Incumplimiento del contrato.

3.1. Deconstruction and ethical testimony

In recent years, there has been much discussion regarding what appears to be an ‘ethical turn’ in Derrida’s later works (Jones, 2003: 224). Whereas some see the ethical turn as constituting a break with the themes that dominate his earlier works, others maintain that the more explicit focus on ethics ‘is nothing but a clarification or extension of themes ever present in deconstruction’ (224). During the interview, ‘Hospitality, justice and responsibility: a dialogue with Jacques Derrida’ (1999: 80), Derrida is asked a question regarding the continuity in his thinking, as the questioner is unconvinced that there is indeed something like a ‘Kehre or Heideggerean turning’ in his thought. In response to this question, Derrida (81) states ‘I am grateful that you don’t want to cut me in two; I do wish to be cut, but in more that two places!’ Derrida wrote on many themes and published extensively during his lifetime, and, as such, one should be weary of identifying an explicit turn in his work. Despite his sheer output, one can provide a stronger reason against an explicit ethical turn in his work, namely that Derrida has been writing on ethics (even if it is not the only thing he has been writing on), since coining the term deconstruction.

During the above-mentioned interview, Derrida is asked whether there is ‘a logic of ethical testimony at work in deconstruction?’ To this he answers:

Yes, it is absolutely central to it. Testimony, which implies faith or promise, governs the entire social space. I would say that theoretical knowledge is circumscribed within this testimonial

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space. It is only by reference to the possibility of testimony that deconstruction can begin to ask questions concerning knowledge and meaning (82).

Ethical testimony is the impetus for deconstruction. Without the promise of accounting for that which is excluded from our systems of meaning, or without deconstructing in the name of ethics or the Other, deconstruction would be an endless and pointless exercise. Indeed, it is this transcendental promise that safeguards deconstruction against empiricism or relativism. In this regard, Derrida (2002b: 367) asks: ‘Is it empiricist or relativist to seriously take into account what arrives – differences of every order, beginning with the differences of contexts?’ Deconstruction, as a project aimed at safeguarding difference, is, therefore, through-and-through an ethical enterprise. At this juncture it should also be quite clear why deconstruction is compatible with the critical enterprise: deconstruction provides us with a ‘mechanism’ for continually questioning and exploring our knowledge claims and beliefs. Deconstruction, therefore, draws attention to, and facilitates, the important task of imaging a better future, and thereby leads to modifications and transformations of our views on reality.

3.2. Deconstruction as promise and threat

This idea of a transcendental promise sits uncomfortable with an otherwise radically immanent project, targeted against metaphysics itself. However, as will be explained in more detail in the next chapter (secs 5 & 6), the ethical moment (like the just moment) needs to take place beyond the calculable programme (i.e. beyond the possibility of deconstruction, and, therefore, beyond meaning).

For now, it is useful to return to the insights presented in section 6 of chapter two in order to explain the idea of a transcendental promise. In this section, it was argued that substantive ethical theories – although helpful in providing us with the means to think about ethical problems – cannot provide us with blueprints, which prescribe the ‘correct’ course of action. Rather, ethical decision-making is a highly contextual practice. The ethical decision-maker must grapple with competing demands and interpretations, and must struggle with the insolvable impasse that characterise the moment of decision-making. Rationality and calculation cannot resolve the aporia, yet a decision must be taken. The deconstructionist grapples with a similar paradox: on the one hand, we cannot totally renounce our systems of meaning (we need rational tools and we need to calculate); but, on the other hand, it is exactly these tools and systems (including the ethics of language) that must be challenged, if we wish to act justly. This ties in with the point that – because our models of reality

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are necessarily partial and incomplete (i.e. our models cannot fully account for the complexity of phenomena) – our descriptions of phenomena are defined by an inevitable normativity.

There is no way out of this ethical complexity – to plot the trajectory of an ethical decision is not only to ignore the complexity, but also to exclude anything that may reasonably be called a just decision. The only place in which a just decision can find its expression is in the very moment of the decision, which is always a singular event. After the decision is taken and the action assumed, the ethical moment is transformed into something that can be defined, justified, and criticised. In other words, the transcendental promise is ruined because the logic of the event is destroyed, assimilated into a generalised hierarchy of meaning that transforms ethics and justice into codes and law, and that is once again open to deconstruction. The ethical task must, therefore, take place anew every time a decision is made. Again, this point reinforces the importance of critique, and in this context, it is especially helpful to recall Preiser and Cilliers’ (2010) point that it is only through being critical of our own positions that we can make our value judgements explicit, and avoid claiming a false sense of objectivity.

Deconstruction, as the means by which to articulate the ethical interruption of ontological closure, therefore, operates in service of the singularity of the event. In other words, Derrida’s entire body of philosophy serves as a constant reminder of the necessity of remaining open to the Other, who cannot be assimilated into our systems of meaning; but who, nevertheless, demands our consideration. In this regard, Derrida (2002b: 364) writes that ‘[t]he deconstruction of logocentricism, of linguisticism, of economism... etc., as well as the affirmation of the impossible are always put forward in the name of the real, of the irreducible reality of the real’. Derrida (264) warns that it is important not to think about the real as an ‘attribute of the objective, present, perceptible or intelligible thing (res)’. Rather, for him, the real constitutes the transcendental moment, also understood as a promise, or ‘as the coming or event of the other, where the other resists all reappropriation, be it ana-onto-phenomenological appropriation’ (367). The ‘real’ is, therefore, a concept that designates the (im)possibility of the ethical moment.

Although deconstruction is undertaken in the name of the real, deconstruction – like negotiation – is also the very place of threat: ‘one must [il faut] with vigilance venture as far as possible into what appears threatening and at the same time maintain a minimum of security – and also an internal security not to be carried away by this threat’ (Derrida, 2002a: 16-17). This threat is constituted by the fact that, in acting justly, we must renounce our systems of meaning, including consciousness, presence, and even language, even though we cannot do without these concepts. We must face the

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uncertainty that results from renouncing (as far as possible) our existing systems of meaning, without adopting a nihilistic position.

The nature of this argument becomes clearer if we consider the following remarks on forgiveness, which – like justice, hospitality and gift-giving – has the same structure as ethical decision-making. Derrida (2002b: 351) writes that true forgiveness cannot stem from duty: ‘One forgives, if one forgives beyond any categorical imperative, beyond debt and obligation.’ In other words, forgiveness must be unconditional. It must disavow the tradition of repentance, economic exchange, and identification, even though we can only think about forgiveness within this tradition. Derrida provides us with the following comments regarding this impossible situation:

What would it mean to “inherit” a tradition under these conditions, from the moment one thinks on the basis of this tradition, in its name, certainly, but precisely against it in its name, against the very thing that tradition believed had to be saved to survive while losing itself? Again the possibility of the impossible: a legacy would only be possible where it becomes impossible. This is one of the possible definitions of deconstruction – precisely as legacy... deconstruction might perhaps be “the experience of the impossible” (352).