I ducked my head as I descended the stone steps into the dim tunnel. By tunnel standards, this one was pretty nice—no crawling or shimmying required, well-lit with electric lamps trailing along the walls, and to my satisfaction I could stand up straight, though as I was one of the shorter people in the group, that didn’t mean much. The bright yellow and orange hard hats that we had been required to wear seemed superfluous with this nice welcome.
Our footsteps echoed as we clumsily padded along the slippery rock further into the tunnel, and the walls were filled with the sound of laughter as a few people slipped on the mud formed from the moist walls. I finally settled by walking on the metal grate that covered one side of the tunnel, showing the smaller water canal not far below the larger pedestrian tunnel we were traversing.
We were in the tunnel of Eupalinos, an ancient engineering wonder on the Greek island of Samos, where we had been living for almost a month. Completed sometime between 550 and 530 B.C., Herodotus, an ancient Greek historian, calls this tunnel one of the greatest works (εργἀζματα) of the Greeks. This was a time when the Greek islands were surrounded by enemies. Samos was a highway for culture, trade, and ideas to travel to the western world, but for the same reasons it was also open to invasion. And the first thing targeted by an enemy? The water supply. It could be blocked or poisoned, and no city-state could last a water siege for too long.
So Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos, commissioned the engineer Eupalinos to bring a hidden, pure water source on the other side of the mountain to reach the capital city of Samos (now modern-day Pythagoreion). Excavation teams started tunneling simultaneously from both sides of the mountain and—miraculously—met in the middle, only 25 inches off. The tunnel itself is approximately 3,399 feet long and took 10 years to build. Eupalinos in fact built two tunnels—one smaller water canal, or aqueduct, and a larger pedestrian tunnel, which we got to partially walk through.
The story doesn’t stop there, though. This ancient feat of engineering supplied water to the city of Samos for over 1000 years before being replaced by more modern routes. Although it was built in a relatively short time, the Tunnel of Eupalinos was built well enough that it still exists today—and changed millions of lives in the process.
In the modern age, we are suffering from a drought. Too many modern trends throw away the past and give no thought for the future. They reject the tunnel given to us by the past and refuse to build another.
But the tunnel of Eupalinos teaches us to protect our water supply—to source it from deep within, protected from enemies who desire to block or poison it. It teaches us to build something that will last—a fountain of nourishment that will continue to supply life and health for generations beyond us.
Of course by now you understand I’m not really talking about water.
I’m talking about legacy. Because, you see, your legacy doesn’t just affect yourself. Whether you like it or not, your life now will influence more people than you will ever know, in one way or another. You get to decide how.
How is a legacy—a fountain of nourishment—built? It starts by focusing on things that last. Not just architecture and engineering, but also literature and philosophy and ideas of beauty. More importantly, by focusing on what those things teach us about: human relationships, true joy and lifelong learning and culture. Culture is the lifeblood of humanity—the need we have to interact with others, the way we laugh, cry, hate, and love each other. It is the way we think, innovate, and progress. It is the way we connect ourselves to the past with a firm hand to the future. It is the way we build things that last.
The choices we make should reflect this depth of thinking. Prioritize relationships that foster true joy, seek knowledge that has stood the test of time, and invest your efforts into creating work that speaks to both present and future generations. This could mean teaching your children to value wisdom over trends, preserving traditions that nurture deep connections, or pursuing a career that enhances the world in a meaningful way.
In short, the answer lies in intentional creation. We must build, write, compose, and innovate in ways that are rooted in deep understanding, respect for the past, and a desire to enrich the future. Every work and action must not be for the moment but for generations to come. Change, rebirth—Renaissance, even—starts with an individual. It starts with a marriage. It starts with a family. It starts with choices and actions that are made with an eye both to the past and to the future.
In the end, the goal is simple: to leave behind a fountain of nourishment that will sustain those who come after us. To provide clean, safe-guarded water to our children and their children and their children. Now is the time for a modern renaissance, one that embraces the past, preserves our collective wisdom, and forges ahead with creativity, ingenuity, and purpose. Our society, like the Tunnel of Eupalinos, must become a testament to human resilience, innovation, and the desire to leave behind something greater than ourselves. That is our task, our responsibility, and our legacy. Build a fountain.