Plutarch · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Talking about oneself as being or being capable of something in relation to others, Herculanus, everyone declares in theory to be offensive and illiberal, but in practice not many, not even among those who condemn it, have escaped its unpleasantness. Euripides, for instance, having said, "If words could be bought by men, no one would wish to speak well of himself" — yet now, since it is possible to draw them free of charge from the deep air, everyone delights in saying both what is and what is not true; for it costs him nothing.
He himself has used the most vulgar kind of boastfulness, weaving into the sufferings and events of his tragedies a discourse about himself that has nothing to do with them. Likewise Pindar, though he says that "boasting out of season chimes in with madness," never stops speaking grandly about his own power, which is indeed worthy of praise — for who denies it?
But even those who are crowned as victors in the games have others proclaim them winners, thereby removing the unpleasantness of self-praise. And when Timotheus wrote, after his victory over Phrynis, "Blessed were you, Timotheus, when the herald said, 'Timotheus of Miletus conquers the son of Camon, the bender of Ionian melody'" — we rightly find it distasteful, as unmusical and improper, that he should proclaim his own victory. For a man himself finds praise from others the sweetest of things to hear,
as Xenophon has said; but praise of oneself is, for others, the most tiresome thing. For in the first place we consider those who praise themselves shameless, since it would be fitting for them to feel shame even when praised by others; second, we consider them unjust, since they are giving to themselves what they ought to receive from others; and third, we either seem to be vexed and envious if we keep silent, or, fearing this, we are compelled against our judgment to join in and add our own testimony to their praises — a thing
more fitting to servile flattery than to honor, when we put up with praising people to their faces. Nevertheless, although matters stand thus, there is a way in which the statesman might venture to touch what is called self-praise — not for the sake of any reputation or favor of his own, but when occasion and the business at hand demand that something true about himself, just as about another, be said — and especially when, by not sparing to state the deeds he has accomplished and the good qualities he possesses,
he may thereby accomplish something similar. For such praise bears a fine fruit, as from a single seed many other and better praises spring up from it. And indeed the statesman does not seek reputation as a kind of wage or consolation for his virtue, and is content that it should attend upon his actions; rather it is because being trusted
and being thought a good man provides the means for more numerous and finer actions. For it is pleasant and easy to benefit people who trust and love us at the same time, but it is not possible to employ one's virtue in the face of suspicion and slander, when men shrink from being helped as though it were being forced upon them. But if the statesman should praise himself for some other reasons, we must consider what these are, so that, while being wary of what is empty and offensive in it, we may not overlook
whatever is useful in it. Empty, then, is the praise of those who praise themselves in order to be praised, and it is most despised, since it appears to arise from ambition and an ill-timed desire for reputation. For just as those who lack food are forced, against nature, to feed on their own body — and this is the end result of famine — so those who hunger for praise, if they do not get it from others,
seem to behave shamefully, wishing to supply something to their own love of glory from themselves and thinking they are contributing to it. But when they seek to be praised not simply and on their own account, but, competing against the praises given to others, set their own deeds and actions in rivalry, as though to dim the luster of others, then in addition to being empty, they commit an act of malice and ill nature. For the proverb shows that the man who puts his foot into another's dance is meddlesome and ridiculous,
and self-praise that thrusts itself into the midst of praise belonging to others, driven there by envy and jealousy, must be very carefully guarded against; one should not even tolerate being praised by others while doing so, but should yield to those who are being honored, if they are worthy of it; but if they seem unworthy and base, we should not take away their praises by means of our own, but rather refute them openly, showing that they do not deserve their reputation. These things, then,
are clearly to be guarded against. But to praise oneself blamelessly is possible, first, if you do it in defending yourself against slander or accusation, as Pericles did: "And yet you are angry with a man such as I, who, I think, am inferior to no one in knowing what needs to be done and in explaining it, who am a lover of my city and above being swayed by money." For by speaking in such a solemn manner about himself at that moment, he not only escapes boastfulness, emptiness, and love of honor,
but also demonstrates a lofty spirit and greatness of virtue, in that he is not humbled — indeed he humbles and subdues envy. For people no longer see fit to judge such men, but are lifted up and delighted and share in the enthusiasm of their great boasts, provided these are firm and true — as the events themselves bear witness. The Thebans, at any rate, when their generals were accused because, though the term of their command as boeotarchs had expired,
