Abstract

I first started reading Derrida during the 1970s. Like many others, I was initially perplexed, confused, and sometimes downright infuriated. I could not make sense of what he was “up to” or why there was so much fuss about him. Frankly, I wondered if it was worth the effort. Much of his writing seemed like overindulgent word play. But I stuck with it. A primary reason was my wife, Carol. She is a professor of English and Comparative Literature at Bryn Mawr College and is a great admirer of Derrida. Because of my respect for Carol’s intelligence and insight, I was determined to discover for myself what she found so intriguing and exciting. The breakthrough came when I read his classic essay, “Metaphysics and Violence,” one of the most sensitive, perceptive, and illuminating discussions of Emmanuel Levinas. Many thinkers “discovered” Levinas because of Derrida’s essay. There is a special quality about this eloquent essay that riveted my attention. It is an act of profound friendship and extremely moving. Derrida not only beautifully and delicately explores the intricacies of Levinas’ intellectual development, but also probes the crevices in Levinas’ thought. I still find this essay to be an intensely exquisite tribute to Levinas—a thinker that deeply influenced Derrida’s own ethical thinking. When I first read “Metaphysics and Violence,” I felt that its passion and seriousness did not “fit” with the popular image of Derrida as an irresponsible and irritatingly playful nihilist. So I started to read him again. I began to notice something that few commentators discussed: the way in which ethical-political themes are woven into the texture of virtually all his writings. There is a pervasive—almost obsessive—concern with response, responsibility, and decision.