But is there really a tragedy? If we could attain to a clear vision of
this anacefaleosis, if we could succeed in understanding and feeling
that we were going to enrich Christ, should we hesitate for a moment in
surrendering ourselves utterly to Him? Would the stream that flows into
the sea, and feels in the freshness of its waters the bitterness of the
salt of the ocean, wish to flow back to its source? would it wish to
return to the cloud which drew its life from the sea? is not its joy to
feel itself absorbed?
And yet....
Yes, in spite of everything, this is the climax of the tragedy.
And the soul, my soul at least, longs for something else, not
absorption, not quietude, not peace, not appeasement, it longs ever to
approach and never to arrive, it longs for a never-ending longing, for
an eternal hope which is eternally renewed but never wholly fulfilled.
And together with all this, it longs for an eternal lack of something
and an eternal suffering. A suffering, a pain, thanks to which it grows
without ceasing in consciousness and in longing. Do not write upon the
gate of heaven that sentence which Dante placed over the threshold of
hell, _Lasciate ogni speranza!_ Do not destroy time! Our life is a hope
which is continually converting itself into memory and memory in its
turn begets hope. Give us leave to live! The eternity that is like an
eternal present, without memory and without hope, is death.
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