{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3794/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3794","id":"gutenberg_3794","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3794","summary":null,"tags":["Benevolence","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical literature","Conduct of life","Essays"],"text":"Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\n\n\n\nL. ANNAEUS SENECA, ON BENEFITS\n\nBy Seneca\n\nEdited by Aubrey Stewart\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nSeneca, the favourite classic of the early fathers of the church and\nof the Middle Ages, whom Jerome, Tertullian, and Augustine speak of as\n\"Seneca noster,\" who was believed to have corresponded with St. Paul,\nand upon whom [Footnote: On the \"De Clementia,\" an odd subject for the\nman who burned Servetus alive for differing with him.] Calvin wrote a\ncommentary, seems almost forgotten in modern times. Perhaps some of his\npopularity may have been due to his being supposed to be the author\nof those tragedies which the world has long ceased to read, but which\ndelighted a period that preferred Euripides to Aeschylus: while casuists\nmust have found congenial matter in an author whose fantastic cases of\nconscience are often worthy of Sanchez or Escobar. Yet Seneca's morality\nis always pure, and from him we gain, albeit at second hand, an\ninsight into the doctrines of the Greek philosophers, Zeno, Epicurus,\nChrysippus, &c., whose precepts and system of religious thought had in\ncultivated Roman society taken the place of the old worship of Jupiter\nand Quirinus.\n\nSince Lodge's edition (fol. 1614), no complete translation of Seneca has\nbeen published in England, though Sir Roger L'Estrange wrote paraphrases\nof several Dialogues, which seem to have been enormously popular,\nrunning through more than sixteen editions. I think we may conjecture\nthat Shakespeare had seen Lodge's translation, from several allusions to\nphilosophy, to that impossible conception \"the wise man,\" and especially\nfrom a passage in \"All's Well that ends Well,\" which seems to breathe\nthe very spirit of \"De Beneficiis.\"\n\n  \"'Tis pity--\n   That wishing well had not a body in it\n   Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born,\n   Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,\n   Might with effects of them follow our friends\n   And show what we alone must think; which never\n   Returns us thanks.\"\n\n   \"All's Well that ends Well,\" Act i. sc. 1.\n\nThough, if this will not fit the supposed date of that play, he may\nhave taken the idea from \"The Woorke of Lucius Annaeus Seneca concerning\nBenefyting, that is too say, the dooing, receyving, and requyting of\ngood turnes, translated out of Latin by A. Golding. J. Day, London,\n1578.\" And even during the Restoration, Pepys's ideal of virtuous and\nlettered seclusion is a country house in whose garden he might sit on\nsummer afternoons with his friend, Sir W. Coventry, \"it maybe, to read a\nchapter of Seneca.\" In sharp contrast to this is Vahlen's preface to the\nminor Dialogues, which he edited after the death of his friend Koch, who\nhad begun that work, in which he remarks that \"he has read much of this\nwriter, in order to perfect his knowledge of Latin, for otherwise he\nneither admires his artificial subtleties of thought, nor his childish\nmannerisms of style\" (Vahlen, preface, p. v., ed. 1879, Jena).\n\nYet by the student of the history of Rome under the Caesars, Seneca is\nnot to be neglected, because, whatever may be thought of the intrinsic\nmerit of his speculations, he represents, more perhaps even than\nTacitus, the intellectual characteristics of his age, and the tone of\nsociety in Rome--nor could we well spare the gossiping stories which we\nfind imbedded in his graver dissertations. The following extract from\nDean Merivale's \"History of the Romans under the Empire\" will show the\nestimate of him which has been formed by that accomplished writer:--\n\n\"At Rome, we, have no reason, to suppose that Christianity was only the\nrefuge of the afflicted and miserable; rather, if we may lay any stress\non the documents above referred to, it was first embraced by persons in\na certain grade of comfort and respectability; by persons approaching\nto what we should call the MIDDLE CLASSES in their condition, their\neducation, and their moral views. Of this class Seneca himself was the\nidol, the oracle; he was, so to speak, the favourite preacher of the\nmore intelligent and humane disciples of nature and virtue. Now the\nwritings of Seneca show, in their way, a real anxiety among this class\nto raise the moral tone of mankind around them; a spirit of reform, a\nzeal for the conversion of souls, which, though it never rose, indeed,\nunder the teaching of the philosophers, to boiling heat, still simmered\nwith genial warmth on the surface of society. Far different as was their\nsocial standing-point, far different as were the foundations and the\npresumed sanctions of their teaching respectively, Seneca and St.\nPaul were both moral reformers; both, be it said with reverence, were\nfellow-workers in the cause of humanity, though the Christian could\nlook beyond the proximate aims of morality and prepare men for a final\ndevelopment on which the Stoic could not venture to gaze. Hence there\nis so much in their principles, so much even in their language, which\nagrees together, so that the one has been thought, though it must be\nallowed without adequate reason, to have borrowed directly from the\nother. [Footnote: It is hardly necessary to refer to the pretended\nletters between St. Paul and Seneca. Besides the evidence from style,\nsome of the dates they contain are quite sufficient to condemn them as\nclumsy forgeries. They are mentioned, but with no expression of belief\nin their genuineness, by Jerome and Augustine. See Jones, \"On the\nCanon,\" ii. 80.]\n\n\"But the philosopher, be it remembered, discoursed to a large and not\ninattentive audience, and surely the soil was not all unfruitful on\nwhich his seed was scattered when he proclaimed that God dwells not\nin temples of wood and stone, nor wants the ministrations of human\nhands;[Footnote: Sen., Ep. 95, and in Lactantius, Inst. vi.] that He has\nno delight in the blood of victims:[Footnote: Ep. 116: \"Colitur Deus\nnon tauris sed pia et recta voluntate.\"] that He is near to all His\ncreatures:[Footnote: Ep. 41, 73.] that His Spirit resides in men's\nhearts:[Footnote: Ep. 46: \"Sacer intra nos spiritus sedet.\"] that\nall men are truly His offspring:[Footnote: \"De Prov,\" i.] that we are\nmembers of one body, which is God or Nature;[Footnote: Ep. 93, 95:\n\"Membra sumus magni corporis.\"] that men must believe in God before\nthey can approach Him:[Footnote: Ep. 95: \"Primus Deorum cultus est\nDeos credere.\"] that the true service of God is to be like unto\nHim:[Footnote: Ep. 95: \"Satis coluit quisquis imitatus est.\"] that all\nmen have sinned, and none performed all the works of the law:[Footnote:\nSen. de Ira. i. 14; ii. 27: \"Quis est iste qui se profitetur omnibus\nlegibus innocentem?\"] that God is no respecter of nations, ranks, or\nconditions, but all, barbarian and Roman, bond and free, are alike under\nHis all-seeing Providence.[Footnote: \"De Benef.,\" iii. 18: \"Virtus omnes\nadmittit, libertinos, servos, reges.\" These and many other passages\nare collected by Champagny, ii. 546, after Fabricius and others, and\ncompared with well-known texts of Scripture. The version of the Vulgate\nshows a great deal of verbal correspondence. M. Troplong remarks, after\nDe Maistre, that Seneca has written a fine book on Providence, for which\nthere was not even a name at Rome in the time of Cicero.--\"L'Influence\ndu Christianisme,\" &c., i., ch. 4.]\n\n\"St. Paul enjoined submission and obedience even to the tyranny of\nNero, and Seneca fosters no ideas subversive of political subjection.\nEndurance is the paramount virtue of the Stoic. To forms of government\nthe wise man was wholly indifferent; they were among the\nexternal circumstances above which his spirit soared in serene\nself-contemplation. We trace in Seneca no yearning for a restoration\nof political freedom, nor does he even point to the senate, after\nthe manner of the patriots of the day, as a legitimate check to the\nautocracy of the despot. The only mode, in his view, of tempering\ntyranny is to educate the tyrant himself in virtue. His was the\nself-denial of the Christians, but without their anticipated\ncompensation. It seems impossible to doubt that in his highest flights\nof rhetoric--and no man ever recommended the unattainable with a finer\ngrace--Seneca must have felt that he was labouring to build up a house\nwithout foundations; that his system, as Caius said of his style, was\nsand without lime. He was surely not unconscious of the inconsistency of\nhis own position, as a public man and a minister, with the theories to\nwhich he had wedded himself; and of the impossibility of preserving in\nit the purity of his character as a philosopher or a man. He was aware\nthat in the existing state of society at Rome, wealth was necessary to\nmen high in station; wealth alone could retain influence, and a poor\nminister became at once contemptible. The distributor of the Imperial\nfavours must have his banquets, his receptions, his slaves and freedmen;\nhe must possess the means of attracting if not of bribing; he must not\nseem too virtuous, too austere, among an evil generation; in order to do\ngood at all he must swim with the stream, however polluted it might be.\nAll this inconsistency Seneca must have contemplated without blenching;\nand there is something touching in the serenity he preserved amidst the\nconflict that must have perpetually raged between his natural sense\nand his acquired principles. Both Cicero and Seneca were men of many\nweaknesses, and we remark them the more because both were pretenders to\nunusual strength of character; but while Cicero lapsed into political\nerrors, Seneca cannot be absolved of actual crime. Nevertheless, if we\nmay compare the greatest masters of Roman wisdom together, the Stoic\nwill appear, I think, the more earnest of the two, the more anxious to\ndo his duty for its own sake, the more sensible of the claims of mankind\nupon him for such precepts of virtuous living as he had to give. In an\nage of unbelief and compromise he taught that Truth was positive and\nVirtue objective. He conceived, what never entered Cicero's mind, the\nidea of improving his fellow-creatures; he had, what Cicero had not, a\nheart for conversion to Christianity.\"\n\nTo this eloquent account of Seneca's position and of the tendency of his\nwritings I have nothing to add. The main particulars of his life,\nhis Spanish extraction (like that of Lacan and Martial), his father's\ntreatises on Rhetoric, his mother Helvia, his brothers, his wealth, his\nexile in Corsica, his outrageous flattery of Claudius and his satiric\npoem on his death--\"The Vision of Judgment,\" Merivale calls it, after\nLord Byron--his position as Nero's tutor, and his death, worthy at once\nof a Roman and a Stoic, by the orders of that tyrant, may be read of in\n\"The History of the Romans under the Empire,\" or in the article \"Seneca\"\nin the \"Dictionary of Classical Biography,\" and need not be reproduced\nhere: but I cannot resist pointing out how entirely Grote's view of the\n\"Sophists\" as a sort of established clergy, and Seneca's account of the\nvarious sects of philosophers as representing the religious thought of\nthe time, is illustrated by his anecdote of Julia Augusta, the mother of\nTiberius, better known to English readers as Livia the wife of Augustus,\nwho in her first agony of grief at the loss of her first husband applied\nto his Greek philosopher, Areus, as to a kind of domestic chaplain, for\nspiritual consolation. (\"Ad Marciam de Consolatione,\" ch. iv.)\n\nI take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to the Rev. J. E.\nB. Mayor, Professor of Latin in the University of Cambridge, for his\nkindness in finding time among his many and important literary labours\nfor reading and correcting the proofs of this work.\n\nThe text which I have followed for De Beneficiis is that of Gertz,\nBerlin (1876.).\n\nAUBREY STEWART\n\nLondon, March, 1887.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nBOOK I. The prevalence of ingratitude--How a benefit ought to be\nbestowed--The three Graces--Benefits are the chief bond of human\nsociety--What we owe in return for a benefit received--A benefit\nconsists not of a thing but of the wish to do good--Socrates and\nAeschines--What kinds of benefits should be bestowed, and in what\nmanner--Alexander and the franchise of Corinth.\n\nBOOK II. Many men give through weakness of character--We ought to give\nbefore our friends ask--Many benefits are spoiled by the manner of\nthe giver--Marius Nepos and Tiberius--Some benefits should be given\nsecretly--We must not give what would harm the receiver--Alexander's\ngift of a city--Interchange of benefits like a game of ball--From\nwhom ought one to receive a benefit?--Examples--How to receive\na benefit--Ingratitude caused by self-love, by greed, or by\njealousy--Gratitude and repayment not the same thing--Phidias and the\nstatue.\n\nBOOK III. Ingratitude--Is it worse to be ungrateful for kindness or\nnot even to remember it?--Should ingratitude be punished by law?--Can\na slave bestow a benefit?--Can a son bestow a benefit upon his\nfather?--Examples\n\nBOOK IV. Whether the bestowal of benefits and the return of gratitude\nfor them are desirable objects in themselves? Does God bestow\nbenefits?--How to choose the man to be benefited--We ought not to look\nfor any return--True gratitude--Of keeping one's promise--Philip and the\nsoldier--Zeno\n\nBOOK V. Of being worsted in a contest of benefits--Socrates and\nArchelaus--Whether a man can be grateful to himself, or can bestow\na benefit upon himself--Examples of ingratitude--Dialogue on\ningratitude--Whether one should remind one's friends of what one has\ndone for them--Caesar and the soldier--Tiberius.\n\nBOOK VI. Whether a benefit can be taken from one by force--Benefits\ndepend upon thought--We are not grateful for the advantages which we\nreceive from inanimate Nature, or from dumb animals--In order to lay me\nunder an obligation you must benefit me intentionally--Cleanthes's story\nof the two slaves--Of benefits given in a mercenary spirit--Physicians\nand teachers bestow enormous benefits, yet are sufficiently paid by a\nmoderate fee--Plato and the ferryman--Are we under an obligation to the\nsun and moon?--Ought we to wish that evil may befall our benefactors, in\norder that we may show our gratitude by helping them?\n\nBOOK VII. The cynic Demetrius--his rules of conduct--Of the truly\nwise man--Whether one who has done everything in his power to return\na benefit has returned it--Ought one to return a benefit to a bad\nman?--The Pythagorean, and the shoemaker--How one ought to bear with the\nungrateful.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nL. A. SENECA\n\nON BENEFITS.\n\n\nDEDICATED TO\n\nAEBUTIUS LIBERALIS.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\nI.\n\n\nAmong the numerous faults of those who pass their lives recklessly and\nwithout due reflexion, my good friend Liberalis, I should say that there\nis hardly any one so hurtful to society as this, that we neither know\nhow to bestow or how to receive a benefit. It follows from this that\nbenefits are badly invested, and become bad debts: in these cases it is\ntoo late to complain of their not being returned, for they were thrown\naway when we bestowed them. Nor need we wonder that while the greatest\nvices are common, none is more common than ingratitude: for this I see\nis brought about by various causes. The first of these is, that we do\nnot choose worthy persons upon whom to bestow our bounty, but although\nwhen we are about to lend money we first make a careful enquiry into\nthe means and habits of life of our debtor, and avoid sowing seed in a\nworn-out or unfruitful soil, yet without any discrimination we scatter\nour benefits at random rather than bestow them. It is hard to say\nwhether it is more dishonourable for the receiver to disown a benefit,\nor for the giver to demand a return of it: for a benefit is a loan, the\nrepayment of which depends merely upon the good feeling of the debtor.\nTo misuse a benefit like a spendthrift is most shameful, because we\ndo not need our wealth but only our intention to set us free from the\nobligation of it; for a benefit is repaid by being acknowledged. Yet\nwhile they are to blame who do not even show so much gratitude as to\nacknowledge their debt, we ourselves are to blame no less. We find many\nmen ungrateful, yet we make more men so, because at one time we harshly\nand reproachfully demand some return for our bounty, at another we are\nfickle and regret what we have given, at another we are peevish and\napt to find fault with trifles. By acting thus we destroy all sense of\ngratitude, not only after we have given anything, but while we are in\nthe act of giving it. Who has ever thought it enough to be asked for\nanything in an off-hand manner, or to be asked only once? Who, when he\nsuspected that he was going to be asked for any thing, has not frowned,\nturned away his face, pretended to be busy, or purposely talked without\nceasing, in order not to give his suitor a chance of preferring his\nrequest, and avoided by various tricks having to help his friend in his\npressing need? and when driven into a corner, has not either put the\nmatter off, that is, given a cowardly refusal, or promised his help\nungraciously, with a wry face, and with unkind words, of which he seemed\nto grudge the utterance. Yet no one is glad to owe what he has not\nso much received from his benefactor, as wrung out of him. Who can be\ngrateful for what has been disdainfully flung to him, or angrily cast\nat him, or been given him out of weariness, to avoid further trouble? No\none need expect any return from those whom he has tired out with delays,\nor sickened with expectation. A benefit is received in the same temper\nin which it is given, and ought not, therefore, to be given carelessly,\nfor a man thanks himself for that which he receives without the\nknowledge of the giver. Neither ought we to give after long delay,\nbecause in all good offices the will of the giver counts for much, and\nhe who gives tardily must long have been unwilling to give at all. Nor,\nassuredly, ought we to give in offensive manner, because human nature is\nso constituted that insults sink deeper than kindnesses; the remembrance\nof the latter soon passes away, while that of the former is treasured in\nthe memory; so what can a man expect who insults while he obliges? All\nthe gratitude which he deserves is to be forgiven for helping us. On\nthe other hand, the number of the ungrateful ought not to deter us\nfrom earning men's gratitude; for, in the first place, their number is\nincreased by our own acts. Secondly, the sacrilege and indifference\nto religion of some men does not prevent even the immortal gods from\ncontinuing to shower their benefits upon us: for they act according to\ntheir divine nature and help all alike, among them even those who so ill\nappreciate their bounty. Let us take them for our guides as far as the\nweakness of our mortal nature permits; let us bestow benefits, not put\nthem out at interest. The man who while he gives thinks of what he will\nget in return, deserves to be deceived. But what if the benefit turns\nout ill? Why, our wives and our children often disappoint our hopes,\nyet we marry--and bring up children, and are so obstinate in the face of\nexperience that we fight after we have been beaten, and put to sea after\nwe have been shipwrecked. How much more constancy ought we to show in\nbestowing benefits! If a man does not bestow benefits because he has\nnot received any, he must have bestowed them in order to receive them\nin return, and he justifies ingratitude, whose disgrace lies in not\nreturning benefits when able to do so. How many are there who are\nunworthy of the light of day? and nevertheless the sun rises. How many\ncomplain because they have been born? yet Nature is ever renewing our\nrace, and even suffers men to live who wish that they had never lived.\nIt is the property of a great and good mind to covet, not the fruit of\ngood deeds, but good deeds themselves, and to seek for a good man even\nafter having met with bad men. If there were no rogues, what glory would\nthere be in doing good to many? As it is, virtue consists in bestowing\nbenefits for which we are not certain of meeting with any return, but\nwhose fruit is at once enjoyed by noble minds. So little influence ought\nthis to have in restraining us from doing good actions, that even though\nI were denied the hope of meeting with a grateful man, yet the fear of\nnot having my benefits returned would not prevent my bestowing them,\nbecause he who does not give, forestalls the vice of him who is\nungrateful. I will explain what I mean. He who does not repay a benefit,\nsins more, but he who does not bestow one, sins earlier.\n\n  \"If thou at random dost thy bounties waste,\n   Much must be lost, for one that's rightly placed.\"\n\nII. In the former verse you may blame two things, for one should not\ncast them at random, and it is not right to waste anything, much less\nbenefits; for unless they be given with judgement, they cease to be\nbenefits, and, may be called by any other name you please. The meaning\nof the latter verse is admirable, that one benefit rightly bestowed\nmakes amends for the loss of many that have been lost. See, I pray you,\nwhether it be not truer and more worthy of the glory of the giver, that\nwe should encourage him to give, even though none of his gifts should\nbe worthily placed. \"Much must be lost.\" Nothing is lost because he\nwho loses had counted the cost before. The book-keeping of benefits\nis simple: it is all expenditure; if any one returns it, that is clear\ngain; if he does not return it, it is not lost, I gave it for the sake\nof giving. No one writes down his gifts in a ledger, or like a grasping\ncreditor demands repayment to the day and hour. A good man never thinks\nof such matters, unless reminded of them by some one returning his\ngifts; otherwise they become like debts owing to him. It is a base usury\nto regard a benefit as an investment. Whatever may have been the result\nof your former benefits, persevere in bestowing others upon other men;\nthey will be all the better placed in the hands of the ungrateful, whom\nshame, or a favourable opportunity, or imitation of others may some day\ncause to be grateful. Do not grow weary, perform your duty, and act\nas becomes a good man. Help one man with money, another with credit,\nanother with your favour; this man with good advice, that one with\nsound maxims. Even wild beasts feel kindness, nor is there any animal\nso savage that good treatment will not tame it and win love from it. The\nmouths of lions are handled by their keepers with impunity; to obtain\ntheir food fierce elephants become as docile as slaves: so that constant\nunceasing kindness wins the hearts even of creatures who, by their\nnature, cannot comprehend or weigh the value of a benefit. Is a man\nungrateful for one benefit? perhaps he will not be so after receiving\na second. Has he forgotten two kindnesses? perhaps by a third he may be\nbrought to remember the former ones also.\n\nIII. He who is quick to believe that he has thrown away his benefits,\ndoes really throw them away; but he who presses on and adds new benefits\nto his former ones, forces out gratitude even from a hard and forgetful\nbreast. In the face of many kindnesses, your friend will not dare to\nraise his eyes; let him see you whithersoever he turns himself to escape\nfrom his remembrance of you; encircle him with your benefits. As for the\npower and property of these, I will explain it to you if first you will\nallow me to glance at a matter which does not belong to our subject, as\nto why the Graces are three in number, why they are sisters, why hand in\nhand, and why they are smiling and young, with a loose and transparent\ndress. Some writers think that there is one who bestows a benefit,\none who receives it, and a third who returns it; others say that they\nrepresent the three sorts of benefactors, those who bestow, those who\nrepay, and those who both receive and repay them. But take whichever\nyou please to be true; what will this knowledge profit us? What is the\nmeaning of this dance of sisters in a circle, hand in hand? It means\nthat the course of a benefit is from hand to hand, back to the giver;\nthat the beauty of the whole chain is lost if a single link fails, and\nthat it is fairest when it proceeds in unbroken regular order. In the\ndance there is one, esteemed beyond the others, who represents the\ngivers of benefits. Their faces are cheerful, as those of men who give\nor receive benefits are wont to be. They are young, because the memory\nof benefits ought not to grow old. They are virgins, because benefits\nare pure and untainted, and held holy by all; in benefits there should\nbe no strict or binding conditions, therefore the Graces wear loose\nflowing tunics, which are transparent, because benefits love to be seen.\nPeople who are not under the influence of Greek literature may say that\nall this is a matter of course; but there can be no one who would think\nthat the names which Hesiod has given them bear upon our subject. He\nnamed the eldest Aglaia, the middle one Euphrosyne, the third Thalia.\nEvery one, according to his own ideas, twists the meaning of these\nnames, trying to reconcile them with some system, though Hesiod merely\ngave his maidens their names from his own fancy. So Homer altered\nthe name of one of them, naming her Pasithea, and betrothed her to a\nhusband, in order that you may know that they are not vestal virgins.\n[Footnote: i.e. not vowed to chastity.]\n\nI could find another poet, in whose writings they are girded, and wear\nthick or embroidered Phrygian robes. Mercury stands with them for the\nsame reason, not because argument or eloquence commends benefits,\nbut because the painter chose to do so. Also Chrysippus, that man of\npiercing intellect who saw to the very bottom of truth, who speaks\nonly to the point, and makes use of no more words than are necessary to\nexpress his meaning, fills his whole treatise with these puerilities,\ninsomuch that he says but very little about the duties of giving,\nreceiving, and returning a benefit, and has not so much inserted fables\namong these subjects, as he has inserted these subjects among a mass of\nfables. For, not to mention what Hecaton borrows from him, Chrysippus\ntells us that the three Graces are the daughters of Jupiter and\nEurynome, that they are younger than the Hours, and rather more\nbeautiful, and that on that account they are assigned as companions\nto Venus. He also thinks that the name of their mother bears upon the\nsubject, and that she is named Eurynome because to distribute benefits\nrequires a wide inheritance; as if the mother usually received her name\nafter her daughters, or as if the names given by poets were true. In\ntruth, just as with a 'nomenclator' audacity supplies the place of\nmemory, and he invents a name for every one whose name he cannot\nrecollect, so the poets think that it is of no importance to speak the\ntruth, but are either forced by the exigencies of metre, or attracted by\nsweetness of sound, into calling every one by whatever name runs neatly\ninto verse. Nor do they suffer for it if they introduce another name\ninto the list, for the next poet makes them bear what name he pleases.\nThat you may know that this is so, for instance Thalia, our present\nsubject of discourse, is one of the Graces in Hesiod's poems, while in\nthose of Homer she is one of the Muses.\n\nIV. But lest I should do the very thing which I am blaming, I will pass\nover all these matters, which are so far from the subject that they are\nnot even connected with it. Only do you protect me, if any one attacks\nme for putting down Chrysippus, who, by Hercules, was a great man, but\nyet a Greek, whose intellect, too sharply pointed, is often bent and\nturned back upon itself; even when it seems to be in earnest it only\npricks, but does not pierce. Here, however, what occasion is there for\nsubtlety? We are to speak of benefits, and to define a matter which is\nthe chief bond of human society; we are to lay down a rule of life, such\nthat neither careless openhandedness may commend itself to us under the\nguise of goodness of heart, and yet that our circumspection, while it\nmoderates, may not quench our generosity, a quality in which we ought\nneither to exceed nor to fall short. Men must be taught to be willing\nto give, willing to receive, willing to return; and to place before\nthemselves the high aim, not merely of equalling, but even of surpassing\nthose to whom they are indebted, both in good offices and in good\nfeeling; because the man whose duty it is to repay, can never do so\nunless he out-does his benefactor; [Footnote: That is, he never comes up\nto his benefactor unless he leaves him behind: he can only make a dead\nheat of it by getting a start.] the one class must be taught to look\nfor no return, the other to feel deeper gratitude. In this noblest of\ncontests to outdo benefits by benefits, Chrysippus encourages us by\nbidding us beware lest, as the Graces are the daughters of Jupiter, to\nact ungratefully may not be a sin against them, and may not wrong those\nbeauteous maidens. Do thou teach me how I may bestow more good things,\nand be more grateful to those who have earned my gratitude, and how the\nminds of both parties may vie with one another, the giver in forgetting,\nthe receiver in remembering his debt. As for those other follies, let\nthem be left to the poets, whose purpose is merely to charm the ear and\nto weave a pleasing story; but let those who wish to purify men's\nminds, to retain honour in their dealings, and to imprint on their minds\ngratitude for kindnesses, let them speak in sober earnest and act with\nall their strength; unless you imagine, perchance, that by such flippant\nand mythical talk, and such old wives' reasoning, it is possible for us\nto prevent that most ruinous consummation, the repudiation of benefits.\n\nV. However, while I pass over what is futile and irrelevant I must\npoint out that the first thing which we have to learn is, what we owe in\nreturn for a benefit received. One man says that he owes the money which\nhe has received, another that he owes a consulship, a priesthood,\na province, and so on. These, however, are but the outward signs of\nkindnesses, not the kindnesses themselves. A benefit is not to be felt\nand handled, it is a thing which exists only in the mind. There is\na great difference between the subject-matter of a benefit, and the\nbenefit itself. Wherefore neither gold, nor silver, nor any of those\nthings which are most highly esteemed, are benefits, but the benefit\nlies in the goodwill of him who gives them. The ignorant take notice\nonly of that which comes before their eyes, and which can be owned and\npassed from hand to hand, while they disregard that which gives these\nthings their value. The things which we hold in our hands, which we see\nwith our eyes, and which our avarice hugs, are transitory, they may\nbe taken from us by ill luck or by violence; but a kindness lasts even\nafter the loss of that by means of which it was bestowed; for it is\na good deed, which no violence can undo. For instance, suppose that I\nransomed a friend from pirates, but another pirate has caught him and\nthrown him into prison. The pirate has not robbed him of my benefit, but\nhas only robbed him of the enjoyment of it. Or suppose that I have saved\na man's children from a shipwreck or a fire, and that afterwards disease\nor accident has carried them off; even when they are no more, the\nkindness which was done by means of them remains. All those things,\ntherefore, which improperly assume the name of benefits, are means by\nwhich kindly feeling manifests itself. In other cases also, we find a\ndistinction between the visible symbol and the matter itself, as when a\ngeneral bestows collars of gold, or civic or mural crowns upon any one.\nWhat value has the crown in itself? or the purple-bordered robe? or the\nfasces? or the judgment-seat and car of triumph? None of these things\nis in itself an honour, but is an emblem of honour. In like manner,\nthat which is seen is not a benefit--it is but the trace and mark of a\nbenefit.\n\nVI. What, then, is a benefit? It is the art of doing a kindness which\nboth bestows pleasure and gains it by bestowing it, and which does its\noffice by natural and spontaneous impulse. It is not, therefore, the\nthing which is done or given, but the spirit in which it is done or\ngiven, that must be considered, because a benefit exists, not in that\nwhich is done or given, but in the mind of the doer or giver. How great\nthe distinction between them is, you may perceive from this, that\nwhile a benefit is necessarily good, yet that which is done or given is\nneither good nor bad. The spirit in which they are given can exalt small\nthings, can glorify mean ones, and can discredit great and precious\nones; the objects themselves which are sought after have a neutral\nnature, neither good nor bad; all depends upon the direction given them\nby the guiding spirit from which things receive their shape. That which\nis paid or handed over is not the benefit itself, just as the honour\nwhich we pay to the gods lies not in the victims themselves, although\nthey be fat and glittering with gold, [Footnote: Alluding to the\npractice of gilding the horns of the victims.] but in the pure and holy\nfeelings of the worshippers.\n\nThus good men are religious, though their offering be meal and their\nvessels of earthenware; whilst bad men will not escape from their\nimpiety, though they pour the blood of many victims upon the altars.\n\nVII. If benefits consisted of things, and not of the wish to benefit,\nthen the more things we received the greater the benefit would be. But\nthis is not true, for sometimes we feel more gratitude to one who gives\nus trifles nobly, who, like Virgil's poor old soldier, \"holds himself as\nrich as kings,\" if he has given us ever so little with a good will a man\nwho forgets his own need when he sees mine, who has not only a wish but\na longing to help, who thinks that he receives a benefit when he\nbestows one, who gives as though he would receive no return, receives a\nrepayment as though he had originally given nothing, and who watches for\nand seizes an opportunity of being useful. On the other hand, as I said\nbefore, those gifts which are hardly wrung from the giver, or which drop\nunheeded from his hands, claim no gratitude from us, however great they\nmay appear and may be. We prize much more what comes from a willing\nhand, than what comes from a full one. This man has given me but little,\nyet more he could not afford, while what that one has given is much\nindeed, but he hesitated, he put it off, he grumbled when he gave it,\nhe gave it haughtily, or he proclaimed it aloud, and did it to please\nothers, not to please the person to whom he gave it; he offered it to\nhis own pride, not to me.\n\nVIII. As the pupils of Socrates, each in proportion to his means, gave\nhim large presents, Aeschines, a poor pupil, said, \"I can find nothing\nto give you which is worthy of you; I feel my poverty in this respect\nalone. Therefore I present you with the only thing I possess, myself. I\npray that you may take this my present, such as it is, in good part, and\nmay remember that the others, although they gave you much, yet left for\nthemselves more than they gave.\" Socrates answered, \"Surely you have\nbestowed a great present upon me, unless perchance you set a small value\nupon yourself. I will accordingly take pains to restore you to yourself\na better man than when I received you.\" By this present Aeschines outdid\nAlcibiades, whose mind was as great as his Wealth, and all the splendour\nof the most wealthy youths of Athens.\n\nIX. You see how the mind even in the straitest circumstances finds the\nmeans of generosity. Aeschines seems to me to have said, \"Fortune, it\nis in vain that you have made me poor; in spite of this I will find a\nworthy present for this man. Since I can give him nothing of yours, I\nwill give him something of my own.\" Nor need you suppose that he held\nhimself cheap; he made himself his own price. By a stroke of genius this\nyouth discovered a means of presenting Socrates to himself. We must not\nconsider how great presents are, but in what spirit they are given.\n\nA rich man is well spoken of if he is clever enough to render himself\neasy of access to men of immoderate ambition, and although he intends to\ndo nothing to help them, yet encourages their unconscionable hopes; but\nhe is thought the worse of if he be sharp of tongue, sour in appearance,\nand displays his wealth in an invidious fashion. For men respect and\nyet loathe a fortunate man, and hate him for doing what, if they had the\nchance, they would do themselves.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMen nowadays no longer secretly, but openly outrage the wives of others,\nand allow to others access to their own wives. A match is thought\ncountrified, uncivilized, in bad style, and to be protested against by\nall matrons, if the husband should forbid his wife to appear in\npublic in a litter, and to be carried about exposed to the gaze of all\nobservers. If a man has not made himself notorious by a LIAISON with\nsome mistress, if he does not pay an annuity to some one else's wife,\nmarried women speak of him as a poor-spirited creature, a man given\nto low vice, a lover of servant girls. Soon adultery becomes the most\nrespectable form of marriage, and widowhood and celibacy are commonly\npractised. No one takes a wife unless he takes her away from some one\nelse. Now men vie with one another in wasting what they have stolen, and\nin collecting together what they have wasted with the keenest avarice;\nthey become utterly reckless, scorn poverty in others, fear personal\ninjury more than anything else, break the peace by their riots, and by\nviolence and terror domineer over those who are weaker than themselves.\nNo wonder that they plunder provinces and offer the seat of judgment for\nsale, knocking it down after an auction to the highest bidder, since it\nis the law of nations that you may sell what you have bought.\n\nX. However, my enthusiasm has carried me further than I intended, the\nsubject being an inviting one. Let me, then, end by pointing out that\nthe disgrace of these crimes does not belong especially to our own time.\nOur ancestors before us have lamented, and our children after us will\nlament, as we do, the ruin, of morality, the prevalence of vice, and\nthe gradual deterioration of mankind; yet these things are really\nstationary, only moved slightly to and fro like the waves which at\none time a rising tide washes further over the land, and at another an\nebbing one restrains within a lower water mark. At one time the chief\nvice will be adultery, and licentiousness will exceed all bounds; at\nanother time a rage for feasting will be in vogue, and men will waste\ntheir inheritance in the most shameful of all ways, by the kitchen; at\nanother, excessive care for the body, and a devotion to personal beauty\nwhich implies ugliness of mind; at another time, injudiciously granted\nliberty will show itself in wanton recklessness and defiance of\nauthority; sometimes there will be a reign of cruelty both in public\nand private, and the madness of the civil wars will come upon us, which\ndestroy all that is holy and inviolable. Sometimes even drunkenness will\nbe held in honour, and it will be a virtue to swallow most wine. Vices\ndo not lie in wait for us in one place alone, but hover around us in\nchangeful forms, sometimes even at variance one with another, so that\nin turn they win and lose the field; yet we shall always be obliged to\npronounce the same verdict upon ourselves, that we are and always were\nevil, and, I unwillingly add, that we always shall be. There always will\nbe homicides, tyrants, thieves, adulterers, ravishers, sacrilegious,\ntraitors: worse than all these is the ungrateful man, except we consider\nthat all these crimes flow from ingratitude, without which hardly any\ngreat wickedness has ever grown to full stature. Be sure that you guard\nagainst this as the greatest of crimes in yourself, but pardon it as the\nleast of crimes in another. For all the injury which you suffer is this:\nyou have lost the subject-matter of a benefit, not the benefit itself,\nfor you possess unimpaired the best part of it, in that you have given\nit. Though we ought to be careful to bestow our benefits by preference\nupon those who are likely to show us gratitude for them, yet we must\nsometimes do what we have little hope will turn out well, and bestow\nbenefits upon those who we not only think will prove ungrateful, but who\nwe know have been so. For instance, if I should be able to save a\nman's children from a great danger with no risk to myself, I should not\nhesitate to do so. If a man be worthy I would defend him even with my\nblood, and would share his perils; if he be unworthy, and yet by\nmerely crying for help I can rescue him from robbers, I would without\nreluctance raise the shout which would save a fellow-creature.\n\nXI. The next point to be defined is, what kind of benefits are to be\ngiven, and in what manner. First let us give what is necessary, next\nwhat is useful, and then what is pleasant, provided that they be\nlasting. We must begin with what is necessary, for those things which\nsupport life affect the mind very differently from, those which adorn\nand improve it. A man may be nice, and hard to please, in things which\nhe can easily do without, of which he can say, \"Take them back; I do not\nwant them, I am satisfied with what I have.\" Sometimes, we wish not\nonly to, return what we have received, but even to throw it away. Of\nnecessary things, the first class consists of things without which we\ncannot live; the second, of things without which we ought not to live;\nand the third, of things without which we should not care to live. The\nfirst class are, to be saved from the hands of the enemy, from the anger\nof tyrants, from proscription, and the various other perils which\nbeset human life. By averting any one of these, we shall earn gratitude\nproportionate to the greatness of the danger, for when men think of\nthe greatness of the misery from which they have been saved, the terror\nwhich they have gone through enhances the value of our services. Yet we\nought not to delay rescuing any one longer than we are obliged, solely\nin order to make his fears add weight to our services. Next come those\nthings without which we can indeed live, but in such a manner that it\nwould be better to die, such as liberty, chastity, or a good conscience.\nAfter these are what we have come to hold dear by connexion and\nrelationship and long use and custom, such as our wives and children,\nour household gods, and so on, to which the mind so firmly attaches\nitself that separation from them seems worse than death.\n\nAfter these come useful things, which form a very wide and varied\nclass; in which will be money, not in excess, but enough for living in\na moderate style; public office, and, for the ambitious, due advancement\nto higher posts; for nothing can be more useful to a man than to be\nplaced in a position in which he can benefit himself. All benefits\nbeyond these are superfluous, and are likely to spoil those who receive\nthem. In giving these we must be careful to make them acceptable by\ngiving them at the appropriate time, or by giving things which are not\ncommon, but such as few people possess, or at any rate few possess in\nour times; or again, by giving things in such a manner, that though not\nnaturally valuable, they become so by the time and place at which they\nare given. We must reflect what present will produce the most pleasure,\nwhat will most frequently come under the notice of the possessor of it,\nso that whenever he is with it he may be with us also; and in all cases\nwe must be careful not to send useless presents, such as hunting weapons\nto a woman or old man, or books to a rustic, or nets to catch wild\nanimals to a quiet literary man. On the other hand, we ought to be\ncareful, while we wish to send what will please, that we do not send\nwhat will insultingly remind our friends of their failings, as, for\nexample, if we send wine to a hard drinker or drugs to an invalid, for a\npresent which contains an allusion to the shortcomings of the receiver,\nbecomes an outrage.\n\nXII. If we have a free choice as to what to give, we should above all\nchoose lasting presents, in order that our gift may endure as long\nas possible; for few are so grateful as to think of what they have\nreceived, even when they do not see it. Even the ungrateful remember\nus by our gifts, when they are always in their sight and do not allow\nthemselves to be forgotten, but constantly obtrude and stamp upon the\nmind the memory of the giver. As we never ought to remind men of what we\nhave given them, we ought all the more to choose presents that will be\npermanent; for the things themselves will prevent the remembrance of the\ngiver from fading away. I would more willingly give a present of plate\nthan of coined money, and would more willingly give statues than clothes\nor other things which are soon worn out. Few remain grateful after the\npresent is gone: many more remember their presents only while they make\nuse of them. If possible, I should like my present not to be consumed;\nlet it remain in existence, let it stick to my friend and share his\nlife. No one is so foolish as to need to be told not to send gladiators\nor wild beasts to one who has just given a public show, or not to send\nsummer clothing in winter time, or winter clothing in summer. Common\nsense must guide our benefits; we must consider the time and the place,\nand the character of the receiver, which are the weights in the\nscale, which cause our gifts to be well or ill received. How far more\nacceptable a present is, if we give a man what he has not, than if we\ngive him what he has plenty of! if we give him what he has long been\nsearching for in vain, rather than what he sees everywhere! Let us make\npresents of things which are rare and scarce rather than costly, things\nwhich even a rich man will be glad of, just as common fruits, such as\nwe tire of after a few days, please us if they have ripened before the\nusual season. People will also esteem things which no one else has given\nto them, or which we have given to no one else.\n\nXIII. When the conquest of the East had flattered Alexander of Macedon\ninto believing himself to be more than man, the people of Corinth sent\nan embassy to congratulate him, and presented him with the franchise of\ntheir city. When Alexander smiled at this form of courtesy, one of\nthe ambassadors said, \"We have never enrolled any stranger among our\ncitizens except Hercules and yourself.\" Alexander willingly accepted the\nproffered honour, invited the ambassadors to his table, and showed them\nother courtesies. He did not think of who offered the citizenship, but\nto whom they had granted it; and being altogether the slave of glory,\nthough he knew neither its true nature or its limits, had followed in\nthe footsteps of Hercules and Bacchus, and had not even stayed his march\nwhere they ceased; so that he glanced aside from the givers of this\nhonour to him with whom he shared it, and fancied that the heaven to\nwhich his vanity aspired was indeed opening before him when he was made\nequal to Hercules. In what indeed did that frantic youth, whose only\nmerit was his lucky audacity, resemble Hercules? Hercules conquered\nnothing for himself; he travelled throughout the world, not coveting for\nhimself but liberating the countries which he conquered, an enemy to bad\nmen, a defender of the good, a peacemaker both by sea and land; whereas\nthe other was from his boyhood a brigand and desolator of nations, a\npest to his friends and enemies alike, whose greatest joy was to be the\nterror of all mankind, forgetting that men fear not only the fiercest\nbut also the most cowardly animals, because of their evil and venomous\nnature.\n\nXIV. Let us now return to our subject. He who bestows a benefit without\ndiscrimination, gives what pleases no one; no one considers himself to\nbe under any obligation to the landlord of a tavern, or to be the guest\nof any one with whom he dines in such company as to be able to say,\n\"What civility has he shown to me? no more than he has shown to that\nman, whom he scarcely knows, or to that other, who is both his personal\nenemy and a man of infamous character. Do you suppose that he wished to\ndo me any honour? not so, he merely wished to indulge his own vice of\nprofusion.\" If you wish men to be grateful for anything, give it but\nseldom; no one can bear to receive what you give to all the world.\nYet let no one gather from this that I wish to impose any bonds upon\ngenerosity; let her go to what lengths she will, so that she go a steady\ncourse, not at random. It is possible to bestow gifts in such a manner\nthat each of those who receive them, although he shares them with many\nothers, may yet feel himself to be distinguished from the common herd.\nLet each man have some peculiarity about his gift which may make him\nconsider himself more highly favoured than the rest. He may say, \"I\nreceived the same present that he did, but I never asked for it.\" \"I\nreceived the same present, but mine was given me after a few days,\nwhereas he had earned it by long service.\" \"Others have the same\npresent, but it was not given to them with the same courtesy and\ngracious words with which it was given to me.\" \"That man got it because\nhe asked for it; I did not ask.\" \"That man received it as well as I, but\nthen he could easily return it; one has great expectations from a rich\nman, old and childless, as he is; whereas in giving the same present to\nme he really gave more, because he gave it without the hope of receiving\nany return for it.\" Just as a courtesan divides her favours among\nmany men, so that no one of her friends is without some proof of her\naffection, so let him who wishes his benefits to be prized consider how\nhe may at the same time gratify many men, and nevertheless give each one\nof them some especial mark of favour to distinguish him from the rest.\n\nXV. I am no advocate of slackness in giving benefits: the more and the\ngreater they are, the more praise they will bring to the giver. Yet\nlet them be given with discretion; for what is given carelessly and\nrecklessly can please no one. Whoever, therefore, supposes that in\ngiving this advice I wish to restrict benevolence and to confine it to\nnarrower limits, entirely mistakes the object of my warning. What virtue\ndo we admire more than benevolence? Which do we encourage more? Who\nought to applaud it more than we Stoics, who preach the brotherhood of\nthe human race? What then is it? Since no impulse of the human mind can\nbe approved of, even though it springs from a right feeling, unless it\nbe made into a virtue by discretion, I forbid generosity to degenerate\ninto extravagance. It is, indeed, pleasant to receive a benefit with\nopen arms, when reason bestows it upon the worthy, not when it is flung\nhither or thither thoughtlessly and at random; this alone we care to\ndisplay and claim as our own. Can you call anything a benefit, if\nyou feel ashamed to mention the person who gave it you? How far more\ngrateful is a benefit, how far more deeply does it impress itself upon\nthe mind, never to be forgotten, when we rejoice to think not so much of\nwhat it is, as from whom we have received it! Crispus Passienus was wont\nto say that some men's advice was to be preferred to their presents,\nsome men's presents to their advice; and he added as an example, \"I\nwould rather have received advice from Augustus than a present; I would\nrather receive a present from Claudius than advice.\" I, however, think\nthat one ought not to wish for a benefit from any man whose judgement\nis worthless. What then? Ought we not to receive what Claudius gives? We\nought; but we ought to regard it as obtained from fortune, which may at\nany moment turn against us. Why do we separate this which naturally is\nconnected? That is not a benefit, to which the best part of a benefit,\nthat it be bestowed with judgment, is wanting: a really great sum of\nmoney, if it be given neither with discernment nor with good will, is\nno more a benefit than if it remained hoarded. There are, however,\nmany things which we ought not to reject, yet for which we cannot feel\nindebted.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\nI.\n\n\nLet us consider, most excellent Liberalis, what still remains of the\nearlier part of the subject; in what way a benefit should be bestowed. I\nthink that I can point out the shortest way to this; let us give in the\nway in which we ourselves should like to receive. Above all we should\ngive willingly, quickly, and without any hesitation; a benefit commands\nno gratitude if it has hung for a long time in the hands of the giver,\nif he seems unwilling to part with it, and gives it as though he were\nbeing robbed of it. Even though some delay should intervene, let us\nby all means in our power strive not to seem to have been in two minds\nabout giving it at all. To hesitate is the next thing to refusing to\ngive, and destroys all claim to gratitude. For just as the sweetest part\nof a benefit is the kindly feeling of the giver, it follows that one who\nhas by his very delay proved that he gives unwillingly, must be regarded\nnot as having given anything, but as having been unable to keep it from\nan importunate suitor. Indeed, many men are made generous by want of\nfirmness. The most acceptable benefits are those which are waiting for\nus to take them, which are easy to be received, and offer themselves to\nus, so that the only delay is caused by the modesty of the receiver.\nThe best thing of all is to anticipate a person's wishes; the next, to\nfollow them; the former is the better course, to be beforehand with our\nfriends by giving them what they want before they ask us for it, for the\nvalue of a gift is much enhanced by sparing an honest man the misery of\nasking for it with confusion and blushes. He who gets what he asked\nfor does not get it for nothing, for indeed, as our austere ancestors\nthought, nothing is so dear as that which is bought by prayers. Men\nwould be much more modest in their petitions to heaven, if these had to\nbe made publicly; so that even when addressing the gods, before whom\nwe can with all honour bend our knees, we prefer to pray silently and\nwithin ourselves.\n\nII. It is unpleasant, burdensome, and covers one with shame to have to\nsay, \"Give me.\" You should spare your friends, and those whom you wish\nto make your friends, from having to do this; however quick he may be,\na man gives too late who gives what he has been asked for. We ought,\ntherefore, to divine every man's wishes, and when we have discovered\nthem, to set him free from the hard necessity of asking; you may be sure\nthat a benefit which comes unasked will be delightful and will not be\nforgotten. If we do not succeed in anticipating our friends, let us at\nany rate cut them short when they ask us for anything, so that we may\nappear to be reminded of what we meant to do, rather than to have been\nasked to do it. Let us assent at once, and by our promptness make it\nappear that we meant to do so even before we were solicited. As in\ndealing with sick persons much depends upon when food is given, and\nplain water given at the right moment sometimes acts as a remedy, so\na benefit, however slight and commonplace it may be, if it be promptly\ngiven without losing a moment of time, gains enormously in importance,\nand wins our gratitude more than a far more valuable present given after\nlong waiting and deliberation. One who gives so readily must needs give\nwith good will; he therefore gives cheerfully and shows his disposition\nin his countenance.\n\nIII. Many who bestow immense benefits spoil them by their silence or\nslowness of speech, which gives them an air of moroseness, as they say\n\"yes\" with a face which seems to say \"no.