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L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ON BENEFITS
By Seneca
Edited by Aubrey Stewart
PREFACE
Seneca, the favourite classic of the early fathers of the church and
of the Middle Ages, whom Jerome, Tertullian, and Augustine speak of as
"Seneca noster," who was believed to have corresponded with St. Paul,
and upon whom [Footnote: On the "De Clementia," an odd subject for the
man who burned Servetus alive for differing with him.] Calvin wrote a
commentary, seems almost forgotten in modern times. Perhaps some of his
popularity may have been due to his being supposed to be the author
of those tragedies which the world has long ceased to read, but which
delighted a period that preferred Euripides to Aeschylus: while casuists
must have found congenial matter in an author whose fantastic cases of
conscience are often worthy of Sanchez or Escobar. Yet Seneca's morality
is always pure, and from him we gain, albeit at second hand, an
insight into the doctrines of the Greek philosophers, Zeno, Epicurus,
Chrysippus, &c., whose precepts and system of religious thought had in
cultivated Roman society taken the place of the old worship of Jupiter
and Quirinus.
Since Lodge's edition (fol. 1614), no complete translation of Seneca has
been published in England, though Sir Roger L'Estrange wrote paraphrases
of several Dialogues, which seem to have been enormously popular,
running through more than sixteen editions. I think we may conjecture
that Shakespeare had seen Lodge's translation, from several allusions to
philosophy, to that impossible conception "the wise man," and especially
from a passage in "All's Well that ends Well," which seems to breathe
the very spirit of "De Beneficiis."
"'Tis pity--
That wishing well had not a body in it
Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends
And show what we alone must think; which never
Returns us thanks."
"All's Well that ends Well," Act i. sc. 1.
Though, if this will not fit the supposed date of that play, he may
have taken the idea from "The Woorke of Lucius Annaeus Seneca concerning
Benefyting, that is too say, the dooing, receyving, and requyting of
good turnes, translated out of Latin by A. Golding. J. Day, London,
1578." And even during the Restoration, Pepys's ideal of virtuous and
lettered seclusion is a country house in whose garden he might sit on
summer afternoons with his friend, Sir W. Coventry, "it maybe, to read a
chapter of Seneca." In sharp contrast to this is Vahlen's preface to the
minor Dialogues, which he edited after the death of his friend Koch, who
had begun that work, in which he remarks that "he has read much of this
writer, in order to perfect his knowledge of Latin, for otherwise he
neither admires his artificial subtleties of thought, nor his childish
mannerisms of style" (Vahlen, preface, p. v., ed. 1879, Jena).
Yet by the student of the history of Rome under the Caesars, Seneca is
not to be neglected, because, whatever may be thought of the intrinsic
merit of his speculations, he represents, more perhaps even than
Tacitus, the intellectual characteristics of his age, and the tone of
society in Rome--nor could we well spare the gossiping stories which we
find imbedded in his graver dissertations. The following extract from
Dean Merivale's "History of the Romans under the Empire" will show the
estimate of him which has been formed by that accomplished writer:--
"At Rome, we, have no reason, to suppose that Christianity was only the
refuge of the afflicted and miserable; rather, if we may lay any stress
on the documents above referred to, it was first embraced by persons in
a certain grade of comfort and respectability; by persons approaching
to what we should call the MIDDLE CLASSES in their condition, their
education, and their moral views. Of this class Seneca himself was the
idol, the oracle; he was, so to speak, the favourite preacher of the
more intelligent and humane disciples of nature and virtue. Now the
writings of Seneca show, in their way, a real anxiety among this class
to raise the moral tone of mankind around them; a spirit of reform, a
zeal for the conversion of souls, which, though it never rose, indeed,
under the teaching of the philosophers, to boiling heat, still simmered
with genial warmth on the surface of society. Far different as was their
social standing-point, far different as were the foundations and the
presumed sanctions of their teaching respectively, Seneca and St.
Paul were both moral reformers; both, be it said with reverence, were
fellow-workers in the cause of humanity, though the Christian could
look beyond the proximate aims of morality and prepare men for a final
development on which the Stoic could not venture to gaze. Hence there
is so much in their principles, so much even in their language, which
agrees together, so that the one has been thought, though it must be
allowed without adequate reason, to have borrowed directly from the
other. [Footnote: It is hardly necessary to refer to the pretended
letters between St. Paul and Seneca. Besides the evidence from style,
some of the dates they contain are quite sufficient to condemn them as
clumsy forgeries. They are mentioned, but with no expression of belief
in their genuineness, by Jerome and Augustine. See Jones, "On the
Canon," ii. 80.]
"But the philosopher, be it remembered, discoursed to a large and not
inattentive audience, and surely the soil was not all unfruitful on
which his seed was scattered when he proclaimed that God dwells not
in temples of wood and stone, nor wants the ministrations of human
hands;[Footnote: Sen., Ep. 95, and in Lactantius, Inst. vi.] that He has
no delight in the blood of victims:[Footnote: Ep. 116: "Colitur Deus
non tauris sed pia et recta voluntate."] that He is near to all His
creatures:[Footnote: Ep. 41, 73.] that His Spirit resides in men's
hearts:[Footnote: Ep. 46: "Sacer intra nos spiritus sedet."] that
all men are truly His offspring:[Footnote: "De Prov," i.] that we are
members of one body, which is God or Nature;[Footnote: Ep. 93, 95:
"Membra sumus magni corporis."] that men must believe in God before
they can approach Him:[Footnote: Ep. 95: "Primus Deorum cultus est
Deos credere."] that the true service of God is to be like unto
Him:[Footnote: Ep. 95: "Satis coluit quisquis imitatus est."] that all
men have sinned, and none performed all the works of the law:[Footnote:
Sen. de Ira. i. 14; ii. 27: "Quis est iste qui se profitetur omnibus
legibus innocentem?"] that God is no respecter of nations, ranks, or
conditions, but all, barbarian and Roman, bond and free, are alike under
His all-seeing Providence.[Footnote: "De Benef.," iii. 18: "Virtus omnes
admittit, libertinos, servos, reges." These and many other passages
are collected by Champagny, ii. 546, after Fabricius and others, and
compared with well-known texts of Scripture. The version of the Vulgate
shows a great deal of verbal correspondence. M. Troplong remarks, after
De Maistre, that Seneca has written a fine book on Providence, for which
there was not even a name at Rome in the time of Cicero.--"L'Influence
du Christianisme," &c., i., ch. 4.]
"St. Paul enjoined submission and obedience even to the tyranny of
Nero, and Seneca fosters no ideas subversive of political subjection.
Endurance is the paramount virtue of the Stoic. To forms of government
the wise man was wholly indifferent; they were among the
external circumstances above which his spirit soared in serene
self-contemplation. We trace in Seneca no yearning for a restoration
of political freedom, nor does he even point to the senate, after
the manner of the patriots of the day, as a legitimate check to the
autocracy of the despot. The only mode, in his view, of tempering
tyranny is to educate the tyrant himself in virtue. His was the
self-denial of the Christians, but without their anticipated
compensation. It seems impossible to doubt that in his highest flights
of rhetoric--and no man ever recommended the unattainable with a finer
grace--Seneca must have felt that he was labouring to build up a house
without foundations; that his system, as Caius said of his style, was
sand without lime. He was surely not unconscious of the inconsistency of
his own position, as a public man and a minister, with the theories to
which he had wedded himself; and of the impossibility of preserving in
it the purity of his character as a philosopher or a man. He was aware
that in the existing state of society at Rome, wealth was necessary to
men high in station; wealth alone could retain influence, and a poor
minister became at once contemptible. The distributor of the Imperial
favours must have his banquets, his receptions, his slaves and freedmen;
he must possess the means of attracting if not of bribing; he must not
seem too virtuous, too austere, among an evil generation; in order to do
good at all he must swim with the stream, however polluted it might be.
All this inconsistency Seneca must have contemplated without blenching;
and there is something touching in the serenity he preserved amidst the
conflict that must have perpetually raged between his natural sense
and his acquired principles. Both Cicero and Seneca were men of many
weaknesses, and we remark them the more because both were pretenders to
unusual strength of character; but while Cicero lapsed into political
errors, Seneca cannot be absolved of actual crime. Nevertheless, if we
may compare the greatest masters of Roman wisdom together, the Stoic
will appear, I think, the more earnest of the two, the more anxious to
do his duty for its own sake, the more sensible of the claims of mankind
upon him for such precepts of virtuous living as he had to give. In an
age of unbelief and compromise he taught that Truth was positive and
Virtue objective. He conceived, what never entered Cicero's mind, the
idea of improving his fellow-creatures; he had, what Cicero had not, a
heart for conversion to Christianity."
To this eloquent account of Seneca's position and of the tendency of his
writings I have nothing to add. The main particulars of his life,
his Spanish extraction (like that of Lacan and Martial), his father's
treatises on Rhetoric, his mother Helvia, his brothers, his wealth, his
exile in Corsica, his outrageous flattery of Claudius and his satiric
poem on his death--"The Vision of Judgment," Merivale calls it, after
Lord Byron--his position as Nero's tutor, and his death, worthy at once
of a Roman and a Stoic, by the orders of that tyrant, may be read of in
"The History of the Romans under the Empire," or in the article "Seneca"
in the "Dictionary of Classical Biography," and need not be reproduced
here: but I cannot resist pointing out how entirely Grote's view of the
"Sophists" as a sort of established clergy, and Seneca's account of the
various sects of philosophers as representing the religious thought of
the time, is illustrated by his anecdote of Julia Augusta, the mother of
Tiberius, better known to English readers as Livia the wife of Augustus,
who in her first agony of grief at the loss of her first husband applied
to his Greek philosopher, Areus, as to a kind of domestic chaplain, for
spiritual consolation. ("Ad Marciam de Consolatione," ch. iv.)
I take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to the Rev. J. E.
B. Mayor, Professor of Latin in the University of Cambridge, for his
kindness in finding time among his many and important literary labours
for reading and correcting the proofs of this work.
The text which I have followed for De Beneficiis is that of Gertz,
Berlin (1876.).
AUBREY STEWART
London, March, 1887.
CONTENTS
BOOK I. The prevalence of ingratitude--How a benefit ought to be
bestowed--The three Graces--Benefits are the chief bond of human
society--What we owe in return for a benefit received--A benefit
consists not of a thing but of the wish to do good--Socrates and
Aeschines--What kinds of benefits should be bestowed, and in what
manner--Alexander and the franchise of Corinth.
BOOK II. Many men give through weakness of character--We ought to give
before our friends ask--Many benefits are spoiled by the manner of
the giver--Marius Nepos and Tiberius--Some benefits should be given
secretly--We must not give what would harm the receiver--Alexander's
gift of a city--Interchange of benefits like a game of ball--From
whom ought one to receive a benefit?--Examples--How to receive
a benefit--Ingratitude caused by self-love, by greed, or by
jealousy--Gratitude and repayment not the same thing--Phidias and the
statue.
BOOK III. Ingratitude--Is it worse to be ungrateful for kindness or
not even to remember it?--Should ingratitude be punished by law?--Can
a slave bestow a benefit?--Can a son bestow a benefit upon his
father?--Examples
BOOK IV. Whether the bestowal of benefits and the return of gratitude
for them are desirable objects in themselves? Does God bestow
benefits?--How to choose the man to be benefited--We ought not to look
for any return--True gratitude--Of keeping one's promise--Philip and the
soldier--Zeno
BOOK V. Of being worsted in a contest of benefits--Socrates and
Archelaus--Whether a man can be grateful to himself, or can bestow
a benefit upon himself--Examples of ingratitude--Dialogue on
ingratitude--Whether one should remind one's friends of what one has
done for them--Caesar and the soldier--Tiberius.
BOOK VI. Whether a benefit can be taken from one by force--Benefits
depend upon thought--We are not grateful for the advantages which we
receive from inanimate Nature, or from dumb animals--In order to lay me
under an obligation you must benefit me intentionally--Cleanthes's story
of the two slaves--Of benefits given in a mercenary spirit--Physicians
and teachers bestow enormous benefits, yet are sufficiently paid by a
moderate fee--Plato and the ferryman--Are we under an obligation to the
sun and moon?--Ought we to wish that evil may befall our benefactors, in
order that we may show our gratitude by helping them?
BOOK VII. The cynic Demetrius--his rules of conduct--Of the truly
wise man--Whether one who has done everything in his power to return
a benefit has returned it--Ought one to return a benefit to a bad
man?--The Pythagorean, and the shoemaker--How one ought to bear with the
ungrateful.
L. A. SENECA
ON BENEFITS.
DEDICATED TO
AEBUTIUS LIBERALIS.
BOOK I.
I.
Among the numerous faults of those who pass their lives recklessly and
without due reflexion, my good friend Liberalis, I should say that there
is hardly any one so hurtful to society as this, that we neither know
how to bestow or how to receive a benefit. It follows from this that
benefits are badly invested, and become bad debts: in these cases it is
too late to complain of their not being returned, for they were thrown
away when we bestowed them. Nor need we wonder that while the greatest
vices are common, none is more common than ingratitude: for this I see
is brought about by various causes. The first of these is, that we do
not choose worthy persons upon whom to bestow our bounty, but although
when we are about to lend money we first make a careful enquiry into
the means and habits of life of our debtor, and avoid sowing seed in a
worn-out or unfruitful soil, yet without any discrimination we scatter
our benefits at random rather than bestow them. It is hard to say
whether it is more dishonourable for the receiver to disown a benefit,
or for the giver to demand a return of it: for a benefit is a loan, the
repayment of which depends merely upon the good feeling of the debtor.
To misuse a benefit like a spendthrift is most shameful, because we
do not need our wealth but only our intention to set us free from the
obligation of it; for a benefit is repaid by being acknowledged. Yet
while they are to blame who do not even show so much gratitude as to
acknowledge their debt, we ourselves are to blame no less. We find many
men ungrateful, yet we make more men so, because at one time we harshly
and reproachfully demand some return for our bounty, at another we are
fickle and regret what we have given, at another we are peevish and
apt to find fault with trifles. By acting thus we destroy all sense of
gratitude, not only after we have given anything, but while we are in
the act of giving it. Who has ever thought it enough to be asked for
anything in an off-hand manner, or to be asked only once? Who, when he
suspected that he was going to be asked for any thing, has not frowned,
turned away his face, pretended to be busy, or purposely talked without
ceasing, in order not to give his suitor a chance of preferring his
request, and avoided by various tricks having to help his friend in his
pressing need? and when driven into a corner, has not either put the
matter off, that is, given a cowardly refusal, or promised his help
ungraciously, with a wry face, and with unkind words, of which he seemed
to grudge the utterance. Yet no one is glad to owe what he has not
so much received from his benefactor, as wrung out of him. Who can be
grateful for what has been disdainfully flung to him, or angrily cast
at him, or been given him out of weariness, to avoid further trouble? No
one need expect any return from those whom he has tired out with delays,
or sickened with expectation. A benefit is received in the same temper
in which it is given, and ought not, therefore, to be given carelessly,
for a man thanks himself for that which he receives without the
knowledge of the giver. Neither ought we to give after long delay,
because in all good offices the will of the giver counts for much, and
he who gives tardily must long have been unwilling to give at all. Nor,
assuredly, ought we to give in offensive manner, because human nature is
so constituted that insults sink deeper than kindnesses; the remembrance
of the latter soon passes away, while that of the former is treasured in
the memory; so what can a man expect who insults while he obliges? All
the gratitude which he deserves is to be forgiven for helping us. On
the other hand, the number of the ungrateful ought not to deter us
from earning men's gratitude; for, in the first place, their number is
increased by our own acts. Secondly, the sacrilege and indifference
to religion of some men does not prevent even the immortal gods from
continuing to shower their benefits upon us: for they act according to
their divine nature and help all alike, among them even those who so ill
appreciate their bounty. Let us take them for our guides as far as the
weakness of our mortal nature permits; let us bestow benefits, not put
them out at interest. The man who while he gives thinks of what he will
get in return, deserves to be deceived. But what if the benefit turns
out ill? Why, our wives and our children often disappoint our hopes,
yet we marry--and bring up children, and are so obstinate in the face of
experience that we fight after we have been beaten, and put to sea after
we have been shipwrecked. How much more constancy ought we to show in
bestowing benefits! If a man does not bestow benefits because he has
not received any, he must have bestowed them in order to receive them
in return, and he justifies ingratitude, whose disgrace lies in not
returning benefits when able to do so. How many are there who are
unworthy of the light of day? and nevertheless the sun rises. How many
complain because they have been born? yet Nature is ever renewing our
race, and even suffers men to live who wish that they had never lived.
It is the property of a great and good mind to covet, not the fruit of
good deeds, but good deeds themselves, and to seek for a good man even
after having met with bad men. If there were no rogues, what glory would
there be in doing good to many? As it is, virtue consists in bestowing
benefits for which we are not certain of meeting with any return, but
whose fruit is at once enjoyed by noble minds. So little influence ought
this to have in restraining us from doing good actions, that even though
I were denied the hope of meeting with a grateful man, yet the fear of
not having my benefits returned would not prevent my bestowing them,
because he who does not give, forestalls the vice of him who is
ungrateful. I will explain what I mean. He who does not repay a benefit,
sins more, but he who does not bestow one, sins earlier.
"If thou at random dost thy bounties waste,
Much must be lost, for one that's rightly placed."
II. In the former verse you may blame two things, for one should not
cast them at random, and it is not right to waste anything, much less
benefits; for unless they be given with judgement, they cease to be
benefits, and, may be called by any other name you please. The meaning
of the latter verse is admirable, that one benefit rightly bestowed
makes amends for the loss of many that have been lost. See, I pray you,
whether it be not truer and more worthy of the glory of the giver, that
we should encourage him to give, even though none of his gifts should
be worthily placed. "Much must be lost." Nothing is lost because he
who loses had counted the cost before. The book-keeping of benefits
is simple: it is all expenditure; if any one returns it, that is clear
gain; if he does not return it, it is not lost, I gave it for the sake
of giving. No one writes down his gifts in a ledger, or like a grasping
creditor demands repayment to the day and hour. A good man never thinks
of such matters, unless reminded of them by some one returning his
gifts; otherwise they become like debts owing to him. It is a base usury
to regard a benefit as an investment. Whatever may have been the result
of your former benefits, persevere in bestowing others upon other men;
they will be all the better placed in the hands of the ungrateful, whom
shame, or a favourable opportunity, or imitation of others may some day
cause to be grateful. Do not grow weary, perform your duty, and act
as becomes a good man. Help one man with money, another with credit,
another with your favour; this man with good advice, that one with
sound maxims. Even wild beasts feel kindness, nor is there any animal
so savage that good treatment will not tame it and win love from it. The
mouths of lions are handled by their keepers with impunity; to obtain
their food fierce elephants become as docile as slaves: so that constant
unceasing kindness wins the hearts even of creatures who, by their
nature, cannot comprehend or weigh the value of a benefit. Is a man
ungrateful for one benefit? perhaps he will not be so after receiving
a second. Has he forgotten two kindnesses? perhaps by a third he may be
brought to remember the former ones also.
III. He who is quick to believe that he has thrown away his benefits,
does really throw them away; but he who presses on and adds new benefits
to his former ones, forces out gratitude even from a hard and forgetful
breast. In the face of many kindnesses, your friend will not dare to
raise his eyes; let him see you whithersoever he turns himself to escape
from his remembrance of you; encircle him with your benefits. As for the
power and property of these, I will explain it to you if first you will
allow me to glance at a matter which does not belong to our subject, as
to why the Graces are three in number, why they are sisters, why hand in
hand, and why they are smiling and young, with a loose and transparent
dress. Some writers think that there is one who bestows a benefit,
one who receives it, and a third who returns it; others say that they
represent the three sorts of benefactors, those who bestow, those who
repay, and those who both receive and repay them. But take whichever
you please to be true; what will this knowledge profit us? What is the
meaning of this dance of sisters in a circle, hand in hand? It means
that the course of a benefit is from hand to hand, back to the giver;
that the beauty of the whole chain is lost if a single link fails, and
that it is fairest when it proceeds in unbroken regular order. In the
dance there is one, esteemed beyond the others, who represents the
givers of benefits. Their faces are cheerful, as those of men who give
or receive benefits are wont to be. They are young, because the memory
of benefits ought not to grow old. They are virgins, because benefits
are pure and untainted, and held holy by all; in benefits there should
be no strict or binding conditions, therefore the Graces wear loose
flowing tunics, which are transparent, because benefits love to be seen.
People who are not under the influence of Greek literature may say that
all this is a matter of course; but there can be no one who would think
that the names which Hesiod has given them bear upon our subject. He
named the eldest Aglaia, the middle one Euphrosyne, the third Thalia.
Every one, according to his own ideas, twists the meaning of these
names, trying to reconcile them with some system, though Hesiod merely
gave his maidens their names from his own fancy. So Homer altered
the name of one of them, naming her Pasithea, and betrothed her to a
husband, in order that you may know that they are not vestal virgins.
[Footnote: i.e. not vowed to chastity.]
I could find another poet, in whose writings they are girded, and wear
thick or embroidered Phrygian robes. Mercury stands with them for the
same reason, not because argument or eloquence commends benefits,
but because the painter chose to do so. Also Chrysippus, that man of
piercing intellect who saw to the very bottom of truth, who speaks
only to the point, and makes use of no more words than are necessary to
express his meaning, fills his whole treatise with these puerilities,
insomuch that he says but very little about the duties of giving,
receiving, and returning a benefit, and has not so much inserted fables
among these subjects, as he has inserted these subjects among a mass of
fables. For, not to mention what Hecaton borrows from him, Chrysippus
tells us that the three Graces are the daughters of Jupiter and
Eurynome, that they are younger than the Hours, and rather more
beautiful, and that on that account they are assigned as companions
to Venus. He also thinks that the name of their mother bears upon the
subject, and that she is named Eurynome because to distribute benefits
requires a wide inheritance; as if the mother usually received her name
after her daughters, or as if the names given by poets were true. In
truth, just as with a 'nomenclator' audacity supplies the place of
memory, and he invents a name for every one whose name he cannot
recollect, so the poets think that it is of no importance to speak the
truth, but are either forced by the exigencies of metre, or attracted by
sweetness of sound, into calling every one by whatever name runs neatly
into verse. Nor do they suffer for it if they introduce another name
into the list, for the next poet makes them bear what name he pleases.
That you may know that this is so, for instance Thalia, our present
subject of discourse, is one of the Graces in Hesiod's poems, while in
those of Homer she is one of the Muses.
IV. But lest I should do the very thing which I am blaming, I will pass
over all these matters, which are so far from the subject that they are
not even connected with it. Only do you protect me, if any one attacks
me for putting down Chrysippus, who, by Hercules, was a great man, but
yet a Greek, whose intellect, too sharply pointed, is often bent and
turned back upon itself; even when it seems to be in earnest it only
pricks, but does not pierce. Here, however, what occasion is there for
subtlety? We are to speak of benefits, and to define a matter which is
the chief bond of human society; we are to lay down a rule of life, such
that neither careless openhandedness may commend itself to us under the
guise of goodness of heart, and yet that our circumspection, while it
moderates, may not quench our generosity, a quality in which we ought
neither to exceed nor to fall short. Men must be taught to be willing
to give, willing to receive, willing to return; and to place before
themselves the high aim, not merely of equalling, but even of surpassing
those to whom they are indebted, both in good offices and in good
feeling; because the man whose duty it is to repay, can never do so
unless he out-does his benefactor; [Footnote: That is, he never comes up
to his benefactor unless he leaves him behind: he can only make a dead
heat of it by getting a start.] the one class must be taught to look
for no return, the other to feel deeper gratitude. In this noblest of
contests to outdo benefits by benefits, Chrysippus encourages us by
bidding us beware lest, as the Graces are the daughters of Jupiter, to
act ungratefully may not be a sin against them, and may not wrong those
beauteous maidens. Do thou teach me how I may bestow more good things,
and be more grateful to those who have earned my gratitude, and how the
minds of both parties may vie with one another, the giver in forgetting,
the receiver in remembering his debt. As for those other follies, let
them be left to the poets, whose purpose is merely to charm the ear and
to weave a pleasing story; but let those who wish to purify men's
minds, to retain honour in their dealings, and to imprint on their minds
gratitude for kindnesses, let them speak in sober earnest and act with
all their strength; unless you imagine, perchance, that by such flippant
and mythical talk, and such old wives' reasoning, it is possible for us
to prevent that most ruinous consummation, the repudiation of benefits.
V. However, while I pass over what is futile and irrelevant I must
point out that the first thing which we have to learn is, what we owe in
return for a benefit received. One man says that he owes the money which
he has received, another that he owes a consulship, a priesthood,
a province, and so on. These, however, are but the outward signs of
kindnesses, not the kindnesses themselves. A benefit is not to be felt
and handled, it is a thing which exists only in the mind. There is
a great difference between the subject-matter of a benefit, and the
benefit itself. Wherefore neither gold, nor silver, nor any of those
things which are most highly esteemed, are benefits, but the benefit
lies in the goodwill of him who gives them. The ignorant take notice
only of that which comes before their eyes, and which can be owned and
passed from hand to hand, while they disregard that which gives these
things their value. The things which we hold in our hands, which we see
with our eyes, and which our avarice hugs, are transitory, they may
be taken from us by ill luck or by violence; but a kindness lasts even
after the loss of that by means of which it was bestowed; for it is
a good deed, which no violence can undo. For instance, suppose that I
ransomed a friend from pirates, but another pirate has caught him and
thrown him into prison. The pirate has not robbed him of my benefit, but
has only robbed him of the enjoyment of it. Or suppose that I have saved
a man's children from a shipwreck or a fire, and that afterwards disease
or accident has carried them off; even when they are no more, the
kindness which was done by means of them remains. All those things,
therefore, which improperly assume the name of benefits, are means by
which kindly feeling manifests itself. In other cases also, we find a
distinction between the visible symbol and the matter itself, as when a
general bestows collars of gold, or civic or mural crowns upon any one.
What value has the crown in itself? or the purple-bordered robe? or the
fasces? or the judgment-seat and car of triumph? None of these things
is in itself an honour, but is an emblem of honour. In like manner,
that which is seen is not a benefit--it is but the trace and mark of a
benefit.
VI. What, then, is a benefit? It is the art of doing a kindness which
both bestows pleasure and gains it by bestowing it, and which does its
office by natural and spontaneous impulse. It is not, therefore, the
thing which is done or given, but the spirit in which it is done or
given, that must be considered, because a benefit exists, not in that
which is done or given, but in the mind of the doer or giver. How great
the distinction between them is, you may perceive from this, that
while a benefit is necessarily good, yet that which is done or given is
neither good nor bad. The spirit in which they are given can exalt small
things, can glorify mean ones, and can discredit great and precious
ones; the objects themselves which are sought after have a neutral
nature, neither good nor bad; all depends upon the direction given them
by the guiding spirit from which things receive their shape. That which
is paid or handed over is not the benefit itself, just as the honour
which we pay to the gods lies not in the victims themselves, although
they be fat and glittering with gold, [Footnote: Alluding to the
practice of gilding the horns of the victims.] but in the pure and holy
feelings of the worshippers.
Thus good men are religious, though their offering be meal and their
vessels of earthenware; whilst bad men will not escape from their
impiety, though they pour the blood of many victims upon the altars.
VII. If benefits consisted of things, and not of the wish to benefit,
then the more things we received the greater the benefit would be. But
this is not true, for sometimes we feel more gratitude to one who gives
us trifles nobly, who, like Virgil's poor old soldier, "holds himself as
rich as kings," if he has given us ever so little with a good will a man
who forgets his own need when he sees mine, who has not only a wish but
a longing to help, who thinks that he receives a benefit when he
bestows one, who gives as though he would receive no return, receives a
repayment as though he had originally given nothing, and who watches for
and seizes an opportunity of being useful. On the other hand, as I said
before, those gifts which are hardly wrung from the giver, or which drop
unheeded from his hands, claim no gratitude from us, however great they
may appear and may be. We prize much more what comes from a willing
hand, than what comes from a full one. This man has given me but little,
yet more he could not afford, while what that one has given is much
indeed, but he hesitated, he put it off, he grumbled when he gave it,
he gave it haughtily, or he proclaimed it aloud, and did it to please
others, not to please the person to whom he gave it; he offered it to
his own pride, not to me.
VIII. As the pupils of Socrates, each in proportion to his means, gave
him large presents, Aeschines, a poor pupil, said, "I can find nothing
to give you which is worthy of you; I feel my poverty in this respect
alone. Therefore I present you with the only thing I possess, myself. I
pray that you may take this my present, such as it is, in good part, and
may remember that the others, although they gave you much, yet left for
themselves more than they gave." Socrates answered, "Surely you have
bestowed a great present upon me, unless perchance you set a small value
upon yourself. I will accordingly take pains to restore you to yourself
a better man than when I received you." By this present Aeschines outdid
Alcibiades, whose mind was as great as his Wealth, and all the splendour
of the most wealthy youths of Athens.
IX. You see how the mind even in the straitest circumstances finds the
means of generosity. Aeschines seems to me to have said, "Fortune, it
is in vain that you have made me poor; in spite of this I will find a
worthy present for this man. Since I can give him nothing of yours, I
will give him something of my own." Nor need you suppose that he held
himself cheap; he made himself his own price. By a stroke of genius this
youth discovered a means of presenting Socrates to himself. We must not
consider how great presents are, but in what spirit they are given.
A rich man is well spoken of if he is clever enough to render himself
easy of access to men of immoderate ambition, and although he intends to
do nothing to help them, yet encourages their unconscionable hopes; but
he is thought the worse of if he be sharp of tongue, sour in appearance,
and displays his wealth in an invidious fashion. For men respect and
yet loathe a fortunate man, and hate him for doing what, if they had the
chance, they would do themselves.
* * * * * * *
Men nowadays no longer secretly, but openly outrage the wives of others,
and allow to others access to their own wives. A match is thought
countrified, uncivilized, in bad style, and to be protested against by
all matrons, if the husband should forbid his wife to appear in
public in a litter, and to be carried about exposed to the gaze of all
observers. If a man has not made himself notorious by a LIAISON with
some mistress, if he does not pay an annuity to some one else's wife,
married women speak of him as a poor-spirited creature, a man given
to low vice, a lover of servant girls. Soon adultery becomes the most
respectable form of marriage, and widowhood and celibacy are commonly
practised. No one takes a wife unless he takes her away from some one
else. Now men vie with one another in wasting what they have stolen, and
in collecting together what they have wasted with the keenest avarice;
they become utterly reckless, scorn poverty in others, fear personal
injury more than anything else, break the peace by their riots, and by
violence and terror domineer over those who are weaker than themselves.
No wonder that they plunder provinces and offer the seat of judgment for
sale, knocking it down after an auction to the highest bidder, since it
is the law of nations that you may sell what you have bought.
X. However, my enthusiasm has carried me further than I intended, the
subject being an inviting one. Let me, then, end by pointing out that
the disgrace of these crimes does not belong especially to our own time.
Our ancestors before us have lamented, and our children after us will
lament, as we do, the ruin, of morality, the prevalence of vice, and
the gradual deterioration of mankind; yet these things are really
stationary, only moved slightly to and fro like the waves which at
one time a rising tide washes further over the land, and at another an
ebbing one restrains within a lower water mark. At one time the chief
vice will be adultery, and licentiousness will exceed all bounds; at
another time a rage for feasting will be in vogue, and men will waste
their inheritance in the most shameful of all ways, by the kitchen; at
another, excessive care for the body, and a devotion to personal beauty
which implies ugliness of mind; at another time, injudiciously granted
liberty will show itself in wanton recklessness and defiance of
authority; sometimes there will be a reign of cruelty both in public
and private, and the madness of the civil wars will come upon us, which
destroy all that is holy and inviolable. Sometimes even drunkenness will
be held in honour, and it will be a virtue to swallow most wine. Vices
do not lie in wait for us in one place alone, but hover around us in
changeful forms, sometimes even at variance one with another, so that
in turn they win and lose the field; yet we shall always be obliged to
pronounce the same verdict upon ourselves, that we are and always were
evil, and, I unwillingly add, that we always shall be. There always will
be homicides, tyrants, thieves, adulterers, ravishers, sacrilegious,
traitors: worse than all these is the ungrateful man, except we consider
that all these crimes flow from ingratitude, without which hardly any
great wickedness has ever grown to full stature. Be sure that you guard
against this as the greatest of crimes in yourself, but pardon it as the
least of crimes in another. For all the injury which you suffer is this:
you have lost the subject-matter of a benefit, not the benefit itself,
for you possess unimpaired the best part of it, in that you have given
it. Though we ought to be careful to bestow our benefits by preference
upon those who are likely to show us gratitude for them, yet we must
sometimes do what we have little hope will turn out well, and bestow
benefits upon those who we not only think will prove ungrateful, but who
we know have been so. For instance, if I should be able to save a
man's children from a great danger with no risk to myself, I should not
hesitate to do so. If a man be worthy I would defend him even with my
blood, and would share his perils; if he be unworthy, and yet by
merely crying for help I can rescue him from robbers, I would without
reluctance raise the shout which would save a fellow-creature.
XI. The next point to be defined is, what kind of benefits are to be
given, and in what manner. First let us give what is necessary, next
what is useful, and then what is pleasant, provided that they be
lasting. We must begin with what is necessary, for those things which
support life affect the mind very differently from, those which adorn
and improve it. A man may be nice, and hard to please, in things which
he can easily do without, of which he can say, "Take them back; I do not
want them, I am satisfied with what I have." Sometimes, we wish not
only to, return what we have received, but even to throw it away. Of
necessary things, the first class consists of things without which we
cannot live; the second, of things without which we ought not to live;
and the third, of things without which we should not care to live. The
first class are, to be saved from the hands of the enemy, from the anger
of tyrants, from proscription, and the various other perils which
beset human life. By averting any one of these, we shall earn gratitude
proportionate to the greatness of the danger, for when men think of
the greatness of the misery from which they have been saved, the terror
which they have gone through enhances the value of our services. Yet we
ought not to delay rescuing any one longer than we are obliged, solely
in order to make his fears add weight to our services. Next come those
things without which we can indeed live, but in such a manner that it
would be better to die, such as liberty, chastity, or a good conscience.
After these are what we have come to hold dear by connexion and
relationship and long use and custom, such as our wives and children,
our household gods, and so on, to which the mind so firmly attaches
itself that separation from them seems worse than death.
After these come useful things, which form a very wide and varied
class; in which will be money, not in excess, but enough for living in
a moderate style; public office, and, for the ambitious, due advancement
to higher posts; for nothing can be more useful to a man than to be
placed in a position in which he can benefit himself. All benefits
beyond these are superfluous, and are likely to spoil those who receive
them. In giving these we must be careful to make them acceptable by
giving them at the appropriate time, or by giving things which are not
common, but such as few people possess, or at any rate few possess in
our times; or again, by giving things in such a manner, that though not
naturally valuable, they become so by the time and place at which they
are given. We must reflect what present will produce the most pleasure,
what will most frequently come under the notice of the possessor of it,
so that whenever he is with it he may be with us also; and in all cases
we must be careful not to send useless presents, such as hunting weapons
to a woman or old man, or books to a rustic, or nets to catch wild
animals to a quiet literary man. On the other hand, we ought to be
careful, while we wish to send what will please, that we do not send
what will insultingly remind our friends of their failings, as, for
example, if we send wine to a hard drinker or drugs to an invalid, for a
present which contains an allusion to the shortcomings of the receiver,
becomes an outrage.
XII. If we have a free choice as to what to give, we should above all
choose lasting presents, in order that our gift may endure as long
as possible; for few are so grateful as to think of what they have
received, even when they do not see it. Even the ungrateful remember
us by our gifts, when they are always in their sight and do not allow
themselves to be forgotten, but constantly obtrude and stamp upon the
mind the memory of the giver. As we never ought to remind men of what we
have given them, we ought all the more to choose presents that will be
permanent; for the things themselves will prevent the remembrance of the
giver from fading away. I would more willingly give a present of plate
than of coined money, and would more willingly give statues than clothes
or other things which are soon worn out. Few remain grateful after the
present is gone: many more remember their presents only while they make
use of them. If possible, I should like my present not to be consumed;
let it remain in existence, let it stick to my friend and share his
life. No one is so foolish as to need to be told not to send gladiators
or wild beasts to one who has just given a public show, or not to send
summer clothing in winter time, or winter clothing in summer. Common
sense must guide our benefits; we must consider the time and the place,
and the character of the receiver, which are the weights in the
scale, which cause our gifts to be well or ill received. How far more
acceptable a present is, if we give a man what he has not, than if we
give him what he has plenty of! if we give him what he has long been
searching for in vain, rather than what he sees everywhere! Let us make
presents of things which are rare and scarce rather than costly, things
which even a rich man will be glad of, just as common fruits, such as
we tire of after a few days, please us if they have ripened before the
usual season. People will also esteem things which no one else has given
to them, or which we have given to no one else.
XIII. When the conquest of the East had flattered Alexander of Macedon
into believing himself to be more than man, the people of Corinth sent
an embassy to congratulate him, and presented him with the franchise of
their city. When Alexander smiled at this form of courtesy, one of
the ambassadors said, "We have never enrolled any stranger among our
citizens except Hercules and yourself." Alexander willingly accepted the
proffered honour, invited the ambassadors to his table, and showed them
other courtesies. He did not think of who offered the citizenship, but
to whom they had granted it; and being altogether the slave of glory,
though he knew neither its true nature or its limits, had followed in
the footsteps of Hercules and Bacchus, and had not even stayed his march
where they ceased; so that he glanced aside from the givers of this
honour to him with whom he shared it, and fancied that the heaven to
which his vanity aspired was indeed opening before him when he was made
equal to Hercules. In what indeed did that frantic youth, whose only
merit was his lucky audacity, resemble Hercules? Hercules conquered
nothing for himself; he travelled throughout the world, not coveting for
himself but liberating the countries which he conquered, an enemy to bad
men, a defender of the good, a peacemaker both by sea and land; whereas
the other was from his boyhood a brigand and desolator of nations, a
pest to his friends and enemies alike, whose greatest joy was to be the
terror of all mankind, forgetting that men fear not only the fiercest
but also the most cowardly animals, because of their evil and venomous
nature.
XIV. Let us now return to our subject. He who bestows a benefit without
discrimination, gives what pleases no one; no one considers himself to
be under any obligation to the landlord of a tavern, or to be the guest
of any one with whom he dines in such company as to be able to say,
"What civility has he shown to me? no more than he has shown to that
man, whom he scarcely knows, or to that other, who is both his personal
enemy and a man of infamous character. Do you suppose that he wished to
do me any honour? not so, he merely wished to indulge his own vice of
profusion." If you wish men to be grateful for anything, give it but
seldom; no one can bear to receive what you give to all the world.
Yet let no one gather from this that I wish to impose any bonds upon
generosity; let her go to what lengths she will, so that she go a steady
course, not at random. It is possible to bestow gifts in such a manner
that each of those who receive them, although he shares them with many
others, may yet feel himself to be distinguished from the common herd.
Let each man have some peculiarity about his gift which may make him
consider himself more highly favoured than the rest. He may say, "I
received the same present that he did, but I never asked for it." "I
received the same present, but mine was given me after a few days,
whereas he had earned it by long service." "Others have the same
present, but it was not given to them with the same courtesy and
gracious words with which it was given to me." "That man got it because
he asked for it; I did not ask." "That man received it as well as I, but
then he could easily return it; one has great expectations from a rich
man, old and childless, as he is; whereas in giving the same present to
me he really gave more, because he gave it without the hope of receiving
any return for it." Just as a courtesan divides her favours among
many men, so that no one of her friends is without some proof of her
affection, so let him who wishes his benefits to be prized consider how
he may at the same time gratify many men, and nevertheless give each one
of them some especial mark of favour to distinguish him from the rest.
XV. I am no advocate of slackness in giving benefits: the more and the
greater they are, the more praise they will bring to the giver. Yet
let them be given with discretion; for what is given carelessly and
recklessly can please no one. Whoever, therefore, supposes that in
giving this advice I wish to restrict benevolence and to confine it to
narrower limits, entirely mistakes the object of my warning. What virtue
do we admire more than benevolence? Which do we encourage more? Who
ought to applaud it more than we Stoics, who preach the brotherhood of
the human race? What then is it? Since no impulse of the human mind can
be approved of, even though it springs from a right feeling, unless it
be made into a virtue by discretion, I forbid generosity to degenerate
into extravagance. It is, indeed, pleasant to receive a benefit with
open arms, when reason bestows it upon the worthy, not when it is flung
hither or thither thoughtlessly and at random; this alone we care to
display and claim as our own. Can you call anything a benefit, if
you feel ashamed to mention the person who gave it you? How far more
grateful is a benefit, how far more deeply does it impress itself upon
the mind, never to be forgotten, when we rejoice to think not so much of
what it is, as from whom we have received it! Crispus Passienus was wont
to say that some men's advice was to be preferred to their presents,
some men's presents to their advice; and he added as an example, "I
would rather have received advice from Augustus than a present; I would
rather receive a present from Claudius than advice." I, however, think
that one ought not to wish for a benefit from any man whose judgement
is worthless. What then? Ought we not to receive what Claudius gives? We
ought; but we ought to regard it as obtained from fortune, which may at
any moment turn against us. Why do we separate this which naturally is
connected? That is not a benefit, to which the best part of a benefit,
that it be bestowed with judgment, is wanting: a really great sum of
money, if it be given neither with discernment nor with good will, is
no more a benefit than if it remained hoarded. There are, however,
many things which we ought not to reject, yet for which we cannot feel
indebted.