Boethius, The Consolation 2.25

Then I said, “You know that the vain-glory of this world has had but little influence over me; but I have desired the means of so managing affairs that virtue might not grow aged in silence.”

“Yes,” she said, “but there is one thing that can attract minds, which, though by nature excelling, yet are not led by perfection to the furthest bounds of virtue; and that thing is the love of fame and reputation for deserving well of one's country.

“Think then thus upon it, and see that it is but a slight thing of no weight. As you have learned from astronomers' showing, the whole circumference of the earth is but as a point compared with the size of the heavens. That is, if you compare the earth with the circle of the Universe, it must be reckoned as of no size at all.

“And of this tiny portion of the Universe there is only a fourth part, as you have learnt from the demonstration of Ptolemy, which is inhabited by living beings known to us. If from this fourth part you imagine subtracted all that is covered by sea and marsh, and all the vast regions of thirsty desert, you will find but the narrowest space left for human habitation.

“And do you think of setting forth your fame and publishing your name in this space, which is but as a point within another point so closely circumscribed? And what size or magnificence can fame have which is shut in by such close and narrow bounds?

“Further, this narrow enclosure of habitation is peopled by many races of men which differ in language, in customs, and in their whole scheme of living; and owing to difficulty of travelling, differences of speech, and rareness of any intercourse, the fame of cities cannot reach them, much less the fame of men.

“Has not Cicero written somewhere that in his time the fame of Rome had not reached the mountains of the Caucasus, though the Republic was already well grown and striking awe among the Parthians and other nations in those parts? Do you see then how narrow and closely bounded must be that fame which you wish to extend more widely? Can the fame of a Roman ever reach parts to which the name of Rome cannot come?” . . .

—from Book 2, Prose 7

Where is that line between doing right, and wanting to be seen as doing right?

If I had the chance to practice justice, but with no recognition whatsoever, would I do so? Would my choice be different if it also leads to praise, and honor, and glory? What would that say about my character?

Now I only need to ask myself what all of those external rewards might mean. The Universe is incredibly vast, and I am incredibly small. Narrow the scope to the Earth itself, and I am still small. Narrow the scope to my nation, or to my time, or to my place, and I am still small. Narrow all the scope, yet I become no bigger, or any more important.

I may look at a worm, and think how insignificant it is; I am no more significant. Squash a worm, or squash me. Who will notice, or who might pay attention?

The concern for noticing or receiving attention is the root of the problem here. The worm fulfills its nature, in its own way, and it asks for nothing more. Yet men neglect their own nature, and they ask for far more. Instead of just working to be good while they are around, they worry about being considered good when they’re not around.

Even as they are men, they wish to be gods. They observe their own reason, and seek to make their reason supreme. They are mortal, but believe they can make themselves immortal by their plotting and scheming.

By all means, I could make myself the biggest lawyer, doctor, businessman, academic, or politician there ever was. I could work my best to be loved by others, or to be feared by others, or to make my mark.

My mark may be noticed by a few around me, but it will remain unnoticed by most everyone else. Each of us is just one very tiny fish in a very big sea. I’m not thinking of a few goldfish in a bowl, or a few trout in a lake, but rather an image of a vast school of millions and millions of herring, itself just another one of countless other schools across a vast ocean.

My mark will also fade, and it will pass. If I think that I will be remembered and revered, a time will come, for most of us just around the corner, where each of us is completely forgotten. If I think my fame defines me, I will cease to exist quite soon. Very soon. There is no immortality there.

One of my students once nobly argued that great people are known to all, and will never die. I put that to the test by asking a bunch of blokes at a bar in Vienna if they knew who George Washington was. “Yes, of course!” they said. “He’s that one who defeated Napoleon!”

At another time, I asked some students at a very classy college, up on the list of the supposed best, who Marcus Aurelius was. “Wait, I know, he was that doctor on a TV show my Mom used to watch!” Jesus wept.

Now recognize how even if we are remembered, for a moment or two, by a few people here or there, who they might think we are will have little to do with who we actually are.

And the fact that any of this may sound disturbing or discouraging tells me how disordered my sense of priorities has become.

Here is another, quite radical, alternative. I could define myself by what I do, just for its own sake, not by how I am seen. 

Written in 9/2015