In “Autobiography as De-Facement” (1979), de Man refers to a mute woodsman, created by the English poet William Wordsworth in The Excursion (1814), who lives in complete isolation because he can neither hear nor speak. Wordsworth provided the reader a perspective on this figure by referring to the face of the Sun—moving above him—as representing a grace that redeems life. For de Man, however, the woodsman—who cannot know even the sounding waterfall in the woods, which to him is no more than a picture—embodies humanity in its abysmal loneliness.

De Man’s writing here, moved by the pathos of Wordsworth’s figure, is a lyrical response to his predecessor’s poetry, but most of the essay is embedded in the controversial language for which de Man was famous. His written works were rarely vivid. In fact, Heidegger himself had advised that his and others’ ideas should not be discussed in words that were clear and direct: he did not say, but a few understood, that this practice would disguise the implicitly religious element of his thought. De Man knew this, quoted Heidegger on it, and adopted the same process, but in his language there is a despairing mutism, what the American poet Wallace Stevens called a “mind of winter.” Heidegger, however, continued to claim, as he did to his students at the University of Marburg, that he was a Catholic theologian, and one may see him as trying to find another vocabulary through which to preserve a sense of wonder, as Werner Brock, his onetime assistant and commentator, has suggested. De Man instead took his own view of the isolated woodcutter, humanity’s representative, and, as he wrote in a controversial phrase at the end of the essay, “death is a displaced name for a linguistic predicament.” His woodsman is like Stevens’s snowman, “the listener, who listens in the snow,”

And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.