Exscription

Author(s): Jean-Luc Nancy and Katherine Lydon

Source: Yale French Studies, No. 78, On Bataille (1990), pp. 47-65
Published by: Yale University Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2930115 .
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 JEAN-LUC NANCY

Exscription

Of thetwotextsunitedhere,thesecondalone will accountfortheir

commontitle.Elevenyearsseparatethesetwotexts,and thereader
will sensethisdistance.'The writingofthesecondbroughtme back
however,in an unexpectedway,to the first.A continuityseemed
inescapable,of a communitywithBataillewhichgoes beyondand
can go withouttheoreticaldiscussion(whichI can supposeliveson,
or at least endureswith what can be called the tragicreligionof
Bataille).This communitytherefore also goes beyondcommentary,
exegesis,or interpretationof Bataille.It is not withoutdistanceor
reservations, butthesearepreciselytheoretical. It is a communityin
thatBataille immediatelycommunicatesto me thatpain and that
pleasurewhichresultfromtheimpossibility ofcommunicating any-
thingat all withouttouchingthelimitwhereall meaningspillsoutof
itselflikea simpleinkstainon a word,on theword"meaning."2 This
spillingand this ink are the ruinof theoriesof "communication,"
conventionalchatterwhichpromotesreasonableexchangeand does
nothingbut obscureviolence,treachery and lies, while leavingthe
powerofunreasonwithno chanceofbeingmeasured.Butthereality
ofcommunitywherenothingis sharedwithoutalso beingremoved
fromthatkindof "communication," thisrealityhas alwaysalready
revealedthe vanityof such speeches.They communicateonlythe
postulationofthecommunicationofa meaning,and ofthemeaning
of"communication." As forBataille,beyondwhathe saysand some-
1. The first,in a slightly
differentversion,was publishedin theanthology
Misere
de la litterature(Paris:Bourgois,collection"Premiere livraison,"1977).
2. See my La CommunautW desoeuvree (Minneapolis:The University of Min-
nesotaPress,forthcoming), translatedbyPeterConnorand Christopher Fynsk.

YFS 78, On Bataille,ed. Allan Stoekl,C 1990byYale University.

47
48 Yale FrenchStudies
timesapartfromwhathe says,he communicatescommunity itself.
That is, nakedexistence,nakedwriting, andhow one silently, haun-
tinglyrefersus to the other,makingus sharemeaning'snakedness:
neithergodsnorthoughtsbutthatus imperceptibly andinsuperably
exscribed.Todaythereis a kindofnecessityofsayingthis,ofsayingit
again:we exist,we write,only"for"thisstaggering spillageofmean-
ing.Morethanjusta fewyearsarerepeatedhere;ourwholetradition
mustre-appropriate its experienceforitself."Jeferaiun versde vrai
rien ... J'aifaitle vers,ne sais sur quoi" [I will make a versefrom
nothing at all . . . I made the verse, about what I know not], writes
Guillaumede Poitiersaroundtheyear1100.3

I. REASONS TO WRITE
on theBook
Writing,

In a certainsense-very certain,in fact-it is no doubtnearlyimpos-

sibletodayto "rienecrire"[writeanything] on thebook.Thispeculiar
Frenchusageoftheword"rien"obligesone tounderstand atthesame
timeboth:it's no longerpossibleto writeanything on thesubjectof
thebook,anditis no longerpossibletogetoutofwriting on thebook.
Itis no longerpossibletowriteanything whateveraboutthebook:
ifindeed"thequestionofthebook"mustbe theissue,to borrowthe
expressionfromone of the textswhich markthe horizonof this
impossibility("EdmondJabeset la questiondu livre,"by Jacques
Derrida),we mustat once postulatethatas ofnow thisquestionhas
been fullytreated(althoughit has not been nor can it everbe the
objectof any treatise).A wish to posit,to inventanythingaboutit
todaycan only springfromignoranceor naivete,whetherreal or
feigned.Somethingdefinitiveis as of now accomplishedregarding
thisquestion,bya group,a networkorwhateverone wantsto call it,
oftextsthatcan'tbe avoided,namedMallarme,Proust,Joyce, Kafka,
Bataille,Borges,Blanchot,Laporte,Derrida.An incompletelist no
doubt,an unjustone perhaps-it is nonethelesscertainthatwe must
notsimplypass through themon theway,butstaythere.Whichis not
idolatrous,or conservative-quitethe contrary,
at all fetishistic, as
shouldbe clear.It is timeto affirm thatthequestionofthe book is

