Put a Name on It

It is better to be remembered as one than to be forgotten as one of many.

Photo by Arthur Oleynik on Unsplash

The Founding Fathers

September 25, 1787, was the publication date for the first of many “Anti-Federalist Papers.” These were an unorganized series of essays written by some of America’s Founding Fathers against the adoption of the United States Constitution, and for a relatively weak federal government. Ultimately their attempts failed, and we now have a constitution. If one were to look at the figures who wrote these essays, they would see the following names: John DeWitt, Patrick Henry, Melancton Smith, Luther Martin, and William Grayson. However, they would also see these strange pen names:

Centinel (alleged to be Samuel Bryan)

Cato (alleged to be George Clinton)

Agrippa (alleged to be James Winthrop)

A Farmer (alleged to be John Francis Mercer)

Brutus (alleged Melancton Smith, Robert Yates, or Robert Williams)

The Federal Farmer (alleged Melancton Smith, Richard Henry Lee, or Mercy Otis Warren)

The Impartial Examiner (?)

An Old Whig (?)

And many, many more.

Notice the furtiveness, the anonymity. Why? Would a bit of attention faze the true authors? I can understand why one would want anonymity if they publish only blasphemy, or if they feel some power seep into them, some vassal genuflecting, shining their shoes, buffing any scratches from a done duty deceiving mortals. 

These papers’ counterpart, the “Federalist Papers,” a series of 85 essays, the first being published in October of 1787, were written by…  Publius. Well, at least they were initially; Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison were afterward confirmed to be the authors. The papers are undoubtedly more popular, and they are far more organized— published in a neat order, one through eighty-five, unlike the chaotic Anti-Federalist Papers which were published with no structure at all. These three men, one of whom has been popularized tremendously in recent years, argued in favor of adopting the Constitution, a motive proved successful. As a consequence, they are closely studied in high school and college government classes across America.

Why did these authors publish under pseudonyms? This is probably due to the volatility of the time: a new state, very young, failed by the Articles of Confederation. One group argued to basically overhaul the government and start the state anew, the other wanted less change. It was a contentious time over an issue that would decide the fate of America, and many may have seen it wise to save their jobs and their beings by remaining anonymous. Bear in mind, America was then a place where duels occurred often until the practice declined in the 1850s; it was not uncommon for an argument to devolve into death for one and righteous physical victory for the other, as with Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. Therefore, the justification to publish anonymously had merit. The times were dangerous.

And that leaves us with today when the times are not necessarily as dangerous. Is there merit now in publishing anonymously?

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Today

I believe if one is to publish their writing, one should put their name on it. I see no reason why one would do otherwise. I won’t even accept obvious satire, or what society deems strange or plain wrong, to carry an anonymous author, because it is fairly easy to discern a serious piece from one that is not… at least among most readers these pieces tend to attract.

But say the reader holds intellectually insufficient faculties, or the piece is seriously contrarian or esoteric: what is the harm in a difference of opinion? There is also power in a name being attached to a piece of writing, and in conversation, an author may bring up their work, and others will read it and connect the two, the author and the work. If the work is thoughtful and articulate then through word of mouth, viva voce, the author’s name will spread, and their work with it. If it is poor quality, then the worst that could happen is labeling the author as an incompetent writer, and one receiving this label may take this how they will.

A good writer in a small community will easily become influential and well-known if their work is published with their name on it. To me, putting a pseudonymous name as the author of a piece of writing is cowardly, but I understand the intent. There may exist, within the true author, an edacious intent to incite a stir of emotions, either extreme relief or displeasure, especially regarding controversial topics. They may harbor a desire to disseminate their opinion while remaining detached from it, instead observing the conflict unfold from a distance, without being personally involved, as if they were a Crimean War spectator. Or maybe the true author is simply indifferent to their identity being known, and their only quest is to do the aforementioned emotional goading because they know idiotic minds will take the bait they cast.

Perhaps there is a strong cowardice about the author and they could only wish for their will to allow their name to be placed in such work, dauntlessly. I think, in sum, it boils down to either the unwillingness or mental inability of the true author to attach their name to their work because they do not want to risk a nick in their buffed armor.

So, wherever their piece may go, or wherever they may go, the two are never together; if the piece carries itself into fame, the true author can only convince as many as are willing to be convinced that it is their work. If they carry themselves into the same fortunes without a name on their work, their authorship may never be revealed, and that segment of their life may forever die away from their legacy. If they do reveal their work much later on, the work may then nick their buffed armor if it is a societally outlandish piece, but the weight of withholding authorship will finally be relieved.

From this simple review, I think my belief is fairly clear: it is better, in any case, today, to attach the true name of the true author to their piece, when it is first published.

What demands further analysis is the effect on legacy. One question presents itself to me as I think on this: is fame the truest mark of legacy?

Some will say yes, the more famous a person is or becomes, the more likely they will be remembered by many after they pass away. Their legacy, the knowledge of their life handed to the next generations, will exist and be widespread. They will be remembered because they were famous when they lived, or they became famous after they passed away.

Yet, some would say no, legacy is not determined by fame, alluding to numerous other factors which would determine one’s legacy. In this context, the context of those who say no— their definition of legacy may differ from how widespread the knowledge of their life is after death. It might refer to how favorably they are seen posthumously, regardless of how many people are considering their life.

The point in this is that one who is likely to answer yes to the question I posed above, believing that fame is the truest mark of legacy, ought to attach their name to every piece they write, preparing for the occasion that just one of their pieces catches a surge of popularity, and their name is carried with it in its wake.

The person who answers yes sees it important to have their name thought of, spoken of, and studied long after they pass, so they want to attach their name to all of their works, in the rare occasion one is seen as extraordinarily valuable for society.

Of course, others would answer no to the question, believing fame is not the truest mark of legacy. They do not see the grandeur of their name as at all important, and perhaps they feel satisfied holding their thoughts on a page but never attaching a name. Who knows, maybe one of their anonymous works will become valuable to mankind, but what is that worth to the author? Their name is not on it, and if they are content with that, so be it. Maybe they do not want the fame… ever, alive or dead. It would send the world into delirium to find the author of one great work: the prophetic pen lays there somewhere, and whose hand grasped it?

I think this person, the one who answers no to the question, is apt to think in the extremely long term (i.e. hundreds of thousands, or millions of years from now) when virtually every single name that exists now or is remembered from our past may be erased from the knowledge bases of future humans. At that point, who would care about such a menial thing as legacy or popularity, or being remembered after death? If everything may come to an end, including knowledge, then why even write? Why even get out of bed? Why do anything, if anything to ever accomplish in life is futile? If there is no meaning, and all is to end at some point, then why not just… nevermind.

Put a name on it. It is better to be remembered as one than to be forgotten as one of many.