To those of us who study history not merely as a warning reminder of man’s follies and crimes, but also as an encouraging remembrance of generative souls, the past ceases to be a depressing chamber of horrors; it becomes a celestial city, a spacious country of the mind, wherein a thousand saints, statesmen, inventors, scientists, poets, artists, musicians, lovers, and philosophers still live and speak, teach and carve and sing.
The historian will not mourn because we can see no meaning in human existence except that which we put into it; let it be our comfort that we ourselves may put meaning into our lives, and sometimes a significance that transcends death. If we are fortunate we will, before we die, gather up as much as we can of our civilized heritage and transmit it to our children. And to our final breath we will be grateful for this inexhaustible legacy, knowing that it is our nourishing mother and our lasting life.