3. All citationsfromthemanyauthorsarewovenintothistextand will notbe

footnotedout ofrespectforthespiritofthearticle.
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 49
alreadyhere.Reactionary pietismconsistsin the exactopposite,in
indefinitelysolicitingthese same textsso as to extractfromthem,
and startup againin a thousandmoreorless declaredways,bygloss,
imitationor exploitation,a questionofthebookin theformofspec-
ulation,mise en abyme, staging,fragmentation, denunciationor
enunciationofthebook,stretching as faras theeyecan read.
I myselfshouldhave liked to contentmyselfwithpatientlyre-
copyingthese textshere.Nothingcan assureme thatI shouldnot
have done so.
But-at the same time,bythe same categoricalimperative-it's
no longerpossibleto getout ofwritingon thebook.
Forthisquestionis nota question,it is nota subjectwhichcan be
consideredas completelyor incompletely explored-stillless as ex-
hausted.Exhaustion-an undefinedexhaustion-formsratherthe
subjectwhichmustbe tackled,hereas elsewhere.
As forthebook (Mallarme'stitleand program), theloose endsof
somethingin our historyhave now been tiedup. The powerofthis
knotdoes notcomefromthe "genius"ofthese"authors"butsignals
thehistorical,morethanhistorical,powerandnecessitywhichmust
have caused thewritingofbooksto getall knottedup in itself.Since
theWest-what Heideggermadeus thinkofas theWest-decidedas
farbackas humanmemorygoes,to consignto bookstheknowledge
ofa truthdecipheredin a Book-of theWorld,ofGod,indeedofthe
Id-which was nonethelessimpossibleto reador write,theWestis
knottedup withwriter'scramp.This is in briefthewell-known main
reasonforwhat we have continuallyto go and read again in these
texts.
And ofwhatwe have to writeagain-on conditionthatwe not,
followingthe fashionwhichforgetsthe implacablelesson ofPierre
Menard,allow theconceptof"writingagain"to tumbledownto the
level ofthe "rewrite."
Accordingto a law whichall thesetextscontain,and articulate,
and whose rigorneeds no demonstration, this historystrickenby
writer'scrampcan only end by repeatingitself.Neverfullydealt
with,the questionof the book marksthe resurgenceofrepetition.
Not ofsa propre[itsown]repetitionbecauseit is, inasmuchas it is,
thequestionofwhatremainswithoutproperty (propertyandliterary
communism,thatis the question).Repetitionis the form,the sub-
stanceofwhatdoes nothaveits identity printedonce andforall (nor
morethanonce)in theuntranscribable Book.Forwhoeverhappensto
50 Yale FrenchStudies
be deprivedof this identity-foreveryonein the West-repetition
formsthequestionofthebook,thequestionwhichmustbe written
in orderto dissolvein its writing-what?
In order-but thegestureofwritingis neversatisfiedwitha tele-
ology-to dissolve-but in a dissolutionitselfdissociatedfromthe
values of solutionconferred on it by metaphysics-notmerelythe
ideal identityinscribedin theblindingwhitenessoftheBook.
(forin thedepthofeternallight,everything whichis scatteredin
theuniverseis reunitedas ifboundbyloveintoa singlebook.Dante.)
but to dissolve this identityto the point of a loss, a privation
whichis also a privatization, to dissolveeventheBook itselfto the
pointof loss, privation,privatization. The Book is there-in every
book the virginrefoldingof the book takes place (Mallarme)-we
mustwriteon it, make it a palimpsest,overloadit,muddyits pages
with added lines to the pointof utmostconfusionof signsand of
writings:we mustin shortfulfillitsoriginalunreadability, clutching
it in the shapelessexhaustedhandofthecramp.
Whatfor?we must indeedtake the risk:we mustwriteon the
bookfora deliverance.Whichwouldscarcelyhave to do withFree-
dom(I meanwiththatsubjective,subject,subjugatedFreedomwhich
God or the Spiritof metaphysicsautomaticallyconferupon them-
selves).Writingoughtto slip intotheintersticeofthe strangehom-
onymliber/liber, intotheeveryday ambiguity oflivraison[delivery].
Writing? tormenting quitevainlyhopingforthemoment
yourself,
ofdeliverance?(Bataille)
-and the sentencewhichfollowsin thesame story, Histoirede
rats:
My reasonforwritingis to reachB.
B. is thewomanin thestory, butherinitialandthesentenceitself
haveus readwoman,thiswoman,a womananda manandB.; Bataille
himself,anda placeanda bookanda thoughtanddeliverance"itself,"
in personwithoutanyallegorism.
Such is repetition:renewal,rewritingofthepetition,oftheeffort
to reachand join, of the request,ofthe demand,of the plea, ofthe
claim, of the supplication.Rewritingon the book is the renewed
clamorormurmurofa demand,ofa pressingcall. IfthetextswhichI
have mentioneddo remainhenceforth in our history,it's because
theyhavenotdealtwithanyquestionbuthaveknottedthiscall intoa
lump in one or morethroatsofwriting:a grandglottalspasm.
They have knottedthe ethicaland morethan ethicalcall fora
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 51
deliverance,ontoa deliverance.It is imperative notto answerit ...
theneutral,writesBlanchot,denominating as neutraltheliterary
act
whichbringing an unanswerableproblemtotheclosureofan aliquid
to which the questionwouldn'tcorrespond-orratherit would be
indispensableto distinguishwithall possiblecare two incommen-
surableconcepts:the answerto a questionand theanswerto a call.
It may be thatone can answera call onlybe repeatingit-like
nightwatchmen.It maybe thatit is nottheresponsewhichis imper-
ative,butonlytheobligationofresponding, whichis calledresponsi-
bility.How,in thebook,can theissue be responsibility? Eludingit is
no longerpossibleanymorethanavoidingthis:how,inwriting where
theVoiceis absent(a voicewithoutwritingis at onceabsolutelyalive
and absolutelydead. Derrida),is a call to be heard,how can it be a
questionofvocation,invocationor advocation?How in generalcan
thebook'sfullothernessbe delivered?
All thesetextshaveexhaustedthetheme,thetheory, thepractice,
themetamorphosis, the
thefuture, fugue, or the cutofthebookforno
otherreasonthanto repeatthiscall.
I myselfhad somethingelse towrite,longerandformorethanone
person.Longin thewriting.It wouldbe a book as longas theThou-
sand and One Nights,perhaps,butquitedifferent (Proust).

