Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.45

See that you secure this present time to yourself; for those who rather pursue posthumous fame do not consider that the men of after time will be exactly such as these whom they cannot bear now, and both are mortal.

  

And what is it in any way to you if these men of after time utter this or that sound, or have this or that opinion about you?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I have always loved wandering through towns all over the world, not following some guidebook that tells me where all the important sites are, but rather finding the obscure corners, those wonderful places off the beaten path that show human life for what it really is, in all of both its wonder and its grime.

On those journeys I have stumbled across overgrown thickets that were once pristine parks, crumbling buildings that were once mansions, and, perhaps the ones that move me the most, statues and monuments erected to immortalize people now long forgotten. Pull back the ivy, rub away the dirt from the inscription, and you uncover snapshots of past worlds.

Some people suggest that this would make them quite sad, and that my odd hobby might even be rather pathetic, but I am not driven by melancholy or a romantic yearning for the past. I am rather inspired by learning how the human condition is so much the same at all times, even as each individual expression of human life is only for a very brief time.

I suppose there can be a certain sense of power, of immortality, in wanting to be remembered. We become so accustomed to this goal of extending the mark of our existence as long as possible, and so we think it tragic when such efforts fail. But there need be no loss or sadness here, because the dignity of human life is never measured by what other people think or say, and it is never measured by what may or may not happen after a span of life has passed.

The dignity of living is the living itself, and Nature has given this a proper limit. There is a perfectly good reason the Stoic is not afraid of death, or cares nothing for fame, or is unimpressed by fancy posturing. He understands that each moment can be a perfect and complete present, the fullness of life. The weight of the past and the worry for the future do not need to define it.

“But it is gone!” Yes, it is gone. And look how glorious it was! It needs no encore beyond what it was, when it was.

“But I won’t matter anymore!” Yes, of course you will still matter, but not perhaps in the way that you expect. Whether or not there is any further recognition has nothing at all to do with your significance and worth in the order of things.

Am I living well right now, the only thing within my power? The rest is just a diversion. 

Written in 4/2008