In a letter written to Giovanni Colonna in 1337 or 1341—scholars are uncertain of the precise date—Petrarch says as follows:

In fact today who are more ignorant of Roman history than Roman citizens?  I say it reluctantly, but nowhere is Rome less known than at Rome.  In this I shed tears not only on account of their ignorance—although what is worse than ignorance?—but because of the flight and exile of many virtues.  Who, in fact, can doubt that Rome will immediately rise to glory if she chooses to know herself?

Petrarch reflects on the general ignorance he encountered during his visists to Rome.  And yet his observation here could be applied to many great nations:  once they lose contact with their history, they begin to drift, and to unlearn themselves.  They become disconnected, in a very real way, from their ancient blood-memories.  And once this happens, the national psyche begins to enter turbulent and treacherous waters.  I have just finished watching Ken Burns’s excellent 12-hour documentary series on the American Revolution:  what a marvelous production this is.  It must have taken him years to put it all together. And he has left us this wonderful testament.  

The viewer gets a sense—perhaps for the first time—of just how extensive and complicated the war was.  It was fought all over the North American continent; it eventually pulled in France, Spain, and numerous American Indian tribes; and it had distinct political and military dimensions.  It was as much a civil war as it was a revolutionary war.  And its outcome was undeniably miraculous.  To know a place, visitation or residence is not enough.  The idea of “spirit of place” is a true one, but it can take us only so far.  We need something more.  We must learn the history of a place.  A knowledge of history is the lens that concentrates all our diffuse and scattered impressions, existing as so many points of light, into one focused beam. 

We should say a few words about the last part of Petrarch’s quote above.  He ruefully notes the “flight and exile of many virtues.”  What does the poet mean by this?  Rome in his day was a sad shadow of its former self.  Its population was a tiny fraction of what it had been under the Caesars.  There was little in the way of economic or intellectual life.  The city was little more than a papal garrison, overrun with beggars and prostitutes.  But I think we can also draw a direct connection between a place’s loss of knowledge of its history, and the “flight and exile” of its virtues.  In other words, a loss of historical memory leads inevitably to moral decay. For how can a man, or a nation, maintain a consistent azimuth, or chart a course, if he has no rudder, no instruments, and no idea of his location?

This conclusion becomes clearer when Petrarch unambiguously tells us that Rome will at once rise again to glory once she begins to know herself.  To know thyself:  is this not one of the most famous admonitions in all philosophy?  And what could be worse, as Petrarch says, than ignorance?  We today have strayed too far from a knowledge of our historical roots.  We have forgotten the terrible and extended sacrifices that were made by our forefathers on our behalf.  We have forgotten the freezing cold of Valley Forge, the savage fighting in the Carolinas, and the ambushes and counter-ambushes in the forests of the mid-Atlantic regions.  We have forgotten just how terrible conflict can be, and how it touches every household and family. When forgetfulness is a sin, the only redemption is a refurbished memory. 

In 1861, Julian M. Sturtevant, the president of Illinois College, spoke at a gathering of Yale alumni.  He said, “Wars, commotions, and revolutions we thought were for less favored lands; but for us, an uninterrupted future of peaceful growth. These were the delusive daydreams of our national childhood…to be rudely dissolved by the stern, sad realities of experience.”  The years immediately following these words would demonstrate just how stern would be the nation’s lesson.  Forgetfulness promotes moral corruption, which itself leads to ruin.  No people can ever achieve greatness, or maintain that greatness, if it decides to shut its historical eyes and ears.  We lament the collective loss of our historical sense, but instinctively feel that an awakening of this long-dormant consciousness will usher in new era of national greatness.    

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Take a look at the new, annotated translation of Cicero’s On The Nature Of The Gods.