The more famous son of a famous rhetorician, the Roman philosopher
L. Annaeus Seneca was born at Corduba (Cordova), in Spain, about the
beginning of the Christian era. While the date of his birth is a
matter for conjecture, the circumstances of his death are
notorious. He was a victim of Nero's jealousy and ingratitude in 65
A.D., when the emperor seized upon a plot against himself as the
pretext for sentencing Seneca to enforced suicide. In the vivid
pages of the historian Tacitus, there are few more pathetic
descriptions than that recounting the slow ebbing of the old
philosopher's life after his veins had been opened. Seneca had
known many vicissitudes of fortune. He was banished from Rome in 41
A.D., but, after his recall, rose to great power and affluence as
tutor and adviser to Nero. His works, many of which are lost,
include tragedies, letters, and treatises on philosophy. The high
ethical standard maintained by Seneca favoured the legend that he
was influenced by the Apostle Paul, and a spurious correspondence
between them was long accepted as genuine. Of the moral works there
is, for insight into human nature and for generosity of impulse, no
better representative than that "On Benefits."
_I.--Benefits are to be Bestowed, Not Lent_
Among the many different mistakes made by those who take life as it
comes, and do not pause to consider, I should say that scarcely anything
is so detrimental as this, that we do not know either how to confer or
how to receive a benefit. The consequence is that benefits are bad
investments, and turn out bad debts; and in the cases where there is no
return, it is too late to complain, for they were lost when we conferred
them. I should find it hard to say whether it is meaner for a receiver
to repudiate a benefit, or for a giver to press for its repayment,
inasmuch as a benefit is a sort of loan, whose return absolutely depends
on the spontaneous action of the debtor.
We find many men ungrateful; yet we make more men so, because at one
time we are insistent and harsh in our claims for return; at another
time we are fickle enough to regret our generosity. By such conduct we
spoil the whole favour, not merely after giving, but at the very moment
of giving. No one is glad to owe what he has not so much received as
wrung out of his benefactor.
Can anyone be grateful to a man who has contemptuously tossed him a
favour, or flung it at him in vexation, or out of sheer weariness given
simply to rid himself of trouble? A benefit is felt to be a debt in the
same spirit in which it is bestowed, and it ought not, therefore, to be
bestowed recklessly, for a man thanks himself for what he obtains from
an undiscerning giver.
Let us bestow benefits, not lend them on interest. He who, in the act of
giving, has thoughts about repayment, deserves to be deceived. Well,
then, what if the benefit has turned out ill? Why, children or wives
often disappoint our expectations, but we bring children up, we marry
all the same; and so determined are we in the teeth of experience, that
when baffled we fight better, when shipwrecked we take to sea again.
How much more seemly it is to be persistent in bestowing benefits! If a
man does not give because he does not receive, he must have given in
order to receive, and that justifies ingratitude. How many are there who
are unworthy of the light of day, and nevertheless the sun rises.
This is the property of a great and good mind, to seek not the fruit of
good deeds but good deeds themselves, and to search for a good man even
after having met with bad men. If there were no cheats, what nobility
would there be in showing bounty to many? As it is, goodness lies in
giving benefits for which we are not sure of recompense, but of which
the fruit is at once enjoyed by a noble mind.
The book-keeping of benefits is simple: so much is expenditure; if
there is any return, that is clear gain; if there is no return, that is
not a loss. I gave it for the sake of giving. No one registers his
benefits in a ledger, or, like an exacting usurer, presses to the day
and hour for repayment. An honourable man never thinks of such matters,
unless reminded by someone returning a favour; otherwise they assume the
form of a debt.
Do not hesitate, then; persevere in your generous work. Assist one with
your means, another with credit, another with your favour, or your
advice, or a word in season. Is he ungrateful for one benefit? After
receiving a second, perhaps he will not be so. Has he forgotten two?
Perhaps the third kindness will bring back the recollection of those
that slipped his mind.
The subject we have to treat is that of benefits. We have to lay down an
ordered account of what is the chief bond of human society: we have to
prescribe a rule of life, such that inconsiderate open-handedness may
not commend itself under the guise of kindness, but also that our
caution, while it controls, may not strangle generosity, which ought to
be neither defective nor excessive.
