I.
Let us consider, most excellent Liberalis, what still remains of the
earlier part of the subject; in what way a benefit should be bestowed. I
think that I can point out the shortest way to this; let us give in the
way in which we ourselves should like to receive. Above all we should
give willingly, quickly, and without any hesitation; a benefit commands
no gratitude if it has hung for a long time in the hands of the giver,
if he seems unwilling to part with it, and gives it as though he were
being robbed of it. Even though some delay should intervene, let us
by all means in our power strive not to seem to have been in two minds
about giving it at all. To hesitate is the next thing to refusing to
give, and destroys all claim to gratitude. For just as the sweetest part
of a benefit is the kindly feeling of the giver, it follows that one who
has by his very delay proved that he gives unwillingly, must be regarded
not as having given anything, but as having been unable to keep it from
an importunate suitor. Indeed, many men are made generous by want of
firmness. The most acceptable benefits are those which are waiting for
us to take them, which are easy to be received, and offer themselves to
us, so that the only delay is caused by the modesty of the receiver.
The best thing of all is to anticipate a person's wishes; the next, to
follow them; the former is the better course, to be beforehand with our
friends by giving them what they want before they ask us for it, for the
value of a gift is much enhanced by sparing an honest man the misery of
asking for it with confusion and blushes. He who gets what he asked
for does not get it for nothing, for indeed, as our austere ancestors
thought, nothing is so dear as that which is bought by prayers. Men
would be much more modest in their petitions to heaven, if these had to
be made publicly; so that even when addressing the gods, before whom
we can with all honour bend our knees, we prefer to pray silently and
within ourselves.
II. It is unpleasant, burdensome, and covers one with shame to have to
say, "Give me." You should spare your friends, and those whom you wish
to make your friends, from having to do this; however quick he may be,
a man gives too late who gives what he has been asked for. We ought,
therefore, to divine every man's wishes, and when we have discovered
them, to set him free from the hard necessity of asking; you may be sure
that a benefit which comes unasked will be delightful and will not be
forgotten. If we do not succeed in anticipating our friends, let us at
any rate cut them short when they ask us for anything, so that we may
appear to be reminded of what we meant to do, rather than to have been
asked to do it. Let us assent at once, and by our promptness make it
appear that we meant to do so even before we were solicited. As in
dealing with sick persons much depends upon when food is given, and
plain water given at the right moment sometimes acts as a remedy, so
a benefit, however slight and commonplace it may be, if it be promptly
given without losing a moment of time, gains enormously in importance,
and wins our gratitude more than a far more valuable present given after
long waiting and deliberation. One who gives so readily must needs give
with good will; he therefore gives cheerfully and shows his disposition
in his countenance.
III. Many who bestow immense benefits spoil them by their silence or
slowness of speech, which gives them an air of moroseness, as they say
"yes" with a face which seems to say "no." How much better is it to join
kind words to kind actions, and to enhance the value of our gifts by a
civil and gracious commendation of them! To cure your friend of being
slow to ask a favour of you, you may join to your gift the familiar
rebuke, "I am angry with you for not having long ago let me know what
you wanted, for having asked for it so formally, or for having made
interest with a third party." "I congratulate myself that you have been
pleased to make trial of me; hereafter, if you want anything, ask for it
as your right; however, for this time I pardon your want of manners."
By so doing you will cause him to value your friendship more highly
than that, whatever it may have been, which he came to ask of you. The
goodness and kindness of a benefactor never appears so great as when on
leaving him one says, "I have to-day gained much; I am more pleased at
finding him so kind than if I had obtained many times more of this, of
which I was speaking, by some other means; I never can make any adequate
return to this man for his goodness."
IV. Many, however, there are who, by harsh words and contemptuous
manner, make their very kindnesses odious, for by speaking and acting
disdainfully they make us sorry that they have granted our requests.
Various delays also take place after we have obtained a promise; and
nothing is more heartbreaking than to be forced to beg for the very
thing which you already have been promised. Benefits ought to be
bestowed at once, but from some persons it is easier to obtain the
promise of them than to get them. One man has to be asked to remind our
benefactor of his purpose; another, to bring it into effect; and thus a
single present is worn away in passing through many hands, until hardly
any gratitude is left for the original promiser, since whoever we are
forced to solicit after the giving of the promise receives some of the
gratitude which we owe to the giver. Take care, therefore, if you
wish your gifts to be esteemed, that they reach those to whom they are
promised entire, and, as the saying is, without any deduction. Let no
one intercept them or delay them; for no one can take any share of the
gratitude due for your gifts without robbing you of it.
V. Nothing is more bitter than long uncertainty; some can bear to have
their hopes extinguished better than to have them deferred. Yet many
men are led by an unworthy vanity into this fault of putting off the
accomplishment of their promises, merely in order to swell the crowd of
their suitors, like the ministers of royalty, who delight in prolonging
the display of their own arrogance, hardly thinking themselves possessed
of power unless they let each man see for a long time how powerful they
are. They do nothing promptly, or at one sitting; they are indeed swift
to do mischief, but slow to do good. Be sure that the comic poet speaks
the most absolute truth in the verses:--
"Know you not this? If you your gifts delay,
You take thereby my gratitude away."
And the following lines, the expression of virtuous pain--a
high-spirited man's misery,--
"What thou doest, do quickly;"
and:--
"Nothing in the world
Is worth this trouble; I had rather you
Refused it to me now."
When the mind begins through weariness to hate the promised benefit, or
while it is wavering in expectation of it, how can it feel grateful
for it? As the most refined cruelty is that which prolongs the torture,
while to kill the victim at once is a kind of mercy, since the extremity
of torture brings its own end with it--the interval is the worst part of
the execution--so the shorter time a benefit hangs in the balance, the
more grateful it is to the receiver. It is possible to look forward with
anxious disquietude even to good things, and, seeing that most benefits
consist in a release from some form of misery, a man destroys the value
of the benefit which he confers, if he has the power to relieve us,
and yet allows us to suffer or to lack pleasure longer than we need.
Kindness always eager to do good, and one who acts by love naturally
acts at once; he who does us good, but does it tardily and with long
delays, does not do so from the heart. Thus he loses two most important
things: time, and the proof of his good will to us; for a lingering
consent is but a form of denial.
