109 ŠTÚDIE / ARTICLES MIROSLAV KOTÁSEK How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing DOI: 10.31577/WLS.2024.16.1.8 © Institute of World Literature Slovak Academy of Sciences © Miroslav Kotásek 2024 Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 ŠTÚDIE / ARTICLES World Literature Studies 1 vol. 16 2024 (109 – 119) Miroslav Kotásek Department of Czech Literature Faculty of Arts Masaryk University Brno Czech Republic
[email protected] ORCID: 0000-0002-0784-3153 How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing Autobiography. Death. Jacques Derrida. Media. Spectrality. This article concerns various aspects of autobiography as they have been introduced by Jacques Derrida, who himself used the term “autobiographical” to refer to his philosophical writing. Unlike most scholars who stress the link between autobiography and philosophy in Derrida’s writing the article attempts to link it primarily to the “literary”. In this endeavour, most attention is paid to the numerous metamorphoses in which “death” structures and haunts (auto)biographies and our thinking about the genre. Here, the greatest influence, apart from Derrida, was Maurice Blanchot. “Death” and negativity figure at many levels of autobiography, where, unlike in a fictional narrative, they cannot be suspended easily: they can be found in the question about the very usage of language and its relation to the autobiographer, in the construction of the “I”, and in the medial situation of the literary. The article concludes by suggesting a potential transformation of the autobiographical practice brought about by techno-cultural changes and developments regarding both the “archive” and “media”, which are transforming the status of memory, legacy, and the past. Department of Foreign Languages Faculty of Electrical Engineering and Communication Brno University of Technology Czech Republic [email protected]
110 MIROSLAV KOTÁSEK […] we are held, forever, between life and death, inastate of non-existence and non-death, from which our whole life perhaps takes its meaning and its reality. Maurice Blanchot ([1947] 1995a, 252) I remember. I think. I write. I write to remember. Iwrite to(re)invent some lost or non-existing memories. AsIremember, as Iinvent my memories, Ithink. Therefore Iam. Therefore Idie. Ibecome amemory. Through these (mainly linguistic) acts which are anindispensable part ofevery autobiography, Iam going tooutline thedistinctiveness ofacertain outlook onthis type ofwriting (narrative) act that was most importantly inspired bythework ofJacques Derrida. Theopening sentences should indicate, among other things, that what is questioned bylooking atautobiography from this point ofview is thevery possibility ofsubsuming autobiography under thecategory ofa“literary genre”, while simultaneously questioning thecategories both of“literature” and “genre”. “Literature” gets problematized inautobiography bymaking it impossible tosuspend thetension between “fiction” and “reality” (“narrative” and “what really happened”), not even intheact ofreading. Theontology ofautobiography is unstable, tosay theleast. There are obviously different primary impulses that instigate theautobiographical narrative act, which are defined bytheir relation towards language ingeneral and thepre-existing “biography” material. Atthesame time they pre-define thenarrative procedures used inthewriting act itself: tonarrate anautobiography Ican use exclusively those particular events Iremember, because Ijust passively describe what Iknow (assume toknow) has already happened; there can be anexcess ofinformation and Iwant tochoose only therelevant ones, thus giving my personal archive adistinct structure; or Ican be putting together thenarrative because Ido not know what happened, so Ineed tofabricate amemory to“make sense” ofthepast (and thepresent) – there is alack ofinformation and/or understanding and thenarrative is supposed tofill these lacunae. Theinventio (narrative invention) ofthe“I” (therealm of“auto” inauto-bio-graphy) is atthesame time theinventio oftheother (thetext). Thebody ofthetext is co-extensive with thebody oftheautobiographer; thefabric oftheautobiographer’s “I”is co-extensive with thefabric ofthenarrative. As for “genre”, theuncertainty about genealogy (Who amI? Where do Icome from?) not only etymologically, but also practically compromises genology (Am Iusing theautobiographical genre? Am Iusing itjustly?). Unlike Robert Smith (1995), who concentrates onDerrida dealing with and commenting on“philosophical” autobiographies, Iam interested more intherelationship ofautobiographical writing with the“literary”. Itis inmany ways adelicate and dangerous liaison – autobiographical writing is capable oftesting themutual interrelations ofliterature, fiction, truth, narrative, and Self. AsDerrida suggests, for this liminal sphere theterm “autobiography” is “perhaps theleast inadequate name” (Derrida is referring here tohis writing occupying thespace somewhere between philosophy and literature) “because itremains for me themost enigmatic, themost open” (Derrida and Attridge 1992, 34). “Philosophy” here is not tobe understood primarily
111 How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing as theacademic field of“history ofphilosophy”, but inits relation to“auto-bio-graphy” itmanifests itself specifically as the“art” tolive and die properly: “Learning tolive should mean learning todie […]. That’s been theold philosophical injunction since Plato: tophilosophize is tolearn todie” (Derrida [2005] 2007a, 24). Ipropose this “problem oflife and death” (therealm of“bio” inauto-bio-graphy) tobe central toautobiography as well. Here the strategic position of autobiography in relation to literature can beglimpsed, as if thevery grounds ofliterary theory come tobe disputed and laid bare byautobiography. One reason might be that autobiography does not let thereader forget “strategically” about theauthor and writer ofanautobiographical text (toavoid theliterary-theoretical heresy ofpsychologizing interpretation), but onthecontrary highlights theposition ofthewriter and thesituation ofwriting (narrating), including thepsychological, cognitive, sociological, or unconscious setup ofthewriter as theprivileged starting point ofany interpretation. Consequently, thequestion about thestatus ofthewriting subject appears fundamental since autobiography is capable ofrevealing theprecariousness ofthis position as italways already finds itself inthetension between the(true) life-story (life ingeneral) as opposed to“fiction” (or phantasm) of what is tobe formulated bylinguistic means. Through theact ofwriting (therealm of“graph” inauto-bio-graphy) that tension is supplemented bytheinterdependence ofthewriting subject and theresulting text (thework). That is theway Iunderstand theinsight ofPaul de Man: The specular moment that is part of all understanding reveals thetropological structure that underlies all cognitions, including knowledge ofself. Theinterest ofautobiography, then, is not that itreveals reliable self-knowledge – itdoes not – but that itdemonstrates instriking way theimpossibility ofclosure and oftotalization (that is theimpossibility ofcoming into being) ofall textual systems made up oftropological substitutions. (1979, 922) Even though I tend to agree with de Man, ithas tobe pointed out that especially autobiographical writing practice (but thesubsequent reading acts as well) is subject tothepsychic, existential, and material (biological) economy ofhuman life, which means that not all self-knowledge has tobe tropological: cognition might be underlain bytropology but this tropology stems from and inhabits thematerial corporeal being. Meaning is tropological and embodied atthesame time. Thepsychic economy can also potentially suspend thedistinction between fantasy and reality (fiction and knowledge), which become indistinguishable, depending ontheaction ofthepsychic apparatus (Sigmund Freud stresses that itis not thegoal ofpsychoanalytic practice toreintroduce thedistinction; see [1916] 1924, 382–383). In trying to answer the question of the relationship between writer and work (albeit inmore general terms, not limited by“autobiography”), Maurice Blanchot views it as one that is built upon aspecific negativity (Blanchot is making repeated refer - ences toHegel): “before his work exists, not only does he [thewriter] not know who heis, but heis nothing. Heexists only as afunction ofthework” ([1948] 1995b, 303). According toBlanchot the“writer” acquires his/her status only through writing thetext. Upon finishing thework, he/she as awriter ceases toexist. Thesuggest-
112 MIROSLAV KOTÁSEK ed dependence oftheauthorial being upon thewriting process is close totheoutlook onautobiography Iam proposing. But autobiographical work not only leaves thewriter dead behind, italso allows him/her to“live on” or “survive”. Ofcourse, inautobiography itis not so much theproblem of“writer” and “work”, but ofthe“I” and “mylife story”. Yet, as autobiographical writing never lets me (both as reader and autobiographer) forget about this substantial link, unlike fictional literature, “thebiographical, insofar as itis autobiographical, cuts across both fields inquestion: thebody ofthework and thebody ofthereal subject. Thebiographical is thus that internal border ofwork and life, aborder onwhich texts are engendered. Thestatus ofthetext – if ithas one – is such that itderives from neither theone nor theother, from neither theinside nor theoutside” (Gasché [1982] 1985, 41). (Auto)biographical text then deconstructs theinside–outside/subject–object dichotomies as itconstitutes thewriter who is simultaneously producing thetext. The inevitability of “death” (intheform ofa“natural law” posing alimit to“life” and any “life-story”) positions