sábado, noviembre 19, 2011

la verdad de una comunidad electiva, dice blanchot

The community of lovers. This romantic title that I have given those pages, in which there is neither a shared relationship nor definite lovers, is it not paradoxical? Certainly. But this paradox confirms perhaps the extravagance of what one seeks to designate by the name community? At the onset there is need to distinguish—with whatever difficulty—between traditional community and elective community. (The first is imposed on us without or having the liberty of choice in the matter: it is de facto sociality, or the glorification of the earth, of blood, or even of race. But what about the other? One calls it elective in the sense that it exists only through a decision that gathers its members around a choice without which it could not have taken place; is that choice free? Or, at least, does that freedom suffice to express, to affirm the sharing that is the truth of this community?) 

The unavowable community,  de Maurice Blanchot

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