\" How much better is it to join\nkind words to kind actions, and to enhance the value of our gifts by a\ncivil and gracious commendation of them! To cure your friend of being\nslow to ask a favour of you, you may join to your gift the familiar\nrebuke, \"I am angry with you for not having long ago let me know what\nyou wanted, for having asked for it so formally, or for having made\ninterest with a third party.\" \"I congratulate myself that you have been\npleased to make trial of me; hereafter, if you want anything, ask for it\nas your right; however, for this time I pardon your want of manners.\"\nBy so doing you will cause him to value your friendship more highly\nthan that, whatever it may have been, which he came to ask of you. The\ngoodness and kindness of a benefactor never appears so great as when on\nleaving him one says, \"I have to-day gained much; I am more pleased at\nfinding him so kind than if I had obtained many times more of this, of\nwhich I was speaking, by some other means; I never can make any adequate\nreturn to this man for his goodness.\"\n\nIV. Many, however, there are who, by harsh words and contemptuous\nmanner, make their very kindnesses odious, for by speaking and acting\ndisdainfully they make us sorry that they have granted our requests.\nVarious delays also take place after we have obtained a promise; and\nnothing is more heartbreaking than to be forced to beg for the very\nthing which you already have been promised. Benefits ought to be\nbestowed at once, but from some persons it is easier to obtain the\npromise of them than to get them. One man has to be asked to remind our\nbenefactor of his purpose; another, to bring it into effect; and thus a\nsingle present is worn away in passing through many hands, until hardly\nany gratitude is left for the original promiser, since whoever we are\nforced to solicit after the giving of the promise receives some of the\ngratitude which we owe to the giver. Take care, therefore, if you\nwish your gifts to be esteemed, that they reach those to whom they are\npromised entire, and, as the saying is, without any deduction. Let no\none intercept them or delay them; for no one can take any share of the\ngratitude due for your gifts without robbing you of it.\n\nV. Nothing is more bitter than long uncertainty; some can bear to have\ntheir hopes extinguished better than to have them deferred. Yet many\nmen are led by an unworthy vanity into this fault of putting off the\naccomplishment of their promises, merely in order to swell the crowd of\ntheir suitors, like the ministers of royalty, who delight in prolonging\nthe display of their own arrogance, hardly thinking themselves possessed\nof power unless they let each man see for a long time how powerful they\nare. They do nothing promptly, or at one sitting; they are indeed swift\nto do mischief, but slow to do good. Be sure that the comic poet speaks\nthe most absolute truth in the verses:--\n\n   \"Know you not this? If you your gifts delay,\n    You take thereby my gratitude away.\"\n\nAnd the following lines, the expression of virtuous pain--a\nhigh-spirited man's misery,--\n\n   \"What thou doest, do quickly;\"\n\nand:--\n\n    \"Nothing in the world\n    Is worth this trouble; I had rather you\n    Refused it to me now.\"\n\nWhen the mind begins through weariness to hate the promised benefit, or\nwhile it is wavering in expectation of it, how can it feel grateful\nfor it? As the most refined cruelty is that which prolongs the torture,\nwhile to kill the victim at once is a kind of mercy, since the extremity\nof torture brings its own end with it--the interval is the worst part of\nthe execution--so the shorter time a benefit hangs in the balance, the\nmore grateful it is to the receiver. It is possible to look forward with\nanxious disquietude even to good things, and, seeing that most benefits\nconsist in a release from some form of misery, a man destroys the value\nof the benefit which he confers, if he has the power to relieve us,\nand yet allows us to suffer or to lack pleasure longer than we need.\nKindness always eager to do good, and one who acts by love naturally\nacts at once; he who does us good, but does it tardily and with long\ndelays, does not do so from the heart. Thus he loses two most important\nthings: time, and the proof of his good will to us; for a lingering\nconsent is but a form of denial.\n\nVI. The manner in which things are said or done, my Liberalis, forms a\nvery important part of every transaction. We gain much by quickness, and\nlose much by slowness. Just as in darts, the strength of the iron head\nremains the same, but there is an immeasureable difference between the\nblow of one hurled with the full swing of the arm and one which merely\ndrops from the hand, and the same sword either grazes or pierces\naccording as the blow is delivered; so, in like manner, that which\nis given is the same, but the manner in which it is given makes the\ndifference. How sweet, how precious is a gift, when he who gives does\nnot permit himself to be thanked, and when while he gives he forgets\nthat he has given! To reproach a man at the very moment that you are\ndoing him a service is sheer madness; it is to mix insult with your\nfavours. We ought not to make our benefits burdensome, or to add any\nbitterness to them. Even if there be some subject upon which you wish to\nwarn your friend, choose some other time for doing so.\n\nVII. Fabius Verrucosus used to compare a benefit bestowed by a harsh man\nin an offensive manner to a gritty loaf of bread, which a hungry man is\nobliged to receive, but which is painful to eat. When Marius Nepos of\nthe praetorian guard asked Tiberius Caesar for help to pay his debts,\nTiberius asked him for a list of his creditors; this is calling a\nmeeting of creditors, not paying debts. When the list was made out,\nTiberius wrote to Nepos telling him that he had ordered the money to be\npaid, and adding some offensive reproaches. The result of this was\nthat Nepos owed no debts, yet received no kindness; Tiberius, indeed,\nrelieved him from his creditors, but laid him under no obligation.\nTiberius, however, had some design in doing so; I imagine he did not\nwish more of his friends to come to him with the same request. His mode\nof proceeding was, perhaps, successful in restraining men's extravagant\ndesires by shame, but he who wishes to confer benefits must follow quite\na different path. In all ways you should make your benefit as acceptable\nas possible by presenting it in the most attractive form; but the method\nof Tiberius is not to confer benefits, but to reproach.\n\nVIII. Moreover, if incidentally I should say what I think of this part\nof the subject, I do not consider that it is becoming even to an emperor\nto give merely in order to cover a man with shame. \"And yet,\" we are\ntold, \"Tiberius did not even by this means attain his object; for after\nthis a good many persons were found to make the same request. He ordered\nall of them to explain the reasons of their indebtedness before the\nsenate, and when they did so, granted them certain definite sums of\nmoney.\" This is not an act of generosity, but a reprimand. You may call\nit a subsidy, or an imperial contribution; it is not a benefit, for\nthe receiver cannot think of it without shame. I was summoned before a\njudge, and had to be tried at bar before I obtained what I asked for.\n\nIX. Accordingly, all writers on ethical philosophy tell us that some\nbenefits ought to be given in secret, others in public. Those things\nwhich it is glorious to receive, such as military decorations or public\noffices, and whatever else gains in value the more widely it is known,\nshould be conferred in public; on the other hand, when they do not\npromote a man or add to his social standing, but help him when in\nweakness, in want, or in disgrace, they should be given silently, and so\nas to be known only to those who profit by them.\n\nX. Sometimes even the person who is assisted must be deceived, in order\nthat he may receive our bounty without knowing the source from whence\nit flows. It is said that Arcesilaus had a friend who was poor, but\nconcealed his poverty; who was ill, yet tried to hide his disorder, and\nwho had not money for the necessary expenses of existence. Without his\nknowledge, Arcesilaus placed a bag of money under his pillow, in order\nthat this victim of false shame might rather seem to find what he wanted\nthan to receive. \"What,\" say you, \"ought he not to know from whom he\nreceived it?\" Yes; let him not know it at first, if it be essential to\nyour kindness that he should not; afterwards I will do so much for him,\nand give him so much that he will perceive who was the giver of the\nformer benefit; or, better still, let him not know that he has received\nany thing, provided I know that I have given it. \"This,\" you say, \"is to\nget too little return for one's goodness.\" True, if it be an investment\nof which you are thinking; but if a gift, it should be given in the way\nwhich will be of most service to the receiver. You should be satisfied\nwith the approval of your own conscience; if not, you do not really\ndelight in doing good, but in being seen to do good. \"For all that,\" say\nyou, \"I wish him to know it.\" Is it a debtor that you seek for? \"For\nall that, I wish him to know it.\" What! though it be more useful, more\ncreditable, more pleasant for him not to know his benefactor, will you\nnot consent to stand aside? \"I wish him to know.\" So, then, you would\nnot save a man's life in the dark? I do not deny that, whenever the\nmatter admits of it, one ought to take into consideration the pleasure\nwhich we receive from the joy of the receiver of our kindness; but if he\nought to have help and is ashamed to receive it--if what we bestow upon\nhim pains him unless it be concealed--I forbear to make my benefits\npublic. Why should I not refrain from hinting at my having given him\nanything, when the first and most essential rule is, never to reproach\na man with what you have done for him, and not even to remind him of it.\nThe rule for the giver and receiver of a benefit is, that the one should\nstraightway forget that he has given, the other should never forget that\nhe has received it.\n\nXI. A constant reference to one's own services wounds our friend's\nfeelings. Like the man who was saved from the proscription under\nthe triumvirate by one of Caesar's friends, and afterwards found it\nimpossible to endure his preserver's arrogance, they wish to cry, \"Give\nme back to Caesar.\" How long will you go on saying, \"I saved you, I\nsnatched you from the jaws of death?\" This is indeed life, if I remember\nit by my own will, but death if I remember it at yours; I owe you\nnothing, if you saved me merely in order to have some one to point at.\nHow long do you mean to lead me about? how long do you mean to forbid\nme to forget my adventure? If I had been a defeated enemy, I should\nhave been led in triumph but once. We ought not to speak of the benefits\nwhich we have conferred; to remind men of them is to ask them to return\nthem. We should not obtrude them, or recall the memory of them; you\nshould only remind a man of what you have given him by giving him\nsomething else. We ought not even to tell others of our good deeds.\nHe who confers a benefit should be silent, it should be told by the\nreceiver; for otherwise you may receive the retort which was made to one\nwho was everywhere boasting of the benefit which he had conferred: \"You\nwill not deny,\" said his victim, \"that you have received a return for\nit?\" \"When?\" asked he. \"Often,\" said the other, \"and in many places,\nthat is, wherever and whenever you have told the story.\" What need is\nthere for you to speak, and to take the place which belongs to another?\nThere is a man who can tell the story in a way much more to your credit,\nand thus you will gain glory for not telling it your self. You would\nthink me ungrateful if, through your own silence, no one is to know of\nyour benefit. So far from doing this, even if any one tells the story in\nour presence, we ought to make answer, \"He does indeed deserve much more\nthan this, and I am aware that I have not hitherto done any great things\nfor him, although I wish to do so.\" This should not be said jokingly,\nnor yet with that air by which some persons repel those whom they\nespecially wish to attract. In addition to this, we ought to act with\nthe greatest politeness towards such persons. If the farmer ceases his\nlabours after he has put in the seed, he will lose what he has sown; it\nis only by great pains that seeds are brought to yield a crop; no plant\nwill bear fruit unless it be tended with equal care from first to last,\nand the same rule is true of benefits. Can any benefits be greater than\nthose which children receive from their parents? Yet these benefits\nare useless if they be deserted while young, if the pious care of the\nparents does not for a long time watch over the gift which they have\nbestowed. So it is with other benefits; unless you help them, you will\nlose them; to give is not enough, you must foster what you have given.\nIf you wish those whom you lay under an obligation to be grateful to\nyou, you must not merely confer benefits upon them, but you must also\nlove them. Above all, as I said before, spare their ears; you will weary\nthem if you remind them of your goodness, if you reproach them with it\nyou will make them hate you. Pride ought above all things to be avoided\nwhen you confer a benefit. What need have you for disdainful airs,\nor swelling phrases? the act itself will exalt you. Let us shun vain\nboasting: let us be silent, and let our deeds speak for us. A benefit\nconferred with haughtiness not only wins no gratitude, but causes\ndislike.\n\nXII. Gaius Caesar granted Pompeius Pennus his life, that is, if not\nto take away life be to grant it; then, when Pompeius was set free and\nreturning thanks to him, he stretched out his left foot to be kissed.\nThose who excuse this action, and say that it was not done through\narrogance, say that he wished to show him a gilded, nay a golden slipper\nstudded with pearls. \"Well,\" say they, \"what disgrace can there be in a\nman of consular rank kissing gold and pearls, and what part of Caesar's\nwhole body was it less pollution to kiss?\" So, then, that man,\nthe object of whose life was to change a free state into a Persian\ndespotism, was not satisfied when a senator, an aged man, a man who had\nfilled the highest offices in the state, prostrated himself before him\nin the presence of all the nobles, just as the vanquished prostrate\nthemselves before their conqueror! He discovered a place below his knees\ndown to which he might thrust liberty. What is this but trampling upon\nthe commonwealth, and that, too, with the left foot, though you may say\nthat this point does not signify? It was not a sufficiently foul and\nfrantic outrage for the emperor to sit at the trial of a consular for\nhis life wearing slippers, he must needs push his shoes into a senator's\nface.\n\nXIII. O pride, the silliest fault of great good fortune! how pleasant\nit is to take nothing from thee! how dost thou turn all benefits into\noutrages! how dost thou delight in all excess! how ill all things become\nthee! The higher thou risest the lower thou art, and provest that\nthe good things by which thou art so puffed up profit thee not; thou\nspoilest all that thou givest. It is worth while to inquire why it is\nthat pride thus swaggers and changes the form and appearance of her\ncountenance, so that she prefers a mask to her own face. It is pleasant\nto receive gifts when they are conferred in a kindly and gentle manner,\nwhen a superior in giving them does not exalt himself over me, but shows\nas much good feeling as possible, placing himself on a level with me,\ngiving without parade, and choosing a time when I am glad of his help,\nrather than waiting till I am in the bitterest need. The only way by\nwhich you can prevail upon proud men not to spoil their gifts by their\narrogance is by proving to them that benefits do not appear greater\nbecause they are bestowed with great pomp and circumstance; that no one\nwill think them greater men for so doing, and that excessive pride is a\nmere delusion which leads men to hate even what they ought to love.\n\nXIV. There are some things which injure those who receive them, things\nwhich it is not a benefit to give but to withhold; we should therefore\nconsider the usefulness of our gift rather than the wish of the\npetitioner to receive it; for we often long for hurtful things, and are\nunable to discern how ruinous they are, because our judgment is biassed\nby our feelings; when, however, the longing is past, when that frenzied\nimpulse which masters our good sense has passed away, we abhor those\nwho have given us hurtful gifts. As we refuse cold water to the sick,\nor swords to the grief-stricken or remorseful, and take from the insane\nwhatever they might in their delirium use to their own destruction, so\nmust we persist in refusing to give anything whatever that is hurtful,\nalthough our friends earnestly and humbly, nay, sometimes even most\npiteously beg for it. We ought to look at the end of our benefits as\nwell as the beginning, and not merely to give what men are glad to\nreceive, but what they will hereafter be glad to have received. There\nare many who say, \"I know that this will do him no good, but what am I\nto do? he begs for it, I cannot withstand his entreaties. Let him see\nto it; he will blame himself, not me.\" Not so: you he will blame, and\ndeservedly; when he comes to his right mind, when the frenzy which\nnow excites him has left him, how can he help hating the man who has\nassisted him to harm and to endanger himself? It is a cruel kindness to\nallow one's self to be won over into granting that which injures those\nwho beg for it. Just as it is the noblest of acts to save men from harm\nagainst their will, so it is but hatred, under the mask of civility, to\ngrant what is harmful to those who ask for it. Let us confer benefits of\nsuch a kind, that the more they are made use of the better they please,\nand which never can turn into injuries. I never will give money to a man\nif I know that he will pay it to an adulteress, nor will I be found in\nconnexion with any wicked act or plan; if possible, I will restrain men\nfrom crime; if not, at least I will never assist them in it. Whether my\nfriend be driven into doing wrong by anger, or seduced from the path of\nsafety by the heat of ambition, he shall never gain the means of doing\nmischief except from himself, nor will I enable him one day to say,\n\"He ruined me out of love for me.\" Our friends often give us what our\nenemies wish us to receive; we are driven by the unseasonable fondness\nof the former into the ruin which the latter hope will befall us. Yet,\noften as it is the case, what can be more shameful than that there\nshould be no difference between a benefit and hatred?\n\nXV. Let us never bestow gifts which may recoil upon us to our shame.\nAs the sum total of friendship consists in making our friends equal to\nourselves, we ought to consider the interests of both parties; I must\ngive to him that wants, yet so that I do not want myself; I must help\nhim who is perishing, yet so that I do not perish myself, unless by so\ndoing I can save a great man or a great cause. I must give no benefit\nwhich it would disgrace me to ask for. I ought not to make a small\nbenefit appear a great one, nor allow great benefits to be regarded as\nsmall; for although it destroys all feeling of gratitude to treat what\nyou give like a creditor, yet you do not reproach a man, but merely\nset off your gift to the best advantage by letting him know what it is\nworth. Every man must consider what his resources and powers are, so\nthat we may not give either more or less than we are able. We must also\nconsider the character and position of the person to whom we give, for\nsome men are too great to give small gifts, while others are too small\nto receive great ones. Compare, therefore, the character both of the\ngiver and the receiver, and weigh that which you give between the two,\ntaking care that what is given be neither too burdensome nor too trivial\nfor the one to give, nor yet such as the receiver will either treat with\ndisdain as too small, or think too great for him to deal with.\n\nXVI. Alexander, who was of unsound mind, and always full of magnificent\nideas, presented somebody with a city. When the man to whom he gave it\nhad reflected upon the scope of his own powers, he wished to avoid the\njealousy which so great a present would excite, saying that the gift did\nnot suit a man of his position. \"I do not ask,\" replied Alexander, \"what\nis becoming for you to receive, but what is becoming for me to give.\"\nThis seems a spirited and kingly speech, yet really it is a most foolish\none. Nothing is by itself a becoming gift for any one: all depends upon\nwho gives it, to whom he gives it, when, for what reason, where, and\nso forth, without which details it is impossible to argue about it.\nInflated creature! if it did not become him to receive this gift, it\ncould not become thee to give it. There should be a proportion between\nmen's characters and the offices which they fill; and as virtue in all\ncases should be our measure, he who gives too much acts as wrongly as he\nwho gives too little. Even granting that fortune has raised you so high,\nthat, where other men give cups, you give cities (which it would show a\ngreater mind in you not to take than to take and squander), still there\nmust be some of your friends who are not strong enough to put a city in\ntheir pockets.\n\nXVII. A certain cynic asked Antigonus for a talent. Antigonus answered\nthat this was too much for a cynic to ask for. After this rebuff he\nasked for a penny. Antigonus answered that this was too little for a\nking to give. \"This kind of hair-splitting\" (you say) \"is contemptible:\nhe found the means of giving neither. In the matter of the penny he\nthought of the king, in that of the talent he thought of the cynic,\nwhereas with respect to the cynic it would have been right to receive\nthe penny, with respect to the king it would have been right to give the\ntalent. Though there may be things which are too great for a cynic to\nreceive, yet nothing is so small, that it does not become a gracious\nking to bestow it.\" If you ask me, I applaud Antigonus; for it is not to\nbe endured that a man who despises money should ask for it. Your cynic\nhas publicly proclaimed his hatred of money, and assumed the character\nof one who despises it: let him act up to his professions. It is most\ninconsistent for him to earn money by glorifying his poverty. I wish\nto use Chrysippus's simile of the game of ball, in which the ball must\ncertainly fall by the fault either of the thrower or of the catcher; it\nonly holds its course when it passes between the hands of two persons\nwho each throw it and catch it suitably. It is necessary, however, for a\ngood player to send the ball in one way to a comrade at a long distance,\nand in another to one at a short distance. So it is with a benefit:\nunless it be suitable both for the giver and the receiver, it will\nneither leave the one nor reach the other as it ought. If we have to\ndo with a practised and skilled player, we shall throw the ball more\nrecklessly, for however it may come, that quick and agile hand will send\nit back again; if we are playing with an unskilled novice, we shall not\nthrow it so hard, but far more gently, guiding it straight into his very\nhands, and we shall run to meet it when it returns to us. This is just\nwhat we ought to do in conferring benefits; let us teach some men how to\ndo so, and be satisfied if they attempt it, if they have the courage and\nthe will to do so. For the most part, however, we make men ungrateful,\nand encourage them, to be so, as if our benefits were only great when\nwe cannot receive any gratitude for them; just as some spiteful\nball-players purposely put out their companion, of course to the ruin of\nthe game, which cannot be carried on without entire agreement Many men\nare of so depraved a nature that they had rather lose the presents which\nthey make than be thought to have received a return for them, because\nthey are proud, and like to lay people under obligations: yet how much\nbetter and more kindly would it be if they tried to enable the others\nalso to perform their parts, if they encouraged them in returning\ngratitude, put the best construction upon all their acts, received one\nwho wished to thank them just as cordially as if he came to repay what\nhe had received, and easily lent themselves to the belief that those\nwhom they have laid under an obligation wish to repay it. We blame\nusurers equally when they press harshly for payment, and when they delay\nand make difficulties about taking back the money which they have lent;\nin the same way, it is just as right that a benefit should be returned,\nas it is wrong to ask any one to return it. The best man is he who gives\nreadily, never asks for any return, and is delighted when the return\nis made, because, having really and truly forgotten what he gave, he\nreceives it as though it were a present.\n\nXVIII. Some men not only give, but even receive benefit haughtily, a\nmistake into which we ought not to fall: for now let us cross over to\nthe other side of the subject, and consider how men should behave when\nthey receive benefits. Every function which is performed by two persons\nmakes equal demands upon both: after you have considered what a father\nought to be, you will perceive that there remains an equal task, that\nof considering what a son ought to be: a husband has certain duties,\nbut those of a wife are no less important. Each of these give and take\nequally, and each require a similar rule of life, which, as Hecaton\nobserves, is hard to follow: indeed, it is difficult for us to attain\nto virtue, or even to anything that comes near virtue: for we ought not\nonly to act virtuously but to do so upon principle. We ought to follow\nthis guide throughout our lives, and to do everything great and small\naccording to its dictates: according as virtue prompts us we ought both\nto give and to receive. Now she will declare at the outset that we ought\nnot to receive benefits from every man. \"From whom, then, ought we to\nreceive them?\" To answer you briefly, I should say, from those to whom\nwe have given them. Let us consider whether we ought not to be even more\ncareful in choosing to whom we should owe than to whom we should give.\nFor even supposing that no unpleasantness should result (and very much\nalways does), still it is a great misery to be indebted to a man to whom\nyou do not wish to be under an obligation; whereas it is most delightful\nto receive a benefit from one whom you can love even after he has\nwronged you, and when the pleasure which you feel in his friendship is\njustified by the grounds on which it is based. Nothing is more wretched\nfor a modest and honourable man than to feel it to be his duty to love\none whom it does not please him to love. I must constantly remind you\nthat I do not speak of wise men, who take pleasure in everything that is\ntheir duty, who have their feelings under command, and are able to lay\ndown whatever law they please to themselves and keep it, but that I\nspeak of imperfect beings struggling to follow the right path, who often\nhave trouble in bending their passions to their will. I must therefore\nchoose the man from whom I will accept a benefit; indeed, I ought to be\nmore careful in the choice of my creditor for a benefit than for money;\nfor I have only to pay the latter as much as I received of him, land\nwhen I have paid it I am free from all obligation; but to the other I\nmust both repay more, and even when I have repaid his kindness we remain\nconnected, for when I have paid my debt I ought again to renew it,\nwhile our friendship endures unbroken. Thus, as I ought not to make an\nunworthy man my friend, so I ought not to admit an unworthy man into\nthat most holy bond of gratitude for benefits, from which friendship\narises. You reply, \"I cannot always say 'No': sometimes I must receive a\nbenefit even against my will. Suppose I were given something by a cruel\nand easily offended tyrant, who would take it as an affront if his\nbounty were slighted? am I not to accept it? Suppose it were offered by\na pirate, or a brigand, or a king of the temper of a pirate or brigand.\nWhat ought I to do? Such a man is not a worthy object for me to owe a\nbenefit to.\" When I say that you ought to choose, I except vis major\nand fear, which destroy all power of choice. If you are free, if it lies\nwith you to decide whether you will or not, then you will turn over in\nyour own mind whether you will take a gift from a man or not; but if\nyour position makes it impossible for you to choose, then be assured\nthat you do not receive a gift, you merely obey orders. No one incurs\nany obligation by receiving what it was not in his power to refuse; if\nyou want to know whether I wish to take it, arrange matters so that I\nhave the power of saying 'No.' \"Yet suppose he gave you your life.\" It\ndoes not matter what the gift was, unless it be given and received with\ngood will: you are not my preserver because you have saved my life.\nPoison sometimes acts as a medicine, yet it is not on that account\nregarded as wholesome. Some things benefit us but put us under no\nobligation: for instance a man who intended to kill a tyrant, cut with\nhis sword a tumour from which he suffered: yet the tyrant did not show\nhim gratitude because by wounding him he had healed a disease which\nsurgeons had feared to meddle with.\n\nXIX. You see that the actual thing itself is not of much importance,\nbecause it is not regarded as a benefit at all, if you do good when you\nintended to do evil; in such a case the benefit is done by chance, the\nman did harm. I have seen a lion in the amphitheatre, who recognized one\nof the men who fought with wild beasts, who once had been his keeper,\nand protected him against the attacks of the other animals. Are we,\nthen, to say that this assistance of the brute was a benefit? By no\nmeans, because it did not intend to do it, and did not do it with kindly\nintentions. You may class the lion and your tyrant together: each of\nthem saved a man's life, yet neither conferred a benefit. Because it is\nnot a benefit to be forced to receive one, neither is it a benefit to be\nunder an obligation to a man to whom we do not wish to be indebted. You\nmust first give me personal freedom of decision, and then your benefit.\n\nXX. The question has been raised, whether Marcus Brutus ought to have\nreceived his life from the hands of Julius Caesar, who, he had decided,\nought to be put to death.\n\nAs to the grounds upon which he put him to death, I shall discuss them\nelsewhere; for to my mind, though he was in other respects a great man,\nin this he seems to have been entirely wrong, and not to have followed\nthe maxims of the Stoic philosophy. He must either have feared the name\nof \"King,\" although a state thrives best under a good king, or he must\nhave hoped that liberty could exist in a state where some had so much to\ngain by reigning, and others had so much to gain by becoming slaves. Or,\nagain, he must have supposed that it would be possible to restore the\nancient constitution after all the ancient manners had been lost, and\nthat citizens could continue to possess equal rights, or laws remain\ninviolate, in a state in which he had seen so many thousands of men\nfighting to decide, not whether they should be slaves or free, but which\nmaster they should serve. How forgetful he seems to have been, both of\nhuman nature and of the history of his own country, in supposing that\nwhen one despot was destroyed another of the same temper would not take\nhis place, though, after so many kings had perished by lightning and the\nsword, a Tarquin was found to reign! Yet Brutus did right in receiving\nhis life from Caesar, though he was not bound thereby to regard Caesar\nas his father, since it was by a wrong that Caesar had come to be in a\nposition to bestow this benefit. A man does not save your life who does\nnot kill you; nor does he confer a benefit, but merely gives you your\ndischarge. [The 'discharge' alluded to is that which was granted to\nthe beaten one of a pair of gladiators, when their duel was not to the\ndeath.]\n\nXXI. It seems to offer more opportunity for debate to consider what a\ncaptive ought to do, if a man of abominable vices offers him the price\nof his ransom? Shall I permit myself to be saved by a wretch? When safe,\nwhat recompense can I make to him? Am I to live with an infamous person?\nYet, am I not to live with my preserver? I will tell you my opinion. I\nwould accept money, even from such a person, if it were to save my life;\nyet I would only accept it as a loan, not as a benefit. I would repay\nhim the money, and if I were ever able to preserve him from danger I\nwould do so. As for friendship, which can only exist between equals, I\nwould not condescend to be such a man's friend; nor would I regard him\nas my preserver, but merely as a money-lender, to whom I am only bound\nto repay what I borrowed from him.\n\nA man may be a worthy person for me to receive a benefit from, but it\nwill hurt him to give it. For this reason I will not receive it, because\nhe is ready to help me to his own prejudice, or even danger. Suppose\nthat he is willing to plead for me in court, but by so doing will make\nthe king his enemy. I should be his enemy, if, when he is willing to\nrisk himself for me, if I were not to risk myself without him, which\nmoreover is easier for me to do.\n\nAs an instance of this, Hecaton calls the case of Arcesilaus silly, and\nnot to the purpose. Arcesilaus, he says, refused to receive a large sum\nof money which was offered to him by a son, lest the son should offend\nhis penurious father. What did he do deserving of praise, in not\nreceiving stolen goods, in choosing not to receive them, instead of\nreturning them? What proof of self-restraint is there in refusing to\nreceive another man's property. If you want an instance of magnanimity,\ntake the case of Julius Graecinus, whom Caius Caesar put to death merely\non the ground that he was a better man than it suited a tyrant for\nanyone to be. This man, when he was receiving subscriptions from many of\nhis friends to cover his expenses in exhibiting public games, would not\nreceive a large sum which was sent him by Fabius Persicus; and when he\nwas blamed for rejecting it by those who think more of what is given\nthan of who gives it, he answered, \"Am I to accept a present from a man\nwhen I would not accept his offer to drink a glass of wine with him?\"\n\nWhen a consular named Rebilius, a man of equally bad character, sent\na yet larger sum to Graecinus, and pressed him to receive it. \"I must\nbeg,\" answered he, \"that you will excuse me. I did not take money from\nPersicus either.\" Ought we to call this receiving presents, or rather\ntaking one's pick of the senate?\n\nXXII. When we have decided to accept, let us accept with cheerfulness,\nshowing pleasure, and letting the giver see it, so that he may at once\nreceive some return for his goodness: for as it is a good reason for\nrejoicing to see our friend happy, it is a better one to have made\nhim so. Let us, therefore, show how acceptable a gift is by loudly\nexpressing our gratitude for it; and let us do so, not only in the\nhearing of the giver, but everywhere. He who receives a benefit with\ngratitude, repays the first instalment of it.\n\nXXIII. There are some, who only like to receive benefits privately: they\ndislike having any witnesses and confidants. Such men, we may believe,\nhave no good intentions. As a giver is justified in dwelling upon those\nqualities of his gift which will please the receiver, so a man, when he\nreceives, should do so publicly; you should not take from a man what\nyou are ashamed to owe him. Some return thanks to one stealthily, in a\ncorner, in a whisper. This is not modesty, but a kind of denying of the\ndebt: it is the part of an ungrateful man not to express his gratitude\nbefore witnesses. Some object to any accounts being kept between them\nand their benefactors, and wish no brokers to be employed or witnesses\nto be called, but merely to give their own signature to a receipt. Those\nmen do the like, who take care to let as few persons as possible know\nof the benefits which they have received. They fear to receive them in\npublic, in order that their success may be attributed rather to their\nown talents than to the help of others: they are very seldom to be\nfound in attendance upon those to whom they owe their lives and their\nfortunes, and thus, while avoiding the imputation of servility, they\nincur that of ingratitude.\n\nXXIV. Some men speak in the most offensive terms of those to whom they\nowe most. There are men whom it is safer to affront than to serve,\nfor their dislike leads them to assume the airs of persons who are not\nindebted to us: although nothing more is expected of them than that they\nshould remember what they owe us, refreshing their memory from time to\ntime, because no one can be grateful who forgets a kindness, and he\nwho remembers it, by so doing proves his gratitude. We ought neither to\nreceive benefits with a fastidious air, nor yet with a slavish humility:\nfor if a man does not care for a benefit when it is freshly bestowed--a\ntime at which all presents please us most--what will he do when its\nfirst charms have gone off? Others receive with an air of disdain, as\nmuch as to say. \"I do not want it; but as you wish it so very much, I\nwill allow you to give it to me.\" Others take benefits languidly, and\nleave the giver in doubt as to whether they know that they have received\nthem; others barely open their lips in thanks, and would be less\noffensive if they said nothing. One ought to proportion one's thanks\nto the importance of the benefit received, and to use the phrases, \"You\nhave laid more of us than you think under an obligation,\" for everyone\nlikes to find his good actions extend further than he expected. \"You do\nnot know what it is that you have done for me; but you ought to know\nhow much more important it is than you imagine.\" It is in itself\nan expression of gratitude to speak of one's self as overwhelmed by\nkindness; or \"I shall never be able to thank you sufficiently; but, at\nany rate, I will never cease to express everywhere my inability to thank\nyou.\"\n\nXXV. By nothing did Furnius gain greater credit with Augustus, and make\nit easy for him to obtain anything else for which he might ask, than\nby merely saying, when at his request Augustus pardoned his father for\nhaving taken Antonius's side, \"One wrong alone I have received at your\nhands, Caesar; you have forced me to live and to die owing you a greater\ndebt of gratitude than I can ever repay.\" What can prove gratitude\nso well as that a man should never be satisfied, should never even\nentertain the hope of making any adequate return for what he has\nreceived? By these and similar expressions we must try not to conceal\nour gratitude, but to display it as clearly as possible. No words need\nbe used; if we only feel as we ought, our thankfulness will be shown in\nour countenances. He who intends to be grateful, let him think how he\nshall repay a kindness while he is receiving it. Chrysippus says that\nsuch a man must watch for his opportunity, and spring forward whenever\nit offers, like one who has been entered for a race, and who stands at\nthe starting-point waiting for the barriers to be thrown open; and even\nthen he must use great exertions and great swiftness to catch the other,\nwho has a start of him.\n\nXXVI. We must now consider what is the main cause of ingratitude. It is\ncaused by excessive self-esteem, by that fault innate in all mortals,\nof taking a partial view of ourselves and our own acts, by greed, or by\njealousy.\n\nLet us begin with the first of these. Every one is prejudiced in his own\nfavour, from which it follows that he believes himself to have earned\nall that he receives, regards it as payment for his services, and does\nnot think that he has been appraised at a valuation sufficiently near\nhis own. \"He has given me this,\" says he, \"but how late, after how much\ntoil? how much more might I have earned if I had attached myself to So\nand so, or to So and so? I did not expect this; I have been treated like\none of the herd; did he really think that I only deserved so little?\nwhy, it would have been less insulting to have passed me over\naltogether.\"\n\nXXVII. The augur Cnaeus Lentulus, who, before his freedmen reduced him\nto poverty, was one of the richest of men, who saw himself in possession\nof a fortune of four hundred millions--I say advisedly, \"saw,\" for he\nnever did more than see it--was as barren and contemptible in intellect\nas he was in spirit. Though very avaricious, yet he was so poor a\nspeaker that he found it easier to give men coins than words. This man,\nwho owed all his prosperity to the late Emperor Augustus, to whom he had\nbrought only poverty, encumbered with a noble name, when he had risen to\nbe the chief man in Rome, both in wealth and influence, used sometimes\nto complain that Augustus had interrupted his legal studies, observing\nthat he had not received anything like what he had lost by giving up the\nstudy of eloquence. Yet the truth was that Augustus, besides loading him\nwith other gifts, had set him free from the necessity of making himself\nridiculous by labouring at a profession in which he never could succeed.\n\nGreed does not permit any one to be grateful; for what is given is never\nequal to its base desires, and the more we receive the more we\ncovet, for avarice is much more eager when it has to deal with great\naccumulations of wealth, just as the power of a flame is enormously\ngreater in proportion to the size of the conflagration from which it\nsprings. Ambition in like manner suffers no man to rest satisfied with\nthat measure of public honours, to gain which was once the limit of his\nwildest hope; no one is thankful for becoming tribune, but grumbles at\nnot being at once promoted to the post of praetor; nor is he grateful\nfor this if the consulship does not follow; and even this does not\nsatisfy him if he be consul but once. His greed ever stretches itself\nout further, and he does not understand the greatness of his success\nbecause he always looks forward to the point at which he aims, and never\nback towards that from which he started.\n\nXXVIII. A more violent and distressing vice than any of these is\njealousy which disturbs us by suggesting comparisons. \"He gave me this,\nbut he gave more to that man, and he gave it to him before me;\" after\nwhich he sympathises with no one, but pushes his own claims to the\nprejudice of every one else. How much more straightforward and modest\nis it to make the most of what we have received, knowing that no man is\nvalued so highly by any one else as by his own, self! \"I ought to have\nreceived more, but it was not easy for him to give more; he was obliged\nto distribute his liberality among many persons. This is only the\nbeginning; let me be contented, and by my gratitude encourage him to\nshow me more favour; he has not done as much as he ought, but he will\ndo so the more frequently; he certainly preferred that man to me, but he\nhas preferred me before many others; that man is not my equal either in\nvirtue or in services, but he has some charm of his own: by complaining\nI shall not make myself deserve to receive more, but shall become\nunworthy of what I have received. More has been given to those most\nvillainous men than has been given to me; well, what is that to the\npurpose? how seldom does Fortune show judgment in her choice? We\ncomplain every day of the success of bad men; very often the hail passes\nover the estates of the greatest villains and strikes down the crops of\nthe best of men; every man has to take his chance, in friendship as well\nas in everything else.\" There is no benefit so great that spitefulness\ncan pick no holes in it, none so paltry that it cannot be made more of\nby friendly interpretation. We shall never want a subject for complaint\nif we look at benefits on their wrong side.\n\nXXIX. See how unjustly the gifts of heaven are valued even by some who\nprofess themselves philosophers, who complain that we are not as big\nas elephants, as swift as stags, as light as birds, as strong as bulls;\nthat the skins of seals are stronger, of hinds prettier, of bears\nthicker, of beavers softer than ours; that dogs excel us in delicacy of\nscent, eagles in keenness of sight, crows in length of days, and many\nbeasts in ease of swimming. And although nature itself does not allow\nsome qualities, as for example strength and swiftness, to be combined\nin the same person, yet they call it a monstrous thing that men are not\ncompounded of different and inconsistent good qualities, and call the\ngods neglectful of us because we have not been given health which even\nour vices cannot destroy, or knowledge of the future. They scarcely\nrefrain from rising to such a pitch of impudence as to hate nature\nbecause we are below the gods, and not on an equality with them.\nHow much better is it to turn to the contemplation of so many great\nblessings, and to be thankful that the gods have been pleased to give us\na place second only to themselves in this most beautiful abode, and that\nthey have appointed us to be the lords of the earth! Can any one compare\nus with the animals over whom we rule? Nothing has been denied us except\nwhat could not have been granted. In like manner, thou that takest an\nunfair view of the lot of mankind, think what blessings our Father has\nbestowed upon us, how far more powerful animals than ourselves we have\nbroken to harness, how we catch those which are far swifter, how\nnothing that has life is placed beyond the reach of our weapons! We have\nreceived so many excellencies, so many crafts, above all our mind, which\ncan pierce at once whatever it is directed against, which is swifter\nthan the stars in their courses, for it arrives before them at the place\nwhich they will reach after many ages; and besides this, so many fruits\nof the earth, so much treasure, such masses of various things piled one\nupon another. You may go through the whole order of nature, and since\nyou find no entire creature which you would prefer to be, you may choose\nfrom each, the special qualities which you would like to be given to\nyourself; then, if you rightly appreciate the partiality of nature for\nyou, you cannot but confess yourself to be her spoiled child. So it is;\nthe immortal gods have unto this day always held us most dear, and\nhave bestowed upon us the greatest possible honour, a place nearest to\nthemselves. We have indeed received great things, yet not too great.\n\nXXX. I have thought it necessary, my friend Liberalis, to state these\nfacts, both because when speaking of small benefits one ought to make\nsome mention of the greatest, and because also this shameless and\nhateful vice (of ingratitude), starting with these, transfers itself\nfrom them to all the rest. If a man scorn these, the greatest of all\nbenefits, to whom will he feel gratitude, what gift will he regard as\nvaluable or deserving to be returned: to whom will he be grateful for\nhis safety or his life, if he denies that he has received from the gods\nthat existence which he begs from them daily? He, therefore, who teaches\nmen to be grateful, pleads the cause not only of men, but even of the\ngods, for though they, being placed above all desires, cannot be in want\nof anything, yet we can nevertheless offer them our gratitude.\n\nNo one is justified in seeking an excuse for ingratitude in his own\nweakness or poverty, or in saying, \"What am I to do, and how? When can I\nrepay my debt to my superiors the lords of heaven and earth?\" Avaricious\nas you are, it is easy for you to give them thanks, without expense;\nlazy though you be, you can do it without labour. At the same instant at\nwhich you received your debt towards them, if you wish to repay it,\nyou have done as much as any one can do, for he returns a benefit who\nreceives it with good will.\n\nXXXI. This paradox of the Stoic philosophy, that he returns a benefit\nwho receives it with good will, is, in my opinion, either far from\nadmirable, or else it is incredible. For if we look at everything merely\nfrom the point of view of our intentions, every man has done as much\nas he chose to do; and since filial piety, good faith, justice, and in\nshort every virtue is complete within itself, a man may be grateful in\nintention even though he may not be able to lift a hand to prove his\ngratitude. Whenever a man obtains what he aimed at, he receives the\nfruit of his labour. When a man bestows a benefit, at what does he aim?\nclearly to be of service and afford pleasure to him upon whom he bestows\nit. If he does what he wishes, if his purpose reaches me and fills us\neach with joy, he has gained his object. He does not wish anything to be\ngiven to him in return, or else it becomes an exchange of commodities,\nnot a bestowal of benefits. A man steers well who reaches the port for\nwhich he started: a dart hurled by a steady hand performs its duty if it\nhits the mark; one who bestows a benefit wishes it to be received with\ngratitude; he gets what he wanted if it be well received. \"But,\" you\nsay, \"he hoped for some profit also.\" Then it was not a benefit, the\nproperty of which is to think nothing of any repayment. I receive what\nwas given me in the same spirit in which it was given: then I have\nrepaid it. If this be not true, then this best of deeds has this worst\nof conditions attached to it, that it depends entirely upon fortune\nwhether I am grateful or not, for if my fortune is adverse I can make no\nrepayment. The intention is enough. What then? am I not to do whatever\nI may be able to repay it, and ought I not ever to be on the watch for\nan opportunity of filling the bosom [Footnote: Sinus, the fold of the\ntoga over the breast, used as a pocket by the Romans. The great French\nactor Talma, when dressed for the first time in correct classical\ncostume, indignantly asked where he was to put his snuff-box.] of him\nfrom whom I have received any kindness? True; but a benefit is in\nan evil plight if we cannot be grateful for it even when we are\nempty-handed.\n\nXXXII. \"A man,\" it is argued, \"who has received a benefit, however\ngratefully he may have received it, has not yet accomplished all his\nduty, for there remains the part of repayment; just as in playing at\nball it is something to catch the ball cleverly and carefully, but a man\nis not called a good player unless he can handily and quickly send\nback the ball which he has caught.\" This analogy is imperfect; and why?\nBecause to do this creditably depends upon the movement and activity of\nthe body, and not upon the mind: and an act of which we judge entirely\nby the eye, ought to be all clearly displayed. But if a man caught\nthe ball as he ought to do, I should not call him a bad player for not\nreturning it, if his delay in returning it was not caused by his own\nfault. \"Yet,\" say you, \"although the player is not wanting in skill,\nbecause he did one part of his duty, and was able to do the other part,\nyet in such a case the game is imperfect, for its perfection lies in\nsending the ball backwards and forwards.\" I am unwilling to expose this\nfallacy further; let us think that it is the game, not the player that\nis imperfect: so likewise in the subject which we are discussing, the\nthing which is given lacks something, because another equal thing ought\nto be returned for it, but the mind of the giver lacks nothing, because\nit has found another mind equal to itself, and as far as intentions go,\nhas effected what it wished.\n\nXXXIII. A man bestows a benefit upon me: I receive it just as he wished\nit to be received: then he gets at once what he wanted, and the only\nthing which he wanted, and therefore I have proved myself grateful.\nAfter this it remains for me to enjoy my own resources, with the\naddition of an advantage conferred upon me by one whom I have obliged;\nthis advantage is not the remainder of an imperfect service, but an\naddition to a perfected service. [Footnote: Nothing is wanted to make\na benefit, conferred from good motives, perfect: if it is returned, the\ngratitude is to be counted as net profit.] For example, Phidias makes a\nstatue. Now the product of an art is one thing, and that of a trade is\nanother. It is the business of the art to make the thing which he wished\nto make, and that of the trade to make it with a profit. Phidias has\ncompleted his work, even though he does not sell it. The product,\ntherefore, of his work is threefold: there is the consciousness of\nhaving made it, which he receives when his work is completed; there is\nthe fame which he receives; and thirdly, the advantage which he obtains\nby it, in influence, or by selling it, or otherwise. In like manner the\nfirst fruit of a benefit is the consciousness of it, which we feel when\nwe have bestowed it upon the person whom we chose; secondly and thirdly\nthere is the credit which we gain by doing so, and there are those\nthings which we may receive in exchange for it. So when a benefit has\nbeen graciously received, the giver has already received gratitude, but\nhas not yet received recompense for it: that which we owe in return is\ntherefore something apart from the benefit itself, for we have paid for\nthe benefit itself when we accept it in a grateful spirit.\n\nXXXIV. \"What,\" say you, \"can a man repay a benefit, though he does\nnothing?\" He has taken the first step, he has offered you a good thing\nwith good feeling, and, which is the characteristic of friendship, has\nplaced you both on the same footing. In the next place, a benefit is not\nrepaid in the same manner as a loan: you have no reason for expecting\nme to offer you any payment; the account between us depends upon the\nfeelings alone. What I say will not appear difficult, although it may\nnot at first accord with your ideas, if you will do me the favour to\nremember that there are more things than there are words to express\nthem. There is an enormous mass of things without names, which we do not\nspeak of under distinctive names of their own, but by the names of other\nthings transferred to them. We speak of our own foot, of the foot of a\ncouch, of a sail, or of a poem; we apply the word 'dog' to a hound, a\nfish, and a star. Because we have not enough words to assign a separate\nname to each thing, we borrow a name whenever we want one. Bravery is\nthe virtue which rightly despises danger, or the science of repelling,\nsustaining, or inviting dangers: yet we call a brave man a gladiator,\nand we use the same word for a good-for-nothing slave, who is led by\nrashness to defy death. Economy is the science of avoiding unnecessary\nexpenditure, or the art of using one's income with moderation: yet we\ncall a man of mean and narrow mind, most economical, although there is\nan immeasurable distance between moderation and meanness. These things\nare naturally distinct, yet the poverty of our language compels us to\ncall both these men economical, just as he who views slight accidents\nwith rational contempt, and he who without reason runs into danger are\nalike called brave. Thus a benefit is both a beneficent action, and also\nis that which is bestowed by that action, such as money, a house, an\noffice in the state: there is but one name for them both, though their\nforce and power are widely different.