In middle school one of my teachers once posed the question "What is history?" He was asking the wrong question. Why history?
Why study what occurred at the Battle of Hastings in 1066? Why does it matter who was present, who won? What does that information give you? Do we owe those of the past some small pittance for the things they witnessed, the events they helped found?
Does history have a purpose?
Clearly it's not to prevent us from past mistakes, otherwise humanity would have achieved perfection a long time ago. So what then, should history be relegated to the demesne of scholars and intellectuals? Is history just another exercise in mental fellatio over the less knowledgeable man?
What would life be without history?
Details. History brings us details, colors to the world. History gives us hope. The knowledge that somewhere, somehow in our existence there has been progress toward the betterment of mankind.
So what then does it make me? The lone keeper of secrets that tends to the knowledge of the past? The gnarled ancient figure that steps out from the shadows when all seems lost, only to teach the protagonist the secret and solitary weakness of his arch-villain?
Perhaps I should change my major to something that'll work out a bit better in the short term.
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1 comment:
It's funny, as the issue I was feebly trying to approach here was recently brought up in one of my history classes. I'm so ahead of my time.
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