Repetitions

All the same,it is probablybetterto dot thei's ofrepetition, at the

riskofrepeatingmyselfsomewhat.
The reduplication ofthebookat itsownheart,theself-representa-
tionofliterature, eachbook'sstoryofitsownbirth-ofitsowndeliv-
ery-its self-analysis,orperhapstheinvolutionofitsmessagein the
displayofits code,orthefiguration ofitsproceduresin thenarrative
ordemonstrative processoftheformation ofitsfigures ortheputting
intoplayofitsrulesbythegame'srulesthemselves, all thatin a word
I will call autobibliography,
all thisdatesfromtheinventionofthe
book. Everything on the strengthof which our modernitygained
entirelibraries-it had to be,it was necessarybythatverynecessity
ofthebook whichno writtentextescapes (theuselessprolixepistle
whichI am writingalreadyexistsin one ofthethirty volumeson the
fivebookshelvesin oneoftheinnumerable hexagons-and so doesits
refutation.-ThelibraryofBabel-, all thismakesup theself-repeti-
tionwhichunavoidablyconstitutesthebookfrombirth.The reasonI
52 Yale FrenchStudies
writeis to reach B.: Babel, Bible, bibliology,bibliomancy,biblio-
mania,bibliophilia,bibliotheque[library].
This is whatthebookhas moreaccuratelyendedup recitingand
harkingback to, in the age of its materialinvention:in the age of
printing, ageofthetruebook,ageofthefullydevelopedsubjectandof
communication.Printinghas satisfiedthe need to relate to each
otherin an idealmode(Hegel).Sincetheneverything has happenedas
ifall theideal contentofcommunication consistedin autobibliogra-
phy.All books displaythe beingor the law of the book: fromthe
beginning ithas no objectbutitself,andthissatisfaction.
I amwriting
to you,daughter, withpleasure,eventhoughI haveno newsforyou
(Mme de Sevigne).
Everything has beensaid,andwe cometoo late,in themorethan
seventhousandyearsthattherehavebeenthinking men:so it is that
thefirstchapteron booksmustbe begun,in a bookentitledCharac-
ters.The exhaustionof materialprescribesthe infinitenumberof
possibleways to formthe signsof it. It's the historyof the world
whichwe arenow visiting,thegoddesstellshim: it's thebookofits
destinies.Move into anotherroomand thereis anotherworld,an-
otherbook-somewhere in it you will findthe Essays concerned
with theodicywhereit's all written,and you'll read therethatall
Borgeseverwrotewas buta thoughtofLeibnitz'swhichLichtenberg
had alreadyrecopied:thelibrarieswill be cities.No placewill be free
ofbooks,evenifthereshouldhappento be a lack.You arequiteright,
sir,thereis a wholechaptermissinghere,leavinga hole ofatleastten
pagesin thebook,writesTristram, theauthorwho also recountshis
own birth.Nor will any book be freeof books,for,not contentto
inscribeour name on anonymousthoughtsby a singleauthor,we
appropriate thoseofthousandsofindividuals,epochs,and entireli-
braries,andwe stealevenfromplagiarists, writesJeanPaul plagiariz-
inghimselfone moretime.The textualanthology-choosingflowers
frombooks,choosingbooksso as to arrangein eachbookthebouquet
ofits literariness-continuesunabatedall thewaydownto us.
All thisrepetition en abymeofthebookconstitutes itsredundan-
cy,bothnativeto it and morenaivethanis usuallythought.Redun-
dancyis theoverflow oftheundulatingwave,itsexcess:theBookhas
alwaysbeen thoughtof as the endlesslyspoutingsprayof an inex-
haustibleocean-wouldn't a jet ofgrandeur, ofthought, orofconsid-
erableemotion,a sentencepursuedin largetypespacedoutto one line
a page,keep thereaderin goodconditionforthelengthofthebook
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 53
(Mallarme).The waverepeatsitselfand fallsbackagain.This repeti-
tionis perhapsproperly called composition:to composeis to gather
backtogether, toputbackin,tobringbackhome,andtoreduce.Every
book bringsback theredundancy oftheBook to thespacedelimited
by an inscription.In each of its temples, autobibliography is
worshiped.
-on conditionthatit knownothingof the otherrepetitionfor
whichin factit is onlytheexchangeoftheremuneration. The age of
printing is indeedtheage ofthesubject-thereis no bookthatis not
the book of an 'I,' and 'IF repeats itself,that is how it can be
recognized.
I have no moremade my book thanmy book has made me-a
book consubstantialwith its author.The subjectsets itselfup as
a Book,andonlythisself-erection has eversecuredthesubstanceofa
subject-whose frankdissimulationallowsdesireto be readlike an
open book: thus,reader,I am myselfthe matterof my book; you
wouldbe unreasonableto spendyourleisureon so frivolous andvain
a subject. I am not buildinghere a statue to erect at the town
crossroads,this is fora nook in a library, and to amuse a neighbor.
Othersformman; I tell ofhim, and portraya particularone,veryill-
formed.I wantpeopleto see mynaturaland ordinary pace,however
offthe trackit is. My reason forwritingis to reachB.-to reach
myself, toreachin hermysociety,hersolitude,toreachhim,herwho
says 'I,' not natural,not ordinary.
'IFrepeatsits desireto itself-but can thatdesirebe anything but
offthetrack?That the I displayitselfis notenoughto makeitvisible.
Someonegetslostirremediably in thematterofhis book-someone
whowillnotstoprepeating tohimself:"thematterofmyexperience,
whichwillbe thematterofmybook"andthistimeit'sProust.Lostin
everybook,someone-who is and isn'ttheone who saysI-repeats
himself.Throughtheabymeofautobibliography and in spiteofthis
abyme,an autographwalks intothe abyss.Its errantmovementbe-
ginsat the same crossroadsas its self-erection.
This is the autographwhichtakes its singularleave at the very
openingofits book. So farewell.Montaigne,thisfirstdayofMarch,
fifteenhundredand eighty.Signatureof place, signatureof name,
signatureoffarewell,it entersit own book as ifit werea tomb.It is
samenesswhich,in alteringits identityand its singularity, divides
theirseal (Derrida).
Literaland literaryrepetitionbelongsto him who goes astrayin
54 Yale French Studies
his own marks-in the speechesofhis own wake,like Finnegan's,
signsare on ofa merebytokenthatwills stillto be becomingupon
this thereonce a here was: an exodus has begunagain,here,and
someonehas enteredinto the historyofhis diaspora.The repeated
call comes fromhim. It's the call ofa solitudewhichpreexistsany
isolation,theinvocationofa community whichneithercontainsnor
precedesanysociety.How to deliverthefullothernesscommonto all
books?someoneasks,some writeror other,an 'I' who is called.
bentoverthebook open to thesame
page
whathe hearsare thesongsfrom
theotherside wheretheothersare (JacquelineRisset)

