Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.45

Time is like a river made up of the events that happen, and a violent stream.

For as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

The image of a river to represent time and the passage of life can be seen over and over again, from a variety of different sources, and so for many of us it has sadly become a platitude. As common as its expression may be, we can still learn much by considering its specific aspects.

We speak of a river as a “something”, just as we speak of life as a “something”, though in both cases they are hardly static states at all, but the constant motion of the ever-changing parts acting and being acted upon. The course, depth, and speed of the river itself will change with time, and at no given point is the water within the river the same.

As it is also in many Eastern traditions, specifically that of Taoism, water itself serves as such a wonderful likeness for the activity of Nature. Water is subtle as it adapts its shape to what surrounds it, but it is also powerful, capable of sweeping away anything before it. What is at one moment a quiet stream can become a raging torrent, and what is at one moment carried along gently can be smashed in an instant.

When water slowly erodes a rock in a stream, we may not even notice the gradual transformation, but when water crashes across the land in a flood, we are shocked by the sudden destruction. In either case, however, whether it is slow or fast, small or great in it scale, the passage of water leaves nothing the same.

The changing circumstances or our own lives are very similar. We may float almost effortlessly on water that is calm, and feel threatened by drowning on water that is rough. It seems like a friend here, an enemy there. I may think that the world around me will always stay as it is, but it is already something different as I take it for granted. Time will not always treat me the same, and one day, perhaps unexpectedly, time will carry me away as well, as it carries away everything else.

Only a profound respect for that constant transformation of Nature can make life intelligible and meaningful.

I was once hiking alone in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and I came to a stream I would need to cross. I was tired, I was impatient, and this surely affected my judgment. I didn’t fell like adding another mile or so to a bridge. The water hardly looked all that deep or fast from the shore, and I figured that if I tread slowly and carefully, I’d manage my way to the other side without a problem.

A single misstep half way across changed my mind. The current was stronger than I had thought, and I found myself submerged, being pulled downstream, and knocked about on rocks and fallen branches. I somehow managed to grapple my way out of the water to the other side, but the moment remains firmly stamped in my memory, as a reminder that things in Nature are far deeper, stronger, and faster than I might think.

This time I got away with thoroughly wet gear and a few bruises, but the next time I won’t underestimate the power of a stream. I need to respect that.

Written in 1/2006

Not as harmless as it may appear. . .