We all want things. Sometimes it’s a better job, or a house with a yard that doesn't grow weeds, or maybe just the kind of legacy that makes people whisper your name with awe two centuries after you’re gone. But there’s a persistent, annoying glitch in the human hardware. We are spectacularly bad at predicting what will actually make us happy.
History is a graveyard of "be careful what you wish for."
Samuel Johnson knew this better than most. Back in 1749, he published a poem titled The Vanity of Human Wishes. It wasn't just some dusty piece of literature; it was a psychological autopsy of ambition. Johnson took a long, hard look at the Greeks, the Romans, and the power players of his own era and realized that the things we pray for—wealth, power, long life, even intellectual brilliance—usually end up being the very things that destroy us. It’s a bit dark. Honestly, it’s a lot dark. But if you look at the modern world, from the burnout of Silicon Valley CEOs to the tragic arcs of child stars, you realize Johnson wasn’t being a pessimist. He was being a realist.
The core idea of the vanity of human wishes is that our desires are often untethered from reality. We chase a "gold" that turns out to be lead. Or worse, it turns out to be real gold, and the weight of it eventually breaks our backs.
The Trap of Success and the Ghost of Cardinal Wolsey
Johnson’s poem is actually an imitation of the Tenth Satire of the Roman poet Juvenal. He wasn't reinventing the wheel; he was just pointing out that the wheel has been crushing people since the dawn of time. One of the most striking examples he uses is Thomas Wolsey.
Wolsey was the ultimate overachiever. He rose from being a butcher’s son to becoming a Cardinal and the right-hand man of King Henry VIII. He had the palaces. He had the influence. He had the fancy robes. But because his entire existence was built on the "vanity" of political favor, it only took one failure—his inability to secure the King’s divorce—to bring the whole house of cards down.
He died in disgrace.
You’ve seen this play out a million times on social media. We see someone reach the "pinnacle," only to realize they are standing on a needle's point. The higher the rise, the more spectacular the fall. Johnson writes about how the "festive gate" and the "crowded hall" are eventually replaced by silence and ruin. It’s not just about losing money; it’s about the soul-crushing realization that the thing you spent forty years building didn't actually provide the security you thought it would.
Why do we do it?
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Psychologists call it hedonic adaptation. We get the "thing," our dopamine spikes, and then—boom—the baseline resets. Yesterday’s luxury is today’s necessity and tomorrow’s boredom. We are on a treadmill, and the vanity isn't in the wishing itself, but in the belief that the next wish will finally be the one that stays satisfied.
The Intellectual’s Curse: When "Smart" Isn't Enough
We often think that if we were just a bit smarter, or if we had more "vision," we could avoid these traps. Johnson, a man who basically wrote the English dictionary by hand, knew that was a lie. He devotes a significant portion of his work to the "scholastic life."
He warns the ambitious student that even if you avoid the temptations of booze and laziness, you’ll still face "toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail."
Think about the modern academic or the startup founder. They sacrifice sleep, relationships, and physical health for a breakthrough. They want to be remembered. But intellectual fame is a fickle beast. You can be the smartest person in the room and still be miserable because your "wish" was for external validation—a thing you can never truly control.
History is littered with brilliant minds who died bitter. Look at Robert Oppenheimer. He achieved the ultimate scientific "wish"—unlocking the power of the atom—only to spend the rest of his life haunted by the "destroyer of worlds" reality of his creation. His brilliance didn't protect him; it provided the tools for his own moral agony. That’s the vanity of human wishes in its most literal, terrifying form.
The Biological Betrayal of "Long Life"
One of the most poignant parts of this whole philosophy deals with the wish for a long life. It’s the one thing almost everyone wants. We take vitamins, we track our macros, we biohack our sleep. We want more time.
But Johnson points out a grim irony.
If you get your wish for a very long life, you often outlive your friends, your family, and even your own faculties. You become a "superfluous" presence. He describes the "ever-growing gloom" of old age where the senses dull and the world becomes unrecognizable.
