A moment of satire in the khronos. Humor is so frequently nearer truth that droning lectures before somnambulant spectators. So, just what is “history,” not the word but the endeavor? It may be just a state of mind, a psychological phantasmagoria, serving to equilibrate a pressing, sometimes overwhelming present. It is the Other against which we live today, thinking it is real, genuine, more solid because it seems to be back there somewhere. The practice of History may be a sort of meaning-making of now.
History is the most deeply dishonourable profession there is, at least outside the Square Mile.
The basic premise is that people die, and then you denounce them. It’s a bit like being a reverse version of Kim Jong-Un, but with worse hair.
For the uninitiated, though, it’s also a minefield of complexity. So here, for your immense benefit, I’ve cast my jaundiced eye over the intellectual world I call home, hoping to help you tell your RHS from your EEBO.
(Note to my employers. This is satire. Many of our History students have obviously had happy experiences of their studies and have since gone on to fulfilling lives as management consultants.
If I’ve been rude about your kind of history and you’re upset about it, get over yourself. If I’ve not, then you’re clearly just not interesting enough. Sorry.)
Historian – professional inspector of finished works, who makes a living…
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