Leon Bloy
History Is Like a Dream.]Â Â Â
As history unfurls, it becomes   at once God’s secret,   and even what is most   authentic to the thinker’s mind is nothing more than   a probable opinion.   However documented a historian may   be, he   knows well that he does not   see the fact   confronting him which   he has so painfully fished up, like a piece   of flotsam   from the depths of darkness.   Its essential, divine form necessarily   escapes   him.   We have sure,   indisputable proof of   a great number of historic events. in clearly   determined periods; but these proofs, basically, have no other   consistency than the   absolute necessity of   these events and these periods.   This is   what was necessary,   and not something else.   Here is the   only   criterion. Jeanne d’Arc might   have been freed or ransomed by the   king—her   death was not   a necessary consequence of   her captivity,   it has been said.   True   enough, but that is not what   happened, because these vast injustices   were indispensable to the working out of an enormously mysterious plan which we cannot understand.
[Tears.]
There   is nothing else. Everything is vain except tears.   History is like a
dream   since   it is built upon time,   which   is an illusion often painful, always uncapturable,   an illusion impossible   to make precise. Each of the   infinitesimal
particles the sum of which we   call duration hurtles   toward   the gulf of the   past
with lightning speed, and history is nothing   other than this swarm of lightning
flashes   recorded upon the pupils of   tortoises.
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We die the same death over and over when history becomes amnesia.
Remembrance of lives past and the lay of the lived remembered land is a sacred obligation. In a time of no sacred heart, amnesia grants amnesty from sin but not death. Salvation frees from the impersonal death as a cell, a cog in the machine of the social.