“Posterity is as likely to be wrong as anybody else.”
Last winter, a colleague forwarded me a single line during a messy week. She sent no hello, no context, just that sentence. I sat in my car outside the grocery store, reread it twice, and felt my shoulders drop. I had spent days chasing approval from people who barely noticed my work. However, that quote made my whole scramble look oddly temporary.
So I went looking for where it came from, and why it stuck. Along the way, I found a trail that runs through 1920s journalism, art-world insecurity, and our modern obsession with “being on the right side of history.” Therefore, this post digs into the origin, the earliest print sightings, and the many ways people repeat it today.
Why this quote hits a nerve
People talk about “posterity” like it works as a flawless jury. We imagine future readers as calmer, wiser, and less biased. Additionally, we use that fantasy to soothe present rejection. If the crowd ignores your novel today, you can still picture a future classroom praising it.
Yet the quote cuts through that comfort. It says the future can misjudge, too. In other words, time does not magically purify taste. As a result, the line feels both liberating and unsettling.
It also lands because it sounds conversational. It doesn’t preach about art theory. Instead, it shrugs and says, “Why would tomorrow’s people judge better than today’s?” That plain tone helps it travel.
Earliest known appearance in print
The earliest solid footprint points to early 1924 in American newspapers. A syndicated column printed the line in April 1924 under the byline of Heywood Broun. The column framed the idea as a jab at artists who appeal to future judgment when current reviewers disappoint them.
Later that same year, Broun collected related writing in a book. The line appeared again inside a 1924 essay titled “The Last Review” in his collection Sitting on the World. That reprint matters because books preserve phrasing more reliably than clipped newspaper columns. Moreover, the book context shows Broun meant the line as a skeptical punchline, not a gentle reassurance.
So, when people ask for a credible origin, 1924 gives the cleanest answer. We can point to a named writer, a dated publication, and a repeated appearance in his own collection. Therefore, the attribution to Broun holds up.
Historical context: why 1924 made this idea feel urgent
The 1920s pushed American culture through loud arguments about taste. Modernism challenged older styles in literature, painting, and theater. Meanwhile, mass media expanded, and critics gained new power. A newspaper reviewer could boost a show or bury it overnight.
In that environment, artists often clashed with gatekeepers. Some creators leaned on a familiar defense: “You’ll understand me later.” That defense sounds noble, yet it also dodges the discomfort of present criticism. Broun’s line targets that dodge.
He also wrote during a period when journalism loved the brisk, sharpened epigram. Columnists competed for memorable lines that readers could repeat at lunch. Consequently, a compact sentence about posterity had real currency.
Even the word “posterity” carried a certain stage-light glow then. It sounded grand, almost judicial. However, Broun punctured the grandeur by treating posterity like “anybody else.” That phrase shrinks the myth down to size.
Who was Heywood Broun, and why he would say this
Heywood Broun worked as an American journalist and critic in the early 20th century. He wrote widely read columns and reviewed theater and culture. Additionally, he built a reputation for blunt opinions and public arguments.
Broun also cared about the machinery of reputation. Critics like him sat in a strange middle zone. They judged art, yet the public judged them right back. Therefore, he understood how fragile “consensus” can feel.
His writing often favored skepticism over hero worship. He distrusted easy myths, especially myths that let people avoid accountability. So, when an artist appealed to posterity, Broun heard a convenient escape hatch. He answered with a reminder: the future includes crowds, trends, and blind spots.
This doesn’t mean Broun rejected long-term reevaluation. Instead, he questioned the certainty people assign to it. In contrast, many arts conversations treat later praise as proof of objective quality. Broun refused that comfort.
How the quote evolved in later references
After 1924, the line kept circulating in quotation collections. Editors like short, sharp sentences, and this one fits neatly on a page. Decades later, a 1987 compilation credited Broun directly. That kind of secondary citation helped stabilize the attribution for modern readers.
