Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.18

How strangely men act. They will not praise those who are living at the same time and living with themselves; but to be themselves praised by posterity, by those whom they have never seen or ever will see, this they set much value on.

But this is very much the same as if you should be grieved because those who have lived before you did not praise you.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 6 (tr Long)

I have long wondered about our obsession with receiving posthumous reputation, and I have observed it in a variety of forms. I suspect there are two of our human weaknesses that come into play. First, the fact that we will apply very different standards to what we are willing to give than to what we expect to receive. Second, the fact that we find it easier to deal with the glory of fame completely separate from whether or not it actually reflects real human character.

I need to quickly correct myself whenever I apply inconsistent rules about what I believe I should do, and what I believe others should do. This not only involves a logical contradiction in my judgment about the shared rights and responsibilities of all persons, but also results in the most glaring daily practices of injustice. Needless to say, I am facing quite a problem when I wish to take the very same thing I refuse to offer.

I also need to adjust my course whenever I see fame as worthy in itself, and I therefore try to take a shortcut to acquiring it. Now I could perhaps receive respect if others recognize some excellence within me, but if I want the respect without the excellence, the benefit of being praised regardless of what I may or may not have done, I will dwell only upon the way things appear, not the way they actually are.

In both cases, I am ignoring that most fundamental of Stoic principles. I am defining myself by my circumstances instead of my actions, and I am reversing the proper relationship between them. Accordingly, I will think that being honored takes precedence over honoring, and I will seek out honor from those who will possess only a caricature of my actual living. The further removed they are from my true self, the better.

It is far easier to impress someone who doesn’t even know me than someone who knows me intimately. The former can easily fall for an illusion, the latter may well see right through it. I may not be praised now, of course, but surely I can find contentment in the knowledge that someday I will be though of as great and important? Posterity becomes a glittering prize.

Yet seeking the respect of those who will live after me is just as foolish as seeking the respect of those who lived before me. Neither one has lived with me, worked with me, shared of anything with me. There is no prospect of my being his friend.

The vicious man seeks to be given a fine reputation by the people he can impress the most. The virtuous man seeks to be a fine friend to the people he can love the most.

Written in 2/2007

IMAGE: Antonio de Pereda, Allegory of Vanity (c. 1636)