they had not returned home at once but had invaded Laconia and settled affairs around Messene — Pelopidas, who fell at their feet and begged for mercy, they released only with reluctance; but when Epaminondas, after speaking at great length and proudly about what had been accomplished, finally said that he was ready to die if they would admit that he had founded Messene, ravaged Laconia, and united Arcadia, they, unwilling as they were, did not even endure to take up their voting-pebbles against him,
but departed marveling at the man, rejoicing, and laughing at the same time. Hence not even Homer's Sthenelus is wholly to be blamed for saying, "We indeed claim to be far better than our fathers," when we recall the line, "Alas, son of Tydeus, tamer of horses, why do you cower? Why do you peer about at the passages of war?" For he himself had not been reviled, but spoke up in his own boastful manner in defense of his friend who had been abused, the accusation giving
license to his frankness of speech, and the charge excusing it. And indeed the Romans were displeased with Cicero for often extolling his own actions against Catiline, but when Scipio said that it was not fitting for them to judge Scipio, the very man through whom they had the power to judge all men, they crowned themselves with garlands, went up together to the Capitol, and joined in sacrifice. The reason was that Cicero used his praises not out of necessity but for the sake of reputation, whereas in Scipio's case
the danger removed the envy. And indeed it is fitting that boastfulness and grand speech belong not only to those on trial or in danger, but even more to those in misfortune than to those in prosperity. For the former seem, as it were, to be grasping at and enjoying their reputation, indulging their love of honor, while the latter, being far from ambition because of their circumstance, seem to be raising themselves up against fortune, bearing their spirit high, and altogether avoiding what is pitiable
and joining in lamentation over their misfortunes and being humbled. Just as we consider those who strut and hold their necks high while walking to be foolish and empty, but when men in boxing or fighting rouse and lift themselves up, we praise them — so too a man who, thrown down by fortune, sets himself upright again and, like a boxer facing an opponent, transfers himself by his boastfulness from what is low and pitiable to what is proud
and lofty, seems not offensive or rash, but great and unconquerable — just as, I think, the poet has made Patroclus, who was moderate and free of envy in success, speak in a boastful manner at the moment of his death, saying, "Even had twenty such men as you confronted me." And Phocion was in other respects gentle; but after his condemnation he displayed his greatness of spirit in many ways, and to
one of his fellow condemned men, who was lamenting and taking it hard, he said, "What are you saying? Are you not content to die together with Phocion?" Furthermore, it is granted to the statesman, no less but even more, when he is being wronged, to say something about himself to those who deal with him unreasonably — just as Achilles, on the one hand, deferred to the divine dispensation of glory and spoke with moderation, saying, "If ever Zeus grants me to sack the well-walled city of Troy,"
but when he has been outrageously and undeservedly insulted, he gives free rein to boastfulness along with his anger: "For with twelve ships I have sacked twelve cities of men," and, "for they do not see the front of my helmet gleaming near." For frankness of speech, being a part of self-defense, admits of grand language. And indeed Themistocles, who said and did nothing offensive regarding his achievements while the Athenians
still valued him and paid him heed, did not, once he saw that they were sated with him and disregarding him, refrain from saying, "Why, my blessed friends, are you weary of being benefited so often by the same men?" and further, "When there is a storm, you take shelter under a tree, as it were, but when fair weather comes you strip its leaves as you pass by." These men, then, though they were being wronged in other ways, recalled their successes to those who were behaving ungratefully toward them. But a man who is blamed for the very things he has accomplished well is altogether pardonable and blameless when he extols
his deeds; for he seems not to be reproaching but defending himself. This, at any rate, gave Demosthenes ample freedom of speech and removed the surfeit that attends praise, which he employs throughout almost the whole of his speech On the Crown, taking pride in the very embassies and decrees concerning the war for which he was being accused. Not far removed from this device is a certain calculated grace found in antithesis, whenever, on
the very point on which a man is accused, he shows the opposite to be shameful and base. So Lycurgus at Athens, when reviled for having persuaded a false accuser with money, said, "What sort of citizen, then, do you take me to be, who, though I have managed public affairs among you for so long, have been caught giving money unjustly rather than taking it?" And Cicero, when Metellus said to him that he had destroyed more men by testifying against them
than he had saved by defending them, replied, "Who would deny that there is more trustworthiness in me than skill?" And such too are the words of Demosthenes: "Who would not have justly put me to death, if I had attempted merely in word to disgrace any of the honors belonging to the city?" and, "What do you think these vile men would be saying, if, when I was then dealing precisely with these matters, the cities had deserted me?"
