Book Review by Stephen Palmquist (stevepq@hkbu.edu.hk)
Peter Fenves (ed.): Raising the Tone of Philosophy: Late Essays by Immanuel Kant, Transformative Critique by Jacques Derrida. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993. xii + 176 pages.
Neko is nibbling at my toes with her sharp teeth as I type these words and—Ouch!— clawing at my ankles. Her playful pawing is hurting so much that it seems like she's attacking me! I'll have to put her outside to concentrate on writing this book review. Go Neko.... Can you hear me? Go! ... Good girl.
Now, where was I? Oh yes. At the beginning.
'Philosophy is coming to an end! But its end is its beginning and its beginning is its end.' Who said that? Immanuel Kant? Jacques Derrida? Peter Fenves? Stephen Palmquist? If this book is to be believed, any one of these rational animals might have said it. Indeed, each of us continually says it whenever we presume to philosophize, or even to speak in any rationally intelligible fashion. For the 'tone' Fenves wishes to 'raise' in this book is an apocalyptic one—one that proclaims philosophy's impending end, yet serves also, according to Derrida, as 'a transcendental condition of all discourse' [156].
Apocalypse, it seems, is all the rage in the post-modern world. And Derrida is the herald of the most advanced intonation of this cataclysmic event: the voicing of the apocalypse of the apocalypse, the end of all proclamations of philosophy's end. Fenves' book ends with John Leavey's newly revised translation of a speech Derrida delivered at the close of a French conference on his work, held in 1980. Delivered in Derrida's usual rambling and playful style, 'On a Newly Arisen Apocalyptic Tone in Philosophy' [117-171] purports to hear vibrations of post-modernism in a much-neglected 1796 essay of Kant's, entitled 'On a Newly Arisen Superior Tone in Philosophy'. Fenves therefore presents as the centerpiece of this book a new translation of the latter essay [51-81], along with translations of several other (formerly) obscure writings of Kant's on related themes [83-113]. The book begins with Fenves' own introductory essay on 'The Topicality of Tone' [1-48], thus preparing the way for the philosophy that is to come.
Neko, is that you? No, it must have been my imagination. I'm sure I put her outside.
'Try to say "come"—it can be said in every tone...' [166] cries Derrida near the end of his speech. Or did he calmly whisper these key words? Unfortunately, we readers are left entirely in the dark about this (and many other) nuance(s) in the Derrida essay, by the very fact that we must read these words that were originally brought forth in a form intended only to be heard. The limitations of the written word are such that Derrida's tone of voice in this printed speech inevitably falls on deaf ears. Yet ironically, this profound paradox actually underlines the most important points Derrida is making: that tonality lies at the very root of our ability to understand words, that the utter confusion aroused by tonal variations is somehow inevitable, that we can never really pin down 'the tone' as if it were an object of scientific observation or a philosophic 'thing in itself', and that 'Come is apocalyptic' in its very utterance [167]. He concludes with reassuring words, expressed in a muddle of synthetic logic (i.e., intentional contradictions designed to inspire insights): 'There is the apocalypse without apocalypse', yet the very word 'without' is itself the true 'catastrophe of the apocalypse' [167].
'Each of us is the mystagogue and the Aufklärer of an other' [142]: this is the central message Derrida is hoping to convey. Along the way he makes some fairly straightforward claims about Kant. Like all 'enlightened' attempts 'to demystify the overlordly [apocalyptic] tone' of one's opponents, the thinly veiled critique in Kant's first essay is revealed by Derrida to be itself a variation of a typically apocalyptic message [148-9; see also 144]. Kant's main complaint against the 'mystagogues' is that they claim to have immediate contact with a Mystery, a 'voice' of revelation that they believe gives them the right to adopt their 'overlordly tone' [127-33]; yet Kant's claim that 'practical reason' is 'the true mystery' [133] suggests that he might himself be party to this error. Derrida makes extensive use of Kant's 'castration of reason' metaphor [138-41; cf. 64 (Ak. 8:399)], introducing his entire speech with an excursus on the relationship between 'sexual prohibitions' and 'apocalyptic unveiling' in the Bible [121]. He is fascinated by Kant's focus on the use of tone in philosophy—a discipline often presumed to be ideally atonal—and by his warning that the tone of certain Christianizing Platonists beckons the imminent 'death of all philosophy' [123-5].
How did you get back in here, Neko? Okay, I'll give you one more chance. But you must be good. No biting. You know, sometimes I can't tell if you are playing or fighting!
