File spoon-archives/phillitcrit.archive/phillitcrit_1997/phillitcrit.9711, message 418


Date: Sun, 9 Nov 1997 00:18:47 -0800 (PST)
From: James Ralph Westfall <jwest-AT-ea.oac.uci.edu>
Subject: Re: PLC: Meaning of Meaning



On Sat, 8 Nov 1997, Michael Chase wrote

> >Count one: we are sutured to language--given a position therein--when
> we >come into Being as speaking subjects. This langauge precedes us, of
> >course, and thus, we can never follow the philosopher's dictum to "know
> >thyself." 
> 
> M.C.: Nonsense. Sure we can.
> 
> We are always in a (dis)position of ek-stasis.
> 
> M.C.: Horsefeathers.
> 
I heard a joke that's not very funny, but which (almost) perfectly
illustrates what I desired to say here. Here goes:

A man hired as the new CEO of Acme Widget Corp. arrives on his first day
on the job to his office. There, he finds a letter addressed to him on his
desk. It says that in his new desk there are three envelopes, numbered
one, two, three, which are only to be opened in case of grave emergencies
during his tenure--at the rate of one envelope per crisis. After his first
quarter the company's stock takes a dump, so he opens the first envelope;
it says, "blame your failures on your predecessor." The CEO puts out a
statement to that effect. Later that year, after yet another bad showing,
he opens the next letter. It says "reorganize the company." He does so.
Finally, after a year passes with no turnaround after reorganization, the
CEO opens the last letter. It says, "Write three letters."

The humor of the joke derives from the prospect that the three letters may
not have begun with the CEO directly preceding the protagonist of our
particular narrative. The letters could, say, have been directing the
actions of five previous CEO's. Really, it's an infinite regress. The
Other, the letter, speaks us, rather than vice versa. If you could somehow
assume the position of the "true" letter writer, then you'd have the
phallus. But, alas, all of us CEO's are frauds. You might compare the CEO
to Socrates' Ion. The desire for the phallus has been drifting through
philosophy from day one--just ask Monsieur Derrida. Your caricature of me
with the black beret is quite apt--and true. There's never the possibility
of my having my "own,"  "proper " position. And that toothy Gallic smile?
None Other than the smile of death. 

Warmly, from one rhetor to another,

James



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