Is it justified to claim that violence is one of the most fundamental and ubiquitous themes in contemporary Continental philosophy? Or that it is the exploration, diagnosis, and critique of violence in all of its guises that motivates so much of recent theory? Here I'd like to rest on these questions for a moment, with an eye toward the dangers that come with the conflation of the various types of violence in which philosophy traffics, as much as with the ready parsing apart of the different species of violence, and the consonant refusal to recognize their co-implication. To theorize violence these days is to touch on a figure that appears everywhere in the contemporary theoretical landscape. Bracketing, for the moment, the multiple forms which violence assumes, the recent indictments of the ideology of recognition would seem to imply that its ubiquity is not unproblematic. Taking neo-Hegelian accounts of intersubjectivity to task for their inherently conflictual and violent tenor, various authors have suggested that the very model of recognition grounds identity in hostility towards others.1 Moreover, in failing to allow for any radical disruption of the power imbalances implied in the scheme of recognition-that is the fact that one is compelled to seek recognition from the very people loath to confer it in the first place-the model only perpetuates inequity and oppression.2 In this sense, the paradigm of recognition may reenact the very social inequities it hopes to ameliorate. Violence and Philosophy Among the various guises that violence assumes in recent Continental philosophy, there is the violence that Derrida names preethical in "Violence and Metaphysics," the violence of the transcendental subject and the sense with which it illumines the world, imposing continuity and order. Such an analysis demands our complicity in an "original, transcendental violence, previous to any ethical choice, even supposed by ethical nonviolence" (WD, 125).3 This allusion to transcendental violence as the violence of phenomenality, the violence embedded in the intentional action of mind upon world, acknowledges the violence implicit in perception. Its rendering as "pre-ethical" simply calls forth the acknowledgment that it is unavoidable, a function of knowledge as it is rendered in the phenomenological tradition. In this sense, pre-ethical violence is unintentional, embedded as it is in intention itself. The criticism of transcendental violence is shared with Michel Foucault; it was in The Order of Things that Foucault claimed that all thought is essentially practical, a mode of action fraught with force. Foucault writes of reason: "As soon as it functions it offends or reconciles, attracts or repels, breaks, dissociates, unites, or reunites; it cannot help but liberate or enslave" (OT, 278).4 Hence the claim that all knowledge rests upon a certain violence or injustice. Derrida, too, wrote that philosophy itself may be described as a "violence . . . returned against violence within knowledge" (WD, 131). It is philosophy's charge, then, to use this violence against itself, to temper, as best it can, this injustice and violence that rests at the heart of reason. In accord with Derrida's description of transcendental violence as "pre-ethical" is the correlative understanding of violence and nonviolence alike as related to those actions exercised in the domain belonging to ethics. Hence set apart from this "original, transcendental violence" is the violence of torture, abuse, rape, and colonization. For those working in existential phenomenology-in particular Frantz Fanon, Simone de Beauvoir, and Jean Paul Sartre-this "ethical" violence frequently connotes the actual enactment of physical force, with revolutionary violence-the taking up of arms in the colonial context-being of chief concern. Insofar as these analyses of violence bear a debt to the Marxist paradigm wherein action is motivated by scarcity and need, the violence referred to here is material through and through. …