The Storyhe Writeshimself about the Book

is a storywhichconforms withhis desireandhis exodus.Writing, he

says,markseverywhere theend ofcommunism.That is, ofwhathe
has neverknown,because he was bornwithwriting.
Buthe writesin his books-and in all his books-what commu-
nismwas, the book'sabsence.The bookneverpretendsto anything
less thanretracing whatexceedsit.The questionofthebook'sorigin
will neverbelongto any book (Derrida)-and yet,0 memory!you
who have writtenwhatI have seen,herewill be seen yournobility
(Dante).So he writestheworldofthebard,thestoryteller, thesacred
reciter.The firstpoet,whotookthisstepso as tofreehimselfthrough
thecrowd'simagination, knowshow to returnthroughit to reallife.
Forhe goes offrightand leftto tell thecrowdtheexploitswhichhis
imaginationattributesto the hero.This herois, fundamentally, no
one buthimself.Butthepoet'slisteners, whounderstand him,know
how to identifythemselveswith the hero (Freud).This pure self-
poiesis in purecommunitycontinuallyhauntsall ofliterature:and
it'sa manofthehere,a manofthenow,whois hisownnarrator, in the
end (Robbe-Grillet).
It was, he says,theworldofa mimewho had no modelsand no
imitators,theworldofthebrilliantimproviser, ofthedancerdrunk
on god,ofthe drumbeats,the blows,thewhistlingofan unwritten
music,theworldofprayers, supplications,invocations.It's thetribe
withitswordsandrecitations, thechantingcryoftheprimitive com-
munearounditshearth-silentwriting ofa fireso brightthatit tears
withoutleavinga trace(Laporte).
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 55
Whichis followed,in thestorywe tellourselves,bythesocietyof
thatwritingwhichis notthebookbuttheengraving ofsacredcharac-
ters,the inscriptionof the Laws on tabletsof stone or metal,on
columns,pilasters,pediments,and mouldings,hard writingand
everywhere the erectionof steles settingforththe Orderand the
Arrangement, the Structureand theModel,forno one and thusfor
all: this was monumentalcommunism,architectural writingand
hieroglyphic monarchy. All thewordsmusthave a characteristic as-
pect of depthor prominence,engravingor sculpture,the writerof
maxims(Joubert) says of sacredwriting.And everybook tendsun-
controllablytowardthe maxim: maxima sententia,the greatest
thought...
Last comes-from nowhereand everywhere, fromEgypt,Ionia,
Canaan-the book; last comes ta biblia,theirremediably pluralBi-
the
ble,theLaw,theProphets, Scripture, it
as dividesitself,laysitself
out,putsitselfen abyme,and disseminatesitself.It is andis notthe
Book ofonlyone-author or people.
Lastcomestheverybelated,veryoldreligionofbooks,andall the
exodibegin.Egypt,Ionia, Canaan move,constantlyscattering com-
munescrossingthedesert.
The historyofbooksbeginsbylosingitselfin thebookofhistory.
Therenothingtellsus whoifanyonewrotetheveryfirstpactwhichis
nonethelesscalled the Book of the Alliance (Exodus,27:7). It's the
historyof the pact-a pact of deliverance-broken,kept,betrayed,
stilloffered-andoftherenewedcall to signit once again.Scarcely
gravenbeforetheywere broken,the Tabletsare neverset up, they
wanderin theArkwiththewandering tribes.The Scrollsunrolland
thevolumeofhistoryswellsuntilitreachesus; thebookis insepara-
ble fromthe story,the historyof the novel: the age of the book is
romanticism.In our writingsthoughtseems to proceedwith the
movementofa man who walksstraight ahead.In thewritingsofthe
ancients,on thecontrary, it seems to proceedbythemovementofa
birdwhichsoarsand whirlsas it goes forward (Joubert).
Who does not see thatI have takena roadalongwhichI shall go,
withoutstoppingandwithouteffort, as longas thereis inkandpaper
in theworld?
Books beginwiththeirrepetition:two storiesofgenesismingle,
overlap,repeat and contradictthemselves.Books are copied, re-
produced,published because they are not in themselvespublic
as eithera songor an obelisk;we transmitthem,translatethem-
56 Yale FrenchStudies
seventy-two Jews,six fromeach tribein seventy-two days on the
islandofPharos,made theBibleGreek-, we betraythem,counter-
feitthem,imitatethem,recopy,recite,and citethem.Whoeversays
'I' mixesup books and signaturesin his book: In thereasoningsand
inventionsthatI transplantintomysoilandconfound withmyown,I
have sometimesdeliberatelynot indicatedthe author,in orderto
hold in check the temerityof thosehastycondemnationsthatare
tossed at all sortsof writings.Here the repeatedrepetitionbegins
again.
Books are a corruptible matter.Books are made ofwood: biblos,
liber,codex,Buch,it's alwaysbarkortree.It bums,it rots,it decom-
poses, it can be erased,it falls to the gnawingcriticismof mice.
Bibliophiliais, just as much as philosophy, an impossiblelove,its
objectsdiscolored,faded,worn-out,cut-up,fullofholes. Books are
miserable,hateful.Descarteshatesthejob ofmakingbooks.Thereis
nothingfortheSubject-the other,thesame;whosays'I' (think)-in
the tomes,nothingbut loss of time,a lifeuselesslyconsumedin
readingthescrapsofknowledgethatI myselfcanfound.Thereshould
be some legal restraintaimed againstineptand useless writers,as
thereis againstvagabondsand idlers.BothI and a hundredothers
would be banishedfromthe hands of our people. This is no jest.
Scribblingseemsto be a sortofsymptomofan unrulyage.Whendid
we writeso much as since ourdissensionsbegan?since ourwriting
has been troubled.
Forhe who says 'I' mustnonethelesswrite,thedemonstration is
inexorable:thinking through theproblemoftheegoandthealterego,
oftheoriginary couplingandthehumancommunity, Husserlwrites:
In all this there are essential laws or an essential stylethe rootof
whichlies firstin thetranscendental ego,and in thetranscendental
intersubjectivity whichthe ego discoversin it,and consequentlyin
the essentialstructures of transcendental motivationand constitu-
in
tion.Success elucidating them would in itselfgivethisaprioristic
stylea supremelyhonorablerationalexplanation:finaltranscenden-
Husserlwriteswhathe doesn'twant-to write.He
tal intelligibility.
writesthatthe originating alterationofthe ego,the communityof
men, forms or deforms style, writing,even intelligibility, the ulti-
mate success ofwhichit deciphers.
Thus supplicationthrough thebookbeganat thesametimeas the
persecutionofbooks.Writing is tiedto a cruelsimulacrumoftorture
(Laporte).Andnow,through theglasseveryone can see theinscription
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 57
beingetchedon thebodyoftheprisoner. Obviouslya simplewriting
can'tbe used,it mustn'tkill on thespot,butwithintwelvehourson
the average(Kafka,"The Penal Colony").
The officerin chargeofthemachineexecuteshimself,at theend
of the story,by engravingon his own bodythe law which he has
violated:Be just! But onlythemad machineis leftto applythelaw
savagely-communismand capitalismwritingmachines.Yet it is
the same appeal: How to deliverthebook'sfullotherness?