\n\nXXXV. Wherefore, give me your attention, and you will soon perceive that\nI say nothing to which you can object. That benefit which consists of\nthe action is repaid when we receive it graciously; that other, which\nconsists of something material, we have not then repaid, but we hope to\ndo so. The debt of goodwill has been discharged by a return of goodwill;\nthe material debt demands a material return. Thus, although we may\ndeclare that he who has received a benefit with good-will has returned\nthe favour, yet we counsel him to return to the giver something of the\nsame kind as that which he has received. Some part of what we have said\ndeparts from the conventional line of thought, and then rejoins it by\nanother path. We declare that a wise man cannot receive an injury; yet,\nif a man hits him with his fist, that man will be found guilty of doing\nhim an injury. We declare that a fool can possess nothing; yet if a man\nstole anything from a fool, we should find that man guilty of theft. We\ndeclare that all men are mad, yet we do not dose all men with hellebore;\nbut we put into the hands of these very persons, whom we call madmen,\nboth the right of voting and of pronouncing judgment. Similarly, we say\nthat a man who has received a benefit with good-will has returned the\nfavour, yet we leave him in debt nevertheless--bound to repay it even\nthough he has repaid it. This is not to disown benefits, but is an\nencouragement to us neither to fear to receive benefits, nor to faint\nunder the too great burden of them. \"Good things have been given to me;\nI have been preserved from starving; I have been saved from the misery\nof abject poverty; my life, and what is dearer than life, my liberty,\nhas been preserved. How shall I be able to repay these favours? When\nwill the day come upon which I can prove my gratitude to him?\" When a\nman speaks thus, the day has already come. Receive a benefit, embrace\nit, rejoice, not that you have received it, but that you have to owe it\nand return it; then you will never be in peril of the great sin of being\nrendered ungrateful by mischance. I will not enumerate any difficulties\nto you, lest you should despair, and faint at the prospect of a long and\nlaborious servitude. I do not refer you to the future; do it with what\nmeans you have at hand. You never will be grateful unless you are so\nstraightway. What, then, will you do? You need not take up arms, yet\nperhaps you may have to do so; you need not cross the seas, yet it may\nbe that you will pay your debt, even when the wind threatens to blow a\ngale. Do you wish to return the benefit? Then receive it graciously;\nyou have then returned the favour--not, indeed, so that you can think\nyourself to have repaid it, but so that you can owe it with a quieter\nconscience.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\nI.\n\n\nNot to return gratitude for benefits, my AEbutius Liberalis, is\nboth base in itself, and is thought base by all men; wherefore even\nungrateful men complain of ingratitude, and yet what all condemn is at\nthe same time rooted in all; and so far do men sometimes run into the\nother extreme that some of them become our bitterest enemies, not merely\nafter receiving benefits from us, but because they have received them.\nI cannot deny that some do this out of sheer badness of nature; but\nmore do so because lapse of time destroys their remembrance, for time\ngradually effaces what they felt vividly at the moment. I remember\nhaving had an argument with you about this class of persons, whom you\nwished to call forgetful rather than ungrateful, as if that which caused\na man to be ungrateful was any excuse for his being so, or as if the\nfact of this happening to a man prevented his being ungrateful, when we\nknow that it only happens to ungrateful men. There are many classes of\nthe ungrateful, as there are of thieves or of homicides, who all have\nthe same fault, though there is a great variety in its various forms.\nThe man is ungrateful who denies that he has received a benefit; who\npretends that he has not received it; who does not return it. The most\nungrateful man of all is he who forgets it. The others, though they do\nnot repay it, yet feel their debt, and possess some traces of worth,\nthough obstructed by their bad conscience. They may by some means and at\nsome time be brought to show their gratitude, if, for instance, they\nbe pricked by shame, if they conceive some noble ambition such as\noccasionally rises even in the breasts of the wicked, if some easy\nopportunity of doing so offers; but the man from whom all recollection\nof the benefit has passed away can never become grateful. Which of the\ntwo do you call the worse--he who is ungrateful for kindness, or he who\ndoes not even remember it? The eyes which fear to look at the light are\ndiseased, but those which cannot see it are blind. It is filial impiety\nnot to love one's parents, but not to recognise them is madness.\n\nII. Who is so ungrateful as he who has so completely laid aside and cast\naway that which ought to be in the forefront of his mind and ever\nbefore him, that he knows it not? It is clear that if forgetfulness of\na benefit steals over a man, he cannot have often thought about repaying\nit.\n\nIn short, repayment requires gratitude, time, opportunity, and the help\nof fortune; whereas, he who remembers a benefit is grateful for it, and\nthat too without expenditure. Since gratitude demands neither labour,\nwealth, nor good fortune, he who fails to render it has no excuse behind\nwhich to shelter himself; for he who places a benefit so far away that\nit is out of his sight, never could have meant to be grateful for it.\nJust as those tools which are kept in use, and are daily touched by the\nhand, are never in danger of growing rusty, while those which are not\nbrought before our eyes, and lie as if superfluous, not being required\nfor common use, collect dirt by the mere lapse of time, so likewise that\nwhich our thoughts frequently turn over and renew never passes from our\nmemory, which only loses those things to which it seldom directs its\neyes.\n\nIII. Besides this, there are other causes which at times erase the\ngreatest services from our minds. The first and most powerful of these\nis that, being always intent upon new objects of desire, we think, not\nof what we have, but of what we are striving to obtain. Those whose mind\nis fixed entirely upon what they hope to gain, regard with contempt all\nthat is their own already. It follows that since men's eagerness for\nsomething new makes them undervalue whatever they have received, they\ndo not esteem those from whom they have received it. As long as we are\nsatisfied with the position we have gained, we love our benefactor, we\nlook up to him, and declare that we owe our position entirely to him;\nthen we begin to entertain other aspirations, and hurry forward to\nattain them after the manner of human beings, who when they have gained\nmuch always covet more; straightway all that we used to regard as\nbenefits slip from our memory, and we no longer consider the advantages\nwhich we enjoy over others, but only the insolent prosperity of those\nwho have outstripped us. Now no one can at the same time be both jealous\nand grateful, because those who are jealous are querulous and sad, while\nthe grateful are joyous. In the next place, since none of us think of\nany time but the present, and but few turn back their thoughts to the\npast, it results that we forget our teachers, and all the benefits\nwhich we have obtained from them, because we have altogether left\nour childhood behind us: thus, all that was done for us in our youth\nperishes unremembered, because our youth itself is never reviewed. What\nhas been is regarded by every one, not only as past, but as gone; and\nfor the same reason, our memory is weak for what is about to happen in\nthe future.\n\nIV. Here I must do Epicurus the justice to say that he constantly\ncomplains of our ingratitude for past benefits, because we cannot bring\nback again, or count among our present pleasures, those good things\nwhich we have received long ago, although no pleasures can be more\nundeniable than those which cannot be taken from us. Present good is not\nyet altogether complete, some mischance may interrupt it; the future is\nin suspense, and uncertain; but what is past is laid up in safety. How\ncan any man feel gratitude for benefits, if he skips through his\nwhole life entirely engrossed with the present and the future? It is\nremembrance that mates men grateful; and the more men hope, the less\nthey remember.\n\nV. In the same way, my Liberalis, as some things remain in our memory as\nsoon as they are learned, while to know others it is not enough to have\nlearned them, for our knowledge slips away from us unless it be kept\nup--I allude to geometry and astronomy, and such other sciences as are\nHard to remember because of their intricacy--so the greatness of some\nbenefits prevents their being forgotten, while others, individually\nless, though many more in number, and bestowed at different times, pass\nfrom our minds, because, as I have stated above, we do not constantly\nthink about them, and do not willingly recognize how much we owe to each\nof our benefactors. Listen to the words of those who ask for favours.\nThere is not one of them who does not declare that his remembrance will\nbe eternal, who does not vow himself your devoted servant and slave, or\nfind, if he can, some even greater expression of humility with which to\npledge himself. After a brief space of time these same men avoid\ntheir former expressions, thinking them abject, and scarcely befitting\nfree-born men; afterwards they arrive at the same point to which, as\nI suppose, the worst and most ungrateful of men come--that is, they\nforget. So little does forgetfulness excuse ingratitude, that even the\nremembrance of a benefit may leave us ungrateful.\n\nVI. The question has been raised, whether this most odious vice ought to\ngo unpunished; and whether the law commonly made use of in the schools,\nby which we can proceed against a man for ingratitude, ought to be\nadopted by the State also, since all men agree that it is just. \"Why\nnot?\" you may say, \"seeing that even cities cast in each other's teeth\nthe services which they have performed to one another, and demand from\nthe children some return for benefits conferred upon their fathers?\" On\nthe other hand, our ancestors, who were most admirable men, made demands\nupon their enemies alone, and both gave and lost their benefits with\nmagnanimity. With the exception of Macedonia, no nation has ever\nestablished an action at law for ingratitude. And this is a strong\nargument against its being established, because all agree in blaming\ncrime; and homicide, poisoning, parricide, and sacrilege are visited\nwith different penalties in different countries, but everywhere with\nsome penalty; whereas this most common vice is nowhere punished, though\nit is everywhere blamed. We do not acquit it; but as it would be most\ndifficult to reckon accurately the penalty for so varying a matter, we\ncondemn it only to be hated, and place it upon the list of those crimes\nwhich we refer for judgment to the gods.\n\nVII. Many arguments occur to me which prove that this vice ought not\nto come under the action of the law. First of all, the best part of a\nbenefit is lost if the benefit can be sued for at law, as in the case of\na loan, or of letting and hiring. Indeed, the finest part of a benefit\nis that we have given it without considering whether we shall lose it or\nnot, that we have left all this to the free choice of him who receives\nit: if I call him before a judge, it begins to be not a benefit, but a\nloan. Next, though it is a most honourable thing to show gratitude, it\nceases to be honourable if it be forced, for in that case no one will\npraise a grateful man any more than he praises him who restores the\nmoney which was deposited in his keeping, or who pays what he borrowed\nwithout the intervention of a judge. We should therefore spoil the two\nfinest things in human life,--a grateful man and a beneficent man; for\nwhat is there admirable in one who does not give but merely lends a\nbenefit, or in one who repays it, not because he wishes, but because he\nis forced to do so? There is no credit in being grateful, unless it\nis safe to be ungrateful. Besides this, all the courts would hardly be\nenough for the action of this one law. Who would not plead under it? Who\nwould not be pleaded against? for every one exalts his own merits,\nevery one magnifies even the smallest matters which he has bestowed upon\nanother. Besides this, those things which form the subject of a judicial\ninquiry can be distinctly defined, and cannot afford unlimited licence\nto the judge; wherefore a good cause is in a better position if it\nbefore a judge than before an arbitrator, because the words of the law\ntie down a judge and define certain limits beyond which he may not pass,\nwhereas the conscience of an arbitrator is free and not fettered by\nany rules, so that he can either give or take away, and can arrange his\ndecision, not according to the precepts of law and justice, but just\nas his own kindly feeling or compassion may prompt him. An action for\ningratitude would not bind a judge, but would place him in the position\nof an autocrat. It cannot be known what or how great a benefit is; all\nthat would be really important would be, how indulgently the judge might\ninterpret it. No law defines an ungrateful person, often, indeed, one\nwho repays what he has received is ungrateful, and one who has not\nreturned it is grateful. Even an unpractised judge can give his vote\nupon some matters; for instance, when the thing to be determined is\nwhether something has or has not been done, when a dispute is terminated\nby the parties giving written bonds, or when the casting up of accounts\ndecides between the disputants. When, however, motives have to be\nguessed at, when matters upon which wisdom alone can decide, are brought\ninto court, they cannot be tried by a judge taken at random from the\nlist of \"select judges,\" [Footnote: See Smith's \"Dict. of Antiq.,\" s.\nv] whom property and the inheritance of an equestrian fortune [Footnote:\n400,000 sesterces] has placed upon the roll.\n\nVIII. Ingratitude, therefore, is not only matter unfit to be brought\ninto court, but no judge could be found fit to try it; and this you\nwill not be surprised at, if you examine the difficulties of any one who\nshould attempt to prosecute a man upon such a charge. One man may\nhave given a large sum of money, but he is rich and would not feel it;\nanother may have given it at the cost of his entire inheritance. The\nsum given is the same in each case, but the benefit conferred is not the\nsame. Add another instance: suppose that to redeem a debtor from slavery\none man paid money from his own private means, while another man paid\nthe same sum, but had to borrow it or beg for it, and allow himself to\nbe laid under a great obligation to some one; would you rank the man who\nso easily bestowed his benefit on an equality with him who was obliged\nto receive a benefit himself before he could bestow it? Some benefits\nare great, not because of their amount, but because of the time at which\nthey are bestowed; it is a benefit to give an estate whose fertility\ncan bring down the price of corn, and it is a benefit to give a loaf of\nbread in time of famine; it is a benefit to give provinces through which\nflow vast navigable rivers, and it is a benefit, when men are parched\nwith thirst, and can scarcely draw breath through their dry throats,\nto show them a spring of water. Who will compare these cases with one\nanother, or weigh one against the other? It is hard to give a decision\nwhen it is not the thing given, but its meaning, which has to be\nconsidered; though what is given is the same, yet if it be given\nunder different circumstances it has a different value. A man may have\nbestowed a benefit upon me, but unwillingly; he may have complained of\nhaving given it; he may have looked at me with greater haughtiness than\nhe was wont to do; he may have been so slow in giving it, that he would\nhave done me a greater service if he had promptly refused it. How could\na judge estimate the value of these things, when words, hesitation, or\nlooks can destroy all their claim to gratitude?\n\nIX. What, again, could he do, seeing that some things are called\nbenefits because they are unduly coveted, whilst others are not benefits\nat all, according to this common valuation, yet are of even greater\nvalue, though not so showy? You call it a benefit to cause a man to be\nadopted as a member of a powerful city, to get him enrolled among the\nknights, or to defend one who is being tried for his life: what do you\nsay of him who gives useful advice? of him who holds you back when you\nwould rush into crime? of him who strikes the sword from the hands of\nthe suicide? of him who by his power of consolation brings back to the\nduties of life one who was plunged in grief, and eager to follow those\nwhom he had lost? of him who sits at the bedside of the sick man, and\nwho, when health and recovery depend upon seizing the right moment,\nadministers food in due season, stimulates the failing veins with wine,\nor calls in the physician to the dying man? Who can estimate the value\nof such services as these? who can bid us weigh dissimilar benefits one\nwith another? \"I gave you a house,\" says one. Yes, but I forewarned\nyou that your own house would come down upon your head. \"I gave you an\nestate,\" says he. True, but I gave a plank to you when shipwrecked. \"I\nfought for you and received wounds for you,\" says another. But I saved\nyour life by keeping silence. Since a benefit is both given and returned\ndifferently by different people, it is hard to make them balance.\n\nX. Besides this, no day is appointed for repayment of a benefit, as\nthere is for borrowed money; consequently he who has not yet repaid a\nbenefit may do so hereafter: for tell me, pray, within what time a man\nis to be declared ungrateful? The greatest benefits cannot be proved by\nevidence; they often lurk in the silent consciousness of two men\nonly; are we to introduce the rule of not bestowing benefits without\nwitnesses? Next, what punishment are we to appoint for the ungrateful?\nis there to be one only for all, though the benefits which they have\nreceived are different? or should the punishment be varying, greater\nor less according to the benefit which each has received? Are our\nvaluations to be restricted to pecuniary fines? what are we to do,\nseeing that in some cases the benefit conferred is life, and things\ndearer than life? What punishment is to be assigned to ingratitude for\nthese? One less than the benefit? That would be unjust. One equal to it;\ndeath? What could be more inhuman than to cause benefits to result in\ncruelty?\n\nXI. It may be argued, \"Parents have certain privileges: these are\nregarded as exempt from the action of ordinary rules, and so also ought\nto be the case with other beneficent persons.\" Nay; mankind has\nassigned a peculiar sanctity to the position of parents, because it\nwas advantageous that children should be reared, and people had to be\ntempted into undergoing the toil of doing so, because the issue of their\nexperiment was doubtful. One cannot say to them, as one does to others\nwho bestow benefits, \"Choose the man to whom you give: you must only\nblame yourself if you are deceived; help the deserving.\" In rearing\nchildren nothing depends upon the judgment of those who rear them; it is\na matter of hope: in order, therefore, that people may be more willing\nto embark upon this lottery, it was right that they should be given a\ncertain authority; and since it is useful for youth to be governed, we\nhave placed their parents in the position of domestic magistrates, under\nwhose guardianship their lives may be ruled. Moreover, the position of\nparents differs from that of other benefactors, for their having given\nformerly to their children does not stand in the way of their giving\nnow and hereafter; and also, there is no fear of their falsely asserting\nthat they have given: with others one has to inquire not only whether\nthey have received, but whether they have given; but the good deeds of\nparents are placed beyond doubt. In the next place, one benefit bestowed\nby parents is the same for all, and might be counted once for all;\nwhile the others which they bestow are of various kinds, unlike one to\nanother, differing from one another by the widest possible intervals;\nthey can therefore come under no regular rule, since it would be more\njust to leave them all unrewarded than to give the same reward to all.\n\nXII. Some benefits cost much to the givers, some are of much value\nto the receivers but cost the givers nothing. Some are bestowed upon\nfriends, others on strangers: now although that which is given be the\nsame, yet it becomes more when it is given to one with whom you\nare beginning to be acquainted through the benefits which you have\npreviously conferred upon him. One man may give us help, another\ndistinctions, a third consolation. You may find one who thinks nothing\npleasanter or more important than to have some one to save him from\ndistress; you may again find one who would rather be helped to great\nplace than to security; while some consider themselves more indebted to\nthose who save their lives than to those who save their honour. Each\nof these services will be held more or less important, according as the\ndisposition of our judge inclines to one or the other of them. Besides\nthis, I choose my creditors for myself, whereas I often receive benefits\nfrom those from whom I would not, and sometimes I am laid under an\nobligation without my knowledge. What will you do in such a case? When\na man has received a benefit unknown to himself, and which, had he known\nof it, he would have refused to receive, will you call him ungrateful if\nhe does not repay it, however he may have received it? Suppose that some\none has bestowed a benefit upon me, and that the same man has afterwards\ndone me some wrong; am I to be bound by his one bounty to endure with\npatience any wrong that he may do me, or will it be the same as if I had\nrepaid it, because he himself has by the subsequent wrong cancelled his\nown benefit? How, in that case, would you decide which was the greater;\nthe present which the man has received, or the injury which has\nbeen done him? Time would fail me if I attempted to discuss all the\ndifficulties which would arise.\n\nXIII. It may be argued that \"we render men less willing to confer\nbenefits by not supporting the claim of those which have been bestowed\nto meet with gratitude, and by not punishing those who repudiate them.\"\nBut you would find, on the other hand, that men would be far less\nwilling to receive benefits, if by so doing they were likely to incur\nthe danger of having to plead their cause in court, and having more\ndifficulty in proving their integrity. This legislation would also\nrender us less willing to give: for no one is willing to give to those\nwho are unwilling to receive, but one who is urged to acts of kindness\nby his own good nature and by the beauty of charity, will give all the\nmore freely to those who need make no return unless they choose. It\nimpairs the credit of doing a service, if in doing it we are carefully\nprotected from loss.\n\nXIV. \"Benefits, then, will be fewer, but more genuine: well, what harm\nis there in restricting people from giving recklessly?\" Even those who\nwould have no legislation upon the subject follow this rule, that we\nought to be somewhat careful in giving, and in choosing those upon whom\nwe bestow favours. Reflect over and over again to whom you are giving:\nyou will have no remedy at law, no means of enforcing repayment. You are\nmistaken if you suppose that the judge will assist you: no law will\nmake full restitution to you, you must look only to the honour of the\nreceiver. Thus only can benefits retain their influence, and thus only\nare they admirable: you dishonour them if you make them the grounds of\nlitigation, \"Pay what you owe\" is a most just proverb; and one which\ncarries with it the sanction of all nations; but in dealing with\nbenefits it is most shameful. \"Pay!\" How is a man to pay who owes his\nlife, his position, his safety, or his reason to another? None of the\ngreatest benefits can be repaid. \"Yet,\" it is said, \"you ought to give\nin return for them something of equal value.\" This is just what I have\nbeen saying, that the grandeur of the act is ruined if we make our\nbenefits commercial transactions. We ought hot to encourage ourselves in\navarice, in discontent, or in quarrels; the human mind is prone enough\nto these by nature. As far as we are able, let us check it, and cut off\nthe opportunities for which it seeks.\n\nXV. Would that we could indeed persuade men to receive back money which\nthey have lent from those debtors only who are willing to pay! would\nthat no agreement ever bound the buyer to the seller, and that their\ninterests were not protected by sealed covenants and agreements, but\nrather by honour and a sense of justice! However, men prefer what\nis needful to what is truly best, and choose rather to force their\ncreditors to keep faith with them than to trust that they will do so.\nWitnesses are called on both sides; the one, by calling in brokers,\nmakes several names appear in his accounts as his debtors instead of\none; the other is not content with the legal forms of question and\nanswer unless he holds the other party by the hand. What a shameful\nadmission of the dishonesty and wickedness of mankind! men trust more to\nour signet-rings than to our intentions. For what are these respectable\nmen summoned? for what do they impress their seals? it is in order that\nthe borrower may not deny that he has received what he has received.\nYou regard these men, I suppose, as above bribes, as maintainers of the\ntruth: well, these very men will not be entrusted with money except on\nthe same terms. Would it not, then, be more honourable to be deceived\nby some than to suspect all men of dishonesty? To fill up the measure\nof avarice one thing only is lacking, that we should bestow no benefit\nwithout a surety. To help, to be of service, is the part of a generous\nand noble mind; he who gives acts like a god, he who demands repayment\nacts like a money-lender. Why then, by trying to protect the rights of\nthe former class, should we reduce them to the level of the basest of\nmankind?\n\nXVI. \"More men,\" our opponent argues, \"will be ungrateful, if no legal\nremedy exists against ingratitude.\" Nay, fewer, because then benefits\nwill be bestowed with more discrimination, In the next place, it is not\nadvisable that it should be publicly known how many ungrateful men there\nare: for the number of sinners will do away with the disgrace of\nthe sin, and a reproach which applies to all men will cease to be\ndishonourable. Is any woman ashamed of being divorced, now that some\nnoble ladies reckon the years of their lives, not by the number of the\nconsuls, but by that of their husbands, now that they leave their\nhomes in order to marry others, and marry only in order to be divorced?\nDivorce was only dreaded as long as it was unusual; now that no gazette\nappears without it, women learn to do what they hear so much about. Can\nany one feel ashamed of adultery, now that things have come to such\na pass that no woman keeps a husband at all unless it be to pique her\nlover? Chastity merely implies ugliness. Where will you find any woman\nso abject, so repulsive, as to be satisfied with a single pair of\nlovers, without having a different one for each hour of the day; nor is\nthe day long enough for all of them, unless she has taken her airing\nin the grounds of one, and passes the night with another. A woman is\nfrumpish and old-fashioned if she does not know that \"adultery with one\nparamour is nick-named marriage.\" Just as all shame at these vices has\ndisappeared since the vice itself became so widely spread, so if you\nmade the ungrateful begin to count their own numbers, you would both\nmake them more numerous, and enable them to be ungrateful with greater\nimpunity.\n\nXVII. \"What then? shall the ungrateful man go unpunished?\" What then,\nI answer, shall we punish the undutiful, the malicious, the avaricious,\nthe headstrong, and the cruel? Do you imagine that those things which\nare loathed are not punished, or do you suppose that any punishment is\ngreater than the hate of all men? It is a punishment not to dare receive\na benefit from anyone, not to dare to bestow one, to be, or to fancy\nthat you are a mark for all men's eyes, and to lose all appreciation of\nso excellent and pleasant a matter. Do you call a man unhappy who has\nlost his sight, or whose hearing has been impaired by disease, and do\nyou not call him wretched who has lost the power of feeling benefits? He\nfears the gods, the witnesses of all ingratitude; he is tortured by\nthe thought of the benefit which he has misapplied, and, in fine, he is\nsufficiently punished by this great penalty, that, as I said before, he\ncannot enjoy the fruits of this most delightful act. On the other hand,\nhe who takes pleasure in receiving a benefit, enjoys an unvarying and\ncontinuous happiness, which he derives from consideration, not of\nthe thing given, but of the intention of the giver. A benefit gives\nperpetual joy to a grateful man, but pleases an ungrateful one only for\na moment. Can the lives of such men be compared, seeing that the one\nis sad and gloomy--as it is natural that a denier of his debts and a\ndefrauder should be, a man who does not give his parents, his nurses, or\nhis teachers the honour which is their due--while the other is joyous,\ncheerful, on the watch for an opportunity of proving his gratitude, and\ngaining much pleasure from this frame of mind itself? Such a man has no\nwish to become bankrupt, but only to make the fullest and most copious\nreturn for benefits, and that not only to parents and friends, but also\nto more humble persons; for even if he receives a benefit from his\nown slave, he does not consider from whom he receives it, but what he\nreceives.\n\nXVIII. It has, however, been doubted by Hecaton and some other writers,\nwhether a slave can bestow a benefit upon his master. Some distinguish\nbetween benefits, duties, and services, calling those things benefits\nwhich are bestowed by a stranger--that is, by one who could discontinue\nthem without blame--while duties are performed by our children, our\nwives, and those whom relationship prompts and orders to afford us help;\nand, thirdly, services are performed by slaves, whose position is such\nthat nothing which they do for their master can give them any claim upon\nhim....\n\nBesides this, he who affirms that a slave does not sometimes confer\na benefit upon his master is ignorant of the rights of man; for the\nquestion is, not what the station in life of the giver may be, but what\nhis intentions are. The path of virtue is closed to no one, it lies open\nto all; it admits and invites all, whether they be free-born men, slaves\nor freed-men, kings or exiles; it requires no qualifications of family\nor of property, it is satisfied with a mere man. What, indeed, should we\nhave to trust to for defence against sudden misfortunes, what could--a\nnoble mind promise to itself to keep unshaken, if virtue could be lost\ntogether with prosperity? If a slave cannot confer a benefit upon his\nmaster, then no subject can confer a benefit upon his king, and no\nsoldier upon his general; for so long as the man is subject to supreme\nauthority, the form of authority can make no difference. If main force,\nor the fear of death and torture, can prevent a slave from gaining any\ntitle to his master's gratitude, they will also prevent the subjects of\na king, or the soldiers of a general from doing so, for the same things\nmay happen to either of these classes of men, though under different\nnames.\n\nYet men do bestow benefits upon their kings and their generals;\ntherefore slaves can bestow benefits upon their masters. A slave can be\njust, brave, magnanimous; he can therefore bestow a benefit, for this\nis also the part of a virtuous man. So true is it that slaves can bestow\nbenefits upon their masters, that the masters have often owed their\nlives to them.\n\nXIX. There is no doubt that a slave can bestow a benefit upon anyone;\nwhy, then, not upon his master? \"Because,\" it is argued, \"he cannot\nbecome his master's creditor if he gives him money. If this be not so,\nhe daily lays his master under an obligation to him; he attends him when\non a journey, he nurses him when sick, he works most laboriously at the\ncultivation of his estate; yet all these, which would be called benefits\nif done for us by anyone else, are merely called service when done by\na slave. A benefit is that which some one bestows who has the option of\nwithholding it:--now a slave has no power to refuse, so that he does\nnot afford us his help, but obeys our orders, and cannot boast of having\ndone what he could not leave undone.\" Even under these conditions I\nshall win the day, and will place a slave in such positions, that for\nmany purposes he will be free; in the meanwhile, tell me, if I give you\nan instance of a slave fighting for his master's safety without regard\nto himself, pierced through with wounds, yet spending the last drops of\nhis blood, and gaining time for his master to escape by the sacrifice of\nhis life, will you say that this man did not bestow a benefit upon his\nmaster because he was a slave? If I give an instance of one who could\nnot be bribed to betray his master's secrets by any of the offers of\na tyrant, who was not terrified by any threats, nor overpowered by any\ntortures, but who, as far as he was able, placed his questioners upon a\nwrong scent, and, paid for his loyalty with his life; will you say\nthat this man did not confer a benefit upon his master because he was a\nslave? Consider, rather, whether an example of virtue in a slave be not\nall the greater because it is rarer than in free men, and whether it be\nnot all the more gratifying that, although to be commanded is odious,\nand all submission to authority is irksome, yet in some particular cases\nlove for a master has been more powerful than men's general dislike to\nservitude. A benefit does not, therefore, cease to be a benefit because\nit is bestowed by a slave, but is all the greater on that account,\nbecause not even slavery could restrain him from bestowing it.\n\nXX. It is a mistake to imagine that slavery pervades a man's whole\nbeing; the better part of him is exempt from it: the body indeed is\nsubjected and in the power of a master, but the mind is independent, and\nindeed is so free and wild, that it cannot be restrained even by this\nprison of the body, wherein it is confined, from following its own\nimpulses, dealing with gigantic designs, and soaring into the infinite,\naccompanied by all the host of heaven. It is, therefore, only the body\nwhich misfortune hands over to a master, and which he buys and sells;\nthis inward part cannot be transferred as a chattel. Whatever comes\nfrom this, is free; indeed, we are not allowed to order all things to be\ndone, nor are slaves compelled to obey us in all things; they will not\ncarry out treasonable orders, or lend their hands to an act of crime.\n\nXXI. There are some things which the law neither enjoins nor forbids; it\nis in these that a slave finds the means of bestowing benefits. As long\nas we only receive what is generally demanded from a slave, that is\nmere service; when more is given than a slave need afford us, it is a\nbenefit; as soon as what he does begins to partake of the affection of\na friend, it can no longer be called service. There are certain things\nwith which a master is bound to provide his slave, such as food and\nclothing; no one calls this a benefit; but supposing that he indulges\nhis slave, educates him above his station, teaches him arts which\nfree-born men learn, that is a benefit. The converse is true in the case\nof the slave; anything which goes beyond the rules of a slave's duty,\nwhich is done of his own free will, and not in obedience to orders, is a\nbenefit, provided it be of sufficient importance to be called by such a\nname if bestowed by any other person.\n\nXXII. It has pleased Chrysippus to define a slave as \"a hireling for\nlife.\" Just as a hireling bestows a benefit when he does more than he\nengaged himself to do, so when a slave's love for his master raises him\nabove his condition and urges him to do something noble--something which\nwould be a credit even to men more fortunate by birth--he surpasses the\nhopes of his master, and is a benefit found in the house. Do you think\nit is just that we should be angry with our slaves when they do less\nthan their duty, and that we should not be grateful to them when they do\nmore? Do you wish to know when their service is not a benefit? When the\nquestion can be asked, \"What if he had refused to do it?\" When he does\nthat which he might have refused to do, we must praise his good will.\nBenefits and wrongs are opposites; a slave can bestow a benefit upon his\nmaster, if he can receive a wrong from his master. Now an official has\nbeen appointed to hear complaints of the wrongs done by masters to their\nslaves, whose duty it is to restrain cruelty and lust, or avarice in\nproviding them with the necessaries of life. What follows, then? Is it\nthe master who receives a benefit from his slave? nay, rather, it is\none man who receives it from another. Lastly, he did all that lay in his\npower; he bestowed a benefit upon his master; it lies in your power to\nreceive or not to receive it from a slave. Yet who is so exalted, that\nfortune may not make him need the aid even of the lowliest?\n\nXXIII. I shall now quote a number of instances of benefits, not all\nalike, some even contradictory. Some slaves have given their master\nlife, some death; have saved him when perishing, or, as if that were\nnot enough, have saved him by their own death; others have helped\ntheir master to die, some have saved his life by stratagem. Claudius\nQuadrigarius tells us in the eighteenth book of his \"Annals,\" that\nwhen Grumentum was being besieged, and had been reduced to the greatest\nstraits, two slaves deserted to the enemy, and did valuable service.\nAfterwards, when the city was taken, and the victors were rushing wildly\nin every direction, they ran before every one else along the streets,\nwhich they well knew, to the house in which they had been slaves, and\ndrove their mistress before them; when they were asked who she might\nbe, they answered that she was their mistress, and a most cruel one, and\nthat they were leading her away for punishment. They led her outside the\nwalls, and concealed her with the greatest care until the fighting\nwas over; then, as the soldiery, satisfied with the sack of the city,\nquickly resumed the manners of Romans, they also returned to their\nown countrymen, and themselves restored their mistress to them. She\nmanumitted each of them on the spot, and was not ashamed to receive her\nlife from men over whom she had held the power of life and death. She\nmight, indeed, especially congratulate herself upon this; for had\nshe been saved otherwise, she would merely have received a common and\nhackneyed piece of kindness, whereas, by being saved as she was, she\nbecame a glorious legend, and an example to two cities. In the confusion\nof the captured city, when every one was thinking only of his own\nsafety, all deserted her except these deserters; but they, that they\nmight prove what had been their intentions in effecting that desertion,\ndeserted again from the victors to the captive, wearing the masks of\nunnatural murderers.\n\nThey thought--and this was the greatest part of the service which they\nrendered--they were content to seem to have murdered their mistress, if\nthereby their mistress might be saved from murder. Believe me, it is\nthe mark of no slavish soul to purchase a noble deed by the semblance of\ncrime.\n\nWhen Vettius, the praetor of the Marsi, was being led into the presence\nof the Roman general, his slave snatched a sword from the soldier who\nwas dragging him along, and first slew his master. Then he said, \"It is\nnow time for me to look to myself; I have already set my master free,\"\nand with these words transfixed himself with one blow. Can you tell me\nof anyone who saved his master more gloriously?\n\nXXIV. When Caesar was besieging Corfinium, Domitius, who was shut up in\nthe city, ordered a slave of his own, who was also a physician, to give\nhim poison. Observing the man's hesitation, he said, \"Why do you delay,\nas though the whole business was in your power? I ask for death with\narms in my hands.\" Then the slave assented, and gave him a harmless drug\nto drink. When Domitius fell asleep after drinking this, the slave went\nto his son, and said, \"Give orders for my being kept in custody until\nyou learn from the result whether I have given your father poison or\nno.\" Domitius lived, and Caesar saved his life; but his slave had saved\nit before.\n\nXXV. During the civil war, a slave hid his master, who had been\nproscribed, put on his rings and clothes, met the soldiers who were\nsearching for him, and, after declaring that he would not stoop to\nentreat them not to carry out their orders, offered his neck to their\nswords. What a noble spirit it shows in a slave to have been willing\nto die for his master, at a time when few were faithful enough to\nwish their master to live! to be found kind when the state was cruel,\nfaithful when it was treacherous! to be eager for the reward of\nfidelity, though it was death, at a time when such rich rewards were\noffered for treachery!\n\nXXVI. I will not pass over the instances which our own age affords. In\nthe reign of Tiberius Caesar, there was a common and almost universal\nfrenzy for informing, which was more ruinous to the citizens of Rome\nthan the whole civil war; the talk of drunkards, the frankness of\njesters, was alike reported to the government; nothing was safe; every\nopportunity of ferocious punishment was seized, and men no longer waited\nto hear the fate of accused persons, since it was always the same. One\nPaulus, of the Praetorian guard, was at an entertainment, wearing a\nportrait of Tiberius Caesar engraved in relief upon a gem. It would be\nabsurd for me to beat about the bush for some delicate way of explaining\nthat he took up a chamber-pot, an action which was at once noticed by\nMaro, one of the most notorious informers of that time, and the slave of\nthe man who was about to fall into the trap, who drew the ring from the\nfinger of his drunken master. When Maro called the guests to witness\nthat Paulus had dishonoured the portrait of the emperor, and was already\ndrawing up an act of accusation, the slave showed the ring upon his\nown finger. Such a man no more deserves to be called a slave, than Maro\ndeserved to be called a guest.\n\nXXVII. In the reign of Augustus men's own words were not yet able to\nruin them, yet they sometimes brought them into trouble. A senator named\nRufus, while at dinner, expressed a hope that Caesar would not return\nsafe from a journey for which he was preparing, and added that all bulls\nand calves wished the same thing. Some of those present carefully noted\nthese words. At daybreak, the slave who had stood at his feet during the\ndinner, told him what he had said in his cups, and urged him to be the\nfirst to go to Caesar, and denounce himself. Rufus followed this advice,\nmet Caesar as he was going down to the forum, and, swearing that he was\nout of his mind the day before, prayed that what he had said might fall\nupon his own head and that of his children; he then begged Caesar pardon\nhim, and to take him back into favour. When Caesar said that he would\ndo so, he added, \"No one will believe that you have taken me back into\nfavour unless you make me a present of something;\" and he asked for and\nobtained a sum of money so large, that it would have been a gift not to\nbe slighted even if bestowed by an unoffended prince. Caesar added: \"In\nfuture I will take care never to quarrel with you, for my own sake.\"\nCaesar acted honourably in pardoning him, and in being liberal as well\nas forgiving; no one can hear this anecdote without praising Caesar,\nbut he must praise the slave first. You need not wait for me to tell\nyou that the slave who did his master this service was set free; yet his\nmaster did not do this for nothing, for Caesar had already paid him the\nprice of the slave's liberty.\n\nXXVIII. After so many instances, can we doubt that a master may\nsometimes receive a benefit from a slave? Why need the person of the\ngiver detract from the thing which he gives? why should not the gift add\nrather to the glory of the giver. All men descend from the same original\nstock; no one is better born than another, except in so far as his\ndisposition is nobler and better suited for the performance of good\nactions. Those who display portraits of their ancestors in their halls,\nand set up in the entrance to their houses the pedigree of their family\ndrawn out at length, with many complicated collateral branches, are they\nnot notorious rather than noble? The universe is the one parent of all,\nwhether they trace their descent from this primary source through a\nglorious or a mean line of ancestors. Be not deceived when men who are\nreckoning up their genealogy, wherever an illustrious name is wanting,\nfoist in that of a god in its place. You need despise no one, even\nthough he bears a commonplace name, and owes little to fortune. Whether\nyour immediate ancestors were freedmen, or slaves, or foreigners, pluck\nup your spirits boldly, and leap over any intervening disgraces of your\npedigree; at its source, a noble origin awaits you. Why should our\npride inflate us to such a degree that we think it beneath us to receive\nbenefits from slaves, and think only of their position, forgetting their\ngood deeds? You, the slave of lust, of gluttony, of a harlot, nay, who\nare owned as a joint chattel by harlots, can you call anyone else\na slave? Call a man a slave? why, I pray you, whither are you being\nhurried by those bearers who carry your litter? whither are these men\nwith their smart military-looking cloaks carrying you? is it not to the\ndoor of some door-keeper, or to the gardens of some one who has not even\na subordinate office? and then you, who regard the salute of another\nman's slave as a benefit, declare that you cannot receive a benefit from\nyour own slave. What inconsistency is this? At the same time you despise\nand fawn upon slaves, you are haughty and violent at home, while out of\ndoors you are meek, and as much despised as you despise your slaves;\nfor none abase themselves lower than those who unconscionably give\nthemselves airs, nor are anymore prepared to trample upon others than\nthose who have learned how to offer insults by having endured them.\n\nXXIX. I felt it my duty to say this, in order to crush the arrogance of\nmen who are themselves at the mercy of fortune, and to claim the right\nof bestowing a benefit for slaves, in order that I may claim it also for\nsons. The question arises, whether children can ever bestow upon their\nparents greater benefits than those which they have received from them.\n\nIt is granted that many sons become greater and more powerful than their\nparents, and also that they are better men. If this be true, they may\ngive better gifts to their fathers than they have received from them,\nseeing that their fortune and their good nature are alike greater than\nthat of their father. \"Whatever a father receives from his son,\" our\nopponent will urge, \"must in any case be lees than what the son received\nfrom him, because the son owes to his father the very power of giving.\nTherefore the father can never be surpassed in the bestowal of benefits,\nbecause the benefit which surpasses his own is really his.\" I answer,\nthat some things derive their first origin from others, yet are greater\nthan those others; and a thing may be greater than that from which it\ntook its rise, although without that thing to start from it never could\nhave grown so great. All things greatly outgrow their beginnings. Seeds\nare the causes of all things, and yet are the smallest part of the\nthings which they produce. Look at the Rhine, or the Euphrates, or any\nother famous rivers; how small they are, if you only view them at the\nplace from whence they take their rise? they gain all that makes them\nterrible and renowned as they flow along. Look at the trees which are\ntallest if you consider their height, and the broadest if you look at\ntheir thickness and the spread of their branches; compared with all\nthis, how small a part of them is contained in the slender fibres of\nthe root? Yet take away their roots, and no more groves will arise, nor\ngreat mountains be clothed with trees. Temples and cities are supported\nby their foundations; yet what is built as the foundation of the entire\nbuilding lies out of sight. So it is in other matters; the subsequent\ngreatness of a thing ever eclipses its origin. I could never have\nobtained anything without having previously received the boon of\nexistence from my parents; yet it does not follow from this that\nwhatever I obtain is less than that without which I could not obtain it.\nIf my nurse had not fed me when I was a child, I should not have been\nable to conduct any of those enterprises which I now carry on, both with\nmy head and with my hand, nor should I ever have obtained the fame which\nis due to my labours both in peace and war; would you on that account\nargue that the services of a nurse were more valuable than the most\nimportant undertakings? Yet is not the nurse as important as the father,\nsince without the benefits which I have received from each of them\nalike, I should have been alike unable to effect anything? If I owe all\nthat I now can do to my original beginning, I cannot regard my father or\nmy grandfather as being this original beginning; there always will be a\nspring further back, from which the spring next below is derived. Yet no\none will argue that I owe more to unknown and forgotten ancestors\nthan to my father; though really I do owe them more, if I owe it to my\nancestors that my father begat me.\n\nXXX. \"Whatever I have bestowed upon my father,\" says my opponent,\n\"however great it may be, yet is less valuable than what my father has\nbestowed upon me, because if he had not begotten me, it never could\nhave existed at all.\" By this mode of reasoning, if a man has healed\nmy father when ill, and at the point of death, I shall not be able to\nbestow anything upon him equivalent to what I have received from him;\nfor had my father not been healed, he could not have begotten me. Yet\nthink whether it be not nearer the truth to regard all that I can do,\nand all that I have done, as mine, due to my own powers and my own will?\nConsider what the fact of my birth is in itself; you will see that it\nis a small matter, the outcome of which is dubious, and that it may lead\nequally to good or to evil; no doubt it is the first step to everything,\nbut because it is the first, it is not on that account more important\nthan all the others. Suppose that I have saved my father's life, raised\nhim to the highest honours, and made him the chief man in his city,\nthat I have not merely made him illustrious by my own deeds, but have\nfurnished him himself with an opportunity of performing great exploits,\nwhich is at once important, easy, and safe, as well as glorious; that I\nhave loaded him with appointments, wealth, and all that attracts men's\nminds; still, even when I surpass all others, I am inferior to him.\nNow if you say, \"You owe to your father the power of doing all this,\" I\nshall answer, \"Quite true, if to do all this it is only necessary to be\nborn; but if life is merely an unimportant factor in the art of living\nwell, and if you have bestowed upon me only that which I have in common\nwith wild beasts and the smallest, and some of the foulest of creatures,\ndo not claim for yourself what did not come into being in consequence of\nthe benefits which you bestowed, even though it could not have come into\nbeing without them.\"\n\nXXXI. Suppose, father, that I have saved your life, in return for the\nlife which I received from you: in this case also I have outdone your\nbenefit, because I have given life to one who understands what I have\ndone, and because I understood what I was doing, since I gave you your\nlife not for the sake of, or by the means of my own pleasure; for just\nas it is less terrible to die before one has time to fear death, so it\nis a much greater boon to preserve one's life than to receive it. I have\ngiven life to one who will at once enjoy it, you gave it to one who knew\nnot if he should ever live; I have given life to one who was in fear of\ndeath, your gift of life merely enables me to die; I have given you a\nlife complete, perfect; you begat me without intelligence, a burden upon\nothers. Do you wish to know how far from a benefit it was to give life\nunder such conditions? You should have exposed me as a child, for you\ndid me a wrong in begetting me. What do I gather from this? That the\ncohabitation of a father and mother is the very least of benefits to\ntheir child, unless in addition this beginning of kindnesses be followed\nup by others, and confirmed by other services. It is not a good thing\nto live, but to live well. \"But,\" say you, \"I do live well.\" True, but\nI might have lived ill; so that your part in me is merely this, that I\nlive. If you claim merit to yourself for giving me mere life, bare and\nhelpless, and boast of it as a great boon, reflect that this you claim\nmerit for giving me is a boon which I possess in common with flies and\nworms. In the next place, if I say no more than that I have applied\nmyself to honourable pursuits, and have guided the course of my life\nalong the path of rectitude, then you have received more from your\nbenefit than you gave; for you gave me to myself ignorant and unlearned,\nand I have returned to you a son such as you would wish to have\nbegotten.\n\nXXXII. My father supported me. If I repay this kindness, I give him\nmore than I received, because he has the pleasure, not only of being\nsupported, but of being supported by a son, and receives more delight\nfrom my filial devotion than from the food itself, whereas the food\nwhich he used to give me merely affected my body. What? if any man\nrises so high as to become famous among nations for his eloquence, his\njustice, or his military skill, if much of the splendour of his renown\nis shed upon his father also, and by its clear light dispels the\nobscurity of his birth, does not such a man confer an inestimable\nbenefit upon his parents? Would anyone have heard of Aristo and Gryllus\nexcept through Xenophon and Plato, their sons? Socrates keeps alive\nthe memory of Sophroniscus. It would take long to recount the other\nmen whose names survive for no other reason than that the admirable\nqualities of their sons have handed them down to posterity. Did the\nfather of Marcus Agrippa, of whom nothing was known, even after Agrippa\nbecame famous, confer the greater benefit upon his son, or was that\ngreater which Agrippa conferred upon his father when he gained the\nglory, unique in the annals of war, of a naval crown, and when he raised\nso many vast buildings in Rome, which not only surpassed all former\ngrandeur, but have been surpassed by none since? Did Octavius confer a\ngreater benefit upon his son, or the Emperor Augustus upon his father,\nobscured as he was by the intervention of an adoptive father? What joy\nwould he have experienced, if, after the putting down of the civil war,\nhe had seen his son ruling the state in peace and security? He would not\nhave recognized the good which he had himself bestowed, and would hardly\nhave believed, when he looked back upon himself, that so great a man\ncould have been born in his house. Why should I go on to speak of others\nwho would now be forgotten, if the glory of their sons had not raised\nthem from obscurity, and kept them in the light until this day? In the\nnext place, as we are not considering what son may have given back to\nhis father greater benefits than he received from him, but whether a son\ncan give back greater benefits, even if the examples which I have quoted\nare not sufficient, and such benefits do not outweigh the benefits\nbestowed by the parents, if no age has produced. an actual example,\nstill it is not in the nature of things impossible. Though no solitary\nact can outweigh the deserts of a parent, yet many such acts combined by\none son may do so.\n\nXXXIII. Scipio, while under seventeen years of age, rode among the enemy\nin battle, and saved his father's life. Was it not enough, that in order\nto reach his father he despised so many dangers when they were pressing\nhardest upon the greatest generals, that he, a novice in his first\nbattle, made his way through so many obstacles, over the bodies of so\nmany veteran soldiers, and showed strength and courage beyond his years?