130 Derrida 1963–1983
a long time to come – is reading: and your reading clearly pre-
sents itself as such an act. This is why it has such regal honesty.^8Even in the Sorbonne, this fi rst publication led to some very
welcome reactions. Paul Ricoeur launched a seminar reserved
for researchers that was entirely devoted to Husserl. He wanted
Derrida to present his work on The Origin of Geometry at the very
fi rst session. ‘This invitation is the expression [.. .] of my admira-
tion for your book that I have only just now been studying.’^9 Over
the next few months, Derrida often took part in the discussions at
the seminar, in an atmosphere both friendly and rigorous. Some
of the microfi lms made in Louvain are kept in Paris: in a very late
letter, Ricoeur mentioned the work on these manuscripts that he
had shared with Derrida – the manuscripts had aroused both men’s
‘admiration for an oeuvre of exemplary intellectual honesty’.^10
The publication of The Origin of Geometry also added lustre
to Derrida’s prestige among the best students at the Sorbonne.
According to Françoise Dastur,
at the beginning of the sixties, in spite of the sudden death of
Merleau-Ponty, phenomenology still appeared the dominant
philosophy. When it came to travaux dirigés, Derrida advised
students who so desired to form small groups, each of them
working on a precise theme in Husserl’s phenomenology. In
this way, I took part in two working groups that met outside
the university once a week, the fi rst focusing on the Logical
Researches, the second, set up by Germanists such as myself,
embarking on the translation of Ideas II. Derrida himself would
come to work with each of these groups once a term. For most
of us, this was an amazing opportunity to immerse ourselves in
Husserl’s thought, under the guidance of one of those who had
contributed most to asking fundamental questions about it.^11In a few months, as if to make up for lost time, Derrida’s situation
evolved spectacularly. He made important contacts; he was asked
for articles and conference papers on all sides. He had spent years
fi nishing the Introduction to The Origin of Geometry, and was
about to write several fundamental texts on very diff erent subjects.
It was as if these commissions were revealing him to himself; as he
explained in a letter to Foucault, he was now in search of a style of
writing that would be his own:
University work, in the form assigned to it at present within our
society – university society in particular – distracts me painfully
[.. .] from what would be for me the essential task, vital (and