No true and permanent fame can be founded except in labors which

“No true and permanent fame can be founded except in labors which promote the happiness of mankind.” Thus spoke Charles Sumner, the great orator and champion of liberty, whose words carried both the weight of history and the fire of conscience. In this declaration lies a truth as old as virtue itself: that glory built upon selfishness decays, but the glory of service endures beyond the tomb. For all the monuments of conquest crumble, and all the names of tyrants fade, but the names of those who lifted the burdens of others shine forever in the firmament of time.

Sumner, who lived in the fiery age of America’s moral awakening, knew the cost of such fame. As a statesman and abolitionist, he did not seek applause, but justice. He was struck down in the Senate Chamber for speaking against slavery — yet even his enemies could not silence him, for his cause was not his own. It belonged to humanity. His fame, therefore, was not the fleeting noise of popularity, but the echo of labors that promoted the happiness of mankind. His life proved his words: that true greatness is not in being served, but in serving; not in shining above men, but in burning for them.

From the ancient world we find this truth reflected again and again. The heroes of old who sought glory in blood — Achilles, Alexander, Caesar — blazed briefly and vanished into the mist of legend. Their fame was vast but restless, their memory half shadow, half light. Yet those who healed, taught, and freed — men like Socrates, Buddha, and Christ — their influence endures like a living flame, for their work touched the soul, not the sword. Their triumphs were not of empire, but of spirit. And because they sought the good of all, their renown belongs to all.

The happiness of mankind — that is the true measure of greatness. A poet who gives beauty to the world, a scientist who cures disease, a leader who defends the weak — these are the architects of immortal fame. Their reward is not only remembrance, but reverence. For even centuries after their passing, humanity still drinks from the wells they dug. The heart knows instinctively that selfish ambition perishes, but service endures, because it binds the name of the giver to the joy of the receiver.

Think of Florence Nightingale, the “Lady with the Lamp,” who walked the dark corridors of war to tend to the dying. She did not seek renown, but compassion drew her into history’s light. Her hands healed more than wounds; they healed despair. Her fame endures not because she was celebrated, but because she made others whole. Such is the fame Sumner spoke of — the kind that grows not from conquest, but from kindness; not from dominance, but from devotion.

To labor for the happiness of mankind is to build upon bedrock. Time cannot erode such a foundation. Empires rise and fall, inventions are replaced, but every act of mercy, every truth spoken, every injustice confronted becomes a stone in the temple of human progress. Those who add to that temple will never truly die, for their spirit breathes through every generation that follows.

Therefore, my children, do not chase after fame as the world defines it. Seek not the applause of the crowd, which fades with the wind, but the blessing of those you have lifted, which endures forever. Ask not, “How will I be remembered?” but rather, “Whom will my life bless?” For if your days are spent in service — in teaching, in healing, in building peace — then fame will follow you not as a shadow, but as a light that burns long after you are gone.

Remember always: greatness without goodness is a ruin; but goodness, even without recognition, is eternal. Let your labors be guided by love, your achievements measured by how much joy they bring to others. For when your work becomes a gift to mankind, your name will live not carved in stone, but written in the hearts of those yet unborn. And that — as Sumner knew — is the only true and permanent fame the world has ever known.