\nAdd to this, that he also defended his father in court, and saved him\nfrom a plot of his powerful enemies, that he heaped upon him a second\nand a third consulship and other posts which were coveted even by\nconsulars, that when his father was poor he bestowed upon him the\nplunder which he took by military licence, and that he made him rich\nwith the spoils of the enemy, which is the greatest honour of a soldier.\nIf even this did not repay his debt, add to it that he caused him to\nbe constantly employed in the government of provinces and in special\ncommands, add, that after he had destroyed the greatest cities,\nand became without a rival either in the east or in the west, the\nacknowledged protector and second founder of the Roman Empire, he\nbestowed upon one who was already of noble birth the higher title of\n\"the father of Scipio;\" can we doubt that the commonplace benefit of his\nbirth was outdone by his exemplary conduct, and by the valour which was\nat once the glory and the protection of his country? Next, if this\nbe not enough, suppose that a son were to rescue his father from the\ntorture, or to undergo it in his stead. You can suppose the benefits\nreturned by the son as great as you please, whereas the gift he received\nfrom his father was of one sort only, was easily performed, and was\na pleasure to the giver; that he must necessarily have given the same\nthing to many others, even to some to whom he knows not that he has\ngiven it, that he had a partner in doing so, and that he had in view the\nlaw, patriotism, the rewards bestowed upon fathers of families by the\nstate, the maintenance of his house and family: everything rather than\nhim to whom he was giving life. What? supposing that any one were to\nlearn philosophy and teach it to his father, could it be any longer\ndisputed that the son had given him something greater than he had\nreceived from him, having returned to his father a happy life, whereas\nhe had received from him merely life?\n\nXXXIV. \"But,\" says our opponent, \"whatever you do, whatever you are able\nto give to your father, is part of his benefit bestowed upon you.\" So\nit is the benefit of my teacher that I have become proficient in liberal\nstudies; yet we pass on from those who taught them to us, at any rate\nfrom those who taught us the alphabet; and although no one can learn\nanything without them, yet it does not follow that whatsoever success\none subsequently obtains, one is still inferior to those teachers. There\nis a great difference between the beginning of a thing and its final\ndevelopment; the beginning is not equal to the thing at its greatest,\nmerely upon the ground that, without the beginning, it could never have\nbecome so great.\n\nXXXV. It is now time for me to bring forth something, so to speak, from\nmy own mint. So long as there is something better than the benefit which\na man bestows, he may be outdone. A father gives life to his son;\nthere is something better than life; therefore a father may be outdone,\nbecause there is something better than the benefit which he has\nbestowed. Still further, he who has given any one his life, if he be\nmore than once saved from peril of death by him, has received a greater\nbenefit than he bestowed. Now, a father has given life to his son: if,\ntherefore, he be more than once saved from peril by his son, he can\nreceive a greater benefit than he gave. A benefit becomes greater to the\nreceiver in proportion to his need of it. Now he who is alive needs life\nmore than he who has not been born, seeing that such a one can have no\nneed at all; consequently a father, if his life is saved by his son,\nreceives a greater benefit than his son received from him by being born.\nIt is said, \"The benefits conferred by fathers cannot be outdone by\nthose returned by their sons.\" Why? \"Because the son received life from\nhis father, and had he not received it, he could not have returned any\nbenefits at all.\" A father has this in common with all those who have\ngiven any men their lives; it is impossible that these men could repay\nthe debt if they had not received their life. Then I suppose one cannot\noverpay one's debt to a physician, for a physician gives life as well\nas a father; or to a sailor who has saved us when shipwrecked? Yet the\nbenefits bestowed by these and by all the others who give us life in\nwhatever fashion, can be outdone: consequently those of our fathers can\nbe outdone. If any one bestows upon me a benefit which requires the help\nof benefits from many other persons, whereas I give him what requires no\none to help it out, I have given more than I have received; now a father\ngave to his son a life which, without many accessories to preserve it,\nwould perish; whereas a son, if he gives life to his father, gives him\na life which requires no assistance to make it lasting; therefore the\nfather who receives life from his son, receives a greater benefit than\nhe himself bestowed upon his son.\n\nXXXVI. These considerations do not destroy the respect due to parents,\nor make their children behave worse to them, nay, better; for virtue\nis naturally ambitious, and wishes to outstrip those who are before it.\nFilial piety will be all the more eager, if, in returning a father's\nbenefits, it can hope to outdo them; nor will this be against the will\nor the pleasure of the father, since in many contests it is to our\nadvantage to be outdone. How does this contest become so desirable?\nHow comes it to be such happiness to parents that they should confess\nthemselves outdone by the benefits bestowed by their children? Unless we\ndecide the matter thus, we give children an excuse, and make them less\neager to repay their debt, whereas we ought to spur them on, saying,\n\"Noble youths, give your attention to this! You are invited to contend\nin an honourable strife between parents and children, as to which party\nhas received more than it has given. Your fathers have not necessarily\nwon the day because they are first in the field: only take courage, as\nbefits you, and do not give up the contest; you will conquer if you wish\nto do so. In this honourable warfare you will have no lack of leaders\nwho will encourage you to perform deeds like their own, and bid you\nfollow in their footsteps upon a path by which victory has often before\nnow been won over parents.\"\n\nXXXVII. AEneas conquered his father in well doing, for he himself had\nbeen but a light and a safe burden for him when he was a child, yet he\nbore his father, when heavy with age, through the midst of the enemy's\nlines and the crash of the city which was falling around him, albeit the\ndevout old man, who bore the sacred images and the household gods in\nhis hands, pressed him with more than his own weight; nevertheless\n(what cannot filial piety accomplish!) AEneas bore him safe through the\nblazing city, and placed him in safety, to be worshipped as one of the\nfounders of the Roman Empire. Those Sicilian youths outdid their parents\nwhom they bore away safe, when Aetna, roused to unusual fury, poured\nfire over cities and fields throughout a great part of the island. It\nis believed that the fires parted, and that the flames retired on either\nside, so as to leave a passage for these youths to pass through, who\ncertainly deserved to perform their daring task in safety. Antigonus\noutdid his father when, after having conquered the enemy in a great\nbattle, he transferred the fruits of it to him, and handed over to him\nthe empire of Cyprus. This is true kingship, to choose not to be a king\nwhen you might. Manlius conquered his father, imperious [Footnote:\nThere is an allusion to the surname of both the father and the son,\n\"Imperiosus\" given them on account of their severity.] though he was,\nwhen, in spite of his having previously been banished for a time by his\nfather on, account of his dulness and stupidity as a boy, he came to an\ninterview which he had demanded with the tribune of the people, who\nhad filed an action against his father. The tribune had granted him the\ninterview, hoping that he would betray his hated father, and believed\nthat he had earned the gratitude of the youth, having, amongst other\nmatters, reproached old Manlius with sending him into exile, treating\nit as a very serious accusation; but the youth, having caught him alone,\ndrew a sword which he had hidden in his robe, and said, \"Unless you\nswear to give up your suit against my father, I will run you through\nwith this sword. It is in your power to decide how my father shall be\nfreed from his prosecutor.\" The tribune swore, and kept his oath; he\nrelated the reason of his abandonment of his action to an assembly at\nthe Rostra. No other man was ever permitted to put down a tribune with\nimpunity.\n\nXXXVIII. There are instances without number of men who have saved their\nparents from danger, have raised them from the lowest to the highest\nstation, and, taking them from the nameless mass of the lower classes,\nhave given them a name glorious throughout all ages. By no force of\nwords, by no power of genius, can one rightly express how desirable, how\nadmirable, how never to be erased from human memory it is to be able to\nsay, \"I obeyed my parents, I gave way to them, I was submissive to their\nauthority whether it was just, or unjust and harsh; the only point in\nwhich I resisted them was, not to be conquered by them in benefits.\"\nContinue this struggle, I beg of you, and even though weary, yet re-form\nyour ranks. Happy are they who conquer, happy they who are conquered.\nWhat can be more glorious than the youth who can say to himself--it\nwould not be right to say it to another--\"I have conquered my father\nwith benefits\"? What is more fortunate than that old man who declares\neverywhere to everyone that he has been conquered in benefits by\nhis son? What, again, is more blissful than to be overcome in such a\ncontest?\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\nI.\n\n\nOf all the matters which we have discussed, Aebutius Liberalis, there is\nnone more essential, or which, as Sallust says, ought to be stated with\nmore care than that which is now before us: whether the bestowal of\nbenefits and the return of gratitude for them are desirable objects\nin themselves. Some men are found who act honourably from commercial\nmotives, and who do not care for unrewarded virtue, though it can confer\nno glory if it brings any profit. What can be more base than for a man\nto consider what it costs him to be a good man, when virtue neither\nallures by gain nor deters by loss, and is so far from bribing any one\nwith hopes and promises, that on the other hand she bids them spend\nmoney upon herself, and often consists in voluntary gifts? We must go to\nher, trampling what is merely useful under our feet: whithersoever she\nmay call us or send us we must go, without any regard for our private\nfortunes, sometimes without sparing even our own blood, nor must we\never refuse to obey any of her commands. \"What shall I gain,\" says my\nopponent, \"if I do this bravely and gratefully?\" You will gain the doing\nof it--the deed itself is your gain. Nothing beyond this is promised. If\nany advantage chances to accrue to you, count it as something extra.\nThe reward of honourable dealings lies in themselves. If honour is to be\nsought after for itself, since a benefit is honourable, it follows that\nbecause both of these are of the same nature, their conditions must also\nbe the same. Now it has frequently and satisfactorily been proved, that\nhonour ought to be sought after for itself alone.\n\nII. In this part of the subject we oppose the Epicureans, an effeminate\nand dreamy sect who philosophize in their own paradise, amongst whom\nvirtue is the handmaid of pleasures, obeys them, is subject to them,\nand regards them as superior to itself. You say, \"there is no pleasure\nwithout virtue.\" But wherefore is it superior to virtue? Do you imagine\nthat the matter in dispute between them is merely one of precedence?\nNay, it is virtue itself and its powers which are in question. It cannot\nbe virtue if it can follow; the place of virtue is first, she ought to\nlead, to command, to stand in the highest rank; you bid her look for a\ncue to follow. \"What,\" asks our opponent, \"does that matter to you? I\nalso declare that happiness is impossible without virtue. Without virtue\nI disapprove of and condemn the very pleasures which I pursue, and to\nwhich I have surrendered myself. The only matter in dispute is this,\nwhether virtue be the cause of the highest good, or whether it be itself\nthe highest good.\" Do you suppose, though this be the only point in\nquestion, that it is a mere matter of precedence? It is a confusion and\nobvious blindness to prefer the last to the first. I am not angry at\nvirtue being placed below pleasure, but at her being mixed up at all\nwith pleasure, which she despises, whose enemy she is, and from which\nshe separates herself as far as possible, being more at home with labour\nand sorrow, which are manly troubles, than with your womanish good\nthings.\n\nIII. It was necessary to insert this argument, my Liberalis, because\nit is the part of virtue to bestow those benefits which we are now\ndiscussing, and it is most disgraceful to bestow benefits for any other\npurpose than that they should be free gifts. If we give with the hope of\nreceiving a return, we should give to the richest men, not to the most\ndeserving: whereas we prefer a virtuous poor man to an unmannerly rich\none. That is not a benefit, which takes into consideration the fortune\nof the receiver. Moreover, if our only motive for benefiting others was\nour own advantage, those who could most easily distribute benefits, such\nas rich and powerful men, or kings, and persons who do not stand in need\nof the help of others, ought never to do so at all; the gods would\nnot bestow upon us the countless blessings which they pour upon us\nunceasingly by night and by day, for their own nature suffices them in\nall respects, and renders them complete, safe, and beyond the reach of\nharm; they will, therefore, never bestow a benefit upon any one, if self\nand self interest be the only cause for the bestowal of benefits. To\ntake thought, not where your benefit will be best bestowed, but where\nit may be most profitably placed at interest, from whence you will most\neasily get it back, is not bestowal of benefits, but usury. Now the gods\nhave nothing to do with usury; it follows, therefore, that they cannot\nbe liberal; for if the only reason for giving is the advantage of the\ngiver, since God cannot hope to receive any advantages from us, there is\nno cause why God should give anything.\n\nIV. I know what answer may be made to this. \"True; therefore God does\nnot bestow benefits, but, free from care and unmindful of us, He\nturns away from our world and either does something else, or else does\nnothing, which Epicurus thought the greatest possible happiness, and\nHe is not affected either by benefits or by injuries.\" The man who says\nthis cannot surely hear the voices of worshippers, and of those who all\naround him are raising their hands to heaven and praying for the success\nboth of their private affairs and those of the state; which certainly\nwould not be the case, all men would not agree in this madness of\nappealing to deaf and helpless gods, unless we knew that their benefits\nare sometimes bestowed upon us unasked, sometimes in answer to our\nprayers, and that they give us both great and seasonable gifts, which\nshield us from the most terrible dangers. Who is there so poor, so\nuncared for, born to sorrow by so unkind a fate, as never to have felt\nthe vast generosity of the Gods? Look even at those who complain and are\ndiscontented with their lot; you will find that they are not altogether\nwithout a share in the bounty of heaven, that there is no one upon whom\nsomething has not been shed from that most gracious fount. Is the gift\nwhich is bestowed upon all alike, at their birth, not enough? However\nunequally the blessings of after life may be dealt out to us, did nature\ngive us too little when she gave us herself?\n\nV. It is said, \"God does not bestow benefits.\" Whence, then, comes all\nthat you possess, that you give or refuse to give, that you hoard or\nsteal? whence come these innumerable delights of our eyes, our ears, and\nour minds? whence the plenty which provides us even with luxury--for it\nis not our bare necessities alone against which provision is made;\nwe are loved so much as actually to be pampered--whence so many trees\nbearing various fruits, so many wholesome herbs, so many different sorts\nof food distributed throughout the year, so that even the slothful may\nfind sustenance in the chance produce of the earth? Then, too, whence\ncome the living creatures of all kinds, some inhabiting the dry land,\nothers the waters, others alighting from the sky, that every part of\nnature may pay us some tribute; the rivers which encircle our meadows\nwith most beauteous bends, the others which afford a passage to merchant\nfleets as they flow on, wide and navigable, some of which in summer\ntime are subject to extraordinary overflowings in order that lands lying\nparched under a glowing sun may suddenly be watered by the rush of a\nmidsummer torrent?\n\nWhat of the fountains of medicinal waters? What of the bursting forth of\nwarm waters upon the seashore itself? Shall I\n\n  \"Tell of the seas round Italy that flow,\n   Which laves her shore above, and which below;\n   Or of her lakes, unrivalled Larius, thee,\n   Or thee, Benacus, roaring like a sea?\"\n\nVI. If any one gave you a few acres, you would say that you had received\na benefit; can you deny that the boundless extent of the earth is a\nbenefit? If any one gave you money, and filled your chest, since you\nthink that so important, you would call that a benefit. God has buried\ncountless mines in the earth, has poured out from the earth countless\nrivers, rolling sands of gold; He has concealed in every place huge\nmasses of silver, copper and iron, and has bestowed upon you the means\nof discovering them, placing upon the surface of the earth signs of the\ntreasures hidden below; and yet do you say that you have received\nno benefit? If a house were given you, bright with marble, its roof\nbeautifully painted with colours and gilding, you would call it no small\nbenefit. God has built for you a huge mansion that fears no fire or\nruin, in which you see no flimsy veneers, thinner than the very saw with\nwhich they are cut, but vast blocks of most precious stone, all composed\nof those various and different substances whose paltriest fragments you\nadmire so much; he has built a roof which glitters in one fashion by\nday, and in another by night; and yet do you say that you have received\nno benefit? When you so greatly prize what you possess, do you act the\npart of an ungrateful man, and think that there is no one to whom you\nare indebted for them? Whence comes the breath which you draw? the light\nby which you arrange and perform all the actions of your life? the blood\nby whose circulation your vital warmth is maintained? those meats\nwhich excite your palate by their delicate flavour after your hunger is\nappeased? those provocatives which rouse you when wearied with pleasure?\nthat repose in which you are rotting and mouldering? Will you not, if\nyou are grateful, say--\n\n  \"'Tis to a god that this repose I owe,\n   For him I worship, as a god below.\n   Oft on his altar shall my firstlings bleed,\n   See, by his bounty here with rustic reed\n   I play the airs I love the livelong day,\n   The while my oxen round about me stray.\"\n\nThe true God is he who has placed, not a few oxen, but all the herds on\ntheir pastures throughout the world; who furnishes food to the flocks\nwherever they wander; who has ordained the alternation of summer and\nwinter pasturage, and has taught us not merely to play upon a reed, and\nto reduce to some order a rustic and artless song, but who has invented\nso many arts and varieties of voice, so many notes to make music,\nsome with our own breath, some with instruments. You cannot call our\ninventions our own any more than you call our growth our own, or the\nvarious bodily functions which correspond to each stage of our lives; at\none time comes the loss of childhood's teeth, at another, when our age\nis advancing and growing into robuster manhood, puberty and the last\nwisdom-tooth marks the end of our youth. \"We have implanted in us the\nseeds of all ages, of all arts, and God our master brings forth our\nintellects from obscurity.\"\n\nVII. \"Nature,\" says my opponent, \"gives me all this.\" Do you not\nperceive when you say this that you merely speak of God under another\nname? for what is nature but God and divine reason, which pervades the\nuniverse and all its parts? You may address the author of our world\nby as many different titles as you please; you may rightly call him\nJupiter, Best and Greatest, and the Thunderer, or the Stayer, so called,\nnot because, as the historians tell us, he stayed the flight of the\nRoman army in answer to the prayer of Romulus, but because all things\ncontinue in their stay through his goodness. If you were to call this\nsame personage Fate, you would not lie; for since fate is nothing more\nthan a connected chain of causes, he is the first cause of all upon\nwhich all the rest depend. You will also be right in applying to him any\nnames that you please which express supernatural strength and power: he\nmay have as many titles as he has attributes.\n\nVIII. Our school regards him as Father Liber, and Hercules, and\nMercurius: he is Father Liber because he is the parent of all, who first\ndiscovered the power of seed, and our being led by pleasure to plant it;\nhe is Hercules, because his might is unconquered, and when it is wearied\nafter completing its labours, will retire into fire; he is Mercurius,\nbecause in him is reasoning, and numbers, and system, and knowledge.\nWhither-soever you turn yourself you will see him meeting you:\nnothing is void of him, he himself fills his own work. Therefore, most\nungrateful of mortals, it is in vain that you declare yourself indebted,\nnot to God, but to nature, because there can be no God without nature,\nnor any nature without God; they are both the same thing, differing only\nin their functions. If you were to say that you owe to Annaeus or\nto Lucius what you received from Seneca, you would not change your\ncreditor, but only his name, because he remains the same man whether you\nuse his first, second, or third name. So whether you speak of nature,\nfate, or fortune, these are all names of the same God, using his power\nin different ways. So likewise justice, honesty, discretion, courage,\nfrugality, are all the good qualities of one and the same mind; if you\nare pleased with any one of these, you are pleased with that mind.\n\nIX. However, not to drift aside into a distinct controversy, God bestows\nupon us very many and very great benefits without hope of receiving any\nreturn; since he does not require any offering from us, and we are\nnot capable of bestowing anything upon him: wherefore, a benefit is\ndesirable in itself. In it the advantage of the receiver is all that\nis taken into consideration: we study this without regarding our own\ninterests. \"Yet,\" argues our opponent, \"you say that we ought to choose\nwith care the persons upon whom we bestow benefits, because neither do\nhusbandmen sow seed in the sand: now if this be true, we follow our own\ninterest in bestowing benefits, just as much as in ploughing and sowing:\nfor sowing is not desirable in itself. Besides this you inquire where\nand how you ought to bestow a benefit, which would not need to be\ndone if the bestowal of a benefit was desirable in itself: because in\nwhatever place and whatever manner it might be bestowed, it still would\nbe a benefit.\" We seek to do honourable acts, solely because they are\nhonourable; yet even though we need think of nothing else, we consider\nto whom we shall do them, and when, and how; for in these points the act\nhas its being. In like manner, when I choose upon whom I shall bestow\na benefit, and when I aim at making it a benefit; because if it were\nbestowed upon a base person, it could neither be a benefit nor an\nhonourable action.\n\nX. To restore what has been entrusted to one is desirable in itself; yet\nI shall not always restore it, nor shall I do so in any place or at any\ntime you please. Sometimes it makes no difference whether I deny that I\nhave received it, or return it openly. I shall consider the interests\nof the person to whom I am to return it, and shall deny that I have\nreceived a deposit, which would injure him if returned. I shall act in\nthe same manner in bestowing a benefit: I shall consider when to give\nit, to whom, in what manner, and on what grounds. Nothing ought to be\ndone without a reason: a benefit is not truly so, if it be bestowed\nwithout a reason, since reason accompanies all honorable action. How\noften do we hear men reproaching themselves for some thoughtless gift,\nand saying, \"I had rather have thrown it away than have given it to\nhim!\" What is thoughtlessly given away is lost in the most discreditable\nmanner, and it is much worse to have bestowed a benefit badly than to\nhave received no return for it; that we receive no return is the fault\nof another; that we did not choose upon whom we should bestow it, is our\nown. In choosing a fit person, I shall not, as you expect, pay the\nleast attention to whether I am likely to get any return from him, for\nI choose one who will be grateful, not one who will return my goodness,\nand it often happens that the man who makes no return is grateful, while\nhe who returns a benefit is ungrateful for it. I value men by their\nhearts alone, and, therefore, I shall pass over a rich man if he be\nunworthy, and give to a good man though he be poor; for he will be\ngrateful however destitute he may be, since whatever he may lose, his\nheart will still be left him.\n\nXI. I do not fish for gain, for pleasure, or for credit, by bestowing\nbenefits: satisfied in doing so with pleasing one man alone, I shall\ngive in order to do my duty. Duty, however, leaves one some choice; do\nyou ask me, how I am to choose? I shall choose an honest, plain, man,\nwith a good memory, and grateful for kindness; one who keeps his hands\noff other men's goods, yet does not greedily hold to his own, and who is\nkind to others; when I have chosen such a man, I shall have acted to my\nmind, although fortune may have bestowed upon him no means of returning\nmy kindness. If my own advantage and mean calculation made me liberal,\nif I did no one any service except in order that he might in turn do a\nservice to me, I should never bestow a benefit upon one who was setting\nout for distant and foreign countries, never to return; I should not\nbestow a benefit upon one who was so ill as to be past hope of recovery,\nnor should I do so when I myself was failing, because I should not live\nlong enough to receive any return. Yet, that you may know that to do\ngood is desirable in itself, we afford help to strangers who put into\nour harbour only to leave it straightway; we give a ship and fit it out\nfor a shipwrecked stranger to sail back in to his own country. He leaves\nus hardly knowing who it was who saved him, and, as he will never return\nto our presence, he hands over his debt of gratitude to the gods, and\nbeseeches them to fulfil it for him: in the meanwhile we rejoice in the\nbarren knowledge that we have done a good action. What? when we stand\nupon the extreme verge of life, and make our wills, do we not assign to\nothers benefits from which we ourselves shall receive no advantage? How\nmuch time we waste, how long we consider in secret how much property we\nare to leave, and to whom! What then? does it make any difference to us\nto whom we leave our property, seeing that we cannot expect any return\nfrom any one? Yet we never give anything with more care, we never take\nsuch pains in deciding upon our verdict, as when, without any views of\npersonal advantage, we think only of what is honourable, for we are bad\njudges of our duty as long as our view of it is distorted by hope and\nfear, and that most indolent of vices, pleasure: but when death has shut\noff all these, and brought us as incorrupt judges to pronounce sentence,\nwe seek for the most worthy men to leave our property to, and we never\ntake more scrupulous care than in deciding what is to be done with what\ndoes not concern us. Yet, by Hercules, then there steals over us a\ngreat satisfaction as we think, \"I shall make this man richer, and by\nbestowing wealth upon that man I shall add lustre to his high position.\"\nIndeed, if we never give without expecting some return, we must all die\nwithout making our wills.\n\nXII. It may be said, \"You define a benefit as a loan which cannot be\nrepaid: now a loan is not a desirable thing in itself.\" When we speak of\na loan, we make use of a figure, or comparison, just as we speak of law\nas; the standard of right and wrong, although a standard is not a thing\nto be desired for its own sake. I have adopted this phrase in order to\nillustrate my subject: when I speak of a loan, I must be understood to\nmean something resembling a loan. Do you wish to know how it differs\nfrom one? I add the words \"which cannot be repaid,\" whereas every loan\nboth can and ought to be repaid. It is so far from being right to bestow\na benefit for one's own advantage, that often, as I have explained, it\nis one's duty to bestow it when it involves one's own loss and risk: for\ninstance, if I assist a man when beset by robbers, so that he gets away\nfrom them safely, or help some victim of power, and bring upon myself\nthe party spite of a body of influential men, very, probably incurring\nmyself the same disgrace from which I saved him, although I might have\ntaken the other side, and looked on with safety at struggles with\nwhich I have nothing to do: if I were to give bail for one who has been\ncondemned, and when my friend's goods were advertised for sale I were\nto give a bond to the effect that I would make restitution to the\ncreditors, if, in order to save a proscribed person I myself run the\nrisk of being proscribed. No one, when about to buy a villa at Tusculum\nor Tibur, for a summer retreat, because of the health of the locality,\nconsiders how many years' purchase he gives for it; this must be looked\nto by the man who makes a profit by it. The same is true with benefits;\nwhen you ask what return I get for them, I answer, the consciousness\nof a good action. \"What return does one get for benefits?\" Pray tell\nme what return one gets for righteousness, innocence, magnanimity,\nchastity, temperance? If you wish for anything beyond these virtues, you\ndo not wish for the virtues themselves. For what does the order of the\nuniverse bring round the seasons? for what does the sun make the day\nnow longer and now shorter? all these things are benefits, for they take\nplace for our good. As it is the duty of the universe to maintain the\nround of the seasons, as it is the duty of the sun to vary the points of\nhis rising and setting, and to do all these things by which we profit,\nwithout any reward, so is it the duty of man, amongst other things, to\nbestow benefits. Wherefore then does he give? He gives for fear that\nhe should not give, lest he might lose an opportunity of doing a good\naction.\n\nXIII. You Epicureans take pleasure in making a study of dull torpidity,\nin seeking for a repose which differs little from sound sleep, in\nlurking beneath the thickest shade, in amusing with the feeblest\npossible trains of thought that sluggish condition of your languid minds\nwhich you term tranquil contemplation, and in stuffing with food and\ndrink, in the recesses of your gardens, your bodies which are pallid\nwith want of exercise; we Stoics, on the other hand, take pleasure in\nbestowing benefits, even though they cost us labour, provided that they\nlighten the labours of others; though they lead us into danger, provided\nthat they save others, though they straiten our means, if they alleviate\nthe poverty and distresses of others. What difference does it make to me\nwhether I receive benefits or not? even if I receive them, it is still\nmy duty to bestow them. A benefit has in view the advantage of him\nupon whom we bestow it, not our own; otherwise we merely bestow it upon\nourselves. Many things, therefore, which are of the greatest possible\nuse to others lose all claim to gratitude by being paid for. Merchants\nare of use to cities, physicians to invalids, dealers to slaves; yet all\nthese have no claim to the gratitude of those whom they benefit, because\nthey seek their own advantage through that of others. That which is\nbestowed with a view to profit is not a benefit. \"I will give this in\norder that I may get a return for it\" is the language of a broker.\n\nXIV. I should not call a woman modest, if she rebuffed her lover in\norder to increase his passion, or because she feared the law or her\nhusband; as Ovid says:\n\n  \"She that denies, because she does not dare\n   To yield, in spirit grants her lover's prayer.\"\n\nIndeed, the woman who owes her chastity, not to her own virtue, but to\nfear, may rightly be classed as a sinner. In the same manner, he who\nmerely gave in order that he might receive, cannot be said to have\ngiven. Pray, do we bestow benefits upon animals when we feed them for\nour use or for our table? do we bestow benefits upon trees when we tend\nthem that they may not suffer from drought or from hardness of ground?\nNo one is moved by righteousness and goodness of heart to cultivate an\nestate, or to do any act in which the reward is something apart from the\nact itself; but he is moved to bestow benefits, not by low and grasping\nmotives, but by a kind and generous mind, which even after it has given\nis willing to give again, to renew its former bounties by fresh ones,\nwhich thinks only of how much good it can do the man to whom it gives;\nwhereas to do any one a service because it is our interest to do so is a\nmean action, which deserves no praise, no credit. What grandeur is there\nin loving oneself, sparing oneself, gaining profit for oneself? The true\nlove of giving calls us away from all this, forcibly leads us to put up\nwith loss, and foregoes its own interest, deriving its greatest pleasure\nfrom the mere act of doing good.\n\nXV. Can we doubt that the converse of a benefit is an injury? As the\ninfliction of injuries is a thing to be avoided, so is the bestowal of\nbenefits to be desired for its own sake. In the former, the disgrace of\ncrime outweighs all the advantages which incite us to commit it; while\nwe are urged to the latter course by the appearance of honour, in itself\na powerful incentive to action, which attends it.\n\nI should not lie if I were to affirm that every one takes pleasure in\nthe benefits which he has bestowed, that everyone loves best to see the\nman whom he has most largely benefited. Who does not thinks that to have\nbestowed one benefit is a reason for bestowing a second? and would this\nbe so, if the act of giving did not itself give us pleasure? How often\nyou may hear a man say, \"I cannot bear to desert one whose life I have\npreserved, whom I have saved from danger. True, he asks me to plead his\ncause against men of great influence. I do not wish to do so, yet what\nam I to do? I have already helped him once, nay twice.\" Do you not\nperceive how very powerful this instinct must be, if it leads us to\nbestow benefits first because it is right to do so, and afterwards\nbecause we have already bestowed somewhat? Though at the outset a man\nmay have had no claim upon us, we yet continue to give to him because we\nhave already given to him. So untrue is it that we are urged to bestow\nbenefits by our own interest, that even when our benefits prove failures\nwe continue to nurse them and encourage them out of sheer love of\nbenefiting, which has a natural weakness even for what has been\nill-bestowed, like that which we feel for our vicious children.\n\nXVI. These same adversaries of ours admit that they are grateful, yet\nnot because it is honourable, but because it is profitable to be so.\nThis can be proved to be untrue all the more easily, because it can be\nestablished by the same arguments by which we have established that to\nbestow a benefit is desirable for its own sake. All our arguments start\nfrom this settled point, that honour is pursued for no reason except\nbecause it is honour. Now, who will venture to raise the question\nwhether it be honourable to be grateful? who does not loathe the\nungrateful man, useless as he is even to himself? How do you feel when\nany one is spoken of as being ungrateful for great benefits conferred\nupon him by a friend? Is it as though he had done something base, or had\nmerely neglected to do something useful and likely to be profitable to\nhimself? I imagine that you think him a bad man, and one who deserves\npunishment, not one who needs a guardian; and this would not be the\ncase, unless gratitude were desirable in itself and honourable. Other\nqualities, it may be, manifest their importance less clearly, and\nrequire an explanation to prove whether they be honourable or no; this\nis openly proved to be so in the sight of all, and is too beautiful for\nanything to obscure or dim its glory. What is more praiseworthy, upon\nwhat are all men more universally agreed, than to return gratitude for\ngood offices?\n\nXVII. Pray tell me, what is it that urges us to do so? Is it profit?\nWhy, unless a man despises profit, he is not grateful. Is it ambition?\nwhy, what is there to boast of in having paid what you owe? Is it\nfear? The ungrateful man feels none, for against this one crime we\nhave provided no law, as though nature had taken sufficient precautions\nagainst it. Just as there is no law which bids parents love and indulge\ntheir children, seeing that it is superfluous to force us into the\npath which we naturally take, just as no one needs to be urged to love\nhimself, since self-love begins to act upon him as soon as he is born,\nso there is no law bidding us to seek that which is honourable\nin itself; for such things please us by their very nature, and so\nattractive is virtue that the disposition even of bad men leads them to\napprove of good rather than of evil. Who is there who does not wish\nto appear beneficent, who does not even when steeped in crime and\nwrong-doing strive after the appearance of goodness, does not put some\nshow of justice upon even his most intemperate acts, and endeavour to\nseem to have conferred a benefit even upon those whom he has injured?\nConsequently, men allow themselves to be thanked by those whom they have\nruined, and pretend to be good and generous, because they cannot prove\nthemselves so; and this they never would do were it not that a love\nof honour for its own sake forces them to seek a reputation quite at\nvariance with their real character, and to conceal their baseness, a\nquality whose fruits we covet, though we regard it itself with dislike\nand shame. No one has ever so far rebelled against the laws of nature\nand put off human feeling as to act basely for mere amusement. Ask any\nof those who live by robbery whether he would not rather obtain what\nhe steals and plunders by honest means; the man whose trade is highway\nrobbery and the murder of travellers would rather find his booty than\ntake it by force; you will find no one who would not prefer to enjoy the\nfruits of wickedness without acting wickedly. Nature bestows upon us all\nthis immense advantage, that the light of virtue shines into the minds\nof all alike; even those who do not follow her, behold her.\n\nXVIII. A proof that gratitude is desirable for itself lies in the fact\nthat ingratitude is to be avoided for itself, because no vice more\npowerfully rends asunder and destroys the union of the human race.\nTo what do we trust for safety, if not in mutual good offices one to\nanother? It is by the interchange of benefits alone that we gain some\nmeasure of protection for our lives, and of safety against sudden\ndisasters. Taken singly, what should we be? a prey and quarry for wild\nbeasts, a luscious and easy banquet; for while all other animals have\nsufficient strength to protect themselves, and those which are born to a\nwandering solitary life are armed, man is covered by a soft skin, has no\npowerful teeth or claws with which to terrify other creatures, but weak\nand naked by himself is made strong by union.\n\nGod has bestowed upon him two gifts, reason and union, which raise him\nfrom weakness to the highest power; and so he, who if taken alone would\nbe inferior to every other creature, possesses supreme dominion. Union\nhas given him sovereignty over all animals; union has enabled a being\nborn upon the earth to assume power over a foreign element, and bids him\nbe lord of the sea also; it is union which has checked the inroads of\ndisease, provided supports for our old age, and given us relief from\npain; it is union which makes us strong, and to which we look for\nprotection against the caprices of fortune. Take away union, and you\nwill rend asunder the association by which the human race preserves\nits existence; yet you will take it away if you succeed in proving that\ningratitude is not to be avoided for itself, but because something is\nto be feared for it; for how many are there who can with safety be\nungrateful? In fine, I call every man ungrateful who is merely made\ngrateful by fear.\n\nXIX. No sane man fears the gods; for it is madness to fear what is\nbeneficial, and no man loves those whom he fears. You, Epicurus, ended\nby making God unarmed; you stripped him of all weapons, of all power,\nand, lest anyone should fear him, you banished him out of the world.\nThere is no reason why you should fear this being, cut off as he is, and\nseparated from the sight and touch of mortals by a vast and impassable\nwall; he has no power either of rewarding or of injuring us; he dwells\nalone half-way between our heaven and that of another world, without the\nsociety either of animals, of men, or of matter, avoiding the crash of\nworlds as they fall in ruins above and around him, but neither hearing\nour prayers nor interested in us. Yet you wish to seem to worship this\nbeing just as a father, with a mind, I suppose, full of gratitude; or,\nif you do not wish to seem grateful, why should you worship him, since\nyou have received no benefit from him, but have been put together\nentirely at random and by chance by those atoms and mites of yours?\n\"I worship him,\" you answer, \"because of his glorious majesty and his\nunique nature.\" Granting that you do this, you clearly do it without\nthe attraction of any reward, or any hope; there is therefore something\nwhich is desirable for itself, whose own worth attracts you, that\nis, honour. Now what is more honourable than gratitude? the means of\npractising this virtue are as extensive as life itself.\n\nXX. \"Yet,\" argues he, \"there is also a certain amount of profit inherent\nin this virtue.\" In what virtue is there not? But that which we speak\nof as desirable for itself is such, that although it may possess some\nattendant advantages, yet it would be desirable even if stripped of\nall these. It is profitable to be grateful; yet I will be grateful even\nthough it harm me. What is the aim of the grateful man? is it that his\ngratitude may win for him more friends and more benefits? What then? If\na man is likely to meet with affronts by showing his gratitude, if he\nknows that far from gaining anything by it, he must lose much even of\nwhat he has already acquired, will he not cheerfully act to his own\ndisadvantage? That man is ungrateful who, in returning a kindness,\nlooks forward to a second gift--who hopes while he repays. I call him\nungrateful who sits at the bedside of a sick man because he is about\nto make a will, when he is at leisure to think of inheritances and\nlegacies. Though he may do everything which a good and dutiful friend\nought to do, yet, if any hope of gain be floating in his mind, he is a\nmere legacy-hunter, and is angling for an inheritance. Like the birds\nwhich feed upon carcases, which come close to animals weakened by\ndisease, and watch till they fall, so these men are attracted by death\nand hover around a corpse.\n\nXXI. A grateful mind is attracted only by a sense of the beauty of its\npurpose. Do you wish to know this to be so, and that it is not bribed by\nideas of profit? There are two classes of grateful men: a man is called\ngrateful who has made some return for what he received; this man may\nvery possibly display himself in this character, he has something\nto boast of, to refer to. We also call a man grateful who receives a\nbenefit with goodwill, and owes it to his benefactor with goodwill; yet\nthis man's gratitude lies concealed within his own mind. What profit can\naccrue to him from this latent feeling? yet this man, even though he\nis not able to do anything more than this, is grateful; he loves his\nbenefactor, he feels his debt to him, he longs to repay his kindness;\nwhatever else you may find wanting, there is nothing wanting in the man.\nHe is like a workman who has not the tools necessary for the practice of\nhis craft, or like a trained singer whose voice cannot be heard through\nthe noise of those who interrupt him. I wish to repay a kindness: after\nthis there still remains something for me to do, not in order that I may\nbecome grateful, but that I may discharge my debt; for, in many cases,\nhe who returns a kindness is ungrateful for it, and he who does not\nreturn it is grateful. Like all other virtues, the whole value of\ngratitude lies in the spirit in which it is done; so, if this man's\npurpose be loyal, any shortcomings on his part are due not to himself,\nbut to fortune. A man who is silent may, nevertheless, be eloquent; his\nhands may be folded or even bound, and he may yet be strong; just as\na pilot is a pilot even when upon dry land, because his knowledge\nis complete, and there is nothing wanting to it, though there may be\nobstacles which prevent his making use of it. In the same way, a man is\ngrateful who only wishes to be so, and who has no one but himself who\ncan bear witness to his frame of mind. I will go even further than\nthis: a man sometimes is grateful when he appears to be ungrateful, when\nill-judging report has declared him to be so. Such a man can look\nto nothing but his own conscience, which can please him even when\noverwhelmed by calumny, which contradicts the mob and common rumour,\nrelies only upon itself, and though it beholds a vast crowd of the other\nway of thinking opposed to it, does not count heads, but wins by its own\nvote alone. Should it see its own good faith meet with the punishment\ndue to treachery, it will not descend from its pedestal, and will remain\nsuperior to its punishment. \"I have,\" it says, \"what I wished, what I\nstrove for. I do not regret it, nor shall I do so; nor shall fortune,\nhowever unjust she may be, ever hear me say, 'What did I want? What now\nis the use of having meant well?'\" A good conscience is of value on\nthe rack, or in the fire; though fire be applied to each of our limbs,\ngradually encircle our living bodies, and burst our heart, yet if our\nheart be filled with a good conscience, it will rejoice in the fire\nwhich will make its good faith shine before the world.\n\nXXII. Now let that question also which has been already stated be again\nbrought forward; Why is it that we should wish to be grateful when we\nare dying, that we should carefully weigh the various services rendered\nus by different individuals, and carefully review our whole life, that\nwe may not seem to have forgotten any kindness? Nothing then remains for\nus to hope for; yet when on the very threshold, we wish to depart\nfrom human life as full of gratitude as possible. There is in truth an\nimmense reward for this thing merely in doing it, and what is honourable\nhas great power to attract men's minds, which are overwhelmed by its\nbeauty and carried off their balance, enchanted by its brilliancy and\nsplendour. \"Yet,\" argues our adversary, \"from it many advantages take\ntheir rise, and good men obtain a safer life and love, and the good\nopinion of the better class, while their days are spent in greater\nsecurity when accompanied by innocence and gratitude.\"\n\nIndeed, nature would have been most unjust had she rendered this great\nblessing miserable, uncertain, and fruitless. But consider this point,\nwhether you would make your way to that virtue, to which it is generally\nsafe and easy to attain, even though the path lay over rocks and\nprecipices, and were beset with fierce beasts and venomous serpents. A\nvirtue is none the less to be desired for its own sake, because it has\nsome adventitious profit connected with it: indeed, in most cases the\nnoblest virtues are accompanied by many extraneous advantages, but it is\nthe virtues that lead the way, and these merely follow in their train.\n\nXXIII. Can we doubt that the climate of this abode of the human race is\nregulated by the motion of the sun and moon in their orbits? that\nour bodies are sustained, the hard earth loosened, excessive moisture\nreduced, and the surly bonds of winter broken by the heat of the one,\nand that crops are brought to ripeness by the effectual all-pervading\nwarmth of the other? that the fertility of the human race corresponds\nto the courses of the moon? that the sun by its revolution marks out\nthe year, and that the moon, moving in a smaller orbit, marks out the\nmonths? Yet, setting aside all this, would not the sun be a sight worthy\nto be contemplated and worshipped, if he did no more than rise and set?\nwould not the moon be worth looking at, even if it passed uselessly\nthrough the heavens? Whose attention is not arrested by the universe\nitself, when by night it pours forth its fires and glitters with\ninnumerable stars? Who, while he admires them, thinks of their being of\nuse to him? Look at that great company gliding over our heads, how they\nconceal their swift motion under the semblance of a fixed and immovable\nwork. How much takes place in that night which you make use of merely\nto mark and count your days! What a mass of events is being prepared in\nthat silence! What a chain of destiny their unerring path is forming!\nThose which you imagine to be merely strewn about for ornament are\nreally one and all at work. Nor is there any ground for your belief that\nonly seven stars revolve, and that the rest remain still: we understand\nthe orbits of a few, but countless divinities, further removed from\nour sight, come and go; while the greater part of those whom our sight\nreaches move in a mysterious manner and by an unknown path.\n\nXXIV. What then? would you not be captivated by the sight of such a\nstupendous work, even though it did not cover you, protect you, cherish\nyou, bring you into existence and penetrate you with its spirit? Though\nthese heavenly bodies are of the very first importance to us, and are,\nindeed, essential to our life, yet we can think of nothing but\ntheir glorious majesty, and similarly all virtue, especially that of\ngratitude, though it confers great advantages upon us, does not wish to\nbe loved for that reason; it has something more in it than this, and he\nwho merely reckons it among useful things does not perfectly comprehend\nit. A man, you say, is grateful because it is to his advantage to be\nso. If this be the case, then his advantage will be the measure of his\ngratitude. Virtue will not admit a covetous lover; men must approach her\nwith open purse. The ungrateful man thinks, \"I did wish to be grateful,\nbut I fear the expense and danger and insults to which I should expose\nmyself: I will rather consult my own interest.\" Men cannot be rendered\ngrateful and ungrateful by the same line of reasoning: their actions\nare as distinct as their purposes. The one is ungrateful, although it is\nwrong, because it is his interest; the other is grateful, although it is\nnot his interest, because it is right.\n\nXXV. It is our aim to live in harmony with the scheme of the universe,\nand to follow the example of the gods. Yet in all their acts the gods\nhave no object in view other than the act itself, unless you suppose\nthat they obtain a reward for their work in the smoke of burnt\nsacrifices and the scent of incense. See what great things they do every\nday, how much they divide amongst us, with how great crops they fill the\nearth, how they move the seas with convenient winds to carry us to all\nshores, how by the fall of sudden showers they soften the ground, renew\nthe dried-up springs of fountains, and call them into new life by\nunseen supplies of water. All this they do without reward, without any\nadvantage accruing to themselves. Let our line of conduct, if it would\nnot depart from its model, preserve this direction, and let us not act\nhonourably because we are hired to do so. We ought to feel ashamed that\nany benefit should have a price: we pay nothing for the gods.\n\nXXVI. \"If,\" our adversary may say, \"you wish to imitate the gods, then\nbestow benefits upon the ungrateful as well as the grateful; for the\nsun rises upon the wicked as well as the good, the seas are open even\nto pirates.\" By this question he really asks whether a good man\nwould bestow a benefit upon an ungrateful person, knowing him to be\nungrateful. Allow me here to introduce a short explanation, that we may\nnot be taken in by a deceitful question. Understand that according to\nthe system of the Stoics there are two classes of ungrateful persons.\nOne man is ungrateful because he is a fool; a fool is a bad man; a man\nwho is bad possesses every vice: therefore he is ungrateful. In the same\nway we speak of all bad men as dissolute, avaricious, luxurious, and\nspiteful, not because each man has all these vices in any great or\nremarkable degree, but because he might have them; they are in him, even\nthough they be not seen. The second form of ungrateful person is he who\nis commonly meant by the term, one who is inclined by nature to this\nvice. In the case of him who has the vice of ingratitude just as he has\nevery other, a wise man will bestow a benefit, because if he sets aside\nall such men there will be no one left for him to bestow it on. As for\nthe ungrateful man who habitually misapplies benefits and acts so by\nchoice, he will no more bestow a benefit upon him than he would lend\nmoney to a spendthrift, or place a deposit in the hands of one who had\nalready often refused to many persons to give up the property with which\nthey had entrusted him.\n\nXXVII. We call some men timid because they are fools: in this they\nare like the bad men who are steeped in all vices without distinction.\nStrictly speaking, we call those persons timid who are alarmed even\nat unmeaning noises. A fool possesses all vices, but he is not equally\ninclined by nature to all; one is prone to avarice, another to luxury,\nand another to insolence. Those persons, therefore, are mistaken, who\nask the Stoics, \"What do you say, then? is Achilles timid? Aristides,\nwho received a name for justice, is he unjust? Fabius, who 'by delays\nretrieved the day,' is he rash? Does Decius fear death? Is Mucius\na traitor? Camillus a betrayer?\" We do not mean that all vices are\ninherent in all men in the same way in which some especial ones are\nnoticeable in certain men, but we declare that the bad man and the fool\npossess all vices; we do not even acquit them of fear when they are\nrash, or of avarice when they are extravagant. Just as a man has all his\nsenses, yet all men have not on that account as keen a sight as Lynceus,\nso a man that is a fool has not all vices in so active and vigorous a\nform as some persons have spine of them, yet he has them all. All vices\nexist in all of them, yet all are not prominent in each individual. One\nman is naturally prone to avarice, another is the slave of wine, a third\nof lust; or, if not yet enslaved by these passions, he is so fashioned\nby nature that this is the direction in which his character would\nprobably lead him. Therefore, to return to my original proposition,\nevery bad man is ungrateful, because he has the seeds of every villainy\nin him; but he alone is rightly so called who is naturally inclined to\nthis vice. Upon such a person as this, therefore, I shall not bestow a\nbenefit. One who betrothed his daughter to an ill-tempered man from whom\nmany women had sought a divorce, would be held to have neglected her\ninterests; a man would be thought a bad father if he entrusted the care\nof his patrimony to one who had lost his own family estate, and it would\nbe the act of a madman to make a will naming as the guardian of one's\nson a man who had already defrauded other wards. So will that man be\nsaid to bestow benefits as badly as possible, who chooses ungrateful\npersons, in whose hands they will perish.