The Consolation of Philosophy

As for glory, how deceitful it is oftentimes, and dishonest! For which cause the tragical poet deservedly exclaimeth: "O glory, glory, thou hast raised to honour and dignity myriads of worthless mortals!"¹ For many have often been much spoken of through the false opinions of the common people. Than which what can be imagined more vile? For those who are falsely commended must needs blush at their own praises. Which glory though it be gotten by deserts, yet what adds it to a wise man's conscience who measureth his own good, not by popular rumours, but by his own certain knowledge? And if it seemeth a fair thing to have dilated our fame, consequently we must judge it a foul thing not to have it extended. But since, as I showed a little before, there must needs be many nations to which the fame of one man cannot arrive, it cometh to pass that he whom thou esteemeth glorious, in the greater part of the world seemeth to have no glory at all. And here now I think popular glory not worth the speaking of, which neither proceedeth from judgment, nor ever hath any firmness. Likewise, who seeth not what a vain and idle thing it is to be called noble? Which insofar as it concerneth fame, is not our own. For nobility seemeth to be a certain praise proceeding from our parents' deserts. But if praising causeth fame, they must necessarily be famous who are praised. Wherefore the fame of others, if thou hast none of thine own, maketh not thee renowned. But if there be anything good in nobility, I judge it only to be this, that it imposeth a necessity upon those which are noble, not to suffer their nobility to degenerate from the virtue of their ancestors.