we can say is that de Man has given the last word in his own text to a personification.
II
That which henceforth is to be "truth" is now fixed; that is to say, a uniformly valid and binding designation of things is invented and the legislature of lan- guage also gives the first laws of truth: since here, for the first time, originates the contrast between truth and falsity. The liar uses the valid designations, the words, in order to make the unreal appear as real, e. g. , he says, "I am rich," whereas the right designation of his state would be "poor. "
--Nietzsche, "Truth and Falsity in an Ultramoral Sense"
The case of Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council is based on a provision in the United States legal code permit- ting a "person" to appear in court in forma pauperis. The relevant leg- islation reads in part:
Any court of the United States may authorize the commencement, prose- cution or defense of any suit, action, or proceeding, civil or criminal, or appeal therein, without prepayment of fees and costs or security there- for, by a person who makes affidavit that he is unable to pay such costs or give security therefor. 16
In other words, a "person" may go to court without prepayment of fees if the "person" can demonstrate indigence. The question to be de- cided by the court is whether this provision applies to artificial persons such as corporations or councils, or whether it is meant to apply only to individuals. In the case that led to Rowland v. California Men's Colony, Unit II Men's Advisory Council, a council of prisonors in California has tried to bring suit against the correctional officers of the prison for the restoration of the practice of providing free cigarettes for indigent prisoners, which was discontinued. They try to sue in forma pauperis on the grounds that the warden forbids the council to hold funds of its own. The court finds that they have not sufficiently proven indigence. They are allowed to appeal in forma pauperis in order to en- able the court to decide whether the council, as an artificial legal per- son, is entitled to sue in forma pauperis. The appeals court decides that they are so entitled, but this conflicts with another court ruling in an- other case. The Supreme Court therefore gets to decide whether the provisions for proceeding in forma pauperis should apply only to natu-
ral persons, or also to legal persons such as associations and councils. The case is therefore about what a person is, and how you can tell the difference between a natural person and an artificial person.
Justice Souter's majority opinion begins with something that in many ways resembles de Man's stutter of infinite enumeration. In order to find out what the legal meaning of "person" is, Souter turns to what is called the "Dictionary Act. " The Dictionary Act gives instruc- tions about how to read acts of Congress. It states:
In determining the meaning of any Act of Congress, unless the context indicates otherwise, the word "person" includes corporations, compa- nies, associations, firms, partnerships, societies, and joint stock com- panies, as well as individuals. (1 United States Code 1)
Thus, the word person does include artificial entities unless the context indicates otherwise. Now the court asks, but what does "context" mean? It turns to Webster's New International Dictionary, where it notes that it means "the part or parts of a discourse preceding or fol- lowing a 'text' or passage or a word, or so intimately associated with it as to throw light on its meaning. " The context, then, is the surround- ing words of the act. Of course, Webster's does offer a second meaning for the word context, "associated surroundings, whether material or mental"--a reference not to the surrounding text but to the broader reality or intentionality--but Souter dismisses this by saying, "we doubt that the broader sense applies here. " Why? Because "if Congress had meant to point further afield, as to legislative history, for example, it would have been natural to use a more spacious phrase, like 'evi- dence of congressional intent,' in place of 'context. '"
The word natural, which is precisely at issue here, since we are try- ing to find out whether the statute applies only to natural persons, is here applied precisely to an artificial person, Congress, which is per- sonified as having natural intentionality. "If Congress had meant . . . " The Court's decision repeatedly relies on this type of personification: it is as though Souter has to treat Congress as an entity with intentions, even natural intentions, in order to say that Congress could not have meant to include artificial entities in its ruling. There is a personifica- tion of an artificial entity, Congress, embedded in the very project of interpreting how far the law will allow for artificial entities to be con- sidered persons.
Turning to the Dictionary Act for person and to Webster's diction- ary for context, Souter also notes that he has to define indicates. The
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difficulty of doing so pushes him into a volley of rhetorical flourishes: "A contrary 'indication' may raise a specter short of inanity, and with something less than syllogistic force. " "Indicates," it seems, means more than nonsense but less than logical necessity.
