Section 6.
In the last two sections of the essay Barthes ramps up the rhetoric to produce what he hopes will be a rousing call to arms. Whether this is successful or justified, rather than ridiculous, is something I’ll look at when I come to evaluate the essay later. In section 6, Barthes does two things:
- Argues against decipherment, i.e., the uncovering of secret, ultimate meanings, and argues instead for disentanglement.
- Connects the rejection of decipherment with a kind of liberation movement, namely the overthrow of the reign of Author and Critic, which will mean a kind of liberation, not only for writing and reading but more widely: a liberation from God, reason, science, and law.
I’ll put it polemically, to get in tune with Barthes. The work of literature is not a mystery to be solved by tracing it back to the author’s psychology, motivations, intentions, or personal background and traumas, or other such gossip in the guise of profound revelation. The text is not a sign pointing somewhere else more interesting, that the author for some reason does not wish to mention. Insofar as we can get meaning from the text, it is in the language itself. Insofar as something matters to the text, it will be legible in it. The text is itself infinitely interesting. The language is not just a tool to carry something private and non-linguistic from one mind to another. The very idea that language is primarily instrumental to ends outside itself is anathema to the scriptor. We can ask the zealous acolytes of the Author: Why must the Author overshadow the text itself? Why must language play second fiddle to some other, originating greatness? Why should anyone still take seriously the idea that to properly approach literature we must subordinate and denigrate language?
Getting down off that high horse, I can think of a response, but I won’t say any more right now, since I’m postponing my evaluation till later. (In a nutshell, where I am right now is I agree that interpretation as decipherment is wrongheaded, but I don’t think a rejection of this paradigm depends on a rejection of the writer’s subjectivity).
In the multiplicity of writing, everything is to be disentangled, nothing deciphered; the structure can be followed, ‘run’ (like the thread of a stocking) at every point and at every level, but there is nothing beneath: the space of writing is to be ranged over, not pierced; …
What does it mean to reject one metaphor, namely piercing the space of writing, or lifting up the text to find what’s beneath it, or uncovering the secret—in favour of another, namely disentangling the multiplicity, following the thread, and ranging over the space of writing?
I’ve struggled to put this into words myself, because I think this has always been my way of appreciating literature (which tempts me to think it’s the natural or default way of reading, though I hesitate to commit to that claim). I have always disliked the idea that what you find in a novel must point somewhere else, must stand for something, or—even worse—must function as a delivery mechanism for a message. I think the kind of writing I like reflects that: Nabokov, Borges, Pynchon, John Barth, Samuel R. Delany—authors who revel in language, the multiplicity of meaning, and the instability of a story’s source.
In the past, without knowing anything about Barthes, I’ve attempted to get the idea across by saying that meaning is all on the surface, in the open, and shared. But I like Barthes’ metaphors better, because they get away from any superficiality or aestheticism suggested by “surface”; disentanglement, in contrast, acknowledges the complexity of a text, that its meanings are not always simple and obvious.
To give a text an Author is to impose a limit on that text, to furnish it with a final signified, to close the writing. Such a conception suits criticism very well, the latter then allotting itself the important task of discovering the Author (or its hypostases: society, history, psyche, liberty) beneath the work
Barthes clearly sees his approach to literature as liberating, in that it refuses to place a limit on a text’s meaning. The latter is what happens when its meaning is assigned to an ultimate origin, centrally the Author but also other candidate origins such as “society, history, psyche, liberty.” When he says these are hypostases of the Author, it means that they function in the same way as the Author, that they are in effect the Author—as in the authoritative source of meaning—in disguise.
He mirrors this with what he calls God’s hypostases at the end of the paragraph. More than rhetoric, this is meant to suggest that the death of the Author is something like the death of God, that the change is as fundamental and has the same structure. The implication might be that the death of the Author is part of a much wider development in philosophy, namely the rejection of a metaphysics of origin.