Apocalypse

Andwhatifbooksalwaysannounced,alwaysprovoked, theresump-
tionin thisstoryofwhathas no place there,does nothappenthere?
And what ifwe understoodwhy,today,speaking,writing, we must
alwaysspeakseveraltimesat thesame time,speakingaccordingto
thelogicofdiscourseand thusunderthenostalgiaofthetheological
logos, speakingtoo to make possible a communicationof speech
whichcan onlybe decidedon thebasis ofa communismofrelations
ofexchangeand thusofproduction-butalso not speaking,writing
in a breakwithanylanguageofspeechand writing(Blanchot)?
At the end ofbooks,thereis theApocalypse.This is the kindof
prophecy-call,thatis-which is actuallywritten.It is thebook of
the end oftheworld,the book ofthenew beginning. Its writersays
and I say his name-John-and he names his place of exile-the
islandofPatmos.This book is a letterto the scatteredchurches,to
thesecretcommunitybereftofitscommunion.In thislettera letter
is addressedto each one ofthe churches,to each one ofthe,assem-
blies.The letteris repeated,divided,transformed:To theAngelofthe
of
Church Ephesus, write:Thus speaks he who holds thesevenstars
(John).To themin Ysat Loka. Hearing.The urbit orbs.Then's now
withnow'sthenin tensecontinuant.Heard.Whohavinghas he shall
have had. Hear! (Joyce).
Johnwritesin thisbookthevisionswhichitis giventohimto see:
buthe onlywritesbecause thevisionscommandhim to write.The
Angelspeaksto himholdingtheBookbutJohndoesnotrecopyit: he
writeswhat the Angeldictatesto him. Whatis revealedis not the
Angel nor the Book: it is man's writing.He who is announced
through revelation, whosaysin his turnwhohe is,is he whosays-of
whomJohnwritesthathe sayshe is thealpha and omega.He is the
Book,ofcourse,butalso: nothingbutthefinalcountofthecharacters
58 Yale.French-Studies
ofwriting-thatis all thatis revealedofthesevenbrokenseals ofthe
book ofthe slaughteredLamb.It's theend ofreligion.
Johnwritesall his visions of writings.But in the middle,he is
forbiddento writethe wordsof the seven thunderclaps.No book
deliverstheunheard,inaudible,deafening speech-the primitive tu-
multthesound ofwhich would havegiven rise to theexaltationofthe
mysticalcommunity.But the book knowsof the scatteringof the
communion-it is theinscription ofit andit communicatesits call:
Let the hearersay "Come!" Come! punctuatesthe Apocalypseand
ourbookson books.Come,andrestoretous theconventions ofwhat
disappears,themovementofa heart(BlanchotquotedbyDerrida).It's
up to youto takethestepofmeaning.Thereis no chanceofdeciding,
no futurein deciding,in whateverlanguage,whatcomesin "Come"
(Derrida).
It is not a call to communication,but the propagationof the
repetitionoftheappeal,or theorderand ofthedemandwhichbear,
produce,convey, rien-viens, -which donotcall fora
teachnothing,
responsebutforthesimpleobligationto respond,theresponsibility
to writeagainwiththe twenty-five letterswhichcontainno revela-
tionbut onlytheirown exhaustion.
Heretheexhaustionis initial:thereasonI writeis toreachB.-to
go fromthe firstto the secondletter,to traceletterstiedone to the
other,which calls writing,which calls a woman,a man, a book,a
storyand alwayslike B. in the storyan impossibleunsustainable
nudity.
Far beyondand farshortof what any speech can unveil of the
real-far beyondand farshortofanyOne Book,apocalypseis stillto
be discovered,the discoverywhichshakesall books: thatthe book
and the communionare stripped,dis-covered,in all books. The
book'sabsenceis theabsenceofCommunion-our communionora
shareofone toall andofall toone (Mallarme).Butalso thepresence-
alwaysinstantlyswallowedup-of the book. Johnmust swallowa
littlebook.I tookthelittlebookandswallowedit;inmymouthithad
thesweetnessofhoney,butwhenI had eatenit,itfilledmygutswith
bitterness.
Whatcommunicates,whatis takenin communionis nothing,is
notnothing,nothingbutbitterness, buta call; anothercommunism,
of
in thefuturebutnottheclose history, a communismofexodusand
repetition, wouldmeannothing(but,as Blanchotsays,in additionto
whattheymean,whatdo wordswant:relationsofexchange,thusof
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 59
production?), but this communismwould writethe deliveranceof
books,in books. Vain so long as it is bookish(it'sMontaignewho
made up theword)-and how couldit notbe, starting righthere?-,
butno doubtalso bookishso longas it is vain,so longas writing,
still
and once again,is not openlyat riskin it.
I repeat:The reasonsforwritinga book can be reducedto the
desireto modifytherelationsexistingbetweena manandhisfellows.
These relationsarejudgedunacceptableandareperceivedas a dread-
fulmisery(Bataille).
Farcalls. Coming,far.Endhere.Us then(Joyce).