\n\nXXVIII. \"The gods,\" it may be said, \"bestow much, even upon the\nungrateful.\" But what they bestow they had prepared for the good, and\nthe bad have their share as well, because they cannot be separated. It\nis better to benefit the bad as well, for the sake of benefiting the\ngood, than to stint the good for fear of benefiting the bad. Therefore\nthe gods have created all that you speak of, the day, the sun, the\nalternations of winter and summer, the transitions through spring and\nautumn from one extreme to the other, showers, drinking fountains, and\nregularly blowing winds for the use of all alike; they could not except\nindividuals from the enjoyment of them. A king bestows honours upon\nthose who deserve them, but he gives largesse to the undeserving as\nwell. The thief, the bearer of false witness, and the adulterer, alike\nreceive the public grant of corn, and all are placed on the register\nwithout any examination as to character; good and bad men share alike in\nall the other privileges which a man receives, because he is a citizen,\nnot because he is a good man. God likewise has bestowed certain gifts\nupon the entire human race, from which no one is shut out. Indeed, it\ncould not be arranged that the wind which was fair for good men should\nbe foul for bad ones, while it is for the good of all men that the seas\nshould be open for traffic and the kingdom of mankind be enlarged; nor\ncould any law be appointed for the showers, so that they should not fall\nupon the fields of wicked and evil men. Some things are given to all\nalike: cities are founded for good and bad men alike; works of genius\nreach, by publication, even unworthy men; medicine points out the\nmeans of health even to the wicked; no one has checked the making up of\nwholesome remedies for fear that the undeserving should be healed. You\nmust seek for examination and preference of individuals in such things\nas are bestowed separately upon those who are thought to deserve them;\nnot in these, which admit the mob to share them without distinction.\nThere is a great difference between not shutting a man out and choosing\nhim. Even a thief receives justice; even murderers enjoy the blessings\nof peace; even those who have plundered others can recover their own\nproperty; assassins and private bravoes are defended against the common\nenemy by the city wall; the laws protect even those who have sinned most\ndeeply against them. There are some things which no man could obtain\nunless they were given to all; you need not, therefore, cavil about\nthose matters in which all mankind is invited to share. As for things\nwhich men receive or not at my discretion, I shall not bestow them upon\none whom I know to be ungrateful.\n\nXXIX. \"Shall we, then,\" argues he, \"not give our advice to an ungrateful\nman when he is at a loss, or refuse him a drink of water when he is\nthirsty, or not show him the path when he has lost his way? or would you\ndo him these services and yet not give him anything?\" Here I will draw\na distinction, or at any rate endeavour to do so. A benefit is a useful\nservice, yet all useful service is not a benefit; for some are so\ntrifling as not to claim the title of benefits. To produce a benefit two\nconditions must concur. First, the importance of the thing given; for\nsome things fall short of the dignity of a benefit. Who ever called a\nhunch of bread a benefit, or a farthing dole tossed to a beggar, or the\nmeans of lighting a fire? yet sometimes these are of more value than the\nmost costly benefits; still their cheapness detracts from their value\neven when, by the exigency of time, they are rendered essential. The\nnext condition, which is the most important of all, must necessarily be\npresent, namely, that I should confer the benefit for the sake of him\nwhom I wish to receive it, that I should judge him worthy of it, bestow\nit of my own free will, and receive pleasure from my own gift, none\nof which conditions are present in the cases of which we have just now\nspoken; for we do not bestow such things as those upon these who are\nworthy of them, but we give them carelessly, as trifles, and do not give\nthem so much to a man as to humanity.\n\nXXX. I shall not deny that sometimes I would give even to the unworthy,\nout of respect for others; as, for instance, in competition for public\noffices, some of the basest of men are preferred on account of their\nnoble birth, to industrious men of no family, and that for good reasons;\nfor the memory of great virtues is sacred, and more men will take\npleasure in being good, if the respect felt for good men does not cease\nwith their lives. What made Cicero's son a consul, except his father?\nWhat lately brought Cinna [Footnote: See Seneca on \"Clemency,\" book i.,\nch. ix.] out of the camp of the enemy and raised him to the consulate?\nWhat made Sextus Pompeius and the other Pompeii consuls, unless it was\nthe greatness of one man, who once was raised so high that, by his very\nfall, he sufficiently exalted all his relatives. What lately made Fabius\nPersicus a member of more than one college of priests, though even\nprofligates avoided his kiss? Was it not Verrucosus, and Allobrogicus,\nand the three hundred who to serve their country blocked the invader's\npath with the force of a single family? It is our duty to respect the\nvirtuous, not only when present with us, but also when removed from our\nsight: as they have made it their study not to bestow their benefits\nupon one age alone, but to leave them existing after they themselves\nhave passed away, so let us not confine our gratitude to a single\nage. If a man has begotten great men, he deserves to receive benefits,\nwhatever he himself may be: he has given us worthy men. If a man\ndescends from glorious ancestors, whatever he himself may be, let him\nfind refuge under the shadow of his ancestry. As mean places are lighted\nup by the rays of the sun, so let the degenerate shine in the light of\ntheir forefathers.\n\nXXXI. In this place, my Liberalis, I wish to speak in defence of the\ngods. We sometimes say, \"What could Providence mean by placing an\nArrhidaeus upon the throne?\" Do you suppose that the crown was given\nto Arrhidaeus? nay, it was given to his father and his brother. Why\ndid Heaven bestow the empire of the world upon Caius Caesar, the most\nbloodthirsty of mankind, who was wont to order blood to be shed in his\npresence as freely as if he wished to drink of it? Why, do you suppose\nthat it was given to him? It was given to his father, Germanicus, to his\ngrandfather, his great grandfather, and to others before them, no less\nillustrious men, though they lived as private citizens on a footing\nof equality with others. Why, when you yourself were making Mamercus\nScaurus consul, were you ignorant of his vices? did he himself conceal\nthem? did he wish to appear decent?\n\nDid you admit a man who was so openly filthy to the fasces and the\ntribunal? Yes, it was because you were thinking of the great old\nScaurus, the chief of the Senate, and were unwilling that his descendant\nshould be despised.\n\nXXXII. It is probable that the gods act in the same manner, that they\nshow greater indulgence to some for the sake of their parents and\ntheir ancestry, and to others for the sake of their children and\ngrandchildren, and a long line of descendants beyond them; for they\nknow the whole course of their works, and have constant access to the\nknowledge of all that shall hereafter pass through their hands. These\nthings come upon us from the unknown future, and the gods have foreseen\nand are familiar with the events by which we are startled. \"Let these\nmen,\" says Providence, \"be kings, because their ancestors were good\nkings, because they regarded righteousness and temperance as the highest\nrule of life, because they did not devote the state to themselves, but\ndevoted themselves to the state. Let these others reign, because some\none of their ancestors before them was a good man, who bore a soul\nsuperior to fortune, who preferred to be conquered rather than to\nconquer in civil strife, because it was more to the advantage of\nthe state. [Footnote: Gertz, \"Stud. Crit,\" p. 159, note.] It was not\npossible to make a sufficient return to him for this during so long a\ntime; let this other, therefore, out of regard for him, be chief of the\npeople, not because he knows how, or is capable, but because the other\nhas earned it for him. This man is misshapen, loathsome to look upon,\nand will disgrace the insignia of his office. Men will presently blame\nme, calling me blind and reckless, not knowing upon whom I am conferring\nwhat ought to be given to the greatest and noblest of men; but I know\nthat, in giving this dignity to one man, I am paying an old debt to\nanother. How should the men of to-day know that ancient hero, who so\nresolutely avoided the glory which pressed upon him, who went into\ndanger with the same look which other men wear when they have escaped\nfrom danger, who never regarded his own interest as apart from that\nof the commonwealth?\" \"Where,\" you ask, \"or who is he? whence does\nhe come?\" \"You know him not; it lies with me to balance the debit and\ncredit account in such cases as these; I know how much I owe to each\nman; I repay some after a long interval, others beforehand, according\nas my opportunities and the exigencies of my social system permit.\"\nI shall, therefore, sometimes bestow somewhat upon an ungrateful man,\nthough not for his own sake.\n\nXXXIII. \"What,\" argues he, \"if you do not know whether your man be\nungrateful or grateful--will you wait until you know, or will you\nnot lose the opportunity of bestowing a benefit? To wait is a long\nbusiness--for, as Plato says, it is hard to form an opinion about the\nhuman mind,--not to wait, is rash.\" To this objector we shall answer,\nthat we never should wait for absolute knowledge of the whole case,\nsince the discovery of truth is an arduous task, but should proceed\nin the direction in which truth appeared to direct us. All our actions\nproceed in this direction: it is thus that we sow seed, that we sail\nupon the sea, that we serve in the army, marry, and bring up children.\nThe result of all these actions is uncertain, so we take that course\nfrom which we believe that good results may be hoped for. Who can\nguarantee a harvest to the sower, a harbour to the sailor, victory\nto the soldier, a modest wife to the husband, dutiful children to the\nfather? We proceed in the way in which reason, not absolute truth,\ndirects us. Wait, do nothing that will not turn out well, form no\nopinion until you have searched but the truth, and your life will pass\nin absolute in action. Since it is only the appearance of truth, not\ntruth itself, which leads me hither or thither, I shall confer benefits\nupon the man who apparently will be grateful.\n\nXXXIV. \"Many circumstances,\" argues he, \"may arise which may enable a\nbad man to steal into the place of a good one, or may cause a good man\nto be disliked as though he were a bad one; for appearances, to which\nwe trust, are deceptive.\" Who denies it? Yet I can find nothing else by\nwhich to guide my opinion. I must follow these tracks in my search after\ntruth, for I have none more trustworthy than these; I will take pains\nto weigh the value of these with all possible care, and will not hastily\ngive my assent to them. For instance, in a battle, it may happen that my\nhand may be deceived by some mistake into turning my weapon against my\ncomrade, and sparing my enemy as though he were on my side; but this\nwill not often take place, and will not take place through any fault of\nmine, for my object is to strike the enemy, and defend my countryman.\nIf I know a man to be ungrateful, I shall not bestow a benefit upon him.\nBut the man has passed himself off as a good man by some trick, and has\nimposed upon me. Well, this is not at all the fault of the giver, who\ngave under the impression that his friend was grateful. \"Suppose,\" asks\nhe, \"that you were to promise to bestow a benefit, and afterwards were\nto learn that your man was ungrateful, would you bestow it or not? If\nyou do, you do wrong knowingly, for you give to one to whom you ought\nnot; if you refuse, you do wrong likewise, for you do not give to him to\nwhom you promised to give. This case upsets your consistency, and that\nproud assurance of yours that the wise man never regrets his actions,\nor amends what he has done, or alters his plans.\" The wise man never\nchanges his plans while the conditions under which he formed them remain\nthe same; therefore, he never feels regret, because at the time nothing\nbetter than what he did could have been done, nor could any better\ndecision have been arrived at than that which was made; yet he begins\neverything with the saving clause, \"If nothing shall occur to the\ncontrary.\" This is the reason why we say that all goes well with him,\nand that nothing happens contrary to his expectation, because he\nbears in mind the possibility of something happening to prevent the\nrealization of his projects. It is an imprudent confidence to trust that\nfortune will be on our side. The wise man considers both sides: he knows\nhow great is the power of errors, how uncertain human affairs are, how\nmany obstacles there are to the success of plans. Without committing\nhimself, he awaits the doubtful and capricious issue of events, and\nweighs certainty of purpose against uncertainty of result. Here also,\nhowever, he is protected by that saving clause, without which he decides\nupon nothing, and begins nothing.\n\nXXXV. When I promise to bestow a benefit, I promise it, unless something\noccurs which makes it my duty not to do so. What if, for example, my\ncountry orders me to give to her what I had promised to my friend? or if\na law be passed forbidding any one to do what I had promised to do for\nhim? Suppose that I have promised you my daughter in marriage, that\nthen you turn out to be a foreigner, and that I have no right of\nintermarriage with foreigners; in this case, the law, by which I\nam forbidden to fulfil my promise, forms my defence. I shall be\ntreacherous, and hear myself blamed for inconsistency, only if I do not\nfulfil, my promise when all conditions remain the same as when I made\nit; otherwise, any change makes me free to reconsider the entire case,\nand absolves me from my promise. I may have promised to plead a cause;\nafterwards it appears that this cause is designed to form a precedent\nfor an attack upon my father. I may have promised to leave my country,\nand travel abroad; then news comes that the road is beset with robbers.\nI was going to an appointment at some particular place; but my son's\nillness, or my wife's confinement, prevented me. All conditions must be\nthe same as they were when I made the promise, if you mean to hold me\nbound in honour to fulfil it. Now what greater change can take place\nthan that I should discover you to be a bad and ungrateful man? I\nshall refuse to an unworthy man that which I had intended to give him\nsupposing him to be worthy, and I shall also have reason to be angry\nwith him for the trick which he has put upon me.\n\nXXXVI. I shall nevertheless look into the matter, and consider what the\nvalue of the thing promised may be. If it be trifling, I shall give it,\nnot because you are worthy of it, but because I promised it, and I shall\nnot give it as a present, but merely in order to make good my words\nand give myself a twitch of the ear. I will punish my own rashness in\npromising by the loss of what I gave. \"See how grieved you are; mind you\ntake more care what you say in future.\" As the saying is, I will take\ntongue money from you. If the matter be important, I will not, as\nMaecenas said, let ten million sesterces reproach me. I will weigh the\ntwo sides of the question one against the other: there is something in\nabiding by what you have promised; on the other hand, there is a great\ndeal in not bestowing a benefit upon one who is unworthy of it. Now, how\ngreat is this benefit? If it is a trifling one, let us wink and let it\npass; but if it will cause me much loss or much shame to give it, I had\nrather excuse myself once for refusing it than have to do so ever after\nfor giving it. The whole point, I repeat, depends upon how much the\nthing given is worth: let the terms of my promise be appraised. Not only\nshall I refuse to give what I may have promised rashly, but I shall also\ndemand back again what I may have wrongly bestowed: a man must be mad\nwho keeps a promise made under a mistake.\n\nXXXVII. Philip, king of the Macedonians, had a hardy soldier whose\nservices he had found useful in many campaigns. From time to time he\nmade this man presents of part of the plunder as the reward of his\nvalour, and used to excite his greedy spirit by his frequent gifts. This\nman was cast by shipwreck upon the estate of a certain Macedonian,\nwho as soon as he heard the news hastened to him, restored his breath,\nremoved him to his own farmhouse, gave up his own bed to him, nursed him\nout of his weakened and half-dead condition, took care of him at his own\nexpense for thirty days, restored him to health and gave him a sum of\nmoney for his journey, as the man kept constantly saying, \"If only I\ncan see my chief, I will repay your kindness.\" He told Philip of his\nshipwreck, said nothing about the help which he had received, and at\nonce demanded that a certain man's estate should be given to him.\nThe man was a friend of his: it was that very man by whom he had been\nrescued and restored to health. Sometimes, especially in time of war,\nkings bestow many gifts with their eyes shut. One just man cannot deal\nwith such a mass of armed selfishness. It is not possible for any one\nto be at the same time a good man and a good general. How are so many\nthousands of insatiable men to be satiated? What would they have,\nif every man had his own? Thus Philip reasoned with himself while he\nordered the man to be put in possession of the property which he asked\nfor. However, the other, when driven out of his estate, did not, like a\npeasant, endure his wrongs in silence, thankful that he himself was not\ngiven away also, but sent a sharp and outspoken letter to Philip, who,\non reading it, was so much enraged that he straightway ordered Pausanias\nto restore the property to its former owner, and to brand that\nwickedest of soldiers, that most ungrateful of guests, that greediest\nof shipwrecked men, with letters bearing witness to his ingratitude. He,\nindeed, deserved to have the letters not merely branded but carved in\nhis flesh, for having reduced his host to the condition in which he\nhimself had been when he lay naked and shipwrecked upon the beach;\nstill, let us see within what limits one ought to keep in punishing him.\nOf course what he had so villainously seized ought to be taken from him.\nBut who would be affected by the spectacle of his punishment? The crime\nwhich he had committed would prevent his being pitied even by any humane\nperson.\n\nXXXVIII. Will Philip then give you a thing because he has promised to\ngive it, even though he ought not to do so, even though he will commit\na wrong by doing so, nay, a crime, even though by this one act he will\nmake it impossible for shipwrecked men to reach the shore? There is no\ninconsistency in giving up an intention which we have discovered to\nbe wrong and have condemned as wrong; we ought candidly to admit, \"I\nthought that it was something different; I have been deceived.\" It is\nmere pride and folly to persist, \"what I once have said, be it what\nit may, shall remain unaltered and settled.\" There is no disgrace in\naltering one's plans according to circumstances. Now, if Philip had\nleft this man in possession of that seashore which he obtained by\nhis shipwreck, would he not have practically pronounced sentence of\nbanishment against all unfortunates for the future? \"Rather,\" says\nPhilip, \"do thou carry upon thy forehead of brass those letters, that\nthey may be impressed upon the eyes of all throughout my kingdom. Go,\nlet men see how sacred a thing is the table of hospitality; show them\nyour face, that upon it they may read the decree which prevents its\nbeing a capital crime to give refuge to the unfortunate under one's\nroof. The order will be more certainly respected by this means than if I\nhad inscribed it upon tablets of brass.\"\n\nXXXIX. \"Why then,\" argues our adversary, \"did your Stoic philosopher\nZeno, when he had promised a loan of five hundred denarii to some\nperson, whom he afterwards discovered to be of doubtful character,\npersist in lending it, because of his promise, though his friends\ndissuaded him from doing so?\" In the first place a loan is on a\ndifferent footing to a benefit. Even when we have lent money to an\nundesirable person we can recall it; I can demand payment upon a certain\nday, and if he becomes bankrupt, I can obtain my share of his property;\nbut a benefit is lost utterly and instantly. Besides, the one is the act\nof a bad man, the other that of a bad father of a family. In the next\nplace, if the sum had been a larger one, not even Zeno would have\npersisted in lending it. It was five hundred denarii; the sort of sum of\nwhich one says, \"May he spend it in sickness,\" and it was worth paying\nso much to avoid breaking his promise. I shall go out to supper, even\nthough the weather be cold, because I have promised to go; but I shall\nnot if snow be falling. I shall leave my bed to go to a betrothal feast,\nalthough I may be suffering from indigestion; but I shall not do so if I\nam feverish. I will become bail for you, because I promised; but not if\nyou wish me to become bail in some transaction of uncertain issue, if\nyou expose me to forfeiting my money to the state. There runs through\nall these cases, I argue, an implied exception; if I am able, provided\nit is right for me to do so, if these things be so and so. Make the\nposition the same when you ask me to fulfil my promise, as it was when\nI gave it, and it will be mere fickleness to disappoint you; but if\nsomething new has taken place in the meanwhile, why should you wonder at\nmy intentions being changed when the conditions under which I gave the\npromise are changed? Put everything back as it was, and I shall be the\nsame as I was. We enter into recognizances to appear, yet if we fail to\ndo so an action will not in all cases lie against us, for we are excused\nfor making default if forced to do so by a power which we cannot resist.\n\nXL. You may take the same answer to the question as to whether we ought\nin all cases to show gratitude for kindness, and whether a benefit ought\nin all cases to be repaid. It is my duty to show a grateful mind, but\nin some cases my own poverty, in others the prosperity of the friend\nto whom I owe some return, will not permit me to give it. What, for\ninstance, am I, a poor man, to give to a king or a rich man in return\nfor his kindness, especially as some men regard it as a wrong to have\ntheir benefits repaid, and are wont to pile one benefit upon another? In\ndealing with such persons, what more can I do than wish to repay them?\nYet I ought not to refuse to receive a new benefit, because I have not\nrepaid the former one. I shall take it as freely as it is given, and\nwill offer myself to my friend as a wide field for the exercise of\nhis good nature: he who is unwilling to receive new benefits must be\ndissatisfied with what he has already received. Do you say, \"I shall\nnot be able to return them?\" What is that to the purpose? I am willing\nenough to do so if opportunity or means were given me. He gave it to me,\nof course, having both opportunity and means: is he a good man or a bad\none? if he is a good man, I have a good case against him, and I will\nnot plead if he be a bad one. Neither do I think it right to insist on\nmaking repayment, even though it be against the will of those whom we\nrepay, and to press it upon them however reluctant they may be; it is\nnot repayment to force an unwilling man to resume what you were once\nwilling to take. Some people, if any trifling present be sent to them,\nafterwards send back something else for no particular reason, and then\ndeclare that they are under no obligation; to send something back at\nonce, and balance one present by another, is the next thing to refusing\nto receive it. On some occasions I shall not return a benefit, even\nthough I be able to do so. When? When by so doing I shall myself lose\nmore than he will gain, or if he would not notice any advantage to\nhimself in receiving that which it would be a great loss to me to\nreturn. The man who is always eager to repay under all circumstances,\nhas not the feeling of a grateful man, but of a debtor; and, to put\nit shortly, he who is too eager to repay, is unwilling to be in his\nfriend's debt; he who is unwilling, and yet is in his friend's debt, is\nungrateful.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\nI.\n\n\nIn the preceding books I seem to have accomplished the object which I\nproposed to myself, since in them I have discussed how a benefit ought\nto be bestowed, and how it ought to be received. These are the limits of\nthis action; when I dwell upon it further I am not obeying the orders,\nbut the caprices of my subject which ought to be followed whither it\nleads, not whither it allures us to wander; for now and then something\nwill arise, which, although it is all but unconnected with the subject,\ninstead of being a necessary part of it, still thrills the mind with a\ncertain charm. However, since you wish it to be so, let us go on, after\nhaving completed our discussion of the heads of the subject itself,\nto investigate those matters which, if you wish for truth, I must\ncall adjacent to it, not actually connected with it; to examine which\ncarefully is not one worth one's while, and yet is not labour in vain.\nNo praise, however, which I can give to benefits does justice to\nyou, Aebutius Liberalis, a man of excellent disposition and naturally\ninclined to bestow them. Never have I seen any one esteem even the most\ntrifling services more kindly; indeed, your good-nature goes so far\nas to regard whatever benefit is bestowed upon anyone as bestowed upon\nyourself; you are prepared to pay even what is owed by the ungrateful,\nthat no one may regret having bestowed benefits. You yourself are so far\nfrom any boastfulness, you are so eager at once to free those whom you\nserve from any feeling of obligation to you, that you like, when giving\nanything to any one, to seem not so much to be giving a present as\nreturning one; and therefore what you give in this manner will all the\nmore fully he repaid to you: for, as a rule, benefits come to one who\ndoes not demand repayment of them; and just as glory follows those who\navoid it, so men receive a more plentiful harvest in return for benefits\nbestowed upon those who had it in their power to be ungrateful. With you\nthere is no reason why those who have received benefits from you should\nnot ask for fresh ones; nor would you refuse to bestow others, to\noverlook and conceal what you have given, and to add to it more and\ngreater gifts, since it is the aim of all the best men and the noblest\ndispositions to bear with an ungrateful man until you make him grateful.\nBe not deceived in pursuing this plan; vice, if you do not too soon\nbegin to hate it, will yield to virtue.\n\nII. Thus it is that you are especially pleased with what you think the\ngrandly-sounding phrase, \"It is disgraceful to be worsted in a contest\nof benefits.\" Whether this be true or not deserves to be investigated,\nand it means something quite different from what you imagine; for it is\nnever disgraceful to be worsted in any honourable contest, provided that\nyou do not throw down your arms, and that even when conquered you\nwish to conquer. All men do not strive for a good object with the same\nstrength, resources, and good fortune, upon which depend at all events\nthe issues of the most admirable projects, though we ought to praise the\nwill itself which makes an effort in the right direction. Even though\nanother passes it by with swifter pace, yet the palm of victory does\nnot, as in publicly-exhibited races, declare which is the better man;\nthough even in the games chance frequently brings an inferior man to the\nfront. As far as loyalty of feeling goes, which each man wishes to be\npossessed in the fullest measure on his own side, if one of the two be\nthe more powerful, if he have at his disposal all the resources which he\nwishes to use, and be favoured by fortune in his most ambitious efforts,\nwhile the other, although equally willing, can only return less than he\nreceives, or perhaps can make no return at all, but still wishes to do\nso and is entirely devoted to this object; then the latter is no more\nconquered than he who dies in arms, whom the enemy found it easier to\nslay than to turn back. To be conquered, which you consider disgraceful,\ncannot happen to a good man; for he will never surrender, never give up\nthe contest, to the last day of his life he will stand prepared and in\nthat posture he will die, testifying that though he has received much,\nyet that he had the will to repay as much as he had received.\n\nIII. The Lacedaemonians forbid their young men to contend in the\npancratium, or with the caestus, in which games the defeated party has\nto acknowledge himself beaten. The winner of a race is he who first\nreaches the goal; he outstrips the others in swiftness, but not in\ncourage. The wrestler who has been thrown three times loses the palm of\nvictory, but does not yield it up. Since the Lacedaemonians thought it\nof great importance that their countrymen should be invincible, they\nkept them away from those contests in which victory is assigned, not by\nthe judge, or by the issue of the contest itself, but by the voice\nof the vanquished begging the victor to spare him as he falls. This\nattribute of never being conquered, which they so jealously guard among\ntheir citizens, can be attained by all men through virtue and goodwill,\nbecause even when all else is vanquished, the mind remains unconquered.\nFor this cause no one speaks of the three hundred Fabii as conquered,\nbut slaughtered. Regulus was taken captive by the Carthaginians, not\nconquered; and so were all other men who have not yielded in spirit when\noverwhelmed by the strength and weight of angry fortune.\n\nSo is it with benefits. A man may have received more than he gave, more\nvaluable ones, more frequently bestowed; yet is he not vanquished. It\nmay be that, if you compare the benefits with one another, those which\nhe has received will outweigh those which he has bestowed; but if you\ncompare the giver and the receiver, whose intentions also ought to be\nconsidered apart, neither will prove the victor. It often happens that\neven when one combatant is pierced with many wounds, while the other is\nonly slightly injured, yet they are said to have fought a drawn battle,\nalthough the former may appear to be the worse man.\n\nIV. No one, therefore, can be conquered in a contest of benefits, if he\nknows how to owe a debt, if he wishes to make a return for what he\nhas received, and raises himself to the same level with his friend in\nspirit, though he cannot do so in material gifts. As long as he remains\nin this temper of mind, as long as he has the wish to declare by proofs\nthat he has a grateful mind, what difference does it make upon which\nside we can count the greater number of presents? You are able to give\nmuch; I can do nothing but receive. Fortune abides with you, goodwill\nalone with me; yet I am as much on an equality with you as naked or\nlightly armed men are with a large body armed to the teeth. No one,\ntherefore, is worsted by benefits, because each man's gratitude is to be\nmeasured by his will. If it be disgraceful to be worsted in a contest\nof benefits, you ought not to receive a benefit from very powerful men\nwhose kindness you cannot return, I mean such as princes and kings, whom\nfortune has placed in such a station that they can give away much, and\ncan only receive very little and quite inadequate returns for what they\ngive. I have spoken of kings and princes, who alone can cause works to\nbe accomplished, and whose superlative power depends upon the obedience\nand services of inferiors; but some there are, free from all earthly\nlusts, who are scarcely affected by any human objects of desire, upon\nwhom fortune herself could bestow nothing. I must be worsted in a\ncontest of benefits with Socrates, or with Diogenes, who walked naked\nthrough the treasures of Macedonia, treading the king's wealth under his\nfeet. In good sooth, he must then rightly have seemed, both to himself\nand to all others whose eyes were keen enough to perceive the real\ntruth, to be superior even to him at whose feet all the world lay.\nHe was far more powerful, far richer even than Alexander, who then\npossessed everything; for there was more that Diogenes could refuse to\nreceive than that Alexander was able to give.\n\nV. It is not disgraceful to be worsted by these men, for I am not the\nless brave because you pit me against an invulnerable enemy, nor does\nfire not burn because you throw into it something over which flames have\nno power, nor does iron lose its power of cutting, though you may wish\nto cut up a stone which is hard, impervious to blows, and of such a\nnature that hard tools are blunted upon it. I give you the same answer\nabout gratitude. A man is not disgracefully worsted in a contest of\nbenefits if he lays himself under an obligation to such persons\nas these, whose enormous wealth or admirable virtue shut out all\npossibility of their benefits being returned. As a rule we are worsted\nby our parents; for while we have them with us, we regard them as\nsevere, and do not understand what they do for us. When our age begins\nto bring us a little sense, and we gradually perceive that they deserve\nour love for those very things which used to prevent our loving them,\ntheir advice, their punishments, and the careful watch which they used\nto keep over our youthful recklessness, they are taken from us. Few live\nto reap any real fruit from children; most men feel their sons only as\na burden. Yet there is no disgrace in being worsted by one's parent\nin bestowing benefits; how should there be, seeing that there is no\ndisgrace in being worsted by anyone. We are equal to some men, and yet\nnot equal; equal in intention, which is all that they care for, which\nis all that we promise to be, but unequal in fortune. And if fortune\nprevents any one from repaying a kindness, he need not, therefore,\nblush, as though he were vanquished; there is no disgrace in failing\nto reach your object, provided you attempt to reach it. It often is\nnecessary, that before making any return for the benefits which we have\nreceived, we should ask for new ones; yet, if so, we shall not refrain\nfrom asking for them, nor shall we do so as though disgraced by so\ndoing, because, even if we do not repay the debt, we shall owe it;\nbecause, even if something from without befalls us to prevent our\nrepaying it, it will not be our fault if we are not grateful. We can\nneither be conquered in intention, nor can we be disgraced by yielding\nto what is beyond our strength to contend with.\n\nVI. Alexander, the king of the Macedonians, used to boast that he had\nnever been worsted by anybody in a contest of benefits. If so, it was\nno reason why, in the fulness of his pride, he should despise the\nMacedonians, Greeks, Carians, Persians, and other tribes of whom his\narmy was composed, nor need he imagine that it was this that gave him an\nempire reaching from a corner of Thrace to the shore of the unknown\nsea. Socrates could make the same boast, and so could Diogenes, by whom\nAlexander was certainly surpassed; for was he not surpassed on the day\nwhen, swelling as he was beyond the limits of merely human pride,\nhe beheld one to whom he could give nothing, from whom he could take\nnothing? King Archelaus invited Socrates to come to him. Socrates is\nreported to have answered that he should be sorry to go to one who would\nbestow benefits upon him, since he should not be able to make him an\nadequate return for them. In the first place, Socrates was at liberty\nnot to receive them; next, Socrates himself would have been the first\nto bestow a benefit, for he would have come when invited, and would have\ngiven to Archelaus that for which Archelaus could have made no return to\nSocrates. Even if Archelaus were to give Socrates gold and silver, if\nhe learned in return for them to despise gold and silver, would not\nSocrates be able to repay Archelaus? Could Socrates receive from him\nas much value as he gave, in displaying to him a man skilled in the\nknowledge of life and of death, comprehending the true purpose of each?\nSuppose that he had found this king, as it were, groping his way in the\nclear sunlight, and had taught him the secrets of nature, of which he\nwas so ignorant, that when there was an eclipse of the sun, he up his\npalace, and shaved his son's head, [Footnote: Gertz very reasonably\nconjectures that he shaved his own head which reading would require a\nvery trifling alteration of the text.] which men are wont to do in times\nof mourning and distress. What a benefit it would have been if he had\ndragged the terror-stricken king out of his hiding-place, and bidden him\nbe of good cheer, saying, \"This is not a disappearance of the sun, but a\nconjunction of two heavenly bodies; for the moon, which proceeds along\na lower path, has placed her disk beneath the sun, and hidden it by the\ninterposition of her own mass. Sometimes she only hides a small portion\nof the sun's disk, because she only grazes it in passing; sometimes\nshe hides more, by placing more of herself before it; and sometimes she\nshuts it out from our sight altogether, if she passes in an exactly even\ncourse between the sun and the earth. Soon, however, their own swift\nmotion will draw these two bodies apart; soon the earth will receive\nback again the light of day. And this system will continue throughout\ncenturies, having certain days, known beforehand, upon which the sun\ncannot display all rays, because of the intervention of the moon. Wait\nonly for a short time; he will soon emerge, he will soon leave that\nseeming cloud, and freely shed abroad his light without any hindrances.\"\nCould Socrates not have made an adequate return to Archelaus, if he\nhad taught him to reign? as though Socrates would not benefit him\nsufficiently, merely by enabling him to bestow a benefit upon Socrates.\nWhy, then, did Socrates say this? Being a joker and a speaker in\nparables--a man who turned all, especially the great, into ridicule--he\npreferred giving him a satirical refusal, rather than an obstinate or\nhaughty one, and therefore said that he did not wish to receive benefits\nfrom one to whom he could not return as much as he received. He feared,\nperhaps, that he might be forced to receive something which he did\nnot wish, he feared that it might be something unfit for Socrates to\nreceive. Some one may say, \"He ought to have said that he did not wish\nto go.\" But by so doing he would have excited against himself the anger\nof an arrogant king, who wished everything connected with himself to be\nhighly valued. It makes no difference to a king whether you be unwilling\nto give anything to him or to accept anything from him; he is equally\nincensed at either rebuff, and to be treated with disdain is more\nbitter to a proud spirit than not to be feared. Do you wish to know what\nSocrates really meant? He, whose freedom of speech could not be borne\neven by a free state, was not willing of his own choice to become a\nslave.\n\nVII. I think that we have sufficiently discussed this part of the\nsubject, whether it be disgraceful to be worsted in a contest of\nbenefits. Whoever asks this question must know that men are not wont\nto bestow benefits upon themselves, for evidently it could not be\ndisgraceful to be worsted by oneself. Yet some of the Stoics debate this\nquestion, whether any one can confer a benefit upon himself, and whether\none ought to return one's own kindness to oneself. This discussion has\nbeen raised in consequence of our habit of saying, \"I am thankful\nto myself,\" \"I can complain of no one but myself,\" \"I am angry with\nmyself,\" \"I will punish myself,\" \"I hate myself,\" and many other phrases\nof the same sort, in which one speaks of oneself as one would of some\nother person. \"If,\" they argue, \"I can injure myself, why should I not\nbe able also to bestow a benefit upon myself? Besides this, why are\nthose things not called benefits when I bestow them upon myself which\nwould be called benefits if I bestowed them upon another? If to receive\na certain thing from another would lay me under an obligation to him,\nhow is it that if I give it to myself, I do not contract an obligation\nto myself? why should I be ungrateful to my own self, which is no less\ndisgraceful than it is to be mean to oneself, or hard and cruel to\noneself, or neglectful of oneself?\" The procurer is equally odious\nwhether he prostitutes others or himself. We blame a flatterer, and one\nwho imitates another man's mode of speech, or is prepared to give praise\nwhether it be deserved or not; we ought equally to blame one who humours\nhimself and looks up to himself, and so to speak is his own flatterer.\nVices are not only hateful when outwardly practised, but also when they\nare repressed within the mind. Whom would you admire more than he who\ngoverns himself and has himself under command? It is easier to rule\nsavage nations, impatient of foreign control, than to restrain one's\nown mind and keep it under one's own control. Plato, it is argued,\nwas grateful to Socrates for having been taught by him; why should not\nSocrates be grateful to himself for having taught himself? Marcus Cato\nsaid, \"Borrow from yourself whatever you lack;\" why, then, if I can\nlend myself anything, should I be unable to give myself anything? The\ninstances in which usage divides us into two persons are innumerable; we\nare wont to say, \"Let me converse with myself,\" and, \"I will give myself\na twitch of the ear;\" [Footnote: See book iv. ch. xxxvi.] and if it be\ntrue that one can do so, then a man ought to be grateful to himself,\njust as he is angry with himself; as he blames himself, SO he ought\nto praise himself; since he can impoverish himself, he can also enrich\nhimself. Injuries and benefits are the converse of one another: if we\nsay of a man, 'he has done himself an injury,' we can also say 'he has\nbestowed upon himself a benefit?'\n\nVIII. It is natural that a man should first incur an obligation, and\nthen that he should return gratitude for it; a debtor cannot exist\nwithout a creditor, any more than a husband without a wife, or a son\nwithout a father; someone must give in order that some one may\nreceive. Just as no one carries himself, although he moves his body and\ntransports it from place to place; as no one, though he may have made a\nspeech in his own defence, is said to have stood by himself, or erects\na statue to himself as his own patron; as no sick man, when by his\nown care he has regained his health, asks himself for a fee; so in no\ntransaction, even when a man does what is useful to himself, need he\nreturn thanks to himself, because there is no one to whom he can return\nthem. Though I grant that a man can bestow a benefit upon himself, yet\nat the same time that he gives it, he also receives it; though I grant\nthat a man may receive a benefit from himself, yet he receives it at the\nsame time that he gives it. The exchange takes place within doors, as\nthey say, and the transfer is made at once, as though the debt were a\nfictitious one; for he who gives is not a different person to he who\nreceives, but one and the same. The word \"to owe\" has no meaning except\nas between two persons; how then can it apply to one man who incurs an\nobligation, and by the same act frees himself from it? In a disk or\na ball there is no top or bottom, no beginning or end, because the\nrelation of the parts is changed when it moves, what was behind coming\nbefore, and what went down on one side coming up on the other, so that\nall the parts, in whatever direction they may move, come back to the\nsame position. Imagine that the same thing takes place in a man; into\nhowever many pieces you may divide him, he remains one. If he strikes\nhimself, he has no one to call to account for the insult; if he binds\nhimself and locks himself up, he cannot demand damages; if he bestows a\nbenefit upon himself, he straightway returns it to the giver. It is said\nthat there is no waste in nature, because everything which is taken from\nnature returns to her again, and nothing can perish, because it cannot\nfall out of nature, but goes round again to the point from whence\nit started. You ask, \"What connection has this illustration with the\nsubject?\" I will tell you. Imagine yourself to be ungrateful, the\nbenefit bestowed upon you is not lost, he who gave it has it; suppose\nthat you are unwilling to receive it, it still belongs to you before it\nis returned. You cannot lose anything, because what you take away from\nyourself, you nevertheless gain yourself. The matter revolves in a\ncircle within yourself; by receiving you give, by giving you receive.\n\nIX. \"It is our duty,\" argues our adversary, \"to bestow benefits upon\nourselves, therefore we ought also to be grateful to ourselves.\" The\noriginal axiom, upon which the inference depends, is untrue, for no one\nbestows benefits upon himself, but obeys the dictates of his nature,\nwhich disposes him to affection for himself, and which makes him take\nthe greatest pains to avoid hurtful things, and to follow after those\nthings which are profitable to him. Consequently, the man who gives to\nhimself is not generous, nor is he who pardons himself forgiving, nor is\nhe who is touched by his own misfortunes tender-hearted; it is\nnatural to do those things to oneself which when done to others become\ngenerosity, clemency, and tenderness of heart. A benefit is a voluntary\nact, but to do good to oneself is an instinctive one. The more benefits\na man bestows, the more beneficent he is, yet who ever was praised for\nhaving been of service to himself? or for having rescued himself from\nbrigands? No one bestows a benefit upon himself any more than he bestows\nhospitality upon himself; no one gives himself anything, any more than\nhe lends himself anything. If each man bestows benefits upon himself, is\nalways bestowing them, and bestows them without any cessation, then\nit is impossible for him to make any calculation of the number of his\nbenefits; when then can he show his gratitude, seeing that by the very\nact of doing so he would bestow a benefit? for what distinction can\nyou draw between giving himself a benefit or receiving a benefit for\nhimself, when the whole transaction takes place in the mind of the same\nman? Suppose that I have freed myself from danger, then I have bestowed\na benefit upon myself; suppose I free myself a second time, by so doing\ndo I bestow or repay a benefit? In the next place, even if I grant the\nprimary axiom, that we can bestow benefits upon ourselves, I do not\nadmit that which follows; for even if we can do so, we ought not to do\nso. Wherefore? Because we receive a return for them at once. It is right\nfor me to receive a benefit, then to lie under an obligation, then to\nrepay it; now here there is no time for remaining under an obligation,\nbecause we receive the return without any delay. No one really gives\nexcept to another, no one owes except to another, no one repays except\nto another. An act which always requires two persons cannot take place\nwithin the mind of one.\n\nX. A benefit means the affording of something useful, and the word\nAFFORDING implies other persons. Would not a man be thought mad if\nhe said that he had sold something to himself, because selling means\nalienation, and the transferring of a thing and of one's rights in that\nthing to another person? Yet giving, like selling anything, consists in\nmaking it pass away from you, handing over what you yourself once owned\ninto the keeping of some one else.\n\nIf this be so, no one ever gave himself a benefit, because no one gives\nto himself; if not, two opposites coalesce, so that it becomes the same\nthing to give and to receive. Yet there is a great difference between\ngiving and receiving; how should there not be, seeing that these words\nare the converse of one another? Still, if any one can give himself a\nbenefit, there can be no difference between giving and receiving. I said\na little before that some words apply only to other persons, and are\nso constituted that their whole meaning lies apart from ourselves; for\ninstance, I am a brother, but a brother of some other man, for no one is\nhis own brother; I am an equal, but equal to somebody else, for who\nis equal to himself? A thing which is compared to another thing is\nunintelligible without that other thing; a thing which is joined to\nsomething else does not exist apart from it; so that which is given does\nnot exist without the other person, nor can a benefit have any existence\nwithout another person. This is clear from the very phrase which\ndescribes it, 'to do good,' yet no one does good to himself, any more\nthan he favours himself or is on his own side. I might enlarge further\nupon this subject and give many examples. Why should benefits not be\nincluded among those acts which require two persons to perform them?\nMany honourable, most admirable and highly virtuous acts cannot take\nplace without a second person. Fidelity is praised and held to be one\nof the chief blessings known among men, yet was any one ever on that\naccount said to have kept faith with himself?\n\nXI. I come now to the last part of this subject. The man who returns a\nkindness ought to expend something, just as he who repays expends money;\nbut the man who returns a kindness to himself expends nothing, just\nas he who receives a benefit from himself gains nothing. A benefit\nand gratitude for it must pass to and fro between two persons; their\ninterchange cannot take place within one man. He who returns a kindness\ndoes good in his turn to him from whom he has received something;\nbut the man who returns his own kindness, to whom does he do good?\nTo himself? Is there any one who does not regard the returning of a\nkindness, and the bestowal of a benefit, as distinct acts? 'He who\nreturns a kindness to himself does good to himself.' Was any man ever\nunwilling to do this, even though he were ungrateful? nay, who ever was\nungrateful from any other motive than this? \"If,\" it is argued, \"we are\nright in thanking ourselves, we ought to return our own kindness;\"\nyet we say, \"I am thankful to myself for having refused to marry that\nwoman,\" or \"for having refused to join a partnership with that man.\"\nWhen we speak thus, we are really praising ourselves, and make use\nof the language of those who return thanks to approve our own acts. A\nbenefit is something which, when given, may or may not be returned.\nNow, he who gives a benefit to himself must needs receive what he gives;\ntherefore, this is not a benefit. A benefit is received at one time, and\nis returned at another; (but when a man bestows a benefit upon himself,\nhe both receives it and returns it at the same time). In a benefit,\ntoo, what we commend and admire is, that a man has for the time being\nforgotten his own interests, in order that he may do good to another;\nthat he has deprived himself of something, in order to bestow it upon\nanother. Now, he who bestows a benefit upon himself does not do this.\nThe bestowal of a benefit is an act of companionship--it wins some man's\nfriendship, and lays some man under an obligation; but to bestow it upon\noneself is no act of companionship--it wins no man's friendship, lays\nno man under an obligation, raises no man's hopes, or leads him to\nsay, \"This man must be courted; he bestowed a benefit upon that person,\nperhaps he will bestow one upon me also.\" A benefit is a thing which\none gives not for one's own sake, but for the sake of him to whom it is\ngiven; but he who bestows a benefit upon himself, does so for his own\nsake; therefore, it is not a benefit.\n\nXII. Now I seem to you not to have made good what I said at the\nbeginning of this book. You say that I am far from doing what is worth\nany one's while; nay, that in real fact I have thrown away all my\ntrouble. Wait, and soon you will be able to say this more truly, for\nI shall lead you into covert lurking-places, from which when you have\nescaped, you will have gained nothing except that you will have freed\nyourself from difficulties with which you need never have hampered\nyourself. What is the use of laboriously untying knots which you\nyourself have tied, in order that you might untie them? Yet, just as\nsome knots are tied in fun and for amusement, so that a tyro may find\ndifficulty in untying them, which knots he who tied them can loose\nwithout any trouble, because he knows the joinings and the difficulties\nof them, and these nevertheless afford us some pleasure, because they\ntest the sharpness of our wits, and engross, our attention; so also\nthese questions, which seem subtle and tricky, prevent our intellects\nbecoming careless and lazy, for they ought at one time to have a field\ngiven them to level, in order that they may wander about it, and at\nanother to have some dark and rough passage thrown in their way for them\nto creep through, and make their way with caution. It is said by\nour opponent that no one is ungrateful; and this is supported by the\nfollowing arguments: \"A benefit is that which does good; but, as you\nStoics say, no one can do good to a bad man; therefore, a bad man does\nnot receive a benefit. (If he does not receive it, he need not return\nit; therefore, no bad man is ungrateful.) Furthermore, a benefit is an\nhonourable and commendable thing. No honourable or commendable thing can\nfind any place with a bad man; therefore, neither can a benefit. If he\ncannot receive one, he need not repay one; therefore, he does not become\nungrateful. Moreover, as you say, a good man does everything rightly; if\nhe does everything rightly, he cannot be ungrateful. A good man returns\na benefit, a bad man does not receive one. If this be so, no man, good\nor bad, can be ungrateful. Therefore, there is no such thing in nature\nas an ungrateful man: the word is meaningless.\" We Stoics have only one\nkind of good, that which is honourable. This cannot come to a bad man,\nfor he would cease to be bad if virtue entered into him; but as long as\nhe is bad, no one can bestow a benefit upon him, because good and bad\nare contraries, and cannot exist together. Therefore, no one can do good\nto such a man, because whatever he receives is corrupted by his vicious\nway of using it. Just as the stomach, when disordered by disease and\nsecreting bile, changes all the food which it receives, and turns every\nkind of sustenance into a source of pain, so whatever you entrust to an\nill-regulated mind becomes to it a burden, an annoyance, and a source\nof misery. Thus the most prosperous and the richest men have the most\ntrouble; and the more property they have to perplex them, the less\nlikely they are to find out what they really are. Nothing, therefore,\ncan reach bad men which would do them good; nay, nothing which would\nnot do them harm. They change whatever falls to their lot into their own\nevil nature; and things which elsewhere would, if given to better men,\nbe both beautiful and profitable, are ruinous to them. They cannot,\ntherefore, bestow benefits, because no one can give what he does not\npossess, and, therefore, they lack the pleasure of doing good to others.