The death of philosophy is, ironically, exactly what Derrida himself is preaching. He warns us that he plans to speak 'of/in' precisely the same 'apocalyptic tone' as both Kant and his opponents, in order to reveal to us 'what comes to philosophy as its death' [122,125]: 'this tone, this death', it seems, is philosophy itself. Thus, when we find Derrida telling us about Kant's disdain for 'the new preachers [who] need to pervert philosophy into poetry in order to give themselves grand airs ..., to usurp thus an essentially symbolic power' [140], the imperceptible tone of his words suggests that he is all the while patting himself on the back for doing such a good job of following in their footsteps. Of course, Derrida's support for and contribution to 'the emasculation of reason' cannot be found in his words, but only in their underlying tone—a tone that remains ironically veiled in the printed version of his speech. For while seeming to adopt such a tone, Derrida commends Kant's proposed 'contract' for arbitrating conflicts that arise from an unfitting tone, claiming such a contract must 'reveal without emasculating the logos' [142].
The Introduction ('The Topicality of Tone') raises a number of significant issues for understanding both Kant and Derrida. For instance, Fenves explains Derrida's fetish for the word 'come' as a result of the fact that the proclamation of this word conceals 'the proper name of the voice speaking', and so exemplifies the 'necessary and ... transcendental' character of the apocalyptic tone [38-9]. Perhaps most helpful, though, is Fenves' account of Derrida's linkage of 'the attempt to bring philosophy to a close with an attempt to stop up the ears in order to hear oneself speak' [34]. Derrida's project, we are told, always aims to 'hear with—along with—the ear of the other' [30]; to do so just is to hear an 'apocalyptic tone' [38]. This aim must not be confused with 'dialogue' (i.e., listening to the other), nor with empathy (i.e., feeling with the other), for it does not treat the 'other' as an object at all, but tries to bridge the gap between subject and object by focusing on 'the relation of ear to tone' rather than 'that of mind to representations' [33]. A focus on 'the topic of tone ... again and again eludes those distinctions with which philosophy seeks to bring itself to a close' [33], for it awakens us to the 'multiplicity of possible voices' [32] that 'engenders the future of philosophy as an endless dispute over tone.'
Whether Fenves is right to say 'Derrida conducts this complex operation along with Kant, not in opposition to him', that 'the very point of Kant's polemic' is to acknowledge 'that no one can decide who is speaking when reason raises its voice' [31], is open to doubt. In any case, his contribution lies not so much in the details of his interpretation as in the very fact that he has seen the connection between Derrida and Kant, and brought it to light. If there is one thing for certain
(and here I change the tone of my review, because—'let the reader understand!'—Neko has momentarily fallen asleep on my foot!)
it is that English-speaking Kant scholars now have easy access to two important essays that used to be very difficult to find in translation. The book's dust cover actually claims these are 'the first English translations of two of Kant's important late essays'. While this is true of the second essay (and of the other unpublished material), it is not true of Kant's main essay on the 'Superior Tone'. John Richardson anonymously translated that essay as part of his comprehensive (but virtually unknown) two-volume edition of nineteen of Kant's most important Essays and Treatises (London: William Richardson, 1798-99). Despite this oversight, and a number of rather unsightly printing/proofreading errors, Fenves' book is attractive and well worth the attention of any Kant-scholar who wishes to engage in serious discussion with deconstructionist philosophy.
That the purpose of this book is to welcome such discussion is evident by the closing sentence of the Introduction, where Fenves says Derrida's speech 'opens' his new transcendental hypothesis 'for dispute' [39]. The main purpose of the Introductory essay is to prepare us for a proper reading of Derrida's speech, in hopes of preventing a number of possible misunderstandings. But this end, it would seem, is doomed to failure at the outset. For Fenves himself admits that Derrida's attempt to be another person's ear puts him in 'an untenable situation', because in the end 'no one can decide who precisely is speaking' [30].
This point, I believe, inadvertently (?) deals a death-blow to Derrida's whole project: it reveals that a profound emasculation has already taken place—there simply is no perspective in Derrida's writing/speaking! His tone is the 'superior tone' that 'rises above communicative language' [15], thus heralding 'the "death" of all philosophy' [14]. It is, as it were, philosophy as music, philosophy as pure, perspectiveless tonality. The reader, it seems, is not meant to agree or disagree, but to sigh (if reading the text privately) or clap (if listening to the speech publicly) in appreciation of a beautiful combination of words. Derrida seems intent on erasing the very perspectival distinctions that form the architectonic structure of Kant's Critical System. The height (beauty?) of his ironic methodology is that he chooses Kant's own text and employs key words such as 'enlightenment' and 'transcendental' in order to accomplish the de(con?)struction of the very ear he claims to be 'listening with'. Fenves claims 'the point of [Kant's] polemic is to stop listening to the other and to hear ... oneself' [30]. Yet this claim—appropriate though it may be as a description of Descartes, or even Derrida himself (?)—is unjustifiable when it comes to Kant.
