There is a reason why archaeology appeals to me; I am an intellectual glutton. I freely admit it. I have a need to ask questions and hoard as much information as I can about a variety of topics. Archaeology allows me to do both, which is deeply rewarding for me personally. But the other day, as I was scratching at rock atop the Acropolis, I had to stop and ask myself whether or not what I’ve been doing here benefits more than just myself. I’m not building homes for the homeless, for example. I’m here to satiate my own curiosity. So, who is archaeology really good for? Is it selfish of me to be here? These questions bothered me for a few days, and rather than finding answers as I pondered them, I began asking more questions such as: Do we cease to matter once we are no longer living? When does the story of those living in the past stop being part of the story of those living in the present? And whose job is it to remember the dead when their descendants no longer do? This is when my perspective began to change.
I realized that everyone deserves to have their story told and their existence acknowledged. If we are to believe that every life matters, we cannot limit that belief only to the living. To do so would devalue lives already lived and mean forgetting both the triumphs and travesties of humanity as a whole. History is always thought of as being in the past, but we need to remember that what happened in the past is directly linked to what we are living today, and that the choices we make today will directly affect the course of history in the future. The story of one person’s life is part of our shared story as human beings. Which leads us back to archaeology. It is the job of the archaeologist to not only to uncover the past, but also to act as a mouthpiece for the dead, who are no longer capable of telling their stories for themselves. Studying humans keeps us… well, human.