(no subject)
of course "i" wrote this - there are those individuals simple-minded enough to dismiss entirely the concept of the "death of the author" with seemingly witty one-liners such as "well such and such collected royalties on their book, didn't they?"; or "why did they even bother copyrighting the material if they believed such utter nonsense?". what strikes me is these individuals have perhaps read the title of barthes' essay, but decided immediately after the title to stop reading - perhaps staggered with such arrogant and brash criticisms as the aforementioned. but of course, barthes was not merely opting for something compelling and controversial to write - there is certainly method in the madness.
the "death" is not a sudden coming about, it is not an announcement, or some post-structuralist proclamation. indeed, it is what has always been - whether the bible, marx, margaret atwood - authorship anuls itself the moment it is opened up beyond the singularity of the author. the moment this singularity is ruptured, the moment some other lays its mind on the work at hand, the author is betrayed. of course what one is referring to in this instance of death is authorial intent. can the author ensure the sanctity of their thoughts when it is the reader who must come halfway to meet the author for any sense, meaning to be reckoned (if one is to assume that the work, that is, the text proper is even half the work - does the reader not have to come full length in contemplation to unearth what "truths" the author silently purports to demonstrate?). the author dies a metaphysical death - insofar as the author is the purveyor and guardian of the Truth of the text s(he) has, without doubt, weaved and sewn together.
any reading is the active interpretation of text. it is the reader who must situate and contextualize the information being processed. if writing is the act of dissemination, reading is the harvest. some texts seem more self-evident than others. i take it, the articles in the toronto star are considerably easier to deal with than a first year biology textbook - and yet even there the biology student might disagree since the business section seems coded as it were. this is the coming to grips with text that the reader must labour through - if the business section is a blur, perhaps a knowledge of general economics might help. if text is "easy" in that little is required of "us" to come to an understanding of it, it is because we are trained in a certain idiom, a particular modality of thought, that is shared with the author. but the reader is still required to "complete" the text as it were - and thus no text is closed absolutely considering the multiplicity of perspectives due to the infinity of socio-economic, socio-cultural possibilities.
but, no author, no text, right? no one is disputing the corporeal existence of the author - which would be silly (although, a skeptic through and through could logically make a case for the doubt of the existence of the author - but let us not tread those waters). the death that barthes wrote about was simply a recognition, not an invention or a reporting of a current event. the author is not some inactive participant in the mediation of her/his work, but is no more than that - a participant.
what circumstances might present themselves that would privilege the author as far as meaning? what if a novel were released, and nobody got it? that is, people engaged with it, thought deeply about it, and arrived at some kind of meaning as to the "truth" of the novel - but no one got it right, no one saw in it what the author intended for people to see in it? is the author privy to some insider access to its truth considering they were the ones who produced the work? it is tempting to grant at least this much to the author, but this would assume the "originariness", the "centredness" of the author - the omnipotence of the author beyond a literary function. in other words, for the author to have "access" to the truth of her/his work, one would have to assume the non-interpretive position of the author - that their judgements lie somewhere beyond interpretations, a horizon approached as far as a godliness attained in the certitude of their assertions and insights. to the best of my knowledge, or at least within the constellation of my beliefs, such an author has no existence. the authors i know of, inhabit a world where certainty is rarely ensured and is up for grabs. at the "beginning" is non-presence - differance - a barren landscape of becoming, radical openness, dissemination.
so "i" exist, i wrote this little piece you're reading (as far as assembling the words and paragraphs and syntax). i have some ideas as to what i've constructed here; i also have an intent (whose force is only as valid as your interpretation) that means little in the big picture. but the spirit of the piece, the essence, the soul - that is up for grabs. what is meant here depends on derrida, barthes - who were then dependent on heidegger, who was dependent on nietzsche, and this lineage we can trace to - god. alternatively, what is meant here also relies on the ideas i don't think i've drawn on, or ideas that are anti-thetical to what is proposed here. what is of value here is only as much as you see in it. and the you measures infinitely; thus once again, the radical openness of the text.
the "death" is not a sudden coming about, it is not an announcement, or some post-structuralist proclamation. indeed, it is what has always been - whether the bible, marx, margaret atwood - authorship anuls itself the moment it is opened up beyond the singularity of the author. the moment this singularity is ruptured, the moment some other lays its mind on the work at hand, the author is betrayed. of course what one is referring to in this instance of death is authorial intent. can the author ensure the sanctity of their thoughts when it is the reader who must come halfway to meet the author for any sense, meaning to be reckoned (if one is to assume that the work, that is, the text proper is even half the work - does the reader not have to come full length in contemplation to unearth what "truths" the author silently purports to demonstrate?). the author dies a metaphysical death - insofar as the author is the purveyor and guardian of the Truth of the text s(he) has, without doubt, weaved and sewn together.
any reading is the active interpretation of text. it is the reader who must situate and contextualize the information being processed. if writing is the act of dissemination, reading is the harvest. some texts seem more self-evident than others. i take it, the articles in the toronto star are considerably easier to deal with than a first year biology textbook - and yet even there the biology student might disagree since the business section seems coded as it were. this is the coming to grips with text that the reader must labour through - if the business section is a blur, perhaps a knowledge of general economics might help. if text is "easy" in that little is required of "us" to come to an understanding of it, it is because we are trained in a certain idiom, a particular modality of thought, that is shared with the author. but the reader is still required to "complete" the text as it were - and thus no text is closed absolutely considering the multiplicity of perspectives due to the infinity of socio-economic, socio-cultural possibilities.
but, no author, no text, right? no one is disputing the corporeal existence of the author - which would be silly (although, a skeptic through and through could logically make a case for the doubt of the existence of the author - but let us not tread those waters). the death that barthes wrote about was simply a recognition, not an invention or a reporting of a current event. the author is not some inactive participant in the mediation of her/his work, but is no more than that - a participant.
what circumstances might present themselves that would privilege the author as far as meaning? what if a novel were released, and nobody got it? that is, people engaged with it, thought deeply about it, and arrived at some kind of meaning as to the "truth" of the novel - but no one got it right, no one saw in it what the author intended for people to see in it? is the author privy to some insider access to its truth considering they were the ones who produced the work? it is tempting to grant at least this much to the author, but this would assume the "originariness", the "centredness" of the author - the omnipotence of the author beyond a literary function. in other words, for the author to have "access" to the truth of her/his work, one would have to assume the non-interpretive position of the author - that their judgements lie somewhere beyond interpretations, a horizon approached as far as a godliness attained in the certitude of their assertions and insights. to the best of my knowledge, or at least within the constellation of my beliefs, such an author has no existence. the authors i know of, inhabit a world where certainty is rarely ensured and is up for grabs. at the "beginning" is non-presence - differance - a barren landscape of becoming, radical openness, dissemination.
so "i" exist, i wrote this little piece you're reading (as far as assembling the words and paragraphs and syntax). i have some ideas as to what i've constructed here; i also have an intent (whose force is only as valid as your interpretation) that means little in the big picture. but the spirit of the piece, the essence, the soul - that is up for grabs. what is meant here depends on derrida, barthes - who were then dependent on heidegger, who was dependent on nietzsche, and this lineage we can trace to - god. alternatively, what is meant here also relies on the ideas i don't think i've drawn on, or ideas that are anti-thetical to what is proposed here. what is of value here is only as much as you see in it. and the you measures infinitely; thus once again, the radical openness of the text.