People must be instructed to receive cheerfully and to repay cheerfully,
setting before themselves the high aim of not merely equalling but
surpassing those to whom they are obliged, and this both in act and in
feeling. It is necessary to point out that the first point which we have
to learn is what we owe for a kindness received. One says he owes the
money which he got, another a consulship, another a province. These,
however, are but the outward tokens of good services, not the services
themselves. A benefit is to the hand something intangible; it is a
process in the mind. There is a world of difference between the material
of a benefit and the benefit itself. Hence the reality of a benefit lies
not in gold, nor silver, but in the good will of the giver. The things
which we hold in our hands, which we look at, and on which our desire is
set, are perishable; misfortune or injustice may rob us of them; but a
kindness lasts even after the loss of what was given.
What, then, is a benefit? It is the doing of a kindness which gives
pleasure and in the giving gets pleasure, being inclined and
spontaneously ready for that which it does. Consequently, it is not the
thing done or the thing given that matters, it is the intention. The
spirit animating the act is what exalts trivial things, throws lustre on
mean things, while it can discredit great and highly valued ones. The
benefit itself does not consist in what is paid or handed over, just as
the worship of the gods lies not in the victims offered but in the
dutiful and upright feelings of the worshippers. If benefits consisted
in things, and not in the actual wish to benefit, then the more things
we got, the greater would the benefit be. But this is incorrect, for
sometimes the man who has given a little in a noble way obliges us more
deeply; the man, that is, who has forgotten his own poverty in his
regard for mine.
What comes from a willing hand is far more acceptable than what comes
from a full hand. "It was a small favour for him to do"; yes, but he
could do no more. "But it is a great thing which this other gave"; yes,
but he hesitated, delayed, grumbled in the giving, gave disdainfully, or
he made a show of it and had no mind to please the person on whom he
bestowed it. Why, such a man made a present to his own pride, not to me!
_II.--On Kinds of Benefits and the Manner of Giving_
Let us give, in the first place, what is necessary; secondly, what is
useful; next, what is pleasant, and one should add, what is likely to
last. We must begin with what is necessary; for a matter involving life
appeals to the mind differently from mere adornment and equipment.
A man may be a fastidious critic in the case of a thing which he can do
without. But necessary things are those without which we cannot live, or
without which we ought not to live, or without which we do not want to
live. Examples of the first group are, to be rescued from the hands of
the enemy, from a tyrant's anger, and the other chequered perils that
beset human life. Whichsoever of these we avert, we shall earn gratitude
proportionate to the terrible magnitude of the danger.
Next come things without which, it is true, we can live, yet only in
such plight that death were better; such things are freedom, chastity,
and good conscience. After these we shall rank things dear to us from
association, blood-ties, use, and custom; such as children, wife, home,
and all else round which affection has so entwined itself that it views
severance from them as more serious than severance from life. There is
the subsequent class of things useful, a wide and varied class,
including money, not superabundant, but suited to a sensible mode of
living; and public office, with advancement for those who look high.
Again, we ought to consider what gift will afford the greatest pleasure;
and particularly ought we to take care not to send useless presents,
such as weapons of the chase to a woman or an old man, or books to a
block-head, or hunting nets to a person engrossed in literary pursuits.
We shall be equally careful, on the other hand, while we wish to send
what will please, not to insult friends in the matter of their
individual failing; not to send wines to a toper, for instance, or drugs
to a valetudinarian. Further, if free choice in giving lies in our
power, we shall beyond everything select lasting gifts, in order that
the present may be as little perishable as possible; for few are so
grateful as to think of what they have received when they do not see it.
Even the ungrateful have flashes of recollection when a gift is before
their eyes.
In a benefit there should be common sense. One should think of time,
place, individuals; on these factors turn the welcome or unwelcome
quality of gifts. How much more acceptable it is if we give what one
does not possess, than if we give that of which he has abundance and to
spare! Or the thing of which he has been long in quest without finding
it, rather than what he is likely to see everywhere! A benefit bestowed
upon all and sundry is acceptable to none. What you wish people to feel
grateful for, do seldom. Let no one misconstrue this as an attempt to
check generosity: by all means let her go any length she will; but she
must go steady, not gad about.
