One cannot love a monument, a work of architecture, an institution as such except in an experience itself precarious in its fragility: it has not always been there, it will not always be there, it is finite. And for this very reason one loves it as mortal, through its birth and its death, through one's own birth and death, through the ghost or the silhouette of its ruin, one's own ruin--which it already is, therefore, or already prefigures. How can one love otherwise than in this finitude? Where else would the right to love, even the love of law, come from?Derrida, "Force of Law," Acts of Religion 278.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Quote of the Day
From today's reading, quite relevant to ongoing discussions here, here, here, and here: