Fame and the Stars

Then I said: "You yourself know that ambition for mortal things has held the least mastery over me. But I wished for material on which to act, so that my virtue should not grow old in silence."

And she said: "Yet this is the one thing that can entice minds outstanding by nature, but not yet brought to perfection in the virtues by the finishing touch—namely, the desire for glory and the fame of the best deeds done for the commonwealth. But consider how slight it is, and empty of all weight.

The whole circuit of the earth, as you have learned from the demonstrations of astronomy, is reckoned to hold the proportion of a mere point compared with the expanse of the heavens—that is, if it is set against the magnitude of the celestial sphere, it is judged to have no extent at all. And of this so tiny region of the world, scarcely a fourth part, as you have learned on the authority of Ptolemy, is inhabited by living creatures known to us. If from this fourth you subtract in thought as much as the seas and marshes cover, and as much as the vast region stretches out parched, scarcely the narrowest area is left for men to dwell in. Shut in, then, and enclosed within this least point of a point, do you think of spreading your fame, of carrying your name abroad? What is there ample or magnificent in a glory cramped within such narrow and tiny bounds? Add that this very enclosure of a small dwelling is inhabited by many nations, differing in language, in customs, and in their whole way of life, to which—what with the difficulty of travel, the diversity of speech, and the rarity of commerce—not only the fame of single men, but not even that of cities, can make its way. In the age of Marcus Tullius, in short, as he himself notes in a certain place, the fame of the Roman commonwealth had not yet crossed the Caucasus mountains, though it was then grown great and a terror even to the Parthians and the other peoples of those parts. Do you see, then, how narrow, how cramped, is the glory you labor to spread and propagate? Or where the fame of the Roman name cannot pass, shall the glory of a Roman man advance? Then too, the customs and institutions of different nations disagree among themselves, so that what is judged worthy of praise among some is judged worthy of punishment among others. So it comes about that, if anyone is pleased by the spreading of fame, it in no way serves him to carry his name among many peoples. And so each man will be content with his glory grown widespread among his own, and that splendid immortality of fame will be confined within the bounds of a single nation.

But how many men, most renowned in their own times, has the forgetfulness of a lack of writers blotted out! And yet what do writings themselves accomplish, which, along with their authors, a longer and obscurer antiquity presses down? You seem to yourselves to spread your immortality abroad when you think of the fame of time to come. But if you reflect on the infinite spaces of eternity, what have you to rejoice over in the long duration of your name? For if the delay of a single moment is set against ten thousand years, since both spans are finite, it has some proportion, however small. But this very number of years, however many times multiplied, cannot even be compared with an unending duration. For there can be some comparison between finite things in relation to one another, but never any between the infinite and the finite. And so it comes about that the fame of however long a time, if it is reckoned against inexhaustible eternity, seems not small, but plainly nothing.

But you do not know how to act rightly except for popular breezes and empty rumors, and, abandoning the excellence of conscience and virtue, you demand your rewards from the little gossip of others. Hear how wittily someone once mocked the lightness of such arrogance. When a certain man had attacked with insults one who had taken to himself the false name of philosopher, not for the use of true virtue but for proud glory, and had added that he would soon know whether the man was a philosopher if indeed he bore the wrongs inflicted gently and patiently—the other put on patience for a little while, and, having taken the insult, said, as if triumphing: 'Now at last do you understand that I am a philosopher?' Then the first, very bitingly, replied: 'I would have understood it, if you had kept silent.'

But what is it—as for the outstanding men, for the discourse is about those who seek glory by virtue—what, I say, is it that concerns these men, as regards fame, after the body has been dissolved by the last death? For if men die wholly—which our reasonings forbid us to believe—there is no glory at all, since the one to whom it is said to belong does not exist at all. But if a mind, well aware of itself, released from its earthly prison, seeks heaven free, will it not scorn every earthly business, when, enjoying heaven, it rejoices to be set free from earthly things?"

Then said I: 'Thou knowest thyself that ambition for worldly success hath but little swayed me. Yet I have desired opportunity for action, lest virtue, in default of exercise, should languish away.'

Then she: 'This is that "last infirmity" which is able to allure minds which, though of noble quality, have not yet been moulded to any exquisite refinement by the perfecting of the virtues—I mean, the love of glory—and fame for high services rendered to the commonweal. And yet consider with me how poor and unsubstantial a thing this glory is! The whole of this earth's globe, as thou hast learnt from the demonstration of astronomy, compared with the expanse of heaven, is found no bigger than a point; that is to say, if measured by the vastness of heaven's sphere, it is held to occupy absolutely no space at all. Now, of this so insignificant portion of the universe, it is about a fourth part, as Ptolemy's proofs have taught us, which is inhabited by living creatures known to us. If from this fourth part you take away in thought all that is usurped by seas and marshes, or lies a vast waste of waterless desert, barely is an exceeding narrow area left for human habitation. You, then, who are shut in and prisoned in this merest fraction of a point's space, do ye take thought for the blazoning of your fame, for the spreading abroad of your renown? Why, what amplitude or magnificence has glory when confined to such narrow and petty limits?

'Besides, the straitened bounds of this scant dwelling-place are inhabited by many nations differing widely in speech, in usages, in mode of life; to many of these, from the difficulty of travel, from diversities of speech, from want of commercial intercourse, the fame not only of individual men, but even of cities, is unable to reach. Why, in Cicero's days, as he himself somewhere points out, the fame of the Roman Republic had not yet crossed the Caucasus, and yet by that time her name had grown formidable to the Parthians and other nations of those parts. Seest thou, then, how narrow, how confined, is the glory ye take pains to spread abroad and extend! Can the fame of a single Roman penetrate where the glory of the Roman name fails to pass? Moreover, the customs and institutions of different races agree not together, so that what is deemed praise worthy in one country is thought punishable in another. Wherefore, if any love the applause of fame, it shall not profit him to publish his name among many peoples. Then, each must be content to have the range of his glory limited to his own people; the splendid immortality of fame must be confined within the bounds of a single race.

'Once more, how many of high renown in their own times have been lost in oblivion for want of a record! Indeed, of what avail are written records even, which, with their authors, are overtaken by the dimness of age after a somewhat longer time? But ye, when ye think on future fame, fancy it an immortality that ye are begetting for yourselves. Why, if thou scannest the infinite spaces of eternity, what room hast thou left for rejoicing in the durability of thy name? Verily, if a single moment's space be compared with ten thousand years, it has a certain relative duration, however little, since each period is definite. But this same number of years—ay, and a number many times as great—cannot even be compared with endless duration; for, indeed, finite periods may in a sort be compared one with another, but a finite and an infinite never. So it comes to pass that fame, though it extend to ever so wide a space of years, if it be compared to never-lessening eternity, seems not short-lived merely, but altogether nothing. But as for you, ye know not how to act aright, unless it be to court the popular breeze, and win the empty applause of the multitude—nay, ye abandon the superlative worth of conscience and virtue, and ask a recompense from the poor words of others. Let me tell thee how wittily one did mock the shallowness of this sort of arrogance. A certain man assailed one who had put on the name of philosopher as a cloak to pride and vain-glory, not for the practice of real virtue, and added: "Now shall I know if thou art a philosopher if thou bearest reproaches calmly and patiently." The other for awhile affected to be patient, and, having endured to be abused, cried out derisively: "Now, do you see that I am a philosopher?" The other, with biting sarcasm, retorted: "I should have hadst thou held thy peace." Moreover, what concern have choice spirits—for it is of such men we speak, men who seek glory by virtue—what concern, I say, have these with fame after the dissolution of the body in death's last hour? For if men die wholly—which our reasonings forbid us to believe—there is no such thing as glory at all, since he to whom the glory is said to belong is altogether non-existent. But if the mind, conscious of its own rectitude, is released from its earthly prison, and seeks heaven in free flight, doth it not despise all earthly things when it rejoices in its deliverance from earthly bonds, and enters upon the joys of heaven?'