in defense of derrida, sort of.

[Lawrence Radcliffe]

just one thing:

recent list-serv jeremiads aside, there is a human dimension to derrida's 
death that needs to be accounted for and remembered.  i never met the man 
personally but several friends of mine did; thankfully, one of them blogs 
and was kind enough to share some of his memories of derrida over the 
weekend.  i've enclosed a lengthy excerpt from his post, and i encourage 
everyone to read it, if only to get some idea of what the man was like 
face-to-face.

the excerpt:

Unlike the others, I was fortunate enough to have met Derrida on several 
occaisions, and even though I have less of an intellectual affinity with his 
work than I do with that of Foucault and Deleuze, he nevertheless made a 
strong impression on me each time, not just with the force of his intellect, 
but even more strongly with his profound, and unfeigned humility, generosity 
and kindness. To say that in certain circles Derrida was a 'rock star' would 
in no way be an exaggeration, and this makes it all the more remarkable that 
he gave of himself so generously, and so kindly, in relation to people of 
all types. In this regard, a few aecdotes are perhaps appropriate.

The first time I met him was when he came to deliver the opening lecture for 
the Ph.D. program at Villanova. I had only been a graduate student for about 
two weeks at this time, and I found myself sitting in a room with everyone 
else in the program, confronted by this man who was perhaps the most famous 
philosopher in the world. The professors who had accompanied Derrida to his 
meeting with the graduate students of our program then excused themselves 
and left us with him. To say that everyone in the room was terrified in that 
moment (none of us were more than second year graduate students at that 
point) would be an understatemet. And somehow, there is no doubt that 
Derrida grasped the situation immediately, since after a moment of 
uncomfortable silence he deftly abdicated the position of "master" in 
relation to the rest of us, saying simply "You will have to ask me questions 
otherwise I will not know what to say." This, of course, brought on another 
long moment of terrified silence, and then an incredibly brave student asked 
Derrida a question about politics, South Africa if I remember correctly. He 
answered the question generously and with great interest, and suddenly we 
all understood that he was here simply to converse with us, about whatever, 
and we all proceded to have a wonderful and free ranging conversation with 
him for the next hour.

It was only a year or so later that I understood just how much that 
conversation reflected his whole approach. At a party with some fiends in 
Philadelphia, I met a young man who had been an undergraduate at the time of 
that first visit of Derrida's to Villanova, and who he had happened upon 
when he went outside during the reception after his Lecture to get some air 
and escape the press of people who had been buttonholing him with every 
imaginable question, request, etc. that they had probably been storing up 
for years and in some cases decades. Apparently, Derrida saw this young man 
smoking a cigarette and went over to him and asked if he could have one as 
well. The young man (not a grad student, not a philosopher or really a 
student of Derrida's work), of course, gave Derrida a cigarette and, as he 
told me later, they sat for a while together in the night just chatting, 
mostly about Euro-Disney, its prospects, how it would do, etc... As the 
young man told me later, it was just this wonderful, totally pleasant 
conversation, between two people who had happened to meet and share a 
relaxed moment on a summer night. And every encounter I had with Derrida 
reinforced my sense that this man, for all his stature, his accomplishments, 
never ceased to deal with others with this very fundamental kindness, 
respect, generosity, curiosity and acceptance. Those of you who have had 
occiasion to spend any amount of time around high powered intellectuals 
will, no doubt, understand just how rare and valuable this sort of 
personality is among that group.

My final anecdote is a funny one, but at the same time illustrative of the 
same character which will always make me remember Derrida the man with great 
fondness. Another colleague of mine at Villanova, somewhat impishly, decided 
to ask Derrida to autograph his copy of Glas (a book which, famously, 
Derrida had named as "the unsignable"). This request, made in front of a 
couple of professors who were clearly a bit uncomfortable with the pluck 
which it easily could have been taken to represent, did not phase Derrida at 
all. Instead, he just chuckled and happily signed the book.

And so I am thinking today about these and other passing moments that I was 
lucky enough to share with Derrida, and as much as I am thinking about his 
work, I am thinking even more about this man who always struck me as a 
singular character, a truly kind and generous individual whose like we will 
not see again and whose absence makes us all poorer.