So let every recipient have some special mark about his gifts which may
lead him to trust that he has been admitted to particular favour. Let
him say: "I got the same as that man, but my gift came unasked"; or, "I
got what that man did; but I secured it within a short period, whereas
he had earned it by long waiting"; or, "There are others who have the
same; but it was not given with the same words, nor the same courtesy on
the part of the giver." Yet let discretion wait on bounty; for no
delight can come of random gifts. I object to generosity becoming
extravagance.
As to this question of how to give, I think I can point out the shortest
way: let us give in the manner in which we should like to receive; above
all, let it be done willingly, promptly, without the least hesitation.
The most welcome benefits are those which are at hand for the taking,
which come to meet us, where the one delay lies in the recipient's
modesty.
The best course is to forestall a man's wishes; next best, to follow
them. He who has got after asking, has not secured the favour for
nothing; since nothing costs so much as that which is bought by prayers.
"I beg you" is a painful phrase; it is irksome, and has to be said with
humble looks. Spare your friend, spare anyone you hope to make your
friend, this necessity. However prompt, a benefactor gives too late
when he gives by request.
All philosophers counsel that some benefits be given in public (like
military decorations), others in secret (like those that succour
weakness, want, or disgrace). Sometimes the very person helped must be
deceived into taking our bounty without knowing its origin. One may
insist, "I wish him to know"; but on that principle will you refuse to
save a man's life in the dark? Why should I not abstain from showing him
that I have given him anything, when it is one of the cardinal rules
never to reproach a man with what you have done for him, and not even to
remind him of it? For this is the law of benefits as between the two
parties; the one must at once forget what he has given, the other must
never forget what he has received.
_III.--On the Receiving of Benefits_
Now, let us cross to the other side, to treat of the behaviour which
becomes men in receiving benefits. "From who are we to receive?" To
answer you briefly, I should say, "From those to whom we should have
liked to give." It is a severe torment to be indebted to anyone against,
your will; on the other hand, it is more delightful to have received a
benefit from one whom you could love even after he has done you a wrong.
The truth is that more care must be taken in the choice of a creditor
for a benefit than for money; for the latter must have back only as much
as I received, but the former must have more paid to him. And even after
repayment of the favour, we nevertheless remain bound to each other.
Thus an unworthy person is not to be admitted into that most sacred bond
of kindnesses bestowed whence friendship arises. "But," it is pleaded,
"I cannot always say 'No.'" Suppose the offer is from a cruel and
hot-tempered despot, who will interpret your rejection of his bounty as
an insult?
Well, when I say you ought to choose, I except superior force and
intimidation; for these are factors which destroy choice. But after we
have decided on acceptance, let us accept with cheerfulness, showing our
gratification, and let it be evident to the giver, so that he may have
some immediate return.
There are some who like to receive benefits only in private, for they
object to a witness and confidant. One may conclude that such persons
have no good intentions. Other men speak most offensively of their
greatest benefactors. There are some people whom it is safer to affront
than to serve, since by their dislike they seek to give the impression
of being under no obligation. One ought to accept without fastidious
affectation, and without cringing humility; for if a man shows small
care at the time of bestowal, when every newly-conferred benefit should
please, what will he do when the first glow of pleasure has cooled down?
_IV.--Ingratitude_
We must now investigate the main cause of ingratitude. It is caused by
excessive self-esteem, the fault inherent in mortality of partiality to
ourselves and all that concerns us; or it is caused by greed; or by
jealousy. Let us begin with the first of these. Everybody is a
favourable judge of his own interest; hence it comes that he believes
himself to have earned all he has received, and views a benefit as
payment for services.
Nor does greed allow anyone to be grateful, for a gift is never
sufficient for its exorbitant expectations. Of all these hindrances to
gratitude, the most violent and distressing vice is jealousy, which
torments us with comparisons of this nature: "He bestowed this on me,
but more upon _him_, and he gave it _him_ earlier." There is no
kindness so complete that malignity cannot pull it to pieces, and none
so paltry that a friendly interpreter may not enlarge it. You shall
never fail of an excuse for grumbling if you look at benefits on their
wrong side.