And in general the speech On the Crown, with the greatest skill, introduces its self-praise by means of antitheses and refutations of the charges. Nevertheless it is also useful to learn this from that same speech, that by mingling, most artfully, praise of his hearers with the discourse about himself, he made it free of envy and self-love: such as "what sort of men the Athenians showed themselves to be to the Euboeans, what sort to the Thebans,"
"what good things they did for the Byzantines and the Chersonesites" — while claiming for himself only a share in the service. For in this way he escapes the notice of the hearer, who is drawn along by praises of his own city, since a man delights in what is said in his own favor, and feels gratitude for what has been achieved successfully, while joy is followed immediately by admiration and affection for the one through whom the success was achieved. Hence too Epaminondas, when Meneclides once mocked him as
thinking more highly of himself than Agamemnon, said, "It is because of you, men of Thebes, with whom alone in a single day I overthrew the dominion of the Lacedaemonians." And since the majority are very much at war with, and resent, a man who praises himself, but are not similarly disposed toward one who praises others — indeed they often rejoice and readily join in confirming such praise — some men are accustomed to unite and win over the hearer to themselves by praising, at the right moment, those who share their own choices and actions,
and altogether those of similar character; for the hearer at once recognizes, in the speaker — even when the speech concerns someone else — a likeness of virtue deserving the same praises. For just as a man who reviles another for faults in which he is himself implicated unwittingly reviles himself more than the other, so good men, by honoring good men, remind those who share their knowledge
of themselves, so that they immediately exclaim, "For are you not such a man yourself?" So Alexander, by honoring Heracles, and again Androcottus, by honoring Alexander, advanced themselves toward being honored by means of these likenesses. But Dionysius, by mocking Gelon and calling him "the laughingstock of Sicily," unwittingly, out of envy, diminished the greatness and dignity of his own power. These things, then, it is fitting for the statesman to understand well in other respects too,
and to be on guard against. As for those who are compelled to praise themselves, it makes them appear less burdensome if they do not attribute everything to themselves, but instead, as though setting down part of the load of their reputation, ascribe some to fortune and some to the god. Hence Achilles spoke well when he said, "since indeed the gods have granted that this man be subdued," and Timoleon spoke well too, when he set up an altar to Automatia (Chance) in Syracuse in honor of
his achievements and dedicated his house to the "Good Spirit"; and best of all, Python of Aenus, when, after killing Cotys, he came to Athens, and the popular leaders were vying with one another in praising him before the people, and he perceived that some were envious and displeased, came forward and said, "Men of Athens, this was the work of some god; we merely lent our hands." And Sulla too removed envy from himself by always praising
Fortune, and in the end styled himself Epaphroditus, "Favorite of Aphrodite." For men prefer to be thought indebted to good fortune rather than to their own virtue, considering the former an outside good, and the latter a deficiency that has arisen from themselves. At any rate, they say that what pleased the Locrians most about the legislation of Zaleucus was that he claimed Athena visited him and appeared before his eyes on each occasion, guiding and teaching him the laws, and that none of the measures he introduced was
his own thought or design. But such devices are perhaps necessary as remedies and palliatives against those who are altogether harsh and malicious; toward more reasonable people, however, it is not out of place to employ also the corrective use of praise: if someone should praise a man as learned, or rich, or powerful, one may bid him not to speak of these things concerning himself, but rather, if he is good and harmless
and beneficial. For the man who does this does not introduce fresh praise but redirects it, and he does not seem to delight in those who extol him, but rather, since it is not fitting or on the proper grounds, to be displeased, and to conceal the lesser qualities behind the better ones — not wishing to be praised, but teaching others how they ought to praise. For the saying, "I did not wall the city with stones or bricks, but if you wish to examine
my walling, you will find arms, and horses, and allies," seems to touch on something of this sort. And the saying of Pericles does so even more: for when, as it seems, his associates, lamenting as he now lay dying and grieving, recalled his generalships and his power, and how many trophies and victories and cities he had won and left to the Athenians, he, raising himself up a little, rebuked them,
saying that they were praising things common to many men, and some of them belonging rather to fortune than to his own virtue, while passing over what was finest, greatest, and most his own — that because of him no Athenian had ever put on mourning garb. This example, then, offers a model also for an orator, if he is a good man, when praised for the power of his speech, to redirect the praise instead toward his life and character; and likewise for a general who is admired
...for military experience or good fortune, but instead speak frankly about his gentleness and justice — and conversely again, when some extravagant praises are voiced, of the kind that many flatterers, out of envy, actually intend to harm with, one should say, "I am no god at all; why do you liken me to the immortals? But if you truly know me, praise instead my incorruptibility, or my self-control, or my fair-mindedness, or my humanity toward others."