\n\nXIII. But, though this be so, yet even a bad man can receive some things\nwhich resemble benefits, and he will be ungrateful if he does not return\nthem. There are good things belonging to the mind, to the body, and to\nfortune. A fool or a bad man is debarred from the first--those, that is,\nof the mind; but he is admitted to a share in the two latter, and, if\nhe does not return them, he is ungrateful. Nor does this follow from\nour (Stoic) system alone the Peripatetics, also, who widely extend the\nboundaries of human happiness, declare that trifling benefits reach bad\nmen, and that he who does not return them is ungrateful. We therefore\ndo not agree that things which do not tend to improve the mind should\nbe called benefits, yet do not deny that these things are convenient and\ndesirable. Such things as these a bad man may bestow upon a good man,\nor may receive from him--such, for example, as money, clothes, public\noffice, or life; and, if he makes no return for these, he will come\nunder the denomination of ungrateful. \"But how can you call a man\nungrateful for not returning that which you say is not a benefit?\" Some\nthings, on account of their similarity, are included under the same\ndesignation, although they do not really deserve it. Thus we speak of\na silver or golden box; [\"The original word is 'pyx,' which means a box\nmade of box-wood.\"] thus we call a man illiterate, although he may not\nbe utterly ignorant, but only not acquainted with the higher branches of\nliterature; thus, seeing a badly-dressed ragged man we say that we have\nseen a naked man. These things of which we spoke are not benefits,\nbut they possess the appearance of benefits. \"Then, just as they are\nquasi-benefits, so your man is quasi-ungrateful, not really ungrateful.\"\nThis is untrue, because both he who gives and he who receives them\nspeaks of them as benefits; so he who fails to return the semblance of\na real benefit is as much an ungrateful man as he who mixes a sleeping\ndraught, believing it to be poison, is a poisoner.\n\nXIV. Cleanthes speaks more impetuously than this. \"Granted,\" says he,\n\"that what he received was not a benefit, yet he is ungrateful, because\nhe would not have returned a benefit if he had received one.\" So he who\ncarries deadly weapons and has intentions of robbing and murdering, is\na brigand even before he has dipped his hands in blood; his wickedness\nconsists and is shown in action, but does not begin thereby. Men are\npunished for sacrilege, although no one's hands can reach to the gods.\n\"How,\" asks our opponent, \"can any one be ungrateful to a bad man, since\na bad man cannot bestow a benefit?\" In the same way, I answer, because\nthat which he received was not a benefit, but was called one; if any\none receives from a bad man any of those things which are valued by the\nignorant, and of which bad men often possess great store, it becomes his\nduty to make a return in the same kind, and to give back as though they\nwere truly good those things which he received as though they were\ntruly good. A man is said to be in debt, whether he owes gold pieces\nor leather marked with a state stamp, such as the Lacedaemonians used,\nwhich passes for coined money. Pay your debts in that kind in which you\nincurred them. You have nothing to do with the definition of benefits,\nor with the question whether so great and noble a name ought to be\ndegraded by applying it to such vulgar and mean matters as these, nor do\nwe seek for truth that we may use it to the disadvantage of others;\ndo you adjust your minds to the semblance of truth, and while you are\nlearning what is really honourable, respect everything to which the name\nof honour is applied.\n\nXV. \"In the same way,\" argues our adversary, \"that your school proves\nthat no one is ungrateful, you afterwards prove that all men are\nungrateful. For, as you say, all fools are bad men; he who has one vice\nhas all vices; all men are both fools and bad men; therefore all men are\nungrateful.\" Well, what then? Are they not? Is not this the universal\nreproach of the human race? is there not a general complaint that\nbenefits are thrown away, and that there are very few men who do not\nrequite their benefactors with the basest ingratitude? Nor need you\nsuppose that what we say is merely the grumbling of men who think\nevery act wicked and depraved which falls short of an ideal standard of\nrighteousness. Listen! I know not who it is who speaks, yet the voice\nwith which he condemns mankind proceeds, not from the schools of\nphilosophers, but from the midst of the crowd:\n\n  \"Host is not safe from guest;\n   Father-in-law from son; but seldom love\n   Exists 'twixt brothers; wives long to destroy\n   Their husbands; husbands long to slay their wives.\"\n\nThis goes even further: according to this, crimes take the place of\nbenefits, and men do not shrink from shedding the blood of those for\nwhom they ought to shed their own; we requite benefits by steel and\npoison. We call laying violent hands upon our own country, and putting\ndown its resistance by the fasces of its own lictors, gaining power\nand great place; every man thinks himself to be in a mean and degraded\nposition if he has not raised himself above the constitution; the armies\nwhich are received from the state are turned against her, and a general\nnow says to his men, \"Fight against your wives, fight against your\nchildren, march in arms against your altars, your hearths and homes!\"\nYes, [Footnote: I believe, in spite of Gertz, that this is part of\nthe speech of the Roman general, and that the conjecture of Muretus,\n\"without the command of the senate,\" gives better sense.] you, who even\nwhen about to triumph ought not to enter the city at the command of the\nsenate, and who have often, when bringing home a victorious army, been\ngiven an audience outside the walls, you now, after slaughtering your\ncountrymen, stained with the blood of your kindred, march into the city\nwith standards erect. \"Let liberty,\" say you, \"be silent amidst the\nensigns of war, and now that wars are driven far away and no ground\nfor terror remains, let that people which conquered and civilized all\nnations be beleaguered within its own walls, and shudder at the sight of\nits own eagles.\"\n\nXVI. Coriolanus was ungrateful, and became dutiful late, and after\nrepenting of his crime; he did indeed lay down his arms, but only in\nthe midst of his unnatural warfare. Catilina was ungrateful; he was\nnot satisfied with taking his country captive without overturning it,\nwithout despatching the hosts of the Allobroges against it, without\nbringing an enemy from beyond the Alps to glut his old inborn hatred,\nand to offer Roman generals as sacrifices which had been long owing to\nthe tombs of the Gaulish dead. Caius Marius was ungrateful, when, after\nbeing raised from the ranks to the consulship, he felt that he would not\nhave wreaked his vengeance upon fortune, and would sink to his original\nobscurity, unless he slaughtered Romans as freely as he had slaughtered\nthe Cimbri, and not merely gave the signal, but was himself the signal\nfor civil disasters and butcheries. Lucius Sulla was ungrateful, for he\nsaved his country by using remedies worse than the perils with which it\nwas threatened, when he marched through human blood all the way from the\ncitadel of Praeneste to the Colline Gate, fought more battles and caused\nmore slaughter afterwards within the city, and most cruelly after the\nvictory was won, most wickedly after quarter had been promised them,\ndrove two legions into a corner and put them to the sword, and, great\ngods! invented a proscription by which he who slew a Roman citizen\nreceived indemnity, a sum of money, everything but a civic crown! Cnaeus\nPompeius was ungrateful, for the return which he made to his country for\nthree consulships, three triumphs, and the innumerable public offices\ninto most of which he thrust himself when under age, was to lead others\nalso to lay hands upon her under the pretext of thus rendering his own\npower less odious; as though what no one ought to do became right\nif more than one person did it. Whilst he was coveting extraordinary\ncommands, arranging the provinces so as to have his own choice of them,\nand dividing the whole state with a third person, [Footnote: Crassus.]\nin such a manner as to leave two-thirds of it in the possession of his\nown family, [Footnote: Pompey was married to Caesar's daughter. Cf.\nVirg., \"Aen.,\" vi., 831, sq., and Lucan's beautiful verses, \"Phars.,\"\ni., 114.] he reduced the Roman people to such a condition that they\ncould only save themselves by submitting to slavery. The foe and\nconqueror [Footnote: Seneca is careful to avoid the mention of Caesar's\nname, which might have given offence to the emperors under whom\nhe lived, who used the name as a title.] of Pompeius was himself\nungrateful; he brought war from Gaul and Germany to Rome, and he, the\nfriend of the populace, the champion of the commons, pitched his camp in\nthe Circus Flaminus, nearer to the city than Porsena's camp had been. He\ndid, indeed, use the cruel privileges of victory with moderation; as was\nsaid at the time, he protected his countrymen, and put to death no man\nwho was not in arms. Yet what credit is there in this? Others used their\narms more cruelly, but flung them away when glutted with blood, while\nhe, though he soon sheathed the sword, never laid it aside. Antonius was\nungrateful to his dictator, who he declared was rightly slain, and whose\nmurderers he allowed to depart to their commands in the provinces;\nas for his country, after it had been torn to pieces by so many\nproscriptions, invasions, and civil wars, he intended to subject it\nto kings, not even of Roman birth, and to force that very state to pay\ntribute to eunuchs, [Footnote: The allusion is to Antonius's connection\nwith Cleopatra. Cf. Virg. \"Aen.,\" viii., 688.] which had itself restored\nsovereign rights, autonomy, and immunities, to the Achaeans, the\nRhodians, and the people of many other famous cities.\n\nXVII. The day would not be long enough for me to enumerate those who\nhave pushed their ingratitude so far as to ruin their native land.\nIt would be as vast a task to mention how often the state has been\nungrateful to its best and most devoted lovers, although it has done no\nless wrong than it has suffered. It sent Camillus and Scipio into exile;\neven after the death of Catiline it exiled Cicero, destroyed his house,\nplundered his property, and did everything which Catiline would\nhave done if victorious; Rutilius found his virtue rewarded with a\nhiding-place in Asia; to Cato the Roman people refused the praetorship,\nand persisted in refusing the consulship. We are ungrateful in public\nmatters; and if every man asks himself, you will find that there is\nno one who has not some private ingratitude to complain of. Yet it is\nimpossible that all men should complain, unless all were deserving of\ncomplaint, therefore all men are ungrateful. Are they ungrateful\nalone? nay, they are also all covetous, all spiteful, and all cowardly,\nespecially those who appear daring; and, besides this, all men fawn upon\nthe great, and all are impious. Yet you need not be angry with them;\npardon them, for they are all mad. I do not wish to recall you to what\nis not proved, or to say, \"See how ungrateful is youth! what young man,\neven if of innocent life, does not long for his father's death? even if\nmoderate in his desires, does not look forward to it? even if dutiful,\ndoes not think about it? How few there are who fear the death even of\nthe best of wives, who do not even calculate the probabilities of it.\nPray, what litigant, after having been successfully defended, retains\nany remembrance of so great a benefit for more than a few days?\" All\nagree that no one dies without complaining. Who on his last day dares to\nsay,\n\n  \"I've lived, I've done the task which Fortune set me.\"\n\nWho does not leave the world with reluctance, and with lamentations? Yet\nit is the part of an ungrateful man not to be satisfied with the past.\nYour days will always be few if you count them. Reflect that length\nof time is not the greatest of blessings; make the best of your time,\nhowever short it may be; even if the day of your death be postponed,\nyour happiness will not be increased, for life is merely made longer,\nnot pleasanter, by delay. How much better is it to be thankful for the\npleasures which one has received, not to reckon up the years of others,\nbut to set a high value upon one's own, and score them to one's credit,\nsaying, \"God thought me worthy of this; I am satisfied with it; he might\nhave given me more, but this, too, is a benefit.\" Let us be grateful\ntowards both gods and men, grateful to those who have given us anything,\nand grateful even to those who have given anything to our relatives.\n\nXVIII. \"You render me liable to an infinite debt of gratitude,\" says our\nopponent, \"when you say 'even to those who have given any thing to our\nrelations,' so fix some limit. He who bestows a benefit upon the son,\naccording to you, bestows it likewise upon the father: this is the first\nquestion I wish to raise. In the next place I should like to have a\nclear definition of whether a benefit, if it be bestowed upon your\nfriend's father as well as upon himself, is bestowed also upon his\nbrother? or upon his uncle? or his grandfather? or his wife and his\nfather-in-law? tell me where I am to stop, how far I am to follow out\nthe pedigree of the family?\"\n\nSENECA. If I cultivate your land, I bestow a benefit upon you; if I\nextinguish your house when burning, or prop it so as to save it from\nfalling, I shall bestow a benefit upon you; if I heal your slave, I\nshall charge it to you; if I save your son's life, will you not thereby\nreceive a benefit from me?\n\nXIX. THE ADVERSARY. Your instances are not to the purpose, for he who\ncultivates my land, does not benefit the land, but me; he who props my\nhouse so that it does not fall, does this service to me, for the house\nitself is without feeling, and as it has none, it is I who am indebted\nto him; and he who cultivates my land does so because he wishes to\noblige me, not to oblige the land. I should say the same of a slave; he\nis a chattel owned by me; he is saved for my advantage, therefore I am\nindebted for him. My son is himself capable of receiving a benefit; so\nit is he who receives it; I am gratified at a benefit which comes so\nnear to myself, but am not laid under any obligation.\n\nSE. Still I should like you, who say that you are under no obligation,\nto answer me this. The good health, the happiness, and the inheritance\nof a son are connected with his father; his father will be more happy if\nhe keeps his son safe, and more unhappy if he loses him. What follows,\nthen? when a man is made happier by me and is freed from the greatest\ndanger of unhappiness, does he not receive a benefit?\n\nAD. No, because there are some things which are bestowed upon others,\nand yet flow from them so as to reach ourselves; yet we must ask the\nperson upon whom it was bestowed for repayment; as for example, money\nmust be sought from the man to whom it was lent, although it may,\nby some means, have come into my hands. There is no benefit whose\nadvantages do not extend to the receiver's nearest friends, and\nsometimes even to those less intimately connected with him; yet we do\nnot enquire whither the benefit has proceeded from him to whom it was\nfirst given, but where it was first placed. You must demand repayment\nfrom the defendant himself personally.\n\nSE. Well, but I pray you, do you not say, \"you have preserved my son for\nme; had he perished, I could not have survived him?\" Do you not owe\na benefit for the life of one whose safety you value above your own?\nMoreover, should I save your son's life, you would fall down before\nmy knees, and would pay vows to heaven as though you yourself had been\nsaved; you would say, \"It makes no difference whether you have saved\nmine or me; you have saved us both, yet me more than him.\" Why do you\nsay this, if you do not receive a benefit?\n\nA.D. Because, if my son were to contract a loan, I should pay his\ncreditor, yet I should not, therefore, be indebted to him; or if my son\nwere taken in adultery, I should blush, yet I should not, therefore, be\nan adulterer. I say that I am under an obligation to you for saving my\nson, not because I really am, but because I am willing to constitute\nmyself your debtor of my own free will. On the other hand I have derived\nfrom his safety the greatest possible pleasure and advantage, and I have\nescaped that most dreadful blow, the loss of my child. True, but we are\nnot now discussing whether you have done me any good or not, but whether\nyou have bestowed a benefit upon me; for animals, stones, and herbs can\ndo one good, but do not bestow benefits, which can only be given by one\nwho wishes well to the receiver. Now you do not wish well to the father,\nbut only to the son; and sometimes you do not even know the father. So\nwhen you have said, \"Have I not bestowed a benefit upon the father by\nsaving the son?\" you ought to meet this with, \"Have I, then, bestowed a\nbenefit upon a father whom I do not know, whom I never thought of?\" And\nwhat will you say when, as is sometimes the case, you hate the father,\nand yet save his son? Can you be thought to have bestowed a benefit upon\none whom you hated most bitterly while you were bestowing it?\n\nHowever, if I were to lay aside the bickering of dialogue, and answer\nyou as a lawyer, I should say that you ought to consider the intention\nof the giver, you must regard his benefit as bestowed upon the person\nupon whom he meant to bestow it. If he did it in honour of the father,\nthen the father received the benefit; if he thought only of the son,\nthen the father is not laid under any obligation: by the benefit which\nwas conferred upon the son, even though the father derives pleasure from\nit. Should he, however, have an opportunity, he will himself wish to\ngive you something, yet not as though he were forced to repay a debt,\nbut rather as if he had grounds for beginning an exchange of favours.\nNo return for a benefit ought to be demanded from the father of the\nreceiver; if he does you any kindness in return for it, he should be\nregarded as, a righteous man, but not as a grateful one. For there is no\nend to it; if I bestow a benefit on the receiver's father, do I likewise\nbestow it upon his mother, his grandfather, his maternal uncle, his\nchildren, relations, friends, slaves, and country? Where, then, does\na benefit begin to stop? for there follows it this endless chain of\npeople, to whom it is hard to assign bounds, because they join it by\ndegrees, and are always creeping on towards it.\n\nXX. A common question is, \"Two brothers are at variance. If I save the\nlife of one, do I confer a benefit upon the other, who will be sorry\nthat his hated brother did not perish?\" There can be no doubt that it is\na benefit to do good to a man, even against that man's will, just as he,\nwho against his own will does a man good, does not bestow a benefit upon\nhim. \"Do you,\" asks our adversary, \"call that by which he is displeased\nand hurt a benefit?\" Yes; many benefits have a harsh and forbidding\nappearance, such as cutting or burning to cure disease, or confining\nwith chains. We must not consider whether a man is grieved at receiving\na benefit, but whether he ought to rejoice: a coin is not bad because it\nis refused by a savage who is unacquainted with its proper stamp. A man\nreceives a benefit even though he hates what is done, provided that it\ndoes him good, and that the giver bestowed it in order to do him good.\nIt makes no difference if he receives a good thing in a bad spirit.\nConsider the converse of this. Suppose that a man hates his brother,\nthough it is to his advantage to have a brother, and I kill this\nbrother, this is not a benefit, though he may say that it is, and be\nglad of it. Our most artful enemies are those whom we thank for the\nwrongs which they do us.\n\n\"I understand; a thing which does good is a benefit, a thing which does\nharm is not a benefit. Now I will suggest to you an act which neither\ndoes good nor harm, and yet is a benefit. Suppose that I find the corpse\nof some one's father in a wilderness, and bury it, then I certainly\nhave done him no good, for what difference could it make to him in what\nmanner his body decayed? Nor have I done any good to his son, for what\nadvantage does he gain by my act?\" I will tell you what he gains. He has\nby my means performed a solemn and necessary rite; I have performed a\nservice for his father which he would have wished, nay, which it would\nhave been his duty to have performed himself. Yet this act is not a\nbenefit, if I merely yielded to those feelings of pity and kindliness\nwhich would make me bury any corpse whatever, but only if I recognized\nthis body, and buried it, with the thought in my mind that I was doing\nthis service to the son; but, by merely throwing earth over a dead\nstranger, I lay no one under an obligation for an act performed on\ngeneral principles of humanity.\n\nIt may be asked, \"Why are you so careful in inquiring upon whom you\nbestow benefits, as though some day you meant to demand repayment of\nthem? Some say that repayment should never be demanded; and they give\nthe following reasons. An unworthy man will not repay the benefit which\nhe has received, even if it be demanded of him, while a worthy man will\ndo so of his own accord. Consequently, if you have bestowed it upon a\ngood man, wait; do not outrage him by asking him for it, as though of\nhis own accord he never would repay it. If you have bestowed it upon a\nbad man, suffer for it, but do not spoil your benefit by turning it\ninto a loan. Moreover the law, by not authorizing you, forbids you,\nby implication, to demand the repayment of a benefit.\" All this is\nnonsense. As long as I am in no pressing need, as long as I am\nnot forced by poverty, I will lose my benefits rather than ask for\nrepayment; but if the lives of my children were at stake, if my wife\nwere in danger, if my regard for the welfare of my country and for\nmy own liberty were to force me to adopt a course which I disliked, I\nshould overcome my delicacy, and openly declare that I had done all that\nI could to avoid the necessity of receiving help from an ungrateful man;\nthe necessity of obtaining repayment of one's benefit will in the end\novercome one's delicacy about asking for it. In the next place, when I\nbestow a benefit upon a good man, I do so with the intention of never\ndemanding repayment, except in case of absolute necessity.\n\nXXI. \"But,\" argues he, \"by not authorizing you, the law forbids you to\nexact repayment.\" There are many things which are not enforced by any\nlaw or process, but which the conventions of society, which are stronger\nthan any law, compel us to observe. There is no law forbidding us to\ndivulge our friend's secrets; there is no law which bids us keep faith\neven with an enemy; pray what law is there which binds us to stand by\nwhat we have promised? There is none. Nevertheless I should remonstrate\nwith one who did not keep a secret, and I should be indignant with one\nwho pledged his word and broke it. \"But,\" he argues, \"you are turning a\nbenefit into a loan.\" By no means, for I do not insist upon repayment,\nbut only demand it; nay, I do not even demand it, but remind my friend\nof it. Even the direst need will not bring me to apply for help to one\nwith whom I should have to undergo a long struggle.\n\nIf there be any one so ungrateful that it is not sufficient to remind\nhim of his debt, I should pass him over, and think that he did not\ndeserve to be made grateful by force. A money-lender does not demand\nrepayment from his debtors if he knows they have become bankrupt, and,\nto their shame, have nothing but shame left to lose; and I, like him,\nshould pass over those who are openly and obstinately ungrateful, and\nwould demand repayment only from those who were likely to give it me,\nnot from those from whom I should have to extort it by force.\n\nXXII. There are many who cannot deny that they have received a benefit,\nyet cannot return it--men who are not good enough to be termed grateful,\nnor yet bad enough to be termed ungrateful; but who are dull and\nsluggish, backward debtors, though not defaulters. Such men as these I\nshould not ask for repayment, but forcibly remind them of it, and, from\na state of indifference, bring them back to their duty. They would at\nonce reply, \"Forgive me; I did not know, by Hercules, that you missed\nthis, or I would have offered it of my own accord, I beg that you will\nnot think me ungrateful; I remember your goodness to me.\" Why need I\nhesitate to make such men as these better to themselves and to me? I\nwould prevent any one from doing wrong, if I were able; much more would\nI prevent a friend, both lest he should do wrong, and lest he should\ndo wrong to me in particular. I bestow a second benefit upon him by not\npermitting him to be ungrateful; and I should not reproach him harshly\nwith what I had done for him, but should speak as gently as I could. In\norder to afford him an opportunity of returning my kindness, I\nshould refresh his remembrance of it, and ask for a benefit; he would\nunderstand that I was asking for repayment. Sometimes I would make use\nof somewhat severe language, if I had any hope that by it he might be\namended; though I would not irritate a hopelessly ungrateful man, for\nfear that I might turn him into an enemy. If we spare the ungrateful\neven the affront of reminding them of their conduct, we shall render\nthem' more backward in returning benefits; and although some might\nbe cured of their evil ways, and be made into good men, if their\nconsciences were stung by remorse, yet we shall allow them to perish for\nwant of a word of warning, with which a father sometimes corrects\nhis son, a wife brings back to herself an erring husband, or a man\nstimulates the wavering fidelity of his friend.\n\nXXIII. To awaken some men, it is only necessary to stir them, not to\nstrike them; in like manner, with some men, the feeling of honour about\nreturning a benefit is not extinct, but slumbering. Let us rouse it. \"Do\nnot,\" they will say, \"make the kindness you have done me into a wrong:\nfor it is a wrong, if you do not demand some return from me, and so make\nme ungrateful. What if I do not know what sort of repayment you wish\nfor? if I am so occupied by business, and my attention is so much\ndiverted to other subjects that I have not been able to watch for an\nopportunity of serving you? Point out to me what I can do for you, what\nyou wish me to do. Why do you despair, before making a trial of me? Why\nare you in such haste to lose both your benefit and your friend? How can\nyou tell whether I do not wish, or whether I do not know how to repay\nyou: whether it be in intention or in opportunity that I am wanting?\nMake a trial of me.\" I would therefore remind him of what I had done,\nwithout bitterness, not in public, or in a reproachful manner, but so\nthat he may think that he himself has remembered it rather than that it\nhas been recalled to him.\n\nXXIV. One of Julius Caesar's veterans was once pleading before him\nagainst his neighbours, and the cause was going against him. \"Do you\nremember, general,\" said he, \"that in Spain you dislocated your ankle\nnear the river Sucro [Footnote: Xucar]?\" When Caesar said that he\nremembered it, he continued, \"Do you remember that when, during the\nexcessive heat, you wished to rest under a tree which afforded very\nlittle shade, as the ground in which that solitary tree grew was rough\nand rocky, one of your comrades spread his cloak under you?\" Caesar\nanswered, \"Of course, I remember; indeed, I was perishing with thirst;\nand since was unable to walk to the nearest spring, I would have crawled\nthither on my hands and knees, had not my comrade, a brave and active\nman, brought me water in his helmet.\" \"Could you, then, my general,\nrecognize that man or that helmet?\" Caesar replied that he could not\nremember the helmet, but that he could remember the man well; and he\nadded, I fancy in anger at being led away to this old story in the midst\nof a judicial enquiry, \"At any rate, you are not he.\" \"I do not blame\nyou, Caesar,\" answered the man, \"for not recognizing me; for when this\ntook place, I was unwounded; but afterwards, at the battle of Munda,\nmy eye was struck out, and the bones of my skull crushed. Nor would\nyou recognize that helmet if you saw it, for it was split by a Spanish\nsword.\" Caesar would not permit this man to be troubled with lawsuits,\nand presented his old soldier with the fields through which a village\nright of way had given rise to the dispute.\n\nXXV. In this case, what ought he to have done? Because his commander's\nmemory was confused by a multitude of incidents, and because his\nposition as the leader of vast armies did not permit him to notice\nindividual soldiers, ought the man not to have asked for a return for\nthe benefit which he had conferred? To act as he did is not so much to\nask for a return as to take it when it lies in a convenient position\nready for us, although we have to stretch out our hands in order to\nreceive it. I shall therefore ask for the return of a benefit, whenever\nI am either reduced to great straits, or where by doing so I shall act\nto the advantage of him from whom I ask it. Tiberius Caesar, when some\none addressed him with the words, \"Do you remember....?\" answered,\nbefore the man could mention any further proofs of former acquaintance,\n\"I do not remember what I was.\" Why should it not be forbidden to demand\nof this man repayment of former favours? He had a motive for forgetting\nthem: he denied all knowledge of his friends and comrades, and wished\nmen only to see, to think, and to speak of him as emperor. He regarded\nhis old friend as an impertinent meddler.\n\nWe ought to be even more careful to choose a favorable opportunity when\nwe ask for a benefit to be repaid to us than when we ask for one to\nbe bestowed upon us. We must be temperate in our language, so that the\ngrateful may not take offence, or the ungrateful pretend to do so. If we\nlived among wise men, it would be our duty to wait in silence until our\nbenefits were returned. Yet even to wise men it would be better to give\nsome hint of what our position required. We ask for help even from\nthe gods themselves, from whose knowledge nothing is hid, although our\nprayers cannot alter their intentions towards us, but can only recall\nthem to their minds. Homer's priest, [Il. i. 39 sqq.] I say, recounts\neven to the gods his duteous conduct and his pious care of their\naltars. The second best form of virtue is to be willing and able to take\nadvice.[Hes. Op. 291.] A horse who is docile and prompt to obey can be\nguided hither and thither by the slightest movement of the reins. Very\nfew men are led by their own reason: those who come next to the best are\nthose who return to the right path in consequence of advice; and these\nwe must not deprive of their guide. When our eyes are covered they still\npossess sight; but it is the light of day which, when admitted to them,\nsummons them to perform their duty: tools lie idle, unless the workman\nuses them to take part in his work. Similarly men's minds contain a good\nfeeling, which, however, lies torpid, either through luxury and disuse,\nor through ignorance of its duties. This we ought to render useful, and\nnot to get into a passion with it, and leave it in its wrong doing, but\nbear with it patiently, just as schoolmasters bear patiently with the\nblunders of forgetful scholars; for as by the prompting of a word or two\ntheir memory is often recalled to the text of the speech which they\nhave to repeat, so men's goodwill can be brought to return kindness by\nreminding them of it.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\nI.\n\n\nThere are some things, my most excellent Liberalis, which lie completely\noutside of our actual life, and which we only inquire into in order to\nexercise our intellects, while others both give us pleasure while we are\ndiscovering them, and are of use when discovered. I will place all these\nin your hands; you, at your own discretion, may order them either to\nbe investigated thoroughly, or to be reserved, and be used as agreeable\ninterludes. Something will be gained even by those which you dismiss at\nonce, for it is advantageous even to know what subjects are not worth\nlearning. I shall be guided, therefore, by your face: according to its\nexpression, I shall deal with some questions at greater length, and\ndrive others out of court, and put an end to them at once.\n\nII. It is a question whether a benefit can be taken away from one by\nforce. Some say that it cannot, because it is not a thing, but an act. A\ngift is not the same as the act of giving, any more than a sailor is the\nsame as the act of sailing. A sick man and a disease are not the same\nthing, although no one can be ill without disease; and, similarly,\na benefit itself is one thing, and what any of us receive through a\nbenefit is another. The benefit itself is incorporeal, and never becomes\ninvalid; but its subject-matter changes owners, and passes from hand to\nhand. So, when you take away from anyone what you have given him,\nyou take away the subject-matter only of the benefit, not the benefit\nitself. Nature herself cannot recall what she has given. She may cease\nto bestow benefits, but cannot take them away: a man who dies, yet has\nlived; a man who becomes blind, nevertheless has seen. She can cut off\nher blessings from us in the future, but she cannot prevent our having\nenjoyed them in the past. We are frequently not able to enjoy a benefit\nfor long, but the benefit is not thereby destroyed. Let Nature struggle\nas hard as she please, she cannot give herself retrospective action. A\nman may lose his house, his money, his property--everything to which the\nname of benefit can be given--yet the benefit itself will remain firm\nand unmoved; no power can prevent his benefactor's having bestowed them,\nor his having received them.\n\nIII. I think that a fine passage in Rabirius's poem, where M. Antonius,\nseeing his fortune deserting him, nothing left him except the privilege\nof dying, and even that only on condition that he used it promptly,\nexclaims,\n\n  \"What I have given, that I now possess!\"\n\nHow much he might have possessed, had he chosen! These are riches to be\ndepended upon, which through all the turmoil of human life will remain\nsteadfast; and the greater they are, the less envy they will attract.\nWhy are you sparing of your property, as though it were your own? You\nare but the manager of it. All those treasures, which make you swell\nwith pride, and soar above mere mortals, till you forget the weakness of\nyour nature; all that which you lock up in iron-grated treasuries, and\nguard in arms, which you win from other men with their lives, and defend\nat the risk of your own; for which you launch fleets to dye the sea with\nblood, and shake the walls of cities, not knowing what arrows fortune\nmay be preparing for you behind your back; to gain which you have so\noften violated all the ties of relationship, of friendship, and of\ncolleagueship, till the whole world lies crushed between the two\ncombatants: all these are not yours; they are a kind of deposit, which\nis on the point of passing into other hands: your enemies, or your\nheirs, who are little better, will seize upon them. \"How,\" do you ask,\n\"can you make them your own?\" \"By giving them away.\" Do, then, what is\nbest for your own interests, and gain a sure enjoyment of them, which\ncannot be taken from you, making them at once more certainly yours, and\nmore honorable to you. That which you esteem so highly, that by which\nyou think that you are made rich and powerful, owns but the shabby title\nof \"house,\" \"slave,\" or \"money;\" but when you have given it away, it\nbecomes a benefit.\n\nIV. \"You admit,\" says our adversary, \"that we sometimes are under no\nobligation to him from whom we have received a benefit. In that case it\nhas been taken by force.\" Nay, there are many things which would cause\nus to cease to feel gratitude for a benefit, not because the benefit has\nbeen taken from me, but because it has been spoiled. Suppose that a man\nhas defended me in a lawsuit, but has forcibly outraged my wife; he has\nnot taken away the benefit which he conferred upon me, but by balancing\nit with an equivalent wrong, he has set me free from my debt; indeed, if\nhe has injured me more than he had previously benefited me, he not only\nputs an end to my gratitude, but makes me free to revenge myself upon\nhim, and to complain of him, when the wrong outweighs the benefit; in\nsuch a case the benefit is not taken away, but is overcome. Why, are\nnot some fathers so cruel and so wicked that it is right and proper for\ntheir sons to turn away from them, and disown them? Yet, pray, have they\ntaken away the life which they gave? No, but their unnatural conduct in\nlater years has destroyed all the gratitude which was due to them for\ntheir original benefit. In these cases it is not a benefit itself, but\nthe gratitude owing for a benefit which is taken away, and the result\nis, not that one does not possess the benefit, but that one is not laid\nunder any obligation by it. It is as though a man were to lend me money,\nand then burn my house down; the advantage of the loan is balanced by\nthe damage which he has caused: I do not repay him, and yet I am not\nin his debt. In like manner any one who may have acted kindly and\ngenerously to me, and who afterwards has shown himself haughty,\ninsulting, and cruel, places me in just the same position as though I\nnever had received anything from him: he has murdered his own benefits.\nThough the lease may remain in force, still a man does not continue to\nbe a tenant if his landlord tramples down his crops, or cuts down his\norchard; their contract is at an end, not because the landlord has\nreceived the rent which was agreed upon, but because he has made it\nimpossible that he should receive it. So, too, a creditor often has to\npay money to his debtor, should he have taken more property from him in\nother transactions than he claims as having lent him. The judge does not\nsit merely to decide between debtor and creditor, when he says, \"You did\nlend the man money; but then, what followed? You have driven away his\ncattle, you have murdered his slave, you have in your possession plate\nwhich you have not paid for. After valuing what each has received,\nI order you, who came to this court as a creditor, to leave it as\na debtor.\" In like manner a balance is struck between benefits and\ninjuries. In many cases, I repeat, a benefit is not taken away from him\nwho receives it, and yet it lays him under no obligation, if the giver\nhas repented of giving it, called himself unhappy because he gave it,\nsighed or made a wry face while he gave it; if he thought that he was\nthrowing it away rather than giving it, if he gave it to please himself,\nor to please any one except me, the receiver; if he persistently makes\nhimself offensive by boasting of what he has done, if he brags of his\ngift everywhere, and makes it a misery to me, then indeed the benefit\nremains in my hands, but I owe him nothing for it, just as sums of money\nto which a creditor has no legal right are owed to him, but cannot be\nclaimed by him.\n\nV. Though you have bestowed a benefit upon me, yet you have since\ndone me a wrong; the benefit demanded gratitude, the wrong required\nvengeance: the result is that I do not owe you gratitude, nor do you\nowe me compensation--each is cancelled by the other. When we say, \"I\nreturned him his benefit,\" we do not mean that we restored to him the\nvery thing which we had received, but something else in its place. To\nreturn is to give back one thing instead of another, because, of course,\nin all repayment it is not the thing itself, but its equivalent which\nis returned. We are said to have returned money even though we count out\ngold pieces instead of silver ones, or even if no money passes between\nus, but the transaction be effected verbally by the assignment of a\ndebt.\n\nI think I see you say, \"You are wasting your time; of what use is it\nto me to know whether what I do not owe to another still remains in my\nhands or not? These are like the ingenious subtleties of the lawyers,\nwho declare that one cannot acquire an inheritance by prescription,\nbut can only acquire those things of which the inheritance consists, as\nthough there were any difference between the heritage and the things of\nwhich it consists. Rather decide this point for me, which may be of\nuse. If the same man confers a benefit upon me, and afterwards does me\na wrong, is it my duty to return the benefit to him, and nevertheless to\navenge myself upon him, having, as it were, two distinct accounts open\nwith him, or to mix them both together, and do nothing, leaving the\nbenefit to be wiped out by the injury, the injury by the benefit? I see\nthat the former course is adopted by the law of the land; you know\nbest what the law may be among you Stoic philosophers in such a case. I\nsuppose that you keep the action which I bring against another distinct\nfrom that which he Strings against me, and the two processes are not\nmerged into one? For instance, if a man entrusts me with money, and\nafterwards robs me, I shall bring an action against him for theft, and\nhe will bring one against me for unlawfully detaining his property?\"\n\nVI. The cases which you have mentioned, my Liberalis, come under\nwell-established laws, which it is necessary for us to follow. One law\ncannot be merged in another: each one proceeds its own way. There is a\nparticular action which deals with deposits just as there is one which\ndeals with theft. A benefit is subject to no law; it depends upon my\nown arbitration. I am at liberty to contrast the amount of good or\nharm which any one may have done me, and then to decide which of us is\nindebted to the other. In legal processes we ourselves have no power, we\nmust go whither they lead us; in the case of a benefit the supreme\npower is mine, I pronounce sentence. Consequently I do not separate or\ndistinguish between benefits and wrongs, but send them before the same\njudge. Unless I did so, you would bid me love and hate, give thanks and\nmake complaints at the same time, which human nature does not admit of.\nI would rather compare the benefit and the injury with one another, and\nsee whether there were any balance in my favour. If anybody puts lines\nof other writing upon my manuscript he conceals, though he does not take\naway, the letters which were there before, and in like manner a wrong\ncoming after a benefit does not allow it to be seen.\n\nVII. Your face, by which I have agreed to be guided, now becomes\nwrinkled with frowns, as though I were straying too widely from the\nsubject. You seem to say to me:\n\n \"Why steer to seaward?\n  Hither bend thy course,\n  Hug close the shore...\"\n\nI do hug it as close as possible. So now, if you think that we have\ndwelt sufficiently upon this point, let us proceed to the consideration\nof the next--that is, whether we are at all indebted to any one who\ndoes us good without wishing to do so. I might have expressed this\nmore clearly, if it were not right that the question should be somewhat\nobscurely stated, in order that by the distinction immediately following\nit may be shown that we mean to investigate the case both of him who\ndoes us good against his will, and that of him who does us good without\nknowing it. That a man who does us good by acting under compulsion does\nnot thereby lay us under any obligation, is so clear, that no words\nare needed to prove it. Both this question, and any other of the like\ncharacter which may be raised, can easily be settled if in each case we\nbear in mind that, for anything to be a benefit, it must reach us in the\nfirst place through some thought, and secondly through the thought of a\nfriend and well-wisher. Therefore we do not feel any gratitude towards\nrivers, albeit they may bear large ships, afford an ample and unvarying\nstream for the conveyance of merchandise, or flow beauteously and full\nof fish through fertile fields. No one conceives himself to be indebted\nfor a benefit to the Nile, any more than he would owe it a grudge if its\nwaters flooded his fields to excess, and retired more slowly than usual;\nthe wind does not bestow benefits, gentle and favorable though it\nmay be, nor does wholesome and useful food; for he who would bestow a\nbenefit upon me, must not only do me good, but must wish to do so. No\nobligation can therefore be incurred towards dumb animals; yet how many\nmen have been saved from peril by the swiftness of a horse!--nor\nyet towards trees--yet how many sufferers from summer heat have been\nsheltered by the thick foliage of a tree! What difference can it make,\nwhether I have profited by the act of one who did not know that he was\ndoing me good, or one who could not know it, when in each case the will\nto do me good was wanting? You might as well bid me be grateful to a\nship, a carriage, or a lance for saving me from danger, as bid me be\ngrateful to a man who may have done me good by chance, but with no more\nintention of doing me good than those things could have.\n\nVIII. Some men may receive benefits without knowing it, but no man can\nbestow them without knowing it. Many sick persons have been cured by\nchance circumstances, which do not therefore become specific remedies;\nas, for instance, one man was restored to health by falling into a river\nduring very cold weather, as another was set free from a quartan fever\nby means of a flogging, because the sudden terror turned his attention\ninto a new channel, so that the dangerous hours passed unnoticed. Yet\nnone of these are remedies, even though they may have been\nsuccessful; and in like manner some men do us good, though they are\nunwilling--indeed, because they are unwilling to do so--yet we need not\nfeel grateful to them as though we had received a benefit from them,\nbecause fortune has changed the evil which they intended into good. Do\nyou suppose that I am indebted to a man who strikes my enemy with a blow\nwhich he aimed at me, who would have injured me had he not missed his\nmark? It often happens that by openly perjuring himself a man makes even\ntrustworthy witnesses disbelieved, and renders his intended victim an\nobject of compassion, as though he were being ruined by a conspiracy.\nSome have been saved by the very power which was exerted to crush\nthem, and judges who would have condemned a man by law, have refused\nto condemn him by favour. Yet they did not confer a benefit upon the\naccused, although they rendered him a service, because we must\nconsider at what the dart was aimed, not what it hits, and a benefit\nis distinguished from an injury not by its result, but by the spirit in\nwhich it was meant. By contradicting himself, by irritating the judge by\nhis arrogance, or by rashly allowing his whole case to depend upon the\ntestimony of one witness, my opponent may have saved my cause. I do not\nconsider whether his mistakes benefited me or not, for he wished me ill.\n\nIX. In order that I may be grateful, I must wish to do what my\nbenefactor must have wished in order that he might bestow a benefit. Can\nanything be more unjust than to bear a grudge against a person who may\nhave trodden upon one's foot in a crowd, or splashed one, or pushed one\nthe way which one did not wish to go? Yet it was by his act that we were\ninjured, and we only refrain from complaining of him, because he did not\nknow what he was doing. The same reason makes it possible for men to do\nus good without conferring benefits upon us, or to harm us without doing\nus wrong, because it is intention which distinguishes our friends\nfrom our enemies. How many have been saved from service in the army by\nsickness! Some men have been saved from sharing the fall of their house,\nby being brought up upon their recognizances to a court of law by their\nenemies; some have been saved by ship-wreck from falling into the hands\nof pirates; yet we do not feel grateful to such things, because chance\nhas no feeling of the service it renders, nor are we grateful to our\nenemy, though his lawsuit, while it harassed and detained us, still\nsaved our lives. Nothing can be a benefit which does not proceed from\ngood will, and which is not meant as such by the giver. If any one\ndoes me a service, without knowing it, I am under no obligation to him;\nshould he do so, meaning to injure me, I shall imitate his conduct.\n\nX. Let us turn our attention to the first of these. Can you desire me to\ndo anything to express my gratitude to a man who did nothing in order to\nconfer a benefit upon me? Passing on to the next, do you wish me to show\nmy gratitude to such a man, and of my own will to return to him what I\nreceived from him against his will? What am I to say of the third, he\nwho, meaning to do an injury, blunders into bestowing a benefit? That\nyou should have wished to confer a benefit upon me is not sufficient\nto render me grateful; but that you should have wished not to do so is\nenough to set me free from any obligation to you. A mere wish does not\nconstitute a benefit; and just as the best and heartiest wish is not a\nbenefit when fortune prevents its being carried into effect, neither is\nwhat fortune bestows upon us a benefit, unless good wishes preceded\nit. In order to lay me under an obligation, you must not merely do me a\nservice, but you must do so intentionally.\n\nXI. Cleanthes makes use of the following example:--\"I sent,\" says he,\n\"two slaves to look for Plato and bring him to me from the Academy. One\nof them searched through the whole of the colonnade, and every other\nplace in which he thought that he was likely to be found, and returned\nhome alike weary and unsuccessful; the other sat down among the audience\nof a mountebank close by, and, while amusing himself in the society of\nother slaves like a careless vagabond as he was, found Plato, without\nseeking for him, as he happened to pass that way. We ought,\" says he,\n\"to praise that slave who, as far as lay in his power, did what he was\nordered, and we ought to punish the other whose laziness turned out so\nfortunate.\" It is goodwill alone which does one real service; let us\nthen consider under what conditions it lays us under obligations. It is\nnot enough to wish a man well, without doing him good; nor is it enough\nto do him good without wishing him well. Suppose that some one wished to\ngive me a present, but did not give it; I have his good will, but I\ndo not have his benefit, which consists of subject matter and goodwill\ntogether. I owe nothing to one who wished to lend me money but did not\ndo so, and in like manner I shall be the friend of one who wished but\nwas not able to bestow a benefit upon me, but I shall not be under any\nobligation to him. I also shall wish to bestow something upon him, even\nas he did upon me; but if fortune be more favorable to me than to him,\nand I succeed in bestowing something upon him, my doing so will be a\nbenefit bestowed upon him, not a repayment out of gratitude for what he\ndid for me. It will become his duty to be grateful to me; I shall have\nbegun the interchange of benefits; the series must be counted from my\nact.\n\nXII. I already understand what you wish to ask; there is no need for you\nto say anything, your countenance speaks for you. \"If any one does us\ngood for his own sake, are we,\" you ask, \"under an obligation to him? I\noften hear you complain that there are some things which men make use\nof themselves, but which they put down to the account of others.\" I will\ntell you, my Liberalis; but first let me distinguish between the two\nparts of your question, and separate what is fair from what is unfair.\nIt makes a great difference whether any one bestows a benefit upon us\nfor his own sake, or whether he does so partly for his own sake and\npartly for ours. He who looks only to his own interests, and who does us\ngood because he cannot otherwise make a profit for himself, seems to\nme to be like the farmer who provides winter and summer fodder for his\nflocks, or like the man who feeds up the captives whom he has bought\nin order that they may fetch a better price in the slave market, or who\ncrams and curry-combs fat oxen for sale; or like the keeper of a\nschool of arms, who takes great pains in exercising and equipping his\ngladiators. As Cleanthes says, there is a great difference between\nbenefits and trade.\n\nXIII. On the other hand, I am not so unjust as to feel no gratitude to\na man, because, while helping me, he helped himself also; for I do\nnot insist upon his consulting my interests to the exclusion of his\nown--nay, I should prefer that the benefit which I receive may be of\neven greater advantage to the giver, provided that he thought of us\nboth when giving it, and meant to divide it between me and himself. Even\nshould he possess the larger portion of it, still, if he admits me to\na share, if he meant it for both of us, I am not only unjust but\nungrateful, if I do not rejoice in what has benefited me benefiting him\nalso. It is the essence of spitefulness to say that nothing can be a\nbenefit which does not cause some inconvenience to the giver.\n\nAs for him who bestows a benefit for his own sake, I should say to him,\n\"You have made use of me, and how can you say that you have bestowed a\nbenefit upon me, rather than I upon you?\" \"Suppose,\" answers he, \"that I\ncannot obtain a public office except by ransoming ten citizens out of a\ngreat number of captives, will you owe me nothing for setting you free\nfrom slavery and bondage? Yet I shall do so for my own sake.\" To this I\nshould answer, \"You do this partly for my sake, partly for your own.\nIt is for your own sake that you ransom captives, but it is for my sake\nthat you ransom me; for to serve your purpose it would be enough for you\nto ransom any one. I am therefore your debtor, not for ransoming me\nbut for choosing me, since you might have attained the same result by\nransoming some one else instead of me. You divide the advantages of the\nact between yourself and me, and you confer upon me a benefit by which\nboth of us profit. What you do entirely for my sake is, that you choose\nme in preference to others. If therefore you were to be made praetor for\nransoming ten captives, and there were only ten of us captives, none of\nus would be under any obligation to you, because there is nothing for\nwhich you can ask any one of us to give you credit apart from your own\nadvantage. I do not regard a benefit jealously and wish it to be given\nto myself alone, but I wish to have a share in it.\"\n\nXIV. \"Well, then,\" says he, \"suppose that I were to order all your names\nto be put into a ballot-box, and that your name was drawn among those\nwho were to be ransomed, would you owe me nothing?\" Yes, I should owe\nyou something, but very little: how little, I will explain to you. By so\ndoing you do something for my sake, in that you grant me the chance of\nbeing ransomed; I owe to fortune that my name was drawn, all I owe\nto you is that my name could be drawn. You have given me the means\nof obtaining your benefit. For the greater part of that benefit I am\nindebted to fortune; that I could be so indebted, I owe to you.\n\nI shall take no notice whatever of those whose benefits are bestowed\nin a mercenary spirit, who do not consider to whom, but upon what terms\nthey give, whose benefits are entirely selfish. Suppose that some one\nsells me corn; I cannot live unless I buy it; yet I do not owe my life\nto him because I have bought it. I do not consider how essential it was\nto me, and that I could not live without it; but how little thanks are\ndue for it, since I could not have had it without paying for it, and\nsince the merchant who imported it did not consider how much good he\nwould do me, but how much he would gain for himself, I owe nothing for\nwhat I have bought and paid for.\n\nXV. \"According to this reasoning,\" says my opponent, \"you would say\nthat you owe nothing to a physician beyond his paltry fee, nor to your\nteacher, because you have paid him some money; yet these persons are all\nheld very dear, and are very much respected.\" In answer to this I should\nurge that some things are of greater value than the price which we pay\nfor them. You buy of a physician life and good health, the value of\nwhich cannot be estimated in money; from a teacher of the liberal\nsciences you buy the education of a gentleman and mental culture;\ntherefore you pay these persons the price, not of what they give us, but\nof their trouble in giving it; you pay them for devoting their attention\nto us, for disregarding their own affairs to attend to us: they receive\nthe price, not of their services, but of the expenditure of their time.