L. Annaeus Seneca on Benefits
ungrateful who sits at the bedside of a sick man because he is about
to make a will, when he is at leisure to think of inheritances and
legacies. Though he may do everything which a good and dutiful friend
ought to do, yet, if any hope of gain be floating in his mind, he is a
mere legacy-hunter, and is angling for an inheritance. Like the birds
which feed upon carcases, which come close to animals weakened by
disease, and watch till they fall, so these men are attracted by death
and hover around a corpse.
XXI. A grateful mind is attracted only by a sense of the beauty of its
purpose. Do you wish to know this to be so, and that it is not bribed by
ideas of profit? There are two classes of grateful men: a man is called
grateful who has made some return for what he received; this man may
very possibly display himself in this character, he has something
to boast of, to refer to. We also call a man grateful who receives a
benefit with goodwill, and owes it to his benefactor with goodwill; yet
this man's gratitude lies concealed within his own mind. What profit can
accrue to him from this latent feeling? yet this man, even though he
is not able to do anything more than this, is grateful; he loves his
benefactor, he feels his debt to him, he longs to repay his kindness;
whatever else you may find wanting, there is nothing wanting in the man.
He is like a workman who has not the tools necessary for the practice of
his craft, or like a trained singer whose voice cannot be heard through
the noise of those who interrupt him. I wish to repay a kindness: after
this there still remains something for me to do, not in order that I may
become grateful, but that I may discharge my debt; for, in many cases,
he who returns a kindness is ungrateful for it, and he who does not
return it is grateful. Like all other virtues, the whole value of
gratitude lies in the spirit in which it is done; so, if this man's
purpose be loyal, any shortcomings on his part are due not to himself,
but to fortune. A man who is silent may, nevertheless, be eloquent; his
hands may be folded or even bound, and he may yet be strong; just as
a pilot is a pilot even when upon dry land, because his knowledge
is complete, and there is nothing wanting to it, though there may be
obstacles which prevent his making use of it. In the same way, a man is
grateful who only wishes to be so, and who has no one but himself who
can bear witness to his frame of mind. I will go even further than
this: a man sometimes is grateful when he appears to be ungrateful, when
ill-judging report has declared him to be so. Such a man can look
to nothing but his own conscience, which can please him even when
overwhelmed by calumny, which contradicts the mob and common rumour,
relies only upon itself, and though it beholds a vast crowd of the other
way of thinking opposed to it, does not count heads, but wins by its own
vote alone. Should it see its own good faith meet with the punishment
due to treachery, it will not descend from its pedestal, and will remain
superior to its punishment. "I have," it says, "what I wished, what I
strove for. I do not regret it, nor shall I do so; nor shall fortune,
however unjust she may be, ever hear me say, 'What did I want? What now
is the use of having meant well?'" A good conscience is of value on
the rack, or in the fire; though fire be applied to each of our limbs,
gradually encircle our living bodies, and burst our heart, yet if our
heart be filled with a good conscience, it will rejoice in the fire
which will make its good faith shine before the world.
XXII. Now let that question also which has been already stated be again
brought forward; Why is it that we should wish to be grateful when we
are dying, that we should carefully weigh the various services rendered
us by different individuals, and carefully review our whole life, that
we may not seem to have forgotten any kindness? Nothing then remains for
us to hope for; yet when on the very threshold, we wish to depart
from human life as full of gratitude as possible. There is in truth an
immense reward for this thing merely in doing it, and what is honourable
has great power to attract men's minds, which are overwhelmed by its
beauty and carried off their balance, enchanted by its brilliancy and
splendour. "Yet," argues our adversary, "from it many advantages take
their rise, and good men obtain a safer life and love, and the good
opinion of the better class, while their days are spent in greater
security when accompanied by innocence and gratitude."
Indeed, nature would have been most unjust had she rendered this great
blessing miserable, uncertain, and fruitless. But consider this point,
whether you would make your way to that virtue, to which it is generally
safe and easy to attain, even though the path lay over rocks and
precipices, and were beset with fierce beasts and venomous serpents. A
virtue is none the less to be desired for its own sake, because it has
some adventitious profit connected with it: indeed, in most cases the
noblest virtues are accompanied by many extraneous advantages, but it is
the virtues that lead the way, and these merely follow in their train.
XXIII. Can we doubt that the climate of this abode of the human race is
regulated by the motion of the sun and moon in their orbits? that
our bodies are sustained, the hard earth loosened, excessive moisture
reduced, and the surly bonds of winter broken by the heat of the one,
and that crops are brought to ripeness by the effectual all-pervading
warmth of the other? that the fertility of the human race corresponds
to the courses of the moon? that the sun by its revolution marks out
the year, and that the moon, moving in a smaller orbit, marks out the
months? Yet, setting aside all this, would not the sun be a sight worthy
to be contemplated and worshipped, if he did no more than rise and set?
would not the moon be worth looking at, even if it passed uselessly
through the heavens? Whose attention is not arrested by the universe
itself, when by night it pours forth its fires and glitters with
innumerable stars? Who, while he admires them, thinks of their being of
use to him? Look at that great company gliding over our heads, how they
conceal their swift motion under the semblance of a fixed and immovable
work. How much takes place in that night which you make use of merely
to mark and count your days! What a mass of events is being prepared in
that silence! What a chain of destiny their unerring path is forming!
Those which you imagine to be merely strewn about for ornament are
really one and all at work. Nor is there any ground for your belief that
only seven stars revolve, and that the rest remain still: we understand
the orbits of a few, but countless divinities, further removed from
our sight, come and go; while the greater part of those whom our sight
reaches move in a mysterious manner and by an unknown path.
XXIV. What then? would you not be captivated by the sight of such a
stupendous work, even though it did not