For envy is not unwilling to grant the more modest praises to a man who declines the greater ones, and it does not withhold the true encomium from those who refuse to accept the false and empty one. That is why, in the case of kings who wished to be proclaimed not gods or sons of gods but "Brother-loving," or "Mother-loving," or "Benefactor," or "Beloved of the Gods," people were not troubled at all in honoring them with these titles — noble titles, but human ones. It is much the same with writers and speakers: people are irritated by those who claim for themselves the title of "wise," but are glad to hear someone say something modest and unenviable about himself — that he "philosophizes," or is "making progress," or something of that kind. Orators and sophists, on the other hand, by welcoming in their public performances words like "divinely," "marvelously," and "grandly," end up losing along with them even words like "adequately" and "humanly."
And indeed, just as those who are careful not to trouble sore eyes mix in a little shade with what is too bright, so some people, instead of offering their self-praise in a wholly bright and undiluted form, insert certain shortcomings, or failures, or slight faults, and thereby remove from it what is oppressive and apt to provoke resentment — as Epeius does. After speaking without restraint about his skill in boxing and boasting that he "will tear the flesh right through and crush the bones together," he says, "Is it not enough that I fall short in war?" But he, perhaps, is a rather ridiculous case, trying to soften his athletic bragging with a confession of cowardice and unmanliness. Tasteful and charming, by contrast, is the man who admits to some forgetfulness of his own, or ignorance, or overeagerness, or a certain indifference to some branch of learning or to listening to speeches — as Odysseus does: "But my heart longed to hear it, and I signaled to my companions with my brows to set me free." And again: "But I would not be persuaded — though it would have been far better — until I could see the man himself, and whether he would give me gifts of hospitality." In general, faults that are not utterly shameful or ignoble, when set alongside one's praises, take the envy out of them.
Many people, too, sometimes work into their self-praise a confession of poverty, or hardship, or, by Zeus, low birth, and by this means blunt the edge of envy — as Agathocles did. While pledging the young men in gold and embossed cups, he also had earthenware ones brought in, and said, "This is what perseverance, hard work, and manly courage can do — once we used to make these, now we make those." For it was well known that Agathocles had been raised in a potter's workshop because of his low birth and poverty, and yet he went on to become king of very nearly the whole of Sicily.
These, then, are remedies for self-praise that can be brought in from outside. But other remedies are inherent, in a sense, in the very achievements being praised — remedies of the sort Cato used when he said that he was envied because he neglected his own affairs and lay awake at night for the sake of his country, and: "How could I be so foolish, when I might, without any trouble at all, being counted among the mass of the army, share equally with the wisest man in whatever fortune brings?" And: "Reluctant to squander the gratitude earned by my past labors, I do not push away the toils now before me." For just as with a house or a piece of land, so too with reputation and virtue: most people begrudge them not to those who have paid for them with many toils and dangers, but to those who seem to have gotten them for nothing, easily.
Since praises must be brought forward not only without causing pain or arousing envy, but also usefully and beneficially — so that we do not appear to be doing this for its own sake, but something else through it — consider first whether one might praise oneself for the sake of exhortation, to arouse emulation and ambition in one's hearers. This is what Nestor did: by recounting his own feats of prowess and his battles, he both spurred on Patroclus and roused the nine champions to single combat. For exhortation that unites word and deed, offering a familiar, domestic example and object of emulation, is a living thing: it moves people and spurs them on, and, backed by impulse and deliberate choice, instills in them the hope that the goal is attainable, not impossible. That is why, in the choral songs at Sparta, the old men sing, "We once were valiant young men"; the boys sing, "And we shall be far mightier"; and the young men sing, "And we are that now — if you wish, behold." Here the lawgiver has, wisely and in a manner suited to a community, set before the young examples close and familiar to them, drawn from the very deeds accomplished.