\nYet this may be more truly stated in another way, which I will at once\nlay before you, having first pointed out how the above may be confuted.\nOur adversary would say, \"If some things are of greater value than the\nprice which we pay for them, then, though you may have bought them, you\nstill owe me something more for them.\" I answer, in the first place,\nwhat does their real value matter, since the buyer and seller have\nsettled the price between them? Next, I did not buy it at it's own\nprice, but at yours. \"It is,\" you say, \"worth more than its sale price.\"\nTrue, but it cannot be sold for more. The price of everything varies\naccording to circumstances; after you have well praised your wares, they\nare worth only the highest price at which you can sell them; a man who\nbuys things cheap is not on that account under any obligation to the\nseller. In the next place, even if they are worth more, there is no\ngenerosity in your letting them go for less, since the price is settled\nby custom and the rate of the market, not by the uses and powers of the\nmerchandise. What would you state to be the proper payment of a man who\ncrosses the seas, holding a true course through the midst of the waves\nafter the land has sunk out of sight, who foresees coming storms, and\nsuddenly, when no one expects danger, orders sails to be furled, yards\nto be lowered, and the crew to stand at their posts ready to meet the\nfury of the unexpected gale? and yet the price of such great skill is\nfully paid for by the passage money. At what sum can you estimate the\nvalue of a lodging in a wilderness, of a shelter in the rain, of a bath\nor fire in cold weather? Yet I know on what terms I shall be supplied\nwith these when I enter an inn. How much the man does for us who props\nour house when it is about to fall, and who, with a skill beyond belief,\nsuspends in the air a block of building which has begun to crack at the\nfoundation; yet we can contract for underpinning at a fixed and cheap\nrate. The city wall keeps us safe from our enemies, and from sudden\ninroads of brigands; yet it is, well known how much a day a smith\nwould earn for erecting towers and scaffoldings [Footnote: See\nViollet-le-Duc's \"Dictionnaire d'Architecture,\" articles \"Architecture\nMilitaire\" and \"Hourds,\" for the probable meaning of \"Propugnacula.\"]to\nprovide for the public safety.\n\nXVI. I might go on for ever collecting instances to prove that valuable\nthings are sold at a low price. What then? why is it that I owe\nsomething extra both to my physician and to my teacher, and that I do\nnot acquit myself of all obligation to them by paying them their fee? It\nis because they pass from physicians and teachers into friends, and lay\nus under obligations, not by the skill which they sell to us, but by\nkindly and familiar good will. If my physician does no more than feel\nmy pulse and class me among those whom he sees in his daily rounds,\npointing out what I ought to do or to avoid without any personal\ninterest, then I owe him no more than his fee, because he views me with\nthe eye not of a friend, but of a commander. [Footnote: I read \"Nbn\ntamquam amicus videt sed tamquam imperator.\"] Neither have I any reason\nfor loving my teacher, if he has regarded me merely as one of the mass\nof his scholars, and has not thought me worthy of taking especial pains\nwith by myself, if he has never fixed his attention upon me, and if when\nhe discharged his knowledge on the public, I might be said rather to\nhave picked it up than to have learnt it from him. What then is our\nreason for owing them much? It is, not that what they have sold us is\nworth more than we paid for it, but that they have given something to us\npersonally. Suppose that my physician has spent more consideration upon\nmy case than was professionally necessary; that it was for me, not for\nhis own credit, that he feared: that he was not satisfied with pointing\nout remedies, but himself applied them, that he sat by my bedside among\nmy anxious friends, and came to see me at the crises of my disorder;\nthat no service was too troublesome or too disgusting for him to\nperform; that he did not hear my groans unmoved; that among the numbers\nwho called for him I was his favourite case; and that he gave the others\nonly so much time as his care of my health permitted him: I should feel\nobliged to such a man not as to a physician, but as to a friend. Suppose\nagain that my teacher endured labour and weariness in instructing me;\nthat he taught me something more than is taught by all masters alike;\nthat he roused my better feelings by his encouragement, and that at\none time he would raise my spirits by praise, and at another warn me\nto shake off slothfulness: that he laid his hand, as it were, upon my\nlatent and torpid powers of intellect and drew them out into the light\nof day; that he did not stingily dole out to me what he knew, in order\nthat he might be wanted for a longer time, but was eager, if possible,\nto pour all his learning into me; then I am ungrateful, if I do not love\nhim as much as I love my nearest relatives and my dearest friends.\n\nXVII. We give something additional even to those who teach the meanest\ntrades, if their efforts appear to be extraordinary; we bestow a\ngratuity upon pilots, upon workmen who deal with the commonest materials\nand hire themselves out by the day. In the noblest arts, however, those\nwhich either preserve or beautify our lives, a man would be ungrateful\nwho thinks he owes the artist no more than he bargained for. Besides\nthis, the teaching of such learning as we have spoken of blends mind\nwith mind; now when this takes place, both in the case of the physician\nand of the teacher the price of his work is paid, but that of his mind\nremains owing.\n\nXVIII. Plato once crossed a river, and as the ferryman did not ask him\nfor anything, he supposed that he had let him pass free out of respect,\nand said that the ferryman had laid Plato under an obligation. Shortly\nafterwards, seeing the ferryman take one person after another across the\nriver with the same pains, and without charging anything, Plato declared\nthat the ferryman had not laid him under an obligation. If you wish me\nto be grateful for what you give, you must not merely give it to me, but\nshow that you mean it specially for me; you cannot make any claim upon\none for having given him what you fling away broad-cast among the crowd.\nWhat then? shall I owe you nothing for it? Nothing, as an individual; I\nwill pay, when the rest of mankind do, what I owe no more than they.\n\nXIX. \"Do you say,\" inquires my opponent, \"that he who carries me gratis\nin a boat across the river Po, does not bestow any benefit upon me?\" I\ndo. He does me some good, but he does not bestow a benefit upon me; for\nhe does it for his own sake, or at any rate not for mine; in short, he\nhimself does not imagine that he is bestowing a benefit upon me, but\ndoes it for the credit of the State, or of the neighbourhood, or of\nhimself, and expects some return for doing so, different from what he\nwould receive from individual passengers. \"Well,\" asks my opponent, \"if\nthe emperor were to grant the franchise to all the Gauls, or exemption,\nfrom taxes to all the Spaniards, would each individual of them owe him\nnothing on that account?\" Of course he would: but he would be indebted\nto him, not as having personally received a benefit intended for himself\nalone, but as a partaker in one conferred upon his nation. He would\nargue, \"The emperor had no thought of me at the time when he benefited\nus all; he did not care to give me the franchise separately, he did not\nfix his attention upon me; why then should I be grateful to one who did\nnot have me in his mind when he was thinking of doing what he did? In\nanswer to this, I say that when he thought of doing good to all the\nGauls, he thought of doing good to me also, for I was a Gaul, and he\nincluded me under my national, if not under my personal appellation. In\nlike manner, I should feel grateful to him, not as for a personal, but\nfor a general benefit; being only one of the people, I should regard\nthe debt of gratitude as incurred, not by myself, but by my country, and\nshould not pay it myself, but only contribute my share towards doing so.\nI do not call a man my creditor because he has lent money to my country,\nnor should I include that money in a schedule of my debts were I either\na candidate for a public office, or a defendant in the courts; yet I\nwould pay my share towards extinguishing such a debt. Similarly, I deny\nthat I am laid under an obligation by a gift bestowed upon my entire\nnation, because although the giver gave it to me, yet he did not do so\nfor my sake, but gave it without knowing whether he was giving it to me\nor not: nevertheless I should feel that I owed something for the\ngift, because it did reach me, though not directly. To lay me under an\nobligation, a thing must be done for my sake alone.\"\n\nXX. \"According to this,\" argues our opponent, \"you are under no\nobligation to the sun or the moon; for they do not move for your sake\nalone.\" No, but since they move with the object of preserving the\nbalance of the universe, they move for my sake also, seeing that I am\na fraction of the universe. Besides, our position and theirs is not the\nsame, for he who does me good in order that he may by my means do good\nto himself, does not bestow a benefit upon me, because he merely makes\nuse of me as an instrument for his own advantage; whereas the sun and\nthe moon, even if they do us good for their own sakes, still cannot do\ngood to us in order that by our means they may do good to themselves,\nfor what is there which we can bestow upon them?\n\nXXI. \"I should be sure,\" replies he, \"that the sun and the moon wished\nto do us good, if they were able to refuse to do so; but they cannot\nhelp moving as they do. In short, let them stop and discontinue their\nwork.\"\n\nSee now, in how many ways this argument may be refuted. One who cannot\nrefuse to do a thing may nevertheless wish to do it; indeed there is no\ngreater proof of a fixed desire to do anything, than not to be able to\nalter one's determination. A good man cannot leave undone what he does:\nfor unless he does it he will not be a good man. Is a good man, then,\nnot able to bestow a benefit, because he does what he ought to do, and\nis not able not to do what he ought to do? Besides this, it makes\na great difference whether you say, \"He is not able not to do this,\nbecause he is forced to do it,\" or \"He is not able to wish not to do\nit;\" for, if he could not help doing it, then I am not indebted for it\nto him, but to the person who forced him to do it; if he could not help\nwishing for it because he had nothing better to wish for, then it is he\nwho forces himself to do it, and in this case the debt which as acting\nunder compulsion he could not claim, is due to him as compelling\nhimself.\n\n\"Let the sun and moon cease to wish to benefit us,\" says our adversary.\nI answer, \"Remember what has been said. Who can be so crazy as to refuse\nthe name of free-will to that which has no danger of ceasing to act, and\nof adopting the opposite course, since, on the contrary, he whose will\nis fixed for ever, must be thought to wish more earnestly than any one\nelse. Surely if he, who may at any moment change his mind, can be said\nto wish, we must not deny the existence of will in a being whose nature\ndoes not admit of change of mind.\"\n\nXXII. \"Well,\" says he \"let them stop, if it be possible.\" What you say\nis this:--\"Let all those heavenly bodies, placed as they are at vast\ndistances from each other, and arranged to preserve the balance of the\nuniverse, leave their appointed posts: let sudden confusion arise,\nso that constellations may collide with constellations, that the\nestablished harmony of all things may be destroyed and the works of God\nbe shaken into ruin; let the whole frame of the rapidly moving heavenly\nbodies abandon in mid career those movements which we were assured would\nendure for ages, and let those which now by their regular advance and\nretreat keep the world at a moderate temperature, be instantly consumed\nby fire, so that instead of the infinite variety of the seasons all may\nbe reduced to one uniform condition; let fire rage everywhere, followed\nby dull night, and let the bottomless abyss swallow up all the gods.\" Is\nit worth while to destroy all this merely in order to refute you? Even\nthough you do not wish it, they do you good, and they wheel in their\ncourses for your sake, though their motion may be due to some earlier\nand more important cause.\n\nXXIII. Besides this, the gods act under no external constraint, but\ntheir own will is a law to them for all time. They have established an\norder which is not to be changed, and consequently it is impossible that\nthey should appear to be likely to do anything against their will, since\nthey wish to continue doing whatever they cannot cease from doing, and\nthey never regret their original decision, No doubt it is impossible for\nthem to stop short, or to desert to the other side, but it is so for no\nother reason than that their own force holds them to their purpose. It\nis from no weakness that they persevere; no, they have no mind to leave\nthe best course, and by this it is fated that they should proceed. When,\nat the time of the original creation, they arranged the entire universe,\nthey paid attention to us as well as to the rest, and took thought about\nthe human race; and for this reason we cannot suppose that it is merely\nfor their own pleasure that they move in their orbits and display their\nwork since we also are a part of that work. We are, therefore; under\nan obligation to the sun and moon and the rest of the heavenly host,\nbecause, although they may rise in order to bestow more important\nbenefits than those which we receive from them, yet they do bestow these\nupon us as they pass on their way to greater things. Besides this, they\nassist us of set purpose, and, therefore, lay us under an obligation,\nbecause we do not in their case stumble by chance upon a benefit\nbestowed by one who knew not what he was doing, but they knew that we\nshould receive from them the advantages which we do; so that, though\nthey may have some higher aim, though the result of their movements may\nbe something of greater importance than the preservation of the human\nrace, yet from the beginning thought has been directed to our comforts,\nand the scheme of the world has been arranged in a fashion which proves\nthat our interests were neither their least nor last concern. It is our\nduty to show filial love for our parents, although many of them had no\nthought of children when they married. Not so with the gods: they cannot\nbut have known what they were doing when they furnished mankind with\nfood and comforts. Those for whose advantage so much was created, could\nnot have been created without design. Nature conceived the idea of us\nbefore she formed us, and, indeed, we are no such trifling piece of work\nas could have fallen from her hands unheeded. See how great privileges\nshe has bestowed upon us, how far beyond the human race the empire of\nmankind extends; consider how widely she allows us to roam, not having\nrestricted us to the land alone, but permitted us to traverse every part\nof herself; consider, too, the audacity of our intellect, the only one\nwhich knows of the gods or seeks for them, and how we can raise our mind\nhigh above the earth, and commune with those divine influences: you will\nperceive that man is not a hurriedly put together, or an unstudied piece\nof work. Among her noblest products nature has none of which she can\nboast more than man, and assuredly no other which can comprehend her\nboast. What madness is this, to call the gods in question for their\nbounty? If a man declares that he has received nothing when he is\nreceiving all the while, and from those who will always be giving\nwithout ever receiving anything in return, how will he be grateful to\nthose whose kindness cannot be returned without expense? and how great a\nmistake is it not to be thankful to a giver, because he is good even to\nhim who disowns him, or to use the fact of his bounty being poured upon\nus in an uninterrupted stream, as an argument to prove that he cannot\nhelp bestowing it. Suppose that such men as these say, \"I do not want\nit,\" \"Let him keep it to himself,\" \"Who asks him for it?\" and so forth,\nwith all the other speeches of insolent minds: still, he whose bounty\nreaches you, although you say that it does not, lays you under an\nobligation nevertheless; indeed, perhaps the greatest part of the\nbenefit which he bestows is that he is ready to give even when you are\ncomplaining against him.\n\nXXIV. Do you not see how parents force children during their infancy\nto undergo what is useful for their health? Though the children cry and\nstruggle, they swathe them and bind their limbs straight lest premature\nliberty should make them grow crooked, afterwards instill into them a\nliberal education, threatening those who are unwilling to learn, and\nfinally, if spirited young men do not conduct themselves frugally,\nmodestly, and respectably, they compel them to do so. Force and harsh\nmeasures are used even to youths who have grown up and are their own\nmasters, if they, either from fear or from insolence, refuse to take\nwhat is good for them. Thus the greatest benefits that we receive,\nwe receive either without knowing it, or against our will, from our\nparents.\n\nXXV. Those persons who are ungrateful and repudiate benefits, not\nbecause they do not wish to receive them, but in order that they may not\nbe laid under an obligation for them, are like those who fall into the\nopposite extreme, and are over grateful, who pray that some trouble or\nmisfortune may befall their benefactors to give them an opportunity\nof proving how gratefully they remember the benefit which they have\nreceived. It is a question whether they are right, and show a truly\ndutiful feeling; their state of mind is morbid, like that of frantic\nlovers who long for their mistress to be exiled, that they may accompany\nher when she leaves her country forsaken by all her friends, or that she\nmay be poor in order that she may the more need what they give her, or\nwho long that she may be ill in order that they may sit by her bedside,\nand who, in short, out of sheer love form the same wishes as her enemies\nwould wish for her. Thus the results of hatred and of frantic love are\nvery nearly the same; and these lovers are very like those who hope that\ntheir friends may meet with difficulties which they may remove, and who\nthus do a wrong that they may bestow a benefit, whereas it would have\nbeen much better for them to do nothing, than by a crime to gain an\nopportunity of doing good service. What should we say of a pilot who\nprayed to the gods for dreadful storms and tempests, in order that\ndanger might make his skill more highly esteemed? what of a general who\nshould pray that a vast number of the enemy surround his camp, fill\nthe ditches by a sudden charge, tear down the rampart round his\npanic-stricken army, and plant its hostile standards at the very gates,\nin order that he might gain more glory by restoring his broken ranks and\nshattered fortunes? All such men confer their benefits upon us by odious\nmeans, for they beg the gods to harm those whom they mean to help, and\nwish them to be struck down before they raise them up; it is a cruel\nfeeling, brought about by a distorted sense of gratitude, to wish evil\nto befall one whom one is bound in honour to succour.\n\nXXVI. \"My wish,\" argues our opponent, \"does him no harm, because when\nI wish for the danger I wish for the rescue at the same time.\" What you\nmean by this is not that you do no wrong, but that you do less than if\nyou wished that the danger might befall him, without wishing for the\nrescue. It is wicked to throw a man into the water in order that you may\npull him out, to throw him down that you may raise him up, or to shut\nhim up that you may release him. You do not bestow a benefit upon a man\nby ceasing to wrong him, nor can it ever be a piece of good service to\nanyone to remove from him a burden which you yourself imposed on him.\nTrue, you may cure the hurt which you inflict, but I had rather that you\ndid not hurt me at all. You may gain my gratitude by curing me because I\nam wounded, but not by wounding me in order that you may cure me: no man\nlikes scars except as compared with wounds, which he is glad to see thus\nhealed, though he had rather not have received them. It would be cruel\nto wish such things to befall one from whom you had never received a\nkindness; how much more cruel is it to wish that they may befall one in\nwhose debt you are.\n\nXXVII. \"I pray,\" replies he, \"at the same time, that I may be able to\nhelp him.\" In the first place, if I stop you short in the middle of your\nprayer, it shows at once that you are ungrateful: I have not yet heard\nwhat you wish to do for him; I have heard what you wish him to suffer.\nYou pray that anxiety and fear and even worse evil than this may come\nupon him. You desire that he may need aid: this is to his disadvantage;\nyou desire that he may need your aid: this is to your advantage. You do\nnot wish to help him, but to be set free from your obligation to him:\nfor when you are eager to repay your debt in such a way as this, you\nmerely wish to be set free from the debt, not to repay it. So the only\npart of your wish that could be thought honourable proves to be the base\nand ungrateful feeling of unwillingness to lie under an obligation: for\nwhat you wish for is, not that you may have an opportunity of repaying\nhis kindness, but that he may be forced to beg you to do him a kindness.\nYou make yourself the superior, and you wickedly degrade beneath your\nfeet the man who has done you good service. How much better would it be\nto remain in his debt in an honourable and friendly manner, than to seek\nto discharge the debt by these evil means! You would be less to blame if\nyou denied that you had received it, for your benefactor would then\nlose nothing more than what he gave you, whereas now you wish him to be\nrendered inferior to you, and brought by the loss of his property and\nsocial position into a condition below his own benefits. Do you think\nyourself grateful? Just utter your wishes in the hearing of him to whom\nyou wish to do good. Do you call that a prayer for his welfare, which\ncan be divided between his friend and his enemy, which, if the last part\nwere omitted, you would not doubt was pronounced, by one who opposed and\nhated him? Enemies in war have sometimes wished to capture certain\ntowns in order to spare them, or to conquer certain persons in order\nto pardon, them, yet these were the wishes of enemies, and what was the\nkindest part of them began by cruelty. Finally, what sort of prayers do\nyou think those can be which he, on whose behalf they are made, hopes\nmore earnestly than any one else may not be granted? In hoping that\nthe gods may injure a man, and that you may help him, you deal most\ndishonourably with him, and you do not treat the gods themselves fairly,\nfor you give them the odious part to play, and reserve the generous one\nfor yourself: the gods must do him wrong in order that you may do him\na service. If you were to suborn an informer to accuse a man, and\nafterwards withdrew him, if you engaged a man in a law suit and\nafterwards gave it up, no one would hesitate to call you a villain: what\ndifference does it make, whether you attempt to do this by chicanery\nor by prayer, unless it be that by prayer you raise up more powerful\nenemies to him than by the other means? You cannot say \"Why, what harm\ndo I do him?\" your prayer is either futile or harmful, indeed it is\nharmful even though nothing comes of it. You do your friend wrong by\nwishing him harm: you must thank the gods that you do him no harm. The\nfact of your wishing it is enough: we ought to be just as angry with you\nas if you had effected it.\n\nXXVIII. \"If,\" argues our adversary, \"my prayers had any efficacy, they\nwould also have been efficacious to save him from danger.\" In the first\nplace, I reply, the danger into which you wish me to fall is certain,\nthe help which I should receive is uncertain. Or call them both certain;\nit is that which injures me that comes first. Besides, YOU understand\nthe terms of your wish; _I_ shall be tossed by the storm without being\nsure that I have a haven of rest at hand.\n\nThink what torture it must have been to me, even if I receive your help,\nto have stood in need of it: if I escape safely, to have trembled for\nmyself; if I be acquitted, to have had to plead my cause. To escape from\nfear, however great it may be, can never be so pleasant as to live in\nsound unassailable safety. Pray that you may return my kindnesses when I\nneed their return, but do not pray that I may need them. You would have\ndone what you prayed for, had it been in your power.\n\nXXIX. How far more honourable would a prayer of this sort be: \"I pray\nthat he may remain in such a position as that he may always bestow\nbenefits and never need them: may he be attended by the means of giving\nand helping, of which he makes such a bountiful use; may he never want\nbenefits to bestow, or be sorry for any which he has bestowed; may his\nnature, fitted as it is for acts of pity, goodness, and clemency, be\nstimulated and brought out by numbers of grateful persons, whom I trust\nhe will find without needing to make trial of their gratitude; may\nhe refuse to be reconciled to no one, and may no one require to be\nreconciled to him: may fortune so uniformly continue to favour him that\nno one may be able to return his kindness in any way except by feeling\ngrateful to him.\"\n\nHow far more proper are such prayers as these, which do not put you off\nto some distant opportunity, but express your gratitude at once? What is\nthere to prevent your returning your benefactor's kindness, even while\nhe is in prosperity? How many ways are there by which we can repay what\nwe owe even to the affluent--for instance, by honest advice, by constant\nintercourse, by courteous conversation, pleasing him without flattering\nhim, by listening attentively to any subject which he may wish to\ndiscuss, by keeping safe any secret that he may impart to us, and by\nsocial intercourse. There is no one so highly placed by fortune as not\nto want a friend all the more because he wants nothing.\n\nXXX. The other is a melancholy opportunity, and one which we ought\nalways to pray may be kept far from us: must the gods be angry with\na man in order that you may prove your gratitude to him? Do you not\nperceive that you are doing wrong, from the very fact that those to\nwhom you are ungrateful fare better? Call up before your mind dungeons,\nchains, wretchedness, slavery, war, poverty: these are the opportunities\nfor which you pray; if any one has any dealings with you, it is by means\nof these that you square your account. Why not rather wish that he to\nwhom you owe most may be powerful and happy? for, as I have just said,\nwhat is there to prevent your returning the kindness even of those\nwho enjoy the greatest prosperity? to do which, ample and various\nopportunities will present themselves to you, What! do you not know that\na debt can be paid even to a rich man? Nor will I trouble you with many\ninstances of what you may do. Though a man's riches and prosperity may\nprevent your making him any other repayment, I will show you what the\nhighest in the land stand in need of, what is wanting to those who\npossess everything. They want a man to speak the truth, to save them\nfrom the organized mass of falsehood by which they are beset, which so\nbewilders them with lies that the habit of hearing only what is pleasant\ninstead of what is true, prevents their knowing what truth really is. Do\nyou not see how such persons are driven to ruin by the want of candour\namong their friends, whose loyalty has degenerated into slavish\nobsequiousness? No one, when giving them his advice, tells them what he\nreally thinks, but each vies with the other in flattery; and while the\nman's friends make it their only object to see who can most pleasantly\ndeceive him, he himself is ignorant of his real powers, and, believing\nhimself to be as great a man as he is told that he is, plunges the State\nin useless wars, which bring disasters upon it, breaks off a useful and\nnecessary peace, and, through a passion of anger which no one checks,\nspills the blood of numbers of people, and at last sheds his own.\nSuch persons assert what has never been investigated as certain facts,\nconsider that to modify their opinion is as dishonourable as to be\nconquered, believe that institutions which are just flickering out of\nexistence will last for ever, and, thus overturn great States, to the\ndestruction of themselves and all who are connected with them. Living\nas they do in a fool's paradise, resplendent with unreal and short-lived\nadvantages, they forget that, as soon as they put it out of their power\nto hear the truth, there is no limit to the misfortunes which they may\nexpect.\n\nXXXI. When Xerxes declared war against Greece, all his courtiers\nencouraged his boastful temper, which forgot how unsubstantial his\ngrounds for confidence were. One declared that the Greeks would not\nendure to hear the news of the declaration of war, and would take to\nflight at the first rumour of his approach; another, that with such a\nvast army Greece could not only be conquered, but utterly overwhelmed,\nand that it was rather to be feared that they would find the Greek\ncities empty and abandoned, and that the panic flight of the enemy\nwould leave them only vast deserts, where no use could be made of their\nenormous forces. Another told him that the world was hardly large enough\nto contain him, that the seas were too narrow for his fleets, the camps\nwould not take in his armies, the plains were not wide enough to deploy\nhis cavalry in, and that the sky itself was scarcely large enough to\nenable all his troops to hurl their darts at once. While much boasting\nof this sort was going on around him, raising his already overweening\nself-confidence to a frantic pitch, Demaratus, the Lacedaemonian,\nalone told him that the disorganized and unwieldy multitude in which he\ntrusted, was in itself a danger to its chief, because it possessed\nonly weight without strength; for an army which is too large cannot\nbe governed, and one which cannot be governed, cannot long exist. \"The\nLacedaemonians,\" said he, \"will meet you upon the first mountain in\nGreece, and will give you a taste of their quality. All these thousands\nof nations of yours will be held in check by three hundred men: they\nwill stand firm at their posts, they will defend the passes entrusted to\nthem with their weapons, and block them up with their bodies: all Asia\nwill not force them to give way; few as they are, they will stop all\nthis terrible invasion, attempted though it be by nearly the whole human\nrace. Though the laws of nature may give way to you, and enable you to\npass from Europe to Asia, yet you will stop short in a bypath; consider\nwhat your losses will be afterwards, when you have reckoned up the price\nwhich you have to pay for the pass of Thermopylae; when you learn that\nyour march can be stayed, you will discover that you may be put to\nflight. The Greeks will yield up many parts of their country to you, as\nif they were swept out of them by the first terrible rush of a mountain\ntorrent; afterwards they will rise against you from all quarters and\nwill crush you by means of your own strength. What people say, that\nyour warlike preparations are too great to be contained in the\ncountries which you intend to attack, is quite true; but this is to our\ndisadvantage. Greece will conquer you for this very reason, that she\ncannot contain you; you cannot make use of the whole of your force.\nBesides this, you will not be able to do what is essential to\nvictory--that is, to meet the manoeuvres of the enemy at once, to\nsupport your own men if they give way, or to confirm and strengthen\nthem when their ranks are wavering; long before you know it, you will\nbe defeated. Moreover, you should not think that because your army is\nso large that its own chief does not know its numbers, it is therefore\nirresistible; there is nothing so great that it cannot perish; nay,\nwithout any other cause, its own excessive size may prove its ruin.\"\nWhat Demaratus predicted came to pass. He whose power gods and men\nobeyed, and who swept away all that opposed him, was bidden to halt by\nthree hundred men, and the Persians, defeated in every part of Greece,\nlearned how great a difference there is between a mob and an army. Thus\nit came to pass that Xerxes, who suffered more from the shame of his\nfailure than from the losses which he sustained, thanked Demaratus for\nhaving been the only man who told him the truth, and permitted him to\nask what boon he pleased. He asked to be allowed to drive a chariot into\nSardis, the largest city in Asia, wearing a tiara erect upon his head,\na privilege which was enjoyed by kings alone. He deserved his reward\nbefore he asked for it, but how wretched must the nation have been, in\nwhich there was no one who would speak the truth to the king except one\nman who did not speak it to himself.\n\nXXXII. The late Emperor Augustus banished his daughter, whose conduct\nwent beyond the shame of ordinary immodesty, and made public the\nscandals of the imperial house.\n\nLed away by his passion, he divulged all these crimes which, as emperor,\nhe ought to have kept secret with as much care as he punished them,\nbecause the shame of some deeds asperses even him who avenges them.\nAfterwards, when by lapse of time shame took the place of anger in his\nmind, he lamented that he had not kept silence about matters which he\nhad not learned until it was disgraceful to speak of them, and often\nused to exclaim, \"None of these things would have happened to me, if\neither Agrippa or Maecenas had lived!\" So hard was it for the master\nof so many thousands of men to repair the loss of two. When his legions\nwere slaughtered, new ones were at once enrolled; when his fleet was\nwrecked, within a few days another was afloat; when the public buildings\nwere consumed by fire, finer ones arose in their stead; but the places\nof Agrippa and Maecenas remained unfilled throughout his life. What am I\nto imagine? that there were not any men like these, who could take\ntheir place, or that it was the fault of Augustus himself, who preferred\nmourning for them to seeking for their likes? We have no reason for\nsupposing that it was the habit of Agrippa or Maecenas to speak the\ntruth to him; indeed, if they had lived they would have been as great\ndissemblers as the rest. It is one of the habits of kings to insult\ntheir present servants by praising those whom they have lost, and to\nattribute the virtue of truthful speaking to those from whom there is no\nfurther risk of hearing it.\n\nXXXIII. However, to return to my subject, you see how easy it is to\nreturn the kindness of the prosperous, and even of those who occupy the\nhighest places of all mankind. Tell them, not what they wish to hear,\nbut what they will wish that they always had heard; though their ears be\nstopped by flatteries, yet sometimes truth may penetrate them; give them\nuseful advice. Do you ask what service you can render to a prosperous\nman? Teach him not to rely upon his prosperity, and to understand that\nit ought to be supported by the hands of many trusty friends. Will you\nnot have done much for him, if you take away his foolish belief that\nhis influence will endure for ever, and teach him that what we gain by\nchance passes away soon, and at a quicker rate than it came; that we\ncannot fall by the same stages by which we rose to the height of good\nfortune, but that frequently between it and ruin there is but one step?\nYou do not know how great is the value of friendship, if you do not\nunderstand how much you give to him to whom you give a friend, a\ncommodity which is scarce not only in men's houses, but in whole\ncenturies, and which is nowhere scarcer than in the places where it is\nthought to be most plentiful. Pray, do you suppose that those books of\nnames, which your nomenclator [Footnote: The nomenclator was a slave\nwho attended his master in canvassing and on similar occasions, for\nthe purpose of telling him the names of whom he met in the street.] can\nhardly carry or remember, are those of friends? It is not your friends\nwho crowd to knock at your door, and who are admitted to your greater or\nlesser levees.\n\nXXXIV. To divide one's friends into classes is an old trick of kings and\ntheir imitators; it shows great arrogance to think that to touch or\nto pass one's threshold can be a valuable privilege, or to grant as an\nhonour that you should sit nearer one's front door than others, or enter\nhouse before them, although within the house there are many more doors,\nwhich shut out even those who have been admitted so far. With us Gaius\nGracchus, and shortly after him Livius Drusus, were the first to keep\nthemselves apart from the mass of their adherents, and to admit some to\ntheir privacy, some to their more select, and others to their general\nreceptions. These men consequently had friends of the first and second\nrank, and so on, but in none had they true friends. Can you apply the\nname of friend to one who is admitted in his regular order to pay his\nrespects to you? or can you expect perfect loyalty from one who is\nforced to slip into your presence through a grudgingly-opened door? How\ncan a man arrive at using bold freedom of speech with you, if he is only\nallowed in his proper turn to make use of the common phrase, \"Hail to\nyou,\" which is used by perfect strangers? Whenever you go to any of\nthese great men, whose levees interest the whole city, though you find\nall the streets beset with throngs of people, and the passers-by hardly\nable to make their way through the crowd, you may be sure that you\nhave come to a place where there are many men, but no friends of their\npatron. We must not seek our friends in our entrance hall, but in our\nown breast; it is there that he ought to be received, there retained,\nand hoarded up in our minds. Teach this, and you will have repaid your\ndebt of gratitude.\n\nXXXV. If you are useful to your friend only when he is in distress, and\nare superfluous when all goes well with him, you form a mean estimate\nof your own value. As you can bear yourself wisely both in doubtful,\nin prosperous, and in adverse circumstances, by showing prudence in\ndoubtful cases, courage in misfortune, and self-restraint in good\nfortune, so in all circumstances you can make yourself useful to your\nfriend. Do not desert him in adversity, but do not wish that it may\nbefall him: the various incidents of human life will afford you many\nopportunities of proving your loyalty to him without wishing him evil.\nHe who prays that another may become rich, in order that he may share\nhis riches, really has a view to his own advantage, although his prayers\nare ostensibly offered in behalf of his friend; and similarly he who\nwishes that his friend may get into some trouble from which his own\nfriendly assistance may extricate him--a most ungrateful wish--prefers\nhimself to his friend, and thinks it worthwhile that his friend should\nbe unhappy, in order that he may prove his gratitude. This very wish\nmakes him ungrateful, for he wishes to rid himself of his gratitude as\nthough it were a heavy burden. In returning a kindness it makes a great\ndifference whether you are eager to bestow a benefit, or merely to free\nyourself from a debt. He who wishes to return a benefit will study his\nfriend's interests, and will hope that a suitable occasion will arise;\nhe who only wishes to free himself from an obligation will be eager to\ndo so by any means whatever, which shows very bad feeling. \"Do you say,\"\nwe may be asked, \"that eagerness to repay kindness belongs to a morbid\nfeeling of gratitude?\" I cannot explain my meaning more clearly than\nby repeating what I have already said. You do not want to repay, but to\nescape from the benefit which you have received. You seem to say, \"When\nshall I get free from this obligation? I must strive by any means in my\npower to extinguish my debt to him.\" You would be thought to be far from\ngrateful, if you wished to pay a debt to him with his own money; yet\nthis wish of yours is even more unjust; for you invoke curses upon him,\nand call down terrible imprecations upon the head of one who ought to\nbe held sacred by you. No one, I suppose, would have any doubt of your\nwickedness if you were openly to pray that he might suffer poverty,\ncaptivity, hunger, or fear; yet what is the difference between openly\npraying for some of these things, and silently wishing for them? for\nyou do wish for some of these. Go, and enjoy your belief that this is\ngratitude, to do what not even an ungrateful man would do, supposing he\nconfined himself to repudiating the benefit, and did not go so far as to\nhate his benefactor.\n\nXXXVI. Who would call Aeneas pious, if he wished that his native\ncity might be captured, in order that he might save his father from\ncaptivity? Who would point to the Sicilian youths as good examples for\nhis children, if they had prayed that Aetna might flame with unusual\nheat and pour forth a vast mass of fire in order to afford them an\nopportunity of displaying their filial affection by rescuing their\nparents from the midst of the conflagration? Rome owes Scipio nothing\nif he kept the Punic War alive in order that he might have the glory of\nfinishing it; she owes nothing to the Decii if they prayed for public\ndisasters, to give themselves an opportunity of displaying their brave\nself-devotion. It is the greatest scandal for a physician to make work\nfor himself; and many who have aggravated the diseases of their patients\nthat they may have the greater credit for curing them, have either\nfailed to cure them, at all or have done so at the cost of the most\nterrible suffering to their victims.\n\nXXXVII. It is said (at any rate Hecaton tells us) that when Callistratus\nwith many others was driven into exile by his factious and licentiously\nfree country, some one prayed that such trouble might befall the\nAthenians that they would be forced to recall the exiles, on hearing\nwhich, he prayed that God might forbid his return upon such terms. When\nsome one tried to console our own countryman, Rutilius, for his exile,\npointing out that civil war was at hand, and that all exiles would soon\nbe restored to Rome, he answered with even greater spirit, \"What harm\nhave I done you, that you should wish that I may return to my country\nmore unhappily than I quit it? My wish is, that my country should blush\nat my being banished, rather than that she should mourn at my having\nreturned.\" An exile, of which every one is more ashamed than the\nsufferer, is not exile at all. These two persons, who did not wish to be\nrestored to their homes at the cost of a public disaster, but preferred\nthat two should suffer unjustly than that all should suffer alike, are\nthought to have acted like good citizens; and in like manner it does not\naccord with the character of a grateful man, to wish that his benefactor\nmay fall into troubles which he may dispel; because, even though he may\nmean well to him, yet he wishes him evil. To put out a fire which you\nyourself have lighted, will not even gain acquittal for you, let alone\ncredit.\n\nXXXVIII. In some states an evil wish was regarded as a crime. It is\ncertain that at Athens Demades obtained a verdict against one who sold\nfurniture for funerals, by proving that he had prayed for great gains,\nwhich he could not obtain without the death of many persons. Yet it is\na stock question whether he was rightly found guilty. Perhaps he prayed,\nnot that he might sell his wares to many persons, but that he might sell\nthem dear, or that he might procure what he was going to sell, cheaply.\nSince his business consisted of buying and selling, why should you\nconsider his prayer to apply to one branch of it only, although he made\nprofit from both? Besides this, you might find every one of his trade\nguilty, for they all wish, that is, secretly pray, as he did. You might,\nmoreover, find a great part of the human race guilty, for who is there\nwho does not profit by his neighbour's wants? A soldier, if he wishes\nfor glory, must wish for war; the farmer profits by corn being dear;\na large number of litigants raises the price of forensic eloquence;\nphysicians make money by a sickly season; dealers in luxuries are\nmade rich by the effeminacy of youth; suppose that no storms and no\nconflagrations injured our dwellings, the builder's trade would be at a\nstandstill. The prayer of one man was detected, but it was just like the\nprayers of all other men. Do you imagine that Arruntius and Haterius,\nand all other professional legacy-hunters do not put up the same prayers\nas undertakers and grave-diggers? though the latter know not whose death\nit is that they wish for, while the former wish for the death of their\ndearest friends, from whom, on account of their intimacy, they have most\nhopes of inheriting a fortune. No one's life does the undertaker any\nharm, whereas these men starve if their friends are long about dying;\nthey do not, therefore, merely wish for their deaths in order that they\nmay receive what they have earned by a disgraceful servitude, but in\norder that they may be set free from a heavy tax. There can, therefore,\nbe no doubt that such persons repeat with even greater earnestness the\nprayer for which the undertaker was condemned, for whoever is likely to\nprofit such men by dying, does them an injury by living. Yet the wishes\nof all these are alike well known and unpunished. Lastly, let every man\nexamine his own self, let him look into the secret thoughts of his heart\nand consider what it is that he silently hopes for; how many of his\nprayers he would blush to acknowledge, even to himself; how few there\nare which we could repeat in the presence of witnesses!\n\nXXXIX. Yet we must not condemn every thing which we find worthy of\nblame, as, for instance, this wish about our friends which we have been\ndiscussing, arises from a misdirected feeling of affection, and falls\ninto the very error which it strives to avoid, for the man is ungrateful\nat the very time when he hurries to prove his gratitude. He prays aloud,\n\"May he fall into my power, may he need my influence, may not be able\nto be safe and respectable without my aid, may he be so unfortunate that\nwhatever return I make to him may be regarded as a benefit.\" To the\ngods alone he adds, \"May domestic treasons encompass him, which can be\nquelled by me alone; may some powerful and virulent enemy, some excited\nand armed mob, assail him; may he be set upon by a creditor or an\ninformer.\"\n\nXL. See, how just you are; you would never have wished any of these\nmisfortunes to befall him, if he had not bestowed a benefit upon you.\nNot to speak of the graver guilt which you incur by returning evil for\ngood, you distinctly do wrong in not waiting for the fitting time for\neach action, for it is as wrong to anticipate this as it is not to take\nit when it comes. A benefit ought not always to be accepted, and ought\nnot in all cases to be returned. If you were to return it to me against\nmy will, you would be ungrateful, how much more ungrateful are you, if\nyou force me to wish for it? Wait patiently; why are you unwilling to\nlet my bounty abide with you? Why do you chafe at being laid under an\nobligation? why, as though you were dealing with a harsh usurer, are you\nin such a hurry to sign and seal an equivalent bond? Why do you wish me\nto get into trouble? Why do you call upon the gods to ruin me? If this\nis your way of returning a kindness, what would you do if you were\nexacting repayment of a debt?\n\nXLI. Above all, therefore, my Liberalis, let us learn to live calmly\nunder an obligation to others, and watch for opportunities of repaying\nour debt without manufacturing them. Let us remember that this\nanxiety to seize the first opportunity of setting ourselves free shows\ningratitude; for no one repays with good will that which he is unwilling\nto owe, and his eagerness to get it out of his hands shows that he\nregards it as a burden rather than as a favour. How much better and more\nrighteous is it to bear in mind what we owe to our friends, and to offer\nrepayment, not to obtrude it, nor to think ourselves too much indebted;\nbecause a benefit is a common bond which connects two persons. Say \"I do\nnot delay to repay your kindness to me; I hope that you will accept my\ngratitude cheerfully. If irresistible fate hangs over either of us, and\ndestiny rules either that you must receive your benefit back again, or\nthat I must receive a second benefit, why then, of us two, let him give\nthat was wont to give. I am ready to receive it.\n\n  \"'Tis not the part of Turnus to delay.\"\n\nThat is the spirit which I shall show whenever the time comes; in the\nmeanwhile the gods shall be my witnesses.\n\nXLII. I have noted in you, my Liberalis, and as it were touched with my\nhand a feeling of fussy anxiety not to be behindhand in doing what is\nyour duty. This anxiety is not suitable to a grateful mind, which,\non the contrary, produces the utmost confidence in oneself, and which\ndrives away all trouble by the consciousness of real affection towards\none's benefactor. To say \"Take back what you gave me,\" is no less\na reproach than to say \"You are in my debt.\" Let this be the first\nprivilege of a benefit, that he who bestowed it may choose the time when\nhe will have it returned. \"But I fear that men may speak ill of me.\" You\ndo wrong if you are grateful only for the sake of your reputation, and\nnot to satisfy your conscience. You have in this matter two judges, your\nbenefactor, whom you ought not, and yourself, whom you cannot deceive.\n\"But,\" say you, \"if no occasion of repayment offers, am I always to\nremain in his debt?\" Yes; but you should do so openly, and willingly,\nand should view with great pleasure what he has entrusted to you. If you\nare vexed at not having yet returned a benefit, you must be sorry that\nyou ever received it; but if he deserved that you should receive a\nbenefit from him, why should he not deserve that you should long remain\nin his debt?\n\nXLIII. Those persons are much mistaken who regard it as a proof of a\ngreat mind to make offers to give, and to fill many men's pockets and\nhouses with their presents, for sometimes these are due not to a great\nmind, but to a great fortune; they do not know how far more great and\nmore difficult it sometimes is to receive than to lavish gifts. I must\ndisparage neither act; it is as proper to a noble heart to owe as to\nreceive, for both are of equal value when done virtuously; indeed, to\nowe is the more difficult, because it requires more pains to keep a\nthing safe than to give it away. We ought not therefore to be in a hurry\nto repay, nor need we seek to do so out of due season, for to hasten to\nmake repayment at the wrong time is as bad as to be slow to do so at the\nright time. My benefactor has entrusted his bounty to me: I ought not\nto have any fears either on his behalf or on my own. He has a sufficient\nsecurity; he cannot lose it except he loses me--nay, not even if he\nloses me. I have returned thanks to him for it--that is, I have requited\nhim. He who thinks too much about repaying a benefit must suppose that\nhis friend thinks too much about receiving repayment. Make no difficulty\nabout either course. If he wishes to receive his benefit back again,\nlet us return it cheerfully; if he prefers to leave it in our hands,\nwhy should we dig up his treasure? why should we decline to be its\nguardians? he deserves to be allowed to do whichever he pleases. As\nfor fame and reputation, let us regard them as matters which ought to\naccompany, but which ought not to direct our actions.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\nI.\n\n\n Be of good cheer, my Liberalis:\n\n  \"Our port is close, and I will not delay,\n   Nor by digressions wander from the way.\"\n\nThis book collects together all that has been omitted, and in it, having\nexhausted my subject, I shall consider not what I am to say, but what\nthere is which I have not yet said. If there be anything superfluous\nin it, I pray you take it in good part, since it is for you that it is\nsuperfluous. Had I wished to set off my work to the best advantage, I\nought to have added to it by degrees, and to have kept for the last that\npart which would be eagerly perused even by a sated reader. However,\ninstead of this, I have collected together all that was essential in the\nbeginning; I am now collecting together whatever then escaped me; nor,\nby Hercules, if you ask me, do I think that, after the rules which\ngovern our conduct have been stated, it is very much to the purpose to\ndiscuss the other questions which have been raised more for the exercise\nof our intellects than for the health of our minds. The cynic Demetrius,\nwho in my opinion was a great man even if compared with the greatest\nphilosophers, had an admirable saying about this, that one gained more\nby having a few wise precepts ready and in common use than by learning\nmany without having them at hand. \"The best wrestler,\" he would say, \"is\nnot he who has learned thoroughly all the tricks and twists of the art,\nwhich are seldom met with in actual wrestling, but he who has well and\ncarefully trained himself in one or two of them, and watches keenly for\nan opportunity of practising them. It does not matter how many of them\nhe knows, if he knows enough to give him the victory; and so in\nthis subject of ours there are many points of interest, but few of\nimportance. You need not know what is the system of the ocean tides,\nwhy each seventh year leaves its mark upon the human body, why the more\ndistant parts of a long portico do not keep their true proportion,\nbut seem to approach one another until at last the spaces between the\ncolumns disappear, how it can be that twins are conceived separately,\nthough they are born together, whether both result from one, or each\nfrom a separate act, why those whose birth was the same should have such\ndifferent fates in life, and dwell at the greatest possible distance\nfrom one another, although they were born touching one another; it will\nnot do you much harm to pass over matters which we are not permitted to\nknow, and which we should not profit by knowing. Truths so obscure may\nbe neglected with impunity. [Footnote: The old saying, 'Truth lurks deep\nin a well (or abyss).'] Nor can we complain that nature deals hardly\nwith us, for there is nothing which is hard to discover except those\nthings by which we gain nothing beyond the credit of having discovered\nthem; whatever things tend to make us better or happier are either\nobvious or easily discovered. Your mind can rise superior to the\naccidents of life, if it can raise itself above fears and not greedily\ncovet boundless wealth, but has learned to seek for riches within\nitself; if it has cast out the fear of men and gods, and has learned\nthat it has not much to fear from man, and nothing to fear from God; if\nby scorning all those things which make life miserable while they adorn\nit, the mind can soar to such a height as to see clearly that death\ncannot be the beginning of any trouble, though it is the end of many;\nif it can dedicate itself to righteousness and think any path easy which\nleads to it; if, being a gregarious creature, and born for the common\ngood, it regards the world as the universal home, if it keeps its\nconscience clear towards God and lives always as though in public,\nfearing itself more than other men, then it avoids all storms, it stands\non firm ground in fair daylight, and has brought to perfection its\nknowledge of all that is useful and essential. All that remains serves\nmerely to amuse our leisure; yet, when once anchored in safety, the mind\nmay consider these matters also, though it can derive no strength, but\nonly culture from their discussion.