theautobiographical endeavour, which “isnot tobe inany way confused with theso-called life oftheauthor, with thecorpus ofempirical accidents making up thelife ofanempirically real person” (41) within ahorizon that, paradoxically, can never acquire thestatus ofaproper “horizon”, being atthesame time inevitable and inaccessible, following thesame deconstructive logic Gasché finds intheinside – outside dichotomy. Ifautobiography narrates alife story, then even before Ibegin towrite, death lurks inthedistance, because “tolive, bydefinition, is not something one learns. Not from oneself, itis not learned from life, taught bylife. Only from theother and bydeath. Inany case from theother attheedge oflife. Attheinternal border or theexternal border, itis aheterodidactics between life and death” (Derrida [1993] 2006, xvii). Inanautobiography, more importantly, this heterology problematizes thestatus ofthe“I” and the“other”, because autobiographical writing is built upon aninternalized transformation ofthe“I” into the“other”: theobject tobe described, understood, analyzed, and remembered. Hence, theheterological situation ofautobiography makes unsure not only thedivision between fiction and reality, inside and outside, but also between theauthorial control and that which can becalled “myself”, pointing out thenarrative procedures present intheconstruction ofthe“I” and their intrinsically problematic nature. Returning to Gasché’s remark on the body ofthetext and thebody ofthewriter and their relationship to(auto)biography, something needs tobe added. Wewill readily accept theaxiom or claim that every human (and animal) life is singular, despite its seemingly universal grounding inthebiological that isinscribed inthe“universal” language ofDNA code. This common ground could then bereferred toas bio-graphical. InLife Death Derrida tries toproblematize this seemingly unproblematic sphere ofmodern natural sciences, “this graphics oflife, this non-phonetic writing that [Georges Canguilhem and François Jacob] claim tobe ‘without writing’ and that they are ready toreinvest with all thevalues linked tologos inits most enduring Platonic-Aristotelian-Hegelian tradition” ([2019] 2020, 23]). The term “auto” does not necessarily refer tothat which is mine, i.e. “singular”, as this chance
113 How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing ofsingularity is guaranteed exclusively byits grounding inrepeatability (hence: universality), that which can beidentified, looked back upon, turned into signs: “Theidentity ofthesame […] known as theauto, is generated bythevery thing – iterability, thepower-to-be-repeated – which prohibits its stability and autonomy” (Smith 1995, 100). The“prohibition” Smith mentions is not so much anaction oflegal authority (like that ofapositive “natural law”). Rather, theguiding principle recognized here bySmith is thedifferential structure oftheauto. Its imprisonment within thelinguistic structures employed leads tothefeeling ofentrapment inthis differential structure that does not belong tolanguage (as that which is “outside”) but splitting the “I” as that which gives it its/his/her identity. Here stems theurge (and possibility) tonever stop narrating while simultaneously deepening thegap between thetime ofnarrating and thenarrated time (theexample ofTristram Shandy is illustrative here). The“I”, as theauthor of“myself” isconfronted with theprovisionality oftheexisting linguistic construction, amounting totheprovisionality ofits “life”, its inability tofind its dwelling within thealready existing narrative and linguistic structures. “I”is then not tobe identified with “ipseity”, as Derrida clearly states, “but intheuniqueness or singularity ofagathering together ofits difference toitself” (Derrida [1996] 1998, 68). Rather than prohibiting, iterability guarantees identity as that which is changing (because it always manifests itself anew through singular events: that which cannot becalculated), opened towards thepast horizon ofmemory and thefuture horizon ofdeath, “Derrida perceives autobiography as apractice aligned with writing indifférance, thenot-here and not-now. […] Simultaneously gazing toboth past and future, Derrida locates theautobiographer inatemporal entanglement that suspends theborders between life and death” (Ergin 2017, 347). Theproblem is, ofcourse, with Meliz Ergin using thevisual metaphor of“gazing”, as human vision is unidirectional (unlike hearing). Inmetaphorical terms, Iwould say that the“presence” ofhuman being, as modelled byautobiographical practice, is leaning out towards thepast and thefuture. More productive than identifying the “universality” ofthehuman situation with thebio-graphy ofDNA coding would beanalyzing the(biological) body involved inwriting, thebody invested inthetext, and thebody as amaterial carrier oflife. That is why Derrida showed such aprofound interest inAntonin Artaud, who inhis