Nonetheless, there are also occasions when, for the sake of overawing and restraining someone, of humbling a self-willed and insolent man and getting the upper hand over him, it is no bad thing to boast a little about oneself and speak grandly — as, again, Nestor does: "For I have in the past kept company with men braver even than you, and not one of them ever made light of me." So too Aristotle told Alexander that it is permitted to think highly of oneself not only to those who rule over many, but also to those who hold true beliefs about the gods. Such things are also useful against enemies and foes: "The sons of luckless men will face my might." And when the Persian king was called "the Great," Agesilaus said, "How is he greater than I am, unless he is also more just?" And to the Spartans, when they accused the Thebans of talking too much, Epaminondas said, "At any rate, we have cured you of speaking too little."
But these examples apply to enemies and foes. As for friends and fellow citizens, self-assertion can serve not only to check the overbold and make them more modest, but also, conversely, to raise up and spur on the fearful and terror-stricken, when boastfulness is used at the right moment. For Cyrus, too, in the face of danger and battle, "spoke grandly of himself, though at other times he was not given to grand speech." And Antigonus the Second, though in other respects free of arrogance and moderate, when in the sea-battle off Cos one of his friends said, "Do you not see how many more ships the enemy has?" replied, "And against how many do you count me alone?" Homer, too, seems to have understood this: he represents Odysseus, when his companions were cowering at the roar and swell around Charybdis, reminding them of his own skill and courage: "This is surely no greater evil than when the Cyclops held us penned by sheer force in his hollow cave; yet from there too, by my valor, my counsel, and my wit, we made our escape."
Praise of this kind does not belong to a man courting the crowd or playing the sophist, nor to one seeking applause and cheers, but to one who offers his own valor and skill as a pledge to give his friends courage. For in perilous moments, confidence and trust in a man of proven leadership and ability count for much toward safety.
It has already been said that it is far from statesmanlike to set oneself in rivalry against another's praise and reputation. Nevertheless, wherever misplaced praise for great deeds does harm — by breeding emulation of base things and a wicked resolve — it is not without use to strike it down, or rather to turn the hearer toward what is better, by pointing out the difference. One would, I think, be content merely to see most people willing to keep away from vice when it is denounced and censured. But if vice should also gain a good name, and if honor and esteem should attach themselves to a man led on by its pleasures and greed, then there is no nature so fortunate or so strong that vice could not master it. That is why the statesman must wage war not on men's praises but on the deeds themselves, when they are base — for it is through such praises that the impulse to imitate shameful things, and to admire them as though they were noble, is smuggled in and takes root.
Such false praises are exposed most effectively when set beside the true. For instance, the tragic actor Theodorus is said once to have told the comic actor Satyrus that it is no great feat to make an audience laugh, but to make them weep and cry. But a philosopher, I think, might answer him even better: "It is not making people weep and cry, my good man, that is admirable, but rather putting a stop to their grief and their weeping." For in praising himself this way, he does his hearer good and reshapes his judgment. So too Zeno, faced with the great number of Theophrastus's pupils, said, "His chorus is larger, but mine sings more in tune." And Phocion, while Leosthenes was still enjoying success, being asked by the orators what good he himself had done for the city, said, "Nothing — except that, under my generalship, you have had no need of funeral orations, and all who die are buried in their ancestral tombs." Very charmingly, too, Crates answered the line "This I have — all I ate, and all I indulged in wantonly, and the delights I took in love," with his own version: "This I have — all I learned, and all I pondered, and the solemn truths I came to know in the company of the Muses." For self-praise of this kind is noble and beneficial: it teaches people to admire and value what is useful and advantageous instead of what is empty and superfluous.
Let this, then, be counted among what has already been said in answer to our question. What remains for us — since the argument's next step requires and calls for it — is to say how each of us may avoid praising himself at the wrong moment. For self-praise, having self-love as its base of operations, is a formidable thing, and it often takes root even in those who seem quite moderate in their attitude toward reputation, catching them off their guard. Just as one of the rules of health is either to avoid unhealthy places altogether or to be more watchful of oneself while in them, so self-praise too has certain occasions and slippery spots that draw one round into it on every pretext. In the first place, as has been said, it is when others are being praised that ambition brings self-praise into flower, and a person catches himself bitten and tickled, as if by an itch, by an ungovernable desire and impulse toward glory — especially if someone else is being praised for achievements equal to, or even less than, his own. For just as those who are hungry, when they watch others eating, are all the more provoked and have their appetite whetted, so the praise given to those near at hand inflames with jealousy those who lack self-command where reputation is concerned.