(April1977)

II. REASONS TO READ

It is becomingurgentto stop commenting on Bataille(eventhough
the commentary on him is still quite sparse).We oughtto knowit,
Blanchothintedat it, appropriately, refusingto commenton this
rejectionofcommentary. Therefore I haveno intentionofcomment-
ingon him in Blanchot'sstead.(ButBlanchotso oftendoes nothing
but "commenton" Bataille:thinking withhim,conversing withhim
Thus he writes:"How had he endedup wishingforthe
to infinity.
interruption of discourse?And not the legitimatepause whichper-
mits the give-and-takeof conversations . .. What he had wanted was
somethingquitedifferent, to stopitcold,tobreakintothecircle.And
at once ithad happened:theheartceasingtobeat,theeternaltalking
drivestopping.")4
Moreovertherecan be no questionof"refusing." Therehas never
beenandwill neverbe anything simplyreprehensible orsimplyfalse
in commentingon what,byventuring intowriting,has alreadypre-
senteditselfforcommentary, and in realityhas alreadybegunto
commenton itself.
But such is theambiguityofBataille:he has becomeinvolvedin
discourse,andin writing, deeplyenoughto exposehimselfto thefull
necessityofcommentary. Andthusto its servility.He has advanced
his thoughtfarenoughforitsseriousnessto deprivehimofthedivine
capriciousevanescentsovereignty whichwas howeverhis sole "ob-
ject." (That limit,heart-rendingand sorrowful,joyousand relieved,

4. MauriceBlanchot,L'Entretien
infini(Paris:Gallimard,1970),26.
60 Yale French.Studies
thatdeliverancefromthought,whichdoes not abdicate-quite the
contrary-butwhichno longerhas reasontobe,orhas notyetreason
to be. That freedompredatingall thought, whichtherecan neverbe
anyquestionofmakingintoeitherobjector subject.)
Butwhenhe eludedthegesture,thepropositionand theposition
of a thinker,a philosopher, a writer(andhe ceaselesslyeludes,not
finishing histexts,stillless the"sum"orthe"system"ofhisthought,
leavingeven his sentencesunfinishedon occasion,or else relent-
lesslywithdrawing by an eccentric,lopsidedsyntaxwhat theprog-
ressionofa line ofthoughtwas layingdownas a logicor a topic)-
when he stole away,he also stole fromus access to what he was
communicating to us.
"Ambiguity": is thattheword?Perhaps,ifit'sa matterofacting,of
a simulacrum-whichwe mustn'thesitateto imputeto him also.
Bataille alwaysplayed at beingunable to finish,put on an act of
excess,stretching writingto its burstingpoint,the excess of what
makeswriting:thatis to saywhatsimultaneously inscribesand ex-
scribes it. It was a game and an act,forhe wrote ceaselessly,writing
everywhere, always,the exhaustionofhis writing.He bothsaid and
wrotethisgame,thisact.He wrotethathe was guiltyoftalkingabout
theglassofalcoholinsteadofdrinking itandgetting drunk.Drunkon
wordsandpagesto expressandat thesame timedrowntheimmense
futileguiltofthegame.Savinghimselfthatway,too,as it were,and
always oversureof findingsalvationin the game itself.Thus not
detachinghimselffromtoo visiblya Christiantheaterofconfession,
absolutionand relapseintosin,and ofdependenceon forgiveness all
over again. (Christianityas theater:the repairof the irreparable.
Bataillehimselfknewhow muchtheatertherewas in sacrifice.But
thequestionis notofopposingto thistheabyssofa "purelyirrepara-
ble." Whatmustridus ofthespiritofcatastrophe whichdominates
us is a higherfreedom, moreterribleperhapsbutin quiteanotherway.
That theatertoo is ours: a sacrificeofwritingbywriting, which
writingredeems.There is no doubtthatsome have hammedit up
comparedwithwhatwere,in spiteofeverything, Bataille'srestraint
and sobriety. No doubtthattoo muchhas beenmade ofthewriter's
nailsbeingtornout,ofsuffocation inunderground vaultsofliterature
and philosophy.Unless sequencesof thoughthave been hastilyre-
constructed, gapsfilledin withideas. (A commentary in bothcases.)
This does noturgeon anycriticcommentaries on Bataille(andifthat
werenecessarilythecase I wouldbe implicated).Therearepowerful
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 61
andimportant commentaries, withoutwhichwe couldnotevenpose
the questionofhis commentary.
Butafterall Bataillewrote"I wantto arousethegreatestmistrust.
I onlyspeakoflivedexperiences;I do notconfinemyselftoimaginary
actions" (6, 261).5
How can we notbe affected bythismistrust? How can we simply
go on withreading,thenclosethebook,ormakenotesinitsmargins?
IfI underlinejustthispassageandquoteitas I havejustdone,I betray
it already,I reduce it to a "state of intellection"(as Bataille says
elsewhere).Yet it had alreadybeen reducedto somethingin which
intellectioncertainlydoesn't exhausteverything, but nonetheless
overseesthestage.ElsewherestillBataillewritesthatwritingis the
"mask"ofa cryanda non-knowledge. Whatthendoesthatwritingdo
whichwritesthatverything?How could it not mask what at one
momentit unveils?Andhow couldit notmask,in theend,thevery
maskwhichit saysit is andwhichit saysit is applyingto a "scream-
ingsilence"?The blow cannotbe parried,themechanismor machi-
nationofdiscourseis implacable.Farfromrisingto deafenus,thecry
(orthe silence)has been spiritedawaybybeingnamedor indicated,
undera mask whichis all theharderto locate forhavingbeen sup-
posedlyshown,namedin its turn,in orderto be denounced.
Ambiguityis therefore inevitable,insurmountable. It is nothing
otherthantheambiguityofmeaningitself.Meaningshouldsignify,
butwhatmakesmeaning,orthemeaningofmeaningas itwere,is in
truthnothingotherthan "this emptyfreedom,this infinitetrans-
parenceofwhatfinallydoesn'thavetheburdenofhavinga meaning"
(6,76).Batailleneverceasedtofightthisburden,he wroteonlytofree
himselffromit-to reachliberty, to let it reachhim-, butwriting,
speaking,he could only make himselfonce again responsiblefor
some signification. "Dedicatingoneselfout of principleto this si-
lence,philosophizing, speaking,is alwaysa murkybusiness:theslid-
ingwithoutwhichtheexercisecouldnotbe thenbecomesthemove-
ment of thoughtitself"(11, 286). The ambiguitylies in emptying
experienceof thought,throughthought;this is philosophy, this is
literature.Andyetemptiedexperienceis notstupidity-evenifthere
is stuporin it.
Anycommentary on Batailleinvolveshimin a directionofmean-

