Criticism is an enjoyable, if cruel, sport — I relish a clever critic’s takedown of an unworthy book or film. My pleasure, however, is transient and empty. Even the best criticism is forgotten quickly, while the best of art and industry remains for as long as we can see, hear, and feel those works.
As you might imagine, few critics are remembered much beyond their own times (see an exception in Edmund Wilson here and here). While criticism is essential to detecting and correcting error, it risks little and creates even less. Those who build and do live on through their works and deeds, even if only quietly and anonymously.