Second, narratives of things carried through with good fortune and according to plan carry many people, before they notice it, into boasting and swagger out of sheer joy. For once they fall into telling of victories of their own, or successes in public life, or actions and words of theirs that won approval among rulers, they lose control and keep no measure. It is chiefly the seafaring and soldiering sort that one may see caught by this kind of self-praise; but it also happens, as a rule, to those returning from the dinner tables of governors and from great affairs: in recalling eminent and royal personages they weave in certain compliments those men spoke about them, and suppose that they are not praising themselves but merely recounting praises of themselves that came from others. Others think they escape their hearers' notice entirely when they report the handshakes, greetings, and courtesies of kings and emperors, as though they were rehearsing not praises of themselves but demonstrations of those men's graciousness and kindness toward others. Hence we must watch ourselves very closely when it comes to praising others, so that the praise be clean and free of any suspicion of self-love and self-praise, and we not seem to be making "Patroclus the pretext" while in fact praising ourselves through those we praise.
Then again, the whole business of censures and reproaches is treacherous ground, offering byways into self-praise to those who are sick with the desire for reputation. Old men fall into this most of all, whenever they are drawn into admonishing others and running down bad habits and misguided actions, magnifying themselves as having been quite marvelous in those same matters. To such men, if they possess not only age but also reputation and virtue, this should be conceded; for it is not without profit, but instils great emulation and even a certain ambition in those who are chastened in this way. But the rest of us ought to guard sharply against this byway and fear it. For since the reproving of one's neighbors is painful in any case, barely tolerable, and in need of great caution, the man who mixes praise of himself into blame of another, and hunts reputation for himself through another's disgrace, is altogether obnoxious and vulgar, as one who wants to win a good name for himself out of the humiliation of others.
Furthermore, just as those who are by nature prone and quick to laughter ought above all to shun and guard against ticklings and light touches, in which the smoothest parts of the body, slipping and yielding, stir the affection and set it off, so those who have drifted more passionately toward glory should be advised not least to abstain from praising themselves precisely when they are being praised by others. For a man ought to blush when he is praised, not to be shameless; he ought to restrain those who say something great about him, not to fault them for praising too sparingly — which is what most people do, themselves supplying reminders and heaping on still other deeds and feats of valor, until by praising themselves they spoil even the praise that comes from others. Some men, flattering them, tickle them, as it were, and puff them up; others maliciously toss in a small bait of compliment to draw out their self-praise; and others question and cross-examine them, so as to have a laugh, like the soldier in Menander: "'How did you get this wound?' 'With a javelin.' 'How, in heaven's name?' 'As I was climbing a wall.' And I display it in earnest, but they sneered at me all over again."
In all these situations, then, one must be as much on guard as possible, neither being swept along with the praises nor surrendering oneself to the questions. The most complete precaution and safeguard against them is to pay attention to others when they praise themselves, and to remember how unpleasant and painful the practice is to everyone, and that no other kind of talk is so obnoxious or so hard to bear. For though we cannot say that we suffer any other harm at the hands of those who praise themselves, still, as if burdened by the thing by our very nature and shunning it, we hasten to get away and to breathe freely again; when even for a flatterer, a parasite, or a man in need, a rich man or satrap or king extolling himself is, in their hour of need, hard to stomach and hard to sit through — and they call this the heaviest table-contribution they pay, like the man in Menander: "He slaughters me; I grow thin while being feasted — those jokes of his, so wise and general-like, the braggart pest that he is!" Since, then, it is our habit to feel and to say such things not only about soldiers and the newly rich as they spin out their purple-bordered, pompous tales, but also about sophists and philosophers and generals who are puffed up about themselves and talk grandly — if we remember that blame from others always follows upon our own praises, that the end of this vainglory is disrepute, and that what results, as Demosthenes says, is the annoyance of our hearers, not the reputation we claim to deserve — we shall refrain from speaking about ourselves, unless we are about to do some great benefit either to ourselves or to our hearers.