What good is history? Since Herodotus first earned himself the title "father of lies," it has been the penchant of a few men to note down accounts of the words and deeds of the ages preceding theirs.
Perhaps, as Henry Ford suggested, these men have been wasting their time; perhaps, like the alchemists and astrologers, they were chasing after nonsense; perhaps what we really need in this age is to do away with history entirely and concentrate on subjects which will fit men to deal with the problems and occupations of our day.
At this point Santayana's famous quip on the matter comes to mind, but this is not a good defense, for even if history has lessons to teach us, we must not forget that history never repeats itself -- perhaps it is sometimes better that we do not pay too close attention to what learned accounts tell us.
There is a better defense of the study of history. What is it? Simply, history is fascinating. Sure, it may be useful for practical matters sometimes, and at other times not, but what does it matter? There are other definitions of "useful" apart from the merely practical, and if a thing helps provide intellectual satisfaction, it is being useful in that way. Too often, especially in the American mind, it is thought that for a thing to be of value it must fulfill some practical end, but this is to view life as a series of problems to be solved and meals to be earned.
Curiosity, depending on how one looks at it, has either been the bane or the salvation of mankind. Whether it is a vice or a virtue, no one can deny that it is a marked trait of the human race, varying in intensity, as all else, amongst members of the tribe. For the mind seized with intellectual wanderlust, there is great pleasure in reading about the words and deeds of the men of various ages and places. One listens to a recording of "Scheherazade," and suddenly the desire wells up to see and hear yet more about the great learning and fantastic luxuries of the Islamic world, the grand designs of Khubilai Khan at Shangtu (Coleridge's "Xanadu," which we call today "Beijing"), the culture and high refinement of the Japanese aristocracy in the Heian era -- these are the stuff of which wonder is made.
In the accounts of the lives of those who went before us, their foibles and their successes, we also have mirrors into our own lives. Reading about the circumstances of those before us helps illustrate life's possibilities and limitations.
There is a lesson to be learnt about the dangers of hubris from the fall from grace of Khusrau II, a BC. 600 ruler of Persia whose indulgences were such that he was reputed to have a harem of three hundred women and to have played chess with pieces of solid emerald. In the rise of one Zhu Yuanzhang, former menial laborer and mendicant, there is also a moral to be drawn about the advantages of talent and discipline over high birth. It was by Zhu's hand that in 1368 the Ming dynasty was born.
And what about history as corrective? All too often one hears the trite refrain that "things were so much better in the old days." In some instances, things really were better. For instance, in Ming China, the preference for culture over riches was such that Matteo Ricci could say that the nation was governed solely by large numbers of philosophers. Scholarship, manners and taste were the important things in Ming China, far more important than inherited wealth.
If there were aspects of the ancient world that were commendable, there were also many things which were disagreeable. Contrary to what some might believe, realpolitik did not originate with Machiavelli or Bismarck. One an see it in evidence as far back as the machinations of the First Triumvirate in the final years of the Roman Republic, and even further back, in the 221 BC. unification of China under Ch'in Shih-Huang-Ti. As far back as one is willing to look callousness and self-interest have been the order of the day amongst rulers.
I have said that the study of history requires no practical motivation for its defense, but, as so often happens with studies which are thought to be useless or esoteric, the most outstanding insights often come to light.
I could go on about the power of ancient ruins to evoke feelings of nostalgia and the Sublime, but Piranesi's drawings, and Shelley through his "Ozymandias," do that well enough already; and I have made no mention of the great human tragedies enshrined on paper, scroll and parchment. But enough -- a column can fit only so many words.