VI. The manner in which things are said or done, my Liberalis, forms a
very important part of every transaction. We gain much by quickness, and
lose much by slowness. Just as in darts, the strength of the iron head
remains the same, but there is an immeasureable difference between the
blow of one hurled with the full swing of the arm and one which merely
drops from the hand, and the same sword either grazes or pierces
according as the blow is delivered; so, in like manner, that which
is given is the same, but the manner in which it is given makes the
difference. How sweet, how precious is a gift, when he who gives does
not permit himself to be thanked, and when while he gives he forgets
that he has given! To reproach a man at the very moment that you are
doing him a service is sheer madness; it is to mix insult with your
favours. We ought not to make our benefits burdensome, or to add any
bitterness to them. Even if there be some subject upon which you wish to
warn your friend, choose some other time for doing so.
VII. Fabius Verrucosus used to compare a benefit bestowed by a harsh man
in an offensive manner to a gritty loaf of bread, which a hungry man is
obliged to receive, but which is painful to eat. When Marius Nepos of
the praetorian guard asked Tiberius Caesar for help to pay his debts,
Tiberius asked him for a list of his creditors; this is calling a
meeting of creditors, not paying debts. When the list was made out,
Tiberius wrote to Nepos telling him that he had ordered the money to be
paid, and adding some offensive reproaches. The result of this was
that Nepos owed no debts, yet received no kindness; Tiberius, indeed,
relieved him from his creditors, but laid him under no obligation.
Tiberius, however, had some design in doing so; I imagine he did not
wish more of his friends to come to him with the same request. His mode
of proceeding was, perhaps, successful in restraining men's extravagant
desires by shame, but he who wishes to confer benefits must follow quite
a different path. In all ways you should make your benefit as acceptable
as possible by presenting it in the most attractive form; but the method
of Tiberius is not to confer benefits, but to reproach.
VIII. Moreover, if incidentally I should say what I think of this part
of the subject, I do not consider that it is becoming even to an emperor
to give merely in order to cover a man with shame. "And yet," we are
told, "Tiberius did not even by this means attain his object; for after
this a good many persons were found to make the same request. He ordered
all of them to explain the reasons of their indebtedness before the
senate, and when they did so, granted them certain definite sums of
money." This is not an act of generosity, but a reprimand. You may call
it a subsidy, or an imperial contribution; it is not a benefit, for
the receiver cannot think of it without shame. I was summoned before a
judge, and had to be tried at bar before I obtained what I asked for.
IX. Accordingly, all writers on ethical philosophy tell us that some
benefits ought to be given in secret, others in public. Those things
which it is glorious to receive, such as military decorations or public
offices, and whatever else gains in value the more widely it is known,
should be conferred in public; on the other hand, when they do not
promote a man or add to his social standing, but help him when in
weakness, in want, or in disgrace, they should be given silently, and so
as to be known only to those who profit by them.
X. Sometimes even the person who is assisted must be deceived, in order
that he may receive our bounty without knowing the source from whence
it flows. It is said that Arcesilaus had a friend who was poor, but
concealed his poverty; who was ill, yet tried to hide his disorder, and
who had not money for the necessary expenses of existence. Without his
knowledge, Arcesilaus placed a bag of money under his pillow, in order
that this victim of false shame might rather seem to find what he wanted
than to receive. "What," say you, "ought he not to know from whom he
received it?" Yes; let him not know it at first, if it be essential to
your kindness that he should not; afterwards I will do so much for him,
and give him so much that he will perceive who was the giver of the
former benefit; or, better still, let him not know that he has received
any thing, provided I know that I have given it. "This," you say, "is to
get too little return for one's goodness." True, if it be an investment
of which you are thinking; but if a gift, it should be given in the way
which will be of most service to the receiver. You should be satisfied
with the approval of your own conscience; if not, you do not really
delight in doing good, but in being seen to do good. "For all that," say
you, "I wish him to know it." Is it a debtor that you seek for? "For
all that, I wish him to know it." What! though it be more useful, more
creditable, more pleasant for him not to know his benefactor, will you
not consent to stand aside? "I wish him to know." So, then, you would
not save a man's life in the dark? I do not deny that, whenever the
matter admits of it, one ought to take into consideration the pleasure
which we receive from the joy of the receiver of our kindness; but if he
ought to have help and is ashamed to receive it--if what we bestow upon
him pains him unless it be concealed--I forbear to make my benefits
public. Why should I not refrain from hinting at my having given him
anything, when the first and most essential rule is, never to reproach
a man with what you have done for him, and not even to remind him of it.
The rule for the giver and receiver of a benefit is, that the one should
straightway forget that he has given, the other should never forget that
he has received it.
XI. A constant reference to one's own services wounds our friend's
feelings. Like the man who was saved from the proscription under
the triumvirate by one of Caesar's friends, and afterwards found it
impossible to endure his preserver's arrogance, they wish to cry, "Give
me back to Caesar." How long will you go on saying, "I saved you, I
snatched you from the jaws of death?" This is indeed life, if I remember
it by my own will, but death if I remember it at yours; I owe you
nothing, if you saved me merely in order to have some one to point at.
How long do you mean to lead me about? how long do you mean to forbid
me to forget my adventure? If I had been a defeated enemy, I should
have been led in triumph but once. We ought not to speak of the benefits
which we have conferred; to remind men of them is to ask them to return
them. We should not obtrude them, or recall the memory of them; you
should only remind a man of what you have given him by giving him
something else. We ought not even to tell others of our good deeds.
He who confers a benefit should be silent, it should be told by the
receiver; for otherwise you may receive the retort which was made to one
who was everywhere boasting of the benefit which he had conferred: "You
will not deny," said his victim, "that you have received a return for
it?" "When?" asked he. "Often," said the other, "and in many places,
that is, wherever and whenever you have told the story." What need is
there for you to speak, and to take the place which belongs to another?