5. All references
to Batailleare takenfromthe Oeuvrescompletes(Paris,Gal-
limard,1970),andwill appearin thetextas vol.,p.
62 Yale.FrenchStudies
ing,towardsomethingunivocal.Therefore Bataillehimself,whenhe
wantedto writeon thethoughtwithwhichhe had mostin common,
wroteSurNietzschein a moveessentiallyintentonnotcommenting
on Nietzsche,on not writingon him. "Nietzschewrotewith his
blood-whoever criticizeshimor,better, putshimto thetextcan do
it onlyifhe himselfis bleeding.""Letno one doubtit foran instant:
youcan'tunderstand a wordofNietzsche'sworkbeforeexperiencing
thatdazzlingdissolutionin its totality"(6, 15,22).
But the same goes forall commentary, of whateverauthor,of
whatevertextitmaybe.In a writer'stext,andalso in a commentator's
text (which everywriter'stextis in its turn)what matters,what
thinks(attheverylimitofthoughtifnecessary)is whatdoesnotlend
itselfwhollyto a univocalmeaningbut whichstumblesunderthe
load ofmeaningand throwsit offbalance.Batailleneverstopsexpos-
ing this. Alongsideall the themeshe deals with,throughall the
questionshe debates,"Bataille"is nothingbut a protestagainstthe
significationofhis owndiscourse.Ifhe is to be read,ifreadingrebels
straightaway againstthe commentary whichit is, and againstthe
understanding whichit oughtto be,we haveto readin everyline the
workor theplayofwritingagainstmeaning.
This has nothingto do withnonsense,norwiththe absurd,nor
witha mystical,philosophical,orpoeticesotericism.Paradoxically,
it'sstraightfromthesentence-straightfromthewordsandsyntax,a
way,oftenclumsyor lopsided,removedin anycase as muchas pos-
sible fromthe operationof a "style"("in the acoustico-decorative
senseoftheterm"as Borgessays)ofweighingon meaningitself,given
and recognizable,a wayofinterfering withorimpedingthecommu-
nicationofthismeaning,not firstto us, but to thismeaningitself.
Andreadingmustremaininitsturnunwieldy, awkwardand,without
ceasingto decode,beyonddecoding. This readingremainscaughtin
the strangematerialityof language,it conformswith the singular
communicationwhich is carriedon not only by meaningbut by
languageitselforrather, whichis nothingmorethanthecommunica-
tion oflanguage with itselfwithoutmakingout meaning,in a sus-
pensionofmeaning,fragile,repeated.Real readinggoes forward un-
knowing,it always opens a book like an unjustifiablecut in the
supposedcontinuumofmeaning.It mustgo astrayat thisbreak.
This reading-whichis firstofall readingitself,all reading,inev-
itablygivenoverto thesudden,flashing, slidingmovementofa writ-
ingwhichprecedesit and whichit will rejoinonlybyreinscribing it
 JEAN-LUC NANCY 63
elsewhereandotherwise, in ex-scribing
itoutsideitself-thisreading
stilldoes notcomment(thisis a beginning reading,an incipitwhich
is alwaysbegunagain), isit neither equal to nor in a positionfor
interpreting, forcausing meaning.It is rathera surrenderto that
abandonto languagewherethewriterhas exposedhimself."Thereis
no pure and simple communication;what is communicatedhas a
direction[sens]anda color"(2,315),(andsensheremeansmovement,
advance).It does notknowwhereit is going,and doesn'thaveto. No
otherreadingis possiblewithoutit,andevery"reading"(inthesense
ofcommentary, mustcome backto it.
exegesis,interpretation)
But in thiswayBatailleand his readerare alreadydisplacedwith
respectto ambiguity. Thereis noton theone handtheambiguityof
meaning-ofall possiblemeanings,theambiguity ofunivocalmean-
ingsmultipliedbyall "actsofintellection"-andon theotherhand
the "ambiguity"of the meaningwhichunburdensitselfof all pos-
siblemeaning.Somethingquitedifferent is finallyin question,which
Batailleknew:it is perhapstheverythingthathe "knew"aboveall,
"knowingnothing."It's not a questionofthatnecessary, ridiculous
machinationofmeaningwhichputsitselfforward as itwithdraws, or
whichputs on a mask as it signifiesitself.To leave it at thatcon-
demnswritingwithoutappeal(certainly thiscondemnation haunted
Bataille) and also condemnsto beingridiculousor intolerablethe
wish to affirm a writingremovedfromintellectionand identicalto
life("I havealwaysputintomywritings mywholelifeandmywhole
self,I knownothingabout what mightbe purelyintellectualprob-
lems"[6,261]).Forthisis still,always,a discoursefullofmeaningand
whichstealsthe "life"ofwhichit speaks.
There is somethingelse, and withoutthe "knowledge"of it
Bataillewouldnothave writtenanymorethananyoneelse: in truth
"ambiguity" doesnotexist,oritexistsonlyas longas thoughtconsid-
ers meaning.But thereis no moreambiguityonce it is clear(andit
necessarilyis beforeany consideration ofmeaning)thatwritingex-
scribes meaningjust as much as it inscribessignifications. It ex-
scribesmeaning,thatis it showsthatwhatit'sabout,thethingitself,
Bataille's"life"or "cry,"
andfinallytheexistenceofeverything which
is "in question"in thetext(includingmostsingularly writing'sown
existence)that all these are outside the text,take place outside
writing.
At thesame timethis "outside"is notthatofa referent to which
signification wouldrefer(thusthe "real"lifeofBataille,signified by
64 Yale FrenchStudies
thewords"'mylife")thereferent doesnotpresentitselfas suchexcept
by signification.But this "outside"-entirelyexscribedinto the
text-is the infiniteretreatofmeaningbywhicheach existenceex-
ists. Not the brutedatum,material,concrete,reputedto be outside
meaningand which meaningrepresentsbut the "emptyfreedom"
throughwhich the livingbeingcomes to presence-and absence.
This freedomis notemptyin thesense ofbeingvain.No doubtit is
not directedtowarda project,a meaningor a work.But it uses the
workofmeaningto expose,to laybaretheunusable,unexploitable,
unintelligibleand unfoundablebeing of being-in-the-world. That
thereis being,or some beingor evenbeings,and in particularthat
there'is us, our community(ofwriting-reading): thatis whatinsti-
gatesall possiblemeanings,thatis whatis theveryplaceofmeaning,
butwhichhas no meaning.
Writing, and reading,is to be'exposed,to exposeoneselfto this
not-having(to thisnot-knowing) and thusto "exscription." The ex-
scribedis exscribedfromthefirstword,notas an "unsayable"oras an
"uninscribable"but on the contraryas that openinginto itselfof
writingto itself,to its own inscriptionas the infinitedischargeof
meaning-in all thesensesone shouldgivetheexpression.Writing,
reading,I exscribethethingitself,"existence,"the "real"-which is
onlyexscribedand whose beingalone is what'sat stakein inscrip-
tion. In inscribingsignifications, we exscribethe presenceofwhat
withdrawsfromall signification, being itself(life,passion, sub-
stance... ).
The beingofexistencecan be presented:it presentsitselfwhen
exscribed.Bataille'scryis neithermaskednorstifled;it makesitself
heardas thecrythatis notheard.In writingtherealdoes notrepre-
sentitself,it presentstheunheard-of-violence andrestraint, thesur-
prise and freedom of in
being exscription where at
writing every
momentdischargesitself,unburdensitself,emptiesitself,ofitself.
But "exscripted"is not a wordin thelanguagenorcan one fabri-
cate it as I do herewithoutbeingmangledby one's own barbarism.
The word "exscripted"exscribesnothingand writesnothing,it
makes clumsygesturesto indicatewhat must writeitselfalone,
straight outofthealwaysuncertainthoughtoflanguage."The nudity
ofthe word'write'remains,"writesBlanchot,6who comparesit to
thenudityofMadame Edwarda.
ThereremainsBataille'snakedness,his nakedwriting,exposing

