What is a ‘historical building’? Has caring for such a building any sense? Before we answer these questions, some reflections of an existential nature are required. We have to look into our own identity and, what follows, the sense of human life.
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What gives something historical significance is not the object itself or even its age, as many would like to believe after only some superficial thought. If these features made something historical, the most valuable world objects would be simple stones found in fields – no matter how we look at it, they are all at least a few million years old. We do not look at them as having historical value. But if we find the trace of a shell on one of them, we will probably see it as an exceptional historical object. Why?
It is because in this stone, we see a moment, a trace of an individual life. I, a concrete person, who has a name and their own memory and recollections, born somewhere, can touch an object that has been marked by somebody or something thousands of years ago. This something is also concrete. Its life also had a beginning and an end; it had its own identity, it was distinct in its surroundings, and had its own, individual shape, that of a snail, for example.
Now I realise that I am not a tiny speck that has appeared by accident, suspended in time and space, but a participant of the ‘continuum of existence’, and that I have my own place in the history of species.
This is only an example but it expresses the very essence of the issue. Of course, of interest to researchers and caretakers of real historical monuments are not the remains of ancient snails, but those of people.
When dealing with a historical monument, a work of human hands and reflection, we become aware of our participation in past times; we know – in the meaning of cultural heritage – who our ancestors were, and we recognise our place as actors – or maybe extras – in the theatre of life. It is thanks to this recognition, among others, that our personal, individual identity is shaped, that is, the feeling of our own, personal individuality.
The fact that I, a sixty-year-old man, look as I do, does not make me somebody aware of his own identity. This awareness lets me remember, have memories, and have a personal link with a definite space and with past events. My identity is made up of recollections of experiences from my own life, of remembering people close to me, my family home, social class, the state I live in, and the nation I belong to. In other words, in cause and effect and in emotional categories, history that is closest to me. It is from those memories that I reap the feeling of my own worth, honour, and a certain feeling of being sure of myself. These memories can be deceitful, incapacitated, humble, incomplete. But they are my memories, my armour, which the more complete and recognisable it is, the more difficult it is to pierce.
And one of the most important elements of these memories, the foundation of our identity, is the historical monument, the opportunity that illuminates and enlightens, that shows us our participation in the past, in culture, that opens before us the way to friendship, and also sometimes to disagreeing with those who passed away a long time ago. Thanks to this illumination, our armour becomes more resistant and we are not so ready to start a war.
Praise for historical monuments! But a monument is also a commitment. First of all, we have to remember that its main value is history, which we have to care for more than for what it is made from. The history of an object must be looked after. Historical monuments also have their own identity which does not only consist of its shape and material. The importance of a monument is all the more pronounced, the better we know its past and the more it is immersed in this past. A monument deprived of its past is no different than its copy.
A relic of the past also feels good when it has an owner, especially if it is a historical owner. However, such a relic, as a participant of the “theatre of the past” in which there were many actors, cannot stand absolute ownership. I have come to this conclusion not because of any social motives. By participating in this theatre, the monument cannot be withdrawn from it, depriving it of existence or a past. To a certain extent, these attributes, i.e. existence and history, have become public property. And in this way, a monument’s owner is expected to become its shepherd.
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When creating the Museum Guesthouse, I tried to give its visitors as much of its history as possible, to facilitate a ‘transfer’ into the past, into the life of a Polish family from the former intelligentsia, one of many families that led Poland from the times of the first, through the second, and into the third Republic. Unfortunately, we often not only do not remember them, but do not even know of their existence. And that is as if we did not know ourselves.
In order to follow this principle, our guests have at their disposal as many original objects as possible. Here things are not only to be viewed, but to be used according to their original purpose.
May staying in Ornak be an opportunity for ‘illumination’, and thanks to this ‘illumination’, may our guests’ armour become harder and more precious.
This is what led me to take responsibility for the fate of Ornak.
Tadeusz Klimczak, June 2010
post scriptum
Please, based on apparent analogies, do not incorrectly and uncritically affiliate the author with political groups, especially that one, which, having raised the words “heritage,” “identity,” and “fatherland” to its banners, has sullied them with hatred, lies, and ugliness.