When to Revive the Author — Barthes Revisited in Real Life
Looking at The Death of the Author through the lens of human relationships.
Some time has passed since my first encounter with Roland Barthes. I haven’t actually met him, but The Death of the Author played a key role in my college education and approach to creativity. I didn’t read it immediately, though. I was too captivated by the idea of what it could be about. Because that is a sexy title. Who is this author, you wonder, and why is he dead?
I wouldn’t be able to tell you what mystical, romantic image that title had conjured up in my mind — but I liked it. And to be honest, when I finally did read the actual text, I was kind of disappointed. I mean, it was still interesting. It was just different than what I had expected.
Now that I think of it, that experience is not too far removed from what the essay is about.
This past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about how our ideas about language and communication were shaped by it, perhaps without our knowing. So, I decided to revisit it from a different perspective.
The Death of the Author is a 1967 essay in which Barthes — a French postmodern critic and philosopher among other things — argues that the author’s intention in a text is no more valid than a reader’s interpretation. He is essentially calling into question an author’s authority over a text.
In this context, a text is a work that someone creates — a poem, a painting, a photograph — and the reader is the person who engages with it.
According to Barthes, words, symbols and ideas have a life of their own. They are multifaceted and have been around for a long time, passing through many minds and cultures until they reach the author’s pen. Therefore, the author does not get to decide what they mean because the face he sees may not be the one they elicit in a reader’s mind. The real meaning-making, he believes, is between the text and the reader.
“The reader is the space on which all the quotations that make up a writing are inscribed without any of them being lost; a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination. […] Classic criticism has never paid any attention to the reader; for it, the writer is the only person in literature…we know that to give writing its future, it is necessary to overthrow the myth: the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.” — Roland Barthes, The Death of the Author
This idea is not not true. In many ways, it seems almost obvious to us now. Your favourite song likely means something different to you than to the person who wrote it. Their story is not your own, and yet the same words can express it. We allow ourselves to make meanings of the things we see and hear and read, and thereby take part in their creation.
But even if we like our interpretation better, we accept the author’s version as the truth.
The Death of the Author, however, reduces the author’s truth to one of many. It exalts the reader and posits the author as a kind of conduit through which the content flows.
That is good news for you because the song can actually mean whatever you want it to mean. And it’s not exactly bad news for the authors, either. Sure, their egos get a little bruised, but their creations become richer for it. They can stand on their own and speak to different people in as many ways as possible.
Despite his essay not living up to my unclear fantasy, Barthes’ idea was very influential to me, especially in the theatre where you are constantly interpreting and recreating someone else’s work. So, in the realm of academia and art, The Death of the Author sits well with me.
While I am curious about the author’s intention because I want to know what the story meant to them, I allow it to mean what it means to me. This approach allows for a lot of creative freedom. There have been so many imaginative takes on classical works that ring just as true as the original iteration. So, killing the author is a beautiful way to widen your perspective.
But what happens when this idea extends beyond the realm of art and enters the world of people and their relationships? When you are the author of the words that express your inner reality — your core desires and deepest needs.
What happens when the image they conjure in someone’s mind is not the one you intended? When what the other person heard was not what you meant. Would you still want the author dead?
Barthes was a product of his time. To fully understand him, we have to understand that he lived in a period that believed it was impossible to transmit an idea from one mind to another, and that we were all lonely prisoners of our own perceived realities. Our only tool was language — and because it had a life of its own, it was essentially useless.
This idea is clearly illustrated in a prominent genre at the time — Theatre of the Absurd. In the plays of Barthes’ contemporaries Samuel Beckett and Eugene Ionesco, characters speak literal nonsense to one another to show the futility of language and the meaninglessness of, well, everything.
Here is an expert from Ionesco’s The Bald Soprano, in which two respectable middle-class families have a polite conversation that disintegrates into, well -
“MR. MARTIN: Don’t smooch the brooch!
MR. SMITH: Groom the goose, don’t goose the groom.
MRS. MARTIN: The goose grooms.
MRS. SMITH: Groom your tooth.
MR. MARTIN: Groom the bridegroom, groom the bridegroom.
MR. SMITH: Seducer seduced!
MRS. MARTIN: Scaramouche!
MRS. SMITH: Sainte-Nitouche!” — Eugene Ionsecoe, The Bald Soprano
This is how a lot of people felt about the confusing times they were living in. The twentieth century was a really weird moment in history — fast-paced, ever-changing and overwhelming. Communication breakdown was key. So, it was not too surprising that detachment, cynicism, and irony in the guise of realism were used as shields.
Our culture mimics our own development. We learn coping mechanisms that may have served us as kids but are making life harder for us as adults.
But just because that was the attitude that was adopted on a cultural scale, does not mean that it was the best or most appropriate response.
If your words have so many meanings they don’t mean anything at all, why would you ever bother to speak? If you weren’t going to be heard or understood — believing it was impossible — why would you ever say anything of value? Anything painful and true and vulnerable? Why would you ever express yourself if communication was impossible?
The ‘futility of language' might be a worldview we have to ditch. And it seems like we are. In recent years, the concepts of vulnerability, authenticity and healthy communication have entered the mainstream without irony. It’s still messy, but I’m happy to see people actively clearing up the pathways to connection.
And while I love the idea of multiple potential meanings thanks to the richness of language, I don’t think the conclusion should be that true understanding between two beings is impossible.
Language is powerful. And the right words will get the right idea across — provided you are willing to look for them. Clear communication is not impossible, but it is definitely not easy.
There is no shortage of barriers between two separate brains. It takes time and awkward practice at the risk of being painfully misunderstood to overcome them.
I think we may need the author here, and he needs to say what he means. But the burden of communication should not fall on his shoulders alone.
On the receiving end of a sentence, the reader — whether that be a friend, a father, or spouse — will have to be willing to hear the author’s intention. To voice it back to them and ask for clarification when they don’t understand.
That is no small feat, dear reader. It means stripping yourself of the power to hear only what you want to hear and actually hearing the author. But the cool thing about the realm of reality is that you are never just the reader. When it is your turn to speak, you become the author. And I hope that you are heard.
So, I’d like to leave the killing of the author to the artists and French philosophers, and keep him alive and well for myself.
If you would like to read The Death of the Author yourself, you can find it online. And if you don't want to read it because you have more important things to do, here is a quick video summary by someone else on Youtube.
Hi, I’m Noemi, a certified relationship coach. I help you understand your patterns and cultivate self-love, confidence, and compassion to create the deep, fulfilling conscious relationships your heart desires.
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