There is a man who can tell the story in a way much more to your credit,
and thus you will gain glory for not telling it your self. You would
think me ungrateful if, through your own silence, no one is to know of
your benefit. So far from doing this, even if any one tells the story in
our presence, we ought to make answer, "He does indeed deserve much more
than this, and I am aware that I have not hitherto done any great things
for him, although I wish to do so." This should not be said jokingly,
nor yet with that air by which some persons repel those whom they
especially wish to attract. In addition to this, we ought to act with
the greatest politeness towards such persons. If the farmer ceases his
labours after he has put in the seed, he will lose what he has sown; it
is only by great pains that seeds are brought to yield a crop; no plant
will bear fruit unless it be tended with equal care from first to last,
and the same rule is true of benefits. Can any benefits be greater than
those which children receive from their parents? Yet these benefits
are useless if they be deserted while young, if the pious care of the
parents does not for a long time watch over the gift which they have
bestowed. So it is with other benefits; unless you help them, you will
lose them; to give is not enough, you must foster what you have given.
If you wish those whom you lay under an obligation to be grateful to
you, you must not merely confer benefits upon them, but you must also
love them. Above all, as I said before, spare their ears; you will weary
them if you remind them of your goodness, if you reproach them with it
you will make them hate you. Pride ought above all things to be avoided
when you confer a benefit. What need have you for disdainful airs,
or swelling phrases? the act itself will exalt you. Let us shun vain
boasting: let us be silent, and let our deeds speak for us. A benefit
conferred with haughtiness not only wins no gratitude, but causes
dislike.
XII. Gaius Caesar granted Pompeius Pennus his life, that is, if not
to take away life be to grant it; then, when Pompeius was set free and
returning thanks to him, he stretched out his left foot to be kissed.
Those who excuse this action, and say that it was not done through
arrogance, say that he wished to show him a gilded, nay a golden slipper
studded with pearls. "Well," say they, "what disgrace can there be in a
man of consular rank kissing gold and pearls, and what part of Caesar's
whole body was it less pollution to kiss?" So, then, that man,
the object of whose life was to change a free state into a Persian
despotism, was not satisfied when a senator, an aged man, a man who had
filled the highest offices in the state, prostrated himself before him
in the presence of all the nobles, just as the vanquished prostrate
themselves before their conqueror! He discovered a place below his knees
down to which he might thrust liberty. What is this but trampling upon
the commonwealth, and that, too, with the left foot, though you may say
that this point does not signify? It was not a sufficiently foul and
frantic outrage for the emperor to sit at the trial of a consular for
his life wearing slippers, he must needs push his shoes into a senator's
face.
XIII. O pride, the silliest fault of great good fortune! how pleasant
it is to take nothing from thee! how dost thou turn all benefits into
outrages! how dost thou delight in all excess! how ill all things become
thee! The higher thou risest the lower thou art, and provest that
the good things by which thou art so puffed up profit thee not; thou
spoilest all that thou givest. It is worth while to inquire why it is
that pride thus swaggers and changes the form and appearance of her
countenance, so that she prefers a mask to her own face. It is pleasant
to receive gifts when they are conferred in a kindly and gentle manner,
when a superior in giving them does not exalt himself over me, but shows
as much good feeling as possible, placing himself on a level with me,
giving without parade, and choosing a time when I am glad of his help,
rather than waiting till I am in the bitterest need. The only way by
which you can prevail upon proud men not to spoil their gifts by their
arrogance is by proving to them that benefits do not appear greater
because they are bestowed with great pomp and circumstance; that no one
will think them greater men for so doing, and that excessive pride is a
mere delusion which leads men to hate even what they ought to love.
XIV. There are some things which injure those who receive them, things
which it is not a benefit to give but to withhold; we should therefore
consider the usefulness of our gift rather than the wish of the
petitioner to receive it; for we often long for hurtful things, and are
unable to discern how ruinous they are, because our judgment is biassed
by our feelings; when, however, the longing is past, when that frenzied
impulse which masters our good sense has passed away, we abhor those
who have given us hurtful gifts. As we refuse cold water to the sick,
or swords to the grief-stricken or remorseful, and take from the insane
whatever they might in their delirium use to their own destruction, so
must we persist in refusing to give anything whatever that is hurtful,
although our friends earnestly and humbly, nay, sometimes even most
piteously beg for it. We ought to look at the end of our benefits as
well as the beginning, and not merely to give what men are glad to
receive, but what they will hereafter be glad to have received. There
are many who say, "I know that this will do him no good, but what am I
to do? he begs for it, I cannot withstand his entreaties. Let him see
to it; he will blame himself, not me." Not so: you he will blame, and
deservedly; when he comes to his right mind, when the frenzy which
now excites him has left him, how can he help hating the man who has
assisted him to harm and to endanger himself? It is a cruel kindness to
allow one's self to be won over into granting that which injures those
who beg for it. Just as it is the noblest of acts to save men from harm
against their will, so it is but hatred, under the mask of civility, to
grant what is harmful to those who ask for it. Let us confer benefits of
such a kind, that the more they are made use of the better they please,
and which never can turn into injuries. I never will give money to a man
if I know that he will pay it to an adulteress, nor will I be found in
connexion with any wicked act or plan; if possible, I will restrain men
from crime; if not, at least I will never assist them in it. Whether my
friend be driven into doing wrong by anger, or seduced from the path of
safety by the heat of ambition, he shall never gain the means of doing
mischief except from himself, nor will I enable him one day to say,
"He ruined me out of love for me." Our friends often give us what our
enemies wish us to receive; we are driven by the unseasonable fondness
of the former into the ruin which the latter hope will befall us. Yet,
often as it is the case, what can be more shameful than that there
should be no difference between a benefit and hatred?
XV. Let us never bestow gifts which may recoil upon us to our shame.
As the sum total of friendship consists in making our friends equal to
ourselves, we ought to consider the interests of both parties; I must
give to him that wants, yet so that I do not want myself; I must help
him who is perishing, yet so that I do not perish myself, unless by so
doing I can save a great man or a great cause. I must give no benefit
which it would disgrace me to ask for. I ought not to make a small
benefit appear a great one, nor allow great benefits to be regarded as
small; for although it destroys all feeling of gratitude to treat what
you give like a creditor, yet you do not reproach a man, but merely
set off your gift to the best advantage by letting him know what it is
worth. Every man must consider what his resources and powers are, so
that we may not give either more or less than we are able. We must also
consider the character and position of the person to whom we give, for
some men are too great to give small gifts, while others are too small
to receive great ones. Compare, therefore, the character both of the
giver and the receiver, and weigh that which you give between the two,
taking care that what is given be neither too burdensome nor too trivial
for the one to give, nor yet such as the receiver will either treat with
disdain as too small, or think too great for him to deal with.