poetry, fiction, diaries, and letters, as well as inhis “theoretical” work (TheTheatre and its Double, 1938) was testing precisely this corporeal sphere ofidentity inits relation to“life” and “language” (see Derrida [1969] 1978). Derrida “strips naked” thecorporeal dimension from adifferent point ofview inThe Animal That Therefore IAm. What especially should not beavoided is the“affective” body together with thequestion ofwhat the(physiological) affect is able totell. Arthur W.Frank states that “thebody is not mute, but itis inarticulate; itdoes not use speech, yet begetsit” (1995, 27). Inautobiographies themost acute memories (ifthey are not repressed) are often those that are inarticulate and/or inarticulable because they are connected toaspecific, often traumatic situation, where theonly available response might be theprimarily bodily affect that is not, as Derrida suggests, necessarily understandable or meaningful:
114 MIROSLAV KOTÁSEK We would need to make new inroads into thinking concerning thebody […] inorder toone day come closer towhat makes us tremble or what makes us cry, tothat cause which is not thefinal cause that can becalled God or death […]. What does thebody mean tosay bytrembling or crying, presuming one can speak here ofthebody, or ofsaying, ofmeaning, and ofrhetoric? ([1992] 1995, 55) My mute body talks to me, e.g. through “butterflies inmy stomach”, as itis punctured bytheaffective “punctum”. Yet theaffect is not necessarily an“effect” ofwhat has happened, not necessarily a “re-action”, it can also be oriented towards that which is about tohappen inhowever distant afuture. Thetrembling Derrida talks about does not have tobe connected toaparticular event intheautobiographer’s life (tothe“source” or “origin” oftheaffect). Theaffect can speak also ofthat which is not yet there, inanticipation ofthefuture Derrida calls l’avenir (as opposed tolefutur): that which arrives unannounced, cannot be calculated, or predicted using causality, thefuture which bears witness totheabsence ofany structure ofthefuture. Another name itcan metonymically bear is, ofcourse, “death”: We tremble in that strange repetition that ties anirrefutable past (ashock has been felt, atraumatism has already affected us) toafuture that cannot beanticipated; anticipated but unpredictable; apprehended, but, and this is why there is afuture, apprehended precisely as unforeseeable, unpredictable; approached as unapproachable. (54) Returning to the paradox of the (repeatable) sovereign auto, and of course tothemuteness, and inaccessibility ofthe(biological, physiological body): autobiography promises toturn this universality into singularity bytheusage of(byprinciple repeatable, general, differential) signs ofalinguistic code. Derrida describes theparadox common toall graphic signs illustratively: To be a mark and to mark its marking effect, amark must becapable ofbeing identified, recognized as thesame, being precisely re-markable form one context toanother. Itmust becapable ofbeing repeated, re-marked inits essential trait as thesame. […] Theideal iterability that forms thestructure ofall marks is that which undoubtedly allows them tobe released from any context, tobe freed from all determined bonds toits origin, its meaning, or its referent. (1984, 16) In autobiography (and in everyday discourse as well) Ican speak or write about what happened tome inthepast, Ican comment onthepresent and even speculate about thefuture or “invent” it. Ifthere was only positive meaning inlanguage and if that positive meaning was what gets repeated, then our lives would not be distinguishable. Rather, so that language can work as thecarrier ofindividualized meaning, there are always already certain forms ofnegativity atplay. There is little positive inlanguage, thepositive arises despite language and not thanks toit. Saying “I” does not amount toanchoring my whole being around afirm center ofcognition. There is probably not even an“I” before itgets pronounced: itis theact ofuttering (inautobiography, atapsychoanalytic sitting, inasoliloquy) that makes theabsent (invisible, unheard) language simultaneously with theabsent “I”apparent through parole, through anutterance. Thewritten utterance and theusage ofvoice visibly/ audibly marks language (langage) as absent, as negative:
115 How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing The Voice, as the supreme shifter that allows us tograsp thetaking place oflanguage, appears thus as thenegative ground onwhich all ontology rests, theoriginary negativity sustaining every negation. For this reason, thedisclosure ofthedimension ofbeing is always already threatened bynullity: […] thefield ofmeaning ofbeing is originally disclosed only inthepurely negative articulation ofaVoice. (Agamben [1982] 2006, 36) The structure of the present in which Iuse my voice is not anunproblematic (phenomenological) “now”, but itis differentially and deferentially constituted bythepast and thefuture. Itis grounded inthenullity Giorgio Agamben refers to(that guarantees iterability). Itis not that Ican speak despite this nothingness, itis this nullity that allows me tospeak. Asthemute body teaches me tolisten tonon-linguistic signs, as Ispeak thanks totheabsence ofthelanguage, my present self is affected byits future death that marks it “alive”. In autobiography “the Voice” is most prominently represented bythepronoun“I”. Thearticulation ofthepronominal shifter not only grounds meaning inthepresent (performs the“presence” ofmeaning), but itis also thespace-time where thenegativity oflanguage makes itself audible/visible: anyone can refer tohimself or herself through thepersonal pronoun“I”, yet bythevery utterance this possibility vanishes: Iforce thelinguistic means. Iviolate them tomean only “me”: the “I” is always posed autobiographically. Itrefers toitself. […] Theauto-biographical does not have tooccur toan“I,” living or dead, that would come tospeak ofitself. Theauto-bio-graphical derives from thefact that thesimple instance ofthe“I” or oftheautos can beposed as such only totheextent that itis asign oflife, oflife inpresence, themanifestation oflife inpresence, even if thewhat, or who, male or female, that thereby gives this sign oflife finds itself tohave passed over totheside ofdeath. (Derrida [2006] 2008, 56) It can be observed that the relationship Blanchot ascribed tothe“writer” and “work” mirrors therelation between“I” and its “utterance”. Ifthis relation conditions the“autobiographical”, as Derrida suggests, itmeans that itcannot beforgotten, unlike inafictional narrative, thus presenting aproblem as toits “literary” status. Yet things do not stop here. IfIpoint my utterance attheworld, atobjects intheworld, another side ofthis negating power oflanguage manifests itself. Blanchot states inhis “Literature and theRight toDeath”: when I say “This woman,” real death has been announced and is already present inmy language; my language means that this person, who is here right now, can bedetached from herself, removed from her existence and her presence, and suddenly plunged into nothingness inwhich there is no existence or presence; […] that deferred assassination which […] my language is. ([1948] 1995b, 323) This is the price that ought to be paid for the “ideal iterability” oflinguistic signs and thereason Derrida is so attracted toBlanchot. Blanchot ascribes ablood-sucking, vampire-like quality towords. They seem toprovide us with aphantasm of“eternal life”, ofproviding thepower tospeak toinarticulate mute objects, but they do it atthecost ofdeadening theobjects they aim their power at: “Theword gives me thebeing, but itgives it tome deprived ofbeing. Theword is theabsence ofthat being, its nothingness” (322). Itis here, intheseemingly unproblematic everyday
116 MIROSLAV KOTÁSEK language use, that theethical dimension ofbeing opens up. Inautobiography, regarding my attempt toutter my “being”, my “life”, theconsequences are similar: in me, the power to speak is also linked to my absence from being. Isay my name, and itis as though Iwere chanting my own dirge: Iseparate myself from myself, Iam no longer my presence or my reality, but anobjective, impersonal presence, thepresence ofmy name, which goes beyond me and whose stonelike immobility performs thesame function for me as atombstone weighing onthevoid. When Ispeak, Ideny theexistence ofwhat Iam saying, but Ialso deny theexistence oftheperson who is saying it. (324) In autobiography I make myself asepulcher inside my Self, inexactly themanner Freud talks about thework ofmourning. Imake myself into aninanimate object that can be described and fantasized about, so that Ican see myself and talk about myself as about “that man”. Iam not acting as anunderstanding, compassionate subject even though Ikilled, buried, and mortified myself, but thanks tothat very act. Itis inthis sense that Iunderstand Joseph Kronick’s remark that “Every time ‘I’begin towrite (thelife of) myself, death interposes. Every autobiography is anallegory ofthewriter’s death, anautobiothanatography” (2000, 1014). Thefundamental split (which is not only “autobiographical”, but also “psychoanalytic”) between thenarrating/telling “I”and theobjectified, immobile “I”as aprotagonist of“my” story introduces into my understanding thesplit between thenon-fictional (me telling thestory) and thefictional (me as theone being narrated). Autobiography instructs me about thepsychological basis ofmy understanding of“fiction”. Itmakes itvisible inaself-referential, specular manner, where “thepossibility offiction has structured – but with afracture – what is called experience. This constituting structure is destructuring fracture. Itis thecondition that is common toliterature and non-literature, tothepassion ofliterature as well as tothis passion tout court towhich