Derrida writes: “Of course, I still dream of resurrection. But the resurrection I dream of, for my part, at the ends of the verdict, the resurrection I’m stretched out toward, would no longer have to be a miracle, but the reality of the real, quite simply, if it’s possible, ordinary reality finally rendered, beyond fantasy or hallucination” (87). The beatific conjuring of the final act of this dialogue, then, is one in which the textual persona of the philosopher, so wearied with the weaving and unweaving of discourses of truth as unveiling (cf. 39f.), finds himself happy in the everyday, not tormented by desire either to veil or to unveil but contented in the everyday as a “new finitude” (87, emphasis added).