XVI. Alexander, who was of unsound mind, and always full of magnificent
ideas, presented somebody with a city. When the man to whom he gave it
had reflected upon the scope of his own powers, he wished to avoid the
jealousy which so great a present would excite, saying that the gift did
not suit a man of his position. "I do not ask," replied Alexander, "what
is becoming for you to receive, but what is becoming for me to give."
This seems a spirited and kingly speech, yet really it is a most foolish
one. Nothing is by itself a becoming gift for any one: all depends upon
who gives it, to whom he gives it, when, for what reason, where, and
so forth, without which details it is impossible to argue about it.
Inflated creature! if it did not become him to receive this gift, it
could not become thee to give it. There should be a proportion between
men's characters and the offices which they fill; and as virtue in all
cases should be our measure, he who gives too much acts as wrongly as he
who gives too little. Even granting that fortune has raised you so high,
that, where other men give cups, you give cities (which it would show a
greater mind in you not to take than to take and squander), still there
must be some of your friends who are not strong enough to put a city in
their pockets.
XVII. A certain cynic asked Antigonus for a talent. Antigonus answered
that this was too much for a cynic to ask for. After this rebuff he
asked for a penny. Antigonus answered that this was too little for a
king to give. "This kind of hair-splitting" (you say) "is contemptible:
he found the means of giving neither. In the matter of the penny he
thought of the king, in that of the talent he thought of the cynic,
whereas with respect to the cynic it would have been right to receive
the penny, with respect to the king it would have been right to give the
talent. Though there may be things which are too great for a cynic to
receive, yet nothing is so small, that it does not become a gracious
king to bestow it." If you ask me, I applaud Antigonus; for it is not to
be endured that a man who despises money should ask for it. Your cynic
has publicly proclaimed his hatred of money, and assumed the character
of one who despises it: let him act up to his professions. It is most
inconsistent for him to earn money by glorifying his poverty. I wish
to use Chrysippus's simile of the game of ball, in which the ball must
certainly fall by the fault either of the thrower or of the catcher; it
only holds its course when it passes between the hands of two persons
who each throw it and catch it suitably. It is necessary, however, for a
good player to send the ball in one way to a comrade at a long distance,
and in another to one at a short distance. So it is with a benefit:
unless it be suitable both for the giver and the receiver, it will
neither leave the one nor reach the other as it ought. If we have to
do with a practised and skilled player, we shall throw the ball more
recklessly, for however it may come, that quick and agile hand will send
it back again; if we are playing with an unskilled novice, we shall not
throw it so hard, but far more gently, guiding it straight into his very
hands, and we shall run to meet it when it returns to us. This is just
what we ought to do in conferring benefits; let us teach some men how to
do so, and be satisfied if they attempt it, if they have the courage and
the will to do so. For the most part, however, we make men ungrateful,
and encourage them, to be so, as if our benefits were only great when
we cannot receive any gratitude for them; just as some spiteful
ball-players purposely put out their companion, of course to the ruin of
the game, which cannot be carried on without entire agreement Many men
are of so depraved a nature that they had rather lose the presents which
they make than be thought to have received a return for them, because
they are proud, and like to lay people under obligations: yet how much
better and more kindly would it be if they tried to enable the others
also to perform their parts, if they encouraged them in returning
gratitude, put the best construction upon all their acts, received one
who wished to thank them just as cordially as if he came to repay what
he had received, and easily lent themselves to the belief that those
whom they have laid under an obligation wish to repay it. We blame
usurers equally when they press harshly for payment, and when they delay
and make difficulties about taking back the money which they have lent;
in the same way, it is just as right that a benefit should be returned,
as it is wrong to ask any one to return it. The best man is he who gives
readily, never asks for any return, and is delighted when the return
is made, because, having really and truly forgotten what he gave, he
receives it as though it were a present.
XVIII. Some men not only give, but even receive benefit haughtily, a
mistake into which we ought not to fall: for now let us cross over to
the other side of the subject, and consider how men should behave when
they receive benefits. Every function which is performed by two persons
makes equal demands upon both: after you have considered what a father
ought to be, you will perceive that there remains an equal task, that
of considering what a son ought to be: a husband has certain duties,
but those of a wife are no less important. Each of these give and take
equally, and each require a similar rule of life, which, as Hecaton
observes, is hard to follow: indeed, it is difficult for us to attain
to virtue, or even to anything that comes near virtue: for we ought not
only to act virtuously but to do so upon principle. We ought to follow
this guide throughout our lives, and to do everything great and small
according to its dictates: according as virtue prompts us we ought both
to give and to receive. Now she will declare at the outset that we ought
not to receive benefits from every man. "From whom, then, ought we to
receive them?" To answer you briefly, I should say, from those to whom
we have given them. Let us consider whether we ought not to be even more
careful in choosing to whom we should owe than to whom we should give.
For even supposing that no unpleasantness should result (and very much
always does), still it is a great misery to be indebted to a man to whom
you do not wish to be under an obligation; whereas it is most delightful
to receive a benefit from one whom you can love even after he has
wronged you, and when the pleasure which you feel in his friendship is
justified by the grounds on which it is based. Nothing is more wretched
for a modest and honourable man than to feel it to be his duty to love
one whom it does not please him to love. I must constantly remind you
that I do not speak of wise men, who take pleasure in everything that is
their duty, who have their feelings under command, and are able to lay
down whatever law they please to themselves and keep it, but that I
speak of imperfect beings struggling to follow the right path, who often
have trouble in bending their passions to their will. I must therefore
choose the man from whom I will accept a benefit; indeed, I ought to be
more careful in the choice of my creditor for a benefit than for money;
for I have only to pay the latter as much as I received of him, land
when I have paid it I am free from all obligation; but to the other I
must both repay more, and even when I have repaid his kindness we remain
connected, for when I have paid my debt I ought again to renew it,
while our friendship endures unbroken. Thus, as I ought not to make an
unworthy man my friend, so I ought not to admit an unworthy man into
that most holy bond of gratitude for benefits, from which friendship
arises. You reply, "I cannot always say 'No': sometimes I must receive a
benefit even against my will. Suppose I were given something by a cruel
and easily offended tyrant, who would take it as an affront if his
bounty were slighted? am I not to accept it? Suppose it were offered by
a pirate, or a brigand, or a king of the temper of a pirate or brigand.
