Vainglory—the forgotten vice. Or is it? In this episode, we dive into Vainglory: The Forgotten Vice by Rebecca DeYoung, exploring how vainglory is not just an outdated moral concern but a prevalent temptation in today’s culture. From social media’s hunger for attention to the quiet, insidious ways we seek admiration, we unpack what vainglory actually is, how it differs from pride, and why it’s so hard to root out.

We also discuss how vainglory manifests in our parenting, the dangers of cultivating it in our children, and practical strategies for prevention. Can avoiding attention be a form of vainglory? How do we raise children who pursue true virtue rather than mere appearance? What does it mean to live with daily integrity in ordinary life?

Join us as we navigate the fine line between seeking excellence and falling into the trap of vainglory—and uncover how classical wisdom and Christian teaching can help us fight this vice.

Vainglory is a vice

Today’s Hosts and Source

Rebecca Konyndyk DeYoung’s Vainglory: The Forgotten Vice uncovers an ancient but ever-present struggle—the craving for recognition and approval. She distinguishes vainglory from pride and vanity, showing how it operates subtly in our habits and culture, often masquerading as virtue.

Drawing on Aquinas, Augustine, and the Desert Fathers, she not only diagnoses the problem but also offers practical strategies for resisting vainglory and cultivating true virtue, both in personal life and within Christian community.

“Detachment from the pressing need to have my achievements be counted publicly is possible when I have a strong sense of being known and loved by God.”

—Rebecca Konyndyk DeYoung

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Cry, the Beloved Country – Alan Paton

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Duties of Christian Fellowship – John Owen

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Texas: A Novel – James A. Michener

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Vainglory: The Forgotten Vice

​Rebecca Konyndyk DeYoung’s Vainglory: The Forgotten Vice delves into the often-overlooked sin of vainglory, tracing its historical roots and examining its manifestations in contemporary life.

Drawing from the wisdom of early Christian thinkers like Augustine and Aquinas, DeYoung distinguishes vainglory from pride, highlighting its focus on seeking approval and admiration. She offers insights into how this vice subtly infiltrates our actions and suggests spiritual practices to counteract its influence, guiding readers toward genuine humility and authenticity.​

Vainglory is more than pride

Pride and vainglory might seem like interchangeable terms—after all, both involve thinking highly of oneself. But Rebecca DeYoung, in Vainglory: The Forgotten Vice, makes an important distinction: pride is about being great, while vainglory is about looking great. Pride says, “I don’t need anyone’s approval because I am already superior.” Vainglory, on the other hand, leans in and asks, “But did you see how great I am? Are you sure you noticed?”

Pride is a vice with a backbone—it’s self-sufficient, even arrogant. Vainglory, however, is flimsy and needy, always fishing for affirmation. It’s not enough to be good, skilled, or virtuous; vainglory wants that goodness to be recognized, preferably with a standing ovation. It can show up in obvious ways (boasting, attention-seeking) or in more sneaky forms, like false humility or strategic self-deprecation. It’s just as happy being admired for modesty as it is for greatness, as long as someone is paying attention.

This is where things get tricky. Vainglory often masquerades as virtue, dressing itself up in carefully curated righteousness. It’s why social media thrives—after all, what better way to prove you’re thoughtful, well-read, or spiritually mature than to announce it to the world? But this vice isn’t a modern invention. The desert fathers were warning about it long before Instagram made it easy to collect admiration with a single click.

At its core, vainglory is the longing to be seen as good rather than simply being good. It’s less about actual excellence and more about managing perceptions. Unlike pride, which can stand alone, vainglory needs an audience. It thrives on applause, and when the clapping stops, it withers—until it finds a new way to get noticed.

What vainglory looks like in our lives

Vainglory is sneaky. Unlike some vices that crash through the front door of our lives, vainglory slips in quietly, rearranges the furniture, and convinces us we invited it in. It disguises itself as diligence, stewardship, or encouragement, whispering that our efforts to create a beautiful homeschool, a well-run home, or well-behaved children need to be seen to be real.

For homeschooling moms, vainglory might look like obsessing over Instagram-worthy lesson plans or needing everyone at co-op to know that our child is reading two grade levels ahead. It shows up in the pressure to craft the perfect liturgical celebrations, to have children who recite Shakespeare with poise, or to curate an online presence that proves we are serious about this calling. It’s not enough that we do these things—someone else needs to notice.

It also appears in less obvious ways. Maybe we resist correction because we don’t want to look ignorant. Or perhaps we carefully phrase our prayer requests so that they subtly highlight our own diligence or self-sacrifice. We might even reject praise outright, hoping for reassurance that we deserve it. (“Oh no, I’m not that organized,” we say, waiting for the inevitable, “Are you kidding? You’re amazing!”)