See how certain men--yes, even some who make a profession of their
philosophy--pass unfair censures upon the gifts of heaven. They complain
because we do not equal elephants in bulk of body, harts in swiftness,
birds in lightness, bulls in vigour. But what has been denied to mankind
could not have been given. Wherefore, whosoever thou art that
undervaluest human fortune, bethink thee what blessings our Father has
bestowed upon us, how many beasts more powerful than ourselves we have
tamed to the yoke, how many swifter creatures we overtake, and how
nothing mortal is placed beyond the reach of our weapons.
Not to return gratitude for benefits is base in itself, and is held base
in all men's opinion. Therefore, even the ungrateful men complain of the
ungrateful, and yet all the time this failing, which none commend, is
firmly planted in all; so perverse is human nature that we find some
become our deadliest enemies, not merely after benefits received, but
for those very favours. I cannot deny but that this befalls some from a
kink in their disposition; yet more act so because the interposition of
time has extinguished the remembrance. Ungrateful is the man who denies
that he has received a good turn which has been done him; ungrateful is
he who pretends he has not received it; ungrateful is he who makes no
return; but the most ungrateful of all is he who has forgotten.
There is a question raised whether so hateful a vice ought to go
unpunished. Now, with the exception of Macedonia, there is no country
where an action at law is possible for ingratitude. And this is a strong
argument that no such action should be granted. This most frequent crime
is nowhere punished, although everywhere condemned. Many reasons occur
to me whereby it must needs follow that this fault ought not to come
under the purview of law. First of all, the best part of a benefit is
lost if a lawsuit is allowable, as in the case of a definite loan.
Again, whereas it is a most honourable thing to show gratitude, it
ceases to be honourable if it be forced. By such coercion we should
spoil two of the finest things in human life--a grateful man and a
bountiful giver. "What, then? Shall the ungrateful man be left
unchastised?" My answer is: "What, then? Shall the undutiful man be left
unchastised--the malignant man, or the avaricious, or the man with no
self-control, or the cruel? Dost thou think that goes unpunished which
is loathed? Dost thou not call him unhappy who has lost his eyesight, or
whose hearing has been impaired by disease? And dost thou not call him
miserable who has lost the sense of feeling benefits?"
_V.--Divine Benefits to Man_
Who is there so wretched, so totally forlorn, who has been born under so
hard a fate and to such travail as never to have felt the vastness of
the Divine generosity? Look even at those who complain of and live
malcontent with their lot, and you will find they are not altogether
without a portion in the celestial generosity; and there is none on whom
some drops have not fallen from that most gracious fountain. God not
give benefits! Whence, then, all you possess, all you give, or refuse or
keep or seize?
Whence comes the infinity of delights for eye, ear, and understanding?
Whence that abundance that even furnishes our luxury? Think of all the
trees in their rich variety, the many wholesome herbs, and such
diversity of foods apportioned among the seasons that even the sluggard
might find sustenance from the casual bounty of earth. Whence come
living creatures of every kind, some bred on solid dry land, some in
water, others speeding through the air, to the end that every part of
nature may yield us some tribute? Those rivers, too, that, with their
pretty bends, environ the plains, or afford a passage for merchandise as
they flow down their broad, navigable channel? What of the springs of
medicinal waters? What of the bubbling forth of hot wells upon the very
seashore?
And what of thee, O mighty Larian Lake?
And thee, Benacus, whom wild waves shake?
"Nature," remarks my critic, "gives all this." Do you not realise that
in saying this you simply change the name of God? For what else is
"nature" but God and Divine Reason pervading the whole universe and all
its parts?
It is a question whether one who has done all in his power to return a
benefit has returned it. Our opponent urges that the fact that he tried
everything proves that he did not in fact succeed in returning it; and,
therefore, evidently that he could not have done a thing for which he
found no opportunity. But if a physician has done all in his power to
effect a cure, he has performed his duty.
So your friend did all in his power to repay you a good turn, only your
good fortune stood in his way. He could not give money to the wealthy,
nurse one in good health, or run to your aid when all was prosperous. On
the other hand, if he had forgotten a benefit received, if he had not
even tried to be grateful, you would say he had not shown gratitude; but
as it was, he laboured day and night, to the neglect of other claims, to
let no chance of proving his thankfulness escape him.