I live in the land of Wales. There's no better place to study history, and no better place to become so accustomed to it that even what is great becomes trite. Human nature adapts—when and how it can—to whatever it is surrounded by. Our attention span is as the length of our own arms; once acclimatised, it is on to the next thrill, the next sight for sore eyes.
It is an effort worth the trouble to work against this tendency; but beyond a point we must accept its inevitability. The fact is, we can sustain only a limited amount of high voltage before we lose our capacity to be amazed entirely.
I have mourned the unfortunate incident that prevented me being born in the country in which I belong—an incident best described as the location of my parents and their respective nationalities—but I do wonder where my appreciation would be for history were I unwillingly exposed to it simply by stepping out my door.
The past is to be respected, always; even for a moment, superiority in the present regarding that which has come before disgusts me, and treads most obnoxiously on any code of morality on which I build my life. We so readily will ourselves the betters of our equals. Man is man, or no.
Sometimes, the best way to respect the past is to bury it, or let it slip into quiet decay without interference. Sometimes it is preservation. But if we look to it for the purpose of fixing our own mistakes, we will find in it nothing of true import. What is the purpose of history? Is it evil to ignore it?
Past lives demand the equal attention of those in the present; acknowledgement of their existence, pursuit of increased discovery regarding them, and honest, well-thought-out opinions about them is, I believe, necessary in a moral and educational sense, for everyone. When true importance is put to the past—in proportion equal to the present days—then everything before us becomes far more clear.
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