literature cannot not refer. Here, inany case, theborder between literature and its other becomes undecidable” (Derrida [1996] 2000, 92). And again, itis also here, inthis primarily narcissistic identification, where theethical dimension ofthe“other” takes its form, opening thedimensions ofresponsibility towards theother and towards stories. And if, as Derrida claims, this is thesphere oftheundecidability between literature and non-literature, then itis also here where thepolitical dimension ofresponsibility and debt instigated bythepossibility to“say anything” opens: A part of us is wounded and itis with ourselves that we are conversing in thework ofmourning and ofErinnerung. Even if this metonymy oftheother inourselves already constituted thetruth and thepossibility ofour relation totheliving other, death brings it out into more abundant light. […] Thenarcissistic wound enlarges infinitely for want ofbeing able tobe narcissistic any longer, for no longer even finding appeasement inthat Erinnerung we call thework ofmourning. Beyond internalizing memory, itis then necessary tothink, which is another way ofremembering. (Derrida [1987] 2007b, 9) In autobiography I turn the oppositions on their heads: Ican make “myself” into asubject byturning “myself” into anobject tobe studied, described, analyzed, and dissected. Based onthis reversal Ican remember (those past, dead memories), Ican think, Ican write to(re)invent lost or non-existing memories (for him/it). This trait, this trace, this breach announces inme theimpossibility for thetrace or writing tobe
117 How many deaths? Auto-bio-graphy as death-writing positive: itannounces theimpossibility oftrace, ofwriting. And so, theautobiographical act (thanatographical act) becomes themodel of“understanding” self. Byburying myself, Ifree myself from genealogy: “Life, as structurally indistinguishable from death, may be considered outside ofgenealogy and generation. Inother words, life death can pass without relation, without apriori submission toalaw ofgenealogical belonging” (Smith 1995, 150). Life becomes still life. Yet what happens to this “still life”, this picture, this memory ofme? Isthere another death relating tothis materiality or “mediality” ofthe “I”? Derrida does not hesitate: “Ileave apiece ofpaper behind, Igo away, Idie: itis impossible toescape this structure, itis theunchanging form ofmy life. Each time Ilet something go, each time some trace leaves me, ‘proceeds’ from me, unable tobe reappropriated, Ilive my death inwriting” (2007a, 32–33). Itis this death inwriting, this offering that allows theDerridean trace/trace ofDerrida/Derrida’s trace to“live on”, to“survive”. This answer is made possible byunderstanding writing as alinguistic performative act (performing simultaneously the“self” and “truth”) resulting inasingular text, text considered as anevent. Ido not think we can stress this way oflooking atwriting (as suggested by Culler 2008) without placing it within themore general logic ofmedia. Preceding thepassage Ihave just quoted you can read: “Atthemoment Ileave ‘my’ book […] Ibecome, appearing-disappearing, like that uneducable specter who will have never learned how tolive. Thetrace Ileave signifies atonce my death, either tocome or already come upon me, and thehope that this trace survives me” (Derrida 2007a, 32). Derrida accepts thespectral logic offered tohim bythemedium itself, thespectral logic that is not exclusive towriting or literature but applies tomemory media ingeneral. Thespectral logic is de facto adeconstructive logic. Itis intheelement ofhaunting that deconstruction finds theplace most hospitable toit, attheheart oftheliving present, inthequickest heartbeat ofthephilosophical. Like thework ofmourning, inasense, which produces spectrality, and like all work produces spectrality. (Derrida and Stiegler [1996] 2002, 117) A “still life” can be hung inagallery, placed inabank safe, or hung onawall intheinterior or intheexterior. Inother words, itrequires aplace to“store” it and make it accessible (inthis respect “bank safe” is not themost appropriate place). Theproblem ofthearchive, its accessibility and changes instigated bydigitization and digitalization ofarchived content transform theduration and relevance ofthe“surviving trace”: Thetechnical structure ofthearchiving archive also determines thestructure ofthearchivable content even inits very coming into existence and inits relationship tothefuture. Thearchivization produces as much as itrecords theevent. This is also our political experience oftheso-called news media. (Derrida [1995] 1996, 17) Today there is the possibility torecord, simultaneously stream, and store “everything” down tothemost tedious details. And here theproblem arises: if nothing can be forgotten, as itis stored just aclick away, then nothing must beremembered. Thetheoretical possibility torecord everything is, ofcourse, problematic,