This essay takes as its point of departure Jacques Derrida’s analysis of the phantasm of a mother tongue in his recently published seminar from 1995–1996 on hospitality (Hospitalité I, Éditions du Seuil, 2021). The essay begins by showing that Derrida’s analysis of this phantasm is per­fectly consistent with several of his most important works of the 1960s (from Of Grammatology to Voice and Phenomenon) on the auto-affection of speech and the phantasm of self-presence to which it gives rise. But the essay then demonstrates how those earlier analyses of language and voice are supplemented in Hospitalité by important reflections on what were then very new teletechnologies—including the cell or mobile phone—that do not, as we might have thought, deflate the phantasm of self-presence and of a natural mother tongue but actually lend themselves to it. What these teletechnologies thus end up underscoring, according to Derrida, is the original exappropriation at the heart of all language, including the so-called mother tongue.

“Irrealis” grammatical moods, such as the subjunctive, provoke linguistic, literary, and phenomenological questions. What is the ontological status of the domain revealed by irrealis moods? How does it solicit signification? Is it a mere illusion or a distraction from the real? I propose not only that our ventures into the irreal are indispensable ways of making sense of things, but that the irreal is necessary to the being of language and to our own being.

By Aristotle’s own admission, homonymy and amphiboly, or syntactic homonymy, are unlikely to be accidental features of the Greek language (nor of any language, nor of language as such), but rather a radical evil that can at best be subdued, through recourse to categories, for example. Or we could choose to follow the sophists and exploit it by aiming at an essentially sonorous consensus. But then such texts would constitute a radical evil for translation.

Addressing the place of the Austrian poet, Georg Trakl, in the philosophical hermeneutics of Hans-Georg Gadamer, this article turns in particular to Trakl’s poem “A Winter Evening” in order to unfold a sense of language in dialogue with the poet. This engagement equally becomes the occasion for Gadamer to confront Heidegger, whose own reading of Trakl becomes both an inspiration and a challenge.

Hans-Georg Gadamer reads Georg Trakl’s “Ein Winterabend” (“A Winter Evening”) almost in the way Martin Heidegger does, but he alters Heidegger’s interpretation of a single image in the poem. Whereas Heidegger sees the image “Golden blooms the tree of grace” in terms of candlelight on a church altar, Gadamer sees it as the glow of a kerosene lantern, perhaps in a country inn. That one alteration, this essay argues, brings Gadamer closer to the Trakl-world than Heidegger ever manages to be.

What is the relationship between language and experience? This question was a central concern of the eminent Kyoto School philosopher and lay Zen master Ueda Shizuteru (1926–2019). In fact, this question has long been a focal issue of the Zen tradition. Famously, if also paradoxically, the Zen tradition has claimed to “not to rely on words and letters” even while producing volumes of texts: poetry and didactic discourses as well as encounter dialogues (mondō) and kōan collections. Critics have accused Zen of being self-contradictory in this regard, yet Ueda demonstrates that Zen’s paradoxical ambivalence toward language is not a problem, but rather the point. Moreover, he explains how Zen teachings and practices can help us radically rethink the relationship between language and experience after the “linguistic turn” in philosophy. In this article, I examine Ueda’s contributions to the philosophy of language by bringing his thought into critical dialogue with Continental philosophers such as Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty, and Gadamer as well as with some scholars of Zen. In short, Ueda rejects both the view that we are trapped within the bounds of language and the view that we could meaningfully dwell in a world outside of language. Rather, he argues, in everyday life as well as—in an intensified manner—in Zen practice and poetic expression, we are called on to engage in a ceaseless movement of “exiting language and exiting into language.”

This paper proposes a reading of Walter Benjamin’s “The Storyteller” in connection to what Nelly Richard, in her diagnosis of traumatic forms of violence, has called “catastrophes of meaning.” Written, like Freud’s theory of trauma, in the wake of the first World War, I argue that Benjamin sees in storytelling the experience of an imparting or communication (Mitteilung) capable of conveying trauma without betraying its paradox—and thus, without either interpreting its excesses as meaningless or reducing its absences to mere silences. Storytelling and the community of listeners it both depends on and institutes with its imparting, develops the possibility of a grammar of listening that would attend to what Richard diagnoses as the silences in traumatic testimony, the moments of rupture and breakdown that communicate the truth of its experience. Reading Benjamin along with Richard, the paper argues that Benjamin’s theory of storytelling is an attempt to search out new ways of truly listening to the fractures and shattering of language resulting from traumatic forms of violence, rather than merely filling the gaps left by their discontinuities and absences of “meaning.”

The guiding suggestion of this article is intimated in the title: “Platonism,” that set of “philosophical positions” supposedly present in the Platonic dialogues (pre-eminently the “theory of forms,” but also “Plato’s metaphysics,” his “epistemology,” his “moral theory,” his “political theory” etc.) are not so much discovered in the dialogues as they are invented out of a very specific (mis) reading of those dialogues. And the first great “misreader” was Aristotle, who, I argue, first made possible the set of assumptions about philosophy and about philosophic writing that, in turn, made anything like “Platonism” possible.

In this article, Pierre Hadot examines the late philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein and the so-called “linguistic turn” in philosophy and the social sciences. Although certain interpreters of Wittgenstein have thought that Philosophical Investigations shows philosophy to be predicated on a series of confusions based on the misuse of language, Hadot argues contrarily that an understanding of Wittgenstein’s idea of “language games”—far from ending philosophy—allows us to see it anew and to discern the source of some of its deepest perplexities. Of particular concern is the notion of the ancient idea of philosophical discourse as intrinsically connected to various forms of apprenticeship or spiritual formation. It is in this context that the supposed inconsistencies and unusual repetitions of ancient philosophy can be understood. Only from the Middle Ages do philosophical language games begin slowly to become detached from certain kinds of training, of pedagogies connected to forms of life, and become texts—and “systems”—in the sense of being written for the purposes of merely conventional reading.

This essay offers a close reading of a poem written by Paul Celan in 1962: Ars Poetica 62. I choose this neglected text since it offers genu­ine insight into Celan’s torturous relationship with German culture in the early 1960s especially against the background of the German unwillingness to confront the horrors of the war and camps. Celan situates this poem not only against German silence and forgetfulness, but against the way it defines them in terms of literary history—especially as concerns the German-Jewish (non-)conversation about identity, belongingness, and integration. In terms of this tradition, Celan integrates two principal figures (Hölderlin & Kafka) to explore the contradictions, paradoxes, and caesurae of the recent German past. I also look at the role that Heidegger plays within the Rezeptionsgeschichte Hölderlins as it affects both Celan and the German philosophical tradition.