Vainglory thrives in comparison. It makes us check if we’re doing better or at least being seen doing better than others. It’s why we feel that twinge when another mom is praised for something we do just as well—or better. It’s why we sometimes downplay our blessings so others won’t think we have it too easy.

Ultimately, vainglory isn’t about excellence. It’s about managing how others perceive our excellence. And the more we chase it, the more exhausting and empty it becomes.

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How to avoid and recover from vainglory

Vainglory is one of those vices that doesn’t just show up in our lives—it settles in, decorates, and starts hosting dinner parties. It feeds on attention and approval, growing stronger the more we chase recognition. But while it may feel impossible to shake, vainglory isn’t an unbeatable enemy. It just requires the right strategy—and maybe a little humility.

First, avoiding vainglory isn’t about retreating into obscurity or never doing anything praiseworthy. It’s about examining why we do what we do. Are we crafting the perfect homeschool Instagram post because we genuinely want to share something helpful, or because we want admiration? Do we feel the need to announce our latest great read at book club so others will be impressed? Pausing to ask, Who am I doing this for? can help us catch vainglory before it takes root.

Recovering from vainglory, though, is a little trickier—because just when we think we’ve conquered it, we start feeling proud of our humility. (Classic vainglory move.) A good antidote is practicing hidden faithfulness—serving, learning, and doing good when no one is watching. It’s choosing not to mention that we finished reading Augustine’s Confessions or that we finally organized all our homeschool supplies. It’s working hard in unseen ways, content with God’s approval alone.

Silence and solitude are also powerful tools. The more we cultivate an inner life apart from social approval, the less we crave applause. A little time alone with a cup of tea and a Psalm might do more for our souls than all the Instagram likes in the world.

Ultimately, recovering from vainglory isn’t about erasing our desire for recognition—it’s about redirecting it. Instead of hungering for the world’s applause, we learn to rest in the quiet confidence of God’s well-done.

Don’t teach your children to be vainglorious!

No well-meaning parent wakes up one day and decides, You know what? I’m going to train my child to crave attention and seek approval at all costs. And yet, without meaning to, we often do just that. In a world where everything is shared, posted, and performed for an audience, it’s easy to forget that not every good thing needs to be announced.

We’ve all seen it—kids who feel the need to broadcast every small success. “Mom! Tell Grandma how I recited all the state capitals!” “Let me show you my drawing!” “Did you see how fast I ran?” While enthusiasm is natural (and adorable in toddlers), the habit of always seeking external validation can grow into something more dangerous. If children learn that every achievement must be noticed, praised, and displayed, they may begin to value recognition more than the actual good they are doing.

Social media makes this even trickier. If we constantly post about our kids—every cute moment, every accomplishment, every little personality quirk—they begin to associate their worth with an audience’s response. If no one ‘likes’ it, does it even count? A child who is always being put on display might come to believe that visibility is what makes them valuable.

And then there’s the more subtle form of vainglory training: pushing children to perform their knowledge. “Tell everyone what you learned about Rome!” “Explain the water cycle to Grandpa!” If a child enjoys sharing, that’s one thing. But if they feel they must share in order to be validated, we’ve crossed into dangerous territory.

Children need to know that goodness, knowledge, and beauty have value even if no one is watching. Let’s teach them to love learning, doing, and being—not just performing.

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Handling glory well

It’s one thing to recognize the dangers of vainglory. It’s another thing entirely to figure out what to do with the real and good glory that comes from actual excellence. We can’t just pretend glory doesn’t exist—because it does. Some people are good at things. Some children shine. Some moments deserve recognition. But if we aren’t careful, we can slip into thinking that the glory itself is the goal rather than a byproduct of something greater.

Glory isn’t bad. God Himself is glorious. Scripture tells us to do all things for the glory of God—but here’s the key: His glory, not ours. This is where vainglory and true glory part ways. Vainglory is obsessed with being noticed. It’s about collecting admiration and polishing a public image. Real glory, the kind worth seeking, is rooted in substance. It flows from skill, discipline, and genuine goodness. And, most importantly, it points beyond itself—to the One who is truly worthy.

So how do we teach ourselves—and our children—to hold glory rightly? First, we remind ourselves that every gift and talent is given by God, not conjured up from our own greatness. A skill, an accomplishment, even beauty itself is a stewardship, not a personal trophy. Second, we practice deflection—acknowledging a good gift without making it the centerpiece of our identity. “Thank you” is enough; we don’t have to pretend we’re terrible at something to avoid pride, nor do we need to demand everyone recognize our strengths.

Most of all, we teach that the highest glory is found in Christ, not in human recognition. If we are caught up in chasing applause, we will never be satisfied. But if we live for the glory of God, we find ourselves free—free to be excellent, free to work hard, and free to let go of the need to be seen.

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