Last weekend Anne and I re-watched The Titanic, James Cameron’s classic movie about the tragic sinking of the “unsinkable” ship. If you haven’t seen it, I would highly recommend it, despite the three hour runtime. The movie has a bit of everything – disaster, romance, history and a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
What’s not to like?
In her recent Wall Street Journal piece on the Titanic, Peggy Noonan explores why the story is still so compelling after 111 years:
“It’s a story of human nature, of people who had less than three hours to absorb that they were immersed in a massive tragedy and decide how to respond. Some were self-sacrificing, some selfish, some clever, some fools. But ultimately, as on 9/11, they all died who they were. The brave were brave, the frivolous frivolous.”
She goes on to highlight the haunting question that the Titanic forces us all to ask ourselves:
“Who would I have been if I’d been there?”
In Cameron’s retelling, there is little ambiguity as to how each character responds to the tragedy. Jack and Rose refuse to leave the ship without one another, and Jack ultimately sacrifices his life so that Rose can survive. Mr. Andrews, the shipbuilder, takes responsibility for the disaster and goes down with the Titanic. Even the band plays on through their fear.
Then there’s Cal Hockley, Rose’s fiancé, a rich, entitled bully who moves through the world as if he owns it. In Cal’s final moments on the ship, he tries to shoot his future wife and bribe his way onto a lifeboat reserved for women and children. When that falls through, he sneaks onboard anyway and survives the disaster, only to take his own life a few years later in the Great Depression.
As Noonan says, “they all died who they were.”
Another lens through which to view The Titanic is the virtues that each character takes with them to the grave. Jack, the young man in steerage with few dollars to his name, is poor in resumé virtues but rich in eulogy virtues – he is selfless, warm-hearted and fun to be around. If any of his friends from the ship had survived, you can easily imagine them all raving about Jack’s character at his funeral.
Cal, on the other hand, dies with the opposite. The well-educated heir to an industrial empire is rich in resumé virtues but completely lacking in eulogy virtues. It’s difficult to imagine anyone speaking highly of Cal at his funeral – even his personal bodyguard, Lovejoy, doesn’t seem to like him. Cal trades away his moral character for money and power, and in one of the movie’s best scenes, we see how poor a trade this is. As the ship descends into chaos, Cal approaches First Officer Murdoch to collect his paid-for lifeboat seat, only to realize his worldly power has completely evaporated:
Cal: “We had a deal, damn you!”
Murdoch: “Your money can’t save you anymore than it can save me.”
In the end, all that matters as the Titanic sinks to the ocean floor is character.
This particular scenario may seem extreme, but we see this type of behavior from our modern day Cal Hockleys all the time – look no further than the latest antics of Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg. Two men who have accomplished more extraordinary things in their lifetimes than any of us could imagine are locked in a petty, embarrassing online feud that is torching whatever was left of their character and legacy. Given the world’s biggest platform of almost 150 million Twitter followers, Musk chooses to act like a rich, entitled bully, rather than an example for the world.
Rich in resumé virtues, poor in eulogy virtues.
A few months ago at work, I made the same fool’s trade. Annoyed at having to explain something for the tenth time, I was short and impatient with someone I had never met before, who had no idea they were number ten on my list. For all they knew, I was just an impatient jerk.
Our instinct is often to excuse this kind of behavior because it enables us to achieve more. In my case, I felt justified in my impatience because the call was a roadblock to me getting “important” things done that week. I didn’t have time for his questions.
But whatever it is that we’re achieving will eventually fade away. Musk’s accomplishments, however spectacular, will fade away, as will mine. Particularly whatever I was trying to accomplish that week, which I’ve already forgotten.
My character, on the other hand – and my colleague’s memory of it – that will last a lifetime.
A foolish trade indeed.
In his book The Psychology of Money, Morgan Housel has a great line about this fallacy:
“Be nicer and less flashy. No one is impressed with your possessions as much as you are. You might think you want a fancy car or a nice watch. But what you probably want is respect and admiration. And you’re more likely to gain those things through kindness and humility than horsepower and chrome.”
Housel is talking about possessions, but he could just as easily have been talking about accomplishments. The simplest way to earn respect and admiration is by acting in ways that people respect and admire (eulogy virtues), rather than accumulating accolades and money and stuff (resumé virtues). Maybe that seems obvious when you read it but my own experience proves it’s more difficult than it sounds.
Remember the words of David Brooks:
“We all know that the eulogy virtues are more important than the résumé ones. But our culture and our educational systems spend more time teaching the skills and strategies you need for career success than the qualities you need to radiate that sort of inner light. Many of us are clearer on how to build an external career than on how to build inner character.“
If tomorrow you found yourself going down with the Titanic, how would you be remembered?
– Emmett
In Case You Missed It:
This Country of Ours – Some July 4th thoughts on patriotism
Three Decades Later – Reflects on my 30th birthday
What I’m Reading:
It Always Takes Longer Than You Expect – Ryan Holiday
Ryan is a genius with words and wisdom – give this a read
What I’m Listening To:
Hurry and Worry – Sunday Homilies with Father Mike Schmitz (YouTube, Spotify)