{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_56075/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_56075","id":"gutenberg_56075","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56075","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Conduct of life","Ethics"],"text":"Note: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/cu31924101956971\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nSENECA\u2019S MORALS OF A HAPPY LIFE,\nBENEFITS, ANGER AND CLEMENCY.\n\nTranslated by\n\nSIR ROGER L\u2019ESTRANGE.\n\nNew Edition.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChicago:\nBelford, Clarke & Co.,\n1882.\n\nBelford . Clarke & Co.,\n1881.\n\nPrinted and Bound by\nDonohue & Henneberry.\nChicago, Ill.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE READER.\n\n\nIt has been a long time my thought to turn SENECA into English;\nbut whether as a _translation_ or an _abstract_, was the question.\nA _translation_, I perceive, it must not be, at last, for several\nreasons. First, it is a thing already done to my hand, and of above\nsixty years\u2019 standing; though with as little _credit_, perhaps, to\nthe Author, as _satisfaction_ to the Reader. Secondly, There is a\ngreat deal in him, that is wholly foreign to my business: as his\nphilosophical treatises of _Meteors_, _Earthquakes_, the Original\nof _Rivers_, several frivolous disputes betwixt the Epicureans and\nthe Stoics, etc., to say nothing of his frequent repetitions of the\nsame thing again in other words, (wherein he very handsomely excuses\nhimself, by saying, \u201cThat he does but inculcate over and over the same\ncounsels to those that over and over commit the same faults.\u201d)Thirdly,\nHis excellency consists rather in a rhapsody of divine and\nextraordinary _hints_ and _notions_, than in any regulated method of\ndiscourse; so that to take him as he lies, and so to go through with\nhim, were utterly inconsistent with the order and brevity which I\npropound; my principal design, being only to digest, and commonplace\nhis _Morals_, in such sort, that any man, upon occasion, may know where\nto find them. And I have kept myself so close to this proposition,\nthat I have reduced all his scattered Ethics to their _proper heads_,\nwithout any additions of my own, more than of absolute necessity\nfor the tacking of them together. Some other man in my place would\nperhaps make you twenty apologies for his want of skill and address,\nin governing this affair; but these are formal and pedantic fooleries,\nas if any man that first takes himself for a coxcomb in his own heart,\nwould afterwards make himself one in print too. This _Abstract_, such\nas it is, you are extremely welcome to; and I am sorry it is no better,\nboth for your sakes and my own, for if it were written up to the spirit\nof the original, it would be one of the most valuable presents that\never any private man bestowed upon the public; and this, too, even in\nthe judgment of both parties, as well Christian as Heathen, of which in\nits due place.\n\nNext to my choice of the _Author_ and of the _subject_, together with\nthe manner of handling it, I have likewise had some regard, in this\npublication, to the _timing_ of it, and to the preference of this topic\nof _Benefits_ above all others, for the groundwork of my _first essay_.\nWe are fallen into an age of _vain philosophy_ (as the holy apostle\ncalls it) and so desperately overrun with Drolls and Sceptics, that\nthere is hardly any thing so certain or so sacred, that is not exposed\nto question and contempt, insomuch, that betwixt the hypocrite and the\nAtheist, the very foundations of religion and good manners are shaken,\nand the two tables of the _Decalogue_ dashed to pieces the one against\nthe other; the laws of government are subjected to the fancies of the\nvulgar; public authority to the private passions and opinions of the\npeople; and the supernatural motions of grace confounded with the\ncommon dictates of nature. In this state of corruption, who so fit as a\ngood honest Christian Pagan for a moderator among Pagan Christians?\n\nTo pass now from the general scope of the whole work to the particular\nargument of the first part of it, I pitched upon the theme of\n_Benefits_, _Gratitude_, and _Ingratitude_, to begin withal, as an\nearnest of the rest, and a lecture expressly calculated for the\nunthankfulness of these times; the foulest undoubtedly, and the most\nexecrable of all others, since the very apostasy of the angels:\nnay, if I durst but suppose a possibility of mercy for those damned\nspirits, and that they might ever be taken into favor again, my\ncharity would hope even better for them than we have found from some\nof our revolters, and that they would so behave themselves as not to\nincur a second forfeiture. And to carry the resemblance yet one point\nfarther, they do both of them agree in an implacable malice against\nthose of their fellows that keep their stations. But, alas! what\ncould _Ingratitude_ do without _Hypocrisy_, the inseparable companion\nof it, and, in effect, the bolder and blacker devil of the two? for\nLucifer himself never had the face to lift up his eyes to heaven, and\ntalk to the ALMIGHTY at the familiar rate of our pretended patriots\nand zealots, and at the same time to make him party to a cheat. It is\nnot for nothing that the Holy Ghost has denounced so many woes, and\nredoubled so many cautions against _hypocrites_; plainly intimating\nat once how dangerous a snare they are to mankind, and no less odious\nto God himself; which is sufficiently denoted in the force of that\ndreadful expression, _And your portion shall be with hypocrites_. You\nwill find in the holy scriptures (as I have formerly observed) that\nGod has given the grace of repentance to _persecutors_, _idolaters_,\n_murderers_, _adulterers_, etc., but I am mistaken if the whole Bible\naffords you any one instance of a _converted hypocrite_.\n\nTo descend now from truth itself to our own experience have we not\nseen, even in our days, a most pious (and almost faultless) Prince\nbrought to the scaffold by his own subjects? The most glorious\nconstitution upon the face of the earth, both ecclesiastical and\ncivil, torn to pieces and dissolved? The happiest people under the sun\nenslaved? Our temples sacrilegiously profaned, and a license given\nto all sorts of heresy and outrage? And by whom but by a race of\n_hypocrites?_ who had nothing in their mouths all this while but _the\npurity of the gospel_, _the honor of the king_, and _the liberty of\nthe people_, assisted underhand with _defamatory papers_, which were\nlevelled at the _king_ himself through the sides of his most faithful\n_ministers_. This PROJECT succeeded so well against one government,\nthat it is now again set afoot against another; and by some of the\nvery actors too in that TRAGEDY, and after a most gracious pardon\nalso, when Providence had laid their necks and their fortunes at his\nmajesty\u2019s feet. It is a wonderful thing that _libels_ and _libellers_,\nthe most _infamous_ of _practices_ and of _men_; the most _unmanly\nsneaking methods_ and _instruments_ of _mischief_; the very bane\nof _human society_, and the _plague_ of all _governments_; it is a\nwonderful thing (I say) that these engines and engineers should ever\nfind credit enough in the world to engage a party; but it would be\nstill more wonderful if the _same trick_ should pass twice upon the\n_same people_, in the _same age_, and from the _same_ IMPOSTORS. This\ncontemplation has carried me a little out of my way, but it has at\nlength brought me to my text again, for there is in the bottom of it\nthe highest opposition imaginable of _ingratitude_ and _obligation_.\n\nThe reader will, in some measure, be able to judge by this taste what\nhe is farther to expect; that is to say, as to the cast of my design,\nand the simplicity of the style and dress; for that will still be the\nsame, only accompanied with variety of matter. Whether it pleases the\nworld or no, the care is taken; and yet I could wish that it might be\nas delightful to others upon the perusal, as it has been to me in the\nspeculation. Next to the gospel itself, I do look upon it as the most\nsovereign remedy against the miseries of human nature: and I have ever\nfound it so, in all the injuries and distresses of an unfortunate life.\nYou may read more of him, if you please, in the _Appendix_, which I\nhave here subjoined to this Preface, concerning the authority of his\n_writings_, and the circumstances of his _life_; as I have extracted\nthem out of Lipsius.\n\n\n\n\nOF SENECA\u2019S WRITINGS.\n\n\nIt appears that our author had among the ancients three professed\nenemies. In the first place Caligula, who called his writings, _sand\nwithout lime_; alluding to the starts of his fancy, and the incoherence\nof his sentences. But Seneca was never the worse for the censure of a\nperson that propounded even the suppressing of Homer himself; and of\ncasting Virgil and Livy out of all _public libraries_. The next was\nFabius, who taxes him for being too bold with the eloquence of former\ntimes, and failing in that point himself; and likewise for being too\nquaint and finical in his expressions; which Tacitus imputes, in\npart to the freedom of his own particular inclination, and partly to\nthe humor of the times. He is also charged by Fabius as no profound\nphilosopher; but with all this, he allows him to be a man very studious\nand learned, of great wit and invention, and well read in all sorts of\nliterature; a severe reprover of vice; most divinely sententious; and\nwell worth the reading, if it were only for his morals; adding, that if\nhis judgment had been answerable to his wit, it had been much the more\nfor his reputation; but he wrote whatever came next; so that I would\nadvise the reader (says he) to distinguish where he _himself_ did not,\nfor there are many things in him, not only to be approved, but admired;\nand it was great pity that he that could do what he would, should not\nalways make the best choice. His third adversary is Agellius, who\nfalls upon him for his style, and a kind of tinkling in his sentences,\nbut yet commends him for his piety and good counsels. On the other\nside, Columela calls him _a man of excellent wit and learning_; Pliny,\n_the prince of erudition;_ Tacitus gives him the character of _a wise\nman, and a fit tutor for a prince_; Dio reports him to have been _the\ngreatest man of his age_.\n\nOf those pieces of his that are extant, we shall not need to give\nany particular account: and of those that are lost, we cannot, any\nfarther than by lights to them from other authors, as we find them\ncited much to his honor; and we may reasonably compute them to be\nthe greater part of his works. That he wrote several _poems_ in his\nbanishment, may be gathered partly from himself, but more expressly\nout of Tacitus, who says, \u201cthat he was reproached with his applying\nhimself to poetry, after he saw that Nero took pleasure in it, out\nof a design to curry favor.\u201d St. Jerome refers to a discourse of his\nconcerning matrimony. Lactantius takes notice of his history, and his\nbooks of Moralities: St. Augustine quotes some passages of his out of\na book of Superstition; some references we meet with to his books of\nExhortations: Fabius makes mention of his Dialogues: and he himself\nspeaks of a treatise of his own concerning Earthquakes, which he wrote\nin his youth, but the opinion of an epistolary correspondence that he\nhad with St. Paul, does not seem to have much color for it.\n\nSome few fragments, however, of those books of his that are wanting,\nare yet preserved in the writings of other eminent authors, sufficient\nto show the world how great a treasure they have lost by the excellency\nof that little that is left.\n\nSeneca, says Lactantius, that was the sharpest of all the Stoics,\nhow great a veneration has he for the Almighty! as for instance,\ndiscoursing of a violent death; \u201cDo you not understand?\u201d says he, \u201cthe\nmajesty and the authority of your Judge; he is the supreme Governor of\nheaven and earth, and the God of all your gods; and it is upon him that\nall those powers depend which we worship for deities.\u201d Moreover, in his\nExhortations, \u201cThis God,\u201d says he, \u201cwhen he laid the foundations of the\nuniverse, and entered upon the greatest and the best work in nature, in\nthe ordering of the government of the world, though he was himself All\nin all, yet he substituted other subordinate ministers, as the servants\nof his commands.\u201d And how many other things does this Heathen speak of\nGod like one of us!\n\nWhich the acute Seneca, says Lactantius again, saw in his Exhortations.\n\u201cWe,\u201d says he, \u201chave our dependence elsewhere, and should look up to\nthat power, to which we are indebted for all that we can pretend to\nthat is good.\u201d\n\nAnd again, Seneca says very well in his Morals, \u201cThey worship the\nimages of the God,\u201d says he, \u201ckneel to them, and adore them, they are\nhardly ever from them, either plying them with offerings or sacrifices,\nand yet, after all this reverence to the image, they have no regard at\nall to the workman that made it.\u201d\n\nLactantius again. \u201cAn invective,\u201d says Seneca in his Exhortations, \u201cis\nthe masterpiece of most of our philosophers; and if they fall upon\nthe subject of _avarice_, _lust_, _ambition_, they lash out into such\nexcess of bitterness, as if railing were a mark of their profession.\nThey make me think of gallipots in an apothecary\u2019s shop, that have\nremedies without and poison within.\u201d\n\nLactantius still. \u201cHe that would know all things, let him read Seneca;\nthe most lively describer of public vices and manners, and the smartest\nreprehender of them.\u201d\n\nAnd again; as Seneca has it in the books of Moral Philosophy, \u201cHe is\nthe brave man, whose splendor and authority is the least part of his\ngreatness, that can look death in the face without trouble or surprise;\nwho, if his body were to be broken upon the wheel, or melted lead to be\npoured down his throat, would be less concerned for the pain itself,\nthan for the dignity of bearing it.\u201d\n\nLet no man, says Lactantius, think himself the safer in his wickedness\nfor want of a witness; for God is omniscient, and to him nothing can\nbe a secret. It is an admirable sentence that Seneca concludes his\nExhortations withal: \u201cGod,\u201d says he, \u201cis a great, (I know not what),\nan incomprehensible Power; it is to him that we live, and to him that\nwe must approve ourselves. What does it avail us that our consciences\nare hidden from men, when our souls lie open to God?\u201d What could a\nChristian have spoken more to the purpose in this case than this divine\nPagan? And in the beginning of the same work, says Seneca, \u201cWhat is\nit that we do? to what end is it to stand contriving, and to hide\nourselves? We are under a guard, and there is no escaping from our\nkeeper. One man may be parted from another by travel, death, sickness;\nbut there is no dividing us from ourselves. It is to no purpose to\ncreep into a corner where nobody shall see us. Ridiculous madness!\nMake it the case, that no mortal eye could find us out, he that has a\nconscience gives evidence against himself.\u201d\n\nIt is truly and excellently spoken of Seneca, says Lactantius, once\nagain; \u201cConsider,\u201d says he \u201cthe majesty, the goodness, and the\nvenerable mercies of the Almighty; a friend that is always at hand.\nWhat delight can it be to him the slaughter of innocent creatures or\nthe worship of bloody sacrifices? Let us purge our minds, and lead\nvirtuous and honest lives. His pleasure lies not in the magnificence of\ntemples made with stone, but in the pity and devotion of consecrated\nhearts.\u201d\n\nIn the book that Seneca wrote against Superstitions, treating of\nimages, says St. Austin, he writes thus: \u201cThey represent the holy, the\nimmortal, and the inviolable gods in the basest matter, and without\nlife or motion; in the forms of men, beasts, fishes, some of mixed\nbodies, and those figures they call deities, which, if they were but\nanimated, would affright a man, and pass for monsters.\u201d And then, a\nlittle farther, treating of Natural Theology, after citing the opinions\nof philosophers, he supposes an objection against himself: \u201cSomebody\nwill perhaps ask me, would you have me then to believe the heavens and\nthe earth to be gods, and some of them above the moon, and some below\nit? Shall I ever be brought to the opinion of Plato, or of Strabo the\nPeripatetic? the one of which would have God to be without a body,\nand the other without a mind.\u201d To which he replies, \u201cAnd do you give\nmore credit then to the dreams of T. Tatius, Romulus, Hostilius, who\ncaused, among other deities, even Fear and Paleness to be worshipped?\nthe vilest of human affections; the one being the motion of an\naffrighted mind, and the other not so much the disease as the color\nof a disordered body. Are these the deities that you will rather put\nyour faith in, and place in the heavens?\u201d And speaking afterward of\ntheir abominable customs, with what liberty does he write! \u201cOne,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cout of zeal, makes himself an eunuch, another lances his arms; if\nthis be the way to _please_ their gods, what should a man do if he had\na mind to _anger_ them? or, if this be the way to please them, they do\ncertainly deserve not to be worshipped at all. What a frenzy is this to\nimagine that the gods can be delighted with such cruelties, as even the\nworst of men would make a conscience to inflict! The most barbarous and\nnotorious of tyrants, some of them have perhaps done it themselves, or\nordered the tearing of men to pieces by others; but they never went so\nfar as to command any man to torment himself. We have heard of those\nthat have suffered castration to gratify the lust of their imperious\nmasters, but never any man that was forced to act it upon himself. They\nmurder themselves in their very temples, and their prayers are offered\nup in blood. Whosoever shall but observe what they do, and what they\nsuffer, will find it so misbecoming an honest man, so unworthy of a\nfreeman, and so inconsistent with the action of a man in his wits, that\nhe must conclude them all to be mad, if it were not that there are so\nmany of them; for only their number is their justification and their\nprotection.\u201d\n\nWhen he comes to reflect, says St. Augustine, upon those passages which\nhe himself had seen in the Capitol, he censures them with liberty and\nresolution; and no man will believe that such things would be done\nunless in mockery or frenzy. What lamentation is there in the Egyptian\nsacrifices for the loss of Osiris? and then what joy for the finding\nof him again? Which he makes himself sport with; for in truth it is\nall a fiction; and yet those people that neither lost any thing nor\nfound any thing, must express their sorrows and their rejoicings to\nthe highest degree. \u201cBut there is only a certain time,\u201d says he, \u201cfor\nthis freak, and once in a year people may be allowed to be mad. I came\ninto the Capitol,\u201d says Seneca, \u201cwhere the several deities had their\nseveral servants and attendants, their lictors, their dressers, and\nall in posture and action, as if they were executing their offices;\nsome to hold the glass, others to comb out Juno\u2019s and Minerva\u2019s hair;\none to tell Jupiter what o\u2019clock it is; some lasses there are that sit\ngazing upon the image, and fancy Jupiter has a kindness for them. All\nthese things,\u201d says Seneca, a while after, \u201ca wise man will observe for\nthe law\u2019s sake more than for the gods; and all this rabble of deities,\nwhich the superstition of many ages has gathered together, we are in\nsuch manner to adore, as to consider the worship to be rather matter\nof custom than of conscience.\u201d Whereupon St. Augustine observes, that\nthis illustrious senator worshipped what he reproved, acted what he\ndisliked, and adored what he condemned.\n\n\n\n\nSENECA\u2019S LIFE AND DEATH.\n\n\nIt has been an ancient custom to record the actions and the writings\nof eminent men, with all their circumstances, and it is but a right\nthat we owe to the memory of our famous author. Seneca was by birth a\nSpaniard of Cordova, (a Roman colony of great fame and antiquity.) He\nwas of the family of Ann\u00e6us, of the order of knights; and the father,\nLucius Ann\u00e6us Seneca, was distinguished from the son, by the name\nof _the Orator_. His mother\u2019s name was Helvia, a woman of excellent\nqualities. His father came to Rome in the time of Augustus, and his\nwife and children soon followed him, our Seneca yet being in his\ninfancy. There were three brothers of them, and never a sister. Marcus\nAnn\u00e6us Novatus, Lucius Ann\u00e6us Seneca, and Lucius Ann\u00e6us Mela; the first\nof these changed his name for Junius Gallio, who adopted him; to him it\nwas that he dedicated his treatise of ANGER, whom he calls Novatus too;\nand he also dedicated his discourse of a _Happy Life_ to his brother\nGallio. The youngest brother (Ann\u00e6us Mela) was Lucan\u2019s father. Seneca\nwas about twenty years of age in the _fifth year_ of Tiberius, when the\nJews were expelled from Rome. His father trained him up to _rhetoric,_\nbut his genius led him rather to _philosophy;_ and he applied his wit\nto _morality_ and _virtue_. He was a great hearer of the celebrated\nmen of those times; as Attalus, Sotion, Papirius, Fabianus, (of whom\nhe makes often mention,) and he was much an admirer also of Demetrius\nthe Cynic, whose conversation he had afterwards in the Court, and both\nat home also and abroad, for they often travelled together. His father\nwas not at all pleased with his humor of _philosophy_, but forced him\nupon the _law_, and for a while he practiced _pleading_. After which\nhe would needs put him upon _public employment:_ and he came first to\nbe _qu\u00e6stor_, then _pr\u00e6tor,_ and some will have it that he was chosen\n_consul_; but this is doubtful.\n\nSeneca finding that he had ill offices done him at court, and that\nNero\u2019s favor began to cool, he went directly and resolutely to Nero,\nwith an offer to refund all that he had gotten, which Nero would not\nreceive; but however, from that time he changed his course of life,\nreceived few visits, shunned company, went little abroad; still\npretending to be kept at home, either by indisposition or by his\nstudy. Being Nero\u2019s tutor and governor, all things were well so long\nas Nero followed his counsel. His two chief favorites were Burrhus and\nSeneca, who were both of them excellent in their ways: Burrhus, in\nhis care of _military_ affairs, and severity of _discipline_; Seneca\nfor his _precepts_ and _good advice_ in the matter of _eloquence,_\nand the _gentleness_ of an _honest mind_; assisting one another, in\nthat slippery age of the prince (says Tacitus) to invite him, by the\nallowance of lawful pleasures, to the love of virtue. Seneca had two\nwives; the name of the first is not mentioned; his second was Paulina,\nwhom he often speaks of with great passion. By the former he had his\nson Marcus.\n\nIn the first year of Claudius he was banished into Corsica, when Julia,\nthe daughter of Germanicus, was accused by Messalina of adultery and\nbanished too, Seneca being charged as one of the adulterers. After a\nmatter of eight years or upwards in exile, he was called back, and as\nmuch in favor again as ever. His estate was partly patrimonial, but the\ngreatest part of it was the bounty of his prince. His gardens, villas,\nlands, possessions, and incredible sums of money, are agreed upon at\nall hands; which drew an envy upon him. Dio reports him to have had\n250,000_l._ sterling at interest in Britanny alone, which he called in\nall at a sum. The Court itself could not bring him to flattery; and\nfor his piety, submission, and virtue, the practice of his whole life\nwitnesses for him. \u201cSo soon,\u201d says he, \u201cas the candle is taken away,\nmy wife, that knows my custom, lies still, without a word speaking,\nand then do I recollect all that I have said or done that day, and\ntake myself to shrift. And why should I conceal or reserve anything,\nor make any scruple of inquiring into my errors, when I can say to\nmyself, Do so no more, and for this once I will forgive thee?\u201d And\nagain, what can be more pious and self-denying than this passage, in\none of his epistles? \u201cBelieve me now, when I tell you the very bottom\nof my soul: in all the difficulties and crosses of my life, this is my\nconsideration\u2014since it is God\u2019s will, I do not only obey, but assent to\nit; nor do I comply out of necessity, but inclination.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere follows now,\u201d says Tacitus, \u201cthe death of Seneca, to Nero\u2019s great\nsatisfaction; not so much for any pregnant proof against him that he\nwas of Piso\u2019s conspiracy; but Nero was resolved to do that by the sword\nwhich he could not effect by poison. For it is reported, that Nero\nhad corrupted Cleonicus (a freeman of Seneca\u2019s) to give his master\npoison, which did not succeed. Whether that the servant had discovered\nit to his master, or that Seneca, by his own caution and jealousy, had\navoided it; for he lived only upon a simple diet, as the fruits of the\nearth, and his drink was most commonly river water.\n\n\u201cNatalis, it seems, was sent upon a visit to him (being indisposed)\nwith a complaint that he would not let Piso come at him; and advising\nhim to the continuance of their friendship and acquaintance as\nformerly. To whom Seneca made answer, that frequent meetings and\nconferences betwixt them could do neither of them any good; but that\nhe had a great interest in Piso\u2019s welfare. Hereupon Granius Silvanus\n(a captain of the guard) was sent to examine Seneca upon the discourse\nthat passed betwixt him and Natalis, and to return his answer. Seneca,\neither by chance or upon purpose, came that day from Campania, to\na villa of his own, within four miles of the city; and thither the\nofficer went the next evening, and beset the place. He found Seneca\nat supper with his wife Paulina, and two of his friends; and gave him\nimmediately an account of his commission. Seneca told him, that it was\ntrue that Natalis had been with him in Piso\u2019s name, with a complaint\n_that Piso could not be admitted to see him_; and that he excused\nhimself by reason of his want of health, and his desires to be quiet\nand private; and that he had no reason to prefer another man\u2019s welfare\nbefore his own. C\u00e6sar himself, he said, knew very well that he was not\na man of compliment, having received more proofs of his freedom than\nof his flattery. This answer of Seneca\u2019s was delivered to C\u00e6sar in the\npresence of Popp\u00e6a, and Tigellinus, the intimate confidants of this\nbarbarous prince: and Nero asked him whether he could gather anything\nfrom Seneca as if he intended to make himself away? The tribune\u2019s\nanswer was, that he did not find him one jot moved with the message:\nbut that he went on roundly with his tale, and never so much as changed\ncountenance for the matter. Go back to him then, says Nero, and tell\nhim, _that he is condemned to die_. Fabius Rusticus delivers it, that\nthe tribune did not return the same way he came, but went aside to\nFenius (a captain of that name) and told him C\u00e6sar\u2019s orders, asking his\nadvice whether he should obey them or not; who bade him by all means\nto do as he was ordered. Which want of resolution was fatal to them\nall; for Silvanus also, that was one of the conspirators, assisted now\nto serve and to increase those crimes, which he had before complotted\nto revenge. And yet he did not think fit to appear himself in the\nbusiness, but sent a centurion to Seneca to tell him his doom.\n\n\u201cSeneca, without any surprise or disorder, calls for his will; which\nbeing refused him by the officer, he turned to his friends, and told\nthem that since he was not permitted to requite them as they deserved,\nhe was yet at liberty to bequeath them the thing of all others that\nhe esteemed the most, that is, the image of his life; which should\ngive them the reputation both of _constancy_ and _friendship_, if they\nwould but imitate it; exhorting them to a firmness of mind, sometimes\nby good counsel, otherwhile by reprehension, as the occasion required.\nWhere, says he, is all your philosophy now? all your _premeditated\nresolutions_ against the violences of Fortune? Is there any man so\nignorant of Nero\u2019s cruelty, as to expect, after the murder of his\nmother and his brother, that he should ever spare the life of his\ngovernor and tutor? After some general expressions to this purpose, he\ntook his wife in his arms, and having somewhat fortified her against\nthe present calamity, he besought and conjured her to moderate her\nsorrows, and betake herself to the contemplations and comforts of a\nvirtuous life; which would be a fair and ample consolation to her for\nthe loss of her husband. Paulina, on the other side, tells him her\ndetermination to bear him company, and wills the executioner to do\nhis office. Well, says Seneca, if after the sweetness of life, as I\nhave represented it to thee, thou hadst rather entertain an honorable\ndeath, I shall not envy thy example; consulting, at the same time, the\nfame of the person he loved, and his own tenderness, for fear of the\ninjuries that might attend her when he was gone. Our resolution, says\nhe, in this generous act, may be equal, but thine will be the greater\nreputation. After this the veins of both their arms were opened at the\nsame time. Seneca did not bleed so freely, his spirits being wasted\nwith age and a thin diet; so that he was forced to cut the veins of his\nthighs and elsewhere, to hasten his dispatch. When he was far spent,\nand almost sinking under his torments, he desired his wife to remove\ninto another chamber, lest the agonies of the one might work upon the\ncourage of the other. His eloquence continued to the last, as appears\nby the excellent things he delivered at his death; which being taken\nin writing from his own mouth, and published in his own words, I shall\nnot presume to deliver them in any other. Nero, in the meantime, who\nhad no particular spite to Paulina, gave orders to prevent her death,\nfor fear his cruelty should grow more and more insupportable and\nodious. Whereupon the soldiers gave all freedom and encouragement to\nher servants to bind up her wounds, and stop the blood, which they did\naccordingly; but whether she was sensible of it or not is a question.\nFor among the common people, who are apt to judge the worst, there\nwere some of opinion, that as long as she despaired of Nero\u2019s mercy,\nshe seemed to court the glory of dying with her husband for company;\nbut that upon the likelihood of better quarter she was prevailed upon\nto outlive him; and so for some years she did survive him, with all\npiety and respect to his memory; but so miserably pale and wan, that\neverybody might read the loss of her blood and spirits in her very\ncountenance.\n\n\u201cSeneca finding his death slow and lingering, desires Statius Ann\u00e6us\n(his old friend and physician) to give him a dose of poison, which he\nhad provided beforehand, being the same preparation which was appointed\nfor capital offenders in Athens. This was brought him, and he drank\nit up, but to little purpose; for his body was already chilled, and\nbound up against the force of it. He went at last into a hot bath, and\nsprinkling some of his servants that were next him, this, says he,\nis an oblation to Jupiter _the deliverer_. The fume of the bath soon\ndispatched him, and his body was burnt, without any funeral solemnity,\nas he had directed in his testament: though this will of his was made\nin the height of his prosperity and power. There was a rumor that\nSubrius Flavius, in a private consultation with the centurions, had\ntaken up this following resolution, (and that Seneca himself was no\nstranger to it) that is to say, that after Nero should have been slain\nby the help of Piso, Piso himself should have been killed too; and the\nempire delivered up to Seneca, as one that well deserved it, for his\nintegrity and virtue.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSENECA OF BENEFITS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOF BENEFITS IN GENERAL.\n\n\nIt is, perhaps, one of the most pernicious errors of a rash and\ninconsiderate life, the common ignorance of the world in the matter of\nexchanging _benefits_. And this arises from a mistake, partly in the\nperson that we would oblige, and partly in the thing itself. To begin\nwith the latter: \u201cA benefit is a good office, done with intention and\njudgment;\u201d that is to say, with a due regard to all the circumstances\nof _what_, _how_, _why_, _when_, _where_, _to whom_, _how much_, and\nthe like; or otherwise: \u201cIt is a voluntary and benevolent action that\ndelights the giver in the comfort it brings to the receiver.\u201d It will\nbe hard to draw this subject, either into method or compass: the one,\nbecause of the infinite variety and complication of cases; the other,\nby reason of the large extent of it: for the whole business (almost)\nof mankind in society falls under this head; the duties of kings\nand subjects, husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and\nservants, natives and strangers, high and low, rich and poor, strong\nand weak, friends and enemies. The very meditation of it breeds good\nblood and generous thoughts; and instructs us in honor, humanity,\nfriendship, piety, gratitude, prudence, and justice. In short, the art\nand skill of conferring benefits is, of all human duties, the most\nabsolutely necessary to the well-being, both of reasonable nature, and\nof every individual; as the very cement of all communities, and the\nblessing of particulars. He that does good to another man does good\nalso to himself; not only in the consequence, but in the very act of\ndoing it; for the conscience of well-doing is an ample reward.\n\nOf benefits in general, there are several sorts; as _necessary_,\n_profitable_, and _delightful_. Some things there are, without which\nwe _cannot_ live; others without which we _ought not_ to live; and\nsome, again, without which we _will not_ live. In the first rank are\nthose which deliver us from capital dangers, or apprehensions of\ndeath: and the favor is rated according to the hazard; for the greater\nthe extremity, the greater seems the obligation. The next is a case\nwherein we may indeed live, but we had better die; as in the question\nof liberty, modesty, and a good conscience. In the third place, follow\nthose things which custom, use, affinity, and acquaintance, have made\ndear to us; as husbands, wives, children, friends, etc., which an\nhonest man will preserve at his utmost peril. Of things profitable\nthere is a large field, as money, honor, etc., to which might be\nadded, matters of superfluity and pleasure. But we shall open a way\nto the circumstances of a benefit by some previous and more general\ndeliberations upon the thing itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nSEVERAL SORTS OF BENEFITS.\n\n\nWe shall divide _benefits_ into _absolute_ and _vulgar_; the one\nappertaining to good life, the other is only matter of commerce. The\nformer are the more excellent, because they can never be made void;\nwhereas all material benefits are tossed back and forward, and change\ntheir master. There are some offices that look like benefits, but are\nonly desirable conveniences, as wealth, etc., and these a wicked man\nmay receive from a good, or a good man from an evil. Others, again,\nthat bear the face of injuries, which are only benefits ill taken; as\ncutting, lancing, burning, under the hand of a surgeon. The greatest\nbenefits of all are those of good education, which we receive from our\nparents, either in the state of ignorance or perverseness; as, their\ncare and tenderness in our infancy; their discipline in our childhood,\nto keep us to our duties by fear; and, if fair means will not do,\ntheir proceeding afterwards to severity and punishment, without which\nwe should never have come to good. There are matters of great value,\nmany times, that are but of small price; as instructions from a tutor,\nmedicine from a physician, etc. And there are small matters again,\nwhich are of great consideration to us: the gift is small, and the\nconsequence great; as a cup of cold water in a time of need may save a\nman\u2019s life. Some things are of great moment to the giver, others to the\nreceiver: one man gives me a house; another snatches me out when it is\nfalling upon my head; one gives me an estate; another takes me out of\nthe fire, or casts me out a rope when I am sinking. Some good offices\nwe do to friends, others to strangers; but those are the noblest that\nwe do without pre-desert. There is an obligation of bounty, and an\nobligation of charity; this in case of necessity, and that in point of\nconvenience. Some benefits are common, others are personal; as if a\nprince (out of pure grace) grant a privilege to a city, the obligation\nlies upon the community, and only upon every individual as a part of\nthe whole; but if it be done particularly for my sake, then am I singly\nthe debtor for it. The cherishing of strangers is one of the duties\nof hospitality, and exercises itself in the relief and protection of\nthe distressed. There are benefits of good counsel, reputation, life,\nfortune, liberty, health, nay, and of superfluity and pleasure. One man\nobliges me out of his pocket; another gives me matter of ornament and\ncuriosity; a third, consolation. To say nothing of negative benefits;\nfor there are that reckon it an obligation if they do a body no hurt;\nand place it to account, as if they saved a man, when they do not undo\nhim. To shut up all in one word; as benevolence is the most sociable of\nall virtues, so it is of the largest extent; for there is not any man,\neither so great or so little, but he is yet capable of giving and of\nreceiving benefits.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA SON MAY OBLIGE HIS FATHER, AND A SERVANT HIS MASTER.\n\n\nThe question is (in the first place) whether it may not be possible\nfor a father to owe more to a son, in other respects, than the son\nowes to his father for his being? That many sons are both greater and\nbetter than their fathers, there is no question; as there are many\nother things that derive their beings from others, which yet are far\ngreater than their original. Is not the tree larger than the seed? the\nriver than the fountain? The foundation of all things lies hid, and\nthe superstructure obscures it. If I owe all to my father, because he\ngives me life, I may owe as much to a physician that saved his life;\nfor if my father had not been cured, I had never been begotten: or, if\nI stand indebted for all that I am to my beginning, my acknowledgment\nmust run back to the very original of all human beings. My father gave\nme the benefit of life: which he had never done, if his father had not\nfirst given it to him. He gave me life, not knowing to whom; and when\nI was in a condition neither to feel death nor to fear it. That is the\ngreat benefit, to give life to one that knows how to use it, and that\nis capable of the apprehension of death. It is true, that without a\nfather I could never have had a being; and so, without a nurse, that\nbeing had never been improved: but I do not therefore owe my virtue\neither to my nativity or to her that gave me suck. The generation of me\nwas the last part of the benefit: for to live is common with brutes;\nbut to live well is the main business; and that virtue is all my own,\nsaving what I drew from my education. It does not follow that the\n_first_ benefit must be the _greatest_, because without the first the\ngreatest could never have been. The father gives life to the son but\nonce; but if the son save the father\u2019s life often, though he do but his\nduty, it is yet a greater benefit. And again, the benefit that a man\nreceives is the greater, the more he needs it; but the living has more\nneed of life than he that is not yet born; so that the father receives\na greater benefit in the continuance of his life than the son in the\nbeginning of it. What if a son deliver his father from the rack; or,\nwhich is more, lay himself down in his place? The giving of him a being\nwas but the office of a father; a simple act, a benefit given at a\nventure: beside that, he had a participant in it, and a regard to his\nfamily. He gave only a single life, and he received a happy one. My\nmother brought me into the world naked, exposed, and void of reason;\nbut my reputation and my fortune are advanced by my virtue. Scipio (as\nyet in his minority) rescued his father in a battle with Hannibal, and\nafterward from the practices and persecution of a powerful faction;\ncovering him with consulary honors, and the spoils of public enemies.\nHe made himself as eminent for his moderation as for his piety and\nmilitary knowledge: he was the defender and the establisher of his\ncountry: he left the empire without a competitor, and made himself as\nwell the ornament of Rome as the security of it: and did not Scipio,\nin all this, more than requite his father barely for begetting of him?\nWhether did Anchises more for \u00c6neas, in dandling the child in his arms;\nor \u00c6neas for his father, when he carried him upon his back through\nthe flames of Troy, and made his name famous to future ages among the\nfounders of the Roman Empire? T. Manlius was the son of a sour and\nimperious father, who banished him his house as a blockhead, and a\nscandal to the family. This Manlius, hearing that his father\u2019s life was\nin question, and a day set for his trial, went to the tribune that was\nconcerned in his cause, and discoursed with him about it: the tribune\ntold him the appointed time, and withal (as an obligation upon the\nyoung man) that his cruelty to his son would be part of his accusation.\nManlius, upon this, takes the tribune aside, and presenting a poniard\nto his breast, \u201cSwear,\u201d says he, \u201cthat you will let this cause fall,\nor you shall have this dagger in the heart of you; and now it is at\nyour choice which way you will deliver my father.\u201d The tribune swore\nand kept his word, and made a fair report of the whole matter to the\ncouncil. He that makes himself famous by his eloquence, justice, or\narms, illustrates his extraction, let it be never so mean; and gives\ninestimable reputation to his parents. We should never have heard of\nSophroniscus, but for his son Socrates; nor for Aristo and Gryllus, if\nit had not been for Xenophon and Plato.\n\nThis is not to discountenance the veneration we owe to parents; nor\nto make children the worse, but the better; and to stir up generous\nemulations: for, in contests of good offices, both parties are happy;\nas well the vanquished as those that overcome. It is the only honorable\ndispute that can arise betwixt a father and son, which of the two\nshall have the better of the other in the point of benefits.\n\nIn the question betwixt a master and a servant, we must distinguish\nbetwixt benefits, duties, and actions ministerial. By _benefits_, we\nunderstand those good offices that we receive from strangers, which\nare voluntary, and may be forborne without blame. _Duties_ are the\nparts of a son and wife, and incumbent upon kindred and relations.\n_Offices ministerial_ belong to the part of a servant. Now, since it\nis the _mind_, and not the _condition_ of a person, that prints the\nvalue upon the benefit, a servant may oblige his master, and so may a\nsubject his sovereign, or a common soldier his general, by doing more\nthan he is expressly bound to do. Some things there are, which the law\nneither commands nor forbids; and here the servant is free. It would\nbe very hard for a servant to be chastised for doing less than his\nduty, and not thanked for it when he does more. His body, it is true,\nis his master\u2019s, but his mind is his own: and there are many commands\nwhich a servant ought no more to obey than a master to impose. There is\nno man so great, but he may both need the help and service, and stand\nin fear of the power and unkindness, even of the meanest of mortals.\nOne servant kills his master; another saves him, nay, preserves his\nmaster\u2019s life, perhaps, with the loss of his own: he exposes himself to\ntorment and death; he stands firm against all threats and batteries:\nwhich is not only a benefit in a servant, but much the greater for his\nbeing so.\n\nWhen Domitius was besieged in Corfinium, and the place brought to great\nextremity, he pressed his servant so earnestly to poison him, that at\nlast he was prevailed upon to give him a potion; which, it seems, was\nan innocent opiate, and Domitius outlived it: C\u00e6sar took the town, and\ngave Domitius his life, but it was his servant that gave it him first.\n\nThere was another town besieged, and when it was upon the last pinch,\ntwo servants made their escape, and went over to the enemy: upon the\nRomans entering the town, and in the heat of the soldiers\u2019 fury, these\ntwo fellows ran directly home, took their mistress out of her house,\nand drove her before them, telling every body how barbarously she had\nused them formerly, and that they would now have their revenge; when\nthey had her without the gates, they kept her close till the danger was\nover; by which means they gave their mistress her life, and she gave\nthem their freedom. This was not the action of a servile mind, to do so\nglorious a thing, under an appearance of so great a villainy; for if\nthey had not passed for deserters and parricides, they could not have\ngained their end.\n\nWith one instance more (and that a very brave one) I shall conclude\nthis chapter.\n\nIn the civil wars of Rome, a party coming to search for a person of\nquality that was proscribed, a servant put on his master\u2019s clothes,\nand delivered himself up to the soldiers as the master of the house;\nhe was taken into custody, and put to death, without discovering the\nmistake. What could be more glorious, than for a servant to die for his\nmaster, in that age, when there were not many servants that would not\nbetray their masters? So generous a tenderness in a public cruelty;\nso invincible a faith in a general corruption; what could be more\nglorious, I say, than so exalted a virtue, as rather to choose death\nfor the reward of his fidelity, than the greatest advantages he might\notherwise have had for the violation of it?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIT IS THE INTENTION, NOT THE MATTER, THAT MAKES THE BENEFIT.\n\n\nThe _good-will_ of the benefactor is the fountain of all benefits;\nnay it is the benefit itself, or, at least, the stamp that makes it\nvaluable and current. Some there are, I know, that take the matter\nfor the benefit, and tax the obligation by weight and measure. When\nanything is given them, they presently cast it up; \u201cWhat may such a\nhouse be worth? such an office? such an estate?\u201d as if that were the\nbenefit which is only the sign and mark of it: for the obligation\nrests in the mind, not in the matter; and all those advantages which\nwe see, handle, or hold in actual possession by the courtesy of\nanother, are but several modes or ways of explaining and putting the\ngood-will in execution. There needs no great subtlety to prove, that\nboth benefits and injuries receive their value from the intention,\nwhen even brutes themselves are able to decide this question. Tread\nupon a dog by chance, or put him to pain upon the dressing of a wound;\nthe one he passes by as an accident; and the other, in his fashion, he\nacknowledges as a kindness: but, offer to strike at him, though you\ndo him no hurt at all, he flies yet in the face of you, even for the\nmischief that you barely meant him.\n\nIt is further to be observed, that all benefits are good; and (like the\ndistributions of Providence) made up of wisdom and bounty; whereas the\ngift itself is neither good nor bad, but may indifferently be applied,\neither to the one or to the other. The benefit is immortal, the gift\nperishable: for the benefit itself continues when we have no longer\neither the use or the matter of it. He that is dead was alive; he that\nhas lost his eyes, did see; and, whatsoever is done, cannot be rendered\nundone. My friend (for instance) is taken by pirates; I redeem him; and\nafter that he falls into other pirates\u2019 hands; his obligation to me is\nthe same still as if he had preserved his freedom. And so, if I save\na man from any misfortune, and he falls into another; if I give him a\nsum of money, which is afterwards taken away by thieves; it comes to\nthe same case. Fortune may deprive us of the matter of a benefit, but\nthe benefit itself remains inviolable. If the benefit resided in the\nmatter, that which is good for one man would be so for another; whereas\nmany times the very same thing, given to several persons, work contrary\neffects, even to the difference of life or death; and that which is one\nbody\u2019s cure proves another body\u2019s poison. Beside that, the timing of\nit alters the value; and a crust of bread, upon a pinch, is a greater\npresent than an imperial crown. What is more familiar than in a battle\nto shoot at an enemy and kill a friend? or, instead of a friend, to\nsave an enemy? But yet this disappointment, in the event, does not at\nall operate upon the intention. What if a man cures me of a wen with\na stroke that was designed to cut off my head? or, with a malicious\nblow upon my stomach, breaks an imposthume? or, what if he saves my\nlife with a draught that was prepared to poison me? The providence\nof the issue does not at all discharge the obliquity of the intent.\nAnd the same reason holds good even in religion itself. It is not the\nincense, or the offering, that is acceptable to God, but the purity and\ndevotion of the worshipper: neither is the bare will, without action,\nsufficient, that is, where we have the means of acting; for, in that\ncase, it signifies as little to _wish_ well, without _well-doing_, as\nto _do_ good without _willing_ it. There must be effect as well as\nintention, to make me owe a benefit; but, to will against it, does\nwholly discharge it. In fine, the conscience alone is the judge, both\nof benefits and injuries.\n\nIt does not follow now, because the benefit rests in the good-will,\nthat therefore the good-will should be always a benefit; for if it be\nnot accompanied with government and discretion, those offices, which we\ncall _benefits_, are but the works of passion, or of chance; and many\ntimes, the greatest of all injuries. One man does me good by mistake;\nanother ignorantly; a third upon force: but none of these cases do I\ntake to be an obligation; for they were neither directed to me, nor\nwas there any kindness of intention; we do not thank the seas for the\nadvantages we receive by navigation; or the rivers with supplying us\nwith fish and flowing of our grounds; we do not thank the trees either\nfor their fruits or shades, or the winds for a fair gale; and what is\nthe difference betwixt a reasonable creature that does not know and\nan inanimate that cannot? A good _horse_ saves one man\u2019s life; a good\nsuit of _arms_ another\u2019s; and a _man_, perhaps, that never intended it,\nsaves a third. Where is the difference now betwixt the obligation of\none and of the other? A man falls into a river, and the fright cures\nhim of the ague; we may call this a kind of lucky mischance, but not\na remedy. And so it is with the good we receive, either without, or\nbeside, or contrary to intention. It is the mind, and not the event,\nthat distinguishes a benefit from an injury.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHERE MUST BE JUDGMENT IN A BENEFIT, AS WELL AS MATTER AND INTENTION;\nAND ESPECIALLY IN THE CHOICE OF THE PERSON.\n\n\nAs it is the _will_ that designs the benefit, and the _matter_ that\nconveys it, so it is the _judgment_ that perfects it; which depends\nupon so many critical niceties, that the least error, either in the\nperson, the matter, the manner, the quality, the quantity, the time, or\nthe place, spoils all.\n\nThe consideration of the _person_ is a main point: for we are to give\nby choice, and not by hazard. My inclination bids me oblige one man; I\nam bound in duty and justice to serve another; here it is a charity,\nthere it is pity; and elsewhere, perhaps, encouragement. There are some\nthat want, to whom I would not give; because, if I did, they would want\nstill. To one man I would barely offer a benefit; but I would press it\nupon another. To say the truth, we do not employ any more profit than\nthat which we bestow; and it is not to our friends, our acquaintances\nor countrymen, nor to this or that condition of men, that we are to\nrestrain our bounties; but wheresoever there is a man, there is a place\nand occasion for a benefit. We give to some that are good already; to\nothers, in hope to make them so: but we must do all with discretion;\nfor we are as well answerable for what we give as for what we receive;\nnay, the misplacing of a benefit is worse than the not receiving of it;\nfor the one is another man\u2019s fault; but the other is mine. The error\nof the giver does oft-times excuse the ingratitude of the receiver:\nfor a favor ill-placed is rather a profusion than a benefit. It is the\nmost shameful of losses, an inconsiderate bounty. I will choose a man\nof integrity, sincere, considerate, grateful, temperate, well-natured,\nneither covetous nor sordid: and when I have obliged such a man, though\nnot worth a groat in the world, I have gained my end. If we give only\nto receive, we lose the fairest objects of our charity: the absent,\nthe sick, the captive, and the needy. When we oblige those that can\nnever pay us again in kind, as a stranger upon his last farewell, or a\nnecessitous person upon his death-bed, we make Providence our debtor,\nand rejoice in the conscience even of a fruitless benefit. So long as\nwe are affected with passions, and distracted with hopes and fears,\nand (the most unmanly of vices) with our pleasures, we are incompetent\njudges where to place our bounties: but when death presents itself,\nand that we come to our last will and testament, we leave our fortunes\nto the most worthy. He that gives nothing, but in hopes of receiving,\nmust die intestate. It is the honesty of another man\u2019s mind that moves\nthe kindness of mine; and I would sooner oblige a grateful man than\nan ungrateful: but this shall not hinder me from doing good also to a\nperson that is known to be ungrateful: only with this difference, that\nI will serve the one in all extremities with my life and fortune, and\nthe other no farther than stands with my convenience. But what shall\nI do, you will say, to know whether a man will be grateful or not? I\nwill follow probability, and hope the best. He that sows is not sure\nto reap; nor the seaman to reach his port; nor the soldier to win\nthe field: he that weds is not sure his wife shall be honest, or his\nchildren dutiful: but shall we therefore neither sow, sail, bear arms,\nnor marry? Nay, if I knew a man to be incurably thankless, I would yet\nbe so kind as to put him in his way, or let him light a candle at mine,\nor draw water at my well; which may stand him perhaps in great stead,\nand yet not be reckoned as a benefit from me; for I do it carelessly,\nand not for his sake, but my own; as an office of humanity, without any\nchoice or kindness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE MATTER OF OBLIGATIONS, WITH ITS CIRCUMSTANCES.\n\n\nNext to the choice of the _person_ follows that of the _matter_;\nwherein a regard must be had to time, place, proportion, quality;\nand to the very nicks of opportunity and humor. One man values his\npeace above his honor, another his honor above his safety; and not\na few there are that (provided they may save their bodies) never\ncare what becomes of their souls. So that good offices depend much\nupon construction. Some take themselves to be obliged, when they are\nnot; others will not believe it, when they are; and some again take\nobligations and injuries, the one for the other.\n\nFor our better direction, let it be noted, \u201cThat a benefit is a common\ntie betwixt the giver and receiver, with respect to both:\u201d wherefore\nit must be accommodated to the rules of discretion; for all things\nhave their bounds and measures, and so must liberality among the rest;\nthat it be neither too much for the one nor too little for the other;\nthe excess being every jot as bad as the defect. Alexander bestowed a\ncity upon one of his favorites; who modestly excusing himself, \u201cThat\nit was too much for him to receive.\u201d \u201cWell, but,\u201d says Alexander, \u201cit\nis not too much for me to give.\u201d A haughty certainly, and an imprudent\nspeech; for that which was not fit for the one to take could not be\nfit for the other to give. It passes in the world for greatness of mind\nto be perpetually giving and loading of people with bounties; but it is\none thing to know how to _give_, and another thing not to know how to\n_keep_. Give me a heart that is easy and open, but I will have no holes\nin it; let it be bountiful with judgment, but I will have nothing run\nout of it I know not how. How much greater was he that refused the city\nthan the other that offered it? Some men throw away their money as if\nthey were angry with it, which is the error commonly of weak minds and\nlarge fortunes. No man esteems of anything that comes to him by chance;\nbut when it is governed by reason, it brings credit both to the giver\nand receiver; whereas those favors are, in some sort, scandalous, that\nmake a man ashamed of his patron.\n\nIt is a matter of great prudence, for the benefactor to suit the\nbenefit to the condition of the receiver: who must be either his\nsuperior, his inferior, or his equal; and that which would be the\nhighest obligation imaginable to the one, would perhaps be as great a\nmockery and affront to the other; as a plate of broken meat (for the\npurpose) to a rich man were an indignity, which to a poor man is a\ncharity. The benefits of princes and of great men, are honors, offices,\nmonies, profitable commissions, countenance, and protection: the poor\nman has nothing to present but good-will, good advice, faith, industry,\nthe service and hazard of his person, an early apple, peradventure, or\nsome other cheap curiosity: equals indeed may correspond in kind; but\nwhatsoever the present be, or to whomsoever we offer it, this general\nrule must be observed, that we always design the good and satisfaction\nof the receiver, and never grant anything to his detriment. It is not\nfor a man to say, I was overcome by importunity; for when the fever is\noff, we detest the man that was prevailed upon to our destruction. I\nwill no more undo a man with his will, than forbear saving him against\nit. It is a benefit in some cases to grant, and in others to deny; so\nthat we are rather to consider the advantage than the desire of the\npetitioner. For we may in a passion earnestly beg for (and take it ill\nto be denied too) that very thing, which, upon second thoughts, we may\ncome to curse, as the occasion of a most pernicious bounty. Never give\nanything that shall turn to mischief, infamy, or shame. I will consider\nanother man\u2019s want or safety; but so as not to forget my own; unless\nin the case of a very excellent person, and then I shall not much\nheed what becomes of myself. There is no giving of water to a man in\na fever; or putting a sword into a madman\u2019s hand. He that lends a man\nmoney to carry him to a bawdy-house, or a weapon for his revenge, makes\nhimself a partaker of his crime.\n\nHe that would make an acceptable present, will pitch upon something\nthat is desired, sought for, and hard to be found; that which he sees\nnowhere else, and which few have; or at least not in that place or\nseason; something that may be always in his eye, and mind him of his\nbenefactor. If it be lasting and durable, so much the better; as plate,\nrather than money; statues than apparel; for it will serve as a monitor\nto mind the receiver of the obligation, which the presenter cannot so\nhandsomely do. However, let it not be improper, as arms to a woman,\nbooks to a clown, toys to a philosopher: I will not give to any man\nthat which he cannot receive, as if I threw a ball to a man without\nhands; but I will make a _return_, though he cannot receive it; for my\nbusiness is not to oblige him, but to free myself: nor anything that\nmay reproach a man of his vice or infirmity; as false dice to a cheat;\nspectacles to a man that is blind. Let it not be unseasonable neither;\nas a furred gown in summer, an umbrella in winter. It enhances the\nvalue of the present, if it was never given to him by anybody else, nor\nby me to any other; for that which we give to everybody is welcome to\nnobody.\n\nThe particularity does much, but yet the same thing may receive\na different estimate from several persons; for there are ways of\nmarking and recommending it in such a manner, that if the same _good\noffice_ be done to twenty people, every one of them shall reckon\nhimself peculiarly obliged as a cunning whore, if she has a thousand\nsweethearts, will persuade every one of them she loves him best. But\nthis is rather the artifice of conversation than the virtue of it.\n\nThe citizens of Megara send ambassadors to Alexander in the height of\nhis glory, to offer him, as a compliment, the freedom of their city.\nUpon Alexander\u2019s smiling at the proposal, they told him, that it was\na present which they had never made but to Hercules and himself.\nWhereupon Alexander treated them kindly, and accepted of it; not for\nthe presenters\u2019 sake, but because they had joined him with Hercules;\nnow unreasonably soever; for Hercules conquered nothing for himself,\nbut made his business to vindicate and to protect the miserable,\nwithout any private interest or design; but this intemperate young\nman (whose virtue was nothing else but a successful temerity) was\ntrained up from his youth in the trade of violence; the common enemy\nof mankind, as well of his friends as of his foes, and one that valued\nhimself upon being terrible to all mortals: never considering, that the\ndullest creatures are as dangerous and as dreadful, as the fiercest;\nfor the poison of a toad, or the tooth of a snake, will do a man\u2019s\nbusiness, as sure as the paw of a tiger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE MANNER OF OBLIGING.\n\n\nThere is not any benefit so glorious in itself, but it may yet be\nexceedingly sweetened and improved by the _manner_ of conferring it.\nThe virtue, I know, rests in the _intent,_ the profit in the judicious\napplication of the _matter_; but the beauty and ornament of an\nobligation lies in the _manner_ of it; and it is then perfect when the\ndignity of the office is accompanied with all the charms and delicacies\nof humanity, good-nature, and address; and with dispatch too; for he\nthat puts a man off from time to time, was never right at heart.\n\nIn the first place, whatsoever we give, let us do it _frankly_: a\nkind benefactor makes a man happy as _soon_ as he can, and as _much_\nas he can. There should be no _delay_ in a benefit but the modesty\nof the receiver. If we cannot forsee the request, let us, however,\nimmediately grant it, and by no means suffer the repeating of it. It\nis so grievous a thing to say, _I BEG_; the very word puts a man out\nof countenance; and it is a double kindness to do the thing, and save\nan honest man the confusion of a blush. It comes too late that comes\nfor the asking: for nothing costs us so dear as that we purchase with\nour prayers: it is all we give, even for heaven itself; and even there\ntoo, where our petitions are at the fairest, we choose rather to\npresent them in secret ejaculations than by word of mouth. That is the\nlasting and the acceptable benefit that meets the receiver half-way.\nThe rule is, we are to _give_, as we would _receive_, _cheerfully_,\n_quickly_, and without _hesitation_; for there is no grace in a benefit\nthat sticks to the fingers. Nay, if there should be occasion for delay,\nlet us, however, not seem to deliberate; for _demurring_ is next door\nto _denying_; and so long as we suspend, so long are we unwilling. It\nis a court-humor to keep people upon the tenters; their injuries are\nquick and sudden, but their benefits are slow. Great ministers love\nto rack men with attendance, and account it an ostentation of their\npower to hold their suitors in hand, and to have many witnesses of\ntheir interest. A benefit should be made acceptable by all possible\nmeans, even to the end that the receiver, who is never to forget it,\nmay bear it in his mind with satisfaction. There must be no mixture of\nsourness, severity, contumely, or reproof, with our obligations; nay,\nin case there should be any occasion for so much as an admonition, let\nit be referred to another time. We are a great deal apter to remember\ninjuries than benefits; and it is enough to forgive an obligation that\nhas the nature of an offence.\n\nThere are some that spoil a good office after it is done and others,\nin the very instant of doing it. There be so much entreaty and\nimportunity; nay, if we do but suspect a petitioner, we put on a sour\nface; look another way; pretend haste, company, business; talk of other\nmatters, and keep him off with artificial delays, let his necessities\nbe never so pressing; and when we are put to it at last, it comes so\nhard from us that it is rather extorted than obtained; and not so\nproperly the giving of a bounty, as the quitting of a man\u2019s hold upon\nthe tug, when another is too strong for him; so that this is but doing\none kindness for me, and another for himself: he gives for his own\nquiet, after he has tormented me with difficulties and delays. The\n_manner_ of _saying_ or of _doing_ any thing, goes a great way in the\nvalue of the thing itself. It was well said of him that called a good\noffice, that was done harshly, and with an ill will, a _stony piece\nof bread_; it is necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but\nit almost chokes a man in the going down. There must be no pride,\narrogance of looks, or tumor of words, in the bestowing of benefits; no\ninsolence of behavior, but a modesty of mind, and a diligent care to\ncatch at occasions and prevent necessities. A pause, an unkind tone,\nword, look, or action, destroys the grace of a courtesy. It corrupts a\nbounty, when it is accompanied with state, haughtiness, and elation of\nmind, in the giving of it. Some have a trick of shifting off a suitor\nwith a point of wit, or a cavil. As in the case of the Cynic that\nbegged a talent of Antigonus: \u201cThat is too much,\u201d says he, \u201cfor a Cynic\nto ask;\u201d and when he fell to a penny, \u201cThat is too little,\u201d says he,\n\u201cfor a prince to give.\u201d He might have found a way to have compounded\nthis controversy, by giving him a _penny_ as to a _Cynic_ and a\n_talent_ as from a _prince_. Whatsoever we bestow, let it be done with\na frank and cheerful countenance: a man must not give with his hand,\nand deny with his looks. He that gives quickly, gives willingly.\n\nWe are likewise to accompany _good deeds_ with _good words,_ and say,\n(for the purpose,) \u201cWhy should you make such a matter of this? why\ndid not you come to me sooner? why would you make use of any body\nelse? I take it ill that you should bring me a recommendation; pray\nlet there be no more of this, but when you have occasion hereafter,\ncome to me upon your own account.\u201d That is the glorious bounty, when\nthe receiver can say to himself; \u201cWhat a blessed day has this been\nto me! never was any thing done so generously, so tenderly, with so\ngood a grace. What is it I would not do to serve this man? A thousand\ntimes as much another way could not have given me this satisfaction.\u201d\nIn such a case, let the benefit be never so considerable, the manner\nof conferring it is yet the noblest part. Where there is harshness of\nlanguage, countenance, or behavior, a man had better be without it. A\nflat denial is infinitely before a vexatious delay: as a quick death is\na mercy, compared with a lingering torment. But to be put to waitings\nand intercessions, after a promise is passed, is a cruelty intolerable.\nIt is troublesome to stay long for a benefit, let it be never so great;\nand he that holds me needlessly in pain, loses two precious things,\ntime, and the proof of friendship. Nay, the very hint of a man\u2019s want\ncomes many times too late. \u201cIf I had money,\u201d said Socrates, \u201cI would\nbuy me a cloak.\u201d They that knew he wanted one should have prevented\nthe very intimation of that want. It is not the value of the present,\nbut the benevolence of the mind, that we are to consider. \u201cHe gave me\nbut a little, but it was generously and frankly done; it was a little\nout of a little: he gave it me without asking; he pressed it upon me;\nhe watched the opportunity of doing it, and took it as an obligation\nupon himself.\u201d On the other side, many benefits are great in show, but\nlittle or nothing perhaps in effect, when they come hard, slow, or at\nunawares. That which is given with pride and ostentation, is rather an\nambition than a bounty.\n\nSome favors are to be conferred in _public_, others in _private_.\nIn _public_ the rewards of great actions; as honors, charges, or\nwhatsoever else gives a man reputation in the world; but the good\noffices we do for a man in want, distress, or under reproach, these\nshould be known only to those that have the benefit of them. Nay, not\nto them neither, if we can handsomely conceal it from whence the favor\ncame; for the secrecy, in many cases, is a main part of the benefit.\nThere was a good man that had a friend, who was both poor and sick,\nand ashamed to own his condition: he privately conveyed a bag of money\nunder his pillow, that he might seem rather to find than receive it.\nProvided I know that I give it, no matter for his knowing from whence\nit comes that receives it. Many a man stands in need of help that has\nnot the face to confess it: if the discovery may give offence, let it\nlie concealed; he that gives to be seen would never relieve a man in\nthe dark. It would be too tedious to run through all the niceties that\nmay occur upon this subject; but, in two words, he must be a wise, a\nfriendly, and a well-bred man, that perfectly acquits himself in the\nart and duty of obliging: for all his actions must be squared according\nto the measures of _civility_, _good-nature_ and _discretion._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE DIFFERENCE AND VALUE OF BENEFITS.\n\n\nWe have already spoken of _benefits_ in _general_; the _matter_ and\nthe _intention_, together with the _manner_ of conferring them. It\nfollows now, in course, to say something of the _value_ of them; which\nis rated, either by the good they do us, or by the inconvenience they\nsave us, and has no other standard than that of a judicious regard\nto circumstance and occasion. Suppose I save a man from drowning,\nthe advantage of life is all one to him, from what hand soever it\ncomes, or by what means; but yet there may be a vast difference in the\nobligation. I may do it with hazard, or with security, with trouble, or\nwith ease; willingly, or by compulsion; upon intercession, or without\nit: I may have a prospect of vain-glory or profit: I may do it in\nkindness to another, or an hundred _by-ends_ to myself; and every point\ndoes exceedingly vary the case. Two persons may part with the same sum\nof money, and yet not the same benefit: the one had it of his _own_,\nand it was but a _little_ out of a _great deal_; the other _borrowed_\nit, and bestowed upon me that which he wanted for himself. Two boys\nwere sent out to fetch a certain person to their master: the one of\nthem hunts up and down, and comes home again weary, without finding\nhim; the other falls to play with his companions at the wheel of\nFortune, sees him by chance passing by, delivers him his errand, and\nbrings him. He that found him by chance deserves to be punished; and he\nthat sought for him, and missed him, to be rewarded for his good-will.\n\nIn some cases we value the _thing_, in others the _labor_ and\n_attendance_. What can be more precious than good manners, good\nletters, life, and health? and yet we pay our physicians and tutors\nonly for their service in the professions. If we buy things cheap, it\nmatters not, so long as it is a bargain: it is no obligation from the\nseller, if nobody else will give him more for it. What would not a\nman give to be set ashore in a tempest? for a house in a wilderness?\na shelter in a storm? a fire, or a bit of meat, when a man is pinched\nwith hunger or cold? a defence against thieves, and a thousand other\nmatters of moment, that cost but little? And yet we know that the\nskipper has but his freight for our passage; and the carpenters and\nbricklayers do their work by the day. Those are many times the greatest\nobligations in truth, which in vulgar opinions are the smallest: as\ncomfort to the sick, poor captives; good counsel, keeping of people\nfrom wickedness, etc. Wherefore we should reckon ourselves to owe most\nfor the noblest benefits. If the physician adds care and friendship\nto the duty of his calling, and the tutor to the common method of his\nbusiness, I am to esteem them as the nearest of my relations: for to\nwatch with me, to be troubled for me, and to put off all other patients\nfor my sake, is a particular kindness: and so it is in my tutor, if\nhe takes more pains with me than with the rest of my fellows. It is\nnot enough, in this case, to pay the one his fees, and the other his\nsalary; but I am indebted to them over and above for their friendship.\nThe meanest of mechanics, if he does his work with industry and care,\nit is an usual thing to cast in something by way of reward more than\nthe bare agreement: and shall we deal worse with the preservers of our\nlives, and the reformers of our manners? He that gives me himself (if\nhe be worth taking) gives the greatest benefit: and this is the present\nwhich \u00c6schines, a poor disciple of Socrates, made to his master, and as\na matter of great consideration: \u201cOthers may have given you much,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cbut I am the only man that has left nothing to himself.\u201d \u201cThis\ngift,\u201d says Socrates, \u201cyou shall never repent of; for I will take care\nto return it better than I found it.\u201d So that a brave mind can never\nwant matter for liberality in the meanest condition; for Nature has\nbeen so kind to us, that where we have nothing of Fortune\u2019s, we may\nbestow something of our own.\n\nIt falls out often, that a benefit is followed with an injury; let\nwhich will be foremost, it is with the latter as with one writing\nupon another; it does in a great measure hide the former, and keep it\nfrom appearing, but it does not quite take it away. We may in some\ncases divide them, and both requite the one, and revenge the other;\nor otherwise compare them, to know whether I am creditor or debtor.\nYou have obliged me in my servant, but wounded me in my brother; you\nhave saved my son, but have destroyed my father; in this instance, I\nwill allow as much as piety, and justice, and good nature, will bear;\nbut I am not willing to set an injury against a benefit. I would\nhave some respect to the time; the obligation came first; and then,\nperhaps, the one was designed, the other against his will; under these\nconsiderations I would amplify the benefit, and lessen the injury; and\nextinguish the one with the other; nay, I would pardon the injury even\n_without_ the benefit, but much more _after_ it. Not that a man can be\nbound by one benefit to suffer all sorts of injuries; for there are\nsome cases wherein we lie under no obligation for a benefit; because\na greater injury absolves it: as, for example, a man helps me out of\na law-suit, and afterwards commits a rape upon my daughter; where the\nfollowing impiety cancels the antecedent obligation. A man lends me a\nlittle money, and then sets my house on fire; the debtor is here turned\ncreditor, when the injury outweighs the benefit. Nay, if a man does\nbut so much as repent the good office done, and grow sour and insolent\nupon it, and upbraid me with it; if he did it only for his own sake, or\nfor any other reason than for mine, I am in some degree, more or less,\nacquitted of the obligation. I am not at all beholden to him that makes\nme the instrument of his own advantage. He that does me good for his\nown sake, I will do him good for mine.\n\nSuppose a man makes suit for a place, and cannot obtain it, but upon\nthe ransom of ten slaves out of the galleys. If there be ten, and\n_no more_, they owe him nothing for their redemption; but _they_ are\nindebted to him for the choice, where he might have taken ten others\nas well as these. Put the case again, that by an act of grace so many\nprisoners are to be released, their names to be drawn by lot, and mine\nhappens to come out among the rest: one part of my obligation is to him\nthat put me in a capacity of freedom, and the other is to Providence\nfor my being one of that number. The greatest benefits of all have no\nwitnesses, but lie concealed in the conscience.\n\nThere is a great difference betwixt a common obligation and a\nparticular; he that lends my country money, obliges me only as a part\nof the whole. Plato crossed the river, and the ferry-man would take no\nmoney of him: he reflected upon it as honor done to himself; and told\nhim, \u201cThat Plato was in debt.\u201d But Plato, when he found it to be no\nmore than he did for others, recalled his words, \u201cFor,\u201d says he, \u201cPlato\nwill owe nothing in particular for a benefit in common; what I owe with\nothers, I will pay with others.\u201d\n\nSome will have it that the necessity of wishing a man well is some\nabatement to the obligation in the doing of him a good office. But I\nsay, on the contrary, that it is the greater; because the good-will\ncannot be changed. It is one thing to say, that a man could not but\ndo me this or that civility, because he was forced to do it; and\nanother thing, that he could not quit the good-will of doing it. In\nthe former case, I am a debtor to him that imposeth the force, in\nthe other to himself. The unchangeable good-will is an indispensable\nobligation: and, to say, that nature cannot go out of her course, does\nnot discharge us of _what we owe to Providence_. Shall he be said to\nwill, that may change his mind the next moment? and shall we question\nthe will of the Almighty, whose nature admits no change? Must the\nstars quit their stations, and fall foul one upon another? must the\nsun stand still in the middle of his course, and heaven and earth drop\ninto confusion? must a devouring fire seize upon the universe; the\nharmony of the creation be dissolved; and the whole frame of nature\nswallowed up in a dark abyss; and will nothing less than this serve to\nconvince the world of their audacious and impertinent follies? It is\nnot to say, that _these heavenly bodies are not made for us_; for in\npart they are so; and we are the better for their virtues and motions,\nwhether we will or not; though, undoubtedly, the principal cause is\nthe unalterable law of God. Providence is not moved by anything from\nwithout; but the Divine will is an everlasting law, an immutable\ndecree; and the impossibility of variation proceeds from God\u2019s purpose\nof preserving; for he never repents of his first counsels. It is not\nwith our heavenly as with our earthly father. God thought of us and\nprovided for us, before he made us: (for unto him all future events\nare present.) Man was not the work of chance; his mind carries him\nabove the slight of fortune, and naturally aspires to the contemplation\nof heaven and divine mysteries. How desperate a frenzy is it now to\nundervalue, nay, to contemn and to disclaim these divine blessings,\nwithout which we are utterly incapable of enjoying any other!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nAN HONEST MAN CANNOT BE OUTDONE IN COURTESY.\n\n\nIt passes in the world for a generous and magnificent saying, that \u201cit\nis a shame for a man to be outdone in courtesy;\u201d and it is worth the\nwhile to examine, both the truth of it, and the mistake. First, there\ncan be no shame in a virtuous emulation; and, secondly, there can be\nno victory without crossing the cudgels, and yielding the cause. One\nman may have the advantage of strength, of means, of fortune; and this\nwill undoubtedly operate upon the events of good purposes, but yet\nwithout any diminution to the virtue. The good will may be the same in\nboth, and yet one may have the heels of the other; for it is not in a\ngood office as in a course, where he wins the plate that comes first to\nthe post: and even there also, chance has many times a great hand in\nthe success. Where the contest is about benefits; and that the one has\nnot only a _good will_, but _matter_ to work upon, and a power to put\nthat good intent in execution; and the other has barely a _good-will_,\nwithout either the _means_, or the _occasion_, of a requital; if he\ndoes but affectionately wish it, and endeavor it, the latter is no more\novercome in courtesy than he is in courage that dies with his sword in\nhis hand, and his face to the enemy, and without shrinking maintains\nhis station: for where _fortune_ is _par__tial_, it is enough that\nthe _good-will_ is _equal_. There are two errors in this proposition:\nfirst, to imply that a good man may be overcome; and then to imagine\nthat anything shameful can befall him. The Spartans prohibited all\nthose exercises where the victory was declared by the confession of\nthe contendant. The 300 Fabii were never said to be _conquered_, but\n_slain_; nor Regulus to be _overcome_, though he was taken _prisoner_\nby the Carthaginians. The mind may stand firm under the greatest malice\nand iniquity of fortune; and yet the giver and receiver continue upon\nequal terms: as we reckon it a drawn battle, when two combatants are\nparted, though the one has lost more blood than the other. He that\nknows how to owe a courtesy, and heartily wishes that he could requite\nit, is invincible; so that every man may be as grateful as he pleases.\nIt is your happiness to give, it is my fortune that I can only receive.\nWhat advantage now has your chance over my virtue? But there are some\nmen that have philosophized themselves almost out of the sense of human\naffections; as Diogenes, that walked naked and unconcerned through\nthe middle of Alexander\u2019s treasures, and was, as well in other men\u2019s\nopinions as in his own, even above Alexander himself, who at that\ntime had the whole world at his feet: for there was more that the one\nscorned to take than that the other had it in his power to give: and it\nis a greater generosity for a beggar to refuse money than for a prince\nto bestow it. This is a remarkable instance of an immovable mind, and\nthere is hardly any contending with it; but a man is never the less\nvaliant for being worsted by an invulnerable enemy; nor the fire one\njot the weaker for not consuming an incombustible body; nor a sword\never a whit the worse for not cleaving a rock that is impenetrable;\nneither is a grateful mind overcome for want of an answerable fortune.\nNo matter for the inequality of the things given and received, so long\nas, in point of good affection, the two parties stand upon the same\nlevel. It is no shame not to overtake a man, if we follow him as fast\nas we can. That tumor of a man, the vain-glorious Alexander, was used\nto make his boast, that never any man went beyond him in benefits; and\nyet he lived to see a poor fellow in a tub, to whom there was nothing\nthat he could give, and from whom there was nothing that he could take\naway.\n\nNor is it always necessary for a poor man to fly to the sanctuary of\nan invincible mind to quit scores with the bounties of a plentiful\nfortune; but it does often fall out, that the returns which he cannot\nmake in _kind_ are more than supplied in _dignity_ and _value_.\nArchelaus, a king of Macedon, invited Socrates to his palace: but he\nexcused himself, as unwilling to receive greater benefits than he\nwas able to requite. This perhaps was not _pride_ in Socrates, but\n_craft_; for he was afraid of being forced to accept of something\nwhich might possibly have been unworthy of him; beside, that he was\na man of liberty, and loath to make himself a voluntary slave. The\ntruth of it is, that Archelaus had more need of Socrates than Socrates\nof Archelaus; for he wanted a man to teach him the art of life and\ndeath, and the skill of government, and to read the book of Nature to\nhim, and show him the light at noon-day: he wanted a man that, when\nthe sun was in an eclipse, and he had locked himself up in all the\nhorror and despair imaginable; he wanted a man, I say, to deliver\nhim from his apprehensions, and to expound the prodigy to him, by\ntelling him, that there was no more in it than only that the _moon_\nwas got betwixt the _sun_ and the _earth_, and all would be well again\npresently. Let the world judge now, whether Archelaus\u2019 _bounty_, or\nSocrates\u2019 _philosophy_, would have been the greater present: he does\nnot understand the value of wisdom and friendship that does not know\na wise friend to be the noblest of presents. A rarity scarce to be\nfound, not only in a family, but in an age; and nowhere more wanted\nthan where there seems to be the greatest store. The greater a man is,\nthe more need he has of him; and the more difficulty there is both\nof finding and of knowing him. Nor is it to be said, that \u201cI cannot\nrequite such a benefactor because I am poor, and have it not;\u201d I can\ngive good counsel; a conversation wherein he may take both delight and\nprofit; freedom of discourse, without flattery; kind attention, where\nhe deliberates; and faith inviolable where he trusts; I may bring him\nto a love and knowledge of truth; deliver him from the errors of his\ncredulity, and teach him to distinguish betwixt friends and parasites.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE QUESTION DISCUSSED, WHETHER OR NOT A MAN MAY GIVE OR RETURN A\nBENEFIT TO HIMSELF?\n\n\nThere are many cases, wherein a man speaks of himself as of another.\nAs, for example, \u201cI may thank myself for this; I am angry at myself; I\nhate myself for that.\u201d And this way of speaking has raised a dispute\namong the Stoics, \u201cwhether or not a man may give or return a benefit to\nhimself?\u201d For, say they, if I may hurt myself, I may oblige myself; and\nthat which were a benefit to another body, why is it not so to myself?\nAnd why am I not as criminal in being ungrateful to myself as if I were\nso to another body? And the case is the same in flattery and several\nother vices; as, on the other side, it is a point of great reputation\nfor a man to command himself. Plato thanked Socrates for what he had\n_learned_ of him; and why might not Socrates as well thank Plato for\nthat which he had _taught_ him? \u201cThat which you want,\u201d says Plato,\n\u201cborrow it of yourself.\u201d And why may not I as well give to myself as\nlend? If I may be angry with myself, I may thank myself; and if I chide\nmyself, I may as well commend myself, and do myself good as well as\nhurt; there is the same reason of contraries: it is a common thing to\nsay, \u201cSuch a man hath done himself an injury.\u201d If an injury, why not a\nbenefit? But I say, that no man can be a debtor to himself; for the\nbenefit must naturally precede the acknowledgment; and a debtor can\nno more be without a creditor than a husband without a wife. Somebody\nmust give, that somebody may receive; and it is neither giving nor\nreceiving, the passing of a thing from one hand to the other. What\nif a man should be ungrateful in the case? there is nothing lost;\nfor he that gives it has it: and he that gives and he that receives\nare one and the same person. Now, properly speaking, no man can be\nsaid to bestow any thing upon himself, for he obeys his nature, that\nprompts every man to do himself all the good he can. Shall I call him\nliberal, that gives to himself; or good-natured, that pardons himself;\nor pitiful, that is affected with his own misfortunes? That which\nwere bounty, clemency, compassion, to another, to myself is nature.\nA benefit is a voluntary thing; but to do good to myself is a thing\nnecessary. Was ever any man commended for getting out of a ditch, or\nfor helping himself against thieves? Or what if I should allow, that a\nman might confer a benefit upon himself; yet he cannot owe it, for he\nreturns it in the same instant that he receives it. No man gives, owes,\nor makes a return, but to another. How can one man do that to which two\nparties are requisite in so many respects? Giving and receiving must\ngo backward and forward betwixt two persons. If a man give to himself,\nhe may sell to himself; but to sell is to alienate a thing, and to\ntranslate the right of it to another; now, to make a man both the giver\nand the receiver is to unite two contraries. That is a benefit, which,\nwhen it is given, may possibly not be requited; but he that gives to\nhimself, must necessarily receive what he gives; beside, that all\nbenefits are given for the receiver\u2019s sake, but that which a man does\nfor himself, is for the sake of the giver.\n\nThis is one of those subtleties, which, though hardly worth a man\u2019s\nwhile, yet it is not labor absolutely lost neither. There is more of\ntrick and artifice in it than solidity; and yet there is matter of\ndiversion too; enough perhaps to pass away a winter\u2019s evening, and keep\na man waking that is heavy-headed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nHOW FAR ONE MAN MAY BE OBLIGED FOR A BENEFIT DONE TO ANOTHER.\n\n\nThe question now before us requires _distinction_ and _caution_. For\nthough it be both natural and generous to wish well to my friend\u2019s\nfriend, yet a _second-hand benefit_ does not bind me any further than\nto a _second-hand gratitude_: so that I may receive great satisfaction\nand advantage from a good office done to my friend, and yet lie under\nno obligation myself; or, if any man thinks otherwise, I must ask\nhim, in the first place, Where it begins? and, How it extends? that\nit may not be boundless. Suppose a man obliges the son, does that\nobligation work upon the father? and why not upon the uncle too? the\nbrother? the wife? the sister? the mother? nay, upon all that have any\nkindness for him? and upon all the lovers of his friends? and upon all\nthat love them too? and so _in infinitum_. In this case we must have\nrecourse, as is said heretofore, to the intention of the benefactor,\nand fix the obligation upon him unto whom the kindness was directed.\nIf a man manures my ground, keeps my house from burning or falling,\nit is a benefit to me, for I am the better for it, and my house and\nland are insensible. But if he save the life of my son, the benefit is\nto my son; it is a joy and a comfort to me, but no obligation. I am\nas much concerned as I ought to be in the health, the felicity, and\nthe welfare of my son, as happy in the enjoyment of him; and I should\nbe as unhappy as is possible in his loss; but it does not follow that\nI must of necessity lie under an obligation for being either happier\nor less miserable, by another body\u2019s means. There are some benefits,\nwhich although conferred upon one man, may yet work upon others; as\na sum of money may be given to a poor man for his own sake, which in\nthe consequence proves the relief of his whole family; but still the\nimmediate receiver is the debtor for it; for the question is not, to\nwhom it comes afterward to be transferred, but who is the principal?\nand upon whom it was first bestowed? My son\u2019s life is as dear to me\nas my own; and in saving him you preserve me too: in this case I will\nacknowledge myself obliged to you, that is to say, in my son\u2019s name;\nfor in my own, and in strictness, I am not; but I am content to make\nmyself a voluntary debtor. What if he had borrowed money? my paying\nof it does not at all make it my debt. It would put me to the blush\nperhaps to have him taken in bed with another man\u2019s wife; but that does\nnot make me an adulterer. It is a wonderful delight and satisfaction\nthat I receive in his safety; but still this good is not a benefit. A\nman may be the better for an animal, a plant, a stone; but there must\nbe a will, an intention, to make it an obligation. You save the son\nwithout so much as knowing the father, nay, without so much as thinking\nof him; and, perhaps you would have done the same thing even if you had\nhated him.\n\nBut without any further alteration of dialogue, the conclusion is this;\nif you meant him the kindness, he is answerable for it, and I may enjoy\nthe fruit of it without being obliged by it: but if it was done for\nmy sake, then I am accountable; or howsoever, upon any occasion, I am\nready to do you all the kind offices imaginable; not as the return of\na benefit, but as the earnest of a friendship; which you are not to\nchallenge neither, but to entertain as an act of honor and of justice,\nrather than of gratitude. If a man find the body of my dead father in\na desert, and give it a burial; if he did it as to my father, I am\nbeholden to him: but if the body was unknown to him, and that he would\nhave done the same thing for any other body, I am no farther concerned\nin it than as a piece of public humanity.\n\nThere are, moreover, some cases wherein an unworthy person may be\nobliged and for the sake of others: and the sottish extract of an\nancient nobilty may be preferred before a better man that is but of\nyesterday\u2019s standing. And it is but reasonable to pay a reverence\neven to the memory of eminent virtues. He that is not illustrious in\nhimself, may yet be reputed so in the right of his ancestors: and\nthere is a gratitude to be entailed upon the offspring of famous\nprogenitors. Was it not for the _father\u2019s_ sake that Cicero the _son_\nwas made counsel? and was it not the eminence of one Pompey that raised\nand dignified the rest of his family? How came Caligula to be emperor\nof the world? a man so cruel, that he spilt blood as greedily as if\nhe were to drink it; the empire was not given to himself, but to his\nfather Germanicus. A brave man deserved that for him, which he could\nnever have challenged upon his own merit. What was it that preferred\nFabius Persicus, (whose very mouth was the uncleanest part about him,)\nwhat was it but the 300 of that family that so generously opposed the\nenemy for the safety of the commonwealth?\n\nNay, Providence itself is gracious to the wicked posterity of an\nhonorable race. The counsels of heaven are guided by wisdom, mercy, and\njustice. Some men are made kings of their proper virtues, without any\nrespect to their predecessors: others for their ancestors\u2019 sakes, whose\nvirtues, though neglected in their lives, come to be afterward rewarded\nin their issues. And it is but equity, that our gratitude should extend\nas far as the influence of their heroical actions and examples.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHE BENEFACTOR MUST HAVE NO BY-ENDS.\n\n\nWe come now to the main point of the matter in question: that is to\nsay, whether or not it be a thing desirable in itself, the giving and\nreceiving of benefits? There is a sect of philosophers that accounts\nnothing valuable but what is profitable, and so makes all virtue\nmercenary; an unmanly mistake to imagine, that the hope of gain, or\nfear of loss, should make a man either the more or less honest. As\nwho should say, \u201cWhat will I get by it, and I will be an honest man?\u201d\nWhereas, on the contrary, honesty is a thing in itself to be purchased\nat any rate. It is not for a body to say, \u201cIt will be a charge, a\nhazard, I shall give offence,\u201d etc. My business is to do what I ought\nto do: all other considerations are foreign to the office. Whensoever\nmy duty calls me, it is my part to attend, without scrupulizing upon\nforms or difficulties. Shall I see an honest man oppressed at the bar,\nand not assist him, for fear of a court faction? or not second him upon\nthe highway against thieves, for fear of a broken head? and choose\nrather to sit still, the quiet spectator of fraud and violence? Why\nwill men be just, temperate, generous, brave, but because it carries\nalong with it fame and a good conscience? and for the same reason, and\nno other, (to apply it to the subject in hand,) let a man also be\nbountiful. The school of Epicurus, I am sure, will never swallow this\ndoctrine: (that effeminate tribe of lazy and voluptuous philosophers;)\nthey will tell you, that virtue is but the servant and vassal of\npleasure. \u201cNo,\u201d says Epicurus, \u201cI am not for pleasure neither without\nvirtue.\u201d But, why then for pleasure, say I, _before_ virtue? Not that\nthe stress of the controversy lies upon the _order_ only; for the\n_power_ of it, as well as the _dignity_, is now under debate. It is\nthe office of virtue to superintend, to lead, and to govern; but the\nparts you have assigned it, are to submit, to follow, and to be under\ncommand. But this, you will say, is nothing to the purpose, so long as\nboth sides are agreed, that there can be no happiness without _virtue_:\n\u201cTake away that,\u201d says Epicurus, \u201cand I am as little a friend to\npleasure as you.\u201d The pinch, in short, is this, whether virtue itself\nbe the supreme good or the only cause of it? It is not the inverting of\nthe order that will clear this point; (though it is a very preposterous\nerror, to set that first which should be last.) It does not half\nso much offend me; ranging of pleasure before virtue, as the very\ncomparing of them; and the bringing of the two opposites, and professed\nenemies, into any sort of competition.\n\nThe drift of this discourse is, to support the cause of benefits; and\nto prove, that it is a mean and dishonorable thing to give for any\nother end than for giving\u2019s sake. He that gives for gain, profit, or\nany by-end, destroys the very intent of bounty; for it falls only upon\nthose that do not want, and perverts the charitable inclinations of\nprinces and of great men, who cannot reasonably propound to themselves\nany such end. What does the sun get by travelling about the universe;\nby visiting and comforting all the quarters of the earth? Is the whole\ncreation made and ordered for the good of mankind, and every particular\nman only for the good of himself? There passes not an hour of our\nlives, wherein we do not enjoy the blessings of Providence, without\nmeasure and without intermission. And what design can the Almighty have\nupon us, who is in himself full, safe, and inviolable? If he should\ngive only for his own sake, what would become of poor mortals, that\nhave nothing to return him at best but dutiful acknowledgments? It is\nputting out of a benefit to interest only to bestow where we may place\nit to advantage.\n\nLet us be liberal then, after the example of our great Creator, and\ngive to others with the same consideration that he gives to us.\nEpicurus\u2019s answer will be to this, that God gives no benefits at all,\nbut turns his back upon the world; and without any concern for us,\nleaves Nature to take her course: and whether he does anything himself,\nor nothing, he takes no notice, however, either of the good or of the\nill that is done here below. If there were not an ordering and an\nover-ruling Providence, how comes it (say I, on the other side) that\nthe universality of mankind should ever have so unanimously agreed in\nthe madness of worshipping a power that can neither hear nor help us?\nSome blessings are freely given us; others upon our prayers are granted\nus; and every day brings forth instances of great and of seasonable\nmercies. There never was yet any man so insensible as not to feel, see,\nand understand, a Deity in the ordinary methods of nature, though many\nhave been so obstinately ungrateful as not to confess it; nor is any\nman so wretched as not to be a partaker in that divine bounty. Some\nbenefits, it is true, may appear to be unequally divided; but it is\nno small matter yet that we possess in common: and which Nature has\nbestowed upon us in her very self. If God be not bountiful, whence is\nit that we have all that we pretend to? That which we give, and that\nwhich we deny, that which we lay up, and that which we squander away?\nThose innumerable delights for the entertainment of our eyes, our\nears, and our understandings? nay, that copious matter even for luxury\nitself? For care is taken, not only for our necessities, but also for\nour pleasures, and for the gratifying of all our senses and appetites.\nSo many pleasant groves; fruitful and salutary plants; so many fair\nrivers that serve us, both for recreation, plenty, and commerce:\nvicissitudes of seasons; varieties of food, by nature made ready to our\nhands, and the whole creation itself subjected to mankind for health,\nmedicine and dominion. We can be thankful to a friend for a few acres,\nor a little money: and yet for the freedom and command of the whole\nearth, and for the great benefits of our being, as life, health, and\nreason, we look upon ourselves as under no obligation. If a man bestows\nupon us a house that is delicately beautified with paintings, statues,\ngildings, and marble, we make a mighty business of it, and yet it lies\nat the mercy of a puff of wind, the snuff of a candle, and a hundred\nother accidents, to lay it in the dust. And is it nothing now to sleep\nunder the canopy of heaven, where we have the globe of the earth for\nour place of repose, and the glories of the heavens for our spectacle?\nHow comes it that we should so much value what we have, and yet at\nthe same time be so unthankful for it? Whence is it that we have our\nbreath, the comforts of light and of heat, the very blood that runs in\nour veins? the cattle that feed us, and the fruits of the earth that\nfeed them? Whence have we the growth of our bodies, the succession of\nour ages, and the faculties of our minds? so many veins of metals,\nquarries of marble, etc. The seed of everything is in itself, and it is\nthe blessing of God that raises it out of the dark into act and motion.\nTo say nothing of the charming varieties of music, beautiful objects,\ndelicious provisions for the palate, exquisite perfumes, which are cast\nin, over and above, to the common necessities of our being.\n\nAll this, says Epicurus, we are to ascribe to Nature. And why not to\nGod, I beseech ye? as if they were not both of them one and the same\npower, working in the whole, and in every part of it. Or, if you call\nhim the Almighty Jupiter; the Thunderer; the Creator and Preserver of\nus all: it comes to the same issue; some will express him under the\nnotion of _Fate_; which is only a connexion of causes, and himself the\nuppermost and original, upon which all the rest depend. The Stoics\nrepresent the several _functions_ of the _Almighty Power_ under\nseveral _appellations_. When they speak of him as the father and the\nfountain of all beings, they call him _Bacchus_: and under the name of\n_Hercules_, they denote him to be _indefatigable_ and _invincible_; and\nin the contemplation of him in the _reason_, _order_, _proportion_, and\n_wisdom_ of his proceedings, they call him _Mercury_; so that which way\nsoever they look, and under what name soever they couch their meaning,\nthey never fail of finding him; for he is everywhere, and fills his\nown work. If a man should borrow money of Seneca, and say that he owes\nit to Amn\u00e6us or Lucius, he may change the name but not his creditor;\nfor let him take which of the three names he pleases, he is still a\ndebtor to the same person. As justice, integrity, prudence, frugality,\nfortitude, are all of them goods of one and the same mind, so that\nwhichsoever of them pleases us, we cannot distinctly say that it is\nthis or that, but the mind.\n\nBut, not to carry this digression too far; that which God himself does,\nwe are sure is well done; and we are no less sure, that for whatsoever\nhe gives, he neither wants, expects, nor receives, anything in return;\nso that the end of a benefit ought to be the advantage of the receiver;\nand that must be our scope without any by-regard to ourselves. It is\nobjected to us, the singular caution we prescribe in the choice of the\nperson: for it were a madness, we say, for a husbandman to sow the\nsand: which, if true, say they, you have an eye upon profit, as well\nin giving as in plowing and sowing. And then they say again, that if\nthe conferring of a benefit were desirable in itself, it would have\nno dependence upon the choice of a man; for let us give it when, how,\nor wheresoever we please, it would be still a benefit. This does not\nat all affect our assertion; for the person, the matter, the manner,\nand the time, are circumstances absolutely necessary to the reason of\nthe action: there must be a right judgment in all respects to make it\na benefit. It is my duty to be true to a trust, and yet there may be\na time or a place, wherein I would make little difference betwixt the\nrenouncing of it and the delivering of it up; and the same rule holds\nin benefits; I will neither render the one, nor bestow the other, to\nthe damage of the receiver. A wicked man will run all risks to do\nan injury, and to compass his revenge; and shall not an honest man\nventure as far to do a good office? All benefits must be gratuitous. A\nmerchant sells me the corn that keeps me and my family from starving;\nbut he sold it for his interests, as well as I bought it for mine;\nand so I owe him nothing for it. He that gives for profit, gives to\nhimself; as a physician or a lawyer, gives counsel for a fee, and only\nmakes use of me for his own ends; as a grazier fats his cattle to\nbring them to a better market. This is more properly the driving of a\ntrade than the cultivating of a generous commerce. This for that, is\nrather a truck than a benefit; and he deserves to be cozened that gives\nany thing in hope of a return. And in truth, what end should a man\nhonorably propound? not _profit_; sure that is _vulgar_ and _mechanic_;\nand he that does not contemn it can never be grateful. And then for\n_glory_, it is a mighty matter indeed for a man to boast of doing his\nduty. We are to _give_, if it were only to avoid _not giving_; if any\nthing comes of it, it is clear gain; and, at worst, there is nothing\nlost; beside, that one benefit well placed makes amends for a thousand\nmiscarriages. It is not that I would exclude the benefactor neither for\nbeing himself the better for a good office he does for another. Some\nthere are that do us good only for their own sakes; others for ours;\nand some again for both. He that does it for me in common with himself,\nif he had a prospect upon both in the doing it, I am obliged to him for\nit; and glad with all my heart that he had a share in it. Nay, I were\nungrateful and unjust if I should not rejoice, that what was beneficial\nto me might be so likewise to himself.\n\nTo pass now to the matter of gratitude and ingratitude. There never\nwas any man yet so wicked as not to approve of the one, and detest\nthe other; as the two things in the whole world, the one to be the\nmost abominated, the other the most esteemed. The very story of an\nungrateful action puts us out of all patience, and gives us a loathing\nfor the author of it. \u201cThat inhuman villain,\u201d we cry, \u201cto do so horrid\na thing:\u201d not, \u201cthat inconsiderate fool for omitting so profitable a\nvirtue;\u201d which plainly shows the sense we naturally have, both of the\none and of the other, and that we are led to it by a common impulse of\nreason and of conscience. Epicurus fancies God to be without power,\nand without arms; above fear himself, and as little to be feared. He\nplaces him betwixt the orbs, solitary and idle, out of the reach of\nmortals, and neither hearing our prayers nor minding our concerns;\nand allows him only such a veneration and respect as we pay to our\nparents. If a man should ask him now, why any reverence at all, if we\nhave no obligation to him, or rather, why that greater reverence to his\nfortuitous atoms? his answer would be, that it was for their majesty\nand their admirable nature, and not out of any hope or expectation from\nthem. So that by his proper confession, a thing may be desirable for\nits own worth. But, says he, gratitude is a virtue that has commonly\nprofit annexed to it. And where is the virtue, say I, that has not? but\nstill the virtue is to be valued for itself, and not for the profit\nthat attends it. There is no question, but gratitude for benefits\nreceived is the ready way to procure more; and in requiting one friend\nwe encourage many: but these accessions fall in by the by; and if I\nwere sure that the doing of good offices would be my ruin, I would yet\npursue them. He that visits the sick, in hope of a legacy, let him be\nnever so friendly in all other cases, I look upon him in this to be no\nbetter than a raven, that watches a weak sheep only to peck out the\neyes of it. We never give with so much judgment or care, as when we\nconsider the honesty of the action, without any regard to the profit of\nit; for our understandings are corrupted by fear, hope, and pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nTHERE ARE MANY CASES WHEREIN A MAN MAY BE MINDED OF A BENEFIT, BUT IT\nIS VERY RARELY TO BE CHALLENGED, AND NEVER TO BE UPBRAIDED.\n\n\nIf the world were wise, and as honest as it should be, there would be\nno need of caution or precept how to behave ourselves in our several\nstations and duties; for both the giver and the receiver would do what\nthey ought to do on their own accord: the one would be bountiful, and\nthe other grateful, and the only way of minding a man of one good turn\nwould be the following of it with another. But as the case stands, we\nmust take other measures, and consult the best we can, the common ease\nand relief of mankind.\n\nAs there are several sorts of ungrateful men, so there must be several\nways of dealing with them, either by artifice, counsel, admonition,\nor reproof, according to the humor of the person, and the degree of\nthe offence: provided always, that as well in the reminding a man of\na benefit, as in the bestowing of it, the good of the receiver be\nthe principal thing intended. There is a curable ingratitude, and an\nincurable; there is a slothful, a neglectful, a proud, a dissembling, a\ndisclaiming, a heedless, a forgetful, and a malicious ingratitude; and\nthe application must be suited to the matter we have to work upon. A\ngentle nature may be reclaimed by authority, advice, or reprehension;\na father, a husband, a friend may do good in the case. There are a sort\nof lazy and sluggish people, that live as if they were asleep, and must\nbe lugged and pinched to wake them. These men are betwixt grateful\nand ungrateful; they will neither deny an obligation nor return it,\nand only want quickening. I will do all I can to hinder any man from\nill-doing, but especially a friend; and yet more especially from doing\nill to me. I will rub up his memory with new benefits: if that will not\nserve, I will proceed to good counsel, and from thence to rebuke: if\nall fails, I will look upon him as a desperate debtor, and even let him\nalone in his ingratitude, without making him my enemy: for no necessity\nshall ever make me spend time in wrangling with any man upon that point.\n\nAssiduity of obligation strikes upon the conscience as well as the\nmemory, and pursues an ungrateful man till he becomes grateful: if one\ngood office will not do it, try a second, and then a third. No man can\nbe so thankless, but either shame, occasion, or example, will, at some\ntime or other, prevail upon him. The very beasts themselves, even lions\nand tigers, are gained by good usage: beside, that one obligation does\nnaturally draw on another; and a man would not willingly leave his own\nwork imperfect. \u201cI have helped him thus far, and I will even go through\nwith it now.\u201d So that, over and above the delight and the virtue of\nobliging, one good turn is a shouting-horn to another. This, of all\nhints, is perhaps the most effectual, as well as the most generous.\n\nIn some cases it must be carried more home: as in that of Julius C\u00e6sar,\nwho, as he was hearing a cause, the defendant finding himself pinched;\n\u201cSir,\u201d says he, \u201cdo not you remember a strain you got in your ankle\nwhen you commanded in Spain; and that a soldier lent you his cloak\nfor a cushion, upon the top of a craggy rock, under the shade of a\nlittle tree, in the heat of the day?\u201d \u201cI remember it perfectly well,\u201d\nsays C\u00e6sar, \u201cand that when I was ready to choke with thirst, an honest\nfellow fetched me a draught of water in his helmet.\u201d \u201cBut that man, and\nthat helmet,\u201d says the soldier, \u201cdoes C\u00e6sar think that he could not\nknow them again, if he saw them?\u201d \u201cThe man, perchance, I might,\u201d says\nC\u00e6sar, somewhat offended, \u201cbut not the helmet. But what is the story\nto my business? you are none of the man.\u201d \u201cPardon me, Sir,\u201d says the\nsoldier, \u201cI am that very man; but C\u00e6sar may well forget me: for I have\nbeen trepanned since, and lost an eye at the battle of Munda, where\nthat helmet too had the honor to be cleft with a Spanish blade.\u201d C\u00e6sar\ntook it as it was intended: and it was an honorable and a prudent way\nof refreshing his memory. But this would not have gone down so well\nwith Tiberius: for when an old acquaintance of his began his address\nto him with, \u201cYou remember, C\u00e6sar.\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d says C\u00e6sar, (cutting him\nshort,) \u201cI do not remember what I WAS.\u201d Now, with him, it was better\nto be forgotten than remembered; for an _old friend_ was as bad as an\n_informer_. It is a common thing for men to hate the authors of their\npreferment, as the witnesses of their mean original.\n\nThere are some people well enough disposed to be grateful, but\nthey cannot hit upon it without a prompter; they are a little like\nschool-boys that have treacherous memories; it is but helping them\nhere and there with a word, when they stick, and they will go through\nwith their lesson; they must be taught to be thankful, and it is a\nfair step, if we can but bring them to be willing, and only offer\nat it. Some benefits we have neglected; some we are not willing to\nremember. He is ungrateful that disowns an obligation, and so is he\nthat dissembles it, or to his power does not requite it; but the worst\nof all is he that forgets it. Conscience, or occasion, may revive the\nrest; but here the very memory of it is lost. Those eyes that cannot\nendure the light are weak, but those are stark blind that cannot see\nit. I do not love to hear people say, \u201cAlas! poor man, he has forgotten\nit,\u201d as if that were the excuse of ingratitude, which is the very cause\nof it: for if he were not ungrateful, he would not be forgetful, and\nlay that out of the way which should be always uppermost and in sight.\nHe that thinks as he ought to do, of requiting a benefit, is in no\ndanger of forgetting it. There are, indeed, some benefits so great that\nthey can never slip the memory; but those which are less in value, and\nmore in number, do commonly escape us. We are apt enough to acknowledge\nthat \u201csuch a man has been the making of us;\u201d so long as we are in\npossession of the advantage he has brought us; but new appetites deface\nold kindnesses, and we carry our prospect forward to something more,\nwithout considering what we have obtained already. All that is past\nwe give for lost; so that we are only intent upon the future. When a\nbenefit is once out of sight, or out of use, it is buried.\n\nIt is the freak of many people, they cannot do a good office but they\nare presently boasting of it, drunk or sober: and about it goes into\nall companies what wonderful things they have done for this man, and\nwhat for the other. A foolish and a dangerous vanity, of a doubtful\nfriend to make a certain enemy. For these reproaches and contempts will\nset everybody\u2019s tongue a walking; and people will conclude that these\nthings would never be, if there were not something very extraordinary\nin the bottom of it. When it comes to that once, there is not any\ncalumny but fastens more or less, nor any falsehood so incredible, but\nin some part or other of it, shall pass for a truth. Our great mistake\nis this, we are still inclined to make the most of what we give, and\nthe least of what we receive; whereas we should do the clean contrary.\n\u201cIt might have been more, but he had a great many to oblige. It was as\nmuch as he could well spare; but he will make it up some other time,\u201d\netc. Nay, we should be so far from making publication of our bounties,\nas not to hear them so much as mentioned without sweetening the matter:\nas, \u201cAlas, I owe him a great deal more than that comes to. If it were\nin my power to serve him, I should be very glad of it.\u201d And this, too,\nnot with the figure of a compliment, but with all humanity and truth.\nThere was a man of quality, that in the triumviral proscription, was\nsaved by one of C\u00e6sar\u2019s friends, who would be still twitting him with\nit; who it was that preserved him, and telling him over and over, \u201cyou\nhad gone to pot, friend, but for me.\u201d \u201cPr\u2019ythee,\u201d says the proscribed,\n\u201clet me hear no more of this, or even leave me as you found me: I am\nthankful enough of myself to acknowledge that I owe you my life, but it\nis death to have it rung in my ears perpetually as a reproach; it looks\nas if you had only saved me to carry me about for a spectacle. I would\nfain forget the misfortune that I was once a prisoner, without being\nled in triumph every day of my life.\u201d\n\nOh! the pride and folly of a great fortune, that turns benefits\ninto injuries! that delights in excesses, and disgraces every thing\nit does! Who would receive any thing from it upon these terms? the\nhigher it raises us, the more sordid it makes us. Whatsoever it gives\nit corrupts. What is there in it that should thus puff us up? by\nwhat magic is it that we are so transformed, that we do no longer\nknow ourselves? Is it impossible for greatness to be liberal without\ninsolence? The benefits that we receive from our superiors are then\nwelcome when they come with an open hand, and a clear brow; without\neither contumely or state; and so as to prevent our necessities. The\nbenefit is never the greater for the making of a bustle and a noise\nabout it: but the benefactor is much the less for the ostentation of\nhis good deeds; which makes that odious to us, which would otherwise\nbe delightful. Tiberius had gotten a trick, when any man begged money\nof him, to refer him to the senate, where all the petitioners were to\ndeliver up the names of their creditors. His end perhaps was, to deter\nmen from asking, by exposing the condition of their fortunes to an\nexamination. But it was, however, a benefit turned unto a reprehension,\nand he made a reproach of a bounty.\n\nBut it is not enough yet to forbear the casting of a benefit in a man\u2019s\nteeth; for there are some that will not allow it to be so much as\nchallenged. For an ill man, say they, will not make a return, though it\nbe demanded, and a good man will do it of himself: and then the asking\nof it seems to turn it into a debt. It is a kind of injury to be too\nquick with the former: for to call upon him too soon reproaches him, as\nif he would not have done it otherwise. Nor would I recall a benefit\nfrom any man so as to force it, but only to receive it. If I let him\nquite alone, I make myself guilty of his ingratitude: and undo him for\nwant of plain dealing. A father reclaims a disobedient son, a wife\nreclaims a dissolute husband; and one friend excites the languishing\nkindness of another. How many men are lost for want of being touched to\nthe quick? So long as I am not pressed, I will rather desire a favor,\nthan so much as mention a requital; but if my country, my family, or\nmy liberty, be at stake, my zeal and indignation shall overrule my\nmodesty, and the world shall then understand that I have done all I\ncould, not to stand in need of an ungrateful man. And in conclusion the\nnecessity of receiving a benefit shall overcome the shame of recalling\nit. Nor is it only allowable upon some exigents to put the receiver in\nmind of a good turn, but it is many times for the common advantage of\nboth parties.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nHOW FAR TO OBLIGE OR REQUITE A WICKED MAN.\n\n\nThere are some benefits whereof a wicked man is wholly incapable; of\nwhich hereafter. There are others, which are bestowed upon him, not\nfor his own sake, but for secondary reasons; and of these we have\nspoken in part already. There are, moreover, certain common offices\nof humanity, which are only allowed him as he is a man, and without\nany regard either to vice or virtue. To pass over the first point; the\nsecond must be handled with care and distinction, and not without some\nseeming exceptions to the general rule; as first, here is no _choice_\nor _intention_ in the case, but it is a good office done him for some\n_by-interest_, or by _chance_. Secondly, There is no _judgment_ in\nit neither, for it is to a _wicked man_. But to shorten the matter:\nwithout these circumstances it is not properly a benefit; or at least\nnot to him; for it looks another way. I rescue a friend from thieves,\nand the other escapes for company. I discharge a debt for a friend, and\nthe other comes off too: for they were both in a bond. The third is of\na great latitude, and varies according to the degree of generosity on\nthe one side, and of wickedness on the other. Some benefactors will\nsupererogate, and do more than they are bound to do; and some men are\nso lewd, that it is dangerous to do them any sort of good; no, not so\nmuch as by way of return or requital.\n\nIf the benefactor\u2019s bounty must extend to the bad as well as the\ngood; put the case, that I promise a good office to an ungrateful\nman; we are first to distinguish (as I said before) betwixt a _common\nbenefit_ and a _personal_; betwixt what is given for _merit_ and what\nfor _company_. Secondly, Whether or not we know the person to be\nungrateful, and can reasonably conclude, that this vice is _incurable_.\nThirdly, A consideration must be had of the promise, how far that may\noblige us. The two first points are cleared both in one: we cannot\njustify any particular kindness for one that we conclude to be a\nhopelessly wicked man: so that the force of the promise is in the\nsingle point in question. In the promise of a good office to a wicked\nor ungrateful man, I am to blame if I did it knowingly; and I am to\nblame nevertheless, if I did it otherwise: but I must yet make it good,\n(under due qualifications,) because I promised it; that is to say,\nmatters continuing in the same state, for no man is answerable for\naccidents. I will sup at such a place though it be cold; I will rise\nat such an hour though I be sleepy; but if it prove tempestuous, or\nthat I fall sick of a fever, I will neither do the one nor the other.\nI promise to second a friend in a quarrel, or to plead his cause; and\nwhen I come into the field, or into the court, it proves to be against\nmy father or my brother: I promise to go a journey with him, but there\nis no traveling upon the road for robbing; my child is fallen sick; or\nmy wife is in labor: these circumstances are sufficient to discharge\nme; for a promise against law or duty is void in its own nature.\n\nThe counsels of a wise man are certain, but events are uncertain: and\nyet if I have passed a rash promise, I will in some degree punish the\ntemerity of making it with the damage of keeping it, unless it turn\nvery much to my shame or detriment, and then I will be my own confessor\nin the point, and rather be once guilty of denying, than always of\ngiving. It is not with a benefit as with a debt\u2014it is one thing to\ntrust an ill paymaster, and another thing to oblige an unworthy\nperson\u2014the one is an ill man, and the other only an ill husband.\n\nThere was a valiant fellow in the army, that Philip of Macedon took\nparticular notice of, and he gave him several considerable marks of\nthe kindness he had for him. This soldier put to sea and was cast away\nupon a coast where a charitable neighbor took him up half dead, carried\nhim to the house, and there, at his own charge maintained and provided\nfor him thirty days, until he was perfectly recovered, and, after all,\nfurnished him over and above, with a viaticum at parting. The soldier\ntold him the mighty matters that he would do for him in return, so soon\nas he should have the honor once again to see his master. To court he\ngoes, tells Philip of the wreck, but not a syllable of his preserver,\nand begs the estate of this very man that kept him alive. It was with\nPhilip as it was with many other princes, they give they know not\nwhat, especially in a time of war. He granted the soldier his request,\ncontemplating at the same time, the impossibility of satisfying so many\nravenous appetites as he had to please. When the good man came to be\nturned out of all, he was not so mealy-mouthed as to thank his majesty\nfor not giving away his person too as well as his fortune; but in a\nbold, frank letter to Philip, made a just report of the whole story.\nThe king was so incensed at the abuse, that he immediately commanded\nthe right owner to be restored to his estate, and the unthankful guest\nand soldier to be stigmatized for an example to others.\n\nShould Philip now have kept this promise? First, he owed the soldier\nnothing. Secondly, it would have been injurious and impious; and,\nlastly, a precedent of dangerous consequence to human society; for it\nwould have been little less than an interdiction of fire and water to\nthe miserable, to have inflicted such a penalty upon relieving them; so\nthat there must be always some tacit exception or reserve: _if I can_,\n_if I may_; or, _if matters continue as they were_.\n\nIf it should be my fortune to receive a benefit from one that\nafterwards betrays his country, I should still reckon myself obliged\nto him for such a requital as might stand with my public duty; I\nwould not furnish him with arms, nor with money or credit, or levy\nor pay soldiers; but I should not stick to gratify him at my own\nexpense with such curiosities as might please him one way without\ndoing mischief another. I would not do any thing that might contribute\nto the support or advantage of his party. But what should I do now\nin the case of a benefactor, that should afterwards become not only\nmine and my country\u2019s enemy, but the common enemy of mankind! I would\nhere distinguish betwixt the wickedness of a man and the cruelty of a\nbeast\u2014betwixt a limited or a particular passion and a sanguinary rage\nthat extends to the hazard and destruction of human society. In the\nformer case I would quit scores, that I might have no more to do with\nhim; but if he comes once to delight in blood, and to act outrages\nwith greediness\u2014to study and invent torments, and to take pleasure in\nthem\u2014the law of reasonable nature has discharged me of such a debt.\nBut this is an impiety so rare that it might pass for a portent, and\nbe reckoned among comets and monsters. Let us therefore restrain our\ndiscourse to such men as we detest without horror; such men as we see\nevery day in courts, camps, and upon the seats of justice; to such\nwicked men I will return what I have received, without making any\nadvantage of their unrighteousness.\n\nIt does not divert the Almighty from being still gracious, though we\nproceed daily in the abuse of his bounties. How many there are that\nenjoy the comfort of the light that do not deserve it; that wish they\nhad never been born! and yet Nature goes quietly on with her work, and\nallows them a being, even in despite of their unthankfulness. Such\na knave, we cry, was better used than I: and the same complaint we\nextend to Providence itself. How many wicked men have good crops, when\nbetter than themselves have their fruits blasted! Such a man, we say,\nhas treated me very ill. Why, what should we do, but that very thing\nwhich is done by God himself? that is to say, give to the ignorant,\nand persevere to the wicked. All our ingratitude, we see, does not\nturn Providence from pouring down of benefits, even upon those that\nquestion whence they come. The wisdom of Heaven does all things with\na regard to the good of the universe, and the blessings of nature\nare granted in common, to the worst as well as to the best of men;\nfor they live promiscuously together; and it is God\u2019s will, that the\nwicked shall rather fare the better for the good, than that the good\nshall fare the worse for the wicked. It is true that a wise prince\nwill confer peculiar honors only upon the worthy; but in the dealing\nof a public dole, there is no respect had to the manners of the man;\nbut a thief or traitor shall put in for a share as well as an honest\nman. If a good man and a wicked man sail both in the same bottom, it\nis impossible that the same wind which favors the one should cross the\nother. The common benefits of laws, privileges, communities, letters,\nand medicines, are permitted to the bad as well as to the good; and no\nman ever yet suppressed a sovereign remedy for fear a wicked man might\nbe cured with it. Cities are built for both sorts, and the same remedy\nworks upon both alike. In these cases, we are to set an estimate upon\nthe persons: there is a great difference betwixt the choosing of a man\nand the not excluding him: the law is open to the rebellious as well\nas to the obedient: there are some benefits which, if they were not\nallowed to all, could not be enjoyed by any. The sun was never made for\nme, but for the comfort of the world, and for the providential order\nof the seasons; and yet I am not without my private obligation also.\nTo conclude, he that will oblige the wicked and the ungrateful, must\nresolve to oblige nobody; for in some sort or another we are all of us\nwicked, we are all of us ungrateful, every man of us.\n\nWe have been discoursing all this while how far a wicked man may be\nobliged, and the Stoics tell us at last, that he cannot be obliged\nat all. For they make him incapable of any good, and consequently\nof any benefit. But he has this advantage, that if he cannot be\nobliged, he cannot be ungrateful: for if he cannot receive, he is not\nbound to return. On the other side, a good man and an ungrateful,\nare a contradiction: so that at this rate there is no such thing as\ningratitude in nature. They compare a wicked man\u2019s mind to a vitiated\nstomach; he corrupts whatever he receives, and the best nourishment\nturns to the disease. But taking this for granted, a wicked man may\nyet so far be obliged as to pass for ungrateful, if he does not\nrequite what he receives: for though it be not a perfect benefit, yet\nhe receives something like it. There are goods of the mind, the body,\nand of fortune. Of the first sort, fools and wicked men are wholly\nincapable; to the rest they may be admitted. But why should I call any\nman ungrateful, you will say, for not restoring that which I deny to be\na benefit? I answer, that if the receiver take it for a benefit, and\nfails of a return, it is ingratitude in him: for that which goes for an\nobligation among wicked men, is an obligation upon them: and they may\npay one another in their own coin; the money is current, whether it be\ngold or leather, when it comes once to be authorized. Nay, Cleanthes\ncarries it farther; he that is wanting, says he, to a kind office,\nthough it be no benefit, would have done the same thing if it had been\none; and is as guilty as a thief is, that has set his booty, and is\nalready armed and mounted with a purpose to seize it, though he has\nnot yet drawn blood. Wickedness is formed in the heart; and the matter\nof fact is only the discovery and the execution of it. Now, though a\nwicked man cannot either receive or bestow a benefit, because he wants\nthe will of doing good, and for that he is no longer wicked, when\nvirtue has taken possession of him; yet we commonly call it one, as we\ncall a man illiterate that is not learned, and naked that is not well\nclad; not but that the one can read, and the other is covered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nA GENERAL VIEW OF THE PARTS AND DUTIES OF THE BENEFACTOR.\n\n\nThe three main points in the question of benefits are, first, a\n_judicious choice_ in the _object_; secondly, in the _matter_ of our\nbenevolence; and thirdly, a grateful _felicity_ in the _manner_ of\nexpressing it. But there are also incumbent upon the benefactor other\nconsiderations, which will deserve a place in this discourse.\n\nIt is not enough to do one good turn, and to do it with a good grace\ntoo, unless we follow it with more, and without either upbraiding or\nrepining. It is a common shift, to charge that upon the ingratitude\nof the receiver, which, in truth, is most commonly the levity and\nindiscretion of the giver; for all circumstances must be duly weighed\nto consummate the action. Some there are that we find ungrateful; but\nwhat with our forwardness, change of humor and reproaches, there are\nmore that we make so. And this is the business: we give with design,\nand most to those that are able to give most again. We give to the\ncovetous, and to the ambitious; to those that can never be thankful,\n(for their desires are insatiable,) and to those that _will_ not.\nHe that is a tribune would be pr\u00e6tor; the pr\u00e6tor, a consul; never\nreflecting upon what he _was_, but only looking forward to what he\n_would_ be. People are still computing, _Must I lose this or that\nbenefit_? If it be lost, the fault lies in the ill bestowing of it;\nfor rightly placed, it is as good as consecrated; if we be deceived\nin another, let us not be deceived in ourselves too. A charitable man\nwill mend the matter: and say to himself, _Perhaps he has forgot it,\nperchance he could not, perhaps he will yet requite it_. A patient\ncreditor will, of an ill paymaster, in time make a good one; an\nobstinate goodness overcomes an ill disposition, as a barren soil is\nmade fruitful by care and tillage. But let a man be never so ungrateful\nor inhuman, he shall never destroy the satisfaction of my having done a\ngood office.\n\nBut what if _others_ will be wicked? does it follow that we must be so\ntoo? If _others_ will be ungrateful, must _we_ therefore be inhuman?\nTo give and to lose, is nothing; but to lose and to give still, is the\npart of a great mind. And the others in effect is the greater loss;\nfor the one does but lose his benefit, and the other loses himself.\nThe light shines upon the profane and sacrilegious as well as upon the\nrighteous. How many disappointments do we meet with in our wives and\nchildren, and yet we couple still? He that has lost one battle hazards\nanother. The mariner puts to sea again after a wreck. An illustrious\nmind does not propose the profit of a good office, but the duty. If the\nworld be wicked, we should yet persevere in well-doing, even among evil\nmen. I had rather never receive a kindness than never bestow one: not\nto return a benefit is the _greater_ sin, but not to _confer_ it is the\n_earlier_. We cannot propose to ourselves a more glorious example than\nthat of the Almighty, who neither needs nor expects anything from us;\nand yet he is continually showering down and distributing his mercies\nand his grace among us, not only for our necessities, but also for\nour delights; as fruits and seasons, rain and sunshine, veins of water\nand of metal; and all this to the wicked as well as to the good, and\nwithout any other end than the common benefit of the receivers. With\nwhat face then can we be mercenary one to another, that have received\nall things from Divine Providence _gratis_? It is a common saying, \u201cI\ngave such or such a man so much money: I would I had thrown it into\nthe sea;\u201d and yet the merchant trades again after a piracy, and the\nbanker ventures afresh after a bad security. He that will do no good\noffices after a disappointment, must stand still, and do just nothing\nat all. The plow goes on after a barren year: and while the ashes\nare yet warm, we raise a new house upon the ruins of a former. What\nobligations can be greater than those which children receive from their\nparents? and yet should we give them over in their infancy, it were all\nto no purpose. Benefits, like grain, must be followed from the seed to\nthe harvest. I will not so much as leave any place for ingratitude. I\nwill pursue, and I will encompass the receiver with benefits; so that\nlet him look which way he will, his benefactor shall be still in his\neye, even when he would avoid his own memory: and then I will remit\nto one man because he calls for it; to another, because he does not;\nto a third, because he is wicked; and to a fourth, because he is the\ncontrary. I will cast away a good turn upon a bad man, and I will\nrequite a good one; the one because it is my duty, and the other that I\nmay not be in debt.\n\nI do not love to hear any man complain that he has met with a thankless\nman. If he has met but with one, he has either been very fortunate or\nvery careful. And yet care is not sufficient: for there is no way to\nescape the hazard of losing a benefit but the not bestowing of it, and\nto neglect a duty to myself for fear another should abuse it. It is\n_another\u2019s_ fault if he be ungrateful, but it is _mine_ if I do not\ngive. To find one thankful man, I will oblige a great many that are\nnot so. The business of mankind would be at a stand, if we should do\nnothing for fear of miscarriages in matters of certain event. I will\ntry and believe all things, before I give any man over, and do all that\nis possible that I may not lose a good office and a friend together.\nWhat do I know but _he may misunderstand the obligation? business may\nhave put it out of his head, or taken him off from it: he may have\nslipt his opportunity_. I will say, in excuse of human weakness, that\none man\u2019s memory is not sufficient for all things; it is but a limited\ncapacity, so as to hold only so much, and no more: and when it is once\nfull, it must let out part of what it had to take in anything beside;\nand the last benefit ever sits closest to us. In our youth we forget\nthe obligations of our infancy, and when we are men we forget those\nof our youth. If nothing will prevail, let him keep what he has and\nwelcome; but let him have a care of returning evil for good, and making\nit dangerous for a man to do his duty. I would no more give a benefit\nfor such a man, than I would lend money to a beggarly spendthrift; or\ndeposit any in the hands of a known _knight of the post_. However the\ncase stands, an ungrateful person is never the better for a reproach;\nif he be already hardened in his wickedness, he gives no heed to it;\nand if he be not, it turns a doubtful modesty into an incorrigible\nimpudence: beside that, he watches for all ill words to pick a quarrel\nwith them.\n\nAs the benefactor is not to upbraid a benefit, so neither to delay\nit: the one is tiresome, and the other odious. We must not hold men\nin hand, as physicians and surgeons do their patients, and keep them\nlonger in fear and pain than needs, only to magnify the cure. A\ngenerous man gives easily, and receives as he gives, but never exacts.\nHe rejoices in the return, and judges favorably of it whatever it be,\nand contents himself with bare thanks for a requital. It is a harder\nmatter with some to get the benefit after it is promised than the first\npromise of it, there must be so many friends made in the case. One\nmust be desired to solicit another; and he must be entreated to move\na third; and a fourth must be at last besought to receive it; so that\nthe author, upon the upshot, has the least share in the obligation. It\nis then welcome when it comes free, and without deduction; and no man\neither to intercept or hinder, or to detain it. And let it be of such a\nquality too, that it be not only delightful in the receiving, but after\nit is received; which it will certainly be, if we do but observe this\nrule, never to do any thing for another which we would not honestly\ndesire for ourselves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nHOW THE RECEIVER OUGHT TO BEHAVE HIMSELF.\n\n\nThere are certain rules in common betwixt the giver and the receiver.\nWe must do both cheerfully, that the giver may receive the fruit of\nhis benefit in the very act of bestowing it. It is a just ground of\nsatisfaction to _see_ a friend pleased; but it is much more to _make_\nhim so. The intention of the one is to be suited to the intention\nof the other; and there must be an emulation betwixt them, whether\nshall oblige most. Let the one say, that he has received a benefit,\nand let the other persuade himself that he has not returned it. Let\nthe one say, _I am paid_, and the other, _I am yet in your debt_; let\nthe benefactor acquit the receiver, and the receiver bind himself.\nThe frankness of the discharge heightens the obligation. It is in\n_conversation_ as in a _tennis-court_; benefits are to be tossed like\nballs; the longer the rest, the better are the gamesters. The giver, in\nsome respect, has the odds, because (as in a race) he starts first, and\nthe other must use great diligence to overtake him. The return must be\nlarger than the first obligation to come up to it; and it is a kind of\ningratitude not to render it with interest. In a matter of money, it\nis a common thing to pay a debt out of course, and before it be due;\nbut we account ourselves to owe nothing for a good office; whereas\nthe benefit increases by delay. So insensible are we of the most\nimportant affair of human life! That man were doubtless in a miserable\ncondition, that could neither see, nor hear, nor taste, nor feel, nor\nsmell; but how much more unhappy is he then that, wanting a sense of\nbenefits, loses the greatest comfort in nature in the bliss of giving\nand receiving them? He that takes a benefit as it is meant is in the\nright; for the benefactor has then his end, and his only end, when the\nreceiver is grateful.\n\nThe more glorious part, in appearance, is that of the giver; but the\nreceiver has undoubtedly the harder game to play in many regards.\nThere are some from whom I would not accept of a benefit; that is to\nsay, from those upon whom I would not bestow one. For why should I not\nscorn to receive a benefit where I am ashamed to own it? and I would\nyet be more tender too, where I receive, than where I give; for it is\nno torment to be in debt where a man has no mind to pay; as it is the\ngreatest delight imaginable to be engaged by a friend, whom I should\nyet have a kindness for; if I were never so much disobliged. It is a\npain to an honest and a generous mind to lie under a duty of affection\nagainst inclination. I do not speak here of wise men, that love to\ndo what they ought to do; that have their passions at command; that\nprescribe laws to themselves, and keep them when they have done; but of\nmen in a state of imperfection, that may have a good will perhaps to\nbe honest, and yet be overborne by the contumacy of their affections.\nWe must therefore have a care to whom we become obliged; and I would\nbe much stricter yet in the choice of a creditor for benefits than for\nmoney. In the one case, it is but paying what I had, and the debt is\ndischarged; in the other, I do not only owe more, but when I have paid\nthat, I am still in arrear: and this law is the very foundation of\nfriendship. I will suppose myself a prisoner; and a notorious villain\noffers to lay down a good sum of money for my redemption. _First_,\nShall I make use of this money or not? _Secondly_, If I do, what return\nshall I make him for it? To the first point, I will take it; but only\nas a debt; not as a benefit, that shall ever tie me to a friendship\nwith him; and, secondly, my acknowledgment shall be only correspondent\nto such an obligation. It is a school question, whether or not Brutus,\nthat thought C\u00e6sar not fit to live, (and put himself at the head of a\nconspiracy against him,) could honestly have received his life from\nC\u00e6sar, if he had fallen into C\u00e6sar\u2019s power, without examining what\nreason moved him to that action? How great a man soever he was in\nother cases, without dispute he was extremely out in this, and below\nthe dignity of his profession. For a Stoic to fear the name of a king,\nwhen yet monarchy is the best state of government; or there to hope for\nliberty, where so great rewards are propounded, both for tyrants and\ntheir slaves; for him to imagine ever to bring the laws to their former\nstate, where so many thousand lives had been lost in the contest, not\nso much whether they should serve or not, but who should be their\nmaster: he was strangely mistaken, in the nature and reason of things,\nto fancy, that when Julius was gone, somebody else would not start up\nin his place, when there was yet a Tarquin found, after so many kings\nthat were destroyed, either by sword or thunder: and yet the resolution\nis, that he might have received it, but not as a benefit; for at that\nrate I owe my life to every man that does not take it away.\n\nGr\u00e6cinus Julius (whom Caligula put to death out of a pure malice to his\nvirtue) had a considerable sum of money sent him from Fabius Persicus\n(a man of great and infamous example) as a contribution towards the\nexpense of plays and other public entertainments; but Julius would\nnot receive it; and some of his friends that had an eye more upon the\npresent than the presenter, asked him, with some freedom, what he meant\nby refusing it? \u201cWhy,\u201d says he, \u201cdo you think that I will take money\nwhere I would not take so much as a glass of wine?\u201d After this Rebilus\n(a man of the same stamp) sent him a greater sum upon the same score.\n\u201cYou must excuse me,\u201d says he to the messenger, \u201cfor I would not take\nany thing of Persicus neither.\u201d\n\nTo match this scruple of receiving money with another of keeping it;\nand the sum not above three pence, or a groat at most. There was a\ncertain Pythagorean that contracted with a cobbler for a pair of shoes,\nand some three or four days after, going to pay him his money, the\nshop was shut up; and when he had knocked a great while at the door,\n\u201cFriend,\u201d says a fellow, \u201cyou may hammer your heart out there, for the\nman that you look for is dead. And when our friends are dead, we hear\nno more news of them; but yours, that are to live again, will shift\nwell enough,\u201d (alluding to Pythagora\u2019s transmigration). Upon this the\nphilosopher went away, with his money chinking in his hand, and well\nenough content to save it: at last, his conscience took check at it;\nand, upon reflection, \u201cThough the man be dead,\u201d says he, \u201cto others, he\nis alive to thee; pay him what thou owest him:\u201d and so he went back\npresently, and thrust it into his shop through the chink of the door.\nWhatever we owe, it is our part to find where to pay it, and to do it\nwithout asking too; for whether the creditor be good or bad, the debt\nis still the same.\n\nIf a benefit be forced upon me, as from a tyrant, or a superior, where\nit may be dangerous to refuse, this is rather obeying than receiving,\nwhere the necessity destroys the choice. The way to know what I have a\nmind to do, is to leave me at liberty whether I will do it or not; but\nit is yet a benefit, if a man does me good in spite of my teeth; as it\nis none, if I do any man good against my will. A man may both hate and\nyet receive a benefit at the same time; the money is never the worse,\nbecause a fool that is not read in coins refuses to take it. If the\nthing be good for the receiver, and so intended, no matter how ill it\nis taken. Nay, the receiver may be obliged, and not know it; but there\ncan be no benefit which is unknown to the giver. Neither will I, upon\nany terms, receive a benefit from a worthy person that may do him a\nmischief: it is the part of an enemy to save himself by doing another\nman harm.\n\nBut whatever we do, let us be sure always to keep a grateful mind.\nIt is not enough to say, what requital shall a poor man offer to a\nprince; or a slave to his patron; when it is the glory of gratitude\nthat it depends only upon the good will? Suppose a man defends my\nfame; delivers me from beggary; saves my life; or gives me liberty,\nthat is more than life; how shall I be grateful to that man? I will\nreceive, cherish, and rejoice in the benefit. Take it kindly, and\nit is requited: not that the debt itself is discharged, but it is\nnevertheless a discharge of the conscience. I will yet distinguish\nbetwixt the debtor that becomes insolvent by expenses upon whores and\ndice, and another that is undone by fire or thieves; nor do I take this\ngratitude for a payment, but there is no danger, I presume, of being\narrested for such a debt.\n\nIn the return of benefits let us be ready and cheerful but not\npressing. There is as much greatness of mind in the owing of a good\nturn as in doing of it; and we must no more force a requital out of\nseason than be wanting in it. He that precipitates a return, does\nas good as say, \u201cI am weary of being in this man\u2019s debt:\u201d not but\nthat the hastening of a requital, as a good office, is a commendable\ndisposition, but it is another thing to do it as a discharge; for it\nlooks like casting off a heavy and a troublesome burden. It is for the\nbenefactor to say _when_ he will receive it; no matter for the opinion\nof the world, so long as I gratify my own conscience; for I cannot be\nmistaken in myself, but another may. He that is over solicitous to\nreturn a benefit, thinks the other so likewise to receive it. If he had\nrather we should keep it, why should we refuse, and presume to dispose\nof his treasure, who may call it in, or let it lie out, at his choice?\nIt is as much a fault to receive what I ought not, as not to give what\nI ought; for the giver has the privilege of choosing his own time of\nreceiving.\n\nSome are too proud in the conferring of benefits; others, in the\nreceiving of them; which is, to say the truth, intolerable. The same\nrule serves both sides, as in the case of a father and a son; a husband\nand a wife; one friend or acquaintance and another, where the duties\nare known and common. There are some that will not receive a benefit\nbut in private, nor thank you for it but in your ear, or in a corner;\nthere must be nothing under hand and seal, no brokers, notaries, or\nwitnesses, in the case: that is not so much a scruple of modesty as a\nkind of denying the obligation, and only a less hardened ingratitude.\nSome receive benefits so coldly and indifferently, that a man would\nthink the obligation lay on the other side: as who should say, \u201cWell,\nsince you will needs have it so, I am content to take it.\u201d Some again\nso carelessly, as if they hardly knew of any such thing, whereas we\nshould rather aggravate the matter: \u201cYou cannot imagine how many\nyou have obliged in this act: there never was so great, so kind, so\nseasonable a courtesy.\u201d Furnius never gained so much upon Augustus as\nby a speech, upon the getting of his father\u2019s pardon for siding with\nAntony: \u201cThis grace,\u201d says he, \u201cis the only injury that ever C\u00e6sar did\nme: for it has put me upon a necessity of living and dying ungrateful.\u201d\nIt is safer to affront some people than to oblige them; for the better\na man deserves, the worse they will speak of him: as if the possessing\nof open hatred to their benefactors were an argument that they lie\nunder no obligation. Some people are so sour and ill-natured, that they\ntake it for an affront to have an obligation or a return offered them,\nto the discouragement both of bounty and gratitude together. The not\ndoing, and the not receiving, of benefits, are equally a mistake. He\nthat refuses a new one, seems to be offended at an old one: and yet\nsometimes I would neither return a benefit, no, nor so much as receive\nit, if I might.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nOF GRATITUDE.\n\n\nHe that preaches gratitude, pleads the cause both of God and man; for\nwithout it we can neither be sociable nor religious. There is a strange\ndelight in the very purpose and contemplation of it, as well as in the\naction; when I can say to myself, \u201cI love my benefactor; what is there\nin this world that I would not do to oblige and serve him?\u201d Where I\nhave not the _means_ of a requital, the very _meditation_ of it is\nsufficient. A man is nevertheless an artist for not having his tools\nabout him; or a musician, because he wants his fiddle: nor is he the\nless brave because his hands are bound; or the worse pilot for being\nupon dry ground. If I have only _will_ to be grateful, I _am_ so. Let\nme be upon the wheel, or under the hand of the executioner; let me be\nburnt limb by limb, and my whole body dropping in the flames, a good\nconscience supports me in all extremes; nay, it is comfortable even\nin death itself; for when we come to approach that point, what care\ndo we take to summon and call to mind all our benefactors, and the\ngood offices they have done us, that we leave the world fair, and set\nour minds in order? Without gratitude, we can neither have security,\npeace, nor reputation: and it is not therefore the less desirable,\nbecause it draws many adventitious benefits along with it. Suppose the\nsun, the moon, and the stars, had no other business than only to pass\nover our heads, without any effect upon our minds or bodies; without\nany regard to our health, fruits, or seasons; a man could hardly lift\nup his eyes towards the heavens without wonder and veneration, to\nsee so many millions of radiant lights, and to observe their courses\nand revolutions, even without any respect to the common good of the\nuniverse. But when we come to consider that Providence and Nature are\nstill at work when we sleep, with the admirable force and operation\nof their influences and motions, we cannot then but acknowledge their\nornament to be the least part of their value; and that they are more\nto be esteemed for their virtues than for their splendor. Their main\nend and use is matter of life and necessity, though they may seem to\nus more considerable for their majesty and beauty. And so it is with\ngratitude; we love it rather for secondary ends, than for itself.\n\nNo man can be grateful without contemning those things that put the\ncommon people out of their wits. We must go into banishment; lay\ndown our lives; beggar and expose ourselves to reproaches; nay, it\nis often seen, that loyalty suffers the punishment due to rebellion,\nand that treason receives the rewards of fidelity. As the benefits\nof it are many and great, so are the hazards; which is the case more\nor less of all other virtues: and it were hard, if this, above the\nrest, should be both painful and fruitless: so that though we may go\ncurrently on with it in a smooth way, we must yet prepare and resolve\n(if need be) to force our passage to it, even if the way were covered\nwith thorns and serpents; and _fall back_, _fall edge_, we must be\ngrateful still: grateful for the virtue\u2019s sake, and grateful over and\nabove upon the point of interest; for it preserves old friends, and\ngains new ones. It is not our business to fish for one benefit with\nanother; and by bestowing a little to get more; or to oblige for any\nsort of expedience, but because I ought to do it, and because I love\nit, and that to such a degree, that if I could not be grateful without\nappearing the contrary, if I could not return a benefit without being\nsuspected of doing an injury; in despite of infamy itself, I would\nyet be grateful. No man is greater in my esteem than he that ventures\nthe fame to preserve the conscience of an honest man; the one is but\nimaginary, the other solid and inestimable. I cannot call him grateful,\nwho in the instant of returning one benefit has his eye upon another.\nHe that is grateful for profit or fear, is like a woman that is honest\nonly upon the score of reputation.\n\nAs gratitude is a necessary and a glorious, so it is also an obvious, a\ncheap, and an easy virtue; so obvious, that wheresoever there is a life\nthere is a place for it\u2014so cheap that the covetous man may be grateful\nwithout expense\u2014and so easy that the sluggard may be so, likewise,\nwithout labor. And yet it is not without its niceties too; for there\nmay be a time, a place or occasion wherein I ought not to return a\nbenefit; nay, wherein I may better disown it than deliver it.\n\nLet it be understood, by the way, that it is one thing to be grateful\nfor a good office, and another thing to return it\u2014the good will is\nenough in one case, being as much as the one side demands and the other\npromises; but the effect is requisite in the other. The physician that\nhas done his best is acquitted though the patient dies, and so is the\nadvocate, though the client may lose his cause. The general of an\narmy, though the battle be lost, is yet worthy of commendation, if he\nhas discharged all the parts of a prudent commander; in this case, the\none acquits himself, though the other be never the better for it. He\nis a grateful man that is always willing and ready: and he that seeks\nfor all means and occasions of requiting a benefit, though without\nattaining his end, does a great deal more than the man that, without\nany trouble, makes an immediate return. Suppose my friend a prisoner,\nand that I have sold my estate for his ransom; I put to sea in foul\nweather, and upon a coast that is pestered with pirates; my friend\nhappens to be redeemed before I come to the place; my gratitude is as\nmuch to be esteemed as if he had been a prisoner; and if I had been\ntaken and robbed myself, it would still have been the same case. Nay,\nthere is a gratitude in the very countenance; for an honest man bears\nhis conscience in his face, and propounds the requital of a good turn\nin the very moment of receiving it; he is cheerful and confident; and,\nin the possession of a true friendship, delivered from all anxiety.\nThere is this difference betwixt a thankful man and an unthankful, the\none is _always_ pleased in the good he has _done_, and the other only\n_once_ in what he has _received_. There must be a benignity in the\nestimation even of the smallest offices; and such a modesty as appears\nto be obliged in whatsoever it gives. As it is indeed a very great\nbenefit, the opportunity of doing a good office to a worthy man. He\nthat attends to the present, and remembers what is past, shall never be\nungrateful. But who shall judge in the case? for a man may be grateful\nwithout making a return, and ungrateful with it. Our best way is to\nhelp every thing by a fair interpretation; and wheresoever there is\na doubt, to allow it the most favorable construction; for he that is\nexceptious at words, or looks, has a mind to pick a quarrel. For my\nown part, when I come to cast up my account, and know what I owe, and\nto whom, though I make my return sooner to some, and later to others,\nas occasion or fortune will give me leave, yet I will be just to all:\nI will be grateful to God, to man, to those that have obliged me: nay,\neven to those that have obliged my friends. I am bound in honor and in\nconscience to be thankful for what I have received; and if it be not\nyet full, it is some pleasure still that I may hope for more. For the\nrequital of a favor there must be virtue, occasion, means, and fortune.\n\nIt is a common thing to screw up justice to the pitch of an injury. A\nman may be _over-righteous_; and why not _over-grateful_ too? There is\na mischievous excess, that borders so close upon ingratitude, that it\nis no easy matter to distinguish the one from the other: but, in regard\nthat there is good-will in the bottom of it, (however distempered, for\nit is effectually but kindness out of the wits,) we shall discourse it\nunder the title of _Gratitude mistaken_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nGRATITUDE MISTAKEN.\n\n\nTo refuse a good office, not so much because we do not need it, as\nbecause we would not be indebted for it, is a kind of fantastical\ningratitude, and somewhat akin to that nicety of humor, on the other\nside, of being over-grateful; only it lies another way, and seems to be\nthe more pardonable ingratitude of the two. Some people take it for a\ngreat instance of their good-will to be wishing their benefactors such\nor such a mischief; only, forsooth, that they themselves may be the\nhappy instruments of their release.\n\nThese men do like extravagant lovers, that take it for a great proof of\ntheir affection to wish one another banished, beggared, or diseased,\nthat they might have the opportunity of interposing to their relief.\nWhat difference is there betwixt such wishing and cursing? such an\naffection and a mortal hatred? The intent is good, you will say, but\nthis is a misapplication of it. Let such a one fall into my power, or\ninto the hands of his enemies, his creditors, or the common people, and\nno mortal be able to rescue him but myself: let his life, his liberty,\nand his reputation, lie all at stake, and no creature but myself in\ncondition to succor him; and why all this, but because he has obliged\nme, and I would requite him? If this be gratitude to propound jails,\nshackles, slavery, war, beggary, to the man that you would requite,\nwhat would you do where you are ungrateful? This way of proceeding,\nover and above that it is impious in itself, is likewise over-hasty and\nunseasonable: for he that goes too fast is as much to blame as he that\ndoes not move at all, (to say nothing of the injustice,) for if I had\nnever been obliged, I should never have wished it.\n\nThere are seasons wherein a benefit is neither to be received nor\nrequited. To press a return upon me when I do not desire it, is\nunmannerly; but it is worse to force me to desire it. How rigorous\nwould he be to exact a requital; who is thus eager to return it! To\nwish a man in distress that I may relieve him, is first to wish him\nmiserable: to wish that he may stand in need of anybody, is _against\nhim_; and to wish that he may stand in need of me, is _for myself_:\nso that my business is not so much a charity to my friend as the\ncancelling of a bond; nay, it is half-way the wish of an enemy. It is\nbarbarous to wish a man in chains, slavery, or want, only to bring\nhim out again: let me rather wish him powerful and happy, and myself\nindebted to him! By nature we are prone to mercy, humanity compassion;\nmay we be excited to be more so by the number of the grateful! may\ntheir number increase, and may we have no need of trying them!\n\nIt is not for an honest man to make way to a good office by a crime: as\nif a pilot should pray for a tempest, that he might prove his skill:\nor a general wish his army routed, that he may show himself a great\ncommander in recovering the day. It is throwing a man into a river to\ntake him out again. It is an obligation, I confess, to cure a wound or\na disease; but to _make_ that wound or disease on purpose to _cure_ it,\nis a most perverse ingratitude. It is barbarous even to an enemy, much\nmore to a friend; for it is not so much to do him a kindness, as to put\nhim in need of it. Of the two, let me rather be a scar than a wound;\nand yet it would be better to have it neither. Rome had been little\nbeholden to Scipio if he had prolonged the Punic war that he might\nhave the finishing of it at last, or to the Decii for dying for their\ncountry, if they had first brought it to the last extremity of needing\ntheir devotion. It may be a good contemplation, but it is a lewd wish.\n\u00c6neas had never been surnamed _the Pious_, if he had wished the ruin\nof his country, only that he might have the honor of taking his father\nout of the fire. It is the scandal of a physician to make work, and\nirritate a disease, and to torment his patient, for the reputation of\nhis cure. If a man should openly imprecate poverty, captivity, fear,\nor danger, upon a person that he has been obliged to, would not the\nwhole world condemn him for it? And what is the difference, but the one\nis only a private wish, and the other a public declaration? Rutilius\nwas told in his exile, that, for his comfort, there would be ere-long\na civil war, that would bring all the banished men home again. \u201cGod\nforbid,\u201d says he, \u201cfor I had rather my country should blush for my\nbanishment than mourn for my return.\u201d How much more honorable it is to\nowe cheerfully, than to pay dishonestly? It is the wish of an enemy\nto take a town that he may preserve it, and to be victorious that he\nmay forgive; but the mercy comes after the cruelty; beside that it is\nan injury both to God and man; for the man must be first afflicted by\n_Heaven_ to be relieved by _me_. So that we impose the cruelty upon\nGod, and take the compassion to ourselves; and at the best, it is but\na curse that makes way for a blessing; the bare wish is an injury; and\nif it does not take effect, it is because Heaven has not heard our\nprayers; or if they should succeed, the fear itself is a torment; and\nit is much more desirable to have a firm and unshaken security. It is\nfriendly to wish it in your power to oblige me, if ever I chance to\nneed it; but it is unkind to wish me miserable that I may need it. How\nmuch more pious is it, and humane, to wish that I may never want the\noccasion of obliging, nor the means of doing it; nor ever have reason\nto repent of what I have done?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nOF INGRATITUDE.\n\n\nIngratitude is of all the crimes, that which we are to account the\nmost venial in others, and the most unpardonable in ourselves. It\nis impious to the highest degree; for it makes us fight against our\nchildren and our altars. There are, there ever were, and there ever\nwill be criminals of all sorts, as murderers, tyrants, thieves,\nadulterers, traitors, robbers and sacrilegious persons; but there\nis hardly any notorious crime without a mixture of ingratitude. It\ndisunites mankind, and breaks the very pillars of society; and yet so\nfar is this prodigious wickedness from being any wonder to us, that\neven thankfulness itself were much the greater of the two; for men\nare deterred from it by labor, expense, laziness, business; or else\ndiverted from it by lust, envy, ambition, pride, levity, rashness,\nfear; nay, by the very shame of confessing what they have received. And\nthe unthankful man has nothing to say for himself all this while, for\nthere needs neither pains or fortune for the discharge of his duty,\nbeside the inward anxiety and torment when a man\u2019s conscience makes him\nafraid of his own thoughts.\n\nTo speak against the ungrateful is to rail against mankind, for even\nthose that complain are guilty: nor do I speak only of those that\ndo not live up to the strict rule of virtue; but mankind itself is\ndegenerated and lost. We live unthankfully in this world, and we go\nstruggling and murmuring out of it, dissatisfied with our lot, whereas\nwe should be grateful for the blessings we have enjoyed, and account\nthat sufficient which Providence has provided for us; a little more\ntime may make our lives longer but not happier, and whensoever it is\nthe pleasure of God to call us, we must obey; and yet all this while\nwe go on quarreling at the world for what we find in ourselves, and\nwe are yet more unthankful to Heaven than we are to one another. What\nbenefit can be great now to that man that despises the bounties of his\nMaker? We would be as strong as elephants, as swift as bucks, as light\nas birds\u2014and we complain that we have not the sagacity of dogs, the\nsight of eagles, the long life of ravens\u2014nay, that we are not immortal,\nand endued with the knowledge of things to come: nay, we take it ill\nthat we are not gods upon earth, never considering the advantages\nof our condition, or the benignity of Providence in the comforts\nthat we enjoy. We subdue the strongest of creatures and overtake the\nfleetest\u2014we reclaim the fiercest and outwit the craftiest. We are\nwithin one degree of heaven itself, and yet we are not satisfied.\n\nSince there is not any one creature which we had rather be, we take it\nill that we cannot draw the united excellencies of all other creatures\ninto ourselves. Why are we not rather thankful to that goodness which\nhas subjected the whole creation to our use and service?\n\nThe principal causes of ingratitude are pride and self-conceit,\navarice, envy, etc. It is a familiar exclamation, \u201cIt is true he did\nthis or that for me, but it came so late, and it was so little, I had\neven as good have been without it\u2014if he had not given it to me, he must\nhave given it to somebody else\u2014it was nothing out of his pocket.\u201d Nay,\nwe are so ungrateful, that he that gives us all we have, if he leaves\nany thing to himself, we reckon that he does us an injury.\n\nIt cost Julius C\u00e6sar his life by the disappointment of his insatiable\ncompanions; and yet he reserved nothing of all that he got to himself\nbut the liberty of disposing of it. There is no benefit so large\nbut malignity will still lessen it; none so narrow, which a good\ninterpretation will not enlarge. No man shall ever be grateful that\nviews a benefit on the wrong side, or takes a good office by the wrong\nhandle. The avaricious man is naturally ungrateful, for he never thinks\nhe has enough, but, without considering what he has, only minds what\nhe covets. Some pretend want of power to make a competent return, and\nyou shall find in others a kind of graceless modesty, that makes a man\nashamed of requiting an obligation, because it is a confession that he\nhas received one.\n\nNot to return one good office for another is inhuman; but to return\nevil for good is diabolical. There are too many even of this sort, who,\nthe more they owe, the more they hate. There is nothing more dangerous\nthan to oblige those people; for when they are conscious of not paying\nthe debt, they wish the creditor out of the way. It is a mortal hatred,\nthat which arises from the shame of an abused benefit. When we are on\nthe asking side, what a deal of cringing there is, and profession!\n\u201cWell, I shall never forget this favor, it will be an eternal\nobligation to me.\u201d But within a while the note is changed, and we\nhear no more words of it, until, by little and little, it is all quite\nforgotten. So long as we stand in need of a benefit, there is nothing\ndearer to us; nor anything cheaper, when we have received it. And yet\na man may as well refuse to deliver up a sum of money that is left him\nin trust without a suit, as not to return a good office without asking;\nand when we have no value any farther for the benefit, we do commonly\ncare as little for the author. People follow their interest: one man\nis grateful for his convenience, and another man is ungrateful for the\nsame reason.\n\nSome are ungrateful to their own country, and their country no less\nungrateful to others; so that the complaint of ingratitude reaches\nall men. Doth not the son wish for the death of his father, the\nhusband for that of his wife, etc. But who can look for gratitude\nin an age of so many gaping and craving appetites, where all people\ntake, and none give? In an age of license to all sorts of vanity\nand wickedness, as lust, gluttony, avarice, envy, ambition, sloth,\ninsolence, levity, contumacy, fear, rashness, private discords and\npublic evils, extravagant and groundless wishes, vain confidences,\nsickly affections, shameless impieties, rapine authorized, and the\nviolation of all things, sacred and profane: obligations are pursued\nwith sword and poison; benefits are turned into crimes, and that blood\nmost seditiously spilt for which every honest man should expose his\nown. Those that should be the preservers of their country are the\ndestroyers of it; and it is a matter of dignity to trample upon the\ngovernment: the sword gives the law, and mercenaries take up arms\nagainst their masters. Among these turbulent and unruly motions, what\nhope is there of finding honesty or good faith, which is the quietest\nof all virtues? There is no more lively image of human life than that\nof a conquered city; there is neither mercy, modesty, nor religion;\nand if we forget our lives, we may well forget our benefits. The\nworld abounds with examples of ungrateful persons, and no less with\nthose of ungrateful governments. Was not Catiline ungrateful? whose\nmalice aimed, not only at the mastering of his country, but at the\ntotal destruction of it, by calling in an inveterate and vindictive\nenemy from beyond the Alps, to wreak their long-thirsted-for revenge,\nand to sacrifice the lives of as many noble Romans as might serve\nto answer and appease the ghosts of the slaughtered Gauls? Was not\nMarius ungrateful, that, from a common soldier, being raised up to a\nconsul, not only gave the world for civil bloodshed and massacres, but\nwas himself the sign of the execution; and every man he met in the\nstreets, to whom he did not stretch out his right hand, was murdered?\nAnd was not Sylla ungrateful too? that when he had waded up to the\ngates in human blood, carried the outrage into the city, and there most\nbarbarously cut two entire legions to pieces in a corner, not only\nafter the victory, but most perfidiously after quarter given them?\nGood God! that ever any man should not only escape with impunity, but\nreceive a reward for so horrid a villainy! Was not Pompey ungrateful\ntoo? who, after three consulships, three triumphs, and so many honors,\nusurped before his time, split the commonwealth into three parts,\nand brought it to such a pass, that there was no hope of safety but\nby slavery only; forsooth, to abate the envy of his power, he took\nother partners with him into the government, as if that which was not\nlawful for any one might have been allowable for more; dividing and\ndistributing the provinces, and breaking all into a _triumvirate_,\nreserving still two parts of the three in his own family. And was not\nC\u00e6sar ungrateful also, though to give him his due, he was a man of his\nword; merciful in his victories, and never killed any man but with his\nsword in his hand? Let us therefore forgive one another. Only one word\nmore now for the shame of ungrateful Governments. Was not Camillus\nbanished? Scipio dismissed? and Cicero exiled and plundered? But, what\nis all this to those who are so mad, and to dispute even the goodness\nof Heaven, which gives us all, and expects nothing again, but continues\ngiving to the most unthankful and complaining?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTHERE CAN BE NO LAW AGAINST INGRATITUDE.\n\n\nIngratitude is so dangerous to itself, and so detestable to other\npeople, that nature, one would think, had sufficiently provided against\nit, without need of any other law. For every ungrateful man is his\nown enemy, and it seems superfluous to compel a man to be kind to\nhimself, and to follow in his own inclinations. This, of all wickedness\nimaginable, is certainly the vice which does the most divide and\ndistract human nature. Without the exercise and the commerce of mutual\noffices, we can be neither happy nor safe for it is only society that\nsecures us: take us one by one, and we are a prey even to brutes as\nwell as to one another.\n\nNature has brought us into the world naked and unarmed; we have not\nthe teeth or the paws of lions or bears to make ourselves terrible;\nbut by the two blessings of reason and union, we secure and defend\nourselves against violence and fortune. This it is that makes man the\nmaster of all other creatures, who otherwise were scarce a match for\nthe weakest of them. This it is that comforts us in sickness, in age,\nin misery, in pains, and in the worst of calamities. Take away this\ncombination, and mankind is dissociated, and falls to pieces. It is\ntrue, that there is no law established against this abominable vice;\nbut we cannot say yet that it escapes unpunished, for a public hatred\nis certainly the greatest of all penalties; over and above that we lose\nthe most valuable blessings of life, in the not bestowing and receiving\nof benefits. If ingratitude were to be punished by a law, it would\ndiscredit the obligation; for a benefit to be given, not lent: and if\nwe have no return at all, there is no just cause of complaint: for\ngratitude were no virtue, if there were any danger in being ungrateful.\nThere are halters, I know, hooks and gibbets, provided for homicide\npoison, sacrilege, and rebellion; but ingratitude (here upon earth) is\nonly punished in the schools; all farther pains and inflictions being\nwholly remitted to divine justice. And, if a man may judge of the\nconscience by the countenance the ungrateful man is never without a\ncanker at his heart; his mind an aspect is sad and solicitous; whereas\nthe other is always cheerful and serene.\n\nAs there are no laws extant against ingratitude, so is it utterly\nimpossible to contrive any, that in all circumstances shall reach it.\nIf it were actionable, there would not be courts enough in the whole\nworld to try the causes in. There can be no setting a day for the\nrequiting of benefits as for the payment of money, nor any estimate\nupon the benefits themselves; but the whole matter rests in the\nconscience of both parties: and then there are so many degrees of it,\nthat the same rule will never serve all. Beside that, to proportion\nit as the benefit is greater or less, will be both impracticable and\nwithout reason. One good turn saves my life; another, my freedom, or\nperadventure my very soul. How shall any law now suit a punishment to\nan ingratitude under these differing degrees? It must not be said in\nbenefits as in bonds, _Pay what you owe_. How shall a man pay life,\nhealth, credit, security, in _kind_? There can be no set rule to bound\nthat infinite variety of cases, which are more properly the subject of\nhumanity and religion than of law and public justice. There would be\ndisputes also about the benefit itself, which must totally depend upon\nthe courtesy of the judge; for no law imaginable can set it forth. One\nman _gives_ me an estate; another only _lends_ me a sword, and that\nsword preserves my life. Nay, the very same thing, several ways done,\nchanges the quality of the obligation. A word, a tone, a look, makes a\ngreat alteration in the case. How shall we judge then, and determine\na matter which does not depend upon the fact itself, but upon the\nforce and intention of it? Some things are reputed benefits, not for\ntheir value, but because we desire them: and there are offices of as\nmuch greater value, that we do not reckon upon at all. If ingratitude\nwere liable to a law, we must never give but before witnesses, which\nwould overthrow the dignity of the benefit: and then the punishment\nmust either be equal where the crimes are unequal, or else it must be\nunrighteous, so that blood must answer for blood. He that is ungrateful\nfor my saving his life must forfeit his own. And what can be more\ninhuman than that benefits should conclude in sanguinary events? A\nman saves my life, and I am ungrateful for it. Shall I be punished\nin my purse? that is too little; if it be less than the benefit, it\nis unjust, and it must be capital to be made equal to it. There are,\nmoreover, certain privileges granted to parents, that can never be\nreduced to a common rule. Their injuries may be cognizable, but not\ntheir benefits. The diversity of cases is too large and intricate to\nbe brought within the prospect of a law: so that it is much more\nequitable to punish none than to punish all alike. What if a man\nfollows a good office with an injury; whether or no shall this quit\nscores? or who shall compare them, and weigh the one against the other?\nThere is another thing yet which perhaps we do not dream of: not one\nman upon the face of the earth would escape, and yet every man would\nexpect to be his judge. Once again, we are all of us ungrateful; and\nthe number does not only take away the shame, but gives authority and\nprotection to the wickedness.\n\nIt is thought reasonable by some, that there should be a law against\ningratitude; for, say they, it is common for one city to upbraid\nanother, and to claim that of posterity which was bestowed upon their\nancestors; but this is only clamor without reason. It is objected by\nothers, as a discouragement to good offices, if men shall not be made\nanswerable for them; but I say, on the other side, that no man would\naccept of a benefit upon those terms. He that gives is prompted to it\nby a goodness of mind, and the generosity of the action is lessened\nby the caution: for it is his desire that the receiver should please\nhimself, and owe no more than he thinks fit. But what if this might\noccasion fewer benefits, so long as they would be franker? nor is there\nany hurt in putting a check upon rashness and profusion. In answer to\nthis; men will be careful enough when they oblige without a law: nor is\nit possible for a judge ever to set us right in it; or indeed, anything\nelse, but the faith of the receiver. The honor of a benefit is this way\npreserved, which is otherwise profaned, when it comes to the mercenary,\nand made matter of contention. We are even forward enough of ourselves\nto wrangle, without necessary provocations. It would be well, I think,\nif moneys might pass upon the same conditions with other benefits, and\nthe payment remitted to the conscience, without formalizing upon bills\nand securities: but human wisdom has rather advised with convenience\nthan virtue; and chosen rather to _force_ honesty than _expect_ it. For\nevery paltry sum of money there must be bonds, witnesses, counterparts,\npowers, etc., which is no other than a shameful confession of fraud and\nwickedness, when more credit is given to our seals than to our minds;\nand caution taken lest he that has received the money should deny it.\nWere it not better now to be deceived by some than to suspect all? what\nis the difference, at this rate, betwixt the benefactor and the usurer,\nsave only that in the benefactor\u2019s case there is nobody stands bound?\n\n\n\n\nSENECA OF A HAPPY LIFE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOF A HAPPY LIFE, AND WHEREIN IT CONSISTS.\n\n\nThere is not any thing in this world, perhaps, that is more talked\nof, and less understood, than the business of a _happy life_. It is\nevery man\u2019s wish and design; and yet not one of a thousand that knows\nwherein that happiness consists. We live, however, in a blind and eager\npursuit of it; and the more haste we make in a wrong way, the further\nwe are from our journey\u2019s end. Let us therefore, _first_, consider\n\u201cwhat it is we should be at;\u201d and, _secondly_, \u201cwhich is the readiest\nway to compass it.\u201d If we be right, we shall find every day how much\nwe improve; but if we either follow the cry, or the track, of people\nthat are out of the way, we must expect to be misled, and to continue\nour days in wandering in error. Wherefore, it highly concerns us to\ntake along with us a skilful guide; for it is not in this, as in other\nvoyages, where the highway brings us to our place of repose; or if\na man should happen to be out, where the inhabitants might set him\nright again: but on the contrary, the beaten road is here the most\ndangerous, and the people, instead of helping us, misguide us. Let\nus not therefore follow, like beasts, but rather govern ourselves by\n_reason_, than by _example_. It fares with us in human life as in a\nrouted army; one stumbles first, and then another falls upon him, and\nso they follow, one upon the neck of another, until the whole field\ncomes to be but one heap of miscarriages. And the mischief is, \u201cthat\nthe number of the multitude carries it against truth and justice;\u201d so\nthat we must leave the crowd, if we would be happy: for the question\nof a _happy life_ is not to be decided by vote: nay, so far from it,\nthat plurality of voices is still an argument of the wrong; the common\npeople find it easier to believe than to judge, and content themselves\nwith what is usual, never examining whether it be good or not. By the\n_common people_ is intended _the man of title_ as well as the _clouted\nshoe_: for I do not distinguish them by the eye, but by the mind, which\nis the proper judge of the man. Worldly felicity, I know, makes the\nhead giddy; but if ever a man comes to himself again, he will confess,\nthat \u201cwhatsoever he has done, he wishes undone;\u201d and that \u201cthe things\nhe feared were better than those he prayed for.\u201d\n\nThe true felicity of life is to be free from perturbations, to\nunderstand our duties towards God and man: to enjoy the present without\nany anxious dependence upon the future. Not to amuse ourselves with\neither hopes or fears, but to rest satisfied with what we have, which\nis abundantly sufficient; for he that is so, wants nothing. The great\nblessings of mankind are within us, and within our reach; but we shut\nour eyes, and, like people in the dark, we fall foul upon the very\nthing which we search for without finding it. \u201cTranquillity is a\ncertain equality of mind, which no condition of fortune can either\nexalt or depress.\u201d Nothing can make it less: for it is the state of\nhuman perfection: it raises us as high as we can go; and makes every\nman his own supporter; whereas he that is borne up by any thing else\nmay fall. He that judges aright, and perseveres in it, enjoys a\nperpetual calm: he takes a true prospect of things; he observes an\norder, measure, a decorum in all his actions; he has a benevolence\nin his nature; he squares his life according to reason; and draws to\nhimself love and admiration. Without a certain and an unchangeable\njudgment, all the rest is but fluctuation: but \u201che that always wills\nand nills the same thing, is undoubtedly in the right.\u201d Liberty and\nserenity of mind must necessarily ensue upon the mastering of those\nthings which either allure or affright us; when instead of those flashy\npleasures, (which even at the best are both vain and hurtful together,)\nwe shall find ourselves possessed of joy transporting and everlasting.\nIt must be a _sound mind_ that makes a _happy man_; there must be a\nconstancy in all conditions, a care for the things of this world, but\nwithout trouble; and such an indifferency for the bounties of fortune,\nthat either with them, or without them, we may live contentedly. There\nmust be neither lamentation, nor quarrelling, nor sloth, nor fear;\nfor it makes a discord in a man\u2019s life. \u201cHe that fears, serves.\u201d The\njoy of a wise man stands firm without interruption; in all places,\nat all times, and in all conditions, his thoughts are cheerful and\nquiet. As it never _came in_ to him from _without_, so it will never\nleave him; but it is born within him, and inseparable from him. It\nis a solicitous life that is egged on with the hope of any thing,\nthough never so open and easy, nay, though a man should never suffer\nany sort of disappointment. I do not speak this either as a bar to the\nfair enjoyment of lawful pleasures, or to the gentle flatteries of\nreasonable expectations: but, on the contrary, I would have men to be\nalways in good humor, provided that it arises from their own souls,\nand be cherished in their own breasts. Other delights are trivial;\nthey may smooth the brow, but they do not fill and affect the heart.\n\u201cTrue joy is a serene and sober motion;\u201d and they are miserably out\nthat take _laughing_ for _rejoicing_. The seat of it is within, and\nthere is no cheerfulness like the resolution of a brave mind, that\nhas fortune under his feet. He that can look death in the face, and\nbid it welcome; open his door to poverty, and bridle his appetites;\nthis is the man whom Providence has established in the possession of\ninviolable delights. The pleasures of the vulgar are ungrounded, thin,\nand superficial; but the others are solid and _eternal_. As the _body_\nitself is rather a _necessary thing_, than a _great_; so the comforts\nof it are but temporary and vain; beside that, without extraordinary\nmoderation, their end is only pain and repentance; whereas a peaceful\nconscience, honest thoughts, virtuous actions, and an indifference for\ncasual events, are blessings without end, satiety, or measure. This\nconsummated state of felicity is only a submission to the dictate of\nright nature; \u201cThe foundation of it is wisdom and virtue; the knowledge\nof what we ought to do, and the conformity of the will to that\nknowledge.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nHUMAN HAPPINESS IS FOUNDED UPON WISDOM AND VIRTUE; AND FIRST, OF WISDOM.\n\n\nTaking for granted that _human happiness_ is founded upon _wisdom_ and\n_virtue_ we shall treat of these two points in order as they lie: and,\n_first_, of _wisdom_; not in the latitude of its various operations but\nas it has only a regard to good life, and the happiness of mankind.\n\nWisdom is a right understanding, a faculty of discerning good from\nevil; what is to be chosen, and what rejected; a judgment grounded upon\nthe value of things, and not the common opinion of them; an equality\nof force, and a strength of resolution. It sets a watch over our\nwords and deeds, it takes us up with the contemplation of the works\nof nature, and makes us invincible by either good or evil fortune. It\nis large and spacious, and requires a great deal of room to work in;\nit ransacks heaven and earth; it has for its object things past and\nto come, transitory and eternal. It examines all the circumstances\nof time; \u201cwhat it is, when it began, and how long it will continue:\nand so for the mind; whence it came; what it is; when it begins; how\nlong it lasts; whether or not it passes from one form to another, or\nserves only one and wanders when it leaves us; whether it abides in a\nstate of separation, and what the action of it; what use it makes of\nits liberty; whether or not it retains the memory of things past, and\ncomes to the knowledge of itself.\u201d It is the habit of a perfect mind,\nand the perfection of humanity, raised as high as Nature can carry it.\nIt differs from _philosophy_, as avarice and money; the one desires,\nand the other is desired; the one is the effect and the reward of the\nother. To be wise is the use of wisdom, as seeing is the use of eyes,\nand well-speaking the use of eloquence. He that is perfectly wise is\nperfectly happy; nay, the very beginning of wisdom makes life easy to\nus. Neither is it enough to know this, unless we print it in our minds\nby daily meditation, and so bring a _good-will_ to a good habit. And\nwe must practice what we preach: for _philosophy_ is not a subject for\npopular ostentation; nor does it rest in words, but in things. It is\nnot an entertainment taken up for delight, or to give a taste to our\nleisure; but it fashions the mind, governs our actions, tells us what\nwe are to do, and what not. It sits at the helm, and guides us through\nall hazards; nay, we cannot be safe without it, for every hour gives\nus occasion to make use of it. It informs us in all duties of life,\npiety to our parents, faith to our friends, charity to the miserable,\njudgment in counsel; it gives us _peace_ by _fearing_ nothing, and\n_riches_ by _coveting nothing_.\n\nThere is no condition of life that excludes a wise man from discharging\nhis duty. If his fortune be good, he _tempers_ it; if bad, he _masters_\nit; if he has an estate, he will exercise his virtue in plenty; if\nnone, in poverty: if he cannot do it in his country, he will do it in\nbanishment; if he has no command, he will do the office of a common\nsoldier. Some people have the skill of reclaiming the fiercest of\nbeasts; they will make a lion embrace his keeper, a tiger kiss him,\nand an elephant kneel to him. This is the case of a wise man in the\nextremest difficulties; let them be never so terrible in themselves,\nwhen they come to him once, they are perfectly tame. They that ascribe\nthe invention of tillage, architecture, navigation, etc., to wise\nmen, may perchance be in the right, that they were invented by wise\nmen, as _wise men_; for wisdom does not teach our fingers, but our\nminds: fiddling and dancing, arms and fortifications, were the works\nof luxury and discord; but wisdom instructs us in the way of nature,\nand in the arts of unity and concord, not in the instruments, but in\nthe government of life; not to make us live only, but to live happily.\nShe teaches us what things are good, what evil, and what only appear\nso; and to distinguish betwixt true greatness and tumor. She clears\nour minds of dross and vanity; she raises up our thoughts to heaven,\nand carries them down to hell: she discourses of the nature of the\nsoul, the powers and faculties of it; the first principles of things;\nthe order of Providence: she exalts us from things corporeal to things\nincorporeal, and retrieves the truth of all: she searches nature, gives\nlaws to life; and tells us, \u201cThat it is not enough to God, unless we\nobey him:\u201d she looks upon all accidents as acts of Providence: sets a\ntrue value upon things; delivers us from false opinions, and condemns\nall pleasures that are attended with repentance. She allows nothing\nto be good that will not be so forever; no man to be happy but that\nneeds no other happiness than what he has within himself. This is the\nfelicity of human life; a felicity that can neither be corrupted nor\nextinguished: it inquires into the nature of the heavens, the influence\nof the stars; how far they operate upon our minds and bodies: which\nthoughts, though they do not form our manners, they do yet raise and\ndispose us for glorious things.\n\nIt is agreed upon all hands that \u201cright reason is the perfection of\nhuman nature,\u201d and wisdom only the dictate of it. The greatness that\narises from it is solid and unmovable, the resolutions of wisdom being\nfree, absolute and constant; whereas folly is never long pleased with\nthe same thing, but still shifting of counsels and sick of itself.\nThere can be no happiness without constancy and prudence, for a wise\nman is to write without a blot, and what he likes once he approves for\never. He admits of nothing that is either evil or slippery, but marches\nwithout staggering or stumbling, and is never surprised; he lives\nalways true and steady to himself, and whatsoever befalls him, this\ngreat artificer of both fortunes turns to advantage; he that demurs\nand hesitates is not yet composed; but wheresoever virtue interposes\nupon the main, there must be concord and consent in the parts; for\nall virtues are in agreement, as well as all vices are at variance. A\nwise man, in what condition soever he is will be still happy, for he\nsubjects all things to himself, because he submits himself to reason,\nand governs his actions by council, not by passion.\n\nHe is not moved with the utmost violence of fortune, nor with the\nextremities of fire and sword; whereas a fool is afraid of his own\nshadow, and surprised at ill accidents, as if they were all levelled at\nhim. He does nothing unwillingly, for whatever he finds necessary, he\nmakes it his choice. He propounds to himself the certain scope and end\nof human life: he follows that which conduces to it, and avoids that\nwhich hinders it. He is content with his lot whatever it be, without\nwishing what he has not, though, of the two, he had rather abound than\nwant. The great business of his life like that of nature, is performed\nwithout tumult or noise. He neither fears danger or provokes it, but\nit is his caution, not any want of courage\u2014for captivity, wounds and\nchains, he only looks upon as false and lymphatic terrors. He does not\npretend to go through with whatever he undertakes, but to do that well\nwhich he does. Arts are but the servants\u2014wisdom commands\u2014and where the\nmatter fails it is none of the workman\u2019s fault. He is cautelous in\ndoubtful cases, in prosperity temperate, and resolute in adversity,\nstill making the best of every condition and improving all occasions to\nmake them serviceable to his fate. Some accidents there are, which I\nconfess may affect him, but not overthrow him, as bodily pains, loss of\nchildren and friends, the ruin and desolation of a man\u2019s country. One\nmust be made of stone or iron, not to be sensible of these calamities;\nand, beside, it were no virtue to _bear_ them, if a body did not _feel_\nthem.\n\nThere are _three degrees of proficients_ in the school of wisdom.\nThe _first_ are those that come within sight of it, but not up to\nit\u2014they have learned what they ought to do, but they have not put\ntheir knowledge in practice\u2014they are past the hazard of a relapse, but\nthey have still the grudges of a disease, though they are out of the\ndanger of it. By a disease I do understand an obstinacy in evil, or an\nill habit, that makes us over eager upon things which are either not\nmuch to be desired, or not at all. A _second_ sort are those that have\nsubjected their appetites for a season, but are yet in fear of falling\nback. A _third_ sort are those that are clear of many vices but not of\nall. They are not covetous, but perhaps they are choleric\u2014nor lustful,\nbut perchance ambitious; they are firm enough in some cases but weak\nenough in others: there are many that despise death and yet shrink at\npain. There are diversities in wise men, but no inequalities\u2014one is\nmore affable, another more ready, a third a better speaker; but the\nfelicity of them all is equal. It is in this as in heavenly bodies,\nthere is a _certain state_ in greatness.\n\nIn civil and domestic affairs, a wise man may stand in need of\ncounsel, as of a physician, an advocate, a solicitor; but in greater\nmatters, the blessing of wise men rests in the joy they take in the\ncommunication of their virtues. If there were nothing else in it, a\nman would apply himself to wisdom, because it settles him in a perfect\ntranquillity of mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHERE CAN BE NO HAPPINESS WITHOUT VIRTUE.\n\n\nVirtue is that perfect good which is the complement of a _happy life_;\nthe only immortal thing that belongs to mortality\u2014it is the knowledge\nboth of others and itself\u2014it is an invincible greatness of mind, not\nto be elevated or dejected with good or ill fortune. It is sociable\nand gentle, free, steady, and fearless, content within itself, full of\ninexhaustible delights, and it is valued for itself. One may be a good\nphysician, a good governor, a good grammarian, without being a good\nman, so that all things from without are only accessories, for the seat\nof it is a pure and holy mind. It consists in a congruity of actions\nwhich we can never expect so long as we are distracted by our passions:\nnot but that a man may be allowed to change color and countenance, and\nsuffer such impressions as are properly a kind of natural force upon\nthe body, and not under the dominion of the mind; but all this while\nI will have his judgment firm, and he shall act steadily and boldly,\nwithout wavering betwixt the motions of his body and those of his mind.\n\nIt is not a thing indifferent, I know, whether a man lies at ease upon\na bed, or in torment upon a wheel\u2014and yet the former may be the worse\nof the two if he suffer the latter with honor, and enjoy the other\nwith infamy. It is not the _matter_, but the _virtue_, that makes the\naction _good or ill_; and he that is led in triumph may be yet greater\nthan his conqueror.\n\nWhen we come once to value our flesh above our honesty we are lost:\nand yet I would not press upon dangers, no, not so much as upon\ninconveniences, unless where the man and the brute come in competition;\nand in such a case, rather than make a forfeiture of my credit, my\nreason, or my faith, I would run all extremities.\n\nThey are great blessings to have tender parents, dutiful children, and\nto live under a just and well-ordered government. Now, would it not\ntrouble even a virtuous man to see his children butchered before his\neyes, his father made a slave, and his country overrun by a barbarous\nenemy? There is a great difference betwixt the simple loss of a\nblessing and the succeeding of a great mischief in the place of it,\nover and above. The loss of health is followed with sickness, and the\nloss of sight with blindness; but this does not hold in the loss of\nfriends and children, where there is rather something to the contrary\nto supply that loss: that is to say, _virtue_, which fills the mind,\nand takes away the desire of what we have not. What matters it whether\nthe water be stopped or not, so long as the fountain is safe? Is a man\never the wiser for a multitude of friends, or the more foolish for the\nloss of them? so neither is he the happier, nor the more miserable.\nShort life, grief and pain are accessions that have no effect at all\nupon virtue. It consists in the action and not in the things we do\u2014in\nthe choice itself, and not in the subject-matter of it. It is not a\ndespicable body or condition, nor poverty, infamy or scandal, that\ncan obscure the glories of virtue; but a man may see her through all\noppositions: and he that looks diligently into the state of a wicked\nman will see the canker at his heart, through all the false and\ndazzling splendors of greatness and fortune. We shall then discover\nour _childishness_, in setting our hearts upon things trivial and\ncontemptible, and in the selling of our very country and parents for\na _rattle_. And what is the difference (in effect) betwixt _old men_\nand _children_, but that the _one_ deals in _paintings_ and _statues_,\nand the _other_ in _babies_, so that we ourselves are only the more\nexpensive fools.\n\nIf one could but see the mind of a good man, as it is illustrated with\nvirtue; the beauty and the majesty of it, which is a dignity not so\nmuch as to be thought of without love and veneration\u2014would not a man\nbless himself at the sight of such an object as at the encounter of\nsome supernatural power\u2014a power so miraculous that it is a kind of\ncharm upon the souls of those that are truly affected with it. There\nis so wonderful a grace and authority in it that even the worst of men\napprove it, and set up for the reputation of being accounted virtuous\nthemselves. They covet the fruit indeed, and the profit of wickedness;\nbut they hate and are ashamed of the imputation of it. It is by an\nimpression of Nature that all men have a reverence for virtue\u2014they\nknow it and they have a respect for it though they do not practice\nit\u2014nay, for the countenance of their very _wickedness_, they miscall it\n_virtue_. Their injuries they call _benefits_, and expect a man should\nthank them for doing him a mischief\u2014they cover their most notorious\niniquities with a pretext of justice.\n\nHe that robs upon the highway had rather find his booty than force\nit; ask any of them that live upon rapine, fraud, oppression, if they\nhad not rather enjoy a fortune honestly gotten, and their consciences\nwill not suffer them to deny it. Men are vicious only for the proof of\nvillainy; for at the same time that they commit it they condemn it;\nnay, so powerful is virtue, and so gracious is Providence, that every\nman has a light set up within him for a guide, which we do, all of\nus, both see and acknowledge, though we do not pursue it. This it is\nthat makes the prisoner upon the torture happier than the executioner,\nand sickness better than health, if we bear it without yielding or\nrepining\u2014this it is that overcomes ill-fortune and moderates good\u2014for\nit marches betwixt the one and the other, with an equal contempt for\nboth. It turns (like fire) all things into itself, our actions and our\nfriendships are tinctured with it, and whatever it touches becomes\namiable.\n\nThat which is frail and mortal rises and falls, grows, wastes, and\nvaries from itself; but the state of things divine is always the same;\nand so is virtue, let the matter be what it will. It is never the worse\nfor the difficulty of the action, nor the better for the easiness of\nit. It is the same in a rich man as in a poor; in a sickly man as in a\nsound; in a strong as in a weak; the virtue of the besieged is as great\nas that of the besiegers. There are some virtues, I confess, which a\ngood man cannot be without, and yet he had rather have no occasion to\nemploy them. If there were any difference, I should prefer the virtues\nof patience before those of pleasure; for it is braver to break through\ndifficulties than to temper our delights. But though the subject of\nvirtue may possibly be against nature, as to be burnt or wounded, yet\nthe virtue itself of _an invincible patience_ is according to nature.\nWe may seem, perhaps, to promise more than human nature is able to\nperform; but we speak with a respect to the mind, and not to the body.\n\nIf a man does not live up to his own rules, it is something yet to have\nvirtuous meditations and good purposes, even without acting; it is\ngenerous, the very adventure of being good, and the bare proposal of\nan eminent course of life, though beyond the force of human frailty to\naccomplish. There is something of honor yet in the miscarriage; nay,\nin the naked contemplation of it. I would receive my own death with as\nlittle trouble as I would hear of another man\u2019s; I would bear the same\nmind whether I be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world;\nwhat I have, I will neither sordidly spare, or prodigally squander\naway, and I will reckon upon benefits well-placed as the fairest part\nof my possession: not valuing them by number or weight, but by the\nprofit and esteem of the receiver; accounting myself never the poorer\nfor that which I give to a worthy person. What I do shall be done for\nconscience, not ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my\npalate, or only to fill and empty, but to satisfy nature: I will be\ncheerful to my friends, mild and placable to my enemies: I will prevent\nan honest request if I can foresee it, and I will grant it without\nasking: I will look upon the whole world as my country, and upon the\ngods, both as the witnesses and the judges of my words and deeds. I\nwill live and die with this testimony, that I loved good studies, and a\ngood conscience; that I never invaded another man\u2019s liberty; and that\nI preserved my own. I will govern my life and my thoughts as if the\nwhole world were to see the one, and to read the other; for \u201cwhat does\nit signify to make anything a secret to my neighbor, when to God (who\nis the searcher of our hearts) all our privacies are open?\u201d\n\nVirtue is divided into two parts, _contemplation_ and _action_. The\none is delivered by institution, the other by admonition: one part of\nvirtue consists in discipline, the other in exercise: for we must first\nlearn, and then practice. The sooner we begin to apply ourselves to\nit, and the more haste we make, the longer shall we enjoy the comforts\nof a rectified mind; nay, we have the fruition of it in the very act\nof forming it: but it is another sort of delight, I must confess,\nthat arises from a contemplation of a soul which is advanced into the\npossession of wisdom and virtue. If it was so great a comfort to us\nto pass from the subjection of our childhood into a state of liberty\nand business, how much greater will it be when we come to cast off the\nboyish levity of our minds, and range ourselves among the philosophers?\nWe are past our minority, it is true, but not our indiscretions;\nand, which is yet worse, we have the authority of seniors, and the\nweaknesses of children, (I might have said of infants, for every little\nthing frights the one, and every trivial fancy the other.) Whoever\nstudies this point well will find that many things are the less to\nbe feared the more terrible they appear. To think anything good that\nis not honest, were to reproach Providence; for good men suffer many\ninconveniences; but virtue, like the sun, goes on still with her work,\nlet the air be never so cloudy, and finishes her course, extinguishing\nlikewise all other splendors and oppositions; insomuch that calamity is\nno more to a virtuous mind, than a shower into the sea. That which is\nright, is not to be valued by _quantity_, _number_, or _time_; a life\nof a day may be as honest as a life of a hundred years: but yet virtue\nin one man may have a larger field to show itself in than in another.\nOne man, perhaps, may be in a station to administer unto cities and\nkingdoms; to contrive good laws, create friendships, and do beneficial\noffices to mankind.\n\nFor virtue is open to all; as well to servants and exiles, as to\nprinces: it is profitable to the world and to itself, at all distances\nand in all conditions; and there is no difficulty can excuse a man from\nthe exercise of it; and it is only to be found in a wise man, though\nthere may be some faint resemblances of it in the common people. The\nStoics hold all virtues to be equal; but yet there is great variety\nin the matter they have to work upon, according as it is larger or\nnarrower, illustrious or less noble, of more or less extent; as all\ngood men are equal, that is to say, as they are good; but yet one may\nbe young, another old; one may be rich, another poor; one eminent and\npowerful, another unknown and obscure. There are many things which have\nlittle or no grace in themselves, and are yet glorious and remarkable\nby virtue. Nothing can be good which gives neither greatness nor\nsecurity to the mind; but, on the contrary, infects it with insolence,\narrogance, and tumor: nor does virtue dwell upon the tip of the tongue,\nbut in the temple of a purified heart. He that depends upon any other\ngood becomes covetous of life, and what belongs to it; which exposes a\nman to appetites that are vast, unlimited, and intolerable. Virtue is\nfree and indefatigable, and accompanied with concord and gracefulness;\nwhereas pleasure is mean, servile, transitory, tiresome, and sickly\nand scarce outlives the tasting of it: it is the good of the belly,\nand not of the man; and only the felicity of brutes. Who does not know\nthat fools enjoy their pleasures, and that there is great variety in\nthe entertainments of wickedness? Nay, the mind itself has its variety\nof perverse pleasures as well as the body: as insolence, self-conceit,\npride, garrulity, laziness, and the abusive wit of turning everything\ninto _ridicule_, whereas virtue weighs all this, and corrects it. It is\nthe knowledge both of others and of itself; it is to be learned from\nitself; and the very will itself may be taught; which will cannot be\nright, unless the whole habit of the mind be right from whence the will\ncomes. It is by the impulse of virtue that we love virtue, so that the\nvery way to virtue, lies by virtue, which takes in also, at a view, the\nlaws of human life.\n\nNeither are we to value ourselves upon a day, or an hour, or any one\naction, but upon the whole habit of the mind. Some men do one thing\nbravely, but not another; they will shrink at infamy, and bear up\nagainst poverty: in this case, we commend the fact, and despise the\nman. The soul is never in the right place until it be delivered from\nthe cares of human affairs; we must labor and climb the hill, if we\nwill arrive at virtue, whose seat is upon the top of it. He that\nmasters avarice, and is truly good, stands firm against ambition; he\nlooks upon his last hour not as a punishment, but as the equity of a\ncommon fate; he that subdues his carnal lusts shall easily keep himself\nuntainted with any other: so that reason does not encounter this or\nthat vice by itself, but beats down all at a blow. What does he care\nfor ignominy that only values himself upon conscience, and not opinion?\nSocrates looked a scandalous death in the face with the same constancy\nthat he had before practiced towards the thirty tyrants: his virtue\nconsecrated the very dungeon: as Cato\u2019s repulse was Cato\u2019s honor, and\nthe reproach of the government. He that is wise will take delight even\nin an ill opinion that is well gotten; it is ostentation, not virtue,\nwhen a man will have his good deeds published; and it is not enough\nto be just where there is honor to be gotten, but to continue so, in\ndefiance of infamy and danger.\n\nBut virtue cannot lie hid, for the time will come that shall raise it\nagain (even after it is buried) and deliver it from the malignity of\nthe age that oppressed it: immortal glory is the shadow of it, and\nkeeps it company whether we will or not; but sometimes the shadow\ngoes before the substance, and other whiles it follows it; and the\nlater it comes, the larger it is, when even envy itself shall have\ngiven way to it. It was a long time that Democritus was taken for a\nmadman, and before Socrates had any esteem in the world. How long was\nit before Cato could be understood? Nay, he was affronted, contemned,\nand rejected; and the people never knew the value of him until they had\nlost him: the integrity and courage of mad Rutilius had been forgotten\nbut for his sufferings. I speak of those that fortune has made famous\nfor their persecutions: and there are others also that the world never\ntook notice of until they were dead; as Epicurus and Metrodorus, that\nwere almost wholly unknown, even in the place where they lived. Now, as\nthe body is to be kept in upon the down-hill, and forced upwards, so\nthere are some virtues that require the rein and others the spur. In\n_liberality_, _temperance_, _gentleness_ of nature, we are to check\nourselves for fear of falling; but in _patience_, _resolutions_, and\n_perseverance_, where we are to mount the hill, we stand in need of\nencouragement. Upon this division of the matter, I had rather steer the\nsmoother course than pass through the experiments of sweat and blood:\nI know it is my duty to be content in all conditions; but yet, if it\nwere at my election, I would choose the fairest. When a man comes once\nto stand in need of fortune, his life is anxious, suspicious, timorous,\ndependent upon every moment, and in fear of all accidents. How can that\nman resign himself to God, or bear his lot, whatever it be, without\nmurmuring, and cheerfully submit to Providence, that shrinks at every\nmotion of pleasure or pain? It is virtue alone that raises us above\ngriefs, hopes, fears and chances; and makes us not only patient, but\nwilling, as knowing that whatever we suffer is according to the decree\nof Heaven. He that is overcome with pleasure, (so contemptible and\nweak an enemy) what will become of him when he comes to grapple with\ndangers, necessities, torments, death, and the dissolution of nature\nitself? Wealth, honor, and favor, may come upon a man by chance; nay,\nthey may be cast upon him without so much as looking after them: but\nvirtue is the work of industry and labor; and certainly it is worth the\nwhile to purchase that good which brings all others along with it. A\ngood man is happy within himself, and independent upon fortune: kind\nto his friend, temperate to his enemy, religiously just, indefatigably\nlaborious; and he discharges all duties with a constancy and congruity\nof actions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nPHILOSOPHY IS THE GUIDE OF LIFE.\n\n\nIf it be true, that the _understanding_ and the _will_ are the _two\neminent faculties of the reasonable soul_, it follows necessarily,\nthat _wisdom_ and _virtue_, (which are the best improvements of these\ntwo faculties,) must be the perfection also of our _reasonable being_;\nand consequently, _the undeniable foundation of a happy life_. There\nis not any duty to which Providence has not annexed a blessing; nor\nany institution of Heaven which, even in this life, we may not be the\nbetter for; not any temptation, either of fortune or of appetite, that\nis not subject to our reason; nor any passion or affliction for which\nvirtue has not provided a remedy. So that it is our own fault if we\neither fear or hope for anything; which two affections are the root of\nall our miseries. From this general prospect of the _foundation_ of our\n_tranquillity_, we shall pass by degrees to a particular consideration\nof the _means_ by which it may be _procured_, and of the _impediments_\nthat _obstruct_ it; beginning with that _philosophy_ which principally\nregards our manners, and instructs us in the measures of a virtuous and\nquiet life.\n\n_Philosophy_ is divided into _moral_, _natural_, and _rational_: the\n_first_ concerns our _manners_; the _second_ searches the works of\n_Nature_; and the _third_ furnishes us with propriety of _words_ and\n_arguments_, and the faculty of _distinguishing_, that we may not be\nimposed upon with tricks and fallacies. The _causes_ of things fall\nunder _natural philosophy_, _arguments_ under _rational_, and _actions_\nunder _moral_. _Moral philosophy_ is again divided into matter of\n_justice_, which arises from the estimation of things and of men; and\ninto _affections_ and _actions_; and a failing in any one of these,\ndisorders all the rest: for what does it profit us to know the true\nvalue of things, if we be transported by our passion? or to master our\nappetites without understanding the _when_, the _what_, the _how_,\nand other circumstances of our proceedings? For it is one thing to\nknow the rate and dignity of things, and another to know the little\nnicks and springs of acting. _Natural philosophy_ is conversant about\nthings _corporeal_ and _incorporeal_; the disquisition of _causes_ and\n_effects_, and the contemplation of the _cause of causes_. _Rational\nphilosophy_ is divided into _logic_ and _rhetoric_; the one looks after\n_words_, _sense_, and _order_; the other treats barely of _words_,\nand the _significations_ of them. Socrates places all _philosophy_ in\n_morals_; and _wisdom_ in the distinguishing of _good_ and _evil_.\nIt is the art and law of life, and it teaches us what to do in all\ncases, and, like good marksmen, to hit the white at any distance. The\nforce of it is incredible; for it gives us in the weakness of a man\nthe security of a _spirit_: in sickness it is as good as a remedy to\nus; for whatsoever eases the mind is profitable also to the body. The\n_physician_ may prescribe diet and exercise, and accommodate his rule\nand medicine to the disease, but it is _philosophy_ that must bring\nus to a contempt of death, which is the remedy of all diseases. In\npoverty it gives us riches, or such a state of mind as makes them\nsuperfluous to us. It arms us against all difficulties: one man is\npressed with death, another with poverty; some with envy, others are\noffended at Providence, and unsatisfied with the condition of mankind:\nbut _philosophy_ prompts us to relieve the prisoner, the infirm, the\nnecessitous, the condemned; to show the ignorant their errors, and\nrectify their affections. It makes us inspect and govern our manners;\nit rouses us where we are faint and drowsy: it binds up what is loose,\nand humbles in us that which is contumacious: it delivers the mind\nfrom the bondage of the body, and raises it up to the contemplation of\nits divine original. Honors, monuments, and all the works of vanity\nand ambition are demolished and destroyed by time; but the reputation\nof wisdom is venerable to posterity, and those that were envied or\nneglected in their lives are adored in their memories, and exempted\nfrom the very laws of created nature, which has set bounds to all other\nthings. The very shadow of _glory_ carries a man of _honor_ upon all\ndangers, to the contempt of fire and sword; and it were a shame if\n_right reason_ should not inspire as generous resolutions into a man of\n_virtue_.\n\nNeither is _philosophy_ only profitable to the public, but one wise man\nhelps another, even in the exercise of the virtues; and the one has\nneed of the other, both for conversation and counsel; for they kindle a\nmutual emulation in good offices. We are not so perfect yet, but that\nmany new things remain still to be found out, which will give us the\nreciprocal advantages of instructing one another: for as one wicked man\nis contagious to another, and the more vices are mingled, the worse it\nis, so is it on the contrary with good men and their virtues. As men\nof letters are the most useful and excellent of friends, so are they\nthe best of subjects; as being better judges of the blessings they\nenjoy under a well-ordered government, and of what they owe to the\nmagistrate for their freedom and protection. They are men of sobriety\nand learning, and free from boasting and insolence; they reprove the\nvice without reproaching the person; for they have learned to be\nwithout either pomp or envy. That which we see in high mountains,\nwe find in _philosophers_; they seem taller near at hand than at a\ndistance. They are raised above other men, but their greatness is\nsubstantial. Nor do they stand upon tiptoe, that they may seem higher\nthan they are, but, content with their own stature, they reckon\nthemselves tall enough when fortune cannot reach them. Their laws are\nshort, and yet comprehensive too, for they bind all.\n\nIt is the bounty of _nature_ that we _live_; but of _philosophy_ that\nwe _live well_, which is in truth a greater benefit than life itself.\nNot but that _philosophy_ is also the gift of Heaven, so far as to\nthe faculty, but not to the science; for that must be the business\nof industry. No man is born wise; but wisdom and virtue require a\ntutor, though we can easily learn to be vicious without a master. It\nis _philosophy_ that gives us a veneration for God, a charity for our\nneighbor, that teaches us our duty to Heaven, and exhorts us to an\nagreement one with another; it unmasks things that are terrible to us,\nassuages our lusts, refutes our errors, restrains our luxury, reproves\nour avarice, and works strangely upon tender natures. I could never\nhear Attalus (says Seneca) upon the vices of the age and the errors\nof life, without a compassion for mankind; and in his discourses\nupon poverty, there was something methought that was more than human.\n\u201cMore than we use,\u201d says he, \u201cis more than we need, and only a burden\nto the bearer.\u201d That saying of his put me out of countenance at the\nsuperfluities of my own fortune. And so in his invectives against vain\npleasures, he did at such a rate advance the felicities of a sober\ntable, a pure mind, and a chaste body that a man could not hear him\nwithout a love for continence and moderation. Upon these lectures of\nhis, I denied myself, for a while after, certain delicacies that I had\nformerly used: but in a short time I fell to them again, though so\nsparingly, that the proportion came little short of a total abstinence.\n\nNow, to show you (says our author) how much earnester my entrance upon\nphilosophy was than my progress, my tutor Sotion gave me a wonderful\nkindness for Pythagoras, and after him for Sextius: the former forbore\nshedding of blood upon his _metempsychosis:_ and put men in fear of it,\nlest they should offer violence to the souls of some of their departed\nfriends or relations. \u201cWhether,\u201d says he, \u201cthere be a transmigration or\nnot; if it be true, there is no hurt; if false, there is frugality: and\nnothing is gotten by cruelty neither, but the cozening a wolf, perhaps,\nor a vulture, of a supper.\u201d\n\nNow, Sextius abstained upon another account, which was, that he\nwould not have men inured to hardness of heart by the laceration and\ntormenting of living creatures; beside, \u201cthat Nature had sufficiently\nprovided for the sustenance of mankind without blood.\u201d This wrought\nupon me so far that I gave over eating of flesh, and in one year I\nmade it not only easy to me but pleasant; my mind methought was more\nat liberty, (and I am still of the same opinion,) but I gave it over\nnevertheless; and the reason was this: it was imputed as a superstition\nto the Jews, the forbearance of some sorts of flesh, and my father\nbrought me back again to my old custom, that I might not be thought\ntainted with their superstition. Nay, and I had much ado to prevail\nupon myself to suffer it too. I make use of this instance to show the\naptness of youth to take good impressions, if there be a friend at hand\nto press them. Philosophers are the tutors of mankind; if they have\nfound out remedies for the mind, it must be our part to employ them.\nI cannot think of Cato, Lelius, Socrates, Plato, without veneration:\ntheir very names are sacred to me. Philosophy is the health of the\nmind; let us look to that health first, and in the second place to\nthat of the body, which may be had upon easier terms; for a strong\narm, a robust constitution, or the skill of procuring this, is not a\nphilosopher\u2019s business. He does some things as a _wise man,_ and other\nthings as he is a _man_; and he may have strength of body as well as of\nmind; but if he runs, or casts the sledge, it were injurious to ascribe\nthat to his wisdom which is common to the greatest of fools. He studies\nrather to fill his mind than his coffers; and he knows that gold and\nsilver were mingled with dirt, until avarice or ambition parted them.\nHis life is ordinate, fearless, equal, secure; he stands firm in all\nextremities, and bears the lot of his humanity with a divine temper.\nThere is a great difference betwixt the splendor of philosophy and\nof fortune; the one shines with an original light, the other with a\nborrowed one; beside that it makes us happy and immortal: for learning\nshall outlive palaces and monuments. The house of a wise man is safe,\nthough narrow; there is neither noise nor furniture in it, no porter\nat the door, nor anything that is either vendible or mercenary, nor any\nbusiness of fortune, for she has nothing to do where she has nothing\nto look after. This is the way to Heaven which Nature has chalked out,\nand it is both secure and pleasant; there needs no train of servants,\nno pomp or equipage, to make good our passage; no money or letters of\ncredit, for expenses upon the voyage; but the graces of an honest mind\nwill serve us upon the way, and make us happy at our journey\u2019s end.\n\nTo tell you my opinion now of the _liberal sciences_; I have no great\nesteem for any thing that terminates in profit or money; and yet I\nshall allow them to be so far beneficial, as they only _prepare_ the\nunderstanding without _detaining_ it. They are but the rudiments\nof wisdom, and only then to be learned when the mind is capable of\nnothing better, and the knowledge of them is better worth the keeping\nthan the acquiring. They do not so much as pretend to the making of\nus virtuous, but only to give us an aptitude of disposition to be\nso. The _grammarian\u2019s_ business lies in a _syntax_ of speech; or if\nhe proceed to _history_, or the measuring of a _verse_, he is at\nthe end of his line; but what signifies a congruity of periods, the\ncomputing of syllables, or the modifying of numbers, to the taming\nof our passions, or the repressing of our lusts? The _philosopher_\nproves the body of the sun to be large, but for the true dimensions\nof it we must ask the _mathematician_: _geometry_ and _music_, if\nthey do not teach us to master our hopes and fears, all the rest is\nto little purpose. What does it concern us which was the elder of the\ntwo, Homer or Hesiod? or which was the taller, Helen or Hecuba? We\ntake a great deal of pains to trace Ulysses in his wanderings, but\nwere it not time as well spent to look to ourselves that we may not\nwander at all? Are not we ourselves tossed with tempestuous passions?\nand both _assaulted_ by terrible _monsters_ on the one hand, and\n_tempted_ by _syrens_ on the other? Teach me my duty to my country, to\nmy father, to my wife, to mankind. What is it to me whether Penelope\nwas _honest_ or not? teach me to know how to be so myself, and to\nlive according to that knowledge. What am I the better for putting so\nmany parts together in _music_, and raising a harmony out of so many\ndifferent tones? teach me to tune my affections, and to hold constant\nto myself. _Geometry_ teaches me the art of _measuring acres_; teach\nme to _measure my appetites_, and to know when I have enough; teach\nme to divide with my brother, and to rejoice in the prosperity of my\nneighbor. You teach me how I may hold my own, and keep my estate; but\nI would rather learn how I may lose it all, and yet be contented. \u201cIt\nis hard,\u201d you will say, \u201cfor a man to be forced from the fortune of his\nfamily.\u201d This estate, it is true, was my _father\u2019s_; but whose was it\nin the time of my _grandfather_? I do not only say, what _man\u2019s_ was\nit? but what _nation\u2019s_? The _astrologer_ tells me of Saturn and Mars\nin _opposition_; but I say, let them be as they will, their courses\nand their positions are ordered them by an unchangeable decree of\nfate. Either they produce and point out the effects of all things, or\nelse they signify them; if the former, what are we the better for the\nknowledge of that which must of necessity come to pass? If the latter,\nwhat does it avail us to foresee what we cannot avoid? So that whether\nwe know or not know, the event will still be the same.\n\nHe that designs the institution of human life should not be\nover-curious of his words; it does not stand with his dignity to be\nsolicitous about sounds and syllables, and to debase the mind of\nman with trivial things; placing wisdom in matters that are rather\ndifficult than great. If it be _eloquent_, it is his _good fortune_,\nnot his _business_. Subtle disputations are only the sport of wits,\nthat play upon the catch, and are fitter to be contemned than resolved.\nWere not I a madman to sit wrangling about words, and putting of\nnice and impertinent questions, when the enemy has already made the\nbreach, the town fired over my head, and the mine ready to play that\nshall blow me up into the air? were this a time for fooleries? Let me\nrather fortify myself against death and inevitable necessities; let\nme understand that the good of life does not consist in the length or\nspace, but in the use of it. When I go to _sleep_, who knows whether\nI shall ever _wake_ again? and when I _wake_, whether ever I shall\n_sleep_ again? When I go _abroad_, whether ever I shall come _home_\nagain? and when I _return_, whether ever I shall go _abroad_ again? It\nis not at sea only that life and death are within a few inches one of\nanother; but they are as near everywhere else too, only we do not take\nso much notice of it. What have we to do with frivolous and captious\nquestions, and impertinent niceties? Let us rather study how to deliver\nourselves from sadness, fear, and the burden of all our secret lusts:\nlet us pass over all our most solemn levities, and make haste to a\ngood life, which is a thing that presses us. Shall a man that goes\nfor a midwife, stand gaping upon a post to see _what play to-day_?\nor, when his house is on fire, stay the curling of a periwig before\nhe calls for help? Our houses are on fire, our country invaded, our\ngoods taken away, our children in danger; and, I might add to these,\nthe calamities of earthquakes, shipwrecks, and whatever else is most\nterrible. Is this a time for us now to be playing fast and loose with\nidle questions, which are in effect so many unprofitable riddles? Our\nduty is the cure of the mind rather than the delight of it; but we have\nonly the words of wisdom without the works; and turn philosophy into a\npleasure that was given for a remedy. What can be more ridiculous than\nfor a man to _neglect_ his _manners_ and _compose_ his _style_? We are\nsick and ulcerous, and must be lanced and scarified, and every man has\nas much business within himself as a physician in a common pestilence.\n\u201cMisfortunes,\u201d in fine, \u201ccannot be avoided; but they may be sweetened,\nif not overcome; and our lives may be made happy by philosophy.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE FORCE OF PRECEPTS.\n\n\nThere seems to be so near an affinity betwixt _wisdom_, _philosophy_,\nand _good counsels_, that it is rather matter of curiosity than of\nprofit to divide them; _philosophy_, being only a _limited wisdom_;\nand _good counsels a communication of that wisdom_, for the good of\n_others_, as well as of _ourselves_; and to _posterity_, as well as to\nthe _present_. The _wisdom_ of the _ancients_, as to the government of\nlife, was no more than certain precepts, what to do and what not: and\nmen were much better in that simplicity; for as they came to be more\n_learned_, they grew less careful of being _good_. That _plain_ and\n_open virtue_ is now turned into a _dark_ and _intricate science_; and\nwe are taught to _dispute_ rather than to _live_. So long as wickedness\nwas simple, simple remedies also were sufficient against it; but now it\nhas taken root, and spread, we must make use of stronger.\n\nThere are some dispositions that embrace good things as soon as they\nhear them; but they will still need quickening by admonition and\nprecept. We are rash and forward in some cases, and dull in others;\nand there is no repressing of the one humor, or raising of the other,\nbut by removing the causes of them; which are (in one word) _false\nadmiration_ and _false fear_.\n\nEvery man knows his duty to his country, to his friends, to his\nguests; and yet when he is called upon to draw his sword for the one,\nor to labor for the other, he finds himself distracted betwixt his\napprehensions and his delights: he knows well enough the injury he\ndoes his wife in the keeping of a wench, and yet his lust overrules\nhim: so that it is not enough to give good advice, unless we can take\naway that which hinders the benefit of it. If a man does what he ought\nto do, he will never do it constantly or equally, without knowing why\nhe does it: and if it be only chance or custom, he that does well by\nchance, may do ill so too. And farther, a precept may direct us what\nwe _ought_ to do, and yet fall short in the manner of doing it: an\nexpensive entertainment may, in one case be extravagance or gluttony,\nand yet a point of honor and discretion in another. Tiberius C\u00e6sar had\na huge _mullet_ presented him, which he sent to the market to be sold:\n\u201cand now,\u201d says he, \u201cmy masters,\u201d to some company with him, \u201cyou shall\nsee that either Apicius or Octavius will be the chapman for this fish.\u201d\nOctavius beat the price, and gave about thirty pounds sterling for it.\nNow, there was a great difference between Octavius, that bought it for\nhis luxury, and the _other_ that purchased it for a _compliment_ to\nTiberius. Precepts are idle, if we be not first taught what opinion\nwe are to have of the matter in question; whether it be _poverty_,\n_riches_, _disgrace_, _sickness_, _banishment_, etc. Let us therefore\nexamine them one by one; not what they are _called_, but what in truth\nthey _are_. And so for the _virtues_; it is to no purpose to set a high\nesteem upon prudence, _fortitude_, _temperance_, _justice_, if we do\nnot first know _what virtue is_; whether _one_ or _more_; or if he\nthat has _one_, has _all_; or _how they differ_.\n\nPrecepts are of great weight; and a few useful ones at hand do more\ntoward a happy life than whole volumes or cautions, that we know not\nwhere to find. These salutary precepts should be our daily meditation,\nfor they are the rules by which we ought to square our lives. When they\nare contracted into _sentences_, they strike the _affections_: whereas\n_admonition_ is only _blowing_ of the _coal_; it moves the vigor of the\nmind, and excites virtue: we have the thing already, but we know not\nwhere it lies. It is by precept that the understanding is nourished\nand augmented: the offices of prudence and justice are guided by them,\nand they lead us to the execution of our duties. A _precept_ delivered\nin _verse_ has a much greater effect than in _prose_: and those very\npeople that never think they have enough, let them but hear a sharp\nsentence against _avarice_, how will they clap and admire it, and bid\nopen defiance to money? So soon as we find the affections struck, we\nmust follow the blow; not with _syllogisms_ or quirks of _wit_; but\nwith _plain_ and _weighty reason_ and we must do it with _kindness_\ntoo, and _respect_ for \u201cthere goes a blessing along with counsels and\ndiscourses that are bent wholly upon the good of the hearer:\u201d and\nthose are still the most efficacious that take reason along with them;\nand tell us as well why we are to do this or that, as _what_ we are\nto do: for some understandings are weak, and need an instructor to\nexpound to them what is good and what is evil. It is a great virtue\nto _love_, to _give_, and to _follow good counsel_; if it does not\n_lead_ us to honesty, it does at least _prompt_ us to it. As several\nparts make up but one harmony, and the most agreeable music arises\nfrom discords; so should a wise man gather many acts, many precepts,\nand the examples of many arts, to inform his own life. Our forefathers\nhave left us in charge to avoid three things; _hatred_, _envy_, and\n_contempt_; now, it is hard to avoid envy and not incur _contempt_;\nfor in taking too much care not to usurp upon others, we become many\ntimes liable to be trampled upon ourselves. Some people are afraid of\nothers, because it is possible that others may be afraid of them: but\nlet us secure ourselves upon all hands; for _flattery_ is as dangerous\nas _contempt_. It is not to say, in case of admonition, I knew this\nbefore, for we know many things, but we do not think of them; so that\nit is the part of a _monitor_, not so much to _teach_ as to _mind_ us\nof our duties. Sometimes a man oversees that which lies just under his\nnose; otherwhile he is careless, or _pretends_ not to see it: we do all\nknow that friendship is sacred, and yet we violate it; and the greatest\nlibertine expects that his own wife should be honest.\n\nGood counsel is the most needful service that we can do to mankind;\nand if we give it to _many_, it will be sure to profit _some_: for of\nmany trials, some or other will undoubtedly succeed. He that places\na man in the possession of himself does a great thing; for wisdom\ndoes not show itself so much in precept as in life; in a firmness of\nmind and a mastery of appetite: it teaches us to _do_ as well as to\n_talk_: and to make our words and actions all of a color. If that fruit\nbe pleasantest which we gather from a tree of our own planting, how\nmuch greater delight shall we take in the growth and increase of good\nmanners of our own forming! It is an eminent mark of wisdom for a man\nto be always like himself. You shall have some that keep a thrifty\ntable, and lavish out upon building; profuse upon themselves, and\nforbid to others; niggardly at home, and lavish abroad. This diversity\nis vicious, and the effect of a dissatisfied and uneasy mind; whereas\nevery wise man lives by rule. This disagreement of purposes arises\nfrom hence, either that we do not propound to ourselves what we would\nbe at; or if we do, that we do not pursue it, but pass from one thing\nto another; and we do not only _change_ neither but return to the very\nthing which we had both quitted and condemned.\n\nIn all our undertakings, let us first examine our own strength; the\nenterprise next; and, thirdly, the persons with whom we have to do. The\nfirst point is most important; for we are apt to overvalue ourselves,\nand reckon that we can do more than indeed we can. One man sets up\nfor a speaker, and is out as soon as he opens his mouth; another\novercharges his estate, perhaps, or his body: a bashful man is not\nfit for public business: some again are too stiff and peremptory for\nthe court: many people are apt to fly out in their anger, nay, and in\na frolic too; if any sharp thing fall in their way, they will rather\nventure a neck than lose a jest. These people had better be quiet in\nthe world than busy. Let him that is naturally choleric and impatient\navoid all provocations, and those affairs also that multiply and draw\non more; and those also from which there is no retreat. When we may\ncome off at pleasure, and fairly hope to bring our matters to a period,\nit is well enough. If it so happen that a man be tied up to business,\nwhich he can neither loosen nor break off, let him imagine those\nshackles upon his mind to be irons upon his legs: they are troublesome\nat first; but when there is no remedy but patience, custom makes them\neasy to us, and necessity gives us courage. We are all slaves to\nfortune: some only in loose and golden chains, others in strait ones,\nand coarser: nay, and _they that bind us are slaves too themselves_;\nsome to honor, others to wealth; some to offices, and others to\ncontempt; some to their superiors, others to themselves: nay, life\nitself is a servitude: let us make the best of it then, and with our\nphilosophy mend our fortune. Difficulties may be softened, and heavy\nburdens disposed of to our ease. Let us covet nothing out of our reach,\nbut content ourselves with things hopeful and at hand; and without\nenvying the advantages of others; for greatness stands upon a craggy\nprecipice, and it is much safer and quieter living upon a level. How\nmany great men are forced to keep their station upon mere necessity;\nbecause they find there is no coming down from it but headlong? These\nmen should do well to fortify themselves against ill consequences by\nsuch virtues and meditations as may make them less solicitous for the\nfuture. The surest expedient in this case is to bound our desires, and\nto leave nothing to fortune which we may keep in our own power. Neither\nwill this course wholly compose us, but it shows us at worst the end of\nour troubles.\n\nIt is but a main point to take care that we propose nothing but what is\nhopeful and honest. For it will be equally troublesome to us, either\nnot to succeed, or to be ashamed of the success. Wherefore let us be\nsure not to admit any ill design into our heart; that we may lift up\npure hands to heaven and ask nothing which another shall be a loser by.\nLet us pray for a good mind, which is a wish to no man\u2019s injury. I\nwill remember always that I am a man, and then consider, that if I am\n_happy_, it will not last _always_; if _unhappy_, I may be _other_ if\nI please. I will carry my life in my hand, and deliver it up readily\nwhen it shall be called for. I will have a care of being a slave to\nmyself; for it is a perpetual, a shameful, and the heaviest of all\nservitudes: and this may be done by moderate desires. I will say to\nmyself, \u201cWhat is it that I labor, sweat, and solicit for, when it is\nbut very little that I want, and it will not be long that I will need\nany thing?\u201d He that would make a trial of the firmness of his mind, let\nhim set certain days apart for the practice of his virtues. Let him\nmortify himself with fasting, coarse clothes, and hard lodging; and\nthen say to himself, \u201cIs this the thing now that I was afraid of?\u201d In a\nstate of security, a man may thus prepare himself against hazards, and\nin plenty fortify himself against want. If you will have a man resolute\nwhen he comes to the push, train him up to it beforehand. The soldier\ndoes duty in peace, that he may be in breath when he comes to battle.\nHow many great and wise men have made experiment of their moderation\nby a practice of abstinence, to the highest degree of hunger and\nthirst; and convinced themselves that a man may fill his belly without\nbeing beholden to fortune; which never denies any of us wherewith to\nsatisfy our necessities, though she be never so angry! It is as easy\nto _suffer_ it _always_ as to _try_ it _once_; and it is no more than\nthousands of servants and poor people do every day in their lives. He\nthat would live happily, must neither trust to good fortune nor submit\nto bad: he must stand upon his guard against all assaults; he must\nstick to himself, without any dependence upon other people. Where\nthe mind is tinctured with philosophy, there is no place for grief,\nanxiety, or superfluous vexations. It is prepossessed with virtue to\nthe neglect of fortune, which brings us to a degree of security not\nto be disturbed. It is easier to give counsel than to take it; and\na common thing for one choleric man to condemn another. We may be\nsometimes earnest in advising, but not violent or tedious. Few words,\nwith gentleness and efficacy, are best: the misery is, that the wise\ndo not need counsel, and fools will not take it. A good man, it is\ntrue, delights in it; and it is a mark of folly and ill-nature to hate\nreproof.\n\nTo a friend I would be always frank and plain; and rather fail in the\nsuccess than be wanting in the matter of faith and trust. There are\nsome precepts that serve in common both to the rich and poor, but they\nare too general; as \u201cCure your avarice, and the work is done.\u201d It is\none thing not to desire money, and another thing not to understand\nhow to use it. In the choice of the persons we have to do withal, we\nshould see that they be worth our while; in the choice of our business,\nwe are to consult nature, and follow our inclinations. He that gives\nsober advice to a witty droll must look to have every thing turned into\nridicule. \u201cAs if you philosophers,\u201d says Marcellinus, \u201cdid not love\nyour whores and your guts as well as other people:\u201d and then he tells\nyou of such and such that were taken in the manner. We are all sick, I\nmust confess, and it is not for sick men to play the physicians; but\nit is yet lawful for a man in an hospital to discourse of the common\ncondition and distempers of the place. He that should pretend to teach\na madman how to speak, walk, and behave himself, were not he the most\nmad man of the two? He that directs the pilot, makes him move the\nhelm, order the sails so or so, and makes the best of a scant wind,\nafter this or that manner. And so should we do in our counsels.\n\nDo not tell me what a man should do in health or poverty, but show\nme the way to be either sound or rich. Teach me to master my vices:\nfor it is to no purpose, so long as I am under their government, to\ntell me what I must do when I am clear of it. In case of an avarice a\nlittle eased, a luxury moderated, a temerity restrained, a sluggish\nhumor quickened; precepts will then help us forward, and tutor us how\nto behave ourselves. It is the first and the main tie of a soldier his\nmilitary oath, which is an engagement upon him both of religion and\nhonor. In like manner, he that pretends to a happy life must first lay\na foundation of virtue, as a bond upon him, to live and die true to\nthat cause. We do not find felicity in the veins of the earth where we\ndig for gold, nor in the bottom of the sea where we fish for pearls,\nbut in a pure and untainted mind, which, if it were not holy, were not\nfit to entertain the Deity. \u201cHe that would be truly happy, must think\nhis own lot best, and so live with men, as considering that God sees\nhim, and so speak to God as if men heard him.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nNO FELICITY LIKE PEACE OF CONSCIENCE.\n\n\n\u201cA good conscience is the testimony of a good life, and the reward\nof it.\u201d This is it that fortifies the mind against fortune, when a\nman has gotten the mastery of his passions; placed his treasure and\nsecurity within himself; learned to be content with his condition;\nand that death is no evil in itself, but only the end of man. He that\nhas dedicated his mind to virtue, and to the good of human society,\nwhereof he is a member, has consummated all that is either profitable\nor necessary for him to know or to do toward the establishment of his\npeace. Every man has a judge and a witness within himself of all the\ngood and ill that he does, which inspires us with great thoughts, and\nadministers to us wholesome counsels. We have a veneration for all the\nworks of Nature, the heads of rivers, and the springs of medicinal\nwaters; the horrors of groves and of caves strike us with an impression\nof religion and worship. To see a man fearless in dangers, untainted\nwith lusts, happy in adversity, composed in a tumult, and laughing at\nall those things which are generally either coveted or feared; all men\nmust acknowledge that this can be nothing else but a beam of divinity\nthat influences a mortal body. And this is it that carries us to the\ndisquisition of things divine and human; what the state of the world\nwas before the distribution of the first matter into parts; what power\nit was that drew order out of that confusion, and gave laws both to the\nwhole, and to every particle thereof; what that space is beyond the\nworld; and whence proceed the several operations of Nature.\n\nShall any man see the glory and order of the universe; so many\nscattered parts and qualities wrought into one mass; such a medley of\nthings, which are yet distinguished: the world enlightened, and the\ndisorders of it so wonderfully regulated; and shall he not consider\nthe Author and Disposer of all this; and whither we ourselves shall\ngo, when our souls shall be delivered from the slavery of our flesh?\nThe whole creation we see conforms to the dictates of Providence, and\nfollows God both as a governor and as a guide. A great, a good, and\na right mind, is a kind of divinity lodged in flesh, and may be the\nblessing of a slave as well as of a prince; it came from heaven, and to\nheaven it must return; and it is a kind of heavenly felicity, which a\npure and virtuous mind enjoys, in some degree, even upon earth: whereas\ntemples of honor are but empty names, which, probably, owe their\nbeginning either to ambition or to violence.\n\nI am strangely transported with the thoughts of eternity; nay, with\nthe belief of it; for I have a profound veneration for the opinions\nof great men, especially when they promise things so much to my\nsatisfaction: for they do promise them, though they do not prove them.\nIn the question of the immortality of the soul, it goes very far with\nme, a general consent to the opinion of a future reward and punishment;\nwhich meditation raises me to the contempt of this life, in hopes of\na better. But still, though we know that we have a soul; yet what the\nsoul is, how, and from whence, we are utterly ignorant: this only we\nunderstand, that all the good and ill we do is under the dominion of\nthe mind; that a clear conscience states us in an inviolable peace; and\nthat the greatest blessing in Nature is that which every honest man may\nbestow upon himself. The body is but the clog and prisoner of the mind;\ntossed up and down, and persecuted with punishments, violences, and\ndiseases; but the mind itself is sacred and eternal, and exempt from\nthe danger of all actual impression.\n\nProvided that we look to our consciences, no matter for opinion: let\nme deserve well, though I hear ill. The common people take stomach and\naudacity for the marks of magnanimity and honor; and if a man be soft\nand modest, they look upon him as an easy fop; but when they come once\nto observe the dignity of his mind in the equality and firmness of his\nactions; and that his external quiet is founded upon an internal peace,\nthe very same people who have him in esteem and admiration; for there\nis no man but approves of virtue, though but few pursue it; we see\nwhere it is, but we dare not venture to come at it: and the reason is,\nwe overvalue that which we must quit to obtain it.\n\nA good conscience fears no witnesses, but a guilty conscience is\nsolicitous even of solitude. If we do nothing but what is honest, let\nall the world know it; but if otherwise, what does it signify to have\nnobody else know it, so long as I know it myself? Miserable is he that\nslights that witness! Wickedness, it is true, may escape the law, but\nnot the conscience; for a private conviction is the first and the\ngreatest punishment to offenders; so that sin plagues itself; and the\nfear of vengeance pursues even those that escape the stroke of it.\nIt were ill for good men that iniquity may so easily evade the law,\nthe judge, and the execution, if Nature had not set up torments and\ngibbets in the consciences of transgressors. He that is guilty lives\nin perpetual terror; and while he expects to be punished, he punishes\nhimself; and whosoever deserves it expects it. What if he be not\ndetected? he is still in apprehension yet that he may be so. His sleeps\nare painful, and never secure; and he cannot speak of another man\u2019s\nwickedness without thinking of his own, whereas a good conscience is a\ncontinual feast.\n\nThose are the only certain and profitable delights, which arise from\nthe consciousness of a well-acted life; no matter for noise abroad,\nso long as we are quiet within: but if our passions be seditious,\nthat is enough to keep us waking without any other tumult. It is not\nthe posture of the body, or the composure of the bed, that will give\nrest to an uneasy mind: there is an impatient sloth that may be roused\nby action, and the vices of laziness must be cured by business. True\nhappiness is not to be found in excesses of wine, or of women, or in\nthe largest prodigalities of fortune; what she has given to me, she\nmay take away, but she shall not tear it from me; and, so long as it\ndoes not grow to me, I can part with it without pain. He that would\nperfectly know himself, let him set aside his money, his fortune, his\ndignity, and examine himself naked, without being put to learn from\nothers the knowledge of himself.\n\nIt is dangerous for a man too suddenly, or too easily, to believe\nhimself. Wherefore let us examine, observe, and inspect our own\nhearts, for we ourselves are our own greatest flatterers: we should\nevery night call ourselves to account, \u201cWhat infirmity have I mastered\nto-day? what passion opposed? what temptation resisted? what virtue\nacquired?\u201d Our vices will abate of themselves, if they be brought every\nday to the shrift. Oh the blessed sleep that follows such a diary! Oh\nthe tranquillity, liberty, and greatness of that mind that is a spy\nupon itself, and a private censor of its own manners! It is my custom\n(says our author) every night, so soon as the candle is out, to run\nover all the words and actions of the past day; and I let nothing\nescape me; for why should I fear the sight of my own errors, when I can\nadmonish and forgive myself? \u201cI was a little too hot in such a dispute:\nmy opinion might have been as well spared, for it gave offence, and\ndid no good at all. The thing was true, but all truths are not to be\nspoken at all times; I would I had held my tongue, for there is no\ncontending either with fools or our superiors. I have done ill, but it\nshall be so no more.\u201d If every man would but thus look into himself,\nit would be the better for us all. What can be more reasonable than\nthis daily review of a life that we cannot warrant for a moment? Our\nfate is set, and the first breath we draw is only the first motion\ntoward our last: one cause depends upon another; and the course of all\nthings, public and private, is but a long connection of providential\nappointments. There is a great variety in our lives, but all tends to\nthe same issue. Nature may use her own bodies as she pleases; but a\ngood man has this consolation, that nothing perishes which he can call\nhis own. It is a great comfort that we are only condemned to the same\nfate with the universe; the heavens themselves are mortal as well\nas our bodies; Nature has made us passive, and to suffer is our lot.\nWhile we are in flesh, every man has his chain and his clog, only it is\nlooser and lighter to one man than to another; and he is more at ease\nthat takes it up and carries it, than he that drags it. We are born, to\nlose and to perish, to hope and to fear, to vex ourselves and others;\nand there is no antidote against a common calamity but virtue; for \u201cthe\nfoundation of true joy is in the conscience.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nA GOOD MAN CAN NEVER BE MISERABLE, NOR A WICKED MAN HAPPY.\n\n\nThere is not in the scale of nature a more inseparable connection\nof cause and effect, than in the case of happiness and virtue; nor\nanything that more naturally produces the one, or more necessarily\npresupposes the other. For what is it to be happy, but for a man to\ncontent himself with his lot, in a cheerful and quiet resignation to\nthe appointments of God? All the actions of our lives ought to be\ngoverned with respect to good and evil: and it is only reason that\ndistinguishes; by which reason we are in such manner influenced, as\nif a ray of the Divinity were dipt in a mortal body, and that is the\nperfection of mankind. It is true, we have not the eyes of eagles\nor the sagacity of hounds: nor if we had, could we pretend to value\nourselves upon anything which we have in common with brutes. What\nare we the better for that which is foreign to us, and may be given\nand taken away? As the beams of the sun irradiate the earth, and yet\nremain where they were; so is it in some proportion with a holy mind\nthat illustrates all our actions, and yet it adheres to its original.\nWhy do we not as well commend a horse for his glorious trappings, as a\nman for his pompous additions? How much a braver creature is a lion,\n(which by nature ought to be fierce and terrible) how much braver (I\nsay) in his natural horror than in his chains? so that everything in\nits pure nature pleases us best. It is not health, nobility, riches,\nthat can justify a wicked man: nor is it the want of all these that\ncan discredit a good one. That is the sovereign blessing, which makes\nthe possessor of it valuable without anything else, and him that wants\nit contemptible, though he had all the world besides. It is not the\npainting, gilding, or carving, that makes a good ship; but if she be\na nimble sailer, tight and strong to endure the seas; that is her\nexcellency. It is the edge and temper of the blade that makes a good\nsword, not the richness of the scabbard: and so it is not money or\npossessions, that makes a man considerable, but his virtue.\n\nIt is every man\u2019s duty to make himself profitable to mankind\u2014if he\ncan, to many\u2014if not, to fewer\u2014if not so neither, to his neighbor\u2014but,\nhowever, to himself. There are two republics: a great one, which is\nhuman nature; and a less, which is the place where we were born. Some\nserve both at a time, some only the greater, and some again only the\nless. The greater may be served in privacy, solitude, contemplation,\nand perchance that way better than any other; but it was the intent\nof Nature, however, that we should serve both. A good man may serve\nthe public, his friend, and himself in any station: if he be not for\nthe sword, let him take the gown; if the bar does not agree with him,\nlet him try the pulpit; if he be silenced abroad, let him give counsel\nat home, and discharge the part of a faithful friend and a temperate\ncompanion. When he is no longer a citizen, he is yet a man; but the\nwhole world is his country, and human nature never wants matter to work\nupon: but if nothing will serve a man in the _civil government_ unless\nhe be _prime minister_, or in the _field_ but to _command in chief_, it\nis his own fault.\n\nThe common soldier where he cannot use his hands, fights with his\nlooks, his example, his encouragement, his voice, and stands his ground\neven when he has lost his hands, and does service too with his very\nclamor, so that in any condition whatsoever, he still discharges the\nduty of a good patriot\u2014nay, he that spends his time well even in a\nretirement, gives a great example.\n\nWe may enlarge, indeed, or contract, according to the circumstances\nof time, place, or abilities; but above all things we must be sure to\nkeep ourselves in action, for he that is slothful is dead even while\nhe lives. Was there ever any state so desperate as that of Athens\nunder the thirty tyrants\u2014where it was capital to be honest, and the\nsenate-house was turned into a college of hangmen? Never was any\ngovernment so wretched and so hopeless; and yet Socrates at the same\ntime preached _temperance_ to the _tyrants_, and courage to the rest,\nand afterwards died an eminent example of faith and resolution, and a\nsacrifice for the common good.\n\nIt is not for a wise man to stand shifting and fencing with fortune,\nbut to oppose her barefaced, for he is sufficiently convinced that\nshe can do him no hurt; she may take away his servants, possessions,\ndignity, assault his body, put out his eyes, cut off his hands, and\nstrip him of all the external comforts of life. But what does all this\namount to more than the recalling of a trust which he has received,\nwith condition to deliver it up again upon demand? He looks upon\nhimself as precarious, and only lent to himself, and yet he does not\nvalue himself ever the less because he is not his own, but takes such\ncare as an honest man should do of a thing that is committed to him in\ntrust. Whensoever he that lent me myself and what I have, shall call\nfor all back again, it is not a loss but a restitution, and I must\nwillingly deliver up what most undeservedly was bestowed upon me, and\nit will become me to return my mind better than I received it.\n\nDemetrius, upon the taking of Megara, asked Stilpo, the philosopher,\nwhat he had lost. \u201cNothing,\u201d said he, \u201cfor I had all that I could call\nmy own about me.\u201d And yet the enemy had then made himself master of\nhis patrimony, his children, and his country; but these he looked upon\nas only adventitious goods, and under the command of fortune. Now, he\nthat neither lost any thing nor feared any thing in a public ruin, but\nwas safe and at peace in the middle of the flames, and in the heat of a\nmilitary intemperance and fury\u2014what violence or provocation imaginable\ncan put such a man as this out of the possession of himself? Walls\nand castles may be mined and battered, but there is no art or engine\nthat can subvert a steady mind. \u201cI have made my way,\u201d says Stilpo,\n\u201cthrough fire and blood\u2014what has become of my children I know not; but\nthese are transitory blessings, and servants that are bound to change\ntheir masters; what was my own before is my own still. Some have lost\ntheir estates, others their dear-bought mistresses, their commissions\nand offices: the usurers have lost their bonds and securities: but,\nDemetrius, for my part I have saved all, and do not imagine after\nall this, either that Demetrius is a conqueror, or that Stilpo is\novercome\u2014it is only thy fortune has been too hard for mine.\u201d\n\nAlexander took Babylon, Scipio took Carthage, the capitol was burnt;\nbut there is no fire or violence that can discompose a generous mind;\nand let us not take this character either for a chimera, for all ages\nafford some, though not many, instances of this elevated virtue.\n\nA good man does his duty, let it be never so painful, so hazardous, or\nnever so great a loss to him; and it is not all the money, the power,\nand the pleasure in the world; not any force of necessity, that can\nmake him wicked: he considers what he is to do, not what he is to\nsuffer, and will keep on his course, though there should be nothing\nbut gibbets and torments in the way. And in this instance of Stilpo,\nwho, when he had lost his country, his wife, his children, the town\non fire over his head, himself escaping very hardly and naked out of\nthe flames; \u201cI have saved all my goods,\u201d says he, \u201cmy justice, my\ncourage, my temperance, my prudence;\u201d accounting nothing his own, or\nvaluable, and showing how much easier it was to overcome a nation than\none wise man. It is a certain mark of a brave mind not to be moved\nby any accidents: the upper region of the air admits neither clouds\nnor tempests; the thunder, storms, and meteors, are formed below; and\nthis is the difference betwixt a mean and an exalted mind; the former\nis rude and tumultuary; the latter is modest, venerable, composed,\nand always quiet in its station. In brief, it is the conscience that\npronounces upon the man whether he be happy or miserable. But, though\nsacrilege and adultery be generally condemned, how many are there\nstill that do not so much as blush at the one, and in truth that\ntake a glory in the other? For nothing is more common than for great\nthieves to ride in triumph when the little ones are punished. But\nlet \u201cwickedness escape as it may at the bar, it never fails of doing\njustice upon itself; for every guilty person is his own hangman.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE DUE CONTEMPLATION OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE IS THE CERTAIN CURE OF ALL\nMISFORTUNES.\n\n\nWhoever observes the world, and the order of it, will find all the\nmotions in it to be only vicissitudes of falling and rising; nothing\nextinguished, and even those things which seem to us to perish are in\ntruth but changed. The seasons go and return, day and night follow in\ntheir courses, the heavens roll, and Nature goes on with her work: all\nthings succeed in their turns, storms and calms; the law of Nature\nwill have it so, which we must follow and obey, accounting all things\nthat are done to be well done; so that what we cannot mend we must\nsuffer, and wait upon Providence without repining. It is the part of\na cowardly soldier to follow his commander groaning: but a generous\nman delivers himself up to God without struggling; and it is only\nfor a narrow mind to condemn the order of the world, and to propound\nrather the mending of Nature than of himself. No man has any cause\nof complaint against Providence, if that which is right pleases him.\nThose glories that appear fair to the eye, their lustre is but false\nand superficial; and they are only vanity and delusion: they are rather\nthe goods of a dream than a substantial possession: they may cozen us\nat a distance, but bring them once to the touch, they are rotten and\ncounterfeit. There are no greater wretches in the world than many of\nthose which the people take to be happy. Those are the only true and\nincorruptible comforts that will abide all trials, and the more we turn\nand examine them, the more valuable we find them; and the greatest\nfelicity of all is, not to stand in need of any. What is _poverty_? No\nman lives so poor as he was born. What is _pain_? It will either have\nan end itself, or make an end of us. In short, Fortune has no weapon\nthat reaches the mind: but the bounties of Providence are certain and\npermanent blessings; and they are the greater and the better, the\nlonger we consider them; that is to say, \u201cthe power of contemning\nthings terrible, and despising what the common people covet.\u201d In the\nvery methods of Nature we cannot but observe the regard that Providence\nhad to the good of mankind, even in the disposition of the world, in\nproviding so amply for our maintenance and satisfaction. It is not\npossible for us to comprehend what the Power is which has made all\nthings: some few sparks of that Divinity are discovered, but infinitely\nthe greater part of it lies hid. We are all of us, however, thus far\nagreed, first, in the acknowledgement and belief of that almighty\nBeing; and, secondly, that we are to ascribe to it all majesty and\ngoodness.\n\n\u201cIf there be a Providence,\u201d say some, \u201chow comes it to pass that\ngood men labor under affliction and adversity, and wicked men enjoy\nthemselves in ease and plenty?\u201d My answer is, that God deals by us as a\ngood father does by his children; he tries us, he hardens us, and fits\nus for himself. He keeps a strict hand over those that he loves; and by\nthe rest he does as we do by our slaves; he lets them go on in license\nand boldness.\n\nAs the master gives his most hopeful scholars the hardest lessons, so\ndoes God deal with the most generous spirits; and the cross encounters\nof fortune we are not to look upon as a cruelty, but as a contest: the\nfamiliarity of dangers brings us to the contempt of them, and that part\nis strongest which is most exercised: the seaman\u2019s hand is callous, the\nsoldier\u2019s arm is strong, and the tree that is most exposed to the wind\ntakes the best root: there are people that live in a perpetual winter,\nin extremity of frost and penury, where a cave, a lock of straw, or a\nfew leaves, is all their covering, and wild beasts their nourishment;\nall this by custom is not only made tolerable, but when it is once\ntaken up upon necessity, by little and little, it becomes pleasant to\nthem. Why should we then count that condition of life a calamity which\nis the lot of many nations? There is no state of life so miserable\nbut that there are in it remissions, diversions, nay, and delights\ntoo; such is the benignity of Nature towards us, even in the severest\naccidents of human life. There were no living if adversity should hold\non as it begins, and keep up the force of the first impression. We are\napt to murmur at many things as great evils, that have nothing at all\nof evil in them besides the complaint, which we should more reasonably\ntake up against ourselves. If I be sick, it is part of my fate; and\nfor other calamities, they are usual things; they ought to be; nay,\nwhich is more, they must be, for they come by divine appointment. So\nthat we should not only submit to God, but assent to him, and obey him\nout of _duty_, even if there were no _necessity_. All those terrible\nappearances that make us groan and tremble are but the tribute of life;\nwe are neither to wish, nor to ask, nor to hope to escape them; for\nit is a kind of dishonesty to pay a tribute unwillingly. Am I troubled\nwith the stone, or afflicted with continual losses? nay, is my body in\ndanger? All this is no more than what I prayed for when I prayed for\nold age. All these things are as familiar in a long life, as dust and\ndirt in a long way. Life is a warfare; and what brave man would not\nrather choose to be in a tent than in shambles? Fortune does like a\nswordsman, she scorns to encounter a fearful man: there is no honor in\nthe victory where there is no danger in the way to it; she tries Mucius\nby _fire_; Rutilius by _exile_; Socrates by _poison_; Cato by _death_.\n\nIt is only in adverse fortune, and in bad times, that we find great\nexamples. Mucius thought himself happier with his hand in the flame,\nthan if it had been in the bosom of his mistress. Fabricius took more\npleasure in eating the roots of his own planting than in all the\ndelicacies of luxury and expense. Shall we call Rutilius miserable,\nwhom his very enemies have adored? who, upon a glorious and a public\nprinciple, chose rather to lose his country than to return from\nbanishment? the only man that denied any thing to Sylla the dictator,\nwho recalled him. Nor did he only refuse to come, but drew himself\nfurther off: \u201cLet them,\u201d says he, \u201cthat think banishment a misfortune,\nlive slaves at Rome, under the imperial cruelties of Sylla: he that\nsets a price upon the heads of senators; and after a law of his own\ninstitution against cut-throats, becomes the greatest himself.\u201d Is it\nnot better for a man to live in exile abroad than to be massacred at\nhome? In suffering for virtue, it is not the torment but the cause,\nthat we are to consider; and the more pain, the more renown. When any\nhardship befalls us, we must look upon it as an act of Providence,\nwhich many times suffers particulars to be wounded for the conservation\nof the whole: beside that, God chastises some people under an\nappearance of blessing them, turning their prosperity to their ruin as\na punishment for abusing his goodness. And we are further to consider,\nthat many a good man is afflicted, only to teach others to suffer; for\nwe are born for example; and likewise that where men are contumacious\nand refractory, it pleases God many times to cure greater evils by\nless, and to turn our miseries to our advantage.\n\nHow many casualties and difficulties are there that we dread as\ninsupportable mischiefs, which, upon farther thoughts, we find to\nbe mercies and benefits? as banishment, poverty, loss of relations,\nsickness, disgrace. Some are cured by the lance; by fire, hunger,\nthirst; taking out of bones, lopping off limbs, and the like: nor do\nwe only fear things that are many times beneficial to us; but, on the\nother side, we hanker after and pursue things that are deadly and\npernicious: we are poisoned in the very pleasure of our luxury, and\nbetrayed to a thousand diseases by the indulging of our palate. To lose\na child or a limb, is only to part with what we have received, and\nNature may do what she pleases with her own. We are frail ourselves,\nand we have received things transitory\u2014that which was given us may be\ntaken away\u2014calamity tries virtue as the fire does gold, nay, he that\nlives most at ease is only delayed, not dismissed, and his portion is\nto come. When we are visited with sickness or other afflictions we are\nnot to murmur as if we were ill used\u2014it is a mark of the general\u2019s\nesteem when he puts us upon a post of danger: we do not say \u201cMy\ncaptain uses me ill,\u201d but \u201che does me honor;\u201d and so should we say that\nare commanded to encounter difficulties, for this is our case with God\nAlmighty.\n\nWhat was Regulus the worse, because Fortune made choice of him for\nan eminent instance both of faith and patience? He was thrown into a\ncase of wood stuck with pointed nails, so that which way soever he\nturned his body, it rested upon his wounds; his eyelids were cut off\nto keep him waking; and yet Mec\u00e6nas was not happier upon his _bed_\nthan Regulus upon his _torments_. Nay, the world is not yet grown so\nwicked as not to prefer Regulus before Mec\u00e6nas: and can any man take\nthat to be an evil of which Providence accounted this brave man worthy?\n\u201cIt has pleased God,\u201d says he, \u201cto single me out for an experiment of\nthe force of human nature.\u201d No man knows his own strength or value but\nby being put to the proof. The pilot is tried in a storm; the soldier\nin a battle; the rich man knows not how to behave himself in poverty:\nhe that has lived in popularity and applause, knows not how he would\nbear infamy and reproach: nor he that never had children how he would\nbear the loss of them. Calamity is the occasion of virtue, and a spur\nto a great mind. The very apprehension of a wound startles a man when\nhe first bears arms; but an old soldier bleeds boldly, because he\nknows that a man may lose blood, and yet win the day. Nay, many times\na calamity turns to our advantage; and great ruins have but made way\nto greater glories. The crying out of _fire_ has many times quieted\na fray, and the interposing of a wild beast has parted the thief and\nthe traveller; for we are not at leisure for less mischiefs while we\nare under the apprehensions of greater. One man\u2019s life is saved by a\ndisease: another is arrested, and taken out of the way, just when his\nhouse was falling upon his head.\n\nTo show now that the favors or the crosses of fortune, and the\naccidents of sickness and of health, are neither good nor evil, God\npermits them indifferently both to good and evil men. \u201cIt is hard,\u201d you\nwill say, \u201cfor a virtuous man to suffer all sorts of misery, and for\na wicked man not only to go free, but to enjoy himself at pleasure.\u201d\nAnd is it not the same thing for men of prostituted impudence and\nwickedness to sleep in a whole skin, when men of honor and honesty\nbear arms; lie in the trenches, and receive wounds? or for the vestal\nvirgins to rise in the night to their prayers, when common strumpets\nlie stretching themselves in their beds? We should rather say with\nDemetrius, \u201cIf I had known the will of Heaven before I was called to\nit, I would have offered myself.\u201d If it be the pleasure of God to take\nmy children, I have brought them up to that end: if my fortune, any\npart of my body, or my life, I would rather present it than yield it\nup: I am ready to part with all, and to suffer all; for I know that\nnothing comes to pass but what God appoints: our fate is decreed, and\nthings do not so much happen, as in their due time proceed, and every\nman\u2019s portion of joy and sorrow is predetermined.\n\nThere is nothing falls amiss to a good man that can be charged upon\nProvidence; for wicked actions, lewd thoughts, ambitious projects,\nblind lusts, and insatiable avarice\u2014against all these he is armed by\nthe benefit of reason: and do we expect now that God should look to\nour luggage too? (I mean our bodies.) Demetrius discharged himself of\nhis treasure as the clog and burden of his mind: shall we wonder then\nif God suffers that to befall a good man which a good man sometimes\ndoes to himself? I lose a son, and why not, when it may sometimes so\nfall out that I myself may kill him? Suppose he be banished by an order\nof state, is it not the same thing with a man\u2019s voluntarily leaving\nhis country never to return? Many afflictions may befall a good man,\nbut no evil, for contraries will never incorporate\u2014all the rivers in\nthe world are never able to change the taste or quality of the sea.\nPrudence and religion are above accidents, and draw good out of every\nthing\u2014affliction keeps a man in use, and makes him strong, patient, and\nhardy. Providence treats us like a generous father, and brings us up\nto labors, toils, and dangers; whereas the indulgence of a fond mother\nmakes us weak and spiritless.\n\nGod loves us with a masculine love, and turns us loose to injuries\nand indignities: he takes delight to see a brave and a good man\nwrestling with evil fortune, and yet keeping himself upon his legs,\nwhen the whole world is in disorder about him. And are not we ourselves\ndelighted, to see a bold fellow press with his lance upon a boar or\nlion? and the constancy and resolution of the action is the grace and\ndignity of the spectacle. No man can be happy that does not stand firm\nagainst all contingencies; and say to himself in all extremities, \u201cI\nshould have been content, if it might have been so or so, but since it\nis otherwise determined, God will provide better.\u201d The more we struggle\nwith our necessities, we draw the knot the harder, and the worse it\nis with us: and the more a bird flaps and flutters in the snare, the\nsurer she is caught: so that the best way is to submit and lie still,\nunder this double consideration, that \u201cthe proceedings of God are\nunquestionable, and his decrees are not to be resisted.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nOF LEVITY OF MIND, AND OTHER IMPEDIMENTS OF A HAPPY LIFE.\n\n\nNow, to sum up what is already delivered, we have showed what happiness\nis, and wherein it consists: that it is founded upon wisdom and virtue;\nfor we must first know what we ought to do, and then live according to\nthat knowledge. We have also discoursed the helps of philosophy and\nprecept toward a _happy life_; the blessing of a good conscience; that\na good man can never be miserable, nor a wicked man happy; nor any\nman unfortunate that cheerfully submits to Providence. We shall now\nexamine, how it comes to pass that, when the certain way to happiness\nlies so fair before us, men will yet steer their course on the other\nside, which as manifestly leads to ruin.\n\nThere are some that live without any design at all, and only pass\nin the world like straws upon a river; they do not go, but they are\ncarried. Others only deliberate upon the parts of life, and not upon\nthe whole, which is a great error: for there is no disposing of the\ncircumstances of it, unless we first propound the main scope. How shall\nany man take his aim without a mark? or what wind will serve him that\nis not yet resolved upon his port? We live as it were by chance, and\nby chance we are governed. Some there are that torment themselves\nafresh with the memory of what is past: \u201cLord! what did I endure? never\nwas any man in my condition; everybody gave me over; my very heart\nwas ready to break,\u201d etc. Others, again, afflict themselves with the\napprehension of evils to come; and very ridiculously: for the _one_\ndoes not _now_ concern us, and the _other_ not _yet_: beside that,\nthere may he remedies for mischiefs likely to happen; for they give us\nwarning by signs and symptoms of their approach. Let him that would be\nquiet take heed not to provoke men that are in power, but live without\ngiving offence; and if we cannot make all great men our friends, it\nwill suffice to keep them from being our enemies. This is a thing we\nmust avoid, as a mariner would do a storm.\n\nA rash seaman never considers what wind blows, or what course he\nsteers, but runs at a venture, as if he would brave the rocks and the\neddies; whereas he that is careful and considerate, informs himself\nbeforehand where the danger lies, and what weather it is like to be:\nhe consults his compass, and keeps aloof from those places that are\ninfamous for wrecks and miscarriages; so does a wise man in the common\nbusiness of life; he keeps out of the way from those that may do him\nhurt: but it is a point of prudence not to let them take notice that\nhe does it on purpose; for that which a man shuns he tacitly condemns.\nLet him have a care also of _listeners_, _newsmongers_, and _meddlers_\nin other people\u2019s matters; for their discourse is commonly of such\nthings as are never profitable, and most commonly dangerous either to\nbe spoken or heard.\n\nLevity of mind is a great hindrance of repose, and the very change\nof wickedness is an addition to the wickedness itself; for it is\ninconstancy added to iniquity; we relinquish the thing we sought, and\nthen we take it up again; and so divide our lives between our lust and\nour repentances. From one appetite we pass to another, not so much\nupon choice as for change; and there is a check of conscience that\ncasts a damp upon all our unlawful pleasures, which makes us lose the\nday in expectation of the night, and the night itself for fear of the\napproaching light.\n\nSome people are _never_ at quiet, others are _always_ so, and they are\nboth to blame: for that which looks like vivacity and industry in the\none is only a restlessness and agitation; and that which passes in the\nother for moderation and reserve is but a drowsy and unactive sloth.\nLet motion and rest both take their turns, according to the order of\nNature, which makes both the day and the night. Some are perpetually\nshifting from one thing to another; others, again, make their whole\nlife but a kind of uneasy sleep: some lie tossing and turning until\nvery weariness brings them to rest; others, again, I cannot so properly\ncall inconstant as lazy. There are many proprieties and diversities of\nvice; but it is one never-failing effect of it to live displeased. We\ndo all of us labor under inordinate desires; we are either timorous,\nand dare not venture, or venturing we do not succeed; or else we cast\nourselves upon uncertain hopes, where we are perpetually solicitous,\nand in suspense. In this distraction we are apt to propose to ourselves\nthings dishonest and hard; and when we have taken great pains to no\npurpose, we come then to repent of our undertakings: we are afraid to\ngo on, and we can neither master our appetites nor obey them: we live\nand die restless and irresolute; and, which is worst of all, when we\ngrow weary of the public, and betake ourselves to solitude for relief,\nour minds are sick and wallowing, and the very house and walls are\ntroublesome to us; we grow impatient and ashamed of ourselves, and\nsuppress our inward vexation until it breaks our heart for want of\nvent. This is it that makes us sour and morose, envious of others, and\ndissatisfied with ourselves; until at last, betwixt our troubles for\nother people\u2019s successes and the despair of our own, we fall foul upon\nFortune and the times, and get into a corner perhaps, where we sit\nbrooding over our own disquiets. In these dispositions there is a kind\nof pruriginous fancy, that makes some people take delight in labor and\nuneasiness, like the clawing of an itch until the blood starts.\n\nThis is it that puts us upon rambling voyages; one while by land; but\nstill disgusted with the present: the town pleases us to-day, the\ncountry to-morrow: the splendors of the court at one time, the horrors\nof a wilderness at another, but all this while we carry our plague\nabout us; for it is not the place we are weary of, but ourselves. Nay,\nour weakness extends to everything; for we are impatient equally of\ntoil and of pleasure. This trotting of the ring, and only treading\nthe same steps over and over again, has made many a man lay violent\nhands upon himself. It must be the change of the mind, not of the\nclimate, that will remove the heaviness of the heart; our vices go\nalong with us, and we carry in ourselves the causes of our disquiets.\nThere is a great weight lies upon us, and the bare shocking of it\nmakes it the more uneasy; changing of countries, in this case, is not\ntravelling, but wandering. We must keep on our course, if we would gain\nour journey\u2019s end. \u201cHe that cannot live happily anywhere, will live\nhappily nowhere.\u201d What is a man the better for travelling? as if his\ncares could not find him out wherever he goes? Is there any retiring\nfrom the fear of death, or of torments? or from those difficulties\nwhich beset a man wherever he is? It is only philosophy that makes the\nmind invincible, and places us out of the reach of fortune, so that\nall her arrows fall short of us. This it is that reclaims the rage of\nour lusts, and sweetens the anxiety of our fears. Frequent changing of\nplaces or councils, shows an instability of mind; and we must fix the\nbody before we can fix the soul. We can hardly stir abroad, or look\nabout us, without encountering something or other that revives our\nappetites. As he that would cast off an unhappy love avoids whatsoever\nmay put him in mind of the person, so he that would wholly deliver\nhimself from his beloved lusts must shun all objects that may put them\nin his head again, and remind him of them. We travel, as children run\nup and down after strange sights, for novelty, not profit; we return\nneither the better nor the sounder; nay, and the very agitation hurts\nus. We learn to call towns and places by their names, and to tell\nstories of mountains and of rivers; but had not our time been better\nspent in the study of wisdom and of virtue? in the learning of what\nis already discovered, and in the quest of things not yet found out?\nIf a man break his leg, or strain his ankle, he sends presently for a\nsurgeon to set all right again, and does not take horse upon it, or put\nhimself on ship-board; no more does the change of place work upon our\ndisordered minds than upon our bodies. It is not the place, I hope,\nthat makes either an orator or a physician. Will any man ask upon the\nroad, Pray, which is the way to prudence, to justice, to temperance,\nto fortitude? No matter whither any man goes that carries his\naffections along with him. He that would make his travels delightful\nmust make himself a temperate companion.\n\nA great traveller was complaining that he was never the better for his\ntravels; \u201cThat is very true,\u201d said Socrates, \u201cbecause you travelled\nwith yourself.\u201d Now, had not he better have made himself another man\nthan to transport himself to another place? It is no matter what\nmanners we find anywhere; so long as we carry our own. But we have all\nof us a natural curiosity of seeing fine sights, and of making new\ndiscoveries, turning over antiquities, learning the customs of nations,\netc. We are never quiet; to-day we seek an office, to-morrow we are\nsick of it. We divide our lives betwixt a dislike of the present and a\ndesire of the future: but he that lives as he should, orders himself\nso, as neither to fear nor to wish for to-morrow; if it comes, it is\nwelcome; but if not, there is nothing lost; for that which is come, is\nbut the same over again with what is past. As levity is a pernicious\nenemy to quiet, so pertinacity is a great one too. The one changes\nnothing, the other sticks to nothing; and which of the two is the\nworse, may be a question. It is many times seen, that we beg earnestly\nfor those things, which, if they were offered us, we would refuse; and\nit is but just to punish this easiness of asking with an equal facility\nof granting. There are some things we would be thought to desire, which\nwe are so far from desiring that we dread them. \u201cI shall tire you,\u201d\nsays one, in the middle of a tedious story. \u201cNay, pray be pleased to\ngo on,\u201d we cry, though we wish his tongue out at half-way: nay, we do\nnot deal candidly even with God himself. We should say to ourselves\nin these cases, \u201cThis I have drawn upon myself. I could never be quiet\nuntil I had gotten this woman, this place, this estate, this honor, and\nnow see what is come of it.\u201d\n\nOne sovereign remedy against all misfortunes is constancy of mind: the\nchanging of parties and countenances looks as if a man were driven with\nthe wind. Nothing can be above him that is above fortune. It is not\nviolence, reproach, contempt, or whatever else from without, that can\nmake a wise man quit his ground: but he is proof against calamities,\nboth great and small: only our error is, that what we cannot do\nourselves, we think nobody else can; so that we judge of the wise by\nthe measures of the weak. Place me among princes or among beggars, the\none shall not make me proud, nor the other ashamed. I can take as sound\na sleep in a barn as in a palace, and a bundle of hay makes me as good\na lodging as a bed of down. Should every day succeed to my wish, it\nshould not transport me; nor would I think myself miserable if I should\nnot have one quiet hour in my life. I will not transport myself with\neither pain or pleasure; but yet for all that, I could wish that I had\nan easier game to play, and that I were put rather to moderate my joys\nthan my sorrows. If I were an imperial prince, I had rather take than\nbe taken; and yet I would bear the same mind under the chariot of my\nconqueror that I had in my own. It is no great matter to trample upon\nthose things that are most coveted or feared by the common people.\nThere are those that will laugh upon the wheel, and cast themselves\nupon a certain death, only upon a transport of love, perhaps anger,\navarice, or revenge; how much more then upon an instinct of virtue,\nwhich is invincible and steady! If a short obstinacy of mind can do\nthis, how much more shall a composed and deliberate virtue, whose force\nis equal and perpetual.\n\nTo secure ourselves in this world, first, we must aim at nothing that\nmen count worth the wrangling for. Secondly, we must not value the\npossession of any thing which even a common thief would think worth the\nstealing. A man\u2019s body is no booty. Let the way be never so dangerous\nfor robberies, the poor and the naked pass quietly. A plain-dealing\nsincerity of manners makes a man\u2019s life happy, even in despite of scorn\nand contempt, which is every clear man\u2019s fate. But we had better yet\nbe contemned for simplicity than lie perpetually upon the torture of\na counterfeit; provided that care be taken not to confound simplicity\nwith negligence; and it is, moreover, an uneasy life that of a\ndisguise; for a man to seem to be what he is not, to keep a perpetual\nguard upon himself, and to live in fear of a discovery. He takes every\nman that looks upon him for a spy, over and above the trouble of being\nput to play another man\u2019s part. It is a good remedy in some cases for\na man to apply himself to civil affairs and public business; and yet,\nin this state of life too, what betwixt ambition and calumny, it is\nhardly safe to be honest. There are, indeed, some cases wherein a wise\nman will give way; but let him not yield over easily neither; if he\nmarches off, let him have a care of his honor, and make his retreat\nwith his sword in his hand, and his face to the enemy. Of all others, a\nstudious life is the least tiresome: it makes us easy to ourselves and\nto others, and gains us both friends and reputation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHE THAT SETS UP HIS REST UPON CONTINGENCIES SHALL NEVER BE QUIET.\n\n\nNever pronounce any man happy that depends upon fortune for his\nhappiness; for nothing can be more preposterous than to place the\ngood of a reasonable creature in unreasonable things. If I have lost\nany thing, it was adventitious; and the less money, the less trouble;\nthe less favor, the less envy; nay, even in those cases that put us\nout of their wits, it is not the loss itself, but the opinion of the\nloss, that troubles us. It is a common mistake to account those things\nnecessary that are superfluous, and to depend upon fortune for the\nfelicity of life, which arises only from virtue. There is no trusting\nto her smiles; the sea swells and rages in a moment, and the ships are\nswallowed at night, in the very place where they sported themselves in\nthe morning. And fortune has the same power over princes that it has\nover empires, over nations that it has over cities, and the same power\nover cities that it has over private men. Where is that estate that may\nnot be followed upon the heel with famine and beggary? that dignity\nwhich the next moment may not be laid in the dust? that kingdom that is\nsecure from desolation and ruin? The period of all things is at hand,\nas well that which casts out the fortunate as the other that delivers\nthe unhappy; and that which may fall out at any time may fall out this\nvery day. What _shall_ come to pass I know not, but what _may_ come to\npass I know: so that I will despair of nothing, but expect everything;\nand whatsoever Providence remits is clear gain. Every moment, if it\nspares me, deceives me; and yet in some sort it does not deceive me;\nfor though I know that any thing may happen, yet I know likewise\nthat everything will not. I will hope the best, and provide for the\nworst. Methinks we should not find so much fault with Fortune for her\ninconstancy when we ourselves suffer a change every moment that we\nlive; only other changes make more noise, and this steals upon us like\nthe shadow upon a dial, every jot as certainly, but more insensibly.\n\nThe burning of Lyons may serve to show us that we are never safe, and\nto arm us against all surprises. The terror of it must needs be great,\nfor the calamity is almost without example. If it had been fired by an\nenemy, the flame would have left some further mischief to have been\ndone by the soldiers; but to be wholly consumed, we have not heard of\nmany earthquakes so pernicious: so many rarities to be destroyed in\none night; and in the depth of peace to suffer an outrage beyond the\nextremity of war; who would believe it? but twelve hours betwixt so\nfair a city and none at all! It was laid in ashes in less time than it\nwould require to tell the story.\n\nTo stand unshaken in such a calamity is hardly to be expected, and\nour wonder can but be equal to our grief. Let this accident teach us\nto provide against all possibilities that fall within the power of\nfortune. All external things are under her dominion: one while she\ncalls our hands to her assistance; another while she contents herself\nwith her own force, and destroys us with mischiefs of which we cannot\nfind the author. No time, place, or condition, is excepted; she makes\nour very pleasures painful to us; she makes war upon us in the depth of\npeace, and turns the means of our security into an occasion of fear;\nshe turns a friend into an enemy, and makes a foe of a companion; we\nsuffer the effects of war without any adversary; and rather than fail,\nour felicity shall be the cause of our destruction. Lest we should\neither forget or neglect her power, every day produces something\nextraordinary. She persecutes the most temperate with sickness, the\nstrongest constitutions with the phthisis; she brings the innocent\nto punishment, and the most retired she assaults with tumults. Those\nglories that have grown up with many ages, with infinite labor and\nexpense, and under the favor of many auspicious providences, one day\nscatters and brings to nothing. He that pronounced a day, nay, an hour,\nsufficient for the destruction of the greatest empire, might have\nfallen to a moment.\n\nIt were some comfort yet to the frailty of mankind and of human\naffairs, if things might but decay as slowly as they rise; but they\ngrow by degrees, and they fall to ruin in an instant. There is no\nfelicity in anything either private or public; men, nations, and\ncities, have all their fates and periods; our very entertainments are\nnot without terror, and our calamity rises there where we least expect\nit. Those kingdoms that stood the shock both of foreign wars and civil,\ncome to destruction without the sight of an enemy. Nay, we are to dread\nour peace and felicity more than violence, because we are here taken\nunprovided; unless in a state of peace we do the duty of men in war,\nand say to ourselves, _Whatsoever may be, will be_. I am to-day safe\nand happy in the love of my country; I am to-morrow banished: to-day in\npleasure, peace, health; to-morrow broken upon a wheel, led in triumph,\nand in the agony of sickness. Let us therefore prepare for a shipwreck\nin the port, and for a tempest in a calm. One violence drives me from\nmy country, another ravishes that from me; and that very place where\na man can hardly pass this day for a crowd may be to-morrow a desert.\nWherefore let us set before our eyes the whole condition of human\nnature, and consider as well what _may_ happen as what commonly _does_.\nThe way to make future calamities easy to us in the sufferance, is to\nmake them familiar to us in the contemplation. How many cities in Asia,\nAchaia, Assyria, Macedonia, have been swallowed up by earthquakes?\nnay, whole countries are lost, and large provinces laid under water;\nbut time brings all things to an end; for all the works of mortals\nare mortal; all possessions and their possessors are uncertain and\nperishable; and what wonder is it to lose anything at any time, when we\nmust one day lose all?\n\nThat which we call our own is but lent us; and what we have received\n_gratis_ we must return without complaint. That which Fortune gives\nus this hour she may take away the next; and he that trusts to her\nfavors, shall either find himself deceived, or if he be not, he will\nat least be troubled, because he may be so. There is no defence in\nwalls, fortifications, and engines, against the power of fortune; we\nmust provide ourselves within, and when we are safe there, we are\ninvincible; we may be battered, but not taken. She throws her gifts\namong us, and we sweat and scuffle for them, never considering how few\nare the better for that which is expected by all. Some are transported\nwith what they get; others tormented for what they miss; and many\ntimes there is a leg or an arm broken in a contest for a counter. She\ngives us honors, riches, favors, only to take them away again, either\nby violence or treachery: so that they frequently turn to the damage\nof the receiver. She throws out baits for us, and sets traps as we do\nfor birds and beasts; her bounties are snares and lime-twigs to us; we\nthink that we take, but we are taken. If they had any thing in them\nthat was substantial, they would some time or other fill and quiet us;\nbut they serve only to provoke our appetite without anything more than\npomp and show to allay it. But the best of it is, if a man cannot mend\nhis fortune, he may yet mend his manners, and put himself so far out of\nher reach, that whether she gives or takes, it shall be all one to us;\nfor we are neither the greater for the one, nor the less for the other.\nWe call this a dark room, or that a light one; when it is in itself\nneither the one nor the other, but only as the day and the night render\nit. And so it is in riches, strength of body, beauty, honor, command:\nand likewise in pain, sickness, banishment, death: which are in\nthemselves middle and indifferent things, and only good or bad as they\nare influenced by virtue. To weep, lament, and groan, is to renounce\nour duty; and it is the same weakness on the other side to exult and\nrejoice. I would rather make my fortune than expect it; being neither\ndepressed with her injuries, nor dazzled with her favors. When Zeno was\ntold, that all his goods were drowned; \u201cWhy then,\u201d says he, \u201cFortune\nhas a mind to make me a philosopher.\u201d It is a great matter for a man to\nadvance his mind above her threats or flatteries; for he that has once\ngotten the better of her is safe forever.\n\nIt is some comfort yet to the unfortunate, that great men lie under the\nlash for company; and that death spares the palace no more than the\ncottage, and that whoever is above me has a power also above him. Do\nwe not daily see funerals without trouble, princes deposed, countries\ndepopulated, towns sacked; without so much as thinking how soon it may\nbe our own case? whereas, if we would but prepare and arm ourselves\nagainst the iniquities of fortune, we should never be surprised.\n\nWhen we see any man banished, beggared, tortured, we are to account,\nthat though the mischief fell upon another, it was levelled at us. What\nwonder is it if, of so many thousands of dangers that are constantly\nhovering about us, one comes to hit us at last? That which befalls any\nman, may befall every man; and then it breaks the force of a present\ncalamity to provide against the future. Whatsoever our lot is, we must\nbear it: as suppose it be contumely, cruelty, fire, sword, pains,\ndiseases, or a prey to wild beasts; there is no struggling, nor any\nremedy but moderation. It is to no purpose to bewail any part of our\nlife, when life itself is miserable throughout; and the whole flux of\nit only a course of transition from one misfortune to another.\n\nA man may as well wonder that he should be cold in winter, sick at sea,\nor have his bones clatter together in a wagon, as at the encounter\nof ill accidents and crosses in the passage of human life; and it is\nin vain to run away from fortune, as if there were any hiding-place\nwherein she could not find us; or to expect any quiet from her; for she\nmakes life a perpetual state of war, without so much as any respite or\ntruce. This we may conclude upon, that her empire is but imaginary, and\nthat whosoever serves her, makes himself a voluntary slave; for \u201cthe\nthings that are often contemned by the inconsiderate, and always by the\nwise, are in themselves neither good nor evil:\u201d as pleasure and pains;\nprosperity and adversity; which can only operate upon our outward\ncondition, without any proper and necessary effect upon the mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nA SENSUAL LIFE IS A MISERABLE LIFE.\n\n\nThe sensuality that we here treat of falls naturally under the head of\nluxury; which extends to all the excesses of gluttony, lust, effeminacy\nof manners; and, in short, to whatsoever concerns the overgreat care of\nthe carcass.\n\nTo begin now with the pleasures of the palate, (which deal with us like\nEgyptian thieves, that strangle those they embrace), what shall we say\nof the luxury of Nomentanus and Apicius, that entertained their very\nsouls in the kitchen: they have the choicest music for their ears; the\nmost diverting spectacles for their eyes; the choicest variety of meats\nand drinks for their palates. What is all this, I say, but a _merry\nmadness_? It is true, they have their delights, but not without heavy\nand anxious thoughts, even in their very enjoyments, beside that, they\nare followed with repentance, and their frolics are little more than\nthe laughter of so many people out of their wits. Their felicities are\nfull of disquiet, and neither sincere nor well grounded: but they have\nneed of one pleasure to support another; and of new prayers to forgive\nthe errors of their former. Their life must needs be wretched that get\nwith great pains what they keep with greater.\n\nOne diversion overtakes another; hope excites hope; ambition begets\nambition; so that they only change the matter of their miseries,\nwithout seeking any end of them; and shall never be without either\nprosperous or unhappy causes of disquiet. What if a body might have\nall the pleasures in the world for the asking? who would so much unman\nhimself, as by accepting of them, to desert his soul, and become a\nperpetual slave to his senses? Those false and miserable palates, that\njudge of meats by the price and difficulty, not by the healthfulness\nof taste, they vomit that they may eat, and they eat that they may\nfetch it up again. They cross the seas for rarities, and when they have\nswallowed them, they will not so much as give them time to digest.\nWheresoever Nature has placed men, she has provided them aliment: but\nwe rather choose to irritate hunger by expense than to allay it at an\neasier rate.\n\nWhat is it that we plow the seas for; or arm ourselves against men and\nbeasts? To what end do we toil, and labor, and pile bags upon bags? We\nmay enlarge our fortunes, but we cannot our bodies; so that it does\nbut spill and run over, whatsoever we take more than we can hold. Our\nforefathers (by the force of whose virtues we are now supported in our\nvices) lived every jot as well as we, when they provided and dressed\ntheir own meat with their own hands; lodged upon the ground, and were\nnot as yet come to the vanity of gold and gems; when they swore by\ntheir earthen gods, and kept their oath, though they died for it.\n\nDid not our consuls live more happily when they cooked their own meat\nwith those victorious hands that had conquered so many enemies and\nwon so many laurels? Did they not live more happily, I say, than our\nApicius (that corrupter of youth, and plague of the age he lived in)\nwho, after he had spent a prodigious fortune upon his belly, poisoned\nhimself for fear of starving, when he had yet 250,000 crowns in his\ncoffers? which may serve to show us, that it is the mind, and not\nthe sum, that makes any man rich; when Apicius with all his treasure\ncounted himself in a state of beggary, and took poison to avoid that\ncondition, which another would have prayed for. But why do we call\nit poison, which was the wholesomest draught of his life? His daily\ngluttony was poison rather, both to himself and others. His ostentation\nof it was intolerable; and so was the infinite pains he took to mislead\nothers by his example, who went even fast enough of themselves without\ndriving.\n\nIt is a shame for a man to place his felicity in those entertainments\nand appetites that are stronger in brutes. Do not beasts eat with a\nbetter stomach? Have they not more satisfaction in their lusts? And\nthey have not only a quicker relish of their pleasures, but they enjoy\nthem without either scandal or remorse. If sensuality were happiness,\nbeasts were happier than men; but human felicity is lodged in the\nsoul, not in the flesh. They that deliver themselves up to luxury\nare still either tormented with too little, or oppressed with too\nmuch; and equally miserable, by being either deserted or overwhelmed:\nthey are like men in a dangerous sea; one while cast a-dry upon a\nrock, and another while swallowed up in a whirlpool; and all this\nfrom the mistake of not distinguishing good from evil. The huntsman,\nthat with which labor and hazard takes a wild beast, runs as great a\nrisk afterwards in the keeping of him; for many times he tears out\nthe throat of his master; and it is the same thing with inordinate\npleasures: the more in number, and the greater they are, the more\ngeneral and absolute a slave is the servant of them. Let the common\npeople pronounce him as happy as they please, he pays his liberty for\nhis delights, and sells himself for what he buys.\n\nLet any man take a view of our kitchens, the number of our cooks, and\nthe variety of our meats; will he not wonder to see so much provision\nmade for one belly? We have as many diseases as we have cooks or\nmeats; and the service of the appetite is the study now in vogue. To\nsay nothing of our trains of lackeys, and our troops of caterers and\nsewers: Good God! that ever one belly should employ so many people!\nHow nauseous and fulsome are the surfeits that follow these excesses?\nSimple meats are out of fashion, and all are collected into one; so\nthat the cook does the office of the stomach; nay, and of the teeth\ntoo; for the meat looks as if it were chewed beforehand: here is the\nluxury of all tastes in one dish, and liker a vomit than a soup. From\nthese compounded dishes arise compounded diseases, which require\ncompounded medicines. It is the same thing with our minds that it is\nwith our tables; simple vices are curable by simple counsels, but a\ngeneral dissolution of manners is hardly overcome; we are overrun with\na public as well as with a private madness. The physicians of old\nunderstood little more than the virtue of some herbs to stop blood, or\nheal a wound; and their firm and healthful bodies needed little more\nbefore they were corrupted by luxury and pleasure; and when it came to\nthat once, their business was not to allay hunger, but to provoke it by\na thousand inventions and sauces. That which was aliment to a craving\nstomach is become a burden to a full one. From hence came paleness,\ntrembling, and worse effects from crudities than famine; a weakness in\nthe joints, the belly stretched, suffusion of choler, the torpor of\nthe nerves, and a palpitation of the heart. To say nothing of megrims,\ntorments of the eyes and ears, head-ache, gout, scurvy, several sorts\nof fevers and putrid ulcers, with other diseases that are but the\npunishment of luxury. So long as our bodies were hardened with labor,\nor tired with exercise or hunting, our food was plain and simple; many\ndishes have made many diseases.\n\nIt is an ill thing for a man not to know the measure of his stomach,\nnor to consider that men do many things in their drink that they are\nashamed of sober; drunkenness being nothing else but a voluntary\nmadness. It emboldens men to do all sorts of mischiefs; it both\nirritates wickedness and discovers it; it does not make men vicious,\nbut it shows them to be so. It was in a drunken fit that Alexander\nkilled Clytus. It makes him that is insolent prouder, him that is\ncruel fiercer, it takes away all shame. He that is peevish breaks out\npresently into ill words and blows. The lecher, without any regard to\ndecency or scandal, turns up his whore in the market-place. A man\u2019s\ntongue trips, his head runs round, he staggers in his pace. To say\nnothing of the crudities and diseases that follow upon this distemper,\nconsider the public mischiefs it has done. How many warlike nations\nand strong cities, that have stood invincible to attacks and sieges,\nhas drunkenness overcome! Is it not a great honor to drink the company\ndead? a magnificent virtue to swallow more wine than the rest, and yet\nat last to be outdone by a hogshead? What shall we say of those men\nthat invert the offices of day and night? as if our eyes were only\ngiven us to make use of in the dark? Is it day? \u201cIt is time to go to\nbed.\u201d Is it night? \u201cIt is time to rise.\u201d Is it toward morning? \u201cLet us\ngo to supper.\u201d When other people lie down they rise, and lie till the\nnext night to digest the debauch of the day before. It is an argument\nof clownery, to do as other people do.\n\nLuxury steals upon us by degrees; first, it shows itself in a more\nthan ordinary care of our bodies, it slips next into the furniture of\nour houses; and it gets then into the fabric, curiosity, and expense\nof the house itself. It appears, lastly, in the fantastical excesses\nof our tables. We change and shuffle our meats, confound our sauces,\nserve that in first that used to be last, and value our dishes, not for\nthe taste, but for the rarity. Nay, we are so delicate, that we must\nbe told when we are to eat or drink; when we are hungry or weary; and\nwe cherish some vices as proofs and arguments of our happiness. The\nmost miserable mortals are they that deliver themselves up to their\npalates, or to their lusts: the pleasure is short and turns presently\nnauseous, and the end of it is either shame or repentance. It is a\nbrutal entertainment, and unworthy of a man, to place his felicity in\nthe service of his senses. As to the wrathful, the contentious, the\nambitious, though the distemper be great, the offence has yet something\nin it that is manly; but the basest of prostitutes are those that\ndedicate themselves wholly to lust; what with their hopes and fears,\nanxiety of thought, and perpetual disquiets, they are never well, full\nnor fasting.\n\nWhat a deal of business is now made about our houses and diet, which\nwas at first both obvious and of little expense? Luxury led the\nway, and we have employed our wits in the aid of our vices. First\nwe desired superfluities, our next step was to wickedness, and, in\nconclusion, we delivered up our minds to our bodies, and so became\nslaves to our appetites, which before were our servants, and are now\nbecome our masters. What was it that brought us to the extravagance\nof embroideries, perfumes, tire-women, etc. We passed the bounds of\nNature, and launched out into superfluities; insomuch, that it is\nnow-a-days only for beggars and clowns to content themselves with what\nis sufficient; our luxury makes us insolent and mad. We take upon us\nlike princes, and fly out for every trifle, as though there were life\nand death in the case. What a madness is it for a man to lay out an\nestate upon a table or a cabinet, a patrimony upon a pain of pendants,\nand to inflame the price of curiosities according to the hazard either\nof breaking or losing of them? To wear garments that will neither\ndefend a woman\u2019s body, nor her modesty: so thin that one could make a\nconscience of swearing she were naked: for she hardly shows more in\nthe privacies of her amour than in public? How long shall we covet\nand oppress, enlarge our possessions, and account that too little for\none man which was formerly enough for a nation? And our luxury is as\ninsatiable as our avarice. Where is that lake, that sea, that forest,\nthat spot of land; that is not ransacked to gratify our palate? The\nvery earth is burdened with our buildings; not a river, not a mountain,\nescapes us. Oh, that there should be such boundless desires in our\nlittle bodies! Would not fewer lodgings serve us? We lie but in one,\nand where we are not, that is not properly ours. What with our hooks,\nsnares, nets, dogs, etc., we are at war with all living creatures; and\nnothing comes amiss but that which is either too cheap, or too common;\nand all this is to gratify a fantastical palate. Our avarice, our\nambition, our lusts, are insatiable; we enlarge our possessions, swell\nour families, we rifle sea and land for matter of ornament and luxury.\nA bull contents himself with one meadow, and one forest is enough for a\nthousand elephants; but the little body of a man devours more than all\nother living creatures. We do not eat to satisfy hunger, but ambition;\nwe are dead while we are alive, and our houses are so much our tombs,\nthat a man might write our _epitaphs_ upon our very doors.\n\nA voluptuous person, in fine, can neither be a good man, a good\npatriot, nor a good friend; for he is transported with his appetites,\nwithout considering, that the lot of man is the law of Nature. A good\nman (like a good soldier) will stand his ground, receive wounds, glory\nin his scars, and in death itself love his master for whom he falls;\nwith that divine precept always in his mind, \u201cFollow good:\u201d whereas\nhe that complains, laments, and groans, must yield nevertheless, and\ndo his duty though in spite of his heart. Now, what a madness is it\nfor a man to choose rather to be lugged than to follow, and vainly to\ncontend with the calamities of human life? Whatsoever is laid upon\nus by necessity, we should receive generously; for it is foolish to\nstrive with what we cannot avoid. We are born subjects, and to obey\nGod is perfect liberty. He that does this shall be free, safe, and\nquiet: all his actions shall succeed to his wish: and what can any man\ndesire more than to want nothing from without, and to have all things\ndesirable within himself? Pleasures do but weaken our minds, and send\nus for our support to Fortune, who gives us money only as the wages of\nslavery. We must stop our eyes and our ears. Ulysses had but one rock\nto fear, but human life has many. Every city, nay, every man, is one;\nand there is no trusting even to our nearest friends. Deliver me from\nthe superstition of taking those things which are light and vain for\nfelicities.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nAVARICE AND AMBITION ARE INSATIABLE AND RESTLESS.\n\n\nThe man that would be truly rich must not increase his fortune, but\nretrench his appetites: for riches are not only superfluous, but mean,\nand little more to the possessor than to the looker-on. What is the\nend of ambition and avarice, when at best we are but stewards of what\nwe falsely call our own? All those things that we pursue with so much\nhazard and expense of blood, as well to keep as to get, for which we\nbreak faith and friendship, what are they but the mere _deposita_ of\nFortune? and not ours, but already inclining toward a new master.\nThere is nothing our own but that which we give to ourselves, and of\nwhich we have a certain and an inexpugnable possession. Avarice is\nso insatiable, that it is not in the power of liberality to content\nit; and our desires are so boundless, that whatever we get is but in\nthe way to getting more without end: and so long as we are solicitous\nfor the increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our\ntime in putting out, calling in, and passing our accounts, without\nany substantial benefit, either to the world or to ourselves. What is\nthe difference betwixt old men and children? the one cries for nuts\nand apples, and the other for gold and silver: the one sets up courts\nof justice, hears and determines, acquits and condemns, in jest; the\nother in earnest: the one makes houses of clay, the other of marble:\nso that the works of old men are nothing in the world but the progress\nand improvement of children\u2019s errors; and they are to be admonished and\npunished too like children, not in revenge for injuries received, but\nas a correction of injuries done, and to make them give over. There\nis some substance yet in gold and silver; but as to judgments and\nstatutes, procuration and continuance-money, these are only the visions\nand dreams of avarice. Throw a crust of bread to a dog, he takes it\nopen-mouthed, swallows it whole, and presently gapes for more: just so\ndo we with the gifts of Fortune; down they go without chewing, and we\nare immediately ready for another chop. But what has avarice now to do\nwith gold and silver, that is so much outdone by curiosities of a far\ngreater value? Let us no longer complain that there was not a heavier\nload laid upon those precious metals, or that they were not buried\ndeep enough, when we have found out ways by wax and parchments, and\nby bloody usurious contracts, to undo one another. It is remarkable,\nthat Providence has given us all things for our advantage near at hand;\nbut iron, gold, and silver, (being both the instrument of blood and\nslaughter, and the price of it) Nature has hidden in the bowels of the\nearth.\n\nThere is no avarice without some punishment, over and above that which\nit is to itself. How miserable is it in the desire! how miserable even\nin the attaining of our ends! For money is a greater torment in the\npossession than it is in the pursuit. The fear of losing it is a great\ntrouble, the loss of it a greater, and it is made a greater yet by\nopinion. Nay, even in the case of no direct loss at all, the covetous\nman loses what he does not get. It is true, the people call the rich\nman a happy man, and wish themselves in his condition; but can any\ncondition be worse than that which carries vexation and envy along with\nit? Neither is any man to boast of his fortune, his herds of cattle,\nhis number of slaves, his lands and palaces; for comparing that which\nhe has to that which he further covets, he is a beggar. No man can\npossess all things, but any man may contemn them; and the contempt of\nriches is the nearest way to the gaining of them.\n\nSome magistrates are made for money, and those commonly are bribed with\nmoney. We are all turned merchants, and look not into the quality of\nthings, but into the price of them; for reward we are pious, and for\nreward again we are impious. We are honest so long as we may thrive\nupon it; but if the devil himself gives better wages, we change our\nparty. Our parents have trained us up into an admiration of gold and\nsilver, and the love of it is grown up with us to that degree that\nwhen we would show our gratitude to Heaven, we make presents of those\nmetals. This it is that makes poverty look like a curse and a reproach;\nand the poets help it forward; the chariot of the sun must be all of\ngold; the best of times must be the Golden Age, and thus they turn the\ngreatest misery of mankind into the greatest blessings.\n\nNeither does avarice make us only unhappy in ourselves, but malevolent\nalso to mankind. The soldier wishes for war; the husbandman would have\nhis corn dear; the lawyer prays for dissension; the physician for a\nsickly year; he that deals in curiosities, for luxury and excess, for\nhe makes up his fortunes out of the corruptions of the age. High winds\nand public conflagrations make work for the carpenter and bricklayer,\nand one man lives by the loss of another; some few, perhaps, have\nthe fortune to be detected, but they are all wicked alike. A great\nplague makes work for the sexton; and, in one word, whosoever gains\nby the dead has not much kindness for the living. Demades of Athens\ncondemned a fellow that sold necessaries for funerals, upon proof that\nhe wished to make himself a fortune by his trade, which could not be\nbut by a great mortality; but perhaps he did not so much desire to have\nmany customers, as to sell dear, and buy cheap; besides, that all of\nthat trade might have been condemned as well as he. Whatsoever whets\nour appetites, flatters and depresses the mind, and, by dilating it,\nweakens it; first blowing it up, and then filling and deluding it with\nvanity.\n\nTo proceed now from the most prostitute of all vices, sensuality and\navarice, to that which passes in the world for the most generous, the\nthirst of glory and dominion. If they that run mad after wealth and\nhonor, could but look into the hearts of them that have already gained\nthese points, how would it startle them to see those hideous cares and\ncrimes that wait upon ambitious greatness: all those acquisitions that\ndazzle the eyes of the vulgar are but false pleasures, slippery and\nuncertain. They are achieved with labor, and the very guard of them is\npainful. Ambition puffs us up with vanity and wind: and we are equally\ntroubled either to see any body before us, or nobody behind us; so that\nwe lie under a double envy; for whosoever envies another is also envied\nhimself. What matters it how far Alexander extended his conquests,\nif he was not yet satisfied with what he had? Every man wants as\nmuch as he covets; and it is lost labor to pour into a vessel that\nwill never be full. He that had subdued so many princes and nations,\nupon the killing of Clytus (one friend) and the loss of Hyphestion\n(another) delivered himself up to anger and sadness; and when he was\nmaster of the world, he was yet a slave to his passions. Look into\nCyrus, Cambyses, and the whole Persian line, and you shall not find so\nmuch as one man of them that died satisfied with what he had gotten.\nAmbition aspires from great things to greater; and propounds matters\neven impossible, when it has once arrived at things beyond expectation.\nIt is a kind of dropsy; the more a man drinks, the more he covets. Let\nany man but observe the tumults and the crowds that attend palaces;\nwhat affronts must we endure to be admitted, and how much greater when\nwe are in! The passage to virtue is fair, but the way to greatness\nis craggy and it stands not only upon a precipice, but upon ice too;\nand yet it is a hard matter to convince a great man that his station\nis slippery, or to prevail with him not to depend upon his greatness;\nbut all superfluities are hurtful. A rank crop lays the corn; too\ngreat a burden of fruit breaks the bough; and our minds may be as well\novercharged with an immoderate happiness. Nay, though we ourselves\nwould be at rest, our fortune will not suffer it: the way that leads\nto honor and riches leads to troubles; and we find the source of our\nsorrows in the very objects of our delights.\n\nWhat joy is there in feasting and luxury; in ambition and a crowd of\nclients; in the arms of a mistress, or in the vanity of an unprofitable\nknowledge? These short and false pleasures deceive us, and, like\ndrunkenness, revenge the jolly madness of _one_ hour with the nauseous\nand sad repentance of _many_. Ambition is like a gulf: everything is\nswallowed up in it and buried, beside the dangerous consequences of\nit; for that which one has taken from all, may be easily taken away\nagain by all from one. It was not either virtue or reason, but the\nmad love of a deceitful greatness, that animated Pompey in his wars,\neither abroad or at home. What was it but his ambition that hurried\nhim to Spain, Africa, and elsewhere, when he was too great already\nin everybody\u2019s opinion but his own? And the same motive had Julius\nC\u00e6sar, who could not, even then, brook a superior himself, when the\ncommonwealth had submitted unto two already.\n\nNor was it any instinct of virtue that pushed on Marius, who at the\nhead of an army was himself led on under the command of ambition: but\nhe came at last to the deserved fate of other wicked men, and to drink\nhimself of the same cup that he had filled to others. We impose upon\nour reason, when we suffer ourselves to be transported with titles; for\nwe know that they are nothing but a more glorious sound; and so for\nornaments and gildings, though there be a lustre to dazzle our eyes,\nour understanding tells us that it is only outside, and the matter\nunder it is only coarse and common.\n\nI will never envy those that the people call great and happy. A sound\nmind is not to be shaken with a popular and vain applause; nor is it\nin the power of their pride to disturb the state of our happiness. An\nhonest man is known now-a-days by the dust he raises upon the way, and\nit is become a point of honor to overrun people, and keep all at a\ndistance; though he that is put out of the way may perchance be happier\nthan he that takes it. He that would exercise a power profitable to\nhimself, and grievous to nobody else, let him practice it upon his\npassion. They that have burnt cities, otherwise invincible, driven\narmies before them, and bathed themselves in human blood, after they\nhave overcome all open enemies, they have been vanquished by their\nlust, by their cruelty, and without any resistance.\n\nAlexander was possessed with the madness of laying kingdoms waste.\nHe began with Greece, where he was brought up; and there he quarried\nhimself upon that in it which was the best; he enslaved Lacedemon, and\nsilenced Athens: nor was he content with the destruction of those towns\nwhich his father Philip had either conquered or bought; but he made\nhimself the enemy of human nature; and, like the worst of beasts, he\nworried what he could not eat.\n\nFelicity is an unquiet thing; it torments itself, and puzzles the\nbrain. It makes some people ambitious, others luxurious; it puffs up\nsome, and softens others; only (as it is with wine) some heads bear\nit better than others; but it dissolves all. Greatness stands upon a\nprecipice: and if prosperity carries a man never so little beyond his\npoise, it overbears and dashes him to pieces. It is a rare thing for\na man in a great fortune to lay down his happiness gently; it being a\ncommon fate for a man to sink under the weight of those felicities that\nraise him. How many of the nobility did Marius bring down to herdsmen\nand other mean offices! Nay, in the very moment of our despising\nservants, we may be made so ourselves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nHOPE AND FEAR ARE THE BANE OF HUMAN LIFE.\n\n\nNo man can be said to be perfectly happy that runs the risk of\ndisappointment: which is the case of every man that _fears_ or _hopes_\nfor anything. For _hope_ and _fear_, how distant soever they may seem\nto be the one from the other, they are both of them yet coupled in the\nsame chain, as the guard and the prisoner; and the one treads upon\nthe heels of the other. The reason of this is obvious, for they are\npassions that look forward, and are ever solicitous for the future;\nonly _hope_ is the more plausible weakness of the two, which in truth,\nupon the main, are inseparable; for the one cannot be without the\nother: but where the _hope_ is stronger than the _fear_, or the _fear_\nthan the _hope_, we call it the one or the other; for without _fear_ it\nwere no longer _hope_, but _certainty_; as without _hope_ it were no\nlonger _fear_ but _despair_.\n\nWe may come to understand whether our disputes are vain or not, if we\ndo but consider that we are either troubled about the _present_, the\n_future_ or _both_. If the present, it is easy to judge, and the future\nis uncertain. It is a foolish thing to be miserable beforehand for\nfear of misery to come; for a man loses the present, which he might\nenjoy, in expectation of the future: nay, the fear of losing anything\nis as bad as the loss itself. I will be as prudent as I can, but not\ntimorous or careless; and I will bethink myself, and forecast what\ninconveniences may happen before they come. It is true, a man may fear,\nand yet not be fearful; which is no more than to have the affection of\nfear without the vice of it; but yet a frequent admittance of it runs\ninto a habit. It is a shameful and an unmanly thing to be doubtful,\ntimorous, and uncertain; to set one step forward, and another backward;\nand to be irresolute. Can there be any man so fearful, that had not\nrather fall once than hang always in suspense?\n\nOur miseries are endless, if we stand in fear of all possibilities;\nthe best way, in such a case, is to drive out one nail with another,\nand a little to qualify fear with hope; which may serve to palliate a\nmisfortune; though not to cure it. There is not anything that we fear,\nwhich is so certain to come, as it is certain that many things which\nwe do fear will not come; but we are loth to oppose our credulity when\nit begins to move us, and so to bring our fear to the test. Well! but\n\u201cwhat if the thing we fear should come to pass?\u201d Perhaps it will be\nthe better for us. Suppose it be _death_ itself, why may it not prove\nthe glory of my life? Did not poison make Socrates famous? and was not\nCato\u2019s sword a great part of his honor? \u201cDo we fear any misfortune to\nbefall us?\u201d We are not presently sure that it will happen. How many\ndeliverances have come unlooked for? and how many mischiefs that we\nlooked for have never come to pass? It is time enough to lament when it\ncomes, and, in the _interim_, to promise ourselves the best. What do I\nknow but something or other may delay or divert it? Some have escaped\nout of the fire; others, when a house has fallen over their head,\nhave received no hurt: one man has been saved when a sword was at his\nthroat; another has been condemned, and outlived his headsman: so that\nill-fortune, we see, as well as good, has her levities; peradventure\nit will be, peradventure not; and until it comes to pass, we are not\nsure of it: we do many times take words in a worse sense than they were\nintended, and imagine things to be worse taken than they are. It is\ntime enough to bear a misfortune when it comes, without anticipating it.\n\nHe that would deliver himself from all apprehensions of the future,\nlet him first take for granted, that all fears will fall upon him; and\nthen examine and measure the evil that he fears, which he will find\nto be neither great nor long. Beside, that the ills which he fears he\nmay suffer, he suffers in the very fear of them. As in the symptoms of\nan approaching disease, a man shall find himself lazy and listless: a\nweariness in his limbs, with a yawning and shuddering all over him; so\nit is in the case of a weak mind, it fancies misfortunes, and makes a\nman wretched before his time. Why should I torment myself at present\nwith what, perhaps, may fall out fifty years hence? This humor is a\nkind of voluntary disease, and an industrious contrivance of our own\nunhappiness, to complain of an affliction that we do not feel. Some\nare not only moved with grief itself, but with the mere opinion of\nit; as children will start at a shadow, or at the sight of a deformed\nperson. If we stand in fear of violence from a powerful enemy, it is\nsome comfort to us, that whosoever makes himself terrible to others is\nnot without fear himself: the least noise makes a lion start; and the\nfiercest of beasts, whatsoever enrages them, makes them tremble too: a\nshadow, a voice, an unusual odor, rouses them.\n\nThe things most to be feared I take to be of three kinds; _want_,\n_sickness_, and those _violences_ that may be imposed upon us by a\n_strong hand_. The last of these has the greatest force, because it\ncomes attended with noise and tumult; whereas the incommodities of\npoverty and diseases are more natural, and steal upon us in silence,\nwithout any external circumstances of horror: but the other marches in\npomp, with fire and sword, gibbets, racks, hooks; wild beasts to devour\nus; stakes to impale us; engines to tear us to pieces; pitched bags to\nburn us in, and a thousand other exquisite inventions of cruelty. No\nwonder then, if that be the most dreadful to us that presents itself in\nso many uncouth shapes; and by the very solemnity is rendered the most\nformidable. The more instruments of bodily pain the executioner shows\nus, the more frightful he makes himself: for many a man that would have\nencountered death in any generous form, with resolution enough, is\nyet overcome with the _manner_ of it. As for the calamities of hunger\nand thirst, inward ulcers, scorching fevers, tormenting fits of the\nstone, I look upon these miseries to be at least as grievous as any\nof the rest; only they do not so much affect the fancy, because they\nlie out of sight. Some people talk high of danger at a distance; but\n(like cowards) when the executioner comes to do his duty, and show us\nthe fire, the ax, the scaffold, and death at hand, their courage fails\nthem upon the very pinch, when they have most need of it. Sickness, (I\nhope) captivity, fire, are no new things to us; the fall of houses,\nfunerals, and conflagrations, are every day before our eyes. The man\nthat I supped with last night is dead before morning; why should I\nwonder then, seeing so many fall about me, to be hit at last myself?\nWhat can be greater madness than to cry out, \u201cWho would have dreamed\nof this?\u201d And why not, I beseech you? Where is that estate that may\nnot be reduced to beggary? that dignity which may not be followed with\nbanishment, disgrace, and extreme contempt? that kingdom that may not\nsuddenly fall to ruin; change its master, and be depopulated? that\nprince that may not pass the hand of a common hangman? That which is\none man\u2019s fortune may be another\u2019s; but the foresight of calamities to\ncome breaks the violence of them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nIT IS ACCORDING TO THE TRUE OR FALSE ESTIMATE OF THINGS THAT WE ARE\nHAPPY OR MISERABLE.\n\n\nHow many things are there that the fancy makes terrible by night, which\nthe day turns into ridiculous! What is there in labor, or in death,\nthat a man should be afraid of? They are much slighter in act than\nin contemplation; and we _may_ contemn them, but we _will_ not: so\nthat it is not because they are hard that we dread them, but they are\nhard because we are first afraid of them. Pains, and other violences\nof Fortune, are the same thing to us that goblins are to children:\nwe are more scared with them than hurt. We take up our opinions upon\ntrust, and err for company, still judging that to be best that has\nmost competitors. We make a false calculation of matters, because we\nadvise with opinion, and not with Nature; and this misleads us to a\nhigher esteem for riches, honor, and power, than they are worth: we\nhave been used to admire and recommend them, and a private error is\nquickly turned into a public. The greatest and the smallest things\nare equally hard to be comprehended; we account many things _great_,\nfor want of understanding what effectually is so: and we reckon other\nthings to be _small_, which we find frequently to be of the highest\nvalue. Vain things only move vain minds. The accidents that we so\nmuch boggle at are not terrible in themselves, but they are made so\nby our infirmities; but we consult rather what we hear than what we\nfeel, without examining, opposing, or discussing the things we fear;\nso that we either stand still and tremble, or else directly run for\nit, as those troops did, that, upon the raising of the dust, took a\nflock of sheep for the enemy. When the body and mind are corrupted,\nit is no wonder if all things prove intolerable; and not because they\nare so in truth, but because we are dissolute and foolish: for we are\ninfatuated to such a degree, that, betwixt the common madness of men,\nand that which falls under the care of the physician, there is but\nthis difference, the one labors of a disease, and the other of a false\nopinion.\n\nThe Stoics hold, that all those torments that commonly draw from us\ngroans and ejaculations, are in themselves trivial and contemptible.\nBut these high-flown expressions apart (how true soever) let us\ndiscourse the point at the rate of ordinary men, and not make ourselves\nmiserable before our time; for the things we apprehend to be at hand\nmay possibly never come to pass. Some things trouble us more than they\nshould, other things sooner; and some things again disorder us that\nought not to trouble us at all; so that we either enlarge, or create,\nor anticipate our disquiets. For the first part, let it rest as a\nmatter in controversy; for that which I account light, another perhaps\nwill judge insupportable! One man laughs under the lash, and another\nwhines for a fillip. How sad a calamity is poverty to one man, which to\nanother appears rather desirable than inconvenient? For the poor man,\nwho has nothing to lose, has nothing to fear: and he that would enjoy\nhimself to the satisfaction of his soul, must be either poor indeed,\nor at least look as if he were so. Some people are extremely dejected\nwith sickness and pain; whereas Epicurus blessed his fate with his last\nbreath, in the acutest torments of the stone imaginable. And so for\nbanishment, which to one man is so grievous, and yet to another is no\nmore than a bare change of place: a thing that we do every day for our\nhealth, pleasure, nay, and upon the account even of common business.\n\nHow terrible is death to one man, which to another appears the greatest\nprovidence in nature, even toward all ages and conditions! It is the\nwish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all. It sets the slave\nat liberty, carries the banished man home, and places all mortals upon\nthe same level: insomuch, that life itself were a punishment without\nit. When I see tyrants, tortures, violences, the prospect of death is a\nconsolation to me, and the only remedy against the injuries of life.\n\nNay, so great are our mistakes in the true estimate of things, that we\nhave hardly done any thing that we have not had reason to wish undone;\nand we have found the things we feared to be more desirable than those\nwe coveted. Our very prayers have been more pernicious than the curses\nof our enemies; and we must pray to have our former prayers forgiven.\nWhere is the wise man that wishes to himself the wishes of his mother,\nnurse, or his tutor; the worst of enemies, with the intention of the\nbest of friends. We are undone if their prayers be heard; and it is our\nduty to pray that they may not; for they are no other than well-meaning\nexecrations. They take evil for good, and one wish fights with another:\ngive me rather the contempt of all those things whereof they wish me\nthe greatest plenty. We are equally hurt by some that pray for us, and\nby others that curse us: the one imprints in us a false fear, and the\nother does us mischief by a mistake: so that it is no wonder if mankind\nbe miserable, when we are brought up from the very cradle under the\nimprecations of our parents. We pray for trifles, without so much as\nthinking of the greatest blessings; and we are not ashamed many times\nto ask God for that which we should blush to own to our neighbor.\n\nIt is with us as with an innocent that my father had in his family; she\nfell blind on a sudden, and nobody could persuade her she was blind.\n\u201cShe could not endure the house,\u201d she cried, \u201cit was so dark,\u201d and was\nstill calling to go abroad. That which we laughed at in her we find\nto be true in ourselves, we are covetous and ambitious; but the world\nshall never bring us to acknowledge it, and we impute it to the place:\nnay, we are the worse of the two; for that blind fool called for a\nguide, and we wander about without one. It is a hard matter to cure\nthose that will not believe they are sick. We are ashamed to admit a\nmaster, and we are too old to learn. Vice still goes before virtue: so\nthat we have two works to do: we must cast off the one, and learn the\nother. By one evil we make way to another, and only seek things to be\navoided, or those of which we are soon weary. That which seemed too\nmuch when we wished for it, proves too little when we have it; and it\nis not, as some imagine, that felicity is greedy, but it is little and\nnarrow, and cannot satisfy us. That which we take to be very high at a\ndistance, we find to be but low when we come at it. And the business\nis, we do not understand the true state of things: we are deceived by\nrumors; when we have gained the thing we aimed at, we find it to be\neither ill or empty; or perchance less than we expect, or otherwise\nperhaps great, but not good.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE AND MODERATION.\n\n\nThere is not anything that is necessary to us but we have it either\n_cheap_ or _gratis_: and this is the provision that our heavenly\nFather has made for us, whose bounty was never wanting to our needs.\nIt is true the belly craves and calls upon us, but then a small matter\ncontents it: a little bread and water is sufficient, and all the rest\nis but superfluous. He that lives according to reason shall never be\npoor, and he that governs his life by opinion shall never be rich:\nfor nature is limited, but fancy is boundless. As for meat, clothes,\nand lodging, a little feeds the body, and as little covers it; so\nthat if mankind would only attend human nature, without gaping at\nsuperfluities, a cook would be found as needless as a soldier: for we\nmay have necessaries upon very easy terms; whereas we put ourselves to\ngreat pains for excesses. When we are cold, we may cover ourselves with\nskins of beasts; and, against violent heats, we have natural grottoes;\nor with a few osiers and a little clay we may defend ourselves against\nall seasons. Providence has been kinder to us than to leave us to live\nby our wits, and to stand in need of invention and arts.\n\nIt is only pride and curiosity that involve us in difficulties: if\nnothing will serve a man but rich clothes and furniture, statues and\nplate, a numerous train of servants, and the rarities of all nations,\nit is not Fortune\u2019s fault, but his own, that he is not satisfied: for\nhis desires are insatiable, and this is not a thirst, but a disease;\nand if he were master of the whole world, he would be still a beggar.\nIt is the mind that makes us rich and happy, in what condition soever\nwe are; and money signifies no more to it than it does to the gods. If\nthe religion be sincere, no matter for the ornaments it is only luxury\nand avarice that make poverty grievous to us; for it is a very small\nmatter that does our business; and when we have provided against cold,\nhunger, and thirst, all the rest is but vanity and excess: and there\nis no need of expense upon foreign delicacies, or the artifices of the\nkitchen. What is he the worse for poverty that despises these things?\nnay, is he not rather the better for it, because he is not able to go\nto the price of them? for he is kept sound whether he will or not: and\nthat which a man _cannot_ do, looks many times as if he _would not_.\n\nWhen I look back into the moderation of past ages, it makes me ashamed\nto discourse, as if poverty had need of any consolation; for we are\nnow come to that degree of intemperance, that a fair patrimony is too\nlittle for a meal. Homer had but one servant, Plato three, and Zeno\n(the master of the masculine sect of Stoics) had none at all. The\ndaughters of Scipio had their portions out of the common treasury,\nfor their father left them not a penny: how happy were the husbands\nthat had the people of Rome for their father-in-law! Shall any man now\ncontemn poverty after these eminent examples, which are sufficient\nnot only to justify but to recommend it? Upon Diogenes\u2019 only servant\nrunning away from him, he was told where he was, and persuaded to fetch\nhim back again: \u201cWhat,\u201d says he, \u201ccan Manes live without Diogenes, and\nnot Diogenes without Manes?\u201d and so let him go.\n\nThe piety and moderation of Scipio have made his memory more venerable\nthan his arms; and more yet after he left his country than while he\ndefended it: for matters were come to that pass, that either Scipio\nmust be injurious to Rome or Rome to Scipio. Coarse bread and water to\na temperate man is as good as a feast; and the very herbs of the field\nyield a nourishment to man as well as to beasts. It was not by choice\nmeats and perfumes that our forefathers recommended themselves, but\nin virtuous actions, and the sweat of honest, military, and of manly\nlabors.\n\nWhile Nature lay in common, and all her benefits were promiscuously\nenjoyed, what could be happier than the state of mankind, when people\nlived without avarice or envy? What could be richer than when there\nwas not a poor man to be found in the world? So soon as this impartial\nbounty of Providence came to be restrained by covetousness, and\nthat particulars appropriated to themselves that which was intended\nfor all, then did poverty creep into the world, when some men, by\ndesiring more than came to their share, lost their title to the rest;\na loss never to be repaired; for though we may come yet to get much,\nwe once had all. The fruits of the earth were in those days divided\namong the inhabitants of it, without either want or excess. So long\nas men contented themselves with their lot, there was no violence,\nno engrossing or hiding of those benefits for particular advantages,\nwhich were appointed for the community; but every man had as much\ncare for his neighbor as for himself. No arms or bloodshed, no war,\nbut with wild beasts: but under the protection of a wood or a cave,\nthey spent their days without cares, and their nights without groans;\ntheir innocence was their security and their protection. There were\nas yet no beds of state, no ornaments, of pearl or embroidery, nor\nany of those remorses that attend them; but the heavens were their\ncanopy, and the glories of them their spectacle. The motions of the\norbs, the courses of the stars, and the wonderful order of Providence,\nwas their contemplation. There was no fear of the house falling, or\nthe rustling of a rat behind the arras; they had no palaces then like\ncities; but they had open air, and breathing room, crystal fountains,\nrefreshing shades, the meadows dressed up in their native beauty, and\nsuch cottages as were according to nature, and wherein they lived\ncontentedly, without fear either of losing or of falling. These people\nlived without either solitude or fraud; and yet I must call them rather\nhappy than wise.\n\nThat men were generally better before they were corrupted than after,\nI make no doubt; and I am apt to believe that they were both stronger\nand hardier too but their wits were not yet come to maturity; for\nNature does not give virtue; and it is a kind of art to become good.\nThey had not as yet torn up the bowels of the earth for gold, silver,\nor precious stones; and so far were they from killing any man, as we\ndo, for a spectacle, that they were not as yet come to it, either in\nfear or anger; nay, they spared the very fishes. But, after all this,\nthey were innocent because they were ignorant: and there is a great\ndifference betwixt not knowing how to offend and not being willing to\ndo it. They had, in that rude life, certain images and resemblances of\nvirtue, but yet they fell short of virtue itself, which comes only by\ninstitution, learning, and study, as it is perfected by practice. It is\nindeed the end for which we were born, but yet it did not come into the\nworld with us; and in the best of men, before they are instructed, we\nfind rather the matter and the seeds of virtue than the virtue itself.\nIt is the wonderful benignity of Nature that has laid open to us all\nthings that may do us good, and only hid those things from us that may\nhurt us; as if she durst not trust us with gold and silver, or with\niron, which is the instrument of war and contention, for the other.\nIt is we ourselves that have drawn out of the earth both the _causes_\nand the _instruments_ of our dangers: and we are so vain as to set\nthe highest esteem upon those things to which Nature has assigned the\nlowest place. What can be more coarse and rude in the mine than these\nprecious metals, or more slavish and dirty than the people that dig and\nwork them? and yet they defile our minds more than our bodies, and make\nthe possessor fouler than the artificer of them. Rich men, in fine, are\nonly the greater slaves; both the one and the other want a great deal.\n\nHappy is that man that eats only for hunger, and drinks only for\nthirst; that stands upon his own legs, and lives by reason, not by\nexample; and provides for use and necessity, not for ostentation\nand pomp! Let us curb our appetites, encourage virtue, and rather\nbe beholden to ourselves for riches than to Fortune, who when a man\ndraws himself into a narrow compass, has the least mark at him. Let\nmy bed be plain and clean, and my clothes so too: my meat without\nmuch expense, or many waiters, and neither a burden to my purse nor\nto my body, not to go out the same way it came in. That which is too\nlittle for luxury, is abundantly enough for nature. The end of eating\nand drinking is satiety; now, what matters it though one eats and\ndrinks more, and another less, so long as the one is not a-hungry, nor\nthe other athirst? Epicurus, who limits pleasure to nature, as the\nStoics do virtue, is undoubtedly in the right; and those that cite\nhim to authorize their voluptuousness do exceedingly mistake him, and\nonly seek a good authority for an evil cause: for their pleasures of\nsloth, gluttony, and lust, have no affinity at all with his precepts\nor meaning. It is true, that at first sight his philosophy seems\neffeminate; but he that looks nearer him will find him to be a very\nbrave man only in a womanish dress.\n\nIt is a common objection, I know, that these philosophers do not\nlive at the rate they talk; fer they can flatter their superiors,\ngather estates, and be as much concerned at the loss of fortune, or\nof friends, as other people: as sensible of reproaches, as luxurious\nin their eating and drinking, their furniture, their houses; as\nmagnificent in their plate, servants, and officers; as profuse and\ncurious in their gardens, etc. Well! and what of all this, or if it\nwere twenty times more? It is some degree of virtue for a man to\ncondemn himself; and if he cannot come up to the best, to be yet\nbetter than the worst; and if he cannot wholly subdue his appetites,\nhowever to check and diminish them. If I do not live as I preach, take\nnotice that I do not speak of myself, but of virtue, nor am I so much\noffended with other men\u2019s vices as with my own. All this was objected\nto Plato, Epicurus, Zeno; nor is any virtue so sacred as to escape\nmalevolence. The Cynic Demetrius was a great instance of severity and\nmortification; and one that imposed upon himself neither to possess\nanything, nor so much as to ask it: and yet he had this _scorn_ put\nupon him, that his profession was _poverty_, not _virtue_. Plato is\nblamed for _asking_ money; Aristotle for _receiving_ it; Democritus\nfor _neglecting_ it; Epicurus for _consuming_ it. How happy were we if\nwe could but come to imitate these men\u2019s vices; for if we knew our own\ncondition, we should find work enough at home. But we are like people\nthat are making merry at a play or a tavern when their own houses are\non fire, and yet they know nothing of it. Nay, Cato himself was said to\nbe a drunkard; but _drunkenness_ itself shall sooner be proved to be\nno crime than Cato dishonest. They that demolish temples, and overturn\naltars, show their good-will, though they can do the gods no hurt, and\nso it fares with those that invade the reputation of great men.\n\nIf the professors of virtue be as the world calls them, avaricious,\nlibidinous, ambitious\u2014what are they then that have a detestation for\nthe very name of it: but malicious natures do not want wit to abuse\nhonester men than themselves. It is the practice of the multitude to\nbark at eminent men as little dogs do at strangers; for they look upon\nother men\u2019s virtues as the upbraiding of their own wickedness. We\nshould do well to commend those that are good, if not, let us pass them\nover; but, however, let us spare ourselves: for beside the blaspheming\nof virtue, our rage is to no purpose. But to return now to my text.\n\nWe are ready enough to limit others but loth to put bonds and\nrestraints upon ourselves, though we know that many times a greater\nevil is cured by a less; and the mind that will not be brought to\nvirtue by precepts, comes to it frequently by necessity. Let us try a\nlittle to eat upon a joint stool, to serve ourselves, to live within\ncompass, and accommodate our clothes to the end they were made for.\nOccasional experiments of our moderation give us the best proof of\nour firmness and virtue. A well-governed appetite is a great part of\nliberty, and it is a blessed lot, that since no man can have all things\nthat he would have, we may all of us forbear desiring what we have not.\nIt is the office of temperance to overrule us in our pleasures; some\nshe rejects, others she qualifies and keeps within bounds. Oh! the\ndelights of rest when a man comes to be weary, and of meat when he is\nheartily hungry.\n\nI have learned (says our author) by one journey how many things we have\nthat are superfluous, and how easily they might be spared, for when we\nare without them upon necessity, we do not so much as feel the want of\nthem. This is the second blessed day (says he) that my friend and I\nhave travelled together: one wagon carries ourselves and our servants;\nmy mattress lies upon the ground and I upon that: our diet answerable\nto our lodging, and never without our figs and our table-books. The\nmuleteer without shoes, and the mules only prove themselves to be alive\nby their walking. In this equipage, I am not willing, I perceive,\nto own myself, but as often as we happen into better company, I\npresently fall a-blushing, which shows that I am not yet confirmed in\nthose things which I approve and commend. I am not yet come to own my\nfrugality, for he that is ashamed to be seen in a mean condition would\nbe proud of a splendid one. I value myself upon what passengers think\nof me, and tacitly renounce my principles, whereas I should rather\nlift up my voice to be heard by mankind, and tell them \u201cYou are all\nmad\u2014your minds are set upon superfluities and you value no man for his\nvirtues.\u201d\n\nI came one night weary home, and threw myself upon the bed with this\nconsideration about me: \u201cThere is nothing ill that is well taken.\u201d My\nbaker tells me he has no bread; but, says he, I may get some of your\ntenants, though I fear it is not good. No matter, said I, for I will\nstay until it be better\u2014that is to say until my stomach will be glad\nof worse. It is discretion sometimes to practice temperance and wont\nourselves to a little, for there are many difficulties both of time and\nplace that may force us upon it.\n\nWhen we come to the matter of patrimony, how strictly do we examine\nwhat every man is worth before we will trust him with a penny! \u201cSuch a\nman,\u201d we cry, \u201chas a great estate, but it is shrewdly encumbered\u2014a very\nfair house, but it was built with borrowed money\u2014a numerous family,\nbut he does not keep touch with his creditors\u2014if his debts were paid\nhe would not be worth a groat.\u201d Why do we not take the same course in\nother things, and examine what every man is worth? It is not enough to\nhave a long train of attendants, vast possessions, or an incredible\ntreasure in money and jewels\u2014a man may be poor for all this. There\nis only this difference at best\u2014one man borrows of the _usurer_, and\nthe other of _fortune_. What signifies the carving or gilding of the\nchariot; is the master ever the better of it?\n\nWe cannot close up this chapter with a more generous instance of\nmoderation than that of Fabricius. Pyrrhus tempted him with a sum of\nmoney to betray his country, and Pyrrhus\u2019s physician offered Fabricius,\nfor a sum of money, to poison his _master_; but he was too brave\neither to be overcome by gold, or to be overcome by poison, so that he\nrefused the money, and advised Pyrrhus to have a care of treachery:\nand this too in the heat of a licentious war. Fabricius valued himself\nupon his poverty, and was as much above the thought of riches as of\npoison. \u201cLive Pyrrhus,\u201d says he \u201cby my friendship; and turn that to\nthy satisfaction which was before thy trouble:\u201d that is to say that\nFabricius could not be corrupted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nCONSTANCY OF MIND GIVES A MAN REPUTATION, AND MAKES HIM HAPPY IN\nDESPITE OF ALL MISFORTUNE.\n\n\nThe whole duty of man may be reduced to the two points of _abstinence_\nand _patience_; _temperance_ in _prosperity_, and _courage_ in\n_adversity_. We have already treated of the former: and the other\nfollows now in course.\n\nEpicurus will have it, that a wise man will _bear all injuries_; but\nthe Stoics will not allow those things to be _injuries_ which Epicurus\ncalls so. Now, betwixt _these two_, there is the same difference that\nwe find betwixt two _gladiators_; the one receives wounds, but yet\nmaintains his ground, the other tells the people, when he is in blood,\nthat _it is but a scratch_, and will not suffer anybody to part them.\nAn _injury_ cannot be received, but it must be _done_; but it may be\n_done_ and yet not _received_; as a man may be in the water, and not\nswim, but if he swims, it is presumed that he is in the water. Or if\na blow or a shot be levelled at us, it may so happen that a man may\nmiss his aim, or some accident interpose that may divert the mischief.\nThat which is hurt is passive, and inferior to that which hurts it.\nBut you will say, that Socrates was condemned and put to death, and\nso received an injury; but I answer, that the tyrants _did_ him an\ninjury, and yet he _received_ none. He that steals anything from me\nand hides it in my own house, though I have not lost it, yet he has\nstolen it. He that lies with his own wife, and takes her for another\nwoman, though the woman be honest, the man is an adulterer. Suppose a\nman gives me a draught of poison and it proves not strong enough to\nkill me, his guilt is nevertheless for the disappointment. He that\nmakes a pass at me is as much a murderer, though I put it by, as if he\nhad struck me to the heart. It is the intention, not the effect, that\nmakes the wickedness. He is a thief that has the will of killing and\nslaying, before his hand is dipt in blood; as it is sacrilege, the very\nintention of laying violent hands upon holy things. If a philosopher\nbe exposed to torments, the ax over his head, his body wounded, his\nguts in his hands, I will allow him to groan; for virtue itself cannot\ndivest him of the nature of a man; but if his mind stand firm, he has\ndischarged his part. A great mind enables a man to maintain his station\nwith honor; so that he only makes use of what he meets in his way, as a\npilgrim that would fain be at his journey\u2019s end.\n\nIt is the excellency of a great mind to _ask_ nothing, and to _want_\nnothing; and to say, \u201cI will have nothing to do with fortune, that\nrepulses Cato, and prefers Vatinius.\u201d He that quits his hold,\nand accounts anything good that is not honest, runs gaping after\ncasualties, spends his days in anxiety and vain expectation, that\nman is miserable. And yet it is hard, you will say, to be banished\nor cast into prison: nay, what if it were to be burnt, or any other\nway destroyed? We have examples in all ages and cases, of great men\nthat have triumphed over all misfortunes. Metellus suffered exile\nresolutely, Rutilius cheerfully; Socrates disputed in the dungeon; and\nthough he might have made his escape, refused it; to show the world how\neasy a thing it was to subdue the two great terrors of mankind, _death_\nand a _jail_. Or what shall we say of Mucius Scevola, a man only of\na military courage, and without the help either of philosophy or\nletters? who, when he found that he had killed the Secretary instead of\nPorsenna, (the prince,) burnt his right hand to ashes for the mistake;\nand held his arm in the flame until it was taken away by his very\nenemies. Porsenna did more easily pardon Mucius for his intent to kill\nhim than Mucius forgave _himself_ for missing of his aim. He might have\na luckier thing, but never a braver.\n\nDid not Cato, in the last night of his life, take Plato to bed with\nhim, with his sword at his bed\u2019s head; the one that he might have death\nat his will, the other, that he might have it in his power; being\nresolved that no man should be able to say, either that he killed or\nthat he saved Cato? So soon as he had composed his thoughts, he took\nhis sword; \u201cFortune,\u201d says he, \u201cI have hitherto fought for my country\u2019s\nliberty, and for my own, and only that I might live free among freemen;\nbut the cause is now lost, and Cato safe.\u201d With that word he cast\nhimself upon his sword; and after the physicians that pressed in upon\nhim had bound up his wound, he tore it up again, and expired with the\nsame greatness of soul that he lived. But these are the examples, you\nwill say, of men famous in their generations.\n\nLet us but consult history, and we shall find, even in the most\neffeminate of nations, and the most dissolute of times, men of all\ndegrees, ages, and fortunes, nay, even women themselves, that have\novercome the fear of death: which, in truth, is so little to be\nfeared, that duly considered, it is one of the greatest benefits of\nnature. It was as great an honor for Cato, when his party was broken,\nthat he himself stood his ground, as it would have been if he had\ncarried the day, and settled an universal peace: for, it is an equal\nprudence, to make the best of a bad game, and to manage a good one. The\nday that he was _repulsed_, he _played_, and the night that he _killed_\nhimself, he _read_, as valuing the loss of his life, and the missing of\nan office at the same rate. People, I know, are apt to pronounce upon\nother men\u2019s infirmities by the measure of their own, and to think it\nimpossible that a man should be content to be burnt, wounded, killed,\nor shackled, though in some cases he may. It is only for a great mind\nto judge of great things; for otherwise, that which is our infirmity\nwill seem to be another body\u2019s, as a straight stick in the water\nappears to be crooked: he that yields, draws upon his own head his\nown ruin; for we are sure to get the better of Fortune, if we do but\nstruggle with her. Fencers and wrestlers, we see what blows and bruises\nthey endure, not only for honor, but for exercise. If we turn our backs\nonce, we are routed and pursued; that man only is happy that draws\ngood out of evil, that stands fast in his judgment, and unmoved by any\nexternal violence; or however, so little moved, that the keenest arrow\nin the quiver of Fortune is but as the prick of a needle to him rather\nthan a wound; and all her other weapons fall upon him only as hail upon\nthe roof of a house, that crackles and skips off again, without any\ndamage to the inhabitant.\n\nA generous and clear-sighted young man will take it for a happiness to\nencounter ill fortune. It is nothing for a man to hold up his head in\na calm; but to maintain his post when all others have quitted their\nground, and there to stand upright where other men are beaten down,\nthis is divine and praiseworthy. What ill is there in torments, or in\nthose things which we commonly account grievous crosses? The great evil\nis the want of courage, the bowing and submitting to them, which can\nnever happen to a wise man; for he stands upright under any weight;\nnothing that is to be borne displeases him; he knows his strength, and\nwhatsoever may be any man\u2019s lot, he never complains of, if it be his\nown. Nature, he says, deceives nobody; she does not tell us whether\nour children shall be fair or foul, wise or foolish, good subjects or\ntraitors, nor whether our fortune shall be good or bad. We must not\njudge of a man by his ornaments, but strip him of all the advantages\nand the impostures of Fortune, nay, of his very body too, and look into\nhis mind. If he can see a naked sword at his eyes without so much as\nwinking; if he make it a thing indifferent to him whether his life go\nout at his throat or at his mouth; if he can hear himself sentenced to\ntorments or exiles, and under the very hand of the executioner, says\nthus to himself, \u201cAll this I am provided for, and it is no more than\na man that is to suffer the fate of humanity.\u201d This is the temper of\nmind that speaks a man happy; and without this, all the confluences\nof external comforts signify no more than the personating of a king\nupon the stage; when the curtain is drawn, we are players again. Not\nthat I pretend to exempt a wise man out of a number of men, as if he\nhad no sense of pain; but I reckon him as compounded of body and soul;\nthe body is irrational, and may be galled, burnt, tortured; but the\nrational part is fearless, invincible, and not to be shaken. This\nit is that I reckon upon as the supreme good of man; which until it\nbe perfected, is but an unsteady agitation of thought, and in the\nperfection an immovable stability. It is not in our contentions with\nFortune as in those of the theatre, where we may throw down our arms,\nand pray for quarter; but here we must die firm and resolute. There\nneeds no encouragement to those things which we are inclined to by\na natural instinct, as the preservation of ourselves with ease and\npleasure; but if it comes to the trial of our faith by torments, or of\nour courage by wounds, these are difficulties that we must be armed\nagainst by philosophy and precept; and yet all this is no more than\nwhat we were born to, and no matter of wonder at all; so that a wise\nman prepares himself for it, as expecting whatsoever _may be will be_.\nMy body is frail, and liable not only to the impressions of violence,\nbut to afflictions also, that naturally succeed our pleasures. Full\nmeals bring crudities; whoring and drinking make the hands to shake\nand the knees to tremble. It is only the surprise and newness of the\nthing which makes that misfortune terrible, which, by premeditation,\nmight be made easy to us: for that which some people make light by\nsufferance, others do by foresight. Whatsoever is necessary, we must\nbear patiently. It is no new thing to die, no new thing to mourn, and\nno new thing to be merry again. Must I be _poor_? I shall have company:\nin _banishment_? I will think myself born there. If I _die_, I shall be\nno more sick; and it is a thing I cannot do but once.\n\nLet us never wonder at anything we are born to; for no man has reason\nto complain, where we are all in the same condition. He that escapes\nmight have suffered; and it is but equal to submit to the law of\nmortality. We must undergo the colds of winter, the heats of summer;\nthe distempers of the air, and the diseases of the body. A wild beast\nmeets us in one place, and a man that is more brutal in another; we\nare here assaulted by fire, there by water. Demetrius was reserved by\nProvidence for the age he lived in, to show, that neither the times\ncould corrupt him, nor he reform the people. He was a man of an exact\njudgment, steady to his purpose, and of a strong eloquence; not finical\nin his words, but his sense was masculine and vehement. He was so\nqualified in his life and discourse, that he served both for an example\nand a reproach. If fortune should have offered that man the government\nand possession of the whole world, upon condition not to lay it down\nagain, I dare say he would have refused it: and thus have expostulated\nthe matter with you: \u201cWhy should you tempt a freeman to put his\nshoulder under a burden; or an honest man to pollute himself with the\ndregs of mankind? Why do you offer me the spoils of princes, and of\nnations, and the price not only of your blood, but of your souls?\u201d\n\nIt is the part of a great mind to be temperate in prosperity,\nresolute in adversity; to despise what the vulgar admire, and to\nprefer a mediocrity to an excess. Was not Socrates oppressed with\npoverty, labor, nay, the worst of wars in his own family, a fierce\nand turbulent woman for his wife? were not his children indocile, and\nlike their mother? After seven-and-twenty years spent in arms, he\nfell under a slavery to the _thirty tyrants_, and most of them his\nbitter enemies: he came at last to be sentenced as \u201ca violater of\nreligion, a corrupter of youth, and a common enemy to God and man.\u201d\nAfter this he was imprisoned, and put to death by poison, which was\nall so far from working upon his mind, that it never so much as altered\nhis countenance. We are to bear ill accidents as unkind seasons,\ndistempers, or diseases; and why may we not reckon the actions of\nwicked men even among those accidents; their deliberations are not\ncounsels but frauds, snares, and inordinate motions of the mind; and\nthey are never without a thousand pretences and occasions of doing a\nman mischief. They have their informers, their knights of the post;\nthey can make an interest with powerful men, and one may be robbed\nas well upon the bench as upon the highway. They lie in wait for\nadvantages, and live in perpetual agitation betwixt hope and fear;\nwhereas he that is truly composed will stand all shocks, either of\nviolences, flatteries, or menaces, without perturbation. It is an\ninward fear that makes us curious after what we hear abroad.\n\nIt is an error to attribute either _good_ or _ill_ to _Fortune_; but\nthe _matter_ of it we may; and we ourselves are the occasion of it,\nbeing in effect the artificers of our own happiness or misery: for the\nmind is above fortune; if that be evil, it makes everything else so\ntoo; but if it be right and sincere, it corrects what is wrong, and\nmollifies what is hard, with modesty and courage. There is a great\ndifference among those that the world calls wise men. Some take up\nprivate resolutions of opposing Fortune, but they cannot go through\nwith them; for they are either dazzled with splendor on the one hand,\nor affrighted with terrors on the other; but there are others that will\nclose and grapple with Fortune, and still come off victorious.\n\nMucius overcame the fire; Regulus, the gibbet; Socrates, poison;\nRutilius, banishment; Cato, death; Fabricius, riches; Tubero, poverty;\nand Sextius, honors. But there are some again so delicate, that they\ncannot so much as bear a scandalous report; which is the same thing\nas if a man should quarrel for being jostled in a crowd, or dashed as\nhe walks in the streets. He that has a great way to go must expect a\nslip, to stumble, and to be tired. To the luxurious man frugality is a\npunishment; labor and industry to the sluggard; nay, study itself is a\ntorment to him; not that these things are hard to us by nature, but we\nourselves are vain and irresolute; nay, we wonder many of us, how any\nman can live without wine, or endure to rise so early in a morning.\n\nA brave man must expect to be tossed; for he is to steer his course\nin the teeth of Fortune, and to work against wind and weather. In the\nsuffering of torments, though there appears but one virtue, a man\nexercises many. That which is most eminent is patience, (which is but a\nbranch of fortitude.) But there is prudence also in the choice of the\naction, and in the bearing what we cannot avoid; and there is constancy\nin bearing it resolutely: and there is the same concurrence also of\nseveral virtues in other generous undertakings.\n\nWhen Leonidas was to carry his 300 men into the Straits of Thermopyl\u00e6,\nto put a stop to Xerxes\u2019s huge army: \u201cCome, fellow-soldiers,\u201d says he,\n\u201ceat your dinners here as if you were to sup in another world.\u201d And\nthey answered his resolution. How plain and imperious was that short\nspeech of C\u00e6ditius to his men upon a desperate action! and how glorious\na mixture was there in it both of bravery and prudence! \u201cSoldiers,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cit is necessary for us to go, but it is not necessary for us\nto return.\u201d This brief and pertinent harangue was worth ten thousand\nof the frivolous cavils and distinctions of the schools, which rather\nbreak the mind than fortify it; and when it is once perplexed and\npricked with difficulties and scruples, there they leave it. Our\npassions are numerous and strong, and not to be mastered with quirks\nand tricks, as if a man should undertake to defend the cause of God\nand man with a bulrush. It was a remarkable piece of honor and policy\ntogether, that action of C\u00e6sar\u2019s upon the taking of Pompey\u2019s cabinet at\nthe battle of Pharsalia: it is probable that the letters in it might\nhave discovered who were his friends, and who his enemies; and yet he\nburnt it without so much as opening it; esteeming it the noblest way\nof pardoning, to keep himself ignorant both of the offender and of\nthe offense. It was a brave presence of mind also in Alexander, who,\nupon advice that his physician Philip intended to poison him, took\nthe letter of advice in one hand and the cup in the other; delivering\nPhilip the letter to read while he himself drank the potion.\n\nSome are of opinion that death gives a man courage to support pain,\nand that pain fortifies a man against death: but I say rather, that a\nwise man depends upon himself against both, and that he does not either\nsuffer with patience, in hopes of death, or die willingly, because he\nis weary of life; but he bears the one, and waits for the other, and\ncarries a divine mind through all the accidents of human life. He looks\nupon faith and honesty as the most sacred good of mankind, and neither\nto be forced by necessity nor corrupted by reward; kill, burn, tear him\nin pieces, he will be true to his trust; and the more any man labors\nto make him discover a secret, the deeper will he hide it. Resolution\nis the inexpugnable defence of human weakness, and it is a wonderful\nProvidence that attends it.\n\nHoratius Cocles opposed his single body to the whole army until the\nbridge was cut down behind him and then leaped into the river with his\nsword in his hand and came off safe to his party. There was a fellow\nquestioned about a plot upon the life of a tyrant, and put to the\ntorture to declare his confederates: he named, by one and one, all the\ntyrant\u2019s friends that were about him: and still as they were named,\nthey were put to death: the tyrant asked him at last if there were any\nmore. \u201cYes,\u201d says he, \u201cyourself were in the plot; and now you have\nnever another friend left in the world:\u201d whereupon the tyrant cut the\nthroats of his own guards. \u201cHe is the happy man that is the master of\nhimself, and triumphs over the fear of death, which has overcome the\nconquerors of the world.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nOUR HAPPINESS DEPENDS IN A GREAT MEASURE UPON THE CHOICE OF OUR COMPANY.\n\n\nThe comfort of life depends upon conversation. Good offices, and\nconcord, and human society, is like the working of an arch of stone;\nall would fall to the ground if one piece did not support another.\nAbove all things let us have a tenderness for blood; and it is yet too\nlittle not to hurt, unless we profit one another. We are to relieve\nthe distressed; to put the wanderer into his way; and to divide our\nbread with the hungry: which is but the doing of good to ourselves;\nfor we are only several members of one great body. Nay, we are all of\na consanguinity; formed of the same materials, and designed to the\nsame end; this obliges us to a mutual tenderness and converse; and\nthe other, to live with a regard to equity and justice. The love of\nsociety is natural; but the choice of our company is matter of virtue\nand prudence. Noble examples stir us up to noble actions; and the\nvery history of large and public souls, inspires a man with generous\nthoughts. It makes a man long to be in action, and doing something that\nthe world may be the better for; as protecting the weak, delivering\nthe oppressed, punishing the insolent. It is a great blessing the very\nconscience of giving a good example; beside, that it is the greatest\nobligation any man can lay upon the age he lives in.\n\nHe that converses with the proud shall be puffed up; a lustful\nacquaintance makes a man lascivious; and the way to secure a man from\nwickedness is to withdraw from the examples of it. It is too much to\nhave them _near_ us, but more to have them _within_ us\u2014ill examples,\npleasure and ease, are, no doubt of it, great corrupters of manners.\n\nA rocky ground hardens the horse\u2019s hoof; the mountaineer makes the best\nsoldier; the miner makes the best pioneer, and severity of discipline\nfortifies the mind. In all excesses and extremities of good and of ill\nfortune, let us have recourse to great examples that have contemned\nboth. \u201cThese are the best instructors that teach in their lives, and\nprove their words by their actions.\u201d\n\nAs an ill air may endanger a good constitution, so may a place of ill\nexample endanger a good man, nay, there are some places that have a\nkind of privilege to be licentious, and where luxury and dissolution\nof manners seem to be lawful; for great examples give both authority\nand excuse to wickedness. Those places are to be avoided as dangerous\nto our manners. Hannibal himself was unmanned by the looseness of\nCampania, and though a conqueror by his arms, he was overcome by his\npleasures. I would as soon live among butchers as among cooks\u2014not but a\nman may be temperate in any place\u2014but to see drunken men staggering up\nand down everywhere, and only the spectacle of lust, luxury and excess\nbefore our eyes, it is not safe to expose ourselves to the temptation.\nIf the victorious Hannibal himself could not resist it, what shall\nbecome of us then that are subdued, and give ground to our lusts\nalready? He that has to do with an enemy in his breast, has a harder\ntask upon him than he that is to encounter one in the field; his hazard\nis greater if he loses ground, and his duty is perpetual, for he has no\nplace or time for rest. If I give way to pleasure, I must also yield to\ngrief, to poverty, to labor, ambition, anger, until I am torn to pieces\nby my misfortunes and lusts. But against all this philosophy propounds\na liberty, that is to say, a liberty from the service of accidents and\nfortune. There is not anything that does more mischief to mankind than\nmercenary masters and philosophy, that do not live as they teach\u2014they\ngive a scandal to virtue. How can any man expect that a ship should\nsteer a fortunate course, when the pilot lies wallowing in his own\nvomit? It is a usual thing first to learn to do ill ourselves, and then\nto instruct others to do so: but that man must needs be very wicked\nthat has gathered into himself the wickedness of other people.\n\nThe best conversation is with the philosophers\u2014that is to say, with\nsuch of them as teach us matter, not words\u2014that preach to us things\nnecessary and keep us to the practice of them. There can be no peace in\nhuman life without the contempt of all events. There is nothing that\neither puts better thoughts into a man, or sooner sets him right that\nis out of the way, than a good companion, for the example has the force\nof a precept, and touches the heart with an affection to goodness; and\nnot only the frequent hearing and seeing of a wise man delights us, but\nthe very encounter of him suggests profitable contemplation such as a\nman finds himself moved with when he goes into a holy place. I will\ntake more care with _whom_ I eat and drink than _what_, for without a\nfriend the table is a manger.\n\nWriting does well, but personal discourse and conversation does better;\nfor men give great credit to their ears, and take stronger impressions\nfrom example than precept. Cleanthes had never hit Zeno so to the life\nif he had not been in with him at all his privacies, if he had not\nwatched and observed him whether or not he practised as he taught.\nPlato got more from Socrates\u2019 _manners_ than from his _words_, and it\nwas not the _school_, but the company and _familiarity_ of Epicurus\nthat made Metrodorus, Hermachus and Poly\u00e6nus so famous.\n\nNow, though it be by instinct that we covet society, and avoid\nsolitude, we should yet take this along with us, that the more\nacquaintance the more danger: nay, there is not one man of a hundred\nthat is to be trusted with himself. If company cannot alter us, it may\ninterrupt us, and he that so much as stops upon the way loses a great\ndeal of a short life, which we yet make shorter by our inconstancy. If\nan enemy were at our heels, what haste should we make!\u2014but death is\nso, and yet we never mind it. There is no venturing of tender and easy\nnatures among the people, for it is odds that they will go over to the\nmajor party. It would, perhaps, shake the constancy of Socrates, Cato,\nL\u00e6lius, or any of us all, even when our resolutions are at the height,\nto stand the shock of vice that presses upon us with a kind of public\nauthority.\n\nIt is a world of mischief that may be done by one single example of\navarice or luxury. One voluptuous palate makes a great many. A wealthy\nneighbor stirs up envy, and a fleering companion moves ill-nature\nwherever he comes. What will become of those people then that expose\nthemselves to a popular violence? which is ill both ways; either if\nthey comply with the wicked, because they are many, or quarrel with\nthe multitude because they are not principled alike. The best way is\nto retire, and associate only with those that may be the better for\nus, and we for them. These respects are mutual; for while we teach, we\nlearn. To deal freely, I dare not trust myself in the hands of much\ncompany: I never go abroad that I come home again the same man I went\nout. Something or other that I had put in order is discomposed; some\npassion that I had subdued gets head again; and it is just with our\nminds as it is after a long indisposition with our bodies; we are grown\nso tender, that the least breath of air exposes us to a relapse. And it\nis no wonder if a numerous conversation be dangerous, where there is\nscarce any single man but by his discourse, example, or behavior, does\neither recommend to us, or imprint in us, or, by a kind of contagion,\ninsensibly infect us with one vice or other; and the more people\nthe greater is the peril. Especially let us have a care of public\nspectacles where wickedness insinuates itself with pleasure; and, above\nall others, let us avoid spectacles of cruelty and blood; and have\nnothing to do with those that are perpetually whining and complaining;\nthere may be faith and kindness there, but no peace. People that are\neither sad or fearful, we do commonly, for their own sakes, set a\nguard upon them, for fear they should make an ill use of being alone;\nespecially the imprudent, who are still contriving of mischief, either\nfor others or for themselves, in cherishing their lusts, or forming\ntheir designs. So much for the choice of a _companion_; we shall now\nproceed to that of a _friend_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE BLESSINGS OF FRIENDSHIP.\n\n\nOf all felicities, the most charming is that of a _firm_ and _gentle\nfriendship_. It sweetens all our cares, dispels our sorrows, and\ncounsels us in all extremities. Nay, if there were no other comfort in\nit than the bare exercise of so generous a virtue, even for that single\nreason, a man would not be without it. Beside, that it is a sovereign\nantidote against all calamities, even against the fear of death itself.\n\nBut we are not to number our friends by the _visits_ that are made us;\nand to confound the decencies of _ceremony_ and _commerce_ with the\noffices of _united affections_. Caius Gracchus, and after him Livius\nDrusus, were the men that introduced among the Romans the fashion of\nseparating their visitants; some were taken into their _closet,_ others\nwere only admitted into the _antechamber_: and some, again, were fain\nto wait in the _hall_ perhaps, or in the _court_. So that they had\ntheir _first_, their _second,_ and their _third_ rate friends; but none\nof them true: only they are called so in course, as we salute strangers\nwith some title or other of respect at a venture. There is no depending\nupon those men that only take their compliment in their turn, and\nrather slip through the door than enter at it. He will find himself in\na great mistake, that either seeks for a friend in a palace, or tries\nhim at a feast.\n\nThe great difficulty rests in the choice of him; that is to say, in the\nfirst place, let him be virtuous, for vice is contagious, and there\nis no trusting the sound and the sick together; and he ought to be a\nwise man too, if a body knew where to find him; but in this case, he\nthat is least ill is best, and the highest degree of human prudence is\nonly the most venial folly. That friendship where men\u2019s affections are\ncemented by an equal and by a common love of goodness, it is not either\nhope or fear, or any private interest, that can ever dissolve it: but\nwe carry it with us to our graves, and lay down our lives for it with\nsatisfaction. Paulina\u2019s good and mine (says our author) were so wrapped\nup together, that in consulting her comfort I provided for my own;\nand when I could not prevail upon her to take less care for me, she\nprevailed upon me to take more care for myself.\n\nSome people make it a question, whether is the greatest delight, the\nenjoying of an old friendship, or the acquiring of a new one? but it\nis in the preparing of a friendship, and in the possession of it,\nas it is with the husbandman in sowing and reaping; his delight is\nthe hope of his labor in the one case, and the fruit of it in the\nother. My conversation lies among my books, but yet in the letters\nof a friend, methinks I have his company; and when I answer them, I\ndo not only write, but speak: and, in effect, a friend is an eye,\na heart, a tongue, a hand, at all distances. When friends see one\nanother personally, they do not see one another as they do when they\nare divided, where the meditation dignifies the prospect; but they are\neffectually in a great measure absent even when they are present.\nConsider their nights apart, their private studies, their separate\nemployments, and necessary visits; and they are almost as much together\ndivided as present. True friends are the whole world to one another;\nand he that is a friend to himself is also a friend to mankind. Even\nin my very studies, the greatest delight I take in what I learn is\nthe teaching of it to others; for there is no relish, methinks, in\nthe possession of anything without a partner; nay, if wisdom itself\nwere offered me upon condition only of keeping it to myself, I should\nundoubtedly refuse it.\n\nLucilius tells me, that he was written to by a friend, but cautions\nme withal not to say anything to him of the affair in question; for\nhe himself stands upon the same guard. What is this but to affirm and\nto deny the same thing in the same breath, in calling a man a friend,\nwhom we dare not trust as our own soul? For there must be no reserves\nin friendship: as much deliberation as you please before the league\nis struck, but no doubtings or jealousies after. It is a preposterous\nweakness to love a man before we know him, and not to care for him\nafter. It requires time to consider of a friendship, but the resolution\nonce taken, entitles him to my very heart. I look upon my thoughts to\nbe as safe in his breast as in my own: I shall, without any scruple,\nmake him the confidant of my most secret cares and counsels.\n\nIt goes a great way toward the making of a man faithful, to let him\nunderstand that you think him so: and he that does but so much as\nsuspect that I will deceive him gives me a kind of right to cozen him.\nWhen I am with my friend, methinks I am alone, and as much at liberty\nto speak anything as to think it, and as our hearts are one, so must be\nour interest and convenience; for friendship lays all things in common,\nand nothing can be good to the one that is ill to the other. I do not\nspeak of such a community as to destroy one another\u2019s propriety; but as\nthe father and the mother have two children, not one apiece, but each\nof them two.\n\nBut let us have a care, above all things, that our kindness be\nrightfully founded; for where there is any other invitation to\nfriendship than the friendship itself, that friendship will be bought\nand sold. He derogates upon the majesty of it that makes it only\ndependent upon good fortune. It is a narrow consideration for a man\nto please himself in the thought of a friend, \u201cbecause,\u201d says he, \u201cI\nshall have one to help me when I am sick, in prison, or in want.\u201d A\nbrave man should rather take delight in the contemplation of doing\nthe same offices for another. He that loves a man for his own sake is\nin an error. A friendship of interest cannot last any longer than the\ninterest itself, and this is the reason that men in prosperity are so\nmuch followed, and when a man goes down the wind, nobody comes near him.\n\nTemporary friends will never stand the test. One man is forsaken\nfor fear of profit, another is betrayed. It is a negotiation, not a\nfriendship, that has an eye to advantages; only, through the corruption\nof times, that which was formerly a friendship is now become a design\nupon a booty: alter your testament, and you lose your friend. But my\nend of friendship is to have one dearer to me than myself, and for\nthe saving of whose life I would cheerfully lay down my own; taking\nthis along with me, that only wise men can be friends, others are but\ncompanions; and that there is a great difference also betwixt love and\nfriendship; the one may sometimes do us hurt, the other always does us\ngood, for the one friend is hopeful to another in all cases, as well in\nprosperity as in affliction. We receive comfort, even at a distance,\nfrom those we love, but then it is light and faint; whereas, presence\nand conversation touch us to the quick, especially if we find the man\nwe love to be such a person as we wish.\n\nIt is usual with princes to reproach the living by commending the dead,\nand to praise those people for speaking truth from whom there is no\nlonger any danger of hearing it. This is Augustus\u2019s case: he was forced\nto banish his daughter Julia for her common and prostituted impudence;\nand still upon fresh informations, he was often heard to say, \u201cIf\nAgrippa or Mecenas had been now alive, this would never have been.\u201d But\nyet where the fault lay may be a question; for perchance it was his\nown, that had rather complain for the want of them than seek for others\nas good. The Roman losses by war and by fire, Augustus could quickly\nsupply and repair; but for the loss of two friends he lamented his\nwhole life after.\n\nXerxes, (a vain and a foolish prince) when he made war upon Greece, one\ntold him, \u201cIt would never come to a battle\u201d;another, \u201cThat he would\nfind only empty cities and countries, for they would not so much as\nstand the very fame of his coming;\u201d others soothed him in the opinion\nof his _prodigious numbers_; and they all concurred to puff him up to\nhis destruction; only Damaratus advised him not to depend too much upon\nhis numbers, for he would rather find them a burden to him than an\nadvantage: and that three hundred men in the straits of the mountains\nwould be sufficient to give a check to his whole army; and that such an\naccident would undoubtedly turn his vast numbers to his confusion. It\nfell out afterward as he foretold, and he had thanks for his fidelity.\nA miserable prince, that among so many thousand subjects had but one\nservant to tell him the truth!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nHE THAT WOULD BE HAPPY MUST TAKE AN ACCOUNT OF HIS TIME.\n\n\nIn the distribution of human life, we find that a great part of it\npasses away in _evil doing_; a greater yet in doing just _nothing at\nall_: and effectually the whole in doing things _beside our business_.\nSome hours we bestow upon ceremony and servile attendances; some upon\nour pleasures, and the remainder runs at waste. What a deal of time\nis it that we spend in hopes and fears, love and revenge, in balls,\ntreats, making of interests, suing for offices, soliciting of causes,\nand slavish flatteries! The shortness of life, I know, is the common\ncomplaint both of fools and philosophers; as if the time we have were\nnot sufficient for our duties. But it is with our lives as with our\nestates, a good husband makes a little go a great way; whereas, let\nthe revenue of a prince fall into the hands of a prodigal, it is gone\nin a moment. So that the time allotted us, if it were well employed,\nwere abundantly enough to answer all the ends and purposes of mankind.\nBut we squander it away in avarice, drink, sleep, luxury, ambition,\nfawning addresses, envy, rambling, voyages, impertinent studies,\nchange of counsels, and the like; and when our portion is spent, we\nfind the want of it, though we gave no heed to it in the passage:\ninsomuch, that we have rather _made_ our life short than _found_ it\nso. You shall have some people perpetually playing with their fingers,\nwhistling, humming, and talking to themselves; and others consume their\ndays in the composing, hearing, or reciting of songs and lampoons. How\nmany precious morning hours do we spend in consultation with barbers,\ntailors, and tire-women, patching and painting betwixt the comb and\nthe glass! A council must be called upon every hair we cut; and one\ncurl amiss is as much as a body\u2019s life is worth. The truth is, we are\nmore solicitous about our dress than our manners, and about the order\nof our periwigs than that of the government. At this rate, let us but\ndiscount, out of a life of a hundred years, that time which has been\nspent upon popular negotiations, frivolous amours, domestic brawls,\nsauntering up and down to no purpose, diseases that we have brought\nupon ourselves, and this large extent of life will not amount perhaps\nto the minority of another man. It is a _long being_, but perchance a\n_short life_. And what is the reason of all this? We live as we should\nnever die, and without any thought of human frailty, when yet the very\nmoment we bestow upon this man or thing, may, peradventure, be our\nlast. But the greatest loss of time is delay and expectation, which\ndepend upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our\nown power; we look forward to that which depends upon Fortune; and so\nquit a certainty for an uncertainty. We should do by time as we do by a\ntorrent, make use of it while we have it, for it will not last always.\n\nThe calamities of human nature may be divided into the _fear of death_,\nand the _miseries and errors of life_. And it is the great work of\nmankind to master the one, and to rectify the other; and so live as\nneither to make life irksome to us, nor death terrible. It should be\nour care, before we are old, to live well, and when we are so, to die\nwell; that we may expect our end without sadness: for it is the duty of\nlife to prepare ourselves for death; and there is not an hour we live\nthat does not mind us of our mortality.\n\nTime runs on, and all things have their fate, though it lies in the\ndark. The period is certain to nature, but what am I the better for it\nif it be not so to me? We propound travels, arms, adventures, without\never considering that death lies in the way. Our term is set, and\nnone of us know how near it is; but we are all of us agreed that the\ndecree is unchangeable. Why should we wonder to have that befall us\nto-day which might have happened to us any minute since we were born?\nLet us therefore live as if every moment were to be our last, and set\nour accounts right every day that passes over our heads. We are not\nready for death, and therefore we fear it, because we do not know what\nwill become of us when we are gone, and that consideration strikes us\nwith an inexplicable terror. The way to avoid this distraction is to\ncontract our business and our thoughts\u2014when the mind is once settled,\na day or an age is all one to us; and the series of time, which is now\nour trouble will be then our delight; for he that is steadily resolved\nagainst all uncertainties, shall never be disturbed with the variety of\nthem. Let us make haste, therefore, to live, since every day to a wise\nman is a new life\u2014for he has done his business the day before, and so\nprepared himself for the next, that if it be not his last, he knows\nyet that it might have been so. No man enjoys the true taste of life\nbut he that is willing and ready to quit it.\n\nThe wit of man is not able to express the blindness of human folly in\ntaking so much more care of our fortunes, our houses, and our money,\nthan we do of our lives\u2014everybody breaks in upon the one _gratis_, but\nwe betake ourselves to fire and sword if any man invades the other.\nThere is no dividing in the case of patrimony, but people share our\ntime with us at pleasure, so profuse are we of that only thing whereof\nwe may be honestly covetous. It is a common practice to ask an hour\nor two of a friend for such or such a business, and it is as easily\ngranted, both parties only considering the occasion, and not the thing\nitself. They never put time to account, which is the most valuable of\nall precious things; but because they do not see it they reckon upon\nit as nothing: and yet these easy men when they come to die would give\nthe whole world for those hours again which they so inconsiderately\ncast away before; but there is no recovering of them. If they could\nnumber their days that are yet to come as they can those that are\nalready past, how would those very people tremble at the apprehension\nof death, though a hundred years hence, that never so much as think of\nit at present, though they know not but it may take them away the next\nimmediate minute!\n\nIt is an usual saying \u201cI would give my life for such or such a friend,\u201d\nwhen, at the same time, we do give it without so much as thinking\nof it; nay, when that friend is never the better for it, and we\nourselves the worse. Our time is set, and day and night we travel on.\nThere is no baiting by the way, and it is not in the power of either\nprince or people to prolong it. Such is the love of life, that even\nthose decrepit dotards that have lost the use of it will yet beg the\ncontinuance of it, and make themselves younger than they are, as if\nthey could cozen even Fate itself! When they fall sick, what promises\nof amendment if they escape that bout! What exclamations against the\nfolly of their misspent time\u2014and yet if they recover, they relapse. No\nman takes care to live well, but long; when yet it is in everybody\u2019s\npower to do the former, and in no man\u2019s to do the latter. We consume\nour lives in providing the very instruments of life, and govern\nourselves still with a regard to the future, so that we do not properly\nlive, but we are about to live. How great a shame is it to be laying\nnew foundations of life at our last gasp, and for an old man (that can\nonly prove his age by his beard,) with one foot in the grave, to go to\nschool again! While we are young we may learn; our minds are tractable\nand our bodies fit for labor and study; but when age comes on, we are\nseized with languor and sloth, afflicted with diseases, and at last\nwe leave the world as ignorant as we came into it\u2014only we _die_ worse\nthan we were _born_, which is none of Nature\u2019s fault, but ours; for our\nfears, suspicions, perfidy, etc., are from ourselves.\n\nI wish with all my soul that I had thought of my end sooner, but I must\nmake the more haste now and spur on like those that set out late upon\na journey\u2014it will be better to learn late than not at all\u2014though it be\nbut only to instruct me how I may leave the stage with honor.\n\nIn the division of life, there is time _present_, _past_, and _to\ncome_. What we _do_ is _short_, what we _shall do_ is _doubtful_, but\nwhat we _have done_ is _certain_, and out of the power of fortune. The\npassage of time is wonderfully quick, and a man must look backward to\nsee it; and, in that retrospect, he has all past ages at a view; but\nthe present gives us the slip unperceived. It is but a moment that we\nlive, and yet we are dividing it into _childhood_, _youth_, _man\u2019s\nestate_, and _old age_, all which degrees we bring into that narrow\ncompass. If we do not watch, we lose our opportunities; if we do not\nmake haste, we are left behind; our best hours escape us, the worst are\nto come. The purest part of our life runs first, and leaves only the\ndregs at the bottom; and \u201cthat time which is good for nothing else, we\ndedicate to virtue;\u201d and only propound to begin to live at an age that\nvery few people arrive at. What greater folly can there be in the world\nthan this loss of time, the future being so uncertain, and the damages\nso irreparable? If death be necessary, why should any man fear it? and\nif the time of it be uncertain, why should not we always expect it? We\nshould therefore first prepare ourselves by a virtuous life against the\ndread of an inevitable death; and it is not for us to put off being\ngood until such or such a business is over, for one business draws on\nanother, and we do as good as sow it, one grain produces more. It is\nnot enough to philosophize when we have nothing else to do, but we must\nattend wisdom even to the neglect of all things else; for we are so far\nfrom having time to spare, that the age of the world would be yet too\nnarrow for our business; nor is it sufficient not to omit it, but we\nmust not so much as intermit it.\n\nThere is nothing that we can properly call our own but our time, and\nyet every body fools us out of it that has a mind to it. If a man\nborrows a paltry sum of money, there must be bonds and securities, and\nevery common civility is charged upon account; but he that has my time,\nthinks he owes me nothing for it, though it be a debt that gratitude\nitself can never repay. I cannot call any man poor that has enough\nstill left, be it never so little: it is good advice yet to those that\nhave the world before them, to play the good husbands betimes, for it\nis too late to spare at the bottom, when all is drawn out to the lees.\nHe that takes away a day from me, takes away what he can never restore\nme. But our time is either _forced away_ from us, or _stolen_ from us,\nor _lost_; of which the last is the foulest miscarriage. It is in life\nas in a journey; a book or a companion brings us to our lodging before\nwe thought we were half-way. Upon the whole matter we consume ourselves\none upon another, without any regard at all to our own particular. I\ndo not speak of such as live in notorious scandal, but even those men\nthemselves, whom the world pronounces happy, are smothered in their\nfelicities, servants to their professions and clients, and drowned\nin their lusts. We are apt to complain of the haughtiness of _great\nmen_, when yet there is hardly any of them all so proud but that, at\nsome time or other, a man may yet have access to him, and perhaps a\ngood word or look into the bargain. Why do we not rather complain of\n_ourselves_, for being of all others, even to ourselves, the most deaf\nand inaccessible.\n\nCompany and business are great devourers of time, and our vices destroy\nour lives as well as our fortunes. The present is but a moment, and\nperpetually in flux; the time past, we call to mind when we please, and\nit will abide the examination and inspection. But the busy man has\nnot leisure to look back, or if he has, it is an unpleasant thing to\nreflect upon a life to be repented of, whereas the conscience of a good\nlife puts a man into a secure and perpetual possession of a felicity\nnever to be disturbed or taken away: but he that has led a wicked life\nis afraid of his own memory; and, in the review of himself, he finds\nonly appetite, avarice, or ambition, instead of virtue. But still he\nthat is not at leisure many times to live, must, when his fate comes,\nwhether he will or not, be at leisure to die. Alas! what is time to\neternity? the age of a man to the age of the world? And how much of\nthis little do we spend in fears, anxieties, tears, childhood! nay, we\nsleep away the one half. How great a part of it runs away in luxury\nand excess: the ranging of our guests, our servants, and our dishes!\nAs if we were to eat and drink not for satiety, but ambition. The\nnights may well seem short that are so dear bought, and bestowed upon\nwine and women; the day is lost in expectation of the night, and the\nnight in the apprehension of the morning. There is a terror in our very\npleasures; and this vexatious thought in the very height of them, that\n_they will not last always_: which is a canker in the delights, even of\nthe greatest and the most fortunate of men.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nHAPPY IS THE MAN THAT MAY CHOOSE HIS OWN BUSINESS.\n\n\nOh the blessings of privacy and leisure! The wish of the powerful\nand eminent, but the privilege only of inferiors; who are the only\npeople that live to themselves: nay, the very thought and hope of it\nis a consolation, even in the middle of all the tumults and hazards\nthat attend greatness. It was Augustus\u2019 prayer, that he might live to\nretire and deliver himself from public business: his discourses were\nstill pointing that way, and the highest felicity which this mighty\nprince had in prospect, was the divesting himself of that illustrious\nstate, which, how glorious soever in show, had at the bottom of it\nonly anxiety and care. But it is one thing to retire for pleasure, and\nanother thing for virtue, which must be active even in that retreat,\nand give proof of what it has learned: for a good and a wise man does\nin privacy consult the well-being of posterity. Zeno and Chrysippus\ndid greater things in their studies than if they had led armies, borne\noffices, or given laws; which in truth they did, not to one city alone,\nbut to all mankind: their _quiet_ contributed more to the common\nbenefit than the _sweat_ and _labor_ of other people. That retreat is\nnot worth the while which does not afford a man greater and nobler work\nthan business. There is no slavish attendance upon great officers,\nno canvassing for places, no making of parties, no disappointments in\nmy pretension to this charge, to that regiment, or to such or such a\ntitle, no envy of any man\u2019s favor or fortune; but a calm enjoyment of\nthe general bounties of Providence in company with a good conscience.\nA wise man is never so busy as in the solitary contemplation of God\nand the works of Nature. He withdraws himself to attend the service of\nfuture ages: and those counsels which he finds salutary to himself, he\ncommits to writing for the good of after-times, as we do the receipts\nof sovereign antidotes or balsams. He that is well employed in his\nstudy, though he may seem to do nothing at all, does the greatest\nthings yet of all others, in affairs both human and divine. To supply a\nfriend with a sum of money, or give my voice for an office, these are\nonly private and particular obligations: but he that lays down precepts\nfor the governing of our lives and the moderating of our passions,\nobliges human nature not only in the present, but in all succeeding\ngenerations.\n\nHe that would be at quiet, let him repair to his philosophy, a study\nthat has credit with all sorts of men. The eloquence of the bar, or\nwhatsoever else addresses to the people, is never without enemies; but\nphilosophy minds its own business, and even the worst have an esteem\nfor it. There can never be such a conspiracy against virtue, the world\ncan never be so wicked, but the very name of a _philosopher_ shall\nstill continue venerable and sacred. And yet philosophy itself must be\nhandled modestly and with caution. But what shall we say of Cato then,\nfor his meddling in the broil of a civil war, and interposing himself\nin the quarrel betwixt two enraged princes? He that, when Rome was\nsplit into _two factions_ betwixt Pompey and C\u00e6sar, declared himself\nagainst _both_. I speak this of Cato\u2019s last part; for in his former\ntime the commonwealth was made unfit for a wise man\u2019s administration.\nAll he could do then was but bawling and beating of the air: one while\nhe was lugged and tumbled by the rabble, spit upon and dragged out of\nthe _forum_, and then again hurried out of the senate-house to prison.\nThere are some things which we propound originally, and others which\nfall in as accessory to another proposition. If a wise man retire, it\nis no matter whether he does it because the commonwealth was wanting to\nhim, or because he was wanting to it. But to what republic shall a man\nbetake himself? Not to Athens, where Socrates was condemned, and whence\nAristotle fled, for fear he should have been condemned too, and where\nvirtue was oppressed by envy: not to Carthage, where there was nothing\nbut tyranny, injustice, cruelty, and ingratitude. There is scarce any\ngovernment to be found that will either endure a wise man, or which a\nwise man will endure; so that privacy is made necessary, because the\nonly thing which is better is nowhere to be had. A man may commend\nnavigation, and yet caution us against those seas that are troublesome\nand dangerous: so that he does as good as command me not to weigh\nanchor that commends sailing only upon these terms. He that is a slave\nto business is the most wretched of slaves.\n\n\u201cBut how shall I get myself at liberty? We can run any hazards for\nmoney: take any pains for honor; and why do we not venture also\nsomething for leisure and freedom? without which we must expect to live\nand die in a tumult: for so long as we live in public, business breaks\nin upon us, as one billow drives on another; and there is no avoiding\nit with either modesty or quiet.\u201d It is a kind of whirlpool, that sucks\na man in, and he can never disengage himself. A man of business cannot\nin truth be said to live, and not one of a thousand understands how to\ndo it: for how to live, and how to die, is the lesson of every moment\nof our lives: all other arts have their masters.\n\nAs a busy life is always a miserable life, so it is the greatest of all\nmiseries to be perpetually employed upon _other people\u2019s business_;\nfor to sleep, to eat, to drink, at their hour; to walk their pace, and\nto love and hate as they do, is the vilest of servitudes. Now, though\nbusiness must be quitted, let it not be done unseasonably; the longer\nwe defer it, the more we endanger our liberty; and yet we must no more\nfly before the time than linger when the time comes: or, however, we\nmust not love business for business\u2019 sake, nor indeed do we, but for\nthe profit that goes along with it: for we love the reward of misery,\nthough we hate the misery itself. Many people, I know, seek business\nwithout choosing it, and they are even weary of their lives without it\nfor want of entertainment in their own thoughts; the hours are long\nand hateful to them when they are alone, and they seem as short on the\nother side in their debauches. When they are no longer _candidates_,\nthey are _suffragans_; when they give over other people\u2019s business,\nthey do their own; and pretend business, but they make it, and value\nthemselves upon being thought men of employment.\n\nLiberty is the thing which they are perpetually a-wishing, and never\ncome to obtain: a thing never to be bought nor sold, but a man must\nask it of himself, and give it to himself. He that has given proof of\nhis virtue in public, should do well to make a trial of it in private\nalso. It is not that solitude, or a country life, teaches innocence or\nfrugality; but vice falls of itself, without witnesses and spectators,\nfor the thing it designs is to be taken notice of. Did ever any man\nput on rich clothes not to be seen? or spread the pomp of his luxury\nwhere nobody was to take notice of it? If it were not for admirers and\nspectators there would be no temptations to excess: the very keeping\nof us from exposing them cures us of desiring them, for vanity and\nintemperance are fed with ostentation.\n\nHe that has lived at sea in a storm, let him retire and die in the\nhaven; but let his retreat be without ostentation, and wherein he may\nenjoy himself with a good conscience, without the want, the fear, the\nhatred, or the desire, of anything, not out of malevolent detestation\nof mankind, but for satisfaction and repose. He that shuns both\nbusiness and men, either out of envy, or any other discontent, his\nretreat is but to the life of a mole: nor does he live to himself, as\na wise man does, but to his bed, his belly, and his lusts. Many people\nseem to retire out of a weariness of public affairs, and the trouble of\ndisappointments; and yet ambition finds them out even in that recess\ninto which fear and weariness had cast them; and so does luxury, pride,\nand most of the distempers of a public life.\n\nThere are many that lie close, not that they may live securely, but\nthat they may transgress more privately: it is their conscience, not\ntheir states, that makes them keep a porter; for they live at such a\nrate, that to be seen before they be aware is to be detected. Crates\nsaw a young man walking by himself; \u201cHave a care,\u201d says he \u201cof lewd\ncompany.\u201d Some men are busy in idleness, and make peace more laborious\nand troublesome than war; nay, and more wicked too, when they bestow it\nupon such lusts, and other vices, which even the license of a military\nlife would not endure. We cannot call these people men of leisure that\nare wholly taken up with their pleasures. A troublesome life is much\nto be preferred before a slothful one; and it is a strange thing,\nmethinks, that any man should fear death that has buried himself alive;\nas privacy without letters is but the burying of a man quick.\n\nThere are some that make a boast of their retreat, which is but a kind\nof lazy ambition; they retire to make people talk of them, whereas I\nwould rather withdraw to speak to myself. And what shall that be, but\nthat which we are apt to speak of one another? I will speak ill of\nmyself: I will examine, accuse, and punish my infirmities. I have no\ndesign to be cried up for a great man, that has renounced the world in\na contempt of the vanity and madness of human life; I blame nobody but\nmyself, and I address only to myself. He that comes to me for help is\nmistaken, for I am not a physician, but a patient: and I shall be well\nenough content to have it said, when any man leaves me, \u201cI took him\nfor a happy and a learned man, and truly I find no such matter.\u201d I had\nrather have my retreat pardoned than envied.\n\nThere are some creatures that confound their footing about their dens,\nthat they may not be found out, and so should a wise man in the case of\nhis retirement. When the door is open, the thief passes it by as not\nworth his while; but when it is bolted and sealed, it is a temptation\nfor people to be prying. To have it said \u201cthat such a one is never\nout of his study, and sees nobody,\u201d etc.; this furnishes matter for\ndiscourse. He that makes his retirement too strict and severe, does as\ngood as call company to take notice of it.\n\nEvery man knows his own constitution; one eases his stomach by\nvomit\u2014another supports it with good nourishment; he that has the gout\nforbears wine and bathing, and every man applies to the part that is\nmost infirm. He that shows a gouty foot, a lame hand, or contracted\nnerves, shall be permitted to lie still and attend his cure; and why\nnot so in the vices of his mind! We must discharge all impediments and\nmake way for philosophy, as a study inconsistent with common business.\nTo all other things we must deny ourselves openly and frankly, when we\nare sick refuse visits, keep ourselves close, and lay aside all public\ncares, and shall we not do as much when we philosophize? Business is\nthe drudgery of the world, and only fit for slaves, but contemplation\nis the work of wise men. Not but that solitude and company may be\nallowed to take their turns: the one creates in us the love of mankind,\nthe other that of ourselves; solitude relieves us when we are sick of\ncompany, and conversation when we are weary of being alone; so that\nthe one cures the other. \u201cThere is no man,\u201d in fine, \u201cso miserable as\nhe that is at a loss how to spend his time.\u201d He is restless in his\nthoughts, unsteady in his counsels, dissatisfied with the present,\nsolicitous for the future; whereas he that prudently computes his\nhours and his business, does not only fortify himself against the\ncommon accidents of life, but improves the most rigorous dispensations\nof Providence to his comfort, and stands firm under all the trials of\nhuman weakness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nTHE CONTEMPT OF DEATH MAKES ALL THE MISERIES OF LIFE EASY TO US.\n\n\nIt is a hard task to master the natural desire of life by a\nphilosophical contempt of death, and to convince the world that there\nis no hurt in it, and crush an opinion that was brought up with us from\nour cradles. What help? what encouragement? what shall we say to human\nfrailty, to carry it fearless through the fury of flames, and upon the\npoints of swords? what rhetoric shall we use to bear down the universal\nconsent of people to so dangerous an error? The captious and superfine\nsubtleties of the schools will never do the work: these speak many\nthings sharp, but utterly unnecessary, and void of effect. The truth\nof it is, there is but one chain that holds all the world in bondage,\nand that is the love of life. It is not that I propound the making of\ndeath so indifferent to us, as it is, whether a man\u2019s hairs be even or\nodd; for what with self-love, and an implanted desire in every being of\npreserving itself, and a long acquaintance betwixt the soul and body,\nfriends may be loth to part, and death may carry an appearance of evil,\nthough in truth it is itself no evil at all. Beside, that we are to go\nto a strange place in the dark, and under great uncertainties of our\nfuture state; so that people die in terror, because they do not know\nwhither they are to go, and they are apt to fancy the worst of what\nthey do not understand: these thoughts are indeed sufficient to startle\na man of great resolution without a wonderful support from above. And,\nmoreover, our natural scruples and infirmities are assisted by the wits\nand fancies of all ages, in their infamous and horrid description of\nanother world: nay, taking it for granted that there will be no reward\nand punishment, they are yet more afraid of an annihilation than of\nhell itself.\n\nBut what is it we fear? \u201cOh! it is a terrible thing to die.\u201d Well;\nand is it not better once to suffer it, than always to fear it? The\nearth itself suffers both _with_ me, and _before_ me. How many islands\nare swallowed up in the sea! how many towns do we sail over! nay, how\nmany nations are wholly lost, either by inundations or earthquakes!\nand shall I be afraid of my little body? why should I, that am sure\nto die, and that all other things are mortal, be fearful of coming to\nmy last gasp myself? It is the fear of death that makes us base, and\ntroubles and destroys the life we would preserve; that aggravates all\ncircumstances, and makes them formidable. We depend but upon a flying\nmoment. Die we must; but when? what is that to us? It is the law of\nNature, the tribute of mortals, and the remedy of all evils. It is only\nthe disguise that affrights us; as children that are terrified with\na vizor. Take away the instruments of death, the fire, the ax, the\nguards, the executioners, the whips, and the racks; take away the pomp,\nI say, and the circumstances that accompany it, and death is no more\nthan what my slave yesterday contemned; the pain is nothing to a fit of\nthe stone; if it be tolerable, it is not great; and if intolerable,\nit cannot last long. There is nothing that Nature has made necessary\nwhich is more easy than death: we are longer a-coming into the world\nthan going out of it; and there is not any minute of our lives wherein\nwe may not reasonably expect it. Nay, it is but a moment\u2019s work, the\nparting of the soul and body. What a shame is it then to stand in fear\nof anything so long that is over so soon!\n\nNor is it any great matter to overcome this fear; for we have examples\nas well of the _meanest_ of men as of the greatest that have done it.\nThere was a fellow to be exposed upon the theatre, who in disdain\nthrust a stick down his own throat, and choked himself; and another on\nthe same occasion, pretended to nod upon the chariot, as if he were\nasleep, cast his head betwixt the spokes of the wheel, and kept his\nseat until his neck was broken. Caligula, upon a dispute with Canius\nJulius; \u201cDo not flatter yourself,\u201d says he, \u201cfor I have given orders to\nput you to death.\u201d \u201cI thank your most gracious Majesty for it,\u201d says\nCanius, giving to understand, perhaps, that under his government death\nwas a mercy: for he knew that Caligula seldom failed of being as good\nas his word in that case. He was at play when the officer carried him\naway to his execution, and beckoning to the centurion, \u201cPray,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cwill you bear me witness, when I am dead and gone, that I had the\nbetter of the game?\u201d He was a man exceedingly beloved and lamented,\nand, for a farewell, after he had preached moderation to his friends;\n\u201cYou,\u201d says he, \u201care here disputing about the immortality of the soul,\nand I am now going to learn the truth of it. If I discover any thing\nupon that point, you shall hear of it.\u201d Nay, the most timorous of\ncreatures, when they see there is no escaping, they oppose themselves\nto all dangers; the despair gives them courage, and the necessity\novercomes the fear. Socrates was thirty days in prison after his\nsentence, and had time enough to have starved himself, and so to have\nprevented the poison: but he gave the world the blessing of his life\nas long as he could, and took that fatal draught in the meditation and\ncontempt of death.\n\nMarcellinus, in a deliberation upon death, called several of his\nfriends about him: one was fearful, and advised what he himself would\nhave done in the case; another gave the counsel which he thought\nMarcellinus would like best; but a friend of his that was a Stoic, and\na stout man, reasoned the matter to him after this manner; Marcellinus\ndo not trouble yourself, as if it were such a mighty business that you\nhave now in hand; it is nothing to _live_; all your servants do it,\nnay, your very beasts too; but to die honestly and resolutely, that\nis a great point. Consider with yourself there is nothing pleasant in\nlife but what you have tasted already, and that which is to come is\nbut the same over again; and how many men are there in the world that\nrather choose to die than to suffer the nauseous tediousness of the\nrepetition? Upon which discourse he fasted himself to death. It was\nthe custom of Pacuvius to solemnize, in a kind of pageantry, every day\nhis own funeral. When he had swilled and gormandized to a luxurious\nand beastly excess, he was carried away from supper to bed with this\nsong and acclamation, \u201cHe has lived, he has lived.\u201d That which he did\nin lewdness, will become us to do in sobriety and prudence. If it\nshall please God to add another day to our lives, let us thankfully\nreceive it; but, however, it is our happiest and securest course so\nto compose ourselves to-night, that we may have no anxious dependence\non to-morrow. \u201cHe that can say, I have lived this day, makes the next\nclear again.\u201d\n\nDeath is the worst that either the severity of laws or the cruelty of\ntyrants can impose upon us; and it is the utmost extent of the dominion\nof Fortune. He that is fortified against that, must, consequently, be\nsuperior to all other difficulties that are put in the way to it. Nay,\nand on some occasions, it requires more courage to live than to die.\nHe that is not prepared for death shall be perpetually troubled, as\nwell with vain apprehensions, as with real dangers. It is not death\nitself that is dreadful, but the fear of it that goes before it. When\nthe mind is under a consternation, there is no state of life that can\nplease us; for we do not so endeavor to avoid mischiefs as to run away\nfrom them, and the greatest slaughter is upon a flying enemy. Had not\na man better breathe out his last once for all, than lie agonizing\nin pains, consuming by inches, losing of his blood by drops? and yet\nhow many are there that are ready to betray their country, and their\nfriends, and to prostitute their very wives and daughters, to preserve\na miserable carcass! Madmen and children have no apprehension of death;\nand it were a shame that our reason should not do as much toward our\nsecurity as their folly. But the great matter is to die considerately\nand cheerfully upon the foundation of virtue; for life in itself is\nirksome, and only eating and drinking in a circle.\n\nHow many are there that, betwixt the apprehensions of death and the\nmiseries of life, are at their wits\u2019 end what to do with themselves?\nWherefore let us fortify ourselves against those calamities from which\nthe prince is no more exempt than the beggar. Pompey the Great had his\nhead taken off by a boy and a eunuch, (young Ptolemy and Photinus.)\nCaligula commanded the tribune D\u00e6cimus to kill Lepidus; and another\ntribune (Ch\u00e6reus) did as much for Caligula. Never was a man so great\nbut he was as liable to suffer mischief as he was able to do it. Has\nnot a thief, or an enemy, your throat at his mercy? nay, and the\nmeanest of servants has the power of life and death over his master;\nfor whosoever contemns his own life may be master of another body\u2019s.\nYou will find in story, that the displeasure of servants has been as\nfatal as that of tyrants: and what matters it the power of him we\nfear, when the thing we fear is in every body\u2019s power? Suppose I fall\ninto the hands of an enemy, and the conqueror condemns me to be led\nin triumph; it is but carrying me thither whither I should have gone\nwithout him, that is to say, toward death, whither I have been marching\never since I was born. It is the fear of our last hour that disquiets\nall the rest. By the justice of all constitutions, mankind is condemned\nto a capital punishment; now, how despicable would that man appear,\nwho, being sentenced to death in common with the whole world, should\nonly petition that he might be the last man brought to the block?\n\nSome men are particularly afraid of thunder, and yet extremely careless\nof other and of greater dangers: as if that were all they have to\nfear. Will not a sword, a stone, a fever, do the work as well? Suppose\nthe bolt should hit us, it were yet braver to die with a stroke than\nwith the bare apprehension of it: beside the vanity of imagining\nthat heaven and earth should be put into such a disorder only for the\ndeath of one man. A good and a brave man is not moved with lightning,\ntempest, or earthquakes; but perhaps he would voluntarily plunge\nhimself into that gulf, where otherwise he should only fall. The\ncutting of a corn, or the swallowing of a fly, is enough to dispatch a\nman; and it is no matter how great that is that brings me to my death,\nso long as death itself is but little. Life is a small matter; but it\nis a matter of importance to contemn it. Nature, that begat us, expels\nus, and a better and a safer place is provided for us. And what is\ndeath but a ceasing to be what we were before? We are kindled and put\nout: to cease to be, and not to begin to be, is the same thing. We die\ndaily, and while we are growing, our life decreases; every moment that\npasses takes away part of it; all that is past is lost; nay, we divide\nwith death the very instant that we live. As the last sand in the glass\ndoes not measure the hour, but finishes it; so the last moment that\nwe live does not make up death, but concludes. There are some that\npray more earnestly for death than we do for life; but it is better to\nreceive it cheerfully when it comes than to hasten it before the time.\n\n\u201cBut what is it that we would live any longer for?\u201d Not for our\npleasures; for those we have tasted over and over, even to satiety: so\nthat there is no point of luxury that is new to us. \u201cBut a man would be\nloth to leave his country and his friends behind him;\u201d that is to say,\nhe would have them go first; for that is the least part of his care.\n\u201cWell; but I would fain live to do more good, and discharge myself\nin the offices of life;\u201d as if to die were not the duty of every man\nthat lives. We are loth to leave our possessions; and no man swims\nwell with his luggage. We are all of us equally fearful of death, and\nignorant of life; but what can be more shameful than to be solicitous\nupon the brink of security? If death be at any time to be feared, it\nis always to be feared; but the way never to fear it, is to be often\nthinking of it. To what end is it to put off for a little while that\nwhich we cannot avoid? He that dies does but follow him that is dead.\n\u201cWhy are we then so long afraid of that which is so little awhile of\ndoing?\u201d How miserable are those people that spend their lives in the\ndismal apprehensions of death! for they are beset on all hands, and\nevery minute in dread of a surprise. We must therefore look about us,\nas if we were in an enemy\u2019s country; and consider our last hour, not as\na punishment, but as the law of Nature: the fear of it is a continual\npalpitation of the heart, and he that overcomes that terror shall never\nbe troubled with any other.\n\nLife is a navigation; we are perpetually wallowing and dashing one\nagainst another; sometimes we suffer shipwreck, but we are always in\ndanger and in expectation of it. And what is it when it comes, but\neither the end of a journey, or a passage? It is as great a folly to\nfear _death_ as to fear _old age_; nay, as to fear life itself; for he\nthat would not die ought not to live, since death is the condition of\nlife. Beside that it is a madness to fear a thing that is certain; for\nwhere there is no doubt, there is no place for fear.\n\nWe are still chiding of Fate, and even those that exact the most\nrigorous justice betwixt man and man are yet themselves unjust to\nProvidence. \u201cWhy was such a one taken away in the prime of his years?\u201d\nAs if it were the number of years that makes death easy to us, and not\nthe temper of the mind. He that would live a little longer to-day,\nwould be as loth to die a hundred years hence. But which is more\nreasonable for us to obey Nature, or for Nature to obey us? Go we must\nat last, and no matter how soon. It is the work of Fate to make us live\nlong, but it is the business of virtue to make a short life sufficient.\nLife is to be measured by action, not by time; a man may die old at\nthirty, and young at fourscore: nay, the one lives after death, and\nthe other perished before he died. I look upon age among the effects\nof chance. How long I shall live is in the power of others, but it is\nin my own how well. The largest space of time is to live till a man is\nwise. He that dies of old age does no more than go to bed when he is\nweary. Death is the test of life, and it is that only which discovers\nwhat we are, and distinguishes betwixt ostentation and virtue. A man\nmay dispute, cite great authorities, talk learnedly, huff it out, and\nyet be rotten at heart. But let us soberly attend our business: and\nsince it is uncertain _when_, or _where_, we shall die, let us look for\ndeath in all places, and at all times: we can never study that point\ntoo much, which we can never come to experiment whether we know it or\nnot. It is a blessed thing to dispatch the business of life before we\ndie, and then to expect death in the possession of a happy life. He is\nthe great man who is willing to die when his life is pleasant to him.\nAn honest life is not a greater good than an honest death. How many\nbrave young men, by an instinct of Nature, are carried on to great\nactions, and even to the contempt of all hazards!\n\nIt is childish to go out of the world groaning and wailing as we came\ninto it. Our bodies must be thrown away, as the secundine that wraps\nup the infant, the other being only the covering of the soul; we shall\nthen discover the secrets of Nature; the darkness shall be discussed,\nand our souls irradiated with light and glory: a glory without a\nshadow; a glory that shall surround us, and from whence we shall look\ndown and see day and night beneath us. If we cannot lift up our eyes\ntoward the lamp of heaven without dazzling, what shall we do when we\ncome to behold the divine light in its illustrious original? That death\nwhich we so much dread and decline, is not the determination, but the\nintermission of a life, which will return again. All those things,\nthat are the very cause of life, are the way to death: we fear it as\nwe do fame; but it is a great folly to fear words. Some people are so\nimpatient of life, that they are still wishing for death; but he that\nwishes to die does not desire it: let us rather wait God\u2019s pleasure,\nand pray for health and life. If we have a mind to live, why do we\nwish to die? If we have a mind to die, we may do it without talking\nof it. Men are a great deal more resolute in the article of _death_\nitself than they are about the circumstances of it: for it gives a man\ncourage to consider that his fate is inevitable: the slow approaches of\ndeath are the most troublesome to us; as we see many a gladiator, who\nupon his wounds, will direct his adversary\u2019s weapon to his very heart,\nthough but timorous perhaps in the combat. There are some that have not\nthe heart either to live or die; that is a sad case. But this we are\nsure of, \u201cthe fear of death is a continual slavery, as the contempt of\nit is certain liberty.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nCONSOLATIONS AGAINST DEATH, FROM THE PROVIDENCE AND THE NECESSITY OF IT.\n\n\nThis life is only a prelude to eternity, where we are to expect another\noriginal, and another state of things; we have no prospect of heaven\nhere but at a distance; let us therefore expect our last and decretory\nhour with courage. The last (I say) to our bodies, but not to our\nminds: our luggage we leave behind us, and return as naked out of the\nworld as we came into it. The day which we fear as our last is but\nthe birth-day of our eternity; and it is the only way to it. So that\nwhat we fear as a rock, proves to be but a port, in many cases to be\ndesired, never to be refused; and he that dies young has only made a\nquick voyage of it. Some are becalmed, others cut it away before wind;\nand we live just as we sail: first, we rub our childhood out of sight;\nour youth next; and then our middle age: after that follows old age,\nand brings us to the common end of mankind.\n\nIt is a great providence that we have more ways out of the world than\nwe have into it. Our security stands upon a point, the very article\nof death. It draws a great many blessings into a very narrow compass:\nand although the fruit of it does not seem to extend to the defunct,\nyet the difficulty of it is more than balanced by the contemplation of\nthe future. Nay, suppose that all the business of this world should be\nforgotten, or my memory, traduced, what is all this to me? \u201cI have done\nmy duty.\u201d Undoubtedly that which puts an end to all other evils, cannot\nbe a very great evil itself, and yet it is no easy thing for flesh and\nblood to despise life. What if death comes? If it does not stay with us\nwhy should we fear it? One hangs himself for a mistress; another leaps\nthe garret-window to avoid a choleric master; a third runs away and\nstabs himself, rather than he will be brought back again. We see the\nforce even of our infirmities, and shall we not then do greater things\nfor the love of virtue? To suffer death is but the law of nature;\nand it is a great comfort that it can be done but once; in the very\nconvulsions of it we have this consolation, that our pain is near an\nend, and that it frees us from all the miseries of life.\n\nWhat it is we know not, and it were rash to condemn what we do not\nunderstand; but this we presume, either that we shall pass out of this\ninto a better life, where we shall live with tranquillity and splendor,\nin diviner mansions, or else return to our first principles, free from\nthe sense of any inconvenience. There is nothing immortal, nor many\nthings lasting; by but divers ways everything comes to an end. What\nan arrogance is it then, when the world itself stands condemned to a\ndissolution, that man alone should expect to live forever! It is unjust\nnot to allow unto the giver the power of disposing of his own bounty,\nand a folly only to value the present. Death is as much a debt as\nmoney, and life is but a journey towards it: some dispatch it sooner,\nothers later, but we must all have the same period. The thunderbolt is\nundoubtedly just that draws even from those that are struck with it a\nveneration.\n\nA great soul takes no delight in staying with the body: it considers\nwhence it came, and knows whither it is to go. The day will come that\nshall separate this mixture of soul and body, of divine and human; my\nbody I will leave where I found it, my soul I will restore to heaven,\nwhich would have been there already, but for the clog that keeps it\ndown: and beside, how many men have been the worse for longer living,\nthat might have died with reputation if they had been sooner taken\naway! How many disappointments of hopeful youths, that have proved\ndissolute men! Over and above the ruins, shipwrecks, torments, prisons,\nthat attend long life; a blessing so deceitful, that if a child were\nin condition to judge of it, and at liberty to refuse it, he would not\ntake it.\n\nWhat Providence has made necessary, human prudence should comply with\ncheerfully: as there is a necessity of death, so that necessity is\nequal and invincible. No man has cause of complaint for that which\nevery man must suffer as well as himself. When we _should_ die, we\n_will not_, and when we _would not_ we _must_: but our fate is fixed,\nand unavoidable is the decree. Why do we then stand trembling when\nthe time comes? Why do we not as well lament that we did not live a\nthousand years ago, as that we shall not be alive a thousand years\nhence? It is but traveling the great road, and to the place whither we\nmust all go at last. It is but submitting to the law of Nature, and to\nthat lot which the whole world has suffered that is gone before us; and\nso must they too that are to come after us. Nay, how many thousands,\nwhen our time comes, will expire in the same moment with us! He that\nwill not follow shall be drawn by force: and is it not much better now\nto do that willingly which we shall otherwise be made to do in spite of\nour hearts?\n\nThe sons of mortal parents must expect a mortal posterity\u2014death is\nthe end of great and small. We are born helpless, and exposed to the\ninjuries of all creatures and of all weathers. The very necessaries\nof life are deadly to us; we meet with our fate in our dishes, in\nour cups, and in the very air we breathe; nay, our very birth is\ninauspicious, for we come into the world weeping, and in the middle of\nour designs, while we are meditating great matters, and stretching of\nour thoughts to after ages, death cuts us off, and our longest date is\nonly the revolution of a few years. One man dies at the table; another\ngoes away in his sleep, a third in his mistress\u2019s arms, a fourth is\nstabbed, another is stung with an adder, or crushed with the fall of\na house. We have several ways to our end, but the end itself, which\nis death, is still the same. Whether we die by a sword, by a halter,\nby a potion, or by a disease, it is all but _death_. A child dies in\nthe swaddling-clouts, and an old man at a hundred\u2014they are both mortal\nalike, though the one goes sooner than the other. All that lies betwixt\nthe cradle and the grave is uncertain. If we compute the _troubles_,\nthe life even of a child is long: if the _sweetness_ of the _passage_,\nthat of an old man is short; the whole is slippery and deceitful, and\nonly death certain; and yet all people complain of that which never\ndeceived any man. Senecio raised himself from a small beginning to a\nvast fortune, being very well skilled in the faculties both of getting\nand of keeping, and either of them was sufficient for the doing of his\nbusiness. He was a man infinitely careful both of his patrimony and of\nhis body. He gave me a morning\u2019s visit, (says our author,) and after\nthat visit he went away and spent the rest of the day with a friend of\nhis that was desperately sick. At night, he was merry at supper, and\nseized immediately after with a quinsy which dispatched him in a few\nhours. This man that had money at use in all places, and in the very\ncourse and height of his prosperity was thus cut off. How foolish a\nthing is it then for a man to flatter himself with long hopes, and to\npretend to dispose of the future: nay, the very present slips through\nour fingers, and there is not that moment which we can call our own.\n\nHow vain a thing is it for us to enter upon projects, and to say to\nourselves, \u201cWell, I will go build, purchase, discharge such offices,\nsettle my affairs, and then retire!\u201d We are all of us born to the same\ncasualties\u2014all equally frail and uncertain of to-morrow. At the very\naltar where we pray for life, we learn to die, by seeing the sacrifices\nkilled before us. But there is no need of a wound, or searching the\nheart for it, when the noose of a cord, or the smothering of a pillow\nwill do the work. All things have their seasons\u2014they begin, they\nincrease, and they die. The heavens and the earth grow old, and are\nappointed their periods.\n\nThat which we call _death_ is but a pause or suspension; and, in\ntruth, a progress to life, only our thoughts look downward upon the\nbody, and not forward upon things to come. All things under the sun\nare mortal\u2014cities\u2014empires\u2014and the time will come when it shall be a\nquestion where they were, and, perchance, whether ever they had a\nbeing or not. Some will be destroyed by war, others by luxury, fire,\ninundations, earthquakes\u2014why should it trouble me then to die, as a\nforerunner of an universal dissolution? A great mind submits itself to\nGod, and suffers willingly what the law of the universe will otherwise\nbring to pass upon necessity.\n\nThat good old man Bassus, (though with one foot in the grave,) how\ncheerful a mind does he bear. He lives in the view of death, and\ncontemplates his own end with less concern of thought or countenance,\nthan he would do another man\u2019s. It is a hard lesson, and we are a long\ntime a learning of it, to receive our death without trouble, especially\nin the case of Bassus: in other deaths there is a mixture of hope\u2014a\ndisease may be cured, a fire quenched, a falling house either propped\nor avoided, the sea may swallow a man and throw him up again, a pardon\nmay interpose twixt the ax and the body\u2014but in the case of old age\nthere is no place for either hope or intercession.\n\nLet us live in our bodies, therefore, as if we were only to lodge\nin them this night, and to leave them to-morrow. It is the frequent\nthought of death that must fortify us against the necessity of it. He\nthat has armed himself against poverty, may, perhaps, come to live\nin plenty. A man may strengthen himself against pain and yet live in\na state of health; against the loss of friends, and never lose any,\nbut he that fortifies himself against the fear of death shall most\ncertainly have occasion to employ that virtue. It is the care of a wise\nand a good man to look to his manners and actions; and rather how well\nhe lives than how long, for to die sooner or later is not the business,\nbut to die well or ill, for \u201cdeath brings us to immortality.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nAGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW FOR THE DEATH OF FRIENDS.\n\n\nNext to the encounter of death in our own bodies, the most sensible\ncalamity to an honest man is the death of a friend; and we are not in\ntruth without some generous instances of those that have preferred\na friend\u2019s life before their own; and yet this affliction, which by\nnature is so grievous to us, is by virtue and Providence made familiar\nand easy.\n\nTo lament the death of a friend is both natural and just; a sigh\nor a tear I would allow to his memory: but no profuse or obstinate\nsorrow. Clamorous and public lamentations are not so much the effects\nof grief as of vain-glory. He that is sadder in company than alone,\nshows rather the ambition of his sorrow than the piety of it. Nay, and\nin the violence of his passion there fall out twenty things that set\nhim a-laughing. At the long-run, time cures all, but it were better\ndone by moderation and wisdom. Some people do as good as set a watch\nupon themselves, as if they were afraid that their grief would make\nan escape. The ostentation of grief is many times more than the grief\nitself. When any body is within hearing, what groans and outcries! when\nthey are alone and private, all is hush and quiet: so soon as any body\ncomes in, they are at it again; and down they throw themselves upon the\nbed; fall to wringing of their hands, and wishing of themselves dead;\nwhich they might have executed by themselves; but their sorrow goes off\nwith the company. We forsake nature, and run over to the practices of\nthe people, that never were the authors of anything that is good. If\ndestiny were to be wrought upon by tears, I would allow you to spend\nyour days and nights in sadness and mourning, tearing of your hair, and\nbeating of your breast; but if Fate be inexorable, and death will keep\nwhat it has taken, grief is to no purpose. And yet I would not advise\ninsensibility and hardness; it were inhumanity, and not virtue, not to\nbe moved at the separation of familiar friends and relations: now, in\nsuch cases, we cannot command ourselves, we cannot forbear weeping, and\nwe ought not to forbear: but let us not pass the bounds of affection,\nand run into imitation; within these limits it is some ease to the mind.\n\nA wise man gives way to tears in some cases, and cannot avoid them in\nothers. When one is struck with the surprise of ill-news, as the death\nof a friend, or the like; or upon the last embrace of an acquaintance\nunder the hand of an executioner, he lies under a natural necessity\nof weeping and trembling. In another case, we may indulge our sorrow,\nas upon the memory of a dead friend\u2019s conversation or kindness, one\nmay let fall tears of generosity and joy. We favor the one, and we are\novercome by the other; and this is well: but we are not upon any terms\nto force them: they may flow of their own accord, without derogating\nfrom the dignity of a wise man; who at the same time both preserves\nhis gravity, and obeys nature. Nay, there is a certain _decorum_ even\nin weeping; for excess of sorrow is as foolish as profuse laughter.\nWhy do we not as well cry, when our trees that we took pleasure in,\nshed their leaves, as at the loss of our satisfactions; when the next\nseason repairs them, either with the same again, or others in their\nplaces. We may _accuse_ Fate, but we cannot _alter_ it; for it is hard\nand inexorable, and not to be removed either with reproaches or tears.\nThey may carry _us_ to the _dead_, but never bring _them_ back again\nto us. If reason does not put an end to our sorrows, fortune never\nwill: one is pinched with poverty; another solicited with ambition, and\nfears the very wealth that he coveted. One is troubled for the loss\nof children; another for the want of them: so that we shall sooner\nwant tears than matter for them; let us therefore spare that for which\nwe have so much occasion. I do confess, that in the very parting of\nfriends there is something of uneasiness and trouble; but it is rather\nvoluntary than natural; and it is custom more than sense that affects\nus: we do rather impose a sorrow upon ourselves than submit to it; as\npeople cry when they have company, and when nobody looks on, all is\nwell again. To mourn without measure is folly, and not to mourn at\nall is insensibility. The best temper is betwixt piety and reason;\nto be sensible, but neither transported nor cast down. He that can\nput a stop to his tears and pleasures when he will is safe. It is an\nequal infelicity to be either too soft or too hard: we are overcome\nby the one, and put to struggle with the other. There is a certain\nintemperance in that sorrow that passes the rules of modesty; and yet\ngreat piety is, in many cases, a dispensation to good manners. The\nloss of a son or of a friend, cuts a man to the heart, and there is no\nopposing the first violence of his passion; but when a man comes once\nto deliver himself wholly up to lamentations, he is to understand,\nthat though some tears deserve compassion, others are yet ridiculous. A\ngrief that is fresh finds pity and comfort, but when it is inveterate\nit is laughed at, for it is either counterfeit or foolish. Beside that,\nto weep excessively for the dead is an affront to the living. The most\njustifiable cause of mourning is to see good men come to ill ends, and\nvirtue oppressed by the iniquity of Fortune. But in this case, too,\nthey either suffer resolutely, and yield us delight in their courage\nand example, or meanly, and so give us the less trouble for the loss.\nHe that dies cheerfully, dries up my tears; and he that dies whiningly,\ndoes not deserve them. I would bear the death of friends and children\nwith the same constancy that I would expect my own, and no more lament\nthe one than fear the other. He that bethinks himself, how often\nfriends have been parted, will find more time lost among the living,\nthan upon the dead; and the most desperate mourners are they that cared\nleast for their friends when they were living; for they think to redeem\ntheir credits, for want of kindness to the living, by extravagant\nravings after the dead. Some (I know) will have grief to be only the\nperverse delight of a restless mind, and sorrows and pleasures to be\nnear akin; and there are, I am confident, that find joy even in their\ntears. But which is more barbarous, to be insensible of grief for the\ndeath of a friend, or to fish for pleasure in grief, when a son perhaps\nis burning, or a friend expiring? To forget one\u2019s friend, to bury the\nmemory with the body, to lament out of measure, is all inhuman. He that\nis gone either would not have his friend tormented, or does not know\nthat he is so: if he does not feel it, it is superfluous; if he does,\nit is unacceptable to him. If reason cannot prevail, reputation may;\nfor immoderate mourning lessens a man\u2019s character: it is a shameful\nthing for a wise man to make the _weariness_ of grieving the _remedy_\nof it. In time, the most stubborn grief will leave us, if in prudence\nwe do not leave that first.\n\nBut do I grieve for my friend\u2019s sake or for my own? Why should I\nafflict myself for the loss of him that is either happy or not at all\nin being? In the one case it is envy, and in the other it is madness.\nWe are apt to say, \u201cWhat would I give to see him again, and to enjoy\nhis conversation! I was never sad in his company: my heart leaped\nwhenever I met him; I want him wherever I go.\u201d All that is to be said\nis, \u201cThe greater the loss, the greater is the virtue to overcome it.\u201d\nIf grieving will do no good, it is an idle thing to grieve; and if that\nwhich has befallen one man remains to all, it is as unjust to complain.\nThe whole world is upon the march towards the same point; why do we\nnot cry for ourselves that are to follow, as well as for him that has\ngone first? Why do we not as well lament beforehand for that which we\nknow will be, and can not possibly but be? He is not _gone_, but _sent\nbefore_. As there are many things that he has lost, so there are many\nthings that he does not fear; as anger, jealousy, envy, etc. Is he not\nmore happy in desiring nothing than miserable in what he has lost? We\ndo not mourn for the absent, why then for the dead, who are effectually\nno other? We have lost one blessing, but we have many left; and shall\nnot all these satisfactions support us against one sorrow?\n\nThe comfort of having a friend may be taken away, but not that\nof having had one. As there is a sharpness in some fruits, and a\nbitterness in some wines that please us, so there is a mixture in the\nremembrance of friends, where the loss of their company is sweetened\nagain by the contemplation of their virtues. In some respects, I have\nlost what I had, and in others, I retain still what I have lost. It\nis an ill construction of Providence to reflect only upon my friend\u2019s\nbeing taken away, without any regard to the benefit of his being\nonce given me. Let us therefore make the best of our friends while\nwe have them; for how long we shall keep them is uncertain. I have\nlost a hopeful son, but how many fathers have been deceived in their\nexpectations! and how many noble families have been destroyed by luxury\nand riot! He that grieves for the loss of a son, what if he had lost a\nfriend? and yet he that has lost a friend has more cause of joy that\nhe once had him, than of grief that he is taken away. Shall a man bury\nhis friendship with his friend? We are ungrateful for that which is\npast, in hope of what is to come; as if that which is to come would not\nquickly be past too. That which is past we are sure of. We may receive\nsatisfaction, it is true, both from the future and what is already\npast; the one by expectation, and the other by memory; only the one may\npossibly not come to pass, and it is impossible to make the other not\nto have been.\n\nBut there is no applying of consolation to fresh and bleeding sorrow;\nthe very discourse irritates the grief and inflames it. It is like an\nunseasonable medicine in a disease; when the first violence is over,\nit will be more tractable, and endure the handling. Those people\nwhose minds are weakened by long felicity may be allowed to groan and\ncomplain, but it is otherwise with those that have led their days\nin misfortunes. A long course of adversity has this good in it, that\nthough it vexes a body a great while, it comes to harden us at last;\nas a raw soldier shrinks at every wound, and dreads the surgeon more\nthan an enemy; whereas a _veteran_ sees his own body cut and lamed with\nas little concern as if it were another\u2019s. With the same resolution\nshould we stand the shock and cure of all misfortunes; we are never the\nbetter for our experience, if we have not yet learned to be miserable.\nAnd there is no thought of curing us by the diversion of sports and\nentertainments; we are apt to fall into relapses; wherefore we had\nbetter overcome our sorrow than delude it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nCONSOLATION AGAINST BANISHMENT AND BODILY PAIN.\n\n\nIt is a masterpiece to draw good out of evil; and, by the help of\nvirtue, to improve misfortunes into blessings. \u201cIt is a sad condition,\u201d\nyou will say, \u201cfor a man to be barred the freedom of his own country.\u201d\nAnd is not this the case of thousands that we meet every day in the\nstreets? Some for ambition; others, to negotiate, or for curiosity,\ndelight, friendship, study, experience, luxury, vanity, discontent:\nsome to exercise their virtues, others their vices; and not a few to\nprostitute either their bodies or their eloquence? To pass now from\npleasant countries into the worst of islands; let them be never so\nbarren or rocky, the people never so barbarous, or the clime never so\nintemperate, he that is banished thither shall find many strangers to\nlive there for their pleasure. The mind of man is naturally curious\nand restless; which is no wonder, considering their divine original;\nfor heavenly things are always in motion: witness the stars, and the\norbs, which are perpetually moving, rolling, and changing of place and\naccording to the law and appointment of Nature. But here are no woods,\nyou will say, no rivers, no gold nor pearl, no commodity for traffic\nor commerce; nay, hardly provision enough to keep the inhabitants\nfrom starving. It is very right; here are no palaces, no artificial\ngrottoes, or materials for luxury and excess; but we lie under the\nprotection of Heaven; and a poor cottage for a retreat is more worth\nthan the most magnificent temple, when that cottage is consecrated\nby an honest man under the guard of his virtue. Shall any man think\nbanishment grievous, when he may take such company along with him!\nNor is there any banishment but yields enough for our necessities,\nand no kingdom is sufficient for superfluities. It is the mind that\nmakes us rich in a desert; and if the body be but kept alive, the\nsoul enjoys all spiritual felicities in abundance. What signifies the\nbeing banished from one spot of ground to another, to a man that has\nhis thoughts above, and can look forward and backward, and wherever\nhe pleases; and that, wherever he is, has the same matter to work\nupon? The body is but the prison or the clog of the mind, subjected to\npunishments, robberies, diseases; but the mind is sacred and spiritual,\nand liable to no violence. Is it that, a man shall want garments or\ncovering in banishment? The body is as easily clothed as fed; and\nNature has made nothing hard that is necessary. But if nothing will\nserve us but rich embroideries and scarlet, it is none of Fortune\u2019s\nfault that we are poor, but our own. Nay, suppose a man should have\nall restored him back again that he has lost, it will come to nothing,\nfor he will want more after that to satisfy his desires than he did\nbefore to supply his necessities. Insatiable appetites are not so much\na thirst as a disease.\n\nTo come lower now; where is the people or nation that have not changed\ntheir place of abode? Some by the fate of war; others have been cast\nby tempests, shipwrecks, or want of provisions, upon unknown coasts.\nSome have been forced abroad by pestilence, sedition, earthquakes,\nsurcharge of people at home. Some travel to see the world, others\nfor commerce; but, in fine, it is clear, that, upon some reason or\nother, the whole race of mankind have shifted their quarters; changed\ntheir very names as well as their habitations; insomuch that we have\nlost the very memorials of what they were. All these transportations\nof people, what are they but public banishments? The very _founder_\nof the _Roman empire_ was an _exile_: briefly, the whole world has\nbeen transplanted, and one mutation treads upon the heel of another.\nThat which one man desires, turns another man\u2019s stomach; and he that\nproscribes me to-day, shall himself be cast out to-morrow. We have,\nhowever, this comfort in our misfortune; we have the same nature, the\nsame Providence, and we carry our virtues along with us. And this\nblessing we owe to that almighty Power, call it what you will; either\na _God_, or an _Incorporeal Reason_, a _Divine Spirit_, or _Fate_, and\nthe _unchangeable Course_ of _causes_ and _effects_: it is, however,\nso ordered, that nothing can be taken from us but what we can well\nspare: and that which is most magnificent and valuable continues with\nus. Wherever we go, we have the heavens over our heads, and no farther\nfrom us than they were before; and so long as we can entertain our eyes\nand thoughts with those glories, what matter is it what ground we tread\nupon?\n\nIn the case of pain or sickness, it is only the body that is affected;\nit may take off the speed of a footman, or bind the hands of a cobbler,\nbut the mind is still at liberty to hear, learn, teach, advise, and to\ndo other good offices. It is an example of public benefit, a man that\nis in pain and patient. Virtue may show itself as well in the bed as\nin the field; and he that cheerfully encounters the terrors of death\nand corporal anguish, is as great a man as he that most generously\nhazards himself in a battle. A disease, it is true, bars us of some\npleasures, but procures us others. Drink is never so grateful to us as\nin a burning fever; nor meat, as when we have fasted ourselves sharp\nand hungry. The patient may be forbidden some sensual satisfaction,\nbut no physician will forbid us the delight of the mind. Shall we call\nany sick man miserable, because he must give over his intemperance\nof wine and gluttony, and betake himself to a diet of more sobriety,\nand less expense; and abandon his luxury, which is the distemper of\nthe mind as well as of the body? It is troublesome, I know, at first,\nto abstain from the pleasures we have been used to, and to endure\nhunger and thirst; but in a little time we lose the very appetite,\nand it is no trouble then to be without that which we do not desire.\nIn diseases there are great pains; but if they be long they remit,\nand give us some intervals of ease; if short and violent, either they\ndispatch _us_, or consume _themselves_; so that either their respites\nmake them tolerable, or the extremity makes them short. So merciful\nis Almighty God to us, that our torments cannot be very sharp and\nlasting. The acutest pains are those that affect the nerves, but there\nis this comfort in them too, that they will quickly make us stupid and\ninsensible. In cases of extremity, let us call to mind the most eminent\ninstances of patience and courage, and turn our thoughts from our\nafflictions to the contemplation of virtue. Suppose it be the stone,\nthe gout, nay, the rack itself; how many have endured it without so\nmuch as a groan or word speaking; without so much as asking for relief,\nor giving an answer to a question! Nay, they have laughed at the\ntormentors upon the very torture, and provoked them to new experiments\nof their cruelty, which they have had still in derision. The _asthma_ I\nlook upon as of all diseases the most importunate; the physicians call\nit the _meditation of death_, as being rather an agony than a sickness;\nthe fit holds one not above an hour, as nobody is long in expiring. Are\nthere not three things grievous in sickness, the fear of death, bodily\npain, and the intermission of our pleasures? the first is to be imputed\nto nature, not to the disease; for we do not die because we are sick,\nbut because we live. Nay, sickness itself has preserved many a man from\ndying.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nPOVERTY TO A WISE MAN IS RATHER A BLESSING THAN A MISFORTUNE.\n\n\nNo man shall ever be poor that goes to himself for what he wants;\nand that is the readiest way to riches. Nature, indeed, will have\nher due; but yet whatsoever is beyond necessity is precarious, and\nnot necessary. It is not her business to gratify the palate, but to\nsatisfy a craving stomach. Bread, when a man is hungry, does his work,\nlet it be never so coarse; and water when he is dry; let his thirst\nbe quenched, and Nature is satisfied, no matter whence it comes, or\nwhether he drinks in gold, silver, or in the hollow of his hand. To\npromise a man riches, and to teach him poverty, is to deceive him: but\nshall I call him poor that wants nothing; though he maybe beholden for\nit to his patience, rather than to his fortune? Or shall any man deny\nhim to be rich, whose riches can never be taken away? Whether is it\nbetter to have much or enough? He that has much desires more, and shows\nthat he has not yet enough; but he that has enough is at rest. Shall\na man be reputed the less rich for not having that for which he shall\nbe banished; for which his very wife, or son, shall poison him: that\nwhich gives him security in war, and quiet in peace; which he possesses\nwithout danger, and disposes of without trouble? No man can be poor\nthat has enough; nor rich, that covets more than he has. Alexander,\nafter all his conquests, complained that he wanted more worlds; he\ndesired something more, even when he had gotten all: and that which was\nsufficient for human nature was not enough for one man. Money never\nmade any man rich; for the more he had, the more he still coveted. The\nrichest man that ever lived is poor in my opinion, and in any man\u2019s may\nbe so: but he that keeps himself to the stint of Nature, does neither\nfeel poverty nor fear it; nay, even in poverty itself there are some\nthings superfluous. Those which the world calls happy, their felicity\nis a false splendor, that dazzles the eyes of the vulgar; but our rich\nman is glorious and happy within. There is no ambition in hunger or\nthirst: let there be food, and no matter for the table, the dish, and\nthe servants, nor with what meats nature is satisfied. Those are the\ntorments of luxury, that rather stuff the stomach than fill it: it\nstudies rather to cause an appetite than to allay it. It is not for us\nto say, \u201cThis is not handsome; that is common; the other offends my\neye.\u201d Nature provides for health, not delicacy. When the trumpet sounds\na charge, the poor man knows that he is not aimed at; when they cry\nout _fire_, his body is all he has to look after: if he be to take a\njourney, there is no blocking up of streets, and thronging of passages,\nfor a parting compliment: a small matter fills his belly, and contents\nhis mind: he lives from hand to mouth, without caring or fearing for\nto-morrow. The temperate rich man is but his counterfeit; his wit is\nquicker and his appetite calmer.\n\nNo man finds poverty a trouble to him, but he that thinks it so; and\nhe that thinks it so, makes it so. Does not a rich man travel more\nat ease with less luggage, and fewer servants? Does he not eat many\ntimes as little and as coarse in the field as a poor man? Does he\nnot for his own pleasure, sometimes, and for variety, feed upon the\nground, and use only earthen vessels? Is not he a madman then, that\nalways fears what he often desires, and dreads the thing that he takes\ndelight to imitate: he that would know the worst of poverty, let him\nbut compare the looks of the rich and of the poor, and he shall find\nthe poor man to have a smoother brow, and to be more merry at heart; or\nif any trouble befalls him, it passes over like a cloud: whereas the\nother, either his good humor is counterfeit, or his melancholy deep\nand ulcerated, and the worse, because he dares not publicly own his\nmisfortune; but he is forced to play the part of a happy man even with\na cancer in his heart. His felicity is but personated; and if he were\nbut stripped of his ornaments, he would be contemptible. In buying of\na horse, we take off his clothes and his trappings, and examine his\nshape and body for fear of being cozened; and shall we put an estimate\nupon a man for being set off by his fortune and quality? Nay, if we see\nanything of ornament about him, we are to suspect him the more for some\ninfirmity under it. He that is not content in poverty, would not be so\nneither in plenty; for the fault is not in the thing, but in the mind.\nIf that be sickly, remove him from a kennel to a palace, he is at the\nsame pass; for he carries his disease along with him.\n\nWhat can be happier than the condition both of mind and of fortune from\nwhich we cannot fall\u2014what can be a greater felicity than in a covetous,\ndesigning age, for a roan to live safe among informers and thieves? It\nputs a poor man into the very condition of Providence, that gives all,\nwithout reserving anything to itself. How happy is he that owes nothing\nbut to himself, and only that which he can easily refuse or easily\npay! I do not reckon him poor that has but a little, but he is so that\ncovets more\u2014it is a fair degree of plenty to have what is necessary.\nWhether had a man better find satiety in want, or hunger in plenty? It\nis not the augmenting of our fortunes, but the abating of our appetites\nthat makes us rich.\n\nWhy may not a man as well contemn riches in his own coffers as in\nanother man\u2019s, and rather hear that they are his than feel them to be\nso, though it is a great matter not to be corrupted even by having\nthem under the same roof. He is the greater man that is honestly poor\nin the middle of plenty\u2014but he is the more secure that is free from\nthe temptation of that plenty, and has the least matter for another\nto design upon. It is no great business for a poor man to preach the\ncontempt of riches, or for a rich man to extol the benefits of poverty,\nbecause we do not know how either the one or the other would behave\nhimself in the contrary condition. The best proof is the doing of it\nby choice and not by necessity; for the practice of poverty in jest\nis a preparation toward the bearing of it in earnest; but it is yet a\ngenerous disposition so to provide for the worst of fortunes as what\nmay be easily borne\u2014the premeditation makes them not only tolerable but\ndelightful to us, for there is that in them without which nothing can\nbe comfortable, that is to say, security. If there were nothing else in\npoverty but the certain knowledge of our friends, it were yet a most\ndesirable blessing, when every man leaves us but those that love us.\nIt is a shame to place the happiness of life in gold and silver, for\nwhich bread and water is sufficient; or, at the worst, hunger puts an\nend to hunger.\n\nFor the honor of _poverty_, it was both the _foundation_ and the _cause\nof the Roman empire_; and no man was ever yet so poor but he had enough\nto carry him to his journey\u2019s end.\n\nAll I desire is that my property may not be a burden to myself, or make\nme so to others; and that is the best state of fortune that is neither\ndirectly necessitous, nor far from it. A mediocricity of fortune with\na gentleness of mind, will preserve us from fear or envy, which is a\ndesirable condition, for no man wants power to do mischief. We never\nconsider the blessing of coveting nothing, and the glory of being full\nin ourselves, without depending upon Fortune. With parsimony a little\nis sufficient and without it nothing; whereas frugality makes a poor\nman rich. If we lose an estate, we had better never have had it\u2014he that\nhas least to lose has least to fear, and those are better satisfied\nwhom Fortune never favored, than those whom she has forsaken.\n\nThe state is most commodious that lies betwixt poverty and plenty.\nDiogenes understood this very well when he put himself into an\nincapacity of losing any thing. That course of life is most commodious\nwhich is both safe and wholesome\u2014the body is to be indulged no farther\nthan for health, and rather mortified than not kept in subjection to\nthe mind. It is necessary to provide against hunger, thirst, and cold;\nand somewhat for a covering to shelter us against other inconveniences;\nbut not a pin matter whether it be of turf or of marble\u2014a man may lie\nas warm and as dry under a thatched as under a gilded roof. Let the\nmind be great and glorious, and all other things are despicable in\ncomparison. \u201cThe future is uncertain, and I had rather beg of myself\nnot to desire any thing, than of Fortune to bestow it.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSENECA OF ANGER.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nANGER DESCRIBED, IT IS AGAINST NATURE, AND ONLY TO BE FOUND IN MAN.\n\n\nWe are here to encounter the most outrageous, brutal, dangerous, and\nintractable of all passions; the most loathsome and unmannerly; nay,\nthe most ridiculous too; and the subduing of this monster will do a\ngreat deal toward the establishment of human peace. It is the method of\n_physicians_ to begin with a description of the disease, before they\nmeddle with the cure: and I know not why this may not do as well in the\ndistempers of the mind as in those of the body.\n\nThe _Stoics_ will have _anger_ to be a \u201cdesire of punishing another\nfor some injury done.\u201d Against which it is objected, that we are many\ntimes angry with those that never did hurt us, but possibly may, though\nthe harm be not as yet done. But I say, that they hurt us already in\nconceit: and the very purpose of it is an injury in thought before it\nbreaks out into act. It is opposed again, that if anger were a _desire\nof punishing_, mean people would not be angry with great ones that are\nout of their reach; for no man can be said to desire any thing which he\njudges impossible to compass. But I answer to this, That _anger_ is the\n_desire_, not the _power_ and _faculty_ of _revenge_; neither is any\nman so low, but that the greatest man alive may peradventure lie at his\nmercy.\n\nAristotle takes _anger_ to be, \u201ca desire of paying sorrow for sorrow;\u201d\nand of plaguing those that have plagued us. It is argued against both,\nthat beasts are angry; though neither provoked by any injury, nor moved\nwith a desire of any body\u2019s grief or punishment. Nay, though they cause\nit, they do not design or seek it. Neither is _anger_ (how unreasonable\nsoever in itself) found anywhere but in reasonable creatures. It is\ntrue, the beasts have an impulse of rage and fierceness; as they are\nmore affected also than men with some pleasures; but we may as well\ncall them luxurious and ambitious as angry. And yet they are not\nwithout certain images of human affections. They have their likings\nand their loathings; but neither the passions of reasonable nature,\nnor their virtues, nor their vices. They are moved to fury by some\nobjects; they are quieted by others; they have their terrors and their\ndisappointments, but without reflection: and let them be never so much\nirritated or affrighted, so soon as ever the occasion is removed they\nfall to their meat again, and lie down and take their rest. Wisdom and\nthought are the goods of the mind, whereof brutes are wholly incapable;\nand we are as unlike them within as we are without: they have an\nodd kind of fancy, and they have a voice too; but inarticulate and\nconfused, and incapable of those variations which are familiar to us.\n\nAnger is not only a vice, but a vice point-blank against nature, for it\ndivides instead of joining; and in some measure, frustrates the end of\nProvidence in human society. One man was born to help another; anger\nmakes us destroy one another; the one unites, the other separates; the\none is beneficial to us, the other mischievous; the one succors even\nstrangers, the other destroys even the most intimate friends; the one\nventures all to save another, the other ruins himself to undo another.\nNature is bountiful, but anger is pernicious: for it is not fear, but\nmutual love that binds up mankind.\n\nThere are some motions that look like anger, which cannot properly be\ncalled so; as the passion of the people against the _gladiators_, when\nthey hang off, and will not make so quick a dispatch as the spectators\nwould have them: there is something in it of the humor of children,\nthat if they get a fall, will never leave bawling until the naughty\nground is beaten, and then all is well again. They are angry without\nany cause or injury; they are deluded by an imitation of strokes, and\npacified with counterfeit tears. A false and a childish sorrow is\nappeased with as false and as childish a revenge. They take it for a\ncontempt, if the _gladiators_ do not immediately cast themselves upon\nthe sword\u2019s point. They look presently about them from one to another,\nas who should say; \u201cDo but see, my masters, how these rogues abuse us.\u201d\n\nTo descend to the particular branches and varieties would be\nunnecessary and endless. There is a stubborn, a vindictive, a\nquarrelsome, a violent, a froward, a sullen, a morose kind of anger;\nand then we have this variety in complication too. One goes no\nfurther than words; another proceeds immediately to blows, without a\nword speaking; a third sort breaks out into cursing and reproachful\nlanguage; and there are that content themselves with chiding and\ncomplaining. There is a conciliable anger and there is an implacable;\nbut in what form or degree soever it appears, all anger, without\nexception, is vicious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE RISE OF ANGER.\n\n\nThe question will be here, whether _anger_ takes its rise from impulse\nor judgment; that is, whether it be moved of its own accord, or, as\nmany other things are, from within us, that arise we know not how? The\nclearing of this point will lead us to greater matters.\n\nThe _first_ motion of _anger_ is in truth involuntary, and only a kind\nof menacing preparation towards it. The _second_ deliberates; as who\nshould say, \u201cThis injury should not pass without a revenge,\u201d and there\nit stops. The _third_ is impotent; and, right or wrong, resolves upon\nvengeance. The _first motion_ is not to be avoided, nor indeed the\n_second_, any more than yawning for company; custom and care may lessen\nit, but reason itself cannot overcome it. The _third_, as it rises upon\nconsideration, it must fall so too, for that motion which proceeds with\njudgment may be taken away with judgment. A man thinks himself injured,\nand hath a mind to be revenged, but for some reason lets it rest. This\nis not properly _anger_, but an _affection overruled by reason_; a kind\nof proposal disapproved\u2014and what are reason and affection, but only\nchanges of the mind for the better or for the worse? Reason deliberates\nbefore it judges; but anger passes sentence without deliberation.\nReason only attends the matter in hand; but anger is startled at every\naccident; it passes the bounds of reason, and carries it away with\nit. In short, \u201canger is an agitation of the mind that proceeds to the\nresolution of a revenge, the mind assenting to it.\u201d\n\nThere is no doubt but anger is moved by the species of an injury; but\nwhether that motion be voluntary or involuntary is the point in debate;\nthough it seems manifest to me that _anger_ does nothing but where the\nmind goes along with it, for, first, to take an offence, and then to\nmeditate a revenge, and after that to lay both propositions together,\nand say to myself, \u201cThis injury ought not to have been done; but as the\ncase stands, I must do myself right.\u201d This discourse can never proceed\nwithout the concurrence of the will.\n\nThe first motion indeed is single; but all the rest is deliberation\nand superstructure\u2014there is something understood and condemned\u2014an\nindignation conceived and a revenge propounded. This can never be\nwithout the agreement of the mind to the matter in deliberation. The\nend of this question is to know the nature and quality of _anger_. If\nit be bred in us it will never yield to reason, for all involuntary\nmotions are inevitable and invincible; as a kind of horror and\nshrugging upon the sprinkling of cold water; the hair standing on\nend at ill news; giddiness at the sight of a precipice; blushing at\nlewd discourse. In these cases reason can do no good, but _anger_\nmay undoubtedly be overcome by caution and good counsel, for it is a\n_voluntary vice_, and not of the condition of those accidents that\nbefall us as frailties of our humanity, amongst which must be reckoned\nthe first motions of the mind after the opinion of an injury received,\nwhich it is not in the power of human nature to avoid, and this is it\nthat affects us upon the stage, or in a story.\n\nCan any man read the death of Pompey, and not be touched with an\nindignation? The sound of a trumpet rouses the spirits and provokes\ncourage. It makes a man sad to see the shipwreck even of an enemy; and\nwe are much surprised by fear in other cases\u2014all these motions are not\nso much affections as preludes to them. The clashing of arms or the\nbeating of a drum excites a war-horse: nay, a song from Xenophantes\nwould make Alexander take his sword in his hand.\n\nIn all these cases the mind rather suffers than acts, and therefore it\nis not an affection _to be moved_, but _to give way_ to that motion,\nand to follow willingly what was started by chance\u2014these are not\naffections, but impulses of the body. The bravest man in the world may\nlook pale when he puts on his armor, his knees knock, and his heart\nwork before the battle is joined: but these are only _motions_; whereas\n_anger_ is an _excursion_, and proposes revenge or punishment, which\ncannot be without the mind. As fear flies, so anger assaults; and it is\nnot possible to resolve, either upon violence or caution, without the\nconcurrence of the will.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nANGER MAY BE SUPPRESSED.\n\n\nIt is an idle thing to pretend that we cannot govern our _anger_;\nfor some things that we do are much harder than others that we ought\nto do; the wildest affections may be tamed by discipline, and there\nis hardly anything which the mind will do but it may do. There needs\nno more argument in this case than the instances of several persons,\nboth powerful and impatient, that have gotten the absolute mastery of\nthemselves in this point.\n\nThrasippus in his drink fell foul upon the cruelties of Pisistratus;\nwho, when he was urged by several about him to make an example of him,\nreturned this answer, \u201cWhy should I be angry with a man that stumbles\nupon me blindfold?\u201d In effect most of our quarrels are of our own\nmaking, either by mistake or by aggravation. Anger comes sometimes upon\nus, but we go oftener to it, and instead of rejecting it we call it.\n\nAugustus was a great master of his passion: for Timagenus, an\nhistorian, wrote several bitter things against his person and his\nfamily: which passed among the people plausibly enough, as pieces of\nrash wit commonly do. C\u00e6sar advised him several times to forbear; and\nwhen that would not do, forbade him his roof. After this, Asinius\nPollio gave him entertainment; and he was so well beloved in the\ncity, that every man\u2019s house was open to him. Those things that he\nhad written in honor of Augustus, he recited and burnt, and publicly\nprofessed himself C\u00e6sar\u2019s enemy. Augustus, for all this, never fell\nout with any man that received him; only once, he told Pollio, that he\nhad taken a _snake_ into his bosom: and as Pollio was about to excuse\nhimself; \u201cNo,\u201d says C\u00e6sar, interrupting him, \u201cmake your best of him.\u201d\nAnd offering to cast him off at that very moment, if C\u00e6sar pleased: \u201cDo\nyou think,\u201d says C\u00e6sar, \u201cthat I will ever contribute to the parting of\nyou, that made you friends?\u201d for Pollio was angry with him before, and\nonly entertained him now because C\u00e6sar had discarded him.\n\nThe moderation of Antigonus was remarkable. Some of his soldiers were\nrailing at him one night, where there was but a hanging betwixt them.\nAntigonus overheard them, and putting it gently aside; \u201cSoldiers,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cstand a little further off, for fear the king should hear you.\u201d\nAnd we are to consider, not only violent examples, but moderate, where\nthere wanted neither cause of displeasure nor power of revenge: as in\nthe case of Antigonus, who the same night hearing his soldiers cursing\nhim for bringing them into so foul a way, he went to them, and without\ntelling them who he was, helped them out of it. \u201cNow,\u201d says he, \u201cyou\nmay be allowed to curse him that brought you into the mire, provided\nyou bless him that took you out of it.\u201d\n\nIt was a notable story that of Vedius Pallio, upon his inviting of\nAugustus to supper. One of his boys happened to break a glass: and his\nmaster, in a rage, commanded him to be thrown in a pond to feed his\nlampreys. This action of his might be taken for _luxury_, though, in\ntruth, it was cruelty. The boy was seized, but brake loose and threw\nhimself at Augustus\u2019 feet, only desiring that he might not die that\ndeath. C\u00e6sar, in abhorrence of the barbarity, presently ordered all\nthe rest of the glasses to be broken, the boy to be released, and the\npond to be filled up, that there might be no further occasion for an\ninhumanity of that nature. This was an authority well employed. Shall\nthe breaking of a glass cost a man his life? Nothing but a predominant\nfear could ever have mastered his choleric and sanguinary disposition.\nThis man deserved to die a thousand deaths, either for eating human\nflesh at second-hand in his _lampreys_, or for keeping of his fish to\nbe so fed.\n\nIt is written of Pr\u00e6xaspes (a favorite of Cambyses, who was much given\nto wine) that he took the freedom to tell this prince of his hard\ndrinking, and to lay before him the scandal and the inconveniences of\nhis excesses; and how that, in those distempers, he had not the command\nof himself. \u201cNow,\u201d says Cambyses, \u201cto show you your mistake, you shall\nsee me drink deeper than ever I did, and yet keep the use of my eyes,\nand of my hands, as well as if I were sober.\u201d Upon this he drank to\na higher pitch than ordinary, and ordered Pr\u00e6xaspes\u2019 son to go out,\nand stand on the other side of the threshold, with his left arm over\nhis head; \u201cAnd,\u201d says he, \u201cif I have a good aim, have at the heart of\nhim.\u201d He shot, and upon cutting up the young man, they found indeed\nthat the arrow had struck him through the middle of the heart. \u201cWhat\ndo you think now,\u201d says Cambyses, \u201cis my hand steady or not?\u201d \u201cApollo\nhimself,\u201d says Pr\u00e6xaspes, \u201ccould not have outdone it.\u201d It may be a\nquestion now, which was the greater impiety, the murder itself, or\nthe commendation of it; for him to take the heart of his son, while\nit was yet reeking and panting under the wound, for an occasion of\nflattery: why was there not another experiment made upon the father,\nto try if Cambyses could not have yet mended his shot? This was a most\nunmanly violation of hospitality; but the approbation of the act was\nstill worse than the crime itself. This example of Pr\u00e6xaspes proves\nsufficiently that a man may repress his anger; for he returned not\none ill word, no not so much as a complaint; but he paid dear for his\ngood counsel. He had been wiser, perhaps, if he had let the king alone\nin his cups, for he had better have drunk wine than blood. It is a\ndangerous office to give good advice to intemperate princes.\n\nAnother instance of anger suppressed, we have in Harpagus, who was\ncommanded to expose Cyrus upon a mountain. But the child was preserved;\nwhich, when Astyages came afterwards to understand, he invited Harpagus\nto a dish of meat; and when he had eaten his fill, he told him it was a\npiece of his son, and asked him how he liked the seasoning. \u201cWhatever\npleases your Majesty,\u201d says Harpagus, \u201cmust please me:\u201d and he made no\nmore words of it. It is most certain, that we might govern our anger if\nwe would; for the same thing that galls us at home gives us no offence\nat all abroad; and what is the reason of it, but that we are patient in\none place, and froward in another?\n\nIt was a strong provocation that which was given to Philip of Macedon,\nthe father of Alexander. The Athenians sent their ambassadors to him,\nand they were received with this compliment, \u201cTell me, gentlemen,\u201d\nsays Philip, \u201cwhat is there that I can do to oblige the Athenians?\u201d\nDemocharas, one of the ambassadors, told him, that they would take it\nfor a great obligation if he would be pleased to hang himself. This\ninsolence gave an indignation to the by-standers; but Philip bade them\nnot to meddle with him, but even to let that foul-mouthed fellow go as\nhe came. \u201cAnd for you, the rest of the ambassadors,\u201d says he, \u201cpray\ntell the Athenians, that it is worse to speak such things than to hear\nand forgive them.\u201d This wonderful patience under contumelies was a\ngreat means of Philip\u2019s security.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIT IS A SHORT MADNESS, AND A DEFORMED VICE.\n\n\nHe was much in the right, whoever it was, that first called _anger\na short madness_; for they have both of them the same symptoms; and\nthere is so wonderful a resemblance betwixt the transports of _choler_\nand those of _frenzy_, that it is a hard matter to know the one from\nthe other. A bold, fierce, and threatening countenance, as pale as\nashes, and, in the same moment, as red as blood; a glaring eye, a\nwrinkled brow, violent motions, the hands restless and perpetually\nin action, wringing and menacing, snapping of the joints, stamping\nwith the feet, the hair starting, trembling of the lips, a forced and\nsqueaking voice; the speech false and broken, deep and frequent sighs,\nand ghastly looks; the veins swell, the heart pants, the knees knock;\nwith a hundred dismal accidents that are common to both distempers.\nNeither is _anger_ a bare resemblance only of madness, but many times\nan irrevocable transition into the thing itself. How many persons\nhave we known, read, and heard of, that have lost their wits in a\npassion, and never came to themselves again? It is therefore to be\navoided, not only for moderation\u2019s sake, but also for health. Now, if\nthe outward appearance of anger be so foul and hideous, how deformed\nmust that miserable mind be that is harassed with it? for it leaves\nno place either for counsel or friendship, honesty or good manners;\nno place either for the exercise of reason, or for the offices of\nlife. If I were to describe it, I would draw a tiger bathed in blood,\nsharp set, and ready to take a leap at his prey; or dress it up as the\npoets represent the furies, with whips, snakes, and flames; it should\nbe sour, livid, full of scars, and wallowing in gore, raging up and\ndown, destroying, grinning, bellowing, and pursuing; sick of all other\nthings, and most of all, itself. It turns beauty into deformity, and\nthe calmest counsels into fierceness: it disorders our very garments,\nand fills the mind with horror. How abominable is it in the soul then,\nwhen it appears so hideous even through the bones, the skin and so\nmany impediments! Is not he a madman that has lost the government of\nhimself, and is tossed hither and thither by his fury as by a tempest?\nthe executioner and the murderer of his nearest friends? The smallest\nmatter moves it, and makes us unsociable and inaccessible. It does all\nthings by violence, as well upon itself as others; and it is, in short;\nthe master of all passions.\n\nThere is not any creature so terrible and dangerous by nature, but\nit becomes fiercer by anger. Not that beasts have human affections,\nbut certain impulses they have which come very near them. The boar\nfoams, champs, and whets his tusks; the bull tosses his horns in the\nair, bounds, and tears up the ground with his feet; the lion roars\nand swinges himself with his tail; the serpent swells; and there is\na ghastly kind of fellness in the aspect of a mad dog. How great a\nwickedness is it now to indulge a violence, that does not only turn\na man into a beast, but makes even the most outrageous of beasts\nthemselves to be more dreadful and mischievous! A vice that carries\nalong with it neither pleasure nor profit, neither honor nor security;\nbut on the contrary, destroys us to all the comfortable and glorious\npurposes of our reasonable being. Some there are, that will have the\nroot of it to be the greatness of mind. And, why may we not as well\nentitle _impudence_ to _courage_, whereas the one is proud, the other\nbrave; the one is gracious and gentle, the other rude and furious?\nAt the same rate we may ascribe magnanimity to avarice, luxury, and\nambition, which are all but splendid impotences, without measure and\nwithout foundation. There is nothing great but what is virtuous, nor\nindeed truly great, but what is also composed and quiet. Anger, alas!\nis but a wild impetuous blast, an empty tumor, the very infirmity of\nwoman and children; a brawling, clamorous evil: and the more noise the\nless courage; as we find it commonly, that the boldest tongues have the\nfaintest hearts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nANGER IS NEITHER WARRANTABLE NOR USEFUL.\n\n\nIn the first place, Anger is _unwarrantable_ as it is _unjust_: for it\nfalls many times upon the wrong person, and discharges itself upon the\ninnocent instead of the guilty: beside the disproportion of making the\nmost trivial offences to be capital, and punishing an inconsiderate\nword perhaps with torments, fetters, infamy, or death. It allows a man\nneither time nor means for defence, but judges a cause without hearing\nit, and admits of no mediation. It flies into the face of truth itself,\nif it be of the adverse party; and turns obstinacy in an error, into\nan argument of justice. It does every thing with agitation and tumult;\nwhereas reason and equity can destroy whole families, if there be\noccasion for it, even to the extinguishing of their names and memories,\nwithout any indecency, either of countenance or action.\n\nSecondly, It is unsociable to the highest point; for it spares neither\nfriend nor foe; but tears all to pieces, and casts human nature into\na perpetual state of war. It dissolves the bond of mutual society,\ninsomuch that our very companions and relations dare not come near\nus; it renders us unfit for the ordinary offices of life: for we can\nneither govern our tongues, our hands, nor any part of our body. It\ntramples upon the laws of hospitality, and of nations, leaves every man\nto be his own carver, and all things, public and private, sacred and\nprofane, suffer violence.\n\nThirdly, It is to no purpose. \u201cIt is a sad thing,\u201d we cry, \u201cto put up\nwith these injuries, and we are not able to bear them;\u201d as if any man\nthat can bear _anger_ could not bear an _injury_, which is much more\nsupportable. You will say that anger does some good yet, for it keeps\npeople in awe, and secures a man from contempt; never considering, that\nit is more dangerous to be feared than despised. Suppose that an angry\nman could do as much as he threatens; the more terrible, he is still\nthe more odious; and on the other side, if he wants power, he is the\nmore despicable for his anger; for there is nothing more wretched than\na choleric huff, that makes a noise, and nobody cares for it.\n\nIf anger would be valuable because men are afraid of it, why not an\nadder, a toad, or a scorpion as well? It makes us lead the life of\ngladiators; we live, and we fight together. We hate the happy, despise\nthe miserable, envy our superiors, insult our inferiors, and there\nis nothing in the world which we will not do, either for pleasure\nor profit. To be angry at offenders is to make ourselves the common\nenemies of mankind, which is both weak and wicked; and we may as well\nbe angry that our thistles do not bring forth apples, or that every\npebble in our ground is not an oriental pearl. If we are angry both\nwith young men and with old, because they do offend, why not with\ninfants too, because they will offend? It is laudable to rejoice for\nanything that is well done; but to be transported for another man\u2019s\ndoing ill, is narrow and sordid. Nor is it for the dignity of virtue\nto be either angry or sad.\n\nIt is with a tainted mind as with an ulcer, not only the touch, but the\nvery offer at it, makes us shrink and complain; when we come once to\nbe carried off from our poise, we are lost. In the choice of a sword,\nwe take care that it be wieldy and well mounted; and it concerns us as\nmuch to be wary of engaging in the excesses of ungovernable passions.\nIt is not the speed of a horse altogether that pleases us unless we\nfind that he can stop and turn at pleasure. It is a sign of weakness,\nand a kind of stumbling, for a man to run when he intends only to\nwalk; and it behoves us to have the same command of our mind that we\nhave of our bodies. Besides that the greatest punishment of an injury\nis the conscience of having done it; and no man suffers more than he\nthat is turned over to the pain of a repentance. How much better is it\nto compose injuries than to revenge them? For it does not only spend\ntime, but the revenge of one injury exposes to more. In fine, as it\nis unreasonable to be angry at a crime, it is as foolish to be angry\nwithout one.\n\nBut \u201cmay not an honest man then be allowed to be angry at the murder\nof his father, or the ravishing of his sister or daughter before his\nface?\u201d No, not at all. I will defend my parents, and I will repay the\ninjuries that are done them; but it is my piety and not my anger, that\nmoves me to it. I will do my duty without fear or confusion, I will not\nrage, I will not weep; but discharge the office of a good man without\nforfeiting the dignity of a man. If my father be assaulted, I will\nendeavor to rescue him; if he be killed, I will do right to his memory;\nfind all this, not in any transport of passion, but in honor and\nconscience. Neither is there any need of anger where reason does the\nsame thing.\n\nA man may be temperate, and yet vigorous, and raise his mind according\nto the occasion, more or less, as a stone is thrown according to the\ndiscretion and intent of the caster. How outrageous have I seen some\npeople for the loss of a monkey or a spaniel! And were it not a shame\nto have the same sense for a friend that we have for a puppy; and to\ncry like children, as much for a bauble as for the ruin of our country?\nThis is not the effect of reason, but of infirmity. For a man indeed to\nexpose his person for his prince, or his parents, or his friends, out\nof a sense of honesty, and judgment of duty, it is, without dispute, a\nworthy and a glorious action; but it must be done then with sobriety,\ncalmness, and resolution.\n\nIt is high time to convince the world of the indignity and uselessness\nof this passion, when it has the authority and recommendation of no\nless than Aristotle himself, as an affection very much conducing to all\nheroic actions that require heat and vigor: now, to show, on the other\nside, that it is not in any case profitable, we shall lay open the\nobstinate and unbridled madness of it: a wickedness neither sensible\nof infamy nor of glory, without either modesty or fear; and if it\npasses once from anger into a hardened hatred, it is incurable. It is\neither stronger than reason, or it is weaker. If stronger, there is\nno contending with it; if weaker, reason will do the business without\nit. Some will have it that an angry man is good-natured and sincere;\nwhereas, in truth, he only lays himself open out of heedlessness and\nwant of caution. If it were in itself good the more of it the better;\nbut in this case, the more the worse; and a wise man does his duty,\nwithout the aid of anything that is ill. It is objected by some,\nthat those are the most generous creatures which are the most prone\nto anger. But, first, _reason_ in _man_ is _impetuous_ in _beasts_.\nSecondly, without discipline it runs into audaciousness and temerity;\nover and above that, the same thing does not help all. If anger helps\nthe lion, it is fear that saves the stag, swiftness the hawk, and\nflight the pigeon: but man has God for his example (who is never\nangry) and not the _creatures_. And yet it is not amiss sometimes to\ncounterfeit anger; as upon the stage; nay, upon the bench, and in the\npulpit, where the imitation of it is more effectual than the thing\nitself.\n\nBut it is a great error to take this passion either for a companion\nor for an assistant to virtue; that makes a man incapable of those\nnecessary counsels by which virtue is to govern herself. Those are\nfalse and inauspicious powers, and destructive of themselves, which\narise only from the accession and fervor of disease. Reason judges\naccording to right; anger will have every thing seem right, whatever it\ndoes, and when it has once pitched upon a mistake, it is never to be\nconvinced, but prefers a pertinacity, even in the greatest evil, before\nthe most necessary repentance.\n\nSome people are of opinion that anger inflames and animates the\nsoldier; that it is a spur to bold and arduous undertakings; and that\nit were better to moderate than to wholly suppress it, for fear of\ndissolving the spirit and force of the mind. To this I answer, that\nvirtue does not need the help of vice; but where there is any ardor\nof mind necessary, we may rouse ourselves, and be more or less brisk\nand vigorous as there is occasion: but all without anger still. It is\na mistake to say, that we may make use of anger as a common soldier,\nbut not as a commander; for if it hears reason, and follows orders,\nit is not properly anger; and if it does not, it is contumacious\nand mutinous. By this argument a man must be angry to be valiant;\ncovetous to be industrious; timorous to be safe, which makes our reason\nconfederate with our affections. And it is all one whether passion be\ninconsiderate without reason, or reason ineffectual without passion;\nsince the one cannot be without the other. It is true, the less the\npassion, the less is the mischief; for a little passion is the smaller\nevil. Nay, so far is it from being of use or advantage in the field,\nthat it is in place of all others where it is the most dangerous;\nfor the actions of war are to be managed with order and caution, not\nprecipitation and fancy; whereas anger is heedless and heady, and the\nvirtue only of _barbarous nations_; which, though their bodies were\nmuch stronger and more hardened, were still worsted by the moderation\nand discipline of the Romans. There is not upon the face of the earth\na bolder or a more indefatigable nation than the Germans; not a braver\nupon a charge, nor a hardier against colds and heats; their only\ndelights and exercise is in arms, to the utter neglect of all things\nelse: and, yet upon the encounter, they are broken and destroyed\nthrough their own undisciplined temerity, even by the most effeminate\nof men. The huntsman is not angry with the wild boar when he either\npursues or receives him; a good swordsman watches his opportunity, and\nkeeps himself upon his guard, whereas passion lays a man open: nay,\nit is one of the prime lessons in a fencing-school to learn not to\nbe angry. If Fabius had been _choleric_, Rome had been _lost_; and\nbefore he conquered _Hannibal_ he overcame _himself_. If Scipio had\nbeen _angry_, he would never have left Hannibal and his army (who were\nthe proper objects of his displeasure) to carry the war into Afric\nand so compass his end by a more temperate way. Nay, he was so slow,\nthat it was charged upon him for want of mettle and resolution. And\nwhat did the _other_ Scipio? (Africanus I mean:) how much time did he\nspend before Numantia, to the common grief both of his country and\nhimself? Though he reduced it at last by so miserable a famine, that\nthe inhabitants laid violent hands upon themselves, and left neither\nman, woman, nor child, to survive the ruins of it. If anger makes a\nman fight better, so does wine, frenzy, nay, and fear itself; for\nthe greatest coward in despair does the greatest wonders. No man is\ncourageous in his anger that was not so without it. But put the case,\nthat anger by accident may have done some good, and so have fevers\nremoved some distempers; but it is an odious kind of remedy that makes\nus indebted to a disease for a cure. How many men have been preserved\nby poison; by a fall from a precipice; by a shipwreck; by a tempest!\ndoes it therefore follow that we are to recommend the practice of these\nexperiments?\n\n\u201cBut in case of an exemplary and prostitute dissolution of manners,\nwhen Clodius shall be preferred, and Cicero rejected; when loyalty\nshall be broken upon the wheel, and treason sit triumphant upon the\nbench; is not this a subject to move the choler of any virtuous man?\u201d\nNo, by no means, virtue will never allow of the correcting of one vice\nby another; or that anger, which is the greater crime of the two,\nshould presume to punish the less. It is the natural property of\nvirtue to make a man serene and cheerful; and it is not for the dignity\nof a philosopher to be transported either with grief or anger; and then\nthe end of anger is sorrow, the constant effect of disappointment and\nrepentance. But, to my purpose. If a man should be angry at wickedness,\nthe greater the wickedness is, the greater must be his anger; and, so\nlong as there is wickedness in the world he must never be pleased:\nwhich makes his quiet dependent upon the humor or manners of others.\n\nThere passes not a day over our heads but he that is choleric shall\nhave some cause or other of displeasure, either from men, accidents,\nor business. He shall never stir out of his house but he shall meet\nwith criminals of all sorts; prodigal, impudent, covetous, perfidious,\ncontentious, children persecuting their parents, parents cursing their\nchildren, the innocent accused, the delinquent acquitted, and the judge\npracticing that in his chamber which he condemns upon the bench. In\nfine, wherever there are men there are faults; and upon these terms,\nSocrates himself should never bring the same countenance home again\nthat he carried out with him.\n\nIf anger was sufferable in any case, it might be allowed against an\nincorrigible criminal under the hand of justice: but punishment is\nnot matter of anger but of caution. The law is without passion, and\nstrikes malefactors as we do serpents and venomous creatures, for fear\nof greater mischief. It is not for the dignity of a judge, when he\ncomes to pronounce the fatal sentence, to express any motions of anger\nin his looks, words, or gestures: for he condemns the vice, not the\nman; and looks upon the wickedness without anger, as he does upon the\nprosperity of wicked men without envy. But though he be not angry, I\nwould have him a little moved in point of humanity; but yet without any\noffence, either to his place or wisdom. Our passions vary, but reason\nis equal; and it were a great folly for that which is stable, faithful,\nand sound, to repair for succor to that which is uncertain, false, and\ndistempered. If the offender be incurable, take him out of the world,\nthat if he will not be good he may cease to be evil; but this must be\nwithout anger too. Does any man hate an arm, or a leg, when he cuts\nit off; or reckon _that_ a passion which is only a miserable cure? We\nknock mad dogs on the head, and remove scabbed sheep out of the fold:\nand this is not anger still, but reason, to separate the sick from\nthe sound. Justice cannot be angry; nor is there any need of an angry\nmagistrate for the punishment of foolish and wicked men. The power of\nlife and death must not be managed with passion. We give a horse the\nspur that is restive or jadish, and tries to cast his rider; but this\nis without anger too, and only to take down his stomach, and bring him,\nby correction, to obedience.\n\nIt is true, that correction is necessary, yet within reason and bounds;\nfor it does not hurt, but profits us under an appearance of harm. Ill\ndispositions in the mind are to be dealt with as those in the body: the\nphysician first tries purging and abstinence; if this will not do, he\nproceeds to bleeding, nay, to dismembering rather than fail; for there\nis no operation too severe that ends in health. The public magistrate\nbegins with persuasion, and his business is to beget a detestation for\nvice, and a veneration for virtue; from thence, if need be, he advances\nto admonition and reproach, and then to punishments; but moderate and\nrevocable, unless the wickedness be incurable, and then the punishment\nmust be so too. There is only this difference, the physician when he\ncannot save his patient\u2019s life, endeavors to make his death easy; but\nthe magistrate aggravates the death of the criminal with infamy and\ndisgrace; not as delighting in the severity of it, (for no good man\ncan be so barbarous) but for example, and to the end that they that\nwill do no good living may do some dead. The end of all correction is\neither the amendment of wicked men, or to prevent the influence of\nill example: for men are punished with a respect to the future; not\nto expiate offenses committed, but for fear of worse to come. Public\noffenders must be a terror to others; but still, all this while, the\npower of life and death must not be managed with passion. The medicine,\nin the mean time must be suited to the disease; infamy cures one, pain\nanother, exile cures a third, beggary a fourth; but there are some that\nare only to be cured by the gibbet. I would be no more angry with a\nthief, or a traitor, than I am angry with myself when I open a vein.\nAll punishment is but a moral or civil remedy. I do not do anything\nthat is very ill, but yet I transgress often. Try me first with a\nprivate reprehension, and then with a public; if that will not serve,\nsee what banishment will do; if not that neither, load me with chains,\nlay me in prison: but if I should prove wicked for wickedness\u2019 sake,\nand leave no hope of reclaiming me, it would be a kind of mercy to\ndestroy me. Vice is incorporated with me; and there is no remedy but\nthe taking of both away together; but still without anger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nANGER IN GENERAL, WITH THE DANGER AND EFFECTS OF IT.\n\n\nThere is no surer argument of a great mind than not to be transported\nto anger by any accident; the clouds and the tempests are formed below,\nbut all above is quiet and serene; which is the emblem of a brave man,\nthat suppresses all provocations, and lives within himself, modest,\nvenerable, and composed: whereas anger is a turbulent humor, which, at\nfirst dash, casts off all shame, without any regard to order, measure,\nor good manners; transporting a man into misbecoming violences with his\ntongue, his hands, and every part of his body. And whoever considers\nthe foulness and the brutality of this vice, must acknowledge that\nthere is no such monster in Nature as one man raging against another,\nand laboring to sink that which can never be drowned but with himself\nfor company. It renders us incapable either of discourse or of other\ncommon duties. It is of all passions the most powerful; for it makes a\nman that is in love to kill his mistress, the ambitious man to trample\nupon his honors, and the covetous to throw away his fortune.\n\nThere is not any mortal that lives free from the danger of it; for it\nmakes even the heavy and the good-natured to be fierce and outrageous:\nit invades us like a pestilence, the lusty as well as the weak; and\nit is not either strength of body, or a good diet, that can secure\nus against it; nay, the most learned, and men otherwise of exemplary\nsobriety, are infected with it. It is so potent a passion that Socrates\ndurst not trust himself with it. \u201cSirrah,\u201d says he to his man, \u201cnow\nwould I beat you, if I were not angry with you!\u201d There is no age or\nsect of men that escapes it. Other vices take us one by one; but this,\nlike an _epidemical contagion_, sweeps all: men, women, and children,\nprinces and beggars, are carried away with it in shoals and troops as\none man.\n\nIt was never seen that a whole nation was in love with one woman, or\nunanimously bent upon one vice: but here and there some particular men\nare tainted with some particular crimes; whereas in anger, a single\nword many times inflames the whole multitude, and men betake themselves\npresently to fire and sword upon it; the rabble take upon them to give\nlaws to their governors; the common soldiers to their officers, to the\nruin, not only of private families, but of kingdoms: turning their arms\nagainst their own leaders, and choosing their own generals. There is\nno public council, no putting things to the vote; but in a rage the\nmutineers divide from the senate, name their head, force the nobility\nin their own houses, and put them to death with their own hands.\nThe laws of nations are violated, the persons of public ministers\naffronted, whole cities infected with a general madness, and no\nrespite allowed for the abatement or discussing of this public tumor.\nThe ships are crowded with tumultuary soldiers; and in this rude and\nill-boding manner they march, and act under the conduct only of their\nown passions. Whatever comes next serves them for arms, until at last\nthey pay for their licentious rashness with the slaughter of the whole\nparty: this is the event of a heady and inconsiderate war.\n\nWhen men\u2019s minds are struck with the opinion of an injury, they fall on\nimmediately wheresoever their passion leads them, without either order,\nfear, or caution: provoking their own mischief; never at rest till they\ncome to blows; and pursuing their revenge, even with their bodies,\nupon the points of their enemies\u2019 weapons. So that the anger itself is\nmuch more hurtful for us than the injury that provokes it; for the one\nis bounded, but where the other will stop, no man living knows. There\nare no greater slaves certainly, than those that serve anger; for they\nimprove their misfortunes by an impatience more insupportable than the\ncalamity that causes it.\n\nNor does it rise by degrees, as other passions, but flashes like\ngunpowder, blowing up all in a moment. Neither does it only press to\nthe mark, but overbears everything in the way to it. Other vices drive\nus, but this hurries us headlong; other passions stand firm themselves,\nthough perhaps we cannot resist them; but this consumes and destroys\nitself: it falls like thunder or a tempest, with an irrevocable\nviolence, that gathers strength in the passage, and then evaporates in\nthe conclusion. Other vices are unreasonable, but this is unhealthful\ntoo; other distempers have their intervals and degrees, but in this\nwe are thrown down as from a precipice: there is not anything so\namazing to others, or so destructive to itself; so proud and insolent\nif it succeeds, or so extravagant if it be disappointed. No repulse\ndiscourages it, and, for want of other matter to work upon, it falls\nfoul upon itself; and, let the ground be never so trivial, it is\nsufficient for the wildest outrage imaginable. It spares neither age,\nsex, nor quality.\n\nSome people would be luxurious perchance, but that they are poor; and\nothers lazy, if they were not perpetually kept at work. The simplicity\nof a country life, keeps many men in ignorance of the frauds and\nimpieties of courts and camps: but no nation or condition of men is\nexempt from the impressions of anger; and it is equally dangerous, as\nwell in war as in peace. We find that elephants will be made familiar;\nbulls will suffer children to ride upon their backs, and play with\ntheir horns; bears and lions, by good usage, will be brought to fawn\nupon their masters; how desperate a madness is it then for men, after\nthe reclaiming of the fiercest of beasts, and the bringing of them\nto be tractable and domestic, to become yet worse than beasts one to\nanother! Alexander had two friends, Clytus and Lysimachus; the one he\nexposed to a lion, the other to himself; and he that was turned loose\nto the beast escaped. Why do we not rather make the best of a short\nlife, and render ourselves amiable to all while we live, and desirable\nwhen we die?\n\nLet us bethink ourselves of our mortality, and not squander away the\nlittle time that we have upon animosities and feuds, as if it were\nnever to be at an end. Had we not better enjoy the pleasure of our own\nlife than to be still contriving how to gall and torment another\u2019s?\nin all our brawlings and contentions never so much as dreaming of our\nweakness. Do we not know that these implacable enmities of ours lie\nat the mercy of a fever, or any petty accident, to disappoint? Our\nfate is at hand, and the very hour that we have set for another man\u2019s\ndeath may peradventure be prevented by our own. What is it that we\nmake all this bustle for, and so needlessly disquiet our minds? We are\noffended with our servants, our masters, our princes, our clients: it\nis but a little patience, and we shall be all of us equal; so that\nthere is no need either of ambushes or of combats. Our wrath cannot\ngo beyond death; and death will most undoubtedly come whether we be\npeevish or quiet. It is time lost to take pains to do that which will\ninfallibly be done without us. But suppose that we would only have our\nenemy banished, disgraced, or damaged, let his punishment be more or\nless, it is yet too long, either for him to be inhumanly tormented,\nor for us ourselves to be most barbarously pleased with it. It holds\nin anger as in mourning, it must and it will at last fall of itself;\nlet us look to it then betimes, for when it is once come to an ill\nhabit, we shall never want matter to feed it; and it is much better to\novercome our passions than to be overcome by them. Some way or other,\neither our parents, children, servants, acquaintance, or strangers,\nwill be continually vexing us. We are tossed hither and thither by our\naffections, like a feather in a storm, and by fresh provocations the\nmadness becomes perpetual. Miserable creatures! that ever our precious\nhours should be so ill employed! How prone and eager are we in our\nhatred, and how backward in our love! Were it not much better now to\nbe making of friendships, pacifying of enemies, doing of good offices\nboth public and private, than to be still meditating of mischief, and\ndesigning how to wound one man in his fame, another in his fortune, a\nthird in his person? the one being so easy, innocent, and safe, and the\nother so difficult, impious, and hazardous. Nay, take a man in chains,\nand at the foot of his oppressor; how many are there, who, even in this\ncase, have maimed themselves in the heat of their violence upon others.\n\nThis untractable passion is much more easily kept out than governed\nwhen it is once admitted; for the stronger will give laws to the\nweaker; and make reason a slave to the appetite. It carries us\nheadlong; and in the course of our fury, we have no more command of\nour minds, than we have of our bodies down a precipice: when they are\nonce in motion, there is no stop until they come to the bottom. Not but\nthat it is possible for a man to be warm in winter, and not to sweat\nin the summer, either by the benefit of the place, or the hardiness of\nthe body: and in like manner we may provide against anger. But certain\nit is, that virtue and vice can never agree in the same subject; and\none may as well be a sick man and a sound at the same time, as a good\nman, and an angry. Besides, if we will needs be quarrelsome, it must\nbe either with our superior, our equal, or inferior. To contend with\nour superior is folly and madness: with our equals, it is doubtful and\ndangerous: and with our inferiors, it is base. For does any man know\nbut that he that is now our enemy may come hereafter to be our friend,\nover and above the reputation of clemency and good nature? And what\ncan be more honorable or comfortable, than to exchange a feud for a\nfriendship? The people of Rome never had more faithful allies than\nthose that were at first the most obstinate enemies; neither had the\n_Roman Empire_ ever arrived at that height of power, if Providence had\nnot mingled the vanquished with the conquerors.\n\nThere is an end of the contest when one side deserts it; so that\nthe paying of anger with benefits puts a period to the controversy.\nBut, however, if it be our fortune to transgress, let not our anger\ndescend to the children, friends or relations, even of our bitterest\nenemies. The very cruelty of Sylla was heightened by that instance of\nincapacitating the issue of the proscribed. It is inhuman to entail the\nhatred we have for the father upon his posterity.\n\nA good and a wise man is not to be an _enemy_ of wicked men, but a\n_reprover_ of them; and he is to look upon all the drunkards, the\nlustful, the thankless, covetous, and ambitious, that he meets with,\nnot otherwise than as a physician looks upon his patients; for he that\nwill be angry with _any man_ must be displeased with _all_; which were\nas ridiculous as to quarrel with a body for stumbling in the dark; with\none that is deaf, for not doing as you bid him; or with a school-boy\nfor loving his play better than his book. Democritus _laughed_, and\nHeraclitus _wept_, at the folly and wickedness of the world, but we\nnever read of any _angry philosopher_.\n\nThis is undoubtedly the most detestable of vices, even compared with\nthe worst of them. Avarice scrapes and gathers together that which\nsomebody may be the better for: but anger lashes out, and no man comes\n_off_ gratis. An angry master makes one servant run away, and another\nhang himself; and his choler causes him a much greater loss than he\nsuffered in the occasion of it. It is the cause of mourning to the\nfather, and of divorce to the husband: it makes the magistrate odious,\nand gives the candidate a repulse. And it is worse than luxury too,\nwhich only aims at its proper pleasure; whereas the other is bent upon\nanother body\u2019s pain.\n\nThe malevolent and the envious content themselves only to _wish_\nanother man miserable; but it is the business of anger to _make_ him\nso, and to wreck the mischief itself; not so much desiring the hurt\nof another, as to inflict it. Among the powerful, it breaks out into\nopen war, and into a private one with the common people, but without\nforce or arms. It engages us in treacheries, perpetual troubles and\ncontentions: it alters the very nature of a man, and punishes itself in\nthe persecution of others. Humanity excites us to love, this to hatred;\nthat to be beneficial to others, this to hurt them: beside, that,\nthough it proceeds from too high a conceit of ourselves, it is yet, in\neffect, but a narrow and contemptible affection; especially when it\nmeets with a mind that is hard and impenetrable, and returns the dart\nupon the head of him that casts it.\n\nTo take a farther view, now, of the miserable consequences and\nsanguinary effects of this hideous distemper; from hence come\nslaughters and poisons, wars, and desolations, the razing and burning\nof cities; the unpeopling of nations, and the turning of populous\ncountries into deserts, public massacres and regicides; princes led in\ntriumph; some murdered in their bed-chambers; others stabbed in the\nsenate or cut off in the security of their spectacles and pleasures.\nSome there are that take anger for a princely quality; as Darius,\nwho, in his expedition against the Scythians, being besought by a\nnobleman, that had three sons, that he would vouchsafe to accept\nof two of them into his service, and leave the third at home for a\ncomfort to his father. \u201cI will do more for you than that,\u201d says Darius,\n\u201cfor you shall have them all three again;\u201d so he ordered them to be\nslain before his face, and left him their bodies. But Xerxes dealt a\nlittle better with Pythius, who had five sons, and desired only one of\nthem for himself. Xerxes bade him take his choice, and he named the\n_eldest_, whom he immediately commanded to be cut in halves; and one\nhalf of the body to be laid on each side of the way when his army was\nto pass betwixt them; undoubtedly a most auspicious sacrifice; but he\ncame afterward to the end that he deserved; for he lived to see that\nprodigious power scattered and broken: and instead of military and\nvictorious troops, to be encompassed with carcasses. But these, you\nwill say, were only barbarous princes that knew neither civility nor\nletters; and these savage cruelties will be imputed perchance to their\nrudeness of manners, and want of discipline. But what will you say then\nof Alexander the Great, that was trained up under the institution of\nAristotle himself, and killed Clytus, his favorite and schoolfellow,\nwith his _own hand_, under his _own roof_, and _over the freedom of a\ncup of wine_? And what was his crime? He was loth to degenerate from a\nMacedonian _liberty_ into a Persian _slavery_; that is to say, he could\nnot _flatter_.\n\nLysimachus, another of his friends, he exposed to a lion; and this\nvery Lysimachus, after he had escaped this danger, was never the more\nmerciful when he came to reign himself; for he cut off the ears and\nnose of his friend Telesphorous; and when he had so disfigured him\nthat he had no longer the face of a man, he threw him into a dungeon,\nand there kept him to be showed for a monster, as a strange sight.\nThe place was so low that he was fain to creep upon all fours, and\nhis sides were galled too with the straitness of it. In this misery\nhe lay half-famished in his own filth; so odious, so terrible, and\nso loathsome a spectacle, that the horror of his condition had even\nextinguished all pity for him. \u201cNothing was ever so unlike a mar as the\npoor wretch that suffered this, saving the tyrant that acted it.\u201d\n\nNor did this merciless hardness only exercise itself among foreigners,\nbut the fierceness of their outrages and punishments, as well as their\nvices, brake in upon the Romans. C. Marius, that had his statue set up\neverywhere, and was adored as a God, L. Sylla commanded his bones to be\nbroken, his eyes to be pulled out, his hands to be cut off; and, as if\nevery wound had been a several death, his body to be torn to pieces,\nand Catiline was the executioner. A _cruelty_ that was only fit for\nMarius to _suffer_, Sylla to _command_, and Catiline to _act_; but most\ndishonorable and fatal to the commonwealth, to fall indifferently upon\nthe sword\u2019s point both of citizens and of enemies.\n\nIt was a severe instance, that of Piso too. A soldier that had leave\nto go abroad with his comrade, came back to the camp at his time,\nbut without his companion. Piso condemned him to die, as if he had\nkilled him, and appoints a centurion to see the execution. Just as the\nheadsman was ready to do his office, the other soldier appeared, to the\ngreat joy of the whole field, and the centurion bade the executioner\nhold his hand. Hereupon Piso, in a rage, mounts the _tribunal_, and\nsentences all three to death: the one because he was _condemned_,\nthe _other_ because it was for _his sake_ that his fellow-soldier\nwas _condemned_, the _centurion_ for not obeying the _order_ of his\n_superior_. An ingenious piece of inhumanity, to contrive how to make\nthree criminals, where effectively there were none.\n\nThere was a Persian king that caused the noses of a whole nation to\nbe cut off, and they were to thank him that he spared their heads.\nAnd this, perhaps, would have been the fate of the Macrobii, (if\nProvidence had not hindered it,) for the freedom they used to Cambyses\u2019\nambassadors, in not accepting the slavish terms that were offered\nthem. This put Cambyses into such a rage, that he presently listed\ninto his service every man that was able to bear arms; and, without\neither provisions or guides, marched immediately through dry and barren\ndeserts, and where never any man had passed before him, to take his\nrevenge. Before he was a third part of the way, his provisions failed\nhim. His men, at first, made shift with the buds of trees, boiled\nleather, and the like; but soon after there was not so much as a root\nor a plant to be gotten, nor a living creature to be seen; and then by\nlot every tenth man was to die for a nourishment to the rest, which was\nstill worse than the famine. But yet this passionate king went on so\nfar, until one part of his army was lost, and the other devoured, and\nuntil he feared that he himself might come to be served with the same\nsauce. So that at last he ordered a retreat, wanting no delicates all\nthis while for himself, while his soldiers were taking their chance who\nshould die miserably, or live worse. Here was an anger taken up against\na whole nation, that neither deserved any ill from him, nor was so much\nas known to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE ORDINARY GROUNDS AND OCCASIONS OF ANGER.\n\n\nIn this wandering state of life we meet with many occasions of trouble\nand displeasure, both great and trivial; and not a day passes but, from\nmen or things, we have some cause or other for offense; as a man must\nexpect to be jostled, dashed, and crowded, in a populous city. One\nman deceives our expectation; another delays it; and a third crosses\nit; and if everything does not succeed to our wish, we presently fall\nout either with the person, the business, the place, our fortune, or\nourselves. Some men value themselves upon their wit, and will never\nforgive anyone that pretends to lessen it; others are inflamed by wine:\nand some are distempered by sickness, weariness, watchings, love, care,\netc. Some are prone to it, by heat of constitution; but moist, dry, and\ncold complexions are more liable to other affections; as suspicion,\ndespair, fear, jealousy, etc. But most of our quarrels are of our own\ncontriving. One while we suspect upon mistake; and another while we\nmake a great matter of trifles. To say the truth, most of those things\nthat exasperate us are rather subjects of disgust than of mischief:\nthere is a large difference betwixt opposing a man\u2019s satisfaction\nand not assisting it: betwixt _taking away_ and _not giving_; but we\nreckon upon _denying_ and _deferring_ as the same thing; and interpret\nanother\u2019s being _for himself_ as if he were _against us_. Nay, we do\nmany times entertain an ill opinion of well doing, and a good one of\nthe contrary: and we hate a man for doing that very thing which we\nshould hate him for on the other side, if he did not do it.\n\nWe take it ill to be opposed when there is a father perhaps, a brother,\nor a friend, in the case against us; when we should rather love a\nman for it; and only wish that he could be honestly of our party. We\napprove of the fact, and detest the doer of it. It is a base thing to\nhate the person whom we cannot but commend; but it is a great deal\nworse yet if we hate him for the very thing that deserves commendation.\nThe things that we desire, if they be such as cannot be given to one\nwithout being taken away from another, must needs set those people\ntogether by the ears that desire the same thing. One man has a design\nupon my mistress, another upon mine inheritance; and that which should\nmake friends makes enemies, our being all of a mind. The general cause\nof anger is the sense or opinion of an _injury_; that is, the opinion\neither of an injury simply done, or of an injury done, which we have\nnot deserved. Some are naturally given to anger, others are provoked\nto it by occasion; the anger of women and children is commonly sharp,\nbut not lasting: old men are rather querulous and peevish. Hard labor,\ndiseases, anxiety of thought, and whatsoever hurts the body or the\nmind, disposes a man to be froward, but we must not add fire to fire.\n\nHe that duly considers the subject-matter of all our controversies\nand quarrels, will find them low and mean, not worth the thought of\na generous mind; but the greatest noise of all is about _money_. This\nis it that sets fathers and children together by the ears, husbands\nand wives; and makes way for sword and poison. This is it that tires\nout courts of justice, enrages princes, and lays cities in the dust,\nto seek for gold and silver in the ruins of them. This is it that\nfinds work for the judge to determine which side is least in the\nwrong; and whose is the more plausible avarice, the plaintiff\u2019s or the\ndefendant\u2019s. And what is it that we contend for all this while, but\nthose baubles that make us cry when we should laugh? To see a rich\nold cuff, that has nobody to leave his estate to, break his heart\nfor a handful of dirt; and a gouty usurer, that has no other use of\nhis fingers left him but to count withal; to see him, I say in the\nextremity of his fit, wrangling for the odd money in his interest. If\nall that is precious in Nature were gathered into one mass, it were\nnot worth the trouble of a sober mind. It were endless to run over all\nthose ridiculous passions that are moved about meats and drinks, and\nthe matter of our luxury; nay, about words, looks, actions, jealousies,\nmistakes, which are all of them as contemptible fooleries as those very\nbaubles that children scratch and cry for. There is nothing great or\nserious in all that which we keep such a clutter about; the madness\nof it is, that we set too great a value upon trifles. One man flies\nout upon a salute, a letter, a speech, a question, a gesture, a wink,\na look. An action moves one man; a word affects another; one man is\ntender of his family; another of his person; one sets up for an orator,\nanother for a philosopher: this man will not bear pride, nor that man\nopposition. He that plays the tyrant at home, is gentle as a lamb\nabroad. Some take offense if a man ask a favor of them, and others, if\nhe does not. Every man has his weak side; let us learn which that is,\nand take a care of it; for the same thing does not work upon all men\nalike. We are moved like beasts at the idle appearances of things, and\nthe fiercer the creature, the more is it startled. The sight of a red\ncoat enrages a bull; a shadow provokes the asp; nay, so unreasonable\nare some men, that they take moderate benefits for injuries, and\nsquabble about it with their nearest relations: \u201cThey have done this\nand that for others,\u201d they cry; \u201cand they might have dealt better with\nus if they had pleased.\u201d Very good! and if it be less than we looked\nfor, it may be yet more than we deserve. Of all unquiet humors this\nis the worst, that will never suffer any man to be happy, so long as\nhe sees a happier man than himself. I have known some men so weak as\nto think themselves contemned if a horse did but play the jade with\n_them_, that is yet obedient to _another rider_. A brutal folly to be\noffended at a mute animal; for no injury can be done us without the\nconcurrence of reason. A beast may hurt us, as a sword or a stone, and\nno otherwise. Nay, there are that will complain of \u201cfoul weather, a\nraging sea, a biting winter,\u201d as if it were expressly directed to them;\nand this they charge upon Providence, whose operations are all of them\nso far from being injurious, that they are beneficial to us.\n\nHow vain and idle are many of those things that make us stark mad! A\nresty horse, the overturning of a glass, the falling of a key, the\ndragging of a chair, a jealousy, a misconstruction. How shall that\nman endure the extremities of hunger and thirst that flies out into a\nrage for putting of a little too much water in his wine? What haste\nis there to lay a servant by the heels, or break a leg or an arm\nimmediately for it, as if he were not to have the same power over him\nan hour after, that he has at that instant? The answer of a servant, a\nwife, a tenant, puts some people out of all patience; and yet they can\nquarrel with the government, for not allowing them the same liberty in\npublic, which they themselves deny to their own families. If they say\nnothing, it is contumacy: if they speak or laugh, it is insolence. As\nif a man had his ears given him only for music; whereas we must suffer\nall sorts of noises, good and bad, both of man and beast. How idle\nis it to start at the tinkling of a bell, or the creaking of a door,\nwhen, for all this delicacy, we must endure thunder! Neither are our\neyes less curious and fantastical than our ears. When we are abroad, we\ncan bear well enough with foul ways, nasty streets, noisome ditches;\nbut a spot upon a dish at home, or an unswept hearth, absolutely\ndistracts us. And what is the reason, but that we are patient in the\none place, and fantastically peevish in the other? Nothing makes us\nmore intemperate than luxury, that shrinks at every stroke, and starts\nat every shadow. It is death to some to have another sit above them,\nas if a body were ever the more or the less honest for the cushion.\nBut they are only weak creatures that think themselves wounded if they\nbe but touched. One of the Sybarites, that saw a fellow hard at work a\ndigging, desired him to give over, for it made him weary to see him:\nand it was an ordinary complaint with him, that \u201che could take no\nrest because the rose-leaves lay double under him.\u201d When we are once\nweakened with our pleasures, everything grows intolerable. And we are\nangry as well with those things that cannot hurt us as with those that\ndo. We tear a book because it is blotted; and our clothes, because\nthey are not well made: things that neither deserve our anger nor feel\nit: the tailor, perchance, did his best, or, however, had no intent to\ndisplease us: if so, first, why should we be angry at all? Secondly,\nwhy should we be angry with the thing for the man\u2019s sake? Nay, our\nanger extends even to dogs, horses, and other beasts.\n\nIt was a blasphemous and a sottish extravagance, that of Caius C\u00e6sar,\nwho challenged Jupiter for making such a noise with his _thunder_, that\nhe could not hear his mimics, and so invented a machine in imitation\nof it to oppose _thunder_ to _thunder_; a brutal conceit, to imagine,\neither that he could reach the Almighty, or that the Almighty could not\nreach him!\n\nAnd every jot as ridiculous, though not so impious, was that of Cyrus;\nwho, in his design upon Babylon, found a river in his way that put a\nstop to his march: the current was strong, and carried away one of the\nhorses that belonged to his own chariot: upon this he swore, that since\nit had obstructed _his_ passage, it should never hinder any body\u2019s\nelse; and presently set his whole army to work upon it, which diverted\nit into a hundred and fourscore channels, and laid it dry. In this\nignoble and unprofitable employment he lost his time, and the soldiers\ntheir courage, and gave his adversaries an opportunity of providing\nthemselves, while he was waging war with a river instead of an enemy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nADVICE IN THE CASES OF CONTUMELY AND REVENGE.\n\n\nOf provocations to anger there are two sorts; there is an _injury_,\nand there is a _contumely_. The former in its own nature is the\nheavier; the other slight in itself, and only troublesome to a wounded\nimagination. And yet some there are that will bear blows, and death\nitself, rather than contumelious words. A contumely is an indignity\nbelow the consideration of the very law; and not worthy either of\na revenge, or so much as a complaint. It is only the vexation and\ninfirmity of a weak mind, as well as the practice of a haughty and\ninsolent nature, and signifies no more to a wise and sober man than\nan idle dream, that is no sooner past than forgotten. It is true, it\nimplies contempt; but what needs any man care for being contemptible\nto others, if he be not so to himself? For a child in the arms to\nstrike the mother, tear her hair, claw the face of her, and call her\nnames, that goes for nothing with us, because the child knows not what\nhe does. Neither are we moved at the impudence and bitterness of a\n_buffoon_, though he fall upon his own master as well as the guests;\nbut, on the contrary, we encourage and entertain the freedom.\n\nAre we not mad then, to be delighted and displeased with the same\nthing, and to take that as an _injury_ from one man, which passes only\nfor a _raillery_ from another? He that is wise will behave himself\ntoward all men as we do to our children; for they are but children\ntoo, though they have gray hairs: they are indeed of a larger size,\nand their errors are grown up with them; they live without rule, they\ncovet without choice, they are timorous and unsteady; and if at any\ntime they happen to be quiet, it is more out of fear than reason. It\nis a wretched condition to stand in awe of everybody\u2019s tongue; and\nwhosoever is vexed at a reproach would be proud if he were commended.\nWe should look upon contumelies, slanders, and ill words, only as the\nclamor of enemies, or arrows shot at a distance, that make a clattering\nupon our arms, but do no execution. A man makes himself less than his\nadversary by fancying that he is contemned. Things are only ill that\nare ill taken; and it is not for a man of worth to think himself better\nor worse for the opinion of others. He that thinks himself injured, let\nhim say, \u201cEither I have deserved this, or I have not. If I have, it is\na judgment; if I have not, it is an injustice: and the doer of it has\nmore reason to be ashamed than the sufferers.\u201d\n\nNature has assigned every man his post, which he is bound in honor to\nmaintain, let him be never so much pressed. Diogenes was disputing of\nanger, and an insolent young fellow, to try if he could put him beside\nhis philosophy, spit in his face: \u201cYoung man,\u201d says Diogenes, \u201cthis\ndoes not make me angry yet; but I am in some doubt whether I should be\nso or not.\u201d Some are so impatient that they cannot bear a contumely,\neven from a woman; whose very beauty, greatness, and ornaments, are all\nof them little enough to vindicate her from any indecencies, without\nmuch modesty and discretion; nay, they will lay it to heart even from\nthe meanest of servants. How wretched is that man whose peace lies at\nthe mercy of the people?\n\nA physician is not angry at the intemperance of a mad patient; nor does\nhe take it ill to be railed at by a man in a fever; just so should a\nwise man treat all mankind as a physician does his patient; and looking\nupon them only as sick and extravagant, let their words and actions,\nwhether good or bad, go equally for nothing, attending still his duty\neven in the coarsest offices that may conduce to their recovery. Men\nthat are proud, froward, and powerful, he values their scorn as little\nas their quality, and looks upon them no otherwise than as people in\nthe excess of a fever. If a beggar worships him, or if he takes no\nnotice of him, it is all one to him; and with a rich man he makes it\nthe same case. Their honors and their injuries he accounts much alike;\nwithout rejoicing at the one, or grieving at the other.\n\nIn these cases, the rule is to pardon all offenses, where there is any\nsign of repentance, or hope of amendment. It does not hold in injuries\nas in benefits, the requiting of the one with the other; for it is\na shame to overcome in the one, and in the other to be overcome. It\nis the part of a great mind to despise injuries; and it is one kind\nof revenge to neglect a man as not worth it: for it makes the first\naggressor too considerable. Our philosophy, methinks, might carry us\nup to the bravery of a generous mastiff, that can hear the barking of\na thousand curs without taking any notice of them. He that receives\nan injury from his superior, it is not enough for him to bear it with\npatience, and without any thought of revenge, but he must receive it\nwith a cheerful countenance, and look as if he did not understand it\ntoo; for if he appear too sensible, he shall be sure to have more of\nit. \u201cIt is a damned humor in great men, that whom they wrong they will\nhate.\u201d\n\nIt is well answered of an old courtier, that was asked how he kept\nso long in favor? \u201cWhy,\u201d says he, \u201cby receiving injuries, and crying\nyour humble servant for them.\u201d Some men take it for an argument of\ngreatness to have revenge in their power; but so far is he that is\nunder the dominion of anger from being great, that he is not so much\nas free. Not but that anger is a kind of pleasure to some in the act\nof revenge; but the very _word_ is _inhuman_, though it may pass for\n_honest_. \u201cVirtue,\u201d in short, \u201cis impenetrable, and revenge is only the\nconfession of an infirmity.\u201d\n\nIt is a fantastical humor, that the same jest in private should make us\nmerry, and yet enrage us in public; nay, we will not allow the liberty\nthat we take. Some railleries we account pleasant, others bitter: a\nconceit upon a _squint-eye_, a _hunch-back_, or any personal defect,\npasses for a reproach. And why may we not as well hear it as see it?\nNay, if a man imitates our gait, speech, or any natural imperfection,\nit puts us out of all patience; as if the counterfeit were more\ngrievous than the doing of the thing itself. Some cannot endure to\nhear of their age, nor others of their poverty; and they make the\nthing the more taken notice of the more they desire to hide it. Some\nbitter jest (for the purpose) was broken upon you at the table: keep\nbetter company then. In the freedom of cups, a sober man will hardly\ncontain himself within bounds. It sticks with us extremely sometimes,\nthat the porter will not let us in to his great master. Will any but a\nmadman quarrel with a cur for barking, when he may pacify him with a\ncrust? What have we to do but to keep further off, and laugh at him?\nFidus Cornelius (a tall slim fellow) fell downright a-crying in the\nsenate-house at Corbulo\u2019s saying that \u201che looked like an ostrich.\u201d\nHe was a man that made nothing of a lash upon his life and manners;\nbut it was worse than death to him a reflection upon his person. No\nman was ever ridiculous to others that laughed at himself first: it\nprevents mischief, and it is a spiteful disappointment of those that\ntake pleasure in such abuses. Vatinius, (a man that was made up for\nscorn and hatred, scurrilous and impudent to the highest degree, but\nmost abusively witty and with all this he was diseased, and deformed to\nextremity), his way, was always to make sport with himself, and so he\nprevented the mockeries of other people. There are none more abusive\nto others than they that lie most open to it themselves; but the humor\ngoes round, and he that laughs at me to-day will have somebody to laugh\nat him to-morrow, and revenge my quarrel. But, however, there are some\nliberties that will never go down with some men.\n\nAsiaticus Valerius, (one of Caligula\u2019s particular friends, and a man of\nstomach, that would not easily digest an affront) Caligula told him in\npublic what kind of bedfellow his wife was. Good God! that ever any man\nshould hear this, or a prince speak it, especially to a man of consular\nauthority, a friend, and a husband: and in such a manner too as at once\nto own his disgust and his adultery. The tribune Ch\u00e6reas had a weak\nbroken voice, like an hermaphrodite; when he came to Caligula for the\n_word_, he would give him sometimes _Venus_, otherwhiles _Priapus_,\nas a slur upon him both ways. Valerius was afterwards the principal\ninstrument in the conspiracy against him; and Ch\u00e6reas, to convince him\nof his manhood, at one blow cleft him down the chin with his sword.\nNo man was so forward as Caligula to _break_ a jest, and no man so\nunwilling to _bear_ it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nCAUTIONS AGAINST ANGER IN THE MATTER OF EDUCATION, CONVERSE, AND OTHER\nGENERAL RULES OF PREVENTING IT, BOTH IN OURSELVES AND OTHERS.\n\n\nAll that we have to say in particular upon this subject lies under\nthese two heads: first, that we do not _fall_ into anger; and secondly,\nthat we do not _transgress in it_. As in the case of our bodies, we\nhave some medicines to preserve us when we are well, and others to\nrecover us when we are sick; so it is one thing not to admit it, and\nanother thing to overcome it. We are, in the first place, to avoid all\nprovocations, and the beginnings of anger: for if we be once down, it\nis a hard task to get up again. When our passion has got the better of\nour reason, and the enemy is received into the gate, we cannot expect\nthat the conqueror should take conditions from the prisoner. And, in\ntruth, our reason, when it is thus mastered, turns effectually into\npassion. A careful education is a great matter; for our minds are\neasily formed in our youth, but it is a harder business to cure ill\nhabits: beside that, we are inflamed by climate, constitution, company,\nand a thousand other accidents, that we are not aware of.\n\nThe choice of a good nurse, and a well-natured tutor, goes a great\nway: for the sweetness both of the blood and of the manners will\npass into the child. There is nothing breeds anger more than a soft\nand effeminate education; and it is very seldom seen that either\nthe mother\u2019s or the school-master\u2019s darling ever comes to good. But\n_my young master_, when he comes into the world, behaves himself\nlike a choleric coxcomb; for flattery, and a great fortune, nourish\ntouchiness. But it is a nice point so to check the seeds of anger in\na child as not to take off his edge, and quench his spirits; whereof\na principal care must be taken betwixt license and severity, that he\nbe neither too much emboldened nor depressed. Commendation gives him\ncourage and confidence; but then the danger is, of blowing him up\ninto insolence and wrath: so that when to use the bit, and when the\nspur, is the main difficulty. Never put him to a necessity of begging\nanything basely: or if he does, let him go without it. Inure him to\na familiarity where he has any emulation; and in all his exercises\nlet him understand that it is generous to overcome his competitor,\nbut not to hurt him. Allow him to be pleased when he does well, but\nnot transported; for that will puff him up into too high a conceit\nof himself. Give him nothing that he cries for till the dogged fit\nis over, but then let him have it when he is quiet; to show him that\nthere is nothing to be gotten by being peevish. Chide him for whatever\nhe does amiss, and make him betimes acquainted with the fortune that\nhe was born to. Let his diet be cleanly, but sparing; and clothe him\nlike the rest of his fellows: for by placing him upon that equality at\nfirst, he will be the less proud afterward: and, consequently the less\nwaspish and quarrelsome.\n\nIn the next place, let us have a care of temptations that we cannot\nresist, and provocations that we cannot bear; and especially of sour\nand exceptious company: for a cross humor is contagious. Nor is it all\nthat a man shall be the better for the example of a quiet conversation;\nbut an angry disposition is troublesome, because it has nothing else to\nwork upon. We should therefore choose a sincere, easy, and temperate\ncompanion, that will neither provoke anger nor return it; nor give a\nman any occasion of exercising his distempers. Nor is it enough to be\ngentle, submissive, and humane, without integrity and plain-dealing;\nfor flattery is as offensive on the other side. Some men would take a\ncurse from you better than a compliment. C\u00e6lius, a passionate orator,\nhad a friend of singular patience that supped with him, who had no\nway to avoid a quarrel but by saying _amen_ to all that C\u00e6lius said.\nC\u00e6lius, taking this ill: \u201cSay something against me,\u201d says he, \u201cthat you\nand I may be two;\u201d and he was angry with him because he would not: but\nthe dispute fell, as it needs must, for want of an opponent.\n\nHe that is naturally addicted to anger, let him use a moderate diet,\nand abstain from wine; for it is but adding fire to fire. Gentle\nexercises, recreations, and sports, temper and sweeten the mind. Let\nhim have a care also of long and obstinate disputes; for it is easier\nnot to begin them than to put an end to them. Severe studies are not\ngood for him either, as _law_, _mathematics_; too much attention preys\nupon the spirits, and makes him eager: but _poetry_, _history_ and\nthose lighter entertainments, may serve him for diversion and relief.\nHe that would be quiet, must not venture at things out of his reach,\nor beyond his strength; for he shall either stagger under the burden,\nor discharge it upon the next man he meets; which is the same case in\ncivil and domestic affairs. Business that is ready and practicable\ngoes off with ease; but when it is too heavy for the bearer, they fall\nboth together. Whatsoever we design, we should first take a measure of\nourselves, and compare our force with the undertaking; for it vexes\na man not to go through with his work: a repulse inflames a generous\nnature, as it makes one that is _phlegmatic_, _sad_. I have known\nsome that have advised looking in a glass when a man is in the fit,\nand the very spectacle of his own deformity has cured him. Many that\nare troublesome in their drink, and know their own infirmity, give\ntheir servant order beforehand to take them away by force for fear\nof mischief, and not to obey their masters themselves when they are\nhot-headed. If the thing were duly considered we should need no other\ncure than the bare consideration of it. We are not angry at madmen,\nchildren, and fools, because they do not know what they do: and why\nshould not imprudence have an equal privilege in other cases? If a\nhorse kick, or a dog bite, shall a man kick or bite again? The one,\nit is true, is wholly void of reason, but it is also an equivalent\ndarkness of mind that possesses the other. So long as we are among\nmen, let us cherish humanity, and so live that no man may be either in\nfear or in danger of us. Losses, injuries, reproaches, calumnies, they\nare but short inconveniences, and we should bear them with resolution.\nBeside that, some people are above our anger, others below it. To\ncontend with our superiors were a folly, and with our inferiors an\nindignity.\n\nThere is hardly a more effectual remedy against anger than patience\nand consideration. Let but the first fervor abate, and that mist which\ndarkens the mind will be either lessened or dispelled; a day, nay,\nan hour, does much in the most violent cases, and perchance totally\nsuppresses it; time discovers the truth of things, and turns that\ninto judgment which at first was anger. Plato was about to strike his\nservant, and while his hand was in the air, he checked himself, but\nstill held it in that menacing posture. A friend of his took notice of\nit, and asked him what he meant? \u201cI am now,\u201d says Plato, \u201cpunishing of\nan angry man;\u201d so that he had left his servant to chastise himself.\nAnother time his servant having committed a great fault: \u201cSpeusippus,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cdo you beat that fellow, for I am angry,\u201d so that he forebore\nstriking him for the very reason that would have made another man have\ndone it. \u201cI am angry,\u201d says he, \u201cand shall go further than becomes me.\u201d\nNor is it fit that a servant should be in his power that is not his\nown master. Why should any one venture now to trust an angry man with\na revenge, when Plato durst not trust himself? Either he must govern\nthat, or that will undo him. Let us do our best to overcome it, but let\nus, however, keep it close, without giving it any vent. An angry man,\nif he gives himself liberty at all times, will go too far. If it comes\nonce to show itself in the eye or countenance, it has got the better\nof us. Nay, we should so oppose it as to put on the very contrary\ndispositions; calm looks, soft and slow speech, an easy and deliberate\nmarch, and by little and little, we may possibly bring our thoughts\ninto sober conformity with our actions. When Socrates was angry, he\nwould take himself in it, and _speak low_, in opposition to the motions\nof his displeasure. His friends would take notice of it; and it was\nnot to his disadvantage neither, but rather to his credit, that so\nmany should _know_ that he was angry, and nobody _feel_ it; which\ncould not have been, if he had not given his friends the same liberty\nof admonition which he himself took. And this course should we take;\nwe should desire our friends not to flatter us in our follies, but to\ntreat us with all liberties of reprehension, even when we are least\nwilling to bear it, against so powerful and so insinuating an evil;\nwe should call for help while we have our eyes in our head, and are\nyet masters of ourselves. Moderation is profitable for subjects, but\nmore for princes, who have the means of executing all that their anger\nprompts them to. When that power comes once to be exercised to a common\nmischief, it can never long continue; a common fear joining in one\ncause all their divided complaints. In a word now, how we may prevent,\nmoderate, or master this impotent passion in others.\n\nIt is not enough to be sound ourselves, unless we endeavor to make\nothers so, wherein we must accommodate the remedy to the temper of the\npatient. Some are to be dealt with by artifice and address: as, for\nexample, \u201cWhy will you gratify your enemies to show yourself so much\nconcerned? It is not worth your anger: it is below you: I am as much\ntroubled at it myself as you can be; but you had better say nothing,\nand take your time to be even with them.\u201d Anger in some people is to be\nopenly opposed; in others, there must be a little yielding, according\nto the disposition of the person. Some are won by entreaties, others\nare gained by mere shame and conviction, and some by delay; a dull way\nof cure for a violent distemper, but this must be the last experiment.\nOther affections may be better dealt with at leisure; for they proceed\ngradually: but this commences and perfects itself in the same moment.\nIt does not, like other passions, solicit and mislead us, but it runs\naway with us by force, and hurries us on with an irresistible temerity,\nas well to our own as to another\u2019s ruin: not only flying in the face\nof him that provokes us, but like a torrent, bearing down all before\nit. There is no encountering the first heat and fury of it: for it is\ndeaf and mad, the best way is (in the beginning) to give it time and\nrest, and let it spend itself: while the passion is too hot to handle,\nwe may deceive it; but, however, let all instruments of revenge be\nput out of the way. It is not amiss sometimes to pretend to be angry\ntoo; and join with him, not only in the opinion of the injury, but in\nthe seeming contrivance of a revenge. But this must be a person then\nthat has some authority over him. This is a way to get time, and, by\nadvising upon some greater punishment to delay the present. If the\npassion be outrageous, try what shame or fear can do. If weak, it is no\nhard matter to amuse it by strange stories, grateful news, or pleasant\ndiscourses. Deceit, in this case, is friendship; for men must be\ncozened to be cured.\n\nThe injuries that press hardest upon us are those which either we\nhave not deserved, or not expected, or, at least, not in so high a\ndegree. This arises from the love of ourselves: for every man takes\nupon him, like a prince, in this case, to practice all liberties, and\nto allow none, which proceeds either from ignorance or insolence. What\nnews is it for people to do ill things? for an enemy to hurt us; nay,\nfor a friend or a servant to transgress, and to prove treacherous,\nungrateful, covetous, impious? What we find in one man we may in\nanother, and there is more security in fortune than in men. Our joys\nare mingled with fear, and a tempest may arise out of a calm; but a\nskilful pilot is always provided for it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAGAINST RASH JUDGMENT.\n\n\nIt is good for every man to fortify himself on his weak side: and\nif he loves his peace he must not be inquisitive, and hearken to\ntale-bearers; for the man that is over-curious to hear and see\neverything, multiplies troubles to himself: for a man does not\nfeel what he does not know. He that is listening after private\ndiscourse, and what people say of him, shall never be at peace. How\nmany things that are innocent in themselves are made injuries yet by\nmisconstruction! Wherefore, some things we are to pause upon, others to\nlaugh at, and others again to pardon. Or, if we cannot avoid the sense\nof indignities, let us however shun the open profession of it, which\nmay easily be done, as appears by many examples of those that have\nsuppressed their anger under the awe of a greater fear. It is a good\ncaution not to believe any thing until we are very certain of it; for\nmany probable things prove false, and a short time will make evidence\nof the undoubted truth. We are prone to believe many things which\nwe are willing to hear, and so we conclude, and take up a prejudice\nbefore we can judge. Never condemn a friend unheard; or without letting\nhim know his accuser, or his crime. It is a common thing to say, \u201cDo\nnot you tell that you had it from me: for if you do, I will deny\nit, and never tell you any thing again:\u201d by which means friends are\nset together by the ears, and the informer slips his neck out of the\ncollar. Admit no stories upon these terms: for it is an unjust thing\nto believe in private and to be angry openly. He that delivers himself\nup to guess and conjecture runs a great hazard; for there can be no\nsuspicion without some probable grounds; so that without much candor\nand simplicity, and making the best of every thing, there is no living\nin society with mankind. Some things that offend us we have by report;\nothers we see or hear. In the first case, let us not be too credulous:\nsome people frame stories that they may deceive us; others only tell\nwhat they hear, and are deceived themselves: some make it their sport\nto do ill offices, others do them only to pick a thank: there are some\nthat would part the dearest friends in the world; others love to do\nmischief, and stand aloof off to see what comes of it. If it be a small\nmatter, I would have witnesses; but if it be a greater, I would have\nit upon oath, and allow time to the accused, and counsel too, and hear\nover and over again.\n\nIn those cases where we ourselves are witnesses, we should take into\nconsideration all the circumstances. If a _child_, it was _ignorance_:\nif a _woman_, a _mistake_: if done by _command_ a _necessity_; if a\n_man_ be injured, it is but _quod pro quo_: if a _judge_, he _knows_\nwhat he does: if a _prince_, I must _submit_; either if _guilty_, to\n_justice_, or if _innocent_, to _fortune_: if a _brute_, I make myself\none by _imitating_ it: if a _calamity_ or _disease_, my best relief\nis _patience_: if _providence_, it is both _impious_ and _vain_ to\nbe _angry_ at it: if a _good_ man, I will make the _best_ of it: if\na _bad_, I will never _wonder_ at it. Nor is it only by _tales_ and\n_stories_ that we are inflamed, but _suspicions_, _countenances_, nay,\na _look_ or a _smile_, is enough to blow us up. In these cases, let us\nsuspend our displeasure, and plead the cause of the absent. \u201cPerhaps\nhe is innocent; or, if not, I have time to consider of it and may take\nmy revenge at leisure:\u201d but when it is once _executed_ it is not to\nbe _recalled_. A jealous head is apt to take that to himself which\nwas never meant him. Let us therefore trust to nothing but what we\nsee, and chide ourselves where we are over-credulous. By this course\nwe shall not be so easily imposed upon, nor put to trouble ourselves\nabout things not worth the while: as the loitering of a servant upon an\nerrand, and the tumbling of a bed, or the spilling of a glass of drink.\n\nIt is a madness to be disordered at these fooleries; we consider the\nthing done, and not the doer of it. \u201cIt may be he did it unwillingly,\nor by chance. It was a trick put upon him, or he was forced to it. He\ndid it for reward perhaps, not hatred; nor of his own accord, but he\nwas urged on to it.\u201d Nay, some regard must be had to the age of the\nperson, or to fortune; and we must consult humanity and candor in the\ncase. One does me a _great mischief_ at _unawares_; another does me a\nvery _small_ one by _design_, or peradventure none at all, but intended\nme one. The latter was more in fault, but I will be angry with neither.\nWe must distinguish betwixt what a man cannot do and what he will not.\n\u201cIt is true he has once offended me; but how often has he pleased me!\nHe has offended me often, and in other kinds; and why should not I bear\nit as well now as I have done?\u201d Is he my friend? why then, \u201cIt was\nagainst his will.\u201d Is he my enemy? It is \u201cno more than I looked for.\u201d\nLet us give way to wise men, and not squabble with fools; and say thus\nto ourselves, \u201cWe have all of us our errors.\u201d No man is so circumspect,\nso considerate, or so fearful of offending, but he has much to answer\nfor.\n\nA generous prisoner cannot immediately comply with all the sordid and\nlaborious offices of a slave. A footman that is not breathed cannot\nkeep pace with his master\u2019s horse. He that is over-watched may be\nallowed to be drowsy. All these things are to be weighed before we give\nany ear to the first impulse. If it be my duty to love my country,\nI must be kind also to my countrymen; if a veneration be due to the\nwhole, so is a piety also to the parts: and it is the common interest\nto preserve them. We are all members of one body, and it is as natural\nto help one another as for the hands to help the feet, or the eyes the\nhands. Without the love and care of the parts, the whole can never\nbe preserved, and we must spare one another because we are born for\nsociety, which cannot be maintained without a regard to particulars.\nLet this be a rule to us, never to deny a pardon, that does no hurt\neither to the giver or receiver. That may be well enough in one which\nis ill in another; and therefore we are not to condemn anything that is\ncommon to a nation; for custom defends it. But much more pardonable are\nthose things which are common to mankind.\n\nIt is a kind of spiteful comfort, that whoever does me an injury may\nreceive one; and that there is a power over him that is above me. A man\nshould stand as firm against all indignities as a rock does against\nthe waves. As it is some satisfaction to a man in a mean condition\nthat there is no security in a more prosperous; and as the loss of\na son in a corner is borne with more patience upon the sight of a\nfuneral carried out of a palace; so are injuries and contempts the more\ntolerable from a meaner person, when we consider, that the greatest\nmen and fortunes are not exempt. The wisest also of mortals have their\nfailings, and no man living is without the same excuse. The difference\nis, that we do not all of us transgress the same way; but we are\nobliged in humanity to bear one with another.\n\nWe should, every one of us, bethink ourselves, how remiss we have\nbeen in our duties, how immodest in our discourses, how intemperate\nin our cups; and why not, as well, how extravagant we have been in\nour passions? Let us clear ourselves of this evil, purge our minds,\nand utterly root out all those vices, which upon leaving the least\nsting, will grow again and recover. We must think of everything, expect\neverything, that we may not be surprised. It is a shame, says Fabius,\nfor a commander to excuse himself by saying, \u201cI was not aware of it.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTAKE NOTHING ILL FROM ANOTHER MAN, UNTIL YOU HAVE MADE IT YOUR OWN CASE.\n\n\nIt is not prudent to deny a pardon to any man, without first examining\nif we stand not in need of it ourselves; for it may be our lot to ask\nit, even at his feet to whom we refuse it. But we are willing enough to\ndo what we are very unwilling to suffer. It is unreasonable to charge\npublic vices upon particular persons; for we are all of us wicked,\nand that which we blame in others we find in ourselves. It is not a\npaleness in one, or a leanness in another, but a pestilence that has\nlaid hold upon all.\n\nIt is a wicked world, and we make part of it; and the way to be quiet\nis to bear one with another. \u201cSuch a man,\u201d we cry, \u201chas done me a\nshrewd turn, and I never did him any hurt.\u201d Well, but it may be I have\nmischieved other people, or at least, I may live to do as much to him\nas that comes to. \u201cSuch a one has spoken ill things of me;\u201d but if I\nfirst speak ill of him, as I do of many others, this is not an injury,\nbut a repayment. What if he did overshoot himself? He was loth to lose\nhis conceit perhaps, but there was no malice in it; and if he had\nnot done me a mischief, he must have done himself one. How many good\noffices are there that look like injuries! Nay, how many have been\nreconciled and good friends after a professed hatred!\n\nBefore we lay anything to heart, let us ask ourselves if we have not\ndone the same thing to others. But where shall we find an equal judge?\nHe that loves another man\u2019s wife (only because she is another\u2019s) will\nnot suffer his own to be so much looked upon. No man is so fierce\nagainst calumny as the evil speaker; none so strict exactors of modesty\nin a servant as those that are most prodigal of their own. We carry our\nneighbors\u2019 crimes in sight, and we throw our own over our shoulders.\nThe intemperance of a bad son is chastised by a worse father; and the\nluxury that we punish in others, we allow to ourselves. The tyrant\nexclaims against homicide; and sacrilege against theft. We are angry\nwith the persons, but not with the faults.\n\nSome things there are that cannot hurt us, and others will not; as good\nmagistrates, parents, tutors, judges; whose reproof or correction we\nare to take as we do abstinence, bleeding, and other uneasy things,\nwhich we are the better for, in which cases, we are not so much to\nreckon upon what we suffer as upon what we have done. \u201cI take it ill,\u201d\nsays one; and, \u201cI have done nothing,\u201d says another: when, at the same\ntime, we make it worse, by adding arrogance and contumacy to our first\nerror. We cry out presently, \u201cWhat law have we transgressed?\u201d As if the\nletter of the law were the sum of our duty, and that piety, humanity,\nliberality, justice, and faith, were things beside our business. No,\nno; the rule of human duty is of a greater latitude; and we have many\nobligations upon us that are not to be found in the _statute-books_.\nAnd yet we fall short of the exactness event of that _legal\ninnocency_. We have intended one thing and done another; wherein only\nthe want of success has kept us from being criminals. This very thing,\nmethinks, should make us more favorable to delinquents, and to forgive\nnot only ourselves, but the gods too; of whom we seem to have harder\nthoughts in taking that to be a particular evil directed to us, that\nbefalls us only by the common law of mortality. In fine, no man living\ncan absolve himself to his conscience, though to the world, perhaps, he\nmay. It is true, that we are also condemned to pains and diseases, and\nto death too, which is no more than the quitting of the soul\u2019s house.\nBut why should any man complain of bondage, that, wheresoever he looks,\nhas his way open to liberty? That precipice, that sea, that river, that\nwell, there is freedom in the bottom of it. It hangs upon every crooked\nbow; and not only a man\u2019s throat, or his heart, but every vein in his\nbody, opens a passage to it.\n\nTo conclude, where my proper virtue fails me, I will have recourse to\nexamples, and say to myself, Am I greater than Philip or Augustus, who\nboth of them put up with greater reproaches? Many have pardoned their\nenemies, and shall not I forgive a neglect, a little freedom of the\ntongue? Nay, the patience but of a second thought does the business:\nfor though the first shock be violent; take it in parts, and it is\nsubdued. And, to wind up all in one word, the great lesson of mankind,\nas well in this as in all other cases, is, \u201cto do as we would be done\nby.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nOF CRUELTY.\n\n\nThere is so near an affinity betwixt _anger_ and _cruelty_, that many\npeople confound them; as if _cruelty_ were only the _execution_ of\n_anger_ in the payment of a _revenge_: which holds in some cases,\nbut not in others. There are a sort of men that take delight in the\nspilling of human blood, and in the death of those that never did them\nany injury, nor were ever so much suspected for it; as Apollodorus,\nPhalaris, Sinis, Procrustus, and others, that burnt men alive; whom\nwe cannot so properly call _angry_ as _brutal_, for _anger_ does\nnecessarily presuppose an injury, either _done_, or _conceived_, or\n_feared_, but the other takes _pleasure_ in _tormenting_, without so\nmuch as pretending any _provocation_ to it, and _kills_ merely for\n_killing sake_. The _original_ of this _cruelty_ perhaps was _anger_,\nwhich by frequent _exercise_ and _custom_, has lost all sense of\n_humanity_ and _mercy_, and they that are thus affected are so far\nfrom the countenance and appearance of men in _anger_, that they will\n_laugh_, _rejoice_, and _entertain themselves_ with the most _horrid\nspectacles_, as _racks_, _jails_, _gibbets_, several sorts of _chains_\nand _punishments_, _dilaceration_ of _members_, _stigmatizing_, and\n_wild beasts_, with other exquisite inventions of torture; and yet, at\nlast the cruelty itself is more horrid and odious than the means by\nwhich it works. It is a bestial madness to _love_ mischief; beside,\nthat it is _womanish_ to _rage_ and _tear_. A generous beast will scorn\nto do it when he has any thing at his mercy. It is a vice for wolves\nand tigers, and no less _abominable_ to the _world_ than _dangerous_ to\nitself.\n\nThe Romans had their _morning_ and their _meridian spectacles_. In\nthe _former_, they had their combats of _men_ with _wild beasts_; and\nin the _latter_, the _men_ fought _one with another_. \u201cI went,\u201d says\nour author, \u201cthe other day to the _meridian spectacles_, in hope of\nmeeting somewhat of mirth and diversion to sweeten the humors of those\nthat had been entertained with blood in the _morning_; but it proved\notherwise, for, compared with this inhumanity, the former was a mercy.\nThe whole business was only murder upon murder: the combatants fought\nnaked, and every blow was a wound. They do not contend for _victory_,\nbut for _death_; and he that kills one man is to be killed by another.\nBy wounds they are forced upon wounds which they take and give upon\ntheir bare _breasts. Burn that rogue_, they cry _What! Is he afraid\nof his flesh? Do but see how sneakingly that rascal dies._ Look to\nyourselves, my masters, and consider of it: who knows but this may come\nto be your own case?\u201d Wicked examples seldom fail of coming home at\nlast to the authors. To destroy a _single_ man may be dangerous; but\nto murder whole nations is only a more _glorious wickedness. Private\navarice_ and _rigor_ are condemned, but _oppression_, when it comes to\nbe _authorized_ by an act of state, and to be publicly _commanded_,\nthough particularly forbidden, becomes a point of _dignity_ and\n_honor_. What a shame is it for men to interworry one another, when\nyet the fiercest even of beasts are at peace with those of their own\nkind? This brutal fury puts philosophy itself to a stand. The drunkard,\nthe glutton, the covetous, may be reduced; nay, and the mischief of\nit is that no vice keeps itself within its proper bounds. Luxury runs\ninto avarice, and when the reverence of virtue is extinguished, men\nwill stick at nothing that carries profit along with it; man\u2019s blood is\nshed in wantonness\u2014his death is a spectacle for entertainment, and his\ngroans are music. When Alexander delivered up Lysimachus to a lion, how\nglad would he have been to have had nails and teeth to have devoured\nhim himself: it would have too much derogated, he thought, from the\ndignity of his wrath, to have appointed a _man_ for the execution of\nhis friend. Private cruelties, it is true, cannot do much mischief, but\nin princes they are a war against mankind.\n\nC. C\u00e6sar would commonly, for _exercise_ and _pleasure_, put _senators_\nand _Roman knights_ to the _torture_; and _whip_ several of them like\n_slaves_, or put them to _death_ with the most acute _torments_,\nmerely for the satisfaction of his _cruelty_. That C\u00e6sar that \u201cwished\nthe people of Rome had but one neck, that he might cut it off at one\nblow;\u201d\u2014it was the employment, the study, and the joy of his life. He\nwould not so much as give the expiring leave to groan, but caused their\nmouths to be stopped with sponges, or for want of them, with rags of\ntheir own clothes, that they might not breathe out so much as their\nlast agonies at liberty; or, perhaps, lest the tormented should speak\nsomething which the tormentor had no mind to hear. Nay, he was so\nimpatient of delay, that he would frequently rise from supper to have\nmen killed by _torch-light_, as if his life and death had depended\nupon their dispatch before the next morning; to say nothing how many\n_fathers_ were put to death in the same night with their _sons_ (which\nwas a kind of mercy in the prevention of their mourning). And was not\nSylla\u2019s cruelty prodigious too, which was only stopped for want of\nenemies? He caused seven thousand _citizens_ of Rome to be slaughtered\nat once; and some of the senators being startled at their cries that\nwere heard in the _senate-house_, \u201cLet us mind our business,\u201d says\nSylla; \u201cthis is nothing but a few mutineers that I have ordered to be\nsent out of the way.\u201d A _glorious spectacle_! says Hannibal, when he\nsaw the trenches flowing with human blood; and if the rivers had run\nblood too, he would have liked it so much the better.\n\nAmong the famous and detestable speeches that are committed to memory,\nI know none worse than that impudent and _tyrannical maxim_, \u201cLet them\nhate me, so they fear me;\u201d not considering that those that are kept\nin obedience by fear, are both malicious and mercenary, and only wait\nfor an opportunity to change their master. Beside that, whosoever is\nterrible to others is likewise afraid of himself. What is more ordinary\nthan for a tyrant to be destroyed by his own guards? which is no more\nthan the putting those crimes into practice which they learned of\ntheir masters. How many slaves have revenged themselves of their cruel\noppressors, though they were sure to die for it! but when it comes\nonce to a _popular tyranny_, whole nations conspire against it. For\n\u201cwhosoever threatens all, is in danger of all,\u201d over and above, that\nthe cruelty of the prince increases the _number_ of his enemies, by\ndestroying some of them; for it entails an hereditary hatred upon the\nfriends and relations of those that are taken away. And then it has\nthis misfortune, that a man must be wicked upon necessity; for there\nis no going back; so that he must betake himself to arms, and yet he\nlives in fear. He can neither trust to the faith of his friends, nor\nto the piety of his children; he both dreads death and wishes it; and\nbecomes a greater terror to himself than he is to his people. Nay, if\nthere were nothing else to make cruelty detestable, it were enough that\nit passes all bounds, both of custom and humanity; and is followed upon\nthe heel with sword or poison. A private malice indeed does not move\nwhole cities; but that which extends to all is every body\u2019s mark. One\nsick person gives no great disturbance in a family; but when it comes\nto a depopulating plague, all people fly from it. And why should a\nprince expect any man to be good whom he has taught to be wicked?\n\nBut what if it were _safe_ to be _cruel_? Were it not still a sad\nthing, the very state of such a _government_? A _government_ that\nbears the image of a _taken city_, where there is nothing but\n_sorrow_, _trouble_, and _confusion_. Men dare not so much as trust\nthemselves with their friends or with their pleasures. There is not any\nentertainment so innocent but it affords pretence of crime and danger.\nPeople are betrayed at their _tables_ and in their _cups_, and drawn\nfrom the very _theatre_ to the _prison_. How horrid a madness is it\nto be still _raging_ and _killing_; to have the rattling of _chains_\nalways in our _ears; bloody spectacles_ before our _eyes_; and to carry\n_terror_ and _dismay_ wherever we go! If we had _lions_ and _serpents_,\nto rule over us, this would be the manner of their _government_,\nsaving that they agree better among themselves. It passes for a mark\nof greatness to burn cities, and lay whole kingdoms waste; nor is it\nfor the honor of a prince, to appoint this or that single man to be\nkilled, unless they have whole _troops_, or (sometimes) _legions_, to\nwork upon. But it is not the spoils of _war_ and _bloody trophies_ that\nmake a prince _glorious_, but the _divine power_ of preserving _unity_\nand _peace. Ruin_ without _distinction_ is more properly the business\nof a general _deluge_, or a _conflagration_. Neither does a fierce\nand inexorable _anger_ become the _supreme magistrate_; \u201cGreatness of\nmind is always meek and humble; but cruelty is a note and an effect of\nweakness, and brings down a governor to the level of a competitor.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSENECA OF CLEMENCY.\n\n\nThe humanity and excellence of this virtue is confessed at all hands,\nas well by the men of _pleasure_, and those that think every man was\nmade for himself, as by the Stoics, that make \u201cman a sociable creature,\nand born for the common good of mankind:\u201d for it is of all dispositions\nthe most _peaceable_ and _quiet_. But before we enter any farther upon\nthe discourse, it should be first known what _clemency_ is, that we may\ndistinguish it from _pity_; which is a _weakness_, though many times\nmistaken for a _virtue_: and the next thing will be, to bring the mind\nto the _habit_ and _exercise_ of it.\n\n\u201cClemency is a favorable disposition of the mind, in the matter of\ninflicting punishment; or, a moderation that remits somewhat of the\npenalty incurred; as _pardon_ is the total remission of a deserved\npunishment.\u201d We must be careful not to confound _clemency_ with\n_pity_; for as _religion worships_ God, and _superstition profanes_\nthat worship; so should we distinguish betwixt _clemency_ and _pity_;\n_practicing_ the _one_, and _avoiding_ the _other_. For _pity_ proceeds\nfrom a _narrowness of mind_, that respects rather the _fortune_ than\nthe _cause_. It is a kind of moral sickness, contracted from other\npeople\u2019s misfortune: such another weakness as laughing or yawning for\ncompany, or as that of sick eyes that cannot look upon others that are\nbleared without dropping themselves. I will give a shipwrecked man a\nplank, a lodging to a stranger, or a piece of money to him that wants\nit: I will dry up the tears of my friend, yet I will not weep with him,\nbut treat him with constancy and humanity, as _one man_ ought to treat\n_another_.\n\nIt is objected by some, that _clemency_ is an insignificant virtue; and\nthat only the bad are the better for it, for the good have no need of\nit. But in the first place, as physic is in use only among the sick,\nand yet in honor with the sound, so the innocent have a reverence\nfor clemency, though criminals are properly the objects of it. And\nthen again, a man may be innocent, and yet have occasion for it too;\nfor by the accidents of fortune, or the condition of times, virtue\nitself may come to be in danger. Consider the most populous city or\nnation; what a solitude would it be if none should be left there but\nthose that could stand the test of a severe justice! We should have\nneither judges nor accusers; none either to grant a pardon or to ask\nit. More or less, we are all sinners; and he that has best purged his\nconscience, was brought by errors to repentance. And it is farther\nprofitable to mankind; for many delinquents come to be converted. There\nis a tenderness to be used even toward our slaves, and those that we\nhave bought with our money: how much more then to free and to honest\nmen, that are rather under our protection than dominion! Not that I\nwould have it so general neither as not to distinguish betwixt the good\nand the bad; for that would introduce a confusion, and give a kind of\nencouragement to wickedness. It must therefore have a respect to the\nquality of the offender, and separate the curable from the desperate;\nfor it is an equal cruelty to pardon all and to pardon none. Where\nthe matter is in balance, let mercy turn the scale: if all wicked men\nshould be punished, who should escape?\n\nThough mercy and gentleness of nature keeps all in peace and\ntranquillity, even in a _cottage_; yet it is much more beneficial\nand conspicuous in a _palace. Private men_ in their _condition_ are\nlikewise _private_ in their _virtues_ and in their _vices_; but the\nwords and the actions of _princes_ are the subject of _public rumor_;\nand therefore they had need have a care, what occasion they give\npeople for discourse, of whom people will be always a talking. There\nis the _government_ of a _prince_ over his _people_, a _father_ over\nhis _children_, a _master_ over his _scholars_, an _officer_ over his\n_soldiers_. He is an unnatural father, that for every trifle beats his\nchildren. Who is the better master, he that rages over his scholars for\nbut missing a word in a lesson, or he that tries, by admonition and\nfair words, to instruct and reform them? An outrageous officer makes\nhis men run from their colors. A skilful rider brings his horse to\nobedience by mingling fair means with foul; whereas to be perpetually\nswitching and spurring, makes him vicious and jadish: and shall we\nnot have more care of _men_ than of _beasts_? It breaks the hope of\ngenerous inclinations, when they are depressed by servility and terror.\nThere is no creature so hard to be pleased with ill usage as man.\n\nClemency does _well_ with _all_ but _best_ with _princes_; for it makes\ntheir power comfortable and beneficial, which would otherwise be the\npest of mankind. It establishes their greatness, when they make the\ngood of the public their particular care, and employ their power for\nthe safety of the people. The prince, in effect, is but the soul of the\ncommunity, as the community is only the body of the prince; so that\nbeing merciful to others, he is tender of himself: nor is any man so\nmean but his master feels the loss of him, as a part of his empire: and\nhe takes care not only of the lives of his people, but also of their\nreputation. Now, giving for granted that all virtues are in themselves\nequal, it will not yet be denied, that they may be more beneficial to\nmankind in one person than in another. A beggar may be as magnanimous\nas a king: for what can be greater or braver than to baffle ill\nfortune? This does not hinder but that a man in authority and plenty\nhas more matter for his generosity to work upon than a private person;\nand it is also more taken notice of upon the bench than upon the level.\n\nWhen a gracious prince shows himself to his people, they do not fly\nfrom him as from a tiger that rouses himself out of his den, but they\nworship him as a benevolent influence; they secure him against all\nconspiracies, and interpose their bodies betwixt him and danger. They\nguard him while he sleeps, and defend him in the field against his\nenemies. Nor is it without reason, this unanimous agreement in love and\nloyalty, and this heroical zeal of abandoning themselves for the safety\nof their prince; but it is as well the interest of the people. In the\nbreath of a prince there is life and death; and his sentence stands\ngood, right or wrong. If he be angry, nobody dares advise him; and if\nhe does amiss, who shall call him to account? Now, for him that has so\nmuch mischief in his power, and yet applies that power to the common\nutility and comfort of his people, diffusing also clemency and goodness\ninto their hearts too, what can be a greater blessing to mankind than\nsuch a prince? _Any man_ may _kill_ another _against_ the law, but only\na _prince_ can _save_ him so. Let him so deal with his own subjects as\nhe desires God should deal with him. If Heaven should be inexorable to\nsinners, and destroy all without mercy, what flesh could be safe?\n\nBut as the faults of great men are not presently punished with thunder\nfrom above, let them have a like regard to their inferiors here upon\nearth. He that has revenge in his power, and does not use it, is the\ngreat man. Which is the more beautiful and agreeable state, that of\na calm, a temperate, and a clear day; or that of lightning, thunder,\nand tempests? and this is the very difference betwixt a moderate and\nturbulent government. It is for low and vulgar spirits to brawl, storm,\nand transport themselves: but it is not for the majesty of a prince to\nlash out into intemperance of words. Some will think it rather slavery\nthan empire to be debarred liberty of speech: and what if it be, when\ngovernment itself is but a more illustrious servitude?\n\nHe that uses his power as he should, takes as much delight in making\nit comfortable to his people as glorious to himself. He is affable\nand easy of access; his very countenance makes him the joy of his\npeople\u2019s eyes, and the delight of mankind. He is beloved, defended,\nand reverenced by all his subjects; and men speak as well of him in\nprivate as in public. He is safe without guards, and the sword is\nrather his ornament than his defence. In his duty, he is like that of a\ngood father, that sometimes gently reproves a son, sometimes threatens\nhim; nay, and perhaps corrects him: but no father in his right wits\nwill disinherit a son for the first fault; there must be many and great\noffences, and only desperate consequences, that should bring him to\nthat decretory resolution. He will make many experiments to try if he\ncan reclaim him first, and nothing but the utmost despair must put him\nupon extremities.\n\nIt is not flattery that calls a prince _the father of his country_;\nthe titles of _great_ and _august_ are matter of compliment and of\nhonor; but in calling him _father_, we mind him of that moderation and\nindulgence which he owes to his children. His subjects are his members;\nwhere, if there must be an amputation, let him come slowly to it; and\nwhen the part is cut off, let him wish it were on again: let him grieve\nin the doing of it. He that passes a sentence _hastily_, looks as if he\ndid it _willingly_; and then there is an injustice in the excess.\n\nIt is a glorious contemplation for a prince, first to consider the\nvast multitudes of his people, whose seditious, divided, and impotent\npassions, would cast all in confusion, and destroy themselves, and\npublic order too, if the hand of government did not restrain them;\nand thence to pass the examination of his conscience, saying thus to\nhimself, \u201cIt is by the choice of Providence that I am here made God\u2019s\ndeputy upon earth, the arbitrator of life and death; and that upon\nmy breath depends the fortune of my people. My lips are the oracles\nof their fate, and upon them hangs the destiny both of cities and of\nmen. It is under my favor that people seek either for prosperity or\nprotection: thousands of swords are drawn or sheathed at my pleasure.\nWhat towns shall be advanced or destroyed; who shall be slaves, or who\nfree, depends upon my will; and yet, in this arbitrary power of acting\nwithout control, I was never transported to do any cruel thing, either\nby anger or hot blood in myself or by the contumacy, rashness, or\nprovocations of other men; though sufficient to turn mercy itself into\nfury. I was never moved by the odious vanity of making myself terrible\nby my power, (that accursed, though common humor of ostentation and\nglory that haunts imperious natures.) My sword has not only been buried\nin the scabbard, but in a manner bound to the peace, and tender even\nof the cheapest blood: and where I find no other motive to compassion,\nhumanity itself is sufficient. I have been always slow to severity, and\nprone to forgive; and under as strict a guard to observe the laws as if\nI were accountable for the breaking of them. Some I pardoned for their\nyouth, others for their age. I spare one man for his dignity, another\nfor his humility; and when I find no other matter to work upon, I spare\nmyself. So that if God should at this instant call me to an account,\nthe whole world agree to witness for me, that I have not by any force,\neither public or private, either by myself or by any other, defrauded\nthe commonwealth; and the reputation that I have ever sought for has\nbeen that which few princes have obtained, the conscience of my proper\ninnocence. And I have not lost my labor neither; for no man was ever so\ndear to another, as I have made myself to the whole body of my people.\u201d\nUnder such a prince the subjects have nothing to wish for beyond what\nthey enjoy; their fears are quieted, and their prayers heard, and\nthere is nothing can make their felicity greater, unless to make it\nperpetual; and there is no liberty denied to the people but that of\ndestroying one another.\n\nIt is the interest of the people, by the consent of all nations, to run\nall hazards for the safety of their prince, and by a thousand deaths to\nredeem that one life, upon which so many millions depend. Does not the\nwhole body serve the mind, though only the one is exposed to the eye\nand the other not, but thin and invisible, the very seat of it being\nuncertain? Yet the hands, feet, and eyes, observe the motions of it. We\nlie down, run about and ramble, as that commands us. If we be covetous,\nwe fish the seas and ransack the earth for treasure: if ambitious, we\nburn our own flesh with Sc\u00e6vola; we cast ourselves into the gulf with\nCurtius: so would that vast multitude of people, which is animated but\nwith one soul, governed by one spirit, and moved by one reason, destroy\nitself with its own strength, if it were not supported by wisdom and\ngovernment. Wherefore, it is for their own security that the people\nexpose their lives for their prince, as the very bond that ties the\nrepublic together; the vital spirit of so many thousands, which would\nbe nothing else but a burden and prey without a governor.\n\nWhen this union comes once to be dissolved, all falls to pieces; for\nempire and obedience must stand and fall together. It is no wonder then\nif a prince be dear to his people, when the community is wrapt up in\nhim, and the good of both as inseparable as the body and the head; the\none for strength, and the other for counsel; for what signifies the\nforce of the body without the direction of the understanding? While the\nprince watches, his people sleep; his labor keeps them at ease, and\nhis business keeps them quiet. The natural intent of monarchy appears\neven from the very discipline of bees: they assign to their master the\nfairest lodgings, the safest place; and his office is only to see that\nthe rest perform their duties. When their king is lost, the whole swarm\ndissolve: more than one they will not admit; and then they contend who\nshall have the best. They are of all creatures the fiercest for their\nbigness; and leave their stings behind them in their quarrels; only\nthe king himself has none, intimating that kings should neither be\nvindictive nor cruel.\n\nIs it not a shame, after such an example of moderation in these\ncreatures, that men should be yet intemperate? It were well if they\nlost their stings too in their revenge, as well as the other, that they\nmight hurt but once, and do no mischief by their proxies. It would tire\nthem out, if either they were to execute all with their own hands, or\nto wound others at the peril of their own lives.\n\nA prince should behave himself generously in the power which God has\ngiven him of life and death, especially towards those that have been\nat any time his equals; for the one has his revenge, and the other his\npunishment in it. He that stands indebted for his life has lost it;\nbut he that receives his life at the foot of his enemy, lives to the\nhonor of his preserver: he lives the lasting monument of his virtue;\nwhereas, if he had been led in triumph, the spectacle would have been\nquickly over. Or what if he should restore him to his kingdom again?\nwould it not be an ample accession to his honor to show that he found\nnothing about the conquered that was worthy of the conqueror? There is\nnothing more venerable than a prince that does not revenge an injury.\nHe that is gracious is beloved and reverenced as a common father; but a\ntyrant stands in fear and in danger even of his own guards. No prince\ncan be safe himself of whom all others are afraid; for to spare none\nis to enrage all. It is an error to imagine that any man can be secure\nthat suffers nobody else to be so too. How can any man endure to lead\nan uneasy, suspicious, anxious life, when he may be safe if he please,\nand enjoy all the blessings of power, together with the prayers of\nhis people? Clemency protects a prince without a guard; there is no\nneed of troops, castles, or fortifications: security on the one side\nis the condition of security on the other; and the affections of the\nsubject are the most invincible fortress. What can be fairer, than for\na prince to live the object of his people\u2019s love; to have the vows of\ntheir heart as well as of their lips, and his health and sickness their\ncommon hopes and fears? There will be no danger of plots; nay, on the\ncontrary, who would not frankly venture his blood to save him, under\nwhose government, justice, peace, modesty, and dignity flourish? under\nwhose influence men grow rich and happy; and whom men look upon with\nsuch veneration, as they would do upon the immortal gods, if they were\ncapable of seeing them? And as the true representative of the ALMIGHTY\nthey consider him, when he is gracious and bountiful, and employs his\npower to the advantage of his subjects.\n\nWhen a prince proceeds to punishment, it must be either to vindicate\nhimself or others. It is a hard matter to govern himself in his own\ncase. If a man should advise him not to be credulous, but to examine\nmatters, and indulge the innocent, this is rather a point of justice\nthan of clemency: but in case that he be manifestly injured, I would\nhave him _forgive_, where he may _safely_ do it: and be _tender_ even\nwhere he cannot _forgive_; but far more exorable in his own case,\nhowever, than in another\u2019s.\n\nIt is nothing to be free of another man\u2019s purse, and it is as little to\nbe merciful in another man\u2019s cause. He is the great man that masters\nhis passion where he is stung himself, and pardons when he might\ndestroy. The end of punishment is either to comfort the party injured,\nor to secure him for the future. A prince\u2019s fortune is above the need\nof such a comfort, and his power is too eminent to seek an advance of\nreputation by doing a private man a mischief. This I speak in case of\nan affront from those that are below us; but he that of an equal has\nmade any man his inferior, has his revenge in the bringing of him down.\nA _prince_ has been _killed_ by a _servant_, destroyed by a serpent:\nbut whosoever preserves a man must be greater than the person that he\npreserves. With citizens, strangers, and people of low condition, a\nprince is not to contend, for they are beneath him: he may spare some\nout of good will, and others as he would do some little creatures that\na man cannot touch without fouling his fingers: but for those that\nare to be pardoned or exposed to public punishment, he may use mercy\nas he sees occasion; and a generous mind can never want inducements\nand motives to it; and whether it be _age_ or _sex_, _high_ or _low_,\nnothing comes amiss.\n\nTo pass now to the vindication of others, there must be had a regard\neither to the amendment of the person punished, or the making others\nbetter for fear of punishment, or the taking the offender out of the\nway for the security of others. An amendment may be procured by a\nsmall punishment, for he lives more carefully that has something yet\nto lose\u2014it is a kind of _impunity_ to be incapable of a _farther\npunishment_. The corruptions of a city are best cured by a few and\nsparing severities; for the multitude of offenders creates a custom of\noffending, and company authorizes a crime, and there is more good to\nbe done upon a _dissolute age_ by _patience_ than by _rigor_; provided\nthat it pass not for an _approbation_ of _ill-manners_, but only as an\n_unwillingness_ to proceed to _extremities_. Under a merciful prince, a\nman will be ashamed to offend, because a punishment that is inflicted\nby a gentle governor seems to fall heavier and with more reproach:\nand it is remarkable also, that \u201cthose sins are often committed which\nare very often punished.\u201d Caligula, in five years, condemned more\npeople to the _sack_ than ever were before him: and there were \u201cfewer\nparricides before the law against them than after;\u201d for our ancestors\ndid wisely presume that the crime would never be committed, until by\nlaw for punishing it, they found that it might be done. _Parricides_\nbegan with the _law_ against them, and the punishment instructed men in\nthe crime. Where there are few punishments, innocency is indulged as a\npublic good, and it is a dangerous thing to show a city how strong it\nis in delinquents. There is a certain contumacy in the nature of man\nthat makes him oppose difficulties. We are better to follow than to\ndrive; as a generous horse rides best with an easy bit. People _obey\nwillingly_ where they are _commanded kindly_.\n\nWhen Burrhus the prefect was to sentence two malefactors, he brought\nthe warrant to Nero to sign; who, after a long reluctancy came to it at\nlast with this exclamation: \u201cI would I could not write!\u201d A speech that\ndeserved the whole world for an auditory, but all princes especially;\nand that the hearts of all the subjects would conform to the likeness\nof their masters. As the head is well or ill, so is the mind dull or\nmerry. What is the difference betwixt a _king_ and a _tyrant_, but a\n_diversity_ of _will_ under one and the _same power_. The one destroys\nfor his pleasure, the other upon necessity; a distinction rather in\nfact than in name.\n\nA gracious prince is armed as well as a tyrant; but it is for the\ndefence of his people and not for the ruin of them. No king can ever\nhave faithful servants that accustoms them to tortures and executions;\nthe very guilty themselves do not lead so anxious a life as the\npersecutors: for they are not only afraid of justice, both divine and\nhuman, but it is dangerous for them to mend their manners; so that\nwhen they are once in, they must continue to be wicked upon necessity.\nAn universal hatred unites in a popular rage. A temperate fear may\nbe kept in order; but when it comes once to be continual and sharp,\nit provokes people to extremities, and transports them to desperate\nresolutions, as wild beasts when they are pressed upon the _toil_,\nturn back and assault the very pursuers. A turbulent government is a\nperpetual trouble both to prince and people; and he that is a terror\nto all others is not without terror also himself. Frequent punishments\nand revenges may suppress the hatred of a few, but then it stirs up the\ndetestation of all, so that there is no destroying one enemy without\nmaking many. It is good to master the _will_ of being _cruel_, even\nwhile there may be cause for it, and matter to work upon.\n\nAugustus was a gracious prince when he had the power in his own hand;\nbut in the _triumviracy_ he made use of his sword, and had his friends\nready armed to set upon Antony during that dispute. But he behaved\nhimself afterwards at another rate; for when he was betwixt forty and\nfifty years of age he was told that Cinna was in a plot to murder him,\nwith the time, place and manner of the design; and this from one of\nthe confederates. Upon this he resolved upon a revenge, and sent for\nseveral of his friends to advise upon it. The thought of it kept him\nwaking, to consider, that there was the life of a young nobleman in the\ncase, the nephew of Pompey, and a person otherwise innocent. He was\noff and on several times whether he should put him to death or not.\n\u201cWhat!\u201d says he, \u201cshall I live in trouble and in danger myself, and the\ncontriver of my death walk free and secure? Will nothing serve him but\nthat life which Providence has preserved in so many civil wars\u2014in so\nmany battles both by sea and land; and now in the state of an universal\npeace too\u2014and not a simple murder either, but a sacrifice; for I am\nto be assaulted at the very altar\u2014and shall the contriver of all this\nvillainy escape unpunished?\u201d Here Augustus made a little pause, and\nthen recollecting himself: \u201cNo, no, C\u00e6sar,\u201d says he, \u201cit is rather\nC\u00e6sar than Cinna that I am to be angry with: why do I myself live any\nlonger after that my death is become the interest of so many people?\nAnd if I go on, what end will there be of blood and of punishment?\nIf it be against my life that the nobility arm itself, and level its\nweapons, my single life is not worth the while, if so many must be\ndestroyed that I may be preserved.\u201d\n\nHis wife Livia gave him here an interruption, and desired him that\nhe would for once hear a woman\u2019s counsel. \u201cDo,\u201d says she, \u201clike a\nphysician, that when common remedies fail, will try the contrary: you\nhave got nothing hitherto by severity\u2014after Salvidianus there followed\nLepidus\u2014after him Mur\u00e6na\u2014C\u00e6pio followed him, and Egnatius followed\nC\u00e6pio\u2014try now what mercy will do\u2014forgive Cinna. He is discovered,\nand can do no hurt to your person; and it will yet advantage you in\nyour reputation.\u201d Augustus was glad of the advice, and he gave thanks\nfor it; and thereupon countermanded the meeting of his friends, and\nordered Cinna to be brought to him alone; for whom he caused a chair\nto be set, and then discharged the rest of the company. \u201cCinna,\u201d says\nAugustus, \u201c_before I go any farther_, you must promise not to give me\nthe interruption of one syllable until I have told you all I have to\nsay, and you shall have liberty afterwards to say what you please. You\ncannot forget, that when I found you in arms against me, and not only\nmade my _enemy_, but _born_ so, I gave you your life and fortune. Upon\nyour petition for the priesthood, I granted it, with a repulse to the\nsons of those that had been my fellow-soldiers; and you are at this\nday so happy and so rich, that even the conquerors envy him that is\novercome; and yet after all this, you are in a plot, Cinna, to murder\nme.\u201d At that word Cinna started, and interposed with exclamations,\n\u201cthat certainly he was far from being either so wicked or so mad.\u201d\n\u201cThis is a breach of conditions, Cinna,\u201d says Augustus, \u201cit is not your\ntime to speak yet: I tell you again, that you are in a plot to murder\nme;\u201d and so he told him the time, the place, the confederates, the\norder and manner of the design, and who it was that was to do the deed.\nCinna, upon this, fixed his eye upon the ground without any reply:\nnot for his word\u2019s sake, but as in a confusion of conscience: and so\nAugustus went on. \u201cWhat,\u201d says he, \u201cmay your design be in all this? Is\nit that you would pretend to step into my place? The commonwealth were\nin an ill condition, if only Augustus were in the way betwixt you and\nthe government. You were cast the other day in a cause by one of your\nown _freemen_, and do you expect to find a weaker adversary of C\u00e6sar?\nBut what if I were removed? There is \u00c6milius Paulus, Fabius Maximus,\nand twenty other families of great blood and interest, that would never\nbear it.\u201d To cut off the story short; (for it was a discourse of above\ntwo hours; and Augustus lengthened the punishment in _words_, since he\nintended that should be all;) \u201cWell, Cinna,\u201d says he, \u201cthe life that\nI gave to you once as an enemy, I will now repeat it to a _traitor_\nand to a _parricide_, and this shall be the last reproach I will give\nyou. For the time to come there shall be no other contention betwixt\nyou and me, than which shall outdo the other in point of friendship.\u201d\nAfter this Augustus made Cinna _consul_, (an honor which he confessed\nhe durst not so much as desire) and Cinna was ever affectionately\nfaithful to him: he made C\u00e6sar his _sole heir_; and this was the _last\nconspiracy_ that ever was formed against him.\n\nThis moderation of Augustus was the excellency of his mature age; for\nin his youth he was passionate and sudden; and he did many things which\nafterward he looked back upon with trouble: after the battle of Actium,\nso many navies broken in Sicily, both _Roman_ and _strangers_: the\n_Perusian altars_, where 300 _lives_ were _sacrificed_ to the _ghost_\nof Julius; his frequent _proscriptions_, and other severities; his\n_temperance_ at last seemed to be little more than a _weary cruelty_.\nIf he had not _forgiven_ those that he _conquered_, whom should\nhe have _governed_? He chose his very _life-guard_ from among his\n_enemies_, and the _flower_ of the Romans owed their _lives_ to his\n_clemency_. Nay, he only punished Lepidus himself with _banishment_,\nand permitted him to wear the _ensigns_ of his _dignity_, without\ntaking the _pontificate_ to himself so long as Lepidus was living;\nfor he would not possess it as a _spoil_, but as an _honor_. This\n_clemency_ it was that secured him in his greatness, and ingratiated\nhim to the people, though he laid his hand upon the government before\nthey had thoroughly submitted to the yoke; and this clemency it was\nthat made his _name famous_ to _posterity_. This is it that makes us\nreckon him _divine_ without the authority of an _apotheosis_. He was\nso tender and patient, that though many a bitter jest was broken upon\nhim, (and _contumelies_ upon princes are the most _intolerable_ of all\n_injuries_) yet he never punished any man upon that subject. _It is_,\nthen, generous _to be_ merciful, _when we have it in our_ power to\n_take_ revenge.\n\nA son of Titus Arius, being examined and found guilty of _parricide_,\nwas banished Rome, and confined to Marseilles, where his father allowed\nhim the same annuity that he had before; which made all people conclude\nhim guilty, when they saw that his father had yet _condemned_ the son\nthat he could not _hate_. Augustus was pleased to sit upon the fact in\nthe house of Arius, only as a _single member_ of the _council_ that was\nto examine it: if it had been in C\u00e6sar\u2019s palace, the judgment must have\nbeen C\u00e6sar\u2019s and not the _father\u2019s_. Upon a full hearing of the matter,\nC\u00e6sar directed that every man should write his opinion whether _guilty_\nor _not_, and without declaring of his own, for fear of a partial\nvote. Before the opening of the books, C\u00e6sar passed an oath, that he\nwould not be Arius\u2019s _heir_: and to show that he had no interest in\nhis sentence, as appeared afterward; for he was not condemned to the\nordinary _punishments_ of _parricides_, nor to a prison, but, by the\nmediation of C\u00e6sar, only banished Rome, and confined to the place which\nhis father should name; Augustus insisting upon it, that the father\nshould content himself with an easy punishment: and arguing that the\nyoung man was not moved to the attempt by _malice_, and that he was\nbut half resolved upon the fact, for he wavered in it; and, therefore,\nto remove him from the city, and from his father\u2019s sight, would be\nsufficient. This is a glorious mercy, and worthy of a prince, to make\nall things gentler wherever he comes.\n\nHow miserable is that man in himself, who, when he has employed his\npower in rapines and cruelty upon others, is yet more unhappy in\nhimself! He stands in fear both of his domestics and of strangers; the\nfaith of his friends and the piety of his children, and flies to actual\nviolence to secure him from the violence he fears. When he comes to\nlook about him, and to consider what he _has_ done, what he _must_,\nand what he is _about_ to do; what with the _wickedness_, and with the\n_torments_ of his _conscience_, many times he fears death, oftener he\nwishes for it; and lives more odious to himself than to his subjects;\nwhereas on the contrary, he that takes a care of the public, though of\none part more perhaps than of another, yet there is not any part of it\nbut he looks upon as part of himself. His mind is tender and gentle;\nand even where punishment is necessary and profitable, he comes to it\nunwillingly, and without any rancor or enmity in his heart. Let the\nauthority, in fine, be what it will, clemency becomes it; and the\ngreater the power, the greater is the glory of it. \u201cIt is a truly royal\nvirtue for a prince to deliver his people _from other_ men\u2019s anger, and\nnot to oppress them _with his_ own.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nObvious typographical errors have been corrected silently. Other\nvariations in hyphenation, spelling and punctuation remain unchanged.","title":"Seneca's Morals of a Happy Life, Benefits, Anger and Clemency","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":112763}