\"\n\nII. The above are the rules which my friend Demetrius bids him who would\nmake progress in philosophy to clutch with both hands, never to let\ngo, but to cling to them, and make them a part of himself, and by daily\nmeditation upon them to bring himself into such a state of mind, that\nthese wholesome maxims occur to him of their own accord, that wherever\nhe may be, they may straightway be ready for use when required, and\nthat the criterion of right and wrong may present itself to him without\ndelay. Let him know that nothing is evil except what is base, and\nnothing good except what is honourable: let him guide his life by this\nrule: let him both act and expect others to act in accordance with this\nlaw, and let him regard those whose minds are steeped in indolence, and\nwho are given up to lust and gluttony, as the most pitiable of mankind,\nno matter how splendid their fortunes may be. Let him say to himself,\n\"Pleasure is uncertain, short, apt to pall upon us, and the more eagerly\nwe indulge in it, the sooner we bring on a reaction of feeling against\nit; we must necessarily afterwards blush for it, or be sorry for it,\nthere is nothing grand about it, nothing worthy of man's nature, little\nlower as it is than that of the gods; pleasure is a low act, brought\nabout by the agency of our inferior and baser members, and shameful in\nits result. True pleasure, worthy of a human being and of a man, is,\nnot to stuff or swell his body with food and drink, nor to excite lusts\nwhich are least hurtful when they are most quiet, but to be free from\nall forms of mental disturbance, both those which arise from men's\nambitious struggles with one another, and those which come from on high\nand are more difficult to deal with, which flow from our taking the\ntraditional view of the gods, and estimating them by the analogy of our\nown vices.\" This equable, secure, uncloying pleasure is enjoyed by the\nman now described; a man skilled, so to say, in the laws of gods and men\nalike. Such a man enjoys the present without anxiety for the future: for\nhe who depends upon what is uncertain can rely confidently upon nothing.\nThus he is free from all those great troubles which unhinge the mind,\nhe neither hopes for, nor covets anything, and engages in no uncertain\nadventures, being satisfied with what he has. Do not suppose that he\nis satisfied with a little; for everything is his, and that not in the\nsense in which all was Alexander's, who, though he reached the shore of\nthe Red Sea, yet wanted more territory than that through which he\nhad come. He did not even own those countries which he held or had\nconquered, while Onesicritus, whom he had sent on before him to discover\nnew countries, was wandering about the ocean and engaging in war in\nunknown seas. Is it clear that he who pushed his armies beyond the\nbounds of the universe, who with reckless greed dashed headlong into a\nboundless and unexplored sea, must in reality have been full of wants?\nIt matters not how many kingdoms he may have seized or given away, or\nhow great a part of the world may pay him tribute; such a man must be in\nneed of as much as he desires.\n\nIII. This was not the vice of Alexander alone, who followed with a\nfortunate audacity in the footsteps of Bacchus and Hercules, but it is\ncommon to all those whose covetousness is whetted rather than appeased\nby good fortune. Look at Cyrus and Cambyses and all the royal house of\nPersia: can you find one among them who thought his empire large enough,\nor was not at the last gasp still aspiring after further conquests? We\nneed not wonder at this, for whatever is obtained by covetousness is\nsimply swallowed up and lost, nor does it matter how much is poured\ninto its insatiable maw. Only the wise man possesses everything\nwithout having to struggle to retain it; he alone does not need to send\nambassadors across the seas, measure out camps upon hostile shores,\nplace garrisons in commanding forts, or manoeuvre legions and squadrons\nof cavalry. Like the immortal gods, who govern their realm without\nrecourse to arms, and from their serene and lofty heights protect their\nown, so the wise man fulfils his duties, however far-reaching they may\nbe, without disorder, and looks down upon the whole human race, because\nhe himself is the greatest and most powerful member thereof. You may\nlaugh at him, but if you in your mind survey the east and the west,\nreaching even to the regions separated from us by vast wildernesses, if\nyou think of all the creatures of the earth, all the riches which the\nbounty of nature lavishes, it shows a great spirit to be able to say, as\nthough you were a god, \"All these are mine.\" Thus it is that he covets\nnothing, for there is nothing which is not contained in everything, and\neverything is his.\n\nIV. \"This,\" say you, \"is the very thing that I wanted! I have caught\nyou! I shall be glad to see how you will extricate yourself from the\ntoils into which you have fallen of your own accord. Tell me, if the\nwise man possesses everything, how can one give anything to a wise man?\nfor even what you give him is his already. It is impossible, therefore,\nto bestow a benefit upon a wise man, if whatever is given him comes from\nhis own store; yet you Stoics declare that it is possible to give to\na wise man. I make the same inquiry about friends as well: for you\nsay that friends own everything in common, and if so, no one can give\nanything to his friend, for he gives what his friend owned already in\ncommon with himself.\"\n\nThere is nothing to prevent a thing belonging to a wise man, and yet\nbeing the property of its legal owner. According to law everything in a\nstate belongs to the king, yet all that property over which the king has\nrights of possession is parcelled out among individual owners, and\neach separate thing belongs to somebody: and so one can give the king\na house, a slave, or a sum of money without being said to give him what\nwas his already; for the king has rights over all these things, while\neach citizen has the ownership of them. We speak of the country of the\nAthenians, or of the Campanians, though the inhabitants divide them\namongst themselves into separate estates; the whole region belongs to\none state or another, but each part of it belongs to its own individual\nproprietor; so that we are able to give our lands to the state, although\nthey are reckoned as belonging to the state, because we and the state\nown them in different ways. Can there be any doubt that all the private\nsavings of a slave belong to his master as well as he himself? yet he\nmakes his master presents. The slave does not therefore possess nothing,\nbecause if his master chose he might possess nothing; nor does what he\ngives of his own free will cease to be a present, because it might have\nbeen wrung from him against his will. As for how we are to prove that\nthe wise man possesses all things, we shall see afterwards; for the\npresent we are both agreed to regard this as true; we must gather\ntogether something to answer the question before us, which is, how any\nmeans remain of acting generously towards one who already possesses all\nthings? All things that a son has belong to his father, yet who does not\nknow that in spite of this a son can make presents to his father? All\nthings belong to the gods; yet we make presents and bestow alms even\nupon the gods. What I have is not necessarily not mine because it\nbelongs to you; for the same thing may belong both to me and to you.\n\n\"He to whom courtezans belong,\" argues our adversary, \"must be\na procurer: now courtezans are included in all things, therefore\ncourtezans belong to the wise man. But he to whom courtezans belong is\na procurer; therefore the wise man is a procurer.\" Yes! by the same\nreasoning, our opponents would forbid him to buy anything, arguing, \"No\nman buys his own property. Now all things are the property of the wise\nman; therefore the wise man buys nothing.\" By the same reasoning they\nobject to his borrowing, because no one pays interest for the use of\nhis own money. They raise endless quibbles, although they perfectly well\nunderstand what we say.\n\nV. For, when I say that the wise man possesses everything, I mean that\nhe does so without thereby impairing each man's individual rights in\nhis own property, in the same way as in a country ruled by a good king,\neverything belongs to the king, by the right of his authority, and to\nthe people by their several rights of ownership. This I shall prove\nin its proper place; in the mean time it is a sufficient answer to the\nquestion to declare that I am able to give to the wise man that which is\nin one way mine, and in another way his. Nor is it strange that I should\nbe able to give anything to one who possesses everything. Suppose I have\nhired a house from you: some part of that house is mine, some is yours;\nthe house itself is yours, the use of your house belongs to me. Crops\nmay ripen upon your land, but you cannot touch them against the will of\nyour tenant; and if corn be dear, or at famine price, you will\n\n  \"In vain another's mighty store behold,\"\n\ngrown upon your land, lying upon your land, and to be deposited in\nyour own barns. Though you be the landlord, you must not enter my hired\nhouse, nor may you take away your own slave from me if I have contracted\nfor his services; nay, if I hire a carriage from you, I bestow a benefit\nby allowing you to take your seat in it, although it is your own. You\nsee, therefore, that it is possible for a man to receive a present by\naccepting what is his own.\n\nVI. In all the cases which I have mentioned, each party is the owner of\nthe same thing. How is this? It is because the one owns the thing, the\nother owns the use of the thing. We speak of the books of Cicero. Dorus,\nthe bookseller, calls these same books his own; the one claims them\nbecause he wrote them, the other because he bought them; so that they\nmay quite correctly be spoken of as belonging to either of the two, for\nthey do belong to each, though in a different manner. Thus Titus Livius\nmay receive as a present, or may buy his own books from Dorus.\nAlthough the wise man possesses everything, yet I can give him what I\nindividually possess; for though, king-like, he in his mind possesses\neverything, yet the ownership of all things is divided among various\nindividuals, so that he can both receive a present and owe one; can\nbuy, or hire things. Everything belongs to Caesar; yet he has no private\nproperty beyond his own privy purse; as Emperor all things are his,\nbut nothing is his own except what he inherits. It is possible, without\ntreason, to discuss what is and what is not his; for even what the court\nmay decide not to be his, from another point of view is his. In the same\nway the wise man in his mind possesses everything, in actual right and\nownership he possesses only his own property.\n\nVII. Bion is able to prove by argument at one time that everyone is\nsacrilegious, at another that no one is. When he is in a mood for\ncasting all men down the Tarpeian rock, he says, \"Whosoever touches that\nwhich belongs to the gods, and consumes it or converts it to his own\nuses, is sacrilegious; but all things belong to the gods, so that\nwhatever thing any one touches belongs to them to whom all belongs;\nwhoever, therefore, touches anything is sacrilegious.\" Again, when he\nbids men break open temples and pillage the Capitol without fear of the\nwrath of heaven, he declares that no one can be sacrilegious; because,\nwhatever a man takes away, he takes from one place which belongs to the\ngods into another place which belongs to the gods. The answer to this\nis that all places do indeed belong to the gods, but all are not\nconsecrated to them, and that sacrilege can only be done in places\nsolemnly dedicated to heaven. Thus, also, the whole world is a temple of\nthe immortal gods, and, indeed, the only one worthy of their greatness\nand splendour, and yet there is a distinction between things sacred and\nprofane; all things which it is lawful to do under the sky and the stars\nare not lawful to do within consecrated walls. The sacrilegious man\ncannot do God any harm, for He is placed beyond his reach by His divine\nnature; yet he is punished because he seems to have done Him harm: his\npunishment is demanded by our feeling on the matter, and even by his\nown. In the same way, therefore, as he who carries off any sacred\nthings is regarded as sacrilegious, although that which he stole is\nnevertheless within the limits of the world, so it is possible to steal\nfrom a wise man: for in that case it will be some, not of that universe\nwhich he possesses, but some of those things of which he is the\nacknowledged owner, and which are severally his own property, which will\nbe stolen from him. The former of these possessions he will recognize as\nhis own, the latter he will be unwilling, even if he be able to possess;\nhe will say, as that Roman commander said, when, to reward his courage\nand good service to the state, he was assigned as much land as he could\ninclose in one day's ploughing. \"You do not,\" said he, \"want a citizen\nwho wants more than is enough for one citizen.\" Do you not think that it\nrequired a much greater man to refuse this reward than to earn it? for\nmany have taken away the landmarks of other men's property, but no one\nsets up limits to his own.\n\nVIII. When, then, we consider that the mind of the truly wise man has\npower over all things and pervades all things, we cannot help declaring\nthat everything is his, although, in the estimation of our common law,\nit may chance that he may be rated as possessing no property whatever.\nIt makes a great difference whether we estimate what he owns by the\ngreatness of his mind, or by the public register. He would pray to be\ndelivered from that possession of everything of which you speak. I will\nnot remind you of Socrates, Chrysippus, Zeno, and other great men, all\nthe greater, however, because envy prevents no one from praising the\nancients. But a short time ago I mentioned Demetrius, who seems to have\nbeen placed by nature in our times that he might prove that we could\nneither corrupt him nor be corrected by him; a man of consummate wisdom,\nthough he himself disclaimed it, constant to the principles which he\nprofessed, of an eloquence worthy to deal with the mightiest subjects,\nscorning mere prettinesses and verbal niceties, but expressing with\ninfinite spirit, the ideas which inspired it. I doubt not that he was\nendowed by divine providence with so pure a life and such power of\nspeech in order that our age might neither be without a model nor a\nreproach. Had some god wished to give all our wealth to Demetrius on the\nfixed condition that he should not be permitted to give it away, I am\nsure that he would have refused to accept it, and would have said,\n\nIX. \"I do not intend to fasten upon my back a burden like this, of which\nI never can rid myself, nor do I, nimble and lightly equipped as I am,\nmean to hinder my progress by plunging into the deep morass of business\ntransactions. Why do you offer to me what is the bane of all nations?\nI would not accept it even if I meant to give it away, for I see many\nthings which it would not become me to give. I should like to place\nbefore my eyes the things which fascinate both kings and peoples, I wish\nto behold the price of your blood and your lives. First bring before\nme the trophies of Luxury, exhibiting them as you please, either in\nsuccession, or, which is better, in one mass. I see the shell of\nthe tortoise, a foul and slothful brute, bought for immense sums and\nornamented with the most elaborate care, the contrast of colours which\nis admired in it being obtained by the use of dyes resembling the\nnatural tints. I see tables and pieces of wood valued at the price of\na senator's estate, which are all the more precious, the more knots\nthe tree has been twisted into by disease. I see crystal vessels, whose\nprice is enhanced by their fragility, for among the ignorant the risk of\nlosing things increases their value instead of lowering it, as it ought.\nI see murrhine cups, for luxury would be too cheap if men did not drink\nto one another out of hollow gems the wine to be afterwards thrown up\nagain. I see more than one large pearl placed in each ear; for now our\nears are trained to carry burdens, pearls are hung from them in pairs,\nand each pair has other single ones fastened above it. This womanish\nfolly is not exaggerated enough for the men of our time, unless they\nhang two or three estates upon each ear. I see ladies' silk dresses, if\nthose deserve to be called dresses which can neither cover their body\nor their shame; when wearing which, they can scarcely with a good\nconscience, swear that they are not naked. These are imported at a vast\nexpense from nations unknown even to trade, in order that our matrons\nmay show as much of their persons in public as they do to their lovers\nin private.\"\n\nX. What are you doing, Avarice? see how many things there are whose\nprice exceeds that of your beloved gold: all those which I have\nmentioned are more highly esteemed and valued. I now wish to review your\nwealth, those plates of gold and silver which dazzle our covetousness.\nBy Hercules, the very earth, while she brings forth upon the surface\nevery thing that is of use to us, has buried these, sunk them deep,\nand rests upon them with her whole weight, regarding them as pernicious\nsubstances, and likely to prove the ruin of mankind if brought into the\nlight of day. I see that iron is brought out of the same dark pits as\ngold and silver, in order that we may lack neither the means nor the\nreward of murder. Thus far we have dealt with actual substances; but\nsome forms of wealth deceive our eyes and minds alike. I see there\nletters of credit, promissory notes, and bonds, empty phantoms of\nproperty, ghosts of sick Avarice, with which she deceives our minds,\nwhich delight in unreal fancies; for what are these things, and what are\ninterest, and account books, and usury, except the names of unnatural\ndevelopments of human covetousness? I might complain of nature for not\nhaving hidden gold and silver deeper, for not having laid over it a\nweight too heavy to be removed: but what are your documents, your sale\nof time, your blood-sucking twelve per cent. interest? these are evils\nwhich we owe to our own will, which flow merely from our perverted\nhabit, having nothing about them which can be seen or handled, mere\ndreams of empty avarice. Wretched is he who can take pleasure in the\nsize of the audit book of his estate, in great tracts of land cultivated\nby slaves in chains, in huge flocks and herds which require provinces\nand kingdoms for their pasture ground, in a household of servants, more\nin number than some of the most warlike nations, or in a private house\nwhose extent surpasses that of a large city! After he has carefully\nreviewed all his wealth, in what it is invested, and on what it is\nspent, and has rendered himself proud by the thoughts of it, let him\ncompare what he has with what he wants: he becomes a poor man at once.\n\"Let me go: restore me to those riches of mine. I know the kingdom of\nwisdom, which is great and stable: I possess every thing, and in such a\nmanner that it belongs to all men nevertheless.\"\n\nXI. When, therefore, Gaius Caesar offered him two hundred thousand\nsesterces, he laughingly refused it, thinking it unworthy of himself to\nboast of having refused so small a sum. Ye gods and goddesses, what a\nmean mind must the emperor have had, if he hoped either to honour or to\ncorrupt him. I must here repeat a proof of his magnanimity. I have\nheard that when he was expressing his wonder at the folly of Gaius at\nsupposing that he could be influenced by such a bribe, he said, \"If\nhe meant to tempt me, he ought to have tried to do so by offering his\nentire kingdom.\"\n\nXII. It is possible, then, to give something to the wise man, although\nall things belong to the wise man. Similarly, though we declare that\nfriends have all things in common, it is nevertheless possible to give\nsomething to a friend: for I have not everything in common with a friend\nin the same manner as with a partner, where one part belongs to him,\nand another to me, but rather as a father and a mother possess their\nchildren in common when they have two, not each parent possessing one\nchild, but each possessing both. First of all I will prove that any\nchance would-be partner of mine has nothing in common with me: and why?\nBecause this community of goods can only exist between wise men, who\nare alone capable of friendship: other men can neither be friends nor\npartners one to another. In the next place, things may be owned in\ncommon in various ways. The knights' seats in the theatre belong to all\nthe Roman knights; yet of these the seat which I occupy becomes my own,\nand if I yield it up to any one, although I only yield him a thing\nwhich we own in common, still I appear to have given him something. Some\nthings belong to certain persons under particular conditions. I have\na place among the knights, not to sell, or to let, or to dwell in, but\nsimply to see the spectacle from, wherefore I do not tell an untruth\nwhen I say that I have a place among the knights' seats. Yet if, when I\ncome into the theatre, the knights' seats are full, I both have a seat\nthere by right, because I have the privilege of sitting there, and I\nhave not a seat there, because my seat is occupied by those who share my\nright to those places. Suppose that the same thing takes place between\nfriends; whatever our friend possesses, is common to us, but is the\nproperty of him who owns it; I cannot make use of it against his will.\n\"You are laughing at me,\" say you; \"if what belongs to my friend is\nmine, I am able to sell it.\" You are not able; for you are not able to\nsell your place among the knights' seats, and yet they are in common\nbetween you and the other knights. Consequently, the fact that you\ncannot sell a thing, or consume it, or exchange it for the better or the\nworse does not prove that it is not yours; for that which is yours under\ncertain conditions is yours nevertheless.\n\nXIII. I have received, but certainly not less. Not to detain you longer\nthan is necessary, a benefit can be no more than a benefit; but the\nmeans employed to convey benefits may be both greater and more numerous.\nI mean those things by which kindness expresses and gives vent to\nitself, like lovers, whose many kisses and close embraces do not\nincrease their love but give it play.\n\nXIV. The next question which arises has been thoroughly threshed out in\nthe former books, so here it shall only be touched on shortly; for the\narguments which have been used for other cases can be transferred to it.\n\nThe question is, whether one who has done everything in his power to\nreturn a benefit, has returned it. \"You may know,\" says our adversary,\n\"that he has not returned it, because he did everything in his power to\nreturn it; it is evident, therefore, that he did not not do that which\nhe did not have an opportunity of doing. A man who searches everywhere\nfor his creditor without finding him does not thereby pay him what\nhe owes.\" Some are in such a position that it is their duty to effect\nsomething material; in the case of others to have done all in their\npower to effect it is as good as effecting it. If a physician has done\nall in his power to heal his patient he has performed his duty; an\nadvocate who employs his whole powers of eloquence on his client's\nbehalf, performs his duty even though his client be convicted; the\ngeneralship even of a beaten commander is praised if he has prudently,\nlaboriously, and courageously exercised his functions. Your friend has\ndone all in his power to return your kindness, but your good fortune\nstood in his way; no adversity befell you in which he could prove the\ntruth of his friendship; he could not give you money when you were\nrich, or nurse you when you were in health, or help you when you were\nsucceeding; yet he repaid your kindness, even though you did not receive\na benefit from him. Moreover, this man, being always eager, and on the\nwatch for an opportunity of doing this, as he has expended much anxiety\nand much trouble upon it, has really done more than he who quickly had\nan opportunity of repaying your kindness. The case of a debtor is not\nthe same, for it is not enough for him to have tried to find the money\nunless he pays it; in his case a harsh creditor stands over him who will\nnot let a single day pass without charging him interest; in yours there\nis a most kind friend, who seeing you busy, troubled, and anxious would\nsay.\n\n  \"'Dismiss this trouble from thy breast;'\n\nleave off disturbing yourself; I have received from you all that I wish;\nyou wrong me, if you suppose that I want anything further; you have\nfully repaid me in intention.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" says our adversary, \"if he had repaid the benefit you would\nsay that he had returned your kindness: is, then, he who repays it in\nthe same position as he who does not repay it?\"\n\nOn the other hand, consider this: if he had forgotten the benefit which\nhe had received, if he had not even attempted to be grateful, you would\nsay that he had not returned the kindness; but this man has laboured day\nand night to the neglect of all his other duties in his devoted care to\nlet no opportunity of proving his gratitude escape him; is then he who\ntook no pains to return a kindness to be classed with this man who never\nceased to take pains? you are unjust, if you require a material payment\nfrom me when you see that I am not wanting in intention.\n\nXV. In short, suppose that when you are taken captive, I have borrowed\nmoney, made over my property as security to my creditor, that I have\nsailed in a stormy winter season along coasts swarming with pirates,\nthat I have braved all the perils which necessarily attend a voyage even\non a peaceful sea, that I have wandered through all wildernesses seeking\nfor those men whom all others flee from, and that when I have at length\nreached the pirates, someone else has already ransomed you: will you\nsay that I have not returned your kindness? Even if during this voyage I\nhave lost by shipwreck the money that I had raised to save you, even if\nI myself have fallen into the prison from which I sought to release you,\nwill you say that I have not returned your kindness? No, by Hercules!\nthe Athenians call Harmodius and Aristogiton, tyrannicides; the hand of\nMucius which he left on the enemy's altar was equivalent to the death\nof Porsena, and valour struggling against fortune is always illustrious,\neven if it falls short of accomplishing its design. He who watches\neach opportunity as it passes, and tries to avail himself of one\nafter another, does more to show his gratitude than he whom the first\nopportunity enabled to be grateful without any trouble whatever. \"But,\"\nsays our adversary, \"he gave you two things, material help and kindly\nfeeling; you, therefore, owe him two.\" You might justly say this to one\nwho returns your kindly feeling without troubling himself further; this\nman is really in your debt; but you cannot say so of one who wishes to\nrepay you, who struggles and leaves no stone unturned to do so; for,\nas far as in him lies, he repays you in both kinds; in the next place,\ncounting is not always a true test, sometimes one thing is equivalent to\ntwo; consequently so intense and ardent a wish to repay takes the place\nof a material repayment. Indeed, if a feeling of gratitude has no value\nin repaying a kindness without giving something material, then no one\ncan be grateful to the gods, whom we can repay by gratitude alone. \"We\ncannot,\" says our adversary, \"give the gods anything else.\" Well, but\nif I am not able to give this man, whose kindness I am bound to return,\nanything beside my gratitude, why should that which is all that I can\nbestow on a god be insufficient to prove my gratitude towards a man?\n\nXVI. If, however, you ask me what I really think, and wish me to give a\ndefinite answer, I should say that the one party ought to consider his\nbenefit to have been returned, while the other ought to feel that he has\nnot returned it; the one should release his friend from the debt, the\nother should hold himself bound to pay it; the one should say, \"I have\nreceived;\" the other should answer, \"I owe.\" In our whole investigation,\nwe ought to look entirely to the public good; we ought to prevent the\nungrateful having any excuses in which they can take refuge, and under\ncover of which they can disown their debts. \"I have done all in my\npower,\" say you. Well, keep on doing so still. Do you suppose that our\nancestors were so foolish, as not to understand that it is most unjust\nthat the man who has wasted the money which he received from his\ncreditor on debauchery, or gambling, should be classed with one who has\nlost his own property as well as that of others in a fire, by robbery,\nor some sadder mischance? They would take no excuse, that men might\nunderstand that they were always bound to keep their word; it was\nthought better that even a good excuse should not be accepted from a few\npersons, than that all men should be led to try to make excuses. You say\nthat you have done all in your power to repay your debt; this ought to\nbe enough for your friend, but not enough for you. He to whom you owe a\nkindness, is unworthy of gratitude if he lets all your anxious care and\ntrouble to repay it go for nothing; and so, too, if your friend takes\nyour good will as a repayment, you are ungrateful if you are not all the\nmore eager to feel the obligation of the debt which he has forgiven you.\nDo not snap up his receipt, or call witnesses to prove it; rather seek\nopportunities for repaying not less than before; repay the one man\nbecause he asks for repayment, the other because he forgives you your\ndebt; the one because he is good, the other because he is bad. You, need\nnot, therefore, think that you have anything to do with the question\nwhether a man be bound to repay the benefit which he has received from\na wise man, if that man has ceased to be wise and has turned into a bad\nman. You would return a deposit which you had received from a wise man;\nyou would return a loan even to a bad man; what grounds have you for\nnot returning a benefit also? Because he has changed, ought he to change\nyou? What? if you had received anything from a man when healthy, would\nyou not return it to him when he was sick, though we always are more\nbound to treat our friends with more kindness when they are ailing? So,\ntoo, this man is sick in his mind; we ought to help him, and bear with\nhim; folly is a disease of the mind.\n\nXVII. I think here we ought to make a distinction, in order to render\nthis point more intelligible. Benefits are of two kinds: one, the\nperfect and true benefit, which can only be bestowed by one wise man\nupon another; the other, the common vulgar form which ignorant men like\nourselves interchange. With regard to the latter, there is no doubt that\nit is my duty to repay it whether my friend turns out to be a murderer,\na thief, or an adulterer. Crimes have laws to punish them; criminals are\nbetter reformed by judges than by ingratitude; a man ought not to make\nyou bad by being so himself. I will fling a benefit back to a bad man, I\nwill return it to a good man; I do so to the latter, because I owe it to\nhim; to the former, that I may not be in his debt.\n\nXVIII. With regard to the other class of benefit, the question arises\nwhether if I was not able to take it without being a wise man, I am able\nto return it, except to a wise man. For suppose I do return it to him,\nhe cannot receive it, he is not any longer able to receive such a thing,\nhe has lost the knowledge of how to use it. You would not bid me throw\nback [Footnote: i.e. in the game of ball.] a ball to a man who has lost\nhis hand; it is folly to give any one what he cannot receive. If I am\nto begin to reply to the last argument, I say that I should not give him\nwhat he is unable to take; but I would return it, even though he is not\nable to receive it. I cannot lay him under an obligation unless he takes\nmy bounty; but by returning it I can free myself from my obligations to\nhim. You say, \"he will not be able to use it.\" Let him see to that; the\nfault will lie with him, not with me.\n\nXIX. \"To return a thing,\" says our adversary, \"is to hand it over to one\nwho can receive it. Why, if you owed some wine to any man, and he bade\nyou pour it into a net or a sieve, would you say that you had returned\nit? or would you be willing to return it in such a way that in the act\nof returning it was lost between you?\" To return is to give that which\nyou owe back to its owner when he wishes for it. It is not my duty to\nperform more than this; that he should possess what he has received\nfrom me is a matter for further consideration; I do not owe him the\nsafe-keeping of his property, but the honourable payment of my debt,\nand it is much better that he should not have it, than that I should\nnot return it to him. I would repay my creditor, even though he would\nat once take what I paid him to the market; even if he deputed an\nadulteress to receive the money from me, I would pay it to her; even\nif he were to pour the coins which he receives into a loose fold of his\ncloak, I would pay it. It is my business to return it to him, not to\nkeep it and save it for him after I have returned it; I am bound to take\ncare of his bounty when I have received it, but not when I have returned\nit to him. While it remains with me, it must be kept safe; but when he\nasks for it again I must give it to him, even though it slips out of his\nhands as he takes it. I will repay a good man when it is convenient; I\nwill repay a bad man when he asks me to do so.\n\n\"You cannot,\" argues our adversary, \"return him a benefit of the same\nkind as that which you received; for you received it from a wise man,\nand you are returning it to a fool.\" Do I not return to him such a\nbenefit, as he is now able to receive? It is not my fault if I return it\nto him worse than I received it, the fault lies with him, and so, unless\nhe regains his former wisdom, I shall return it in such a form as he\nin his fallen condition is able to receive. \"But what,\" asks he, \"if\nhe become not only bad, but savage and ferocious, like Apollodorus or\nPhalaris, would you return even to such a man as this a benefit which\nyou had received from him?\" I answer, Nature does not admit of so great\na change in a wise man. Men do not change from the best to the worst;\neven in becoming bad, he would necessarily retain some traces of\ngoodness; virtue is never so utterly quenched as not to imprint on the\nmind marks which no degradation can efface. If wild animals bred in\ncaptivity escape into the woods, they still retain something of their\noriginal tameness, and are as remote from the gentlest in the one\nextreme as they are in the other from those which have always been wild,\nand have never endured to be touched by man's hand. No one who has ever\napplied himself to philosophy ever becomes completely wicked; his mind\nbecomes so deeply coloured with it, that its tints can never be entirely\nspoiled and blackened. In the next place, I ask whether this man of\nyours be ferocious merely in intent, or whether he breaks out into\nactual outrages upon mankind? You have instanced the tyrants Apollodorus\nand Phalaris; if the bad man restrains their evil likeness within\nhimself, why should I not return his benefit to him, in order to set\nmyself free from any further dealings with him? If, however, he not\nonly delights in human blood, but feeds upon it; if he exercises his\ninsatiable cruelty in the torture of persons of all ages, and his fury\nis not prompted by anger, but by a sort of delight in cruelty, if he\ncuts the throats of children before the eyes of their parents; if, not\nsatisfied with merely killing his victims, he tortures them, and not\nonly burns but actually roasts them; if his castle is always wet with\nfreshly shed blood; then it is not enough not to return his benefits.\nAll connexion between me and such a man has been broken off by his\ndestruction of the bonds of human society. If he had bestowed something\nupon me, but were to invade my native country, he would have lost all\nclaim to my gratitude, and it would be counted a crime to make him any\nreturn; if he does not attack my country, but is the scourge of his own;\nif he has nothing to do with my nation, but torments and cuts to pieces\nhis own, then in the same manner such depravity, though it does not\nrender him my personal enemy, yet renders him hateful to me, and the\nduty which I owe to the human race is anterior to and more important\nthan that which I owe to him as an individual.\n\nXX. However, although this be so, and although I am freed from all\nobligation towards him, from the moment when, by outraging all laws, he\nrendered it impossible for any man to do him a wrong, nevertheless, I\nthink I ought to make the following distinction in dealing with him.\nIf my repayment of his benefit will neither increase nor maintain his\npowers of doing mischief to mankind, and is of such a character that I\ncan return it to him without disadvantage to the public, I would return\nit: for instance, I would save the life of his infant child; for what\nharm can this benefit do to any of those who suffer from his cruelty?\nBut I would not furnish him with money to pay his bodyguard. If he\nwishes for marbles, or fine clothes, the trappings of his luxury will\nharm no one; but with soldiers and arms I would not furnish him. If he\ndemands, as a great boon, actors and courtesans and such things as will\nsoften his savage nature, I would willingly bestow them upon him. I\nwould not furnish him with triremes and brass-beaked ships of war, but I\nwould send him fast sailing and luxuriously-fitted vessels, and all\nthe toys of kings who take their pleasure on the sea. If his health was\naltogether despaired of, I would by the same act bestow a benefit on all\nmen and return one to him; seeing that for such characters death is\nthe only remedy, and that he who never will return to himself, had best\nleave himself. However, such wickedness as this is uncommon, and is\nalways regarded as a portent, as when the earth opens, or when fires\nbreak forth from caves under the sea; so let us leave it, and speak of\nthose vices which we can hate without shuddering at them. As for the\nordinary bad man, whom I can find in the marketplace of any town, who is\nfeared only by individuals, I would return to him a benefit which I\nhad received from him. It is not right that I should profit by his\nwickedness; let me return what is not mine to its owner. Whether he be\ngood or bad makes no difference; but I would consider the matter most\ncarefully, if I were not returning but bestowing it.\n\nXXI. This point requires to be illustrated by a story. A certain\nPythagoraean bought a fine pair of shoes from a shoemaker; and as they\nwere an expensive piece of work, he did not pay ready money for them.\nSome time afterwards he came to the shop to pay for them, and after he\nhad long been knocking at the closed door, some one said to him, \"Why do\nyou waste your time? The shoemaker whom you seek has been carried out\nof his house and buried; this is a grief to us who lose our friends for\never, but by no means so to you, who know that he will be born again,\"\njeering at the Pythagoraean. Upon this our philosopher not unwillingly\ncarried his three or four denarii home again, shaking them every now and\nthen; afterwards, blaming himself for the pleasure which he had secretly\nfelt at not paying his debt, and perceiving that he enjoyed having made\nthis trifling gain, he returned to the shop, and saying, \"the man lives\nfor you, pay him what you owe,\" he passed four denarii into the\nshop through the crack of the closed door, and let them fall inside,\npunishing himself for his unconscionable greediness that he might not\nform the habit of appropriating that which is not his own.\n\nXXII. If you owe anything, seek for some one to whom you may repay it,\nand if no one demands it, dun your own self; whether the man be good\nor bad is no concern of yours; repay him, and then blame him. You have\nforgotten, how your several duties are divided: it is right for him to\nforget it, but we have bidden you bear it in mind. When, however, we\nsay that he who bestows a benefit ought to forget it, it is a mistake to\nsuppose that we rob him of all recollection of the business, though it\nis most creditable to him; some of our precepts are stated over strictly\nin order to reduce them to their true proportions. When we say that he\nought not to remember it, we mean he ought not to speak publicly, or\nboast of it offensively. There are some, who, when they have bestowed\na benefit, tell it in all societies, talk of it when sober, cannot be\nsilent about it when drunk, force it upon strangers, and communicate it\nto friends; it is to quell this excessive and reproachful consciousness\nthat we bid him who gave it forget it, and by commanding him to do this,\nwhich is more than he is able, encourage him to keep silence.\n\nXXIII. When you distrust those whom you order to do anything, you ought\nto command them to do more than enough in order that they may do what\nis enough. The purpose of all exaggeration is to arrive at the truth by\nfalsehood. Consequently, he who spoke of horses as being:\n\n  \"Whiter than snows and swifter than the winds,\"\n\nsaid what could not possibly be in order that they might be thought to\nbe as much so as possible. And he who said:\n\n  \"More firm than crags, more headlong than the stream,\"\n\ndid not suppose that he should make any one believe that a man could\never be as firm as a crag. Exaggeration never hopes all its daring\nflights to be believed, but affirms what is incredible, that thereby it\nmay convey what is credible. When we say, \"let the man who has bestowed\na benefit, forget it,\" what we mean is, \"let him be as though he had\nforgotten it; let not his remembrance of it appear or be seen.\" When\nwe say that repayment of a benefit ought not to be demanded, we do not\nutterly forbid its being demanded; for repayment must often be extorted\nfrom bad men, and even good men require to be reminded of it. Am I not\nto point out a means of repayment to one who does not perceive it? Am I\nnot to explain my wants to one does not know them? Why should he (if\na bad man) have the excuse, or (if a good man) have the sorrow of not\nknowing them? Men ought sometimes to be reminded of their debts, though\nwith modesty, not in the tone of one demanding a legal right.\n\nXXIV. Socrates once said in the hearing of his friends: \"I would have\nbought a cloak, if I had had the money for it.\" He asked no one for\nmoney, but he reminded them all to give it. There was a rivalry between\nthem, as to who should give it; and how should there not be? Was it not\na small thing which Socrates received? Yes, but it was a great thing\nto be the man from whom Socrates received it. Could he blame them more\ngently? \"I would,\" said he, \"have bought a cloak if I had had the money\nfor it.\" After this, however eager any one was to give, he gave too\nlate; for he had already been wanting in his duty to Socrates. Because\nsome men harshly demand repayment of debts, we forbid it, not in order\nthat it may never be done, but that it may be done sparingly.\n\nXXV. Aristippus once, when enjoying a perfume, said: \"Bad luck to those\neffeminate persons who have brought so nice a thing into disrepute.\" We\nalso may say, \"Bad luck to those base extortioners who pester us for a\nfourfold return of their benefits, and have brought into disrepute\nso nice a thing as reminding our friends of their duty.\" I shall\nnevertheless make use of this right of friendship, and I shall demand\nthe return of a benefit from any man from whom I would not have scrupled\nto ask for one, such a man as would regard the power of returning a\nbenefit as equivalent to receiving a second one. Never, not even when\ncomplaining of him, would I say,\n\n  \"A wretch forlorn upon the shore he lay,\n   His ship, his comrades, all were swept away;\n   Fool that I was, I pitied his despair,\n   And even gave him of my realm a share.\"\n\nThis is not to remind, but to reproach; this is to make one's benefits\nodious to enable him, or even to make him wish to be ungrateful. It is\nenough, and more than enough, to remind him of it gently and familiarly:\n\n  \"If aught of mine hath e'er deserved thy thanks.\"\n\nTo this his answer would be, \"Of course you have deserved my thanks; you\ntook me up, 'a wretch forlorn upon the shore.'\"\n\nXXVI. \"But,\" says our adversary, \"suppose that we gain nothing by this;\nsuppose that he pretends that he has forgotten it, what ought I to do?\"\nYou now ask a very necessary question, and one which fitly concludes\nthis branch of the subject, how, namely, one ought to bear with the\nungrateful. I answer, calmly, gently, magnanimously. Never let any one's\ndiscourtesy, forgetfulness, or ingratitude, enrage you so much that you\ndo not feel any pleasure at having bestowed a benefit upon him; never\nlet your wrongs drive you into saying, \"I wish I had not done it.\" You\nought to take pleasure even in the ill-success of your benefit; he will\nalways be sorry for it, even though you are not even now sorry for it.\nYou ought not to be indignant, as if something strange had happened; you\nought rather to be surprised if it had not happened. Some are prevented\nby difficulties, some by expense, and some by danger from returning your\nbounty; some are hindered by a false shame, because by returning it,\nthey would confess that they had received it; with others ignorance of\ntheir duty, indolence, or excess of business, stands in the way. Reflect\nupon the insatiability of men's desires. You need not be surprised if no\none repays you in a world in which no one ever gains enough. What man is\nthere of so firm and trustworthy a mind that you can safely invest your\nbenefits in him? One man is crazed with lust, another is the slave of\nhis belly, another gives his whole soul to gain, caring nothing for the\nmeans by which he amasses it; some men's minds are disturbed by envy,\nsome blinded by ambition till they are ready to fling themselves on the\nsword's point. In addition to this, one must reckon sluggishness of\nmind and old age; and also the opposites of these, restlessness and\ndisturbance of mind, also excessive self-esteem and pride in the\nvery things for which a man ought to be despised. I need not mention\nobstinate persistence in wrong-doing, or frivolity which cannot remain\nconstant to one point; besides all this, there is headlong rashness,\nthere is timidity which never gives us trustworthy counsel, and the\nnumberless errors with which we struggle, the rashness of the most\ncowardly, the quarrels of our best friends, and that most common evil\nof trusting in what is most uncertain, and of undervaluing, when we have\nobtained it, that which we once never hoped to possess. Amidst all these\nrestless passions, how can you hope to find a thing so full of rest as\ngood faith?\n\nXXVII. If a true picture of our life were to rise before your mental\nvision, you would, I think, behold a scene like that of a town just\ntaken by storm, where decency and righteousness were no longer regarded,\nand no advice is heard but that of force, as if universal confusion\nwere the word of command. Neither fire nor sword are spared; crime\nis unpunished by the laws; even religion, which saves the lives of\nsuppliants in the very midst of armed enemies, does not check those who\nare rushing to secure plunder. Some men rob private houses, some public\nbuildings; all places, sacred or profane, are alike stripped; some burst\ntheir way in, others climb over; some open a wider path for themselves\nby overthrowing the walls that keep them out, and make their way to\ntheir booty over ruins; some ravage without murdering, others brandish\nspoils dripping with their owner's blood; everyone carries off his\nneighbours' goods. In this greedy struggle of the human race surely you\nforget the common lot of all mankind, if you seek among these robbers\nfor one who will return what he has got. If you are indignant at\nmen being ungrateful, you ought also to be indignant at their being\nluxurious, avaricious and lustful; you might as well be indignant with\nsick men for being ugly, or with old men for being pale. It is, indeed,\na serious vice, it is not to be borne, and sets men at variance with one\nanother; nay, it rends and destroys that union by which alone our human\nweakness can be supported; yet it is so absolutely universal, that even\nthose who complain of it most are not themselves free from it.\n\nXXVIII. Consider within yourself, whether you have always shown\ngratitude to those to whom you owe it, whether no one's kindness has\never been wasted upon you, whether you constantly bear in mind all the\nbenefits which you have received. You will find that those which you\nreceived as a boy were forgotten before you became a man; that those\nbestowed upon you as a young man slipped from your memory when you\nbecame an old one. Some we have lost, some we have thrown away, some\nhave by degrees passed out of our sight, to some we have wilfully shut\nour eyes. If I am to make excuses for your weakness, I must say in the\nfirst place that human memory is a frail vessel, and is not large enough\nto contain the mass of things placed in it; the more it receives, the\nmore it must necessarily lose; the oldest things in it give way to the\nnewest. Thus it comes to pass that your nurse has hardly any influence\nwith you, because the lapse of time has set the kindness which you\nreceived from her at so great a distance; thus it is that you no longer\nlook upon your teacher with respect; and that now when you are busy\nabout your candidature for the consulate or the priesthood, you forget\nthose who supported you in your election to the quaestorship. If you\ncarefully examine yourself, perhaps you will find the vice of which\nyou complain in your own bosom; you are wrong in being angry with a\nuniversal failing, and foolish also, for it is your own as well; you\nmust pardon others, that you may yourself be acquitted. You will make\nyour friend a better man by bearing with him, you will in all cases make\nhim a worse one by reproaching him. You can have no reason for rendering\nhim shameless; let him preserve any remnants of modesty which he may\nhave. Too loud reproaches have often dispelled a modesty which might\nhave borne good fruit. No man fears to be that which all men see that he\nis; when his fault is made public, he loses his sense of shame.\n\nXXIX. You say, \"I have lost the benefit which I bestowed.\" Yet do we\nsay that we have lost what we consecrate to heaven, and a benefit well\nbestowed, even though we get an ill return for it, is to be reckoned\namong things consecrated. Our friend is not such a man as we hoped he\nwas; still, let us, unlike him, remain the same as we were. The loss did\nnot take place when he proved himself so; his ingratitude cannot be made\npublic without reflecting some shame upon us, since to complain of the\nloss of a benefit is a sign that it was not well bestowed. As far as we\nare able we ought to plead with ourselves on his behalf: \"Perhaps he was\nnot able to return it, perhaps he did not know of it, perhaps he will\nstill do so.\" A wise and forbearing creditor prevents the loss of some\ndebts by encouraging his debtor and giving him time. We ought to do the\nsame, we ought to deal tenderly with a weakly sense of honour.\n\nXXX. \"I have lost,\" say you, \"the benefit which I bestowed.\" You are a\nfool, and do not understand when your loss took place; you have indeed\nlost it, but you did so when you gave it, the fact has only now come\nto light. Even in the case of those benefits which appear to be lost,\ngentleness will do much good; the wounds of the mind ought to be\nhandled as tenderly as those of the body. The string, which might be\ndisentangled by patience, is often broken by a rough pull. What is\nthe use of abuse, or of complaints? why do you overwhelm him with\nreproaches? why do you set him free from his obligation? even if he\nbe ungrateful he owes you nothing after this. What sense is there in\nexasperating a man on whom you have conferred great favours, so as out\nof a doubtful friend to make a certain enemy, and one, too, who will\nseek to support his own cause by defaming you, or to make men say, \"I do\nnot know what the reason is that he cannot endure a man to whom he\nowes so much; there must be something in the background?\" Any man can\nasperse, even if he does not permanently stain the reputation of his\nbetters by complaining of them; nor will any one be satisfied with\nimputing small crimes to them, when it is only by the enormity of his\nfalsehood that he can hope to be believed.\n\nXXXI. What a much better way is that by which the semblance of\nfriendship, and, indeed, if the other regains to his right mind,\nfriendship itself is preserved! Bad men are overcome by unwearying\ngoodness, nor does any one receive kindness in so harsh and hostile a\nspirit as not to love good men even while he does them wrong, when they\nlay him under the additional obligation of requiring no return for their\nkindness. Reflect, then, upon this: you say, \"My kindness has met with\nno return, what am I to do? I ought to imitate the gods, those noblest\ndisposers of all events, who begin to bestow their benefits on those who\nknow them not, and persist in bestowing them on those who are ungrateful\nfor them. Some reproach them with neglect of us, some with injustice\ntowards us; others place them outside of their own world, in sloth and\nindifference, without light, and without any functions; others declare\nthat the sun itself, to whom we owe the division of our times of labour\nand of rest, by whose means we are saved from being plunged in the\ndarkness of eternal night; who, by his circuit, orders the seasons\nof the year, gives strength to our bodies, brings forth our crops and\nripens our fruits, is merely a mass of stone, or a fortuitous collection\nof fiery particles, or anything rather than a god. Yet, nevertheless,\nlike the kindest of parents, who only smile at the spiteful words of\ntheir children, the gods do not cease to heap benefits upon those\nwho doubt from what source their benefits are derived, but continue\nimpartially distributing their bounty among all the peoples and nations\nof the earth. Possessing only the power of doing good, they moisten\nthe land with seasonable showers, they put the seas in movement by the\nwinds, they mark time by the course of the constellations, they temper\nthe extremes of heat and cold, of summer and winter, by breathing a\nmilder air upon us; and they graciously and serenely bear with the\nfaults of our erring spirits. Let us follow their example; let us give,\neven if much be given to no purpose, let us, in spite of this, give to\nothers; nay, even to those upon whom our bounty has been wasted. No one\nis prevented by the fall of a house from building another; when one home\nhas been destroyed by fire, we lay the foundations of another before the\nsite has had time to cool; we rebuild ruined cities more than once\nupon the same spots, so untiring are our hopes of success. Men would\nundertake no works either on land or sea if they were not willing to try\nagain what they have failed in once.\"\n\nXXXII. Suppose a man is ungrateful, he does not injure me, but himself;\nI had the enjoyment of my benefit when I bestowed it upon him. Because\nhe is ungrateful, I shall not be slower to give but more careful; what I\nhave lost with him, I shall receive back from others. But I will bestow\na second benefit upon this man himself, and will overcome him even as a\ngood husbandman overcomes the sterility of the soil by care and culture;\nif I do not do so my benefit is lost to me, and he is lost to mankind.\nIt is no proof of a great mind to give and to throw away one's bounty;\nthe true test of a great mind is to throw away one's bounty and still to\ngive.","title":"L. Annaeus Seneca on Benefits","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":83844}