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It sounds bleak, but there’s a massive lesson here: Quality is not quantity. The vanity lies in wanting "more" without considering what that "more" actually looks like. In the 21st century, we have people trying to live to 150 through blood transfusions and extreme diets. But to what end? If the wish is just to avoid death rather than to live a meaningful life, it’s a hollow pursuit. We’re wishing for the container (life) while forgetting the contents (purpose).
Beauty as a Double-Edged Sword
Then there’s the wish for beauty. This hits hard in the era of Instagram filters and "tweakments."
Johnson talks about how beauty is a "fatal gift." It attracts predators, it breeds envy, and it creates a life based on a fleeting asset. When your entire value is tied to your appearance, time becomes your primary enemy. You’re in a race you are guaranteed to lose.
We see this in the "celebrity" cycle constantly. A young actor or influencer becomes the "it" person. They get everything they ever wanted. But then the beauty fades, or the public gets bored, and the "wish" turns into a prison of relevance-seeking.
The vanity here is the belief that being "desired" is the same as being "loved." It’s a classic category error.
How to Actually Navigate This (Actionable Insights)
So, if every wish is a trap, what are we supposed to do? Sit in a dark room and want nothing?
Not exactly. Even Johnson, who was a pretty devout guy, suggested that the answer isn't to stop wishing, but to change the nature of the wishes. He argued that we should pray for "a healthful mind, obedient passions, and a will resigned."
Basically: focus on the internal, not the external.
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Audit Your "North Star"
Take a look at your current major goal. Is it an "external" wish (status, a specific dollar amount, a title) or an "internal" one (mastery, resilience, connection)? If it’s external, you’re playing the vanity game. You need to tie that goal to an internal value so that even if the external result disappears (like Wolsey’s favor), you’re still standing.
Practice Negative Visualization
This is an old Stoic trick that fits perfectly with Johnson’s themes. Instead of just imagining getting what you want, imagine getting it and it not being enough. Or imagine getting it and then losing it. It sounds depressing, but it actually lowers the stakes. It breaks the "if only" spell. "If only I had X, I’d be happy." No, you wouldn't. You'd just be you, but with X.
The "Five-Year" Test
When you’re desperately wishing for something—a promotion, a specific person to like you, a new car—ask yourself: "Will this matter in five years?" If the answer is no, it’s likely a vanity wish. These are the impulses that clutter our lives and drain our energy without providing any long-term "yield."
Focus on Process, Not Outcome
The vanity usually lives in the "outcome." You can control the work you do today. You cannot control whether that work makes you a millionaire or gets you a Pulitzer. If you find joy in the doing, the vanity of the result loses its power over you.
The Reality of the Human Condition
We are desiring machines. It’s how we’re wired. To stop wishing is to stop being human. But we can be smarter about it. The vanity of human wishes isn't a command to be miserable; it’s a warning to be careful about where we place our hope.
The world is indifferent to our plans. Kings fall, beauties age, and empires crumble. But the person who has cultivated a "mind serene" can walk through that wreckage without being destroyed by it.
Start by identifying one "wish" you’re currently chasing that is purely for show or external validation. Drop it. See how much lighter you feel. Redirect that energy into something that actually sustains you when the "festive gates" eventually close.
- Review your goals for external "vanity" markers (titles, envy-induction).
- Pivot toward "virtue" goals—things that cannot be taken away by a boss or a market crash.
- Accept the transience of physical and social gains to avoid the "Wolsey Trap."
Realize that the most successful people aren't those who got everything they wanted, but those who wanted the right things in the first place.
Next Steps for Implementation:
- Perform a "Desire Audit": List your top three life goals. Beside each, write down what happens if you achieve them but no one ever finds out. If the goal loses its appeal without an audience, it’s a vanity wish.
- Read the Original: Find a copy of Samuel Johnson's The Vanity of Human Wishes. It’s a dense read, but the rhythm of his warnings provides a much-needed "gut check" for modern ambition.
- Set "Internal" KPIs: Instead of a goal like "Earn $200k," set a goal like "Develop the skills that are worth $200k to the market." The former depends on luck and others; the latter stays with you forever.