6. Blanchot,Apr&s-coup
(Paris,Minuit,1983),91.
 JEAN-LUC. NANCY 65
the nakednessof all writing.Obscureand clear like a skin,like a
pleasure,like a fear.Butcomparisonsarenotenough.The nakedness
ofwriting, is thenakednessofexistence.Writing is nakedbecause it
"exscripts," existenceis nakedbecause it is "exscripted."
Fromone to theotherpasses thelightandviolenttensionofthat
suspensionofmeaningwhichcomprisesall "meaning";thatjouis-
sance so absolutethatit accedesto itsownjoyonlybylosingitselfin
it,byspillingitselfintoit,andit appearsas theabsentheart(absence
whichbeatslike a heart)ofpresence.It is theheartofthingswhichis
exscripted.
In a senseBataillemustbe presenttous withthatpresencewhich
distancessignification and which itselfwould be communication.
Not a unitedbodyofworkmadecommunicable, interpretable("Col-
lected Works,"so preciousand necessary,still cause unease; they
communicateas completewhat was onlywrittenin pieces and by
chance) but the dawdling,now over,of an exscriptionof finitude.
Releasedin it arean infinitejouissance,a pain and a pleasureso real
thattouchingthem(readingexscripted) convincesus at once ofthe
absolutemeaningoftheirnonsignification.
In yetanothersense,it is Bataillehimself,dead.Thatis, theexas-
perationof everymomentofreadingin the certitudethatthe man
who wrotewhatis beingreadexistedand theconfounding evidence
thatthemeaningofhis workandthemeaningofhis lifearethesame
nakedness,the same denudingof meaningwhich distancesthem
fromeach otheras well-by the fulldistanceof an in(x)scription.
The deadBatailleandhisbooksoffered as hiswriting leavesthem:
they'rethe same thing,the same ban on commentand comprehen-
sion (thesame ban on killing).It's the implacableand joyouscoun-
terblowone muststrikeagainstall hermeneutics so thatliterature
(and)existencecan once againexposethemselves;in thesingularity,
in the reality,in the freedomof "the commondestinyofman" (11,
311).
Speakingof Bataille's death,Blanchotwrote: "the readingof
booksmustopenus to thenecessityofthatdisappearancein which
theywithdraw.Books themselvesreferus to an existence."7

(August1988)
TranslatedbyKatherineLydon

7. Blanchot,LAmitik(Paris,Gallimard,1973),327.