Hamilton, of course, wasn't the only one who considered the quest for fame a noble task. Edmund Burke, the father of conservatism, considered the "passion for fame" to be "the instinct of all great souls." Fame, to these thinkers, was the dividend paid on accomplishment. Fame came only to those who had attained some form of achievement. Even the attainment of infamy requires one to take action.

But we live in an age that values shortcuts and egalitarianism. We have neither the patience nor the inclination to wait until we‘ve actually done something before we reap the benefits. Which is why we put such value on celebrity. Celebrity doesn't place any demands on a person; it requires nothing but itself. "A celebrity," said social historian Daniel Boorstin, "is a person who is known for his well-knownness."

Which is why Ms. Hilton is the purest of celebrities. She has no talents or skills to her credit. She appears to be, at best, of average intelligence and beauty. And while she has money, her trust fund is hardly awe-inspiring, at least by current standards of wealth. She has, in fact, nothing that would cause her to warrant notoriety. Hilton is famous simply because she is famous.

In his book "What Price Fame", Volokh blogger Tyler Cowen finds some value in this separation of fame and merit. But I think the commercialization of fame is problematic. The primary danger of this type of celebrity is that fame is seductive. Despite our best efforts, we are drawn to those who are famous. As Boorstein notes:

Celebrity-worship and hero-worship should not be confused. Yet we confuse them every day, and by doing so we come dangerously close to depriving ourselves of all real models. We lose sight of the men and women who do not simply seem great because they are famous but are famous because they are great. We come closer and closer to degrading all fame into notoriety.

An even greater danger, in my opinion, is "anti-hero worship" and Hilton represents the archetypical anti-hero celebrity. We take great delight in mocking her vanity, in snickering at her cluelessness, in seeing her degraded by public sex scandal. Her wealth shields her from the consequences of her actions so we feel no guilt in her gaping at her downfall. Yet we can take malicious satisfaction in knowing that she will never accomplish anything of worth. She is a disposable commodity with a limited shelf life that can be tossed aside when we grow bored. We give her our attention but not our respect.

If this is fame, we tell ourselves, then we want no part of it. But by extinguishing this "passion of the noblest minds" are we losing something of value? Are we dampening the drive of those who would be spurred to succeed by submitting to this desire?

We've developed an affirmative action program for fame that has leveled the playing field but has removed its nobility. Our celebrity creating media can produce a Paris Hilton in a matter of weeks. But in doing so have we stifled the "ruling passion" that can create an Alexander Hamilton?