'Is that all you have to say about Kant? Shouldn't a Kant-Studien review say more about the content of Kant's essays? Why focus so much on Fenves and Derrida?' Neko? Is that you? Oh dear, she's awake. I'd better hurry and finish this review while she's stretching.
Having never heard Derrida's voice, I can only guess his speech was probably delivered in a droning, monotonous way that hid his intentions as fully as does the printed word. For any hint of intonation in his voice would risk the revelation of a perspective hidden behind his multifarious and often self-contradictory comments. There is, indeed, a fine line between polemic and play, just as there is between war and peace. The difference is largely a matter of interpretation, and that depends mainly on how a person's tone is heard. Playful teasing assumes a superior tone that tends to discourage ongoing discussion, whereas a healthy polemic can encourage a tone of humility and mutual respect. Which one is more likely to produce the 'lasting peace' Kant was (ironically, according to Fenves [13, 26-7]!)—hoping for? And how seriously does Fenves believe Derrida is really hearing 'along with' Kant [31], given that Derrida's 'antipolemical and grateful address' also attempts '[t]o hear tonality ... without the key polemical categories of inside and outside' [3]? Moreover, by converting Derrida's spoken intonations into printed words, Fenves is giving them an 'inside' and an 'outside': he has taken Derrida's attempt to transform philosophers' wars into games and has reconstructed it in the form of a war-game, in defense of de(con)struction and against all constructive philosophizing.
The place where Kant's 'ear' can be most clearly apprehended in this book is, as it turns out, on the dustcover. A side view of Kant's bust (Bardou, 1798) is partially concealed by a vertical, buff-toned strip, from just behind the left ear, and what remains is overlaid by the words:
Raising the
Tone of
Philosophy
The opening to Kant's ear just happens to be positioned between the 'n' in 'Tone' and the first 'o' in 'Philosophy', as if the cover design itself portrays the pierced-lipped sage silently screaming 'Can you hear me? Go!' to anyone who would open this book in search of understanding Kant.
Alas, peace is short-lived. Neko's playing havoc with my toes again. Stop biting my toes, or I'll never be able to concentrate on finishing this review!... Go Neko!
Fenves' contributions, to be fair, actually deal more explicitly with Kant than with Derrida. The translator's 'Note' (ix-xii), for instance, includes a convincing explanation as to why 'exaltation' (not 'fanaticism') is the best translation for Kant's Schwärmerei [x-xi]. His notes to the translations provide ample background material to the essays themselves. And, after a brief sketch of the historical context of Kant's essays [1-3], the Introduction cites a surprising number of texts in which Kant himself emphasizes tone, describing (for instance) how tone gives rise to a 'rhetoric of astonishment' in situations where our cognitive language fails [5-9]. After Kant, the new 'battlefield' for philosophers is no longer metaphysics, but tone [cf. A744/B772]. Listening to tones and their 'modulations' becomes the new task for philosophers [13], because tone is transcendental: it 'traverses the cleft separating the sensible from the intelligible' [11] by being 'applicable' to both types of sounds (i.e., both music and words [17]).
Fenves claims 'Kant ... is unable to specify a standard of measure for tone itself' [9]. But is this a legitimate criticism? Fenves himself says Kant's main goal after 1790 was to draw up 'a catalogue of tonal variations' [14], all on the basis of an 'unnamed tone' [43]. Yet could not the limits of reason be interpreted as a profound tuning of philosophy from the static interference of dogmatism and skepticism to the clear reception of the tone called Critique? This question brings us to the most important part of this review: assessing Derrida's war against—or the game he's playing with—conventional philosophy vis--vis Kant's own essays. What was Kant really saying therein? Is a serious critique of Derrida possible? Or is the wisest response to such tone-twisting masters of eisegesis simply to put the book down and celebrate life with a good game of backgammon, then return tomorrow to the business of constructing philosophy—only now with a twinkle in our eyes whenever we speak or write about the advent of the 'transcendental'?
Go Neko! Can't you hear me? Go!... That's it; I simply cannot continue writing this review. Every time I start writing a coherent thought, you interrupt me with your playful attacks. My toes are now bleeding, thanks to your 'fun'. You simply won't go, will you?
Those interested in the content of Kant's late essays had better read them on their own. Only then can they assess whether the breathtaking reflections of Derrida and Fenves accurately convey Kant's views. But put your pet outside before you start, lest you suffer the same fate as this poor reviewer! If the tone of this suggestion strikes you as inappropriate, then please remember as you read Kant's essays that—'those who have ears to hear, let them hear!'—the foregoing disaster resulted directly from the pain inflicted upon me by the antics of my wild little kitten, Neko.
Stephen Palmquist, Hong Kong
Send comments to: StevePq@hkbu.edu.hk
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