What ought I to do? Such a man is not a worthy object for me to owe a
benefit to." When I say that you ought to choose, I except vis major
and fear, which destroy all power of choice. If you are free, if it lies
with you to decide whether you will or not, then you will turn over in
your own mind whether you will take a gift from a man or not; but if
your position makes it impossible for you to choose, then be assured
that you do not receive a gift, you merely obey orders. No one incurs
any obligation by receiving what it was not in his power to refuse; if
you want to know whether I wish to take it, arrange matters so that I
have the power of saying 'No.' "Yet suppose he gave you your life." It
does not matter what the gift was, unless it be given and received with
good will: you are not my preserver because you have saved my life.
Poison sometimes acts as a medicine, yet it is not on that account
regarded as wholesome. Some things benefit us but put us under no
obligation: for instance a man who intended to kill a tyrant, cut with
his sword a tumour from which he suffered: yet the tyrant did not show
him gratitude because by wounding him he had healed a disease which
surgeons had feared to meddle with.
XIX. You see that the actual thing itself is not of much importance,
because it is not regarded as a benefit at all, if you do good when you
intended to do evil; in such a case the benefit is done by chance, the
man did harm. I have seen a lion in the amphitheatre, who recognized one
of the men who fought with wild beasts, who once had been his keeper,
and protected him against the attacks of the other animals. Are we,
then, to say that this assistance of the brute was a benefit? By no
means, because it did not intend to do it, and did not do it with kindly
intentions. You may class the lion and your tyrant together: each of
them saved a man's life, yet neither conferred a benefit. Because it is
not a benefit to be forced to receive one, neither is it a benefit to be
under an obligation to a man to whom we do not wish to be indebted. You
must first give me personal freedom of decision, and then your benefit.
XX. The question has been raised, whether Marcus Brutus ought to have
received his life from the hands of Julius Caesar, who, he had decided,
ought to be put to death.
As to the grounds upon which he put him to death, I shall discuss them
elsewhere; for to my mind, though he was in other respects a great man,
in this he seems to have been entirely wrong, and not to have followed
the maxims of the Stoic philosophy. He must either have feared the name
of "King," although a state thrives best under a good king, or he must
have hoped that liberty could exist in a state where some had so much to
gain by reigning, and others had so much to gain by becoming slaves. Or,
again, he must have supposed that it would be possible to restore the
ancient constitution after all the ancient manners had been lost, and
that citizens could continue to possess equal rights, or laws remain
inviolate, in a state in which he had seen so many thousands of men
fighting to decide, not whether they should be slaves or free, but which
master they should serve. How forgetful he seems to have been, both of
human nature and of the history of his own country, in supposing that
when one despot was destroyed another of the same temper would not take
his place, though, after so many kings had perished by lightning and the
sword, a Tarquin was found to reign! Yet Brutus did right in receiving
his life from Caesar, though he was not bound thereby to regard Caesar
as his father, since it was by a wrong that Caesar had come to be in a
position to bestow this benefit. A man does not save your life who does
not kill you; nor does he confer a benefit, but merely gives you your
discharge. [The 'discharge' alluded to is that which was granted to
the beaten one of a pair of gladiators, when their duel was not to the
death.]
XXI. It seems to offer more opportunity for debate to consider what a
captive ought to do, if a man of abominable vices offers him the price
of his ransom? Shall I permit myself to be saved by a wretch? When safe,
what recompense can I make to him? Am I to live with an infamous person?
Yet, am I not to live with my preserver? I will tell you my opinion. I
would accept money, even from such a person, if it were to save my life;
yet I would only accept it as a loan, not as a benefit. I would repay
him the money, and if I were ever able to preserve him from danger I
would do so. As for friendship, which can only exist between equals, I
would not condescend to be such a man's friend; nor would I regard him
as my preserver, but merely as a money-lender, to whom I am only bound
to repay what I borrowed from him.
A man may be a worthy person for me to receive a benefit from, but it
will hurt him to give it. For this reason I will not receive it, because
he is ready to help me to his own prejudice, or even danger. Suppose
that he is willing to plead for me in court, but by so doing will make
the king his enemy. I should be his enemy, if, when he is willing to
risk himself for me, if I were not to risk myself without him, which
moreover is easier for me to do.
As an instance of this, Hecaton calls the case of Arcesilaus silly, and
not to the purpose. Arcesilaus, he says, refused to receive a large sum
of money which was offered to him by a son, lest the son should offend
his penurious father. What did he do deserving of praise, in not
receiving stolen goods, in choosing not to receive them, instead of
returning them? What proof of self-restraint is there in refusing to
receive another man's property. If you want an instance of magnanimity,
take the case of Julius Graecinus, whom Caius Caesar put to death merely
on the ground that he was a better man than it suited a tyrant for
anyone to be. This man, when he was receiving subscriptions from many of
his friends to cover his expenses in exhibiting public games, would not
receive a large sum which was sent him by Fabius Persicus; and when he
was blamed for rejecting it by those who think more of what is given
than of who gives it, he answered, "Am I to accept a present from a man
when I would not accept his offer to drink a glass of wine with him?"
When a consular named Rebilius, a man of equally bad character, sent
a yet larger sum to Graecinus, and pressed him to receive it. "I must
beg," answered he, "that you will excuse me. I did not take money from
Persicus either." Ought we to call this receiving presents, or rather
taking one's pick of the senate?