Then, in 1989, a major dictionary of quotations also printed it and pointed back to Sitting on the World. That cross-reference matters because it ties the quote to a traceable source instead of hearsay. Additionally, it shows editors considered the attribution settled enough to publish.
Over time, people also trimmed the surrounding context. Broun originally used the line inside a longer complaint about artists and public judgment. However, modern usage often drops the setup and keeps only the punch. As a result, the quote now works as a standalone principle.
Variations, misattributions, and why they happen
This quote sometimes floats around as “Anonymous.” That label usually appears when people share it without a source, especially on posters or social media. Additionally, some quote sites strip attributions when they cannot verify them. Over time, “unknown” starts to look like the original author.
People also tweak wording. You may see “Posterity is likely to be as wrong as anyone else” or “as wrong as anybody.” Those edits keep the meaning while smoothing rhythm for a speaker’s style. However, each tweak makes the paper trail harder to follow.
Misattribution also happens because the idea feels “philosophical.” Readers may assume a famous wit said it, even if no record supports that guess. Therefore, the quote can drift toward better-known names in culture commentary. Still, the strongest evidence anchors it to Broun’s 1924 appearances.
If you want a practical rule, use the earliest dated source you can confirm. That habit reduces the temptation to credit whoever sounds most impressive.
What Broun meant: a closer reading
The line works because it attacks a hidden assumption. Many people assume time equals wisdom. Yet time often equals distance, and distance can blur details. Additionally, later audiences inherit myths, edited archives, and selective memories.
When Broun says posterity can be wrong, he doesn’t claim the present always judges correctly. Instead, he denies special status to the future. In contrast, the usual story casts posterity as an upgraded version of today’s crowd.
The quote also challenges the romance of the “misunderstood genius.” Some geniuses do get recognized late. However, plenty of forgotten work stays forgotten for reasons unrelated to quality. Distribution fails, patrons disappear, and tastes shift. Therefore, “posterity” reflects systems, not pure merit.
This matters outside art, too. Organizations often justify bad decisions by claiming history will vindicate them. Broun’s sentence asks a sharper question: what if history shrugs, or worse, what if it condemns you unfairly?
Cultural impact: why people keep repeating it
The quote survives because it fits modern anxieties. Today, everyone leaves a trail. Posts, reviews, and screenshots create a constant sense of judgment. Meanwhile, people talk about “legacy” earlier than ever.
In that climate, the line gives a useful reset. It tells you to stop treating future approval as guaranteed. Additionally, it warns you not to outsource your values to an imagined audience.
Creators use it as a coping tool. If a project flops, they can still work without begging the future for redemption. Managers use it as a leadership reminder. Instead of claiming history will prove them right, they can focus on ethical choices now.
Even readers use it as a media filter. When a “classic” receives automatic praise, the quote invites healthy skepticism. Therefore, it encourages independent taste rather than inherited reverence.
Modern usage: how to apply it without becoming cynical
You can use this quote in two healthy ways. First, use it to release yourself from the fantasy of guaranteed vindication. Do the work because it matters to you now. Additionally, seek feedback from real people instead of imaginary future fans.
Second, use it to question consensus, including your own. If everyone praises a book, read it anyway, but stay alert. If everyone mocks an artist, look again before you join in. However, don’t flip into contrarianism as a personality.
The line doesn’t demand pessimism. It asks for humility. It reminds you that every era carries blind spots, including your own. Therefore, the best response involves curiosity and steady effort.
If you share the quote, credit Broun. That small act respects the history of ideas. It also keeps the internet a little cleaner.
Conclusion: posterity won’t save us, and that’s freeing
“Posterity is as likely to be wrong as anybody else” endures because it refuses easy comfort. It punctures the dream of a perfect future jury. Moreover, it asks you to build your standards without outsourcing them to time.
The record points Source strongly to Heywood Broun in 1924, first in a newspaper column and then in his book.
So keep the quote close, but use it wisely. Let it push you toward honest work, present responsibility, and flexible taste. After all, tomorrow’s crowd will bring its own fashions. Therefore, your best compass still lives in what you choose today.