Abstract

ABSTRACTThe aftermath brings a rush of words, a silencing onslaught of pious accusations and diagnostic promises, a host of conflicting remedies that profess to combat the tragedy of dangerous expression. In Walter Benjamin’s estimation, this storm of self-proclaimed progress was self-defeating. For now, for a moment that defies fate’s necessity and refuses mythic redemption, the critique of violence hinges on the question of language as such, an experience of the word’s lament as it falls into our grasp at the cost of discovery.