XXII. When we have decided to accept, let us accept with cheerfulness,
showing pleasure, and letting the giver see it, so that he may at once
receive some return for his goodness: for as it is a good reason for
rejoicing to see our friend happy, it is a better one to have made
him so. Let us, therefore, show how acceptable a gift is by loudly
expressing our gratitude for it; and let us do so, not only in the
hearing of the giver, but everywhere. He who receives a benefit with
gratitude, repays the first instalment of it.
XXIII. There are some, who only like to receive benefits privately: they
dislike having any witnesses and confidants. Such men, we may believe,
have no good intentions. As a giver is justified in dwelling upon those
qualities of his gift which will please the receiver, so a man, when he
receives, should do so publicly; you should not take from a man what
you are ashamed to owe him. Some return thanks to one stealthily, in a
corner, in a whisper. This is not modesty, but a kind of denying of the
debt: it is the part of an ungrateful man not to express his gratitude
before witnesses. Some object to any accounts being kept between them
and their benefactors, and wish no brokers to be employed or witnesses
to be called, but merely to give their own signature to a receipt. Those
men do the like, who take care to let as few persons as possible know
of the benefits which they have received. They fear to receive them in
public, in order that their success may be attributed rather to their
own talents than to the help of others: they are very seldom to be
found in attendance upon those to whom they owe their lives and their
fortunes, and thus, while avoiding the imputation of servility, they
incur that of ingratitude.
XXIV. Some men speak in the most offensive terms of those to whom they
owe most. There are men whom it is safer to affront than to serve,
for their dislike leads them to assume the airs of persons who are not
indebted to us: although nothing more is expected of them than that they
should remember what they owe us, refreshing their memory from time to
time, because no one can be grateful who forgets a kindness, and he
who remembers it, by so doing proves his gratitude. We ought neither to
receive benefits with a fastidious air, nor yet with a slavish humility:
for if a man does not care for a benefit when it is freshly bestowed--a
time at which all presents please us most--what will he do when its
first charms have gone off? Others receive with an air of disdain, as
much as to say. "I do not want it; but as you wish it so very much, I
will allow you to give it to me." Others take benefits languidly, and
leave the giver in doubt as to whether they know that they have received
them; others barely open their lips in thanks, and would be less
offensive if they said nothing. One ought to proportion one's thanks
to the importance of the benefit received, and to use the phrases, "You
have laid more of us than you think under an obligation," for everyone
likes to find his good actions extend further than he expected. "You do
not know what it is that you have done for me; but you ought to know
how much more important it is than you imagine." It is in itself
an expression of gratitude to speak of one's self as overwhelmed by
kindness; or "I shall never be able to thank you sufficiently; but, at
any rate, I will never cease to express everywhere my inability to thank
you."
XXV. By nothing did Furnius gain greater credit with Augustus, and make
it easy for him to obtain anything else for which he might ask, than
by merely saying, when at his request Augustus pardoned his father for
having taken Antonius's side, "One wrong alone I have received at your
hands, Caesar; you have forced me to live and to die owing you a greater
debt of gratitude than I can ever repay." What can prove gratitude
so well as that a man should never be satisfied, should never even
entertain the hope of making any adequate return for what he has
received? By these and similar expressions we must try not to conceal
our gratitude, but to display it as clearly as possible. No words need
be used; if we only feel as we ought, our thankfulness will be shown in
our countenances. He who intends to be grateful, let him think how he
shall repay a kindness while he is receiving it. Chrysippus says that
such a man must watch for his opportunity, and spring forward whenever
it offers, like one who has been entered for a race, and who stands at
the starting-point waiting for the barriers to be thrown open; and even
then he must use great exertions and great swiftness to catch the other,
who has a start of him.
XXVI. We must now consider what is the main cause of ingratitude. It is
caused by excessive self-esteem, by that fault innate in all mortals,
of taking a partial view of ourselves and our own acts, by greed, or by
jealousy.
Let us begin with the first of these. Every one is prejudiced in his own
favour, from which it follows that he believes himself to have earned
all that he receives, regards it as payment for his services, and does
not think that he has been appraised at a valuation sufficiently near
his own. "He has given me this," says he, "but how late, after how much
toil? how much more might I have earned if I had attached myself to So
and so, or to So and so? I did not expect this; I have been treated like
one of the herd; did he really think that I only deserved so little?
why, it would have been less insulting to have passed me over
altogether."
XXVII. The augur Cnaeus Lentulus, who, before his freedmen reduced him
to poverty, was one of the richest of men, who saw himself in possession
of a fortune of four hundred millions--I say advisedly, "saw," for he
never did more than see it--was as barren and contemptible in intellect
as he was in spirit. Though very avaricious, yet he was so poor a
speaker that he found it easier to give men coins than words. This man,
who owed all his prosperity to the late Emperor Augustus, to whom he had
brought only poverty, encumbered with a noble name, when he had risen to
be the chief man in Rome, both in wealth and influence, used sometimes
to complain that Augustus had interrupted his legal studies, observing
that he had not received anything like what he had lost by giving up the
study of eloquence. Yet the truth was that Augustus, besides loading him
with other gifts, had set him free from the necessity of making himself
ridiculous by labouring at a profession in which he never could succeed.
Greed does not permit any one to be grateful; for what is given is never
equal to its base desires, and the more we receive the more we
covet, for avarice is much more eager when it has to deal with great
accumulations of wealth, just as the power of a flame is enormously
greater in proportion to the size of the conflagration from which it
springs. Ambition in like manner suffers no man to rest satisfied with
that measure of public honours, to gain which was once the limit of his
wildest hope; no one is thankful for becoming tribune, but grumbles at
not being at once promoted to the post of praetor; nor is he grateful
for this if the consulship does not follow; and even this does not
satisfy him if he be consul but once. His greed ever stretches itself
out further, and he does not understand the greatness of his success
because he always looks forward to the point at which he aims, and never
back towards that from which he started.
