“How
deceitful is fame often, and how base a thing it is! Justly did the tragic poet
cry out, ‘O Fame, Fame, how many lives of men of nothing have you puffed up!’
“For
many men have gotten a great name from the false opinions of the crowd. And what
could be baser than such a thing? For those who are falsely praised, must blush
to hear their praises. And if they are justly won by merits, what can they add
to the pleasure of a wise man's conscience? For he measures his happiness not
by popular talk, but by the truth of his conscience.
“If
it attracts a man to make his name widely known, he must equally think it a
shame if it not be made known. But I have already said that there must be yet
more lands into which the renown of a single man can never come; wherefore it
follows that the man, whom you think famous, will seem to have no such fame in
the next quarter of the earth.
“Popular
favor seems to me to be unworthy even of mention under this head, for it comes
not by any judgment, and is never constant.
“Again,
who can but see how empty a name, and how futile, is noble birth? For if its
glory is due to renown, it belongs not to the man. For the glory of noble birth
seems to be praise for the merits of a man's forefathers. But if praise creates
the renown, it is the renowned who are praised.
“Wherefore,
if you have no renown of your own, that of others cannot glorify you. But if
there is any good in noble birth, I conceive it to be this, and this alone,
that the highborn seem to be bound in honor not to show any degeneracy from
their fathers' virtue.”
—from
Book 3, Prose 6
One
particular variation of the life measured by honor, a dependence upon respect,
is the glory of fame. It asks not only for the respect of some, but rather of
the many, seeking out reverence from far and wide. It’s one thing to be praised
by another, but something so much more if one is adored and cheered by a whole
crowd.
I have
experienced the sense of excitement that comes from being part of a throng, but
I can only imagine the feeling of power that must come from being its object of
esteem. If everyone else thinks I’m that big, then surely I must be that big?
Yet
notice how fame proceeds from the worship of the admirers, and may have little
to do with the merit of the person who is being admired. I observe the sort of
shallow qualities we are easily impressed with, or the vices that masquerade as
virtues, and I wonder if there is actually all that much thinking going on when
we pick and choose our heroes. It is a mentality of the herd.
If I
were a good man, would it make any difference whether or not anyone praises me?
I would be content with the content of my character. If I were not a good man,
would I not be ashamed when anyone praises me? I can hardly be content living a
lie.
I
suspect the desire for more and more fame could be something like an addiction,
because one would never be quite satisfied with what one has, always wanting
more and more. I was at a concert once where the band, quite enamored of
themselves, were met by a mob of howling fans, but cut their set short and
stormed off the stage because of a small group of hecklers.
I once
knew a girl who would be the attention of almost every man in the room, but
would promptly be out of sorts about that single fellow who ignored her. She
would then spend the rest of the night trying only to get him to adore her.
Sometimes
we are convinced we don’t need to do anything at all to deserve fame, except be
born into it. Now we claim that we no longer admire noble birth, but I suggest
we have only created a new sort of nobility. Observe the scores of celebrities who
are only famous because they are children of others who have been famous. They
are now not only once, but twice removed from any true merit.
In the
years when I dabbled in the world of music, I would notice those few who honed
their skills simply for their own sake, for the joy of creating something
beautiful. They would play with all their might, whether or not anyone was
there to hear them. Then there were those who were enthralled by the thrill of
being seen, heard, and followed. Finally, there were those for whom even being
listened to was not enough; they would only be content if they could become the
biggest stars, and second-best just wouldn’t do.
I only
knew one fellow who ever really “made it”. He had his very brief moment in the
sun, with a record in the charts and his face worshiped by teenage girls. The
fashions quickly changed, he got hooked on heroin, and now stumbles around
dreaming of his glory days, yearning for that comeback.
The
whole problem with fame, however, is that you can’t get it back at all, because
it was never really yours to begin with.
Written in 9/2015
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