Monuments and Legacy

You cannot go far here in DC without running into a monument to someone or something. People come from all over the country, and even the world, to see many of the monuments here in DC. (In fact, the group of high school or middle school kids that are making themselves very much at home here at my hotel would probably enjoy the monuments more if they would stop running in the hallway, slamming the doors, and talking outside my door and get some sleep.) Some of the monuments are unobtrusive markers that recall some noteworthy event. Others are far from unobtrusive. The skyline out of my hotel window is dominated by the George Washington Masonic Monument--an enormous temple-like structure made famous to the popular mind in Dan Brown's latest thriller. Why do we build monuments?

Part of the answer may be found in the inscription on the face of the National Archives. It reads:

"This building holds in trust the records of our national life and symbolizes our faith in the permanence of our national institutions."

Do we really believe in the "permanence of our national institutions"? Or is it that we long to believe that what we build or create will outlast our brief time on this earth? This human drive to build monuments does not appear to be an uniquely American thing, so is it a basic human longing to leave a legacy of some sort?

I wonder what someone would think of us if they dropped into Washington DC, "Planet of the Apes" style, long in the future? Would they think of us a culture of great builders? As a people of high and noble aspirations? Would they think that we cared more for bricks and mortar than for flesh and blood?

I am all for leaving a legacy--but for making sure that the legacy we leave is one worth leaving. The week after I die, no one will care what business deals I did or what articles I wrote or what great new systems for delivering legal services I developed. The week after I die, no one will care how cool my truck was or how many frequent flier miles I had accumulated or where I went to school. The week after I die, no one will be counting the number of miles that I ran in a year or care about the titles on my bookshelf. The week after I die, the only thing that will matter is how much and how purely those around me saw the hand of God in my life. No one will care what trivial factoids I could recall at the drop of a hat, but they may recall what I taught them about God and faith. No one will care how nice my grass and landscaping was, but they may smile when they remember our conversations across the backyards or around town.

No one will care that I really liked the Bleu Cheese Bison Burger at Ted's, but they will always slice their pancakes so that the syrup will go inside. :-)

So I suppose that leaving a meaningful legacy really is about the people and not the stuff. Then why don't I spend more time and energy on building the people and less on getting the stuff?

Pressing On!

P.S. -- the school group must have run out of gas because once again the Marriott is my familiar and quiet home away from home.