XXVIII. A more violent and distressing vice than any of these is
jealousy which disturbs us by suggesting comparisons. "He gave me this,
but he gave more to that man, and he gave it to him before me;" after
which he sympathises with no one, but pushes his own claims to the
prejudice of every one else. How much more straightforward and modest
is it to make the most of what we have received, knowing that no man is
valued so highly by any one else as by his own, self! "I ought to have
received more, but it was not easy for him to give more; he was obliged
to distribute his liberality among many persons. This is only the
beginning; let me be contented, and by my gratitude encourage him to
show me more favour; he has not done as much as he ought, but he will
do so the more frequently; he certainly preferred that man to me, but he
has preferred me before many others; that man is not my equal either in
virtue or in services, but he has some charm of his own: by complaining
I shall not make myself deserve to receive more, but shall become
unworthy of what I have received. More has been given to those most
villainous men than has been given to me; well, what is that to the
purpose? how seldom does Fortune show judgment in her choice? We
complain every day of the success of bad men; very often the hail passes
over the estates of the greatest villains and strikes down the crops of
the best of men; every man has to take his chance, in friendship as well
as in everything else." There is no benefit so great that spitefulness
can pick no holes in it, none so paltry that it cannot be made more of
by friendly interpretation. We shall never want a subject for complaint
if we look at benefits on their wrong side.
XXIX. See how unjustly the gifts of heaven are valued even by some who
profess themselves philosophers, who complain that we are not as big
as elephants, as swift as stags, as light as birds, as strong as bulls;
that the skins of seals are stronger, of hinds prettier, of bears
thicker, of beavers softer than ours; that dogs excel us in delicacy of
scent, eagles in keenness of sight, crows in length of days, and many
beasts in ease of swimming. And although nature itself does not allow
some qualities, as for example strength and swiftness, to be combined
in the same person, yet they call it a monstrous thing that men are not
compounded of different and inconsistent good qualities, and call the
gods neglectful of us because we have not been given health which even
our vices cannot destroy, or knowledge of the future. They scarcely
refrain from rising to such a pitch of impudence as to hate nature
because we are below the gods, and not on an equality with them.
How much better is it to turn to the contemplation of so many great
blessings, and to be thankful that the gods have been pleased to give us
a place second only to themselves in this most beautiful abode, and that
they have appointed us to be the lords of the earth! Can any one compare
us with the animals over whom we rule? Nothing has been denied us except
what could not have been granted. In like manner, thou that takest an
unfair view of the lot of mankind, think what blessings our Father has
bestowed upon us, how far more powerful animals than ourselves we have
broken to harness, how we catch those which are far swifter, how
nothing that has life is placed beyond the reach of our weapons! We have
received so many excellencies, so many crafts, above all our mind, which
can pierce at once whatever it is directed against, which is swifter
than the stars in their courses, for it arrives before them at the place
which they will reach after many ages; and besides this, so many fruits
of the earth, so much treasure, such masses of various things piled one
upon another. You may go through the whole order of nature, and since
you find no entire creature which you would prefer to be, you may choose
from each, the special qualities which you would like to be given to
yourself; then, if you rightly appreciate the partiality of nature for
you, you cannot but confess yourself to be her spoiled child. So it is;
the immortal gods have unto this day always held us most dear, and
have bestowed upon us the greatest possible honour, a place nearest to
themselves. We have indeed received great things, yet not too great.
XXX. I have thought it necessary, my friend Liberalis, to state these
facts, both because when speaking of small benefits one ought to make
some mention of the greatest, and because also this shameless and
hateful vice (of ingratitude), starting with these, transfers itself
from them to all the rest. If a man scorn these, the greatest of all
benefits, to whom will he feel gratitude, what gift will he regard as
valuable or deserving to be returned: to whom will he be grateful for
his safety or his life, if he denies that he has received from the gods
that existence which he begs from them daily? He, therefore, who teaches
men to be grateful, pleads the cause not only of men, but even of the
gods, for though they, being placed above all desires, cannot be in want
of anything, yet we can nevertheless offer them our gratitude.
No one is justified in seeking an excuse for ingratitude in his own
weakness or poverty, or in saying, "What am I to do, and how? When can I
repay my debt to my superiors the lords of heaven and earth?" Avaricious
as you are, it is easy for you to give them thanks, without expense;
lazy though you be, you can do it without labour. At the same instant at
which you received your debt towards them, if you wish to repay it,
you have done as much as any one can do, for he returns a benefit who
receives it with good will.
XXXI. This paradox of the Stoic philosophy, that he returns a benefit
who receives it with good will, is, in my opinion, either far from
admirable, or else it is incredible. For if we look at everything merely
from the point of view of our intentions, every man has done as much
as he chose to do; and since filial piety, good faith, justice, and in
short every virtue is complete within itself, a man may be grateful in
intention even though he may not be able to lift a hand to prove his
gratitude. Whenever a man obtains what he aimed at, he receives the
fruit of his labour. When a man bestows a benefit, at what does he aim?
clearly to be of service and afford pleasure to him upon whom he bestows
it. If he does what he wishes, if his purpose reaches me and fills us
each with joy, he has gained his object. He does not wish anything to be
given to him in return, or else it becomes an exchange of commodities,
not a bestowal of benefits. A man steers well who reaches the port for
which he started: a dart hurled by a steady hand performs its duty if it
hits the mark; one who bestows a benefit wishes it to be received with
gratitude; he gets what he wanted if it be well received. "But," you
say, "he hoped for some profit also." Then it was not a benefit, the
property of which is to think nothing of any repayment. I receive what
was given me in the same spirit in which it was given: then I have
repaid it. If this be not true, then this best of deeds has this worst
of conditions attached to it, that it depends entirely upon fortune
whether I am grateful or not, for if my fortune is adverse I can make no
repayment. The intention is enough. What then? am I not to do whatever
I may be able to repay it, and ought I not ever to be on the watch for
an opportunity of filling the bosom [Footnote: Sinus, the fold of the
toga over the breast, used as a pocket by the Romans. The great French
actor Talma, when dressed for the first time in correct classical
costume, indignantly asked where he was to put his snuff-box.] of him
from whom I have received any kindness? True; but a benefit is in
an evil plight if we cannot be grateful for it even when we are
empty-handed.
XXXII. "A man," it is argued, "who has received a benefit, however
gratefully he may have received it, has not yet accomplished all his
duty, for there remains the part of repayment; just as in playing at
ball it is something to catch the ball cleverly and carefully, but a man
is not called a good player unless he can handily and quickly send
back the ball which he has caught." This analogy is imperfect; and why?
Because to do this creditably depends upon the movement and activity of
the body, and not upon the mind: and an act of which we judge entirely
by the eye, ought to be all clearly displayed. But if a man caught
the ball as he ought to do, I should not call him a bad player for not
returning it, if his delay in returning it was not caused by his own
fault. "Yet," say you, "although the player is not wanting in skill,
because he did one part of his duty, and was able to do the other part,
yet in such a case the game is imperfect, for its perfection lies in
sending the ball backwards and forwards." I am unwilling to expose this
fallacy further; let us think that it is the game, not the player that
is imperfect: so likewise in the subject which we are discussing, the
thing which is given lacks something, because another equal thing ought
to be returned for it, but the mind of the giver lacks nothing, because
it has found another mind equal to itself, and as far as intentions go,
has effected what it wished.
XXXIII. A man bestows a benefit upon me: I receive it just as he wished
it to be received: then he gets at once what he wanted, and the only
thing which he wanted, and therefore I have proved myself grateful.
After this it remains for me to enjoy my own resources, with the
addition of an advantage conferred upon me by one whom I have obliged;
this advantage is not the remainder of an imperfect service, but an
addition to a perfected service. [Footnote: Nothing is wanted to make
a benefit, conferred from good motives, perfect: if it is returned, the
gratitude is to be counted as net profit.] For example, Phidias makes a
statue. Now the product of an art is one thing, and that of a trade is
another. It is the business of the art to make the thing which he wished
to make, and that of the trade to make it with a profit. Phidias has
completed his work, even though he does not sell it. The product,
therefore, of his work is threefold: there is the consciousness of
having made it, which he receives when his work is completed; there is
the fame which he receives; and thirdly, the advantage which he obtains
by it, in influence, or by selling it, or otherwise. In like manner the
first fruit of a benefit is the consciousness of it, which we feel when
we have bestowed it upon the person whom we chose; secondly and thirdly
there is the credit which we gain by doing so, and there are those
things which we may receive in exchange for it. So when a benefit has
been graciously received, the giver has already received gratitude, but
has not yet received recompense for it: that which we owe in return is
therefore something apart from the benefit itself, for we have paid for
the benefit itself when we accept it in a grateful spirit.
XXXIV. "What," say you, "can a man repay a benefit, though he does
nothing?" He has taken the first step, he has offered you a good thing
with good feeling, and, which is the characteristic of friendship, has
placed you both on the same footing. In the next place, a benefit is not
repaid in the same manner as a loan: you have no reason for expecting
me to offer you any payment; the account between us depends upon the
feelings alone. What I say will not appear difficult, although it may
not at first accord with your ideas, if you will do me the favour to
remember that there are more things than there are words to express
them. There is an enormous mass of things without names, which we do not
speak of under distinctive names of their own, but by the names of other
things transferred to them. We speak of our own foot, of the foot of a
couch, of a sail, or of a poem; we apply the word 'dog' to a hound, a
fish, and a star. Because we have not enough words to assign a separate
name to each thing, we borrow a name whenever we want one. Bravery is
the virtue which rightly despises danger, or the science of repelling,
sustaining, or inviting dangers: yet we call a brave man a gladiator,
and we use the same word for a good-for-nothing slave, who is led by
rashness to defy death. Economy is the science of avoiding unnecessary
expenditure, or the art of using one's income with moderation: yet we
call a man of mean and narrow mind, most economical, although there is
an immeasurable distance between moderation and meanness. These things
are naturally distinct, yet the poverty of our language compels us to
call both these men economical, just as he who views slight accidents
with rational contempt, and he who without reason runs into danger are
alike called brave. Thus a benefit is both a beneficent action, and also
is that which is bestowed by that action, such as money, a house, an
office in the state: there is but one name for them both, though their
force and power are widely different.
XXXV. Wherefore, give me your attention, and you will soon perceive that
I say nothing to which you can object. That benefit which consists of
the action is repaid when we receive it graciously; that other, which
consists of something material, we have not then repaid, but we hope to
do so. The debt of goodwill has been discharged by a return of goodwill;
the material debt demands a material return. Thus, although we may
declare that he who has received a benefit with good-will has returned
the favour, yet we counsel him to return to the giver something of the
same kind as that which he has received. Some part of what we have said
departs from the conventional line of thought, and then rejoins it by
another path. We declare that a wise man cannot receive an injury; yet,
if a man hits him with his fist, that man will be found guilty of doing
him an injury. We declare that a fool can possess nothing; yet if a man
stole anything from a fool, we should find that man guilty of theft. We
declare that all men are mad, yet we do not dose all men with hellebore;
but we put into the hands of these very persons, whom we call madmen,
both the right of voting and of pronouncing judgment. Similarly, we say
that a man who has received a benefit with good-will has returned the
favour, yet we leave him in debt nevertheless--bound to repay it even
though he has repaid it. This is not to disown benefits, but is an
encouragement to us neither to fear to receive benefits, nor to faint
under the too great burden of them. "Good things have been given to me;
I have been preserved from starving; I have been saved from the misery
of abject poverty; my life, and what is dearer than life, my liberty,
has been preserved. How shall I be able to repay these favours? When
will the day come upon which I can prove my gratitude to him?" When a
man speaks thus, the day has already come. Receive a benefit, embrace
it, rejoice, not that you have received it, but that you have to owe it
and return it; then you will never be in peril of the great sin of being
rendered ungrateful by mischance. I will not enumerate any difficulties
to you, lest you should despair, and faint at the prospect of a long and
laborious servitude. I do not refer you to the future; do it with what
means you have at hand. You never will be grateful unless you are so
straightway. What, then, will you do? You need not take up arms, yet
perhaps you may have to do so; you need not cross the seas, yet it may
be that you will pay your debt, even when the wind threatens to blow a
gale. Do you wish to return the benefit? Then receive it graciously;
you have then returned the favour--not, indeed, so that you can think
yourself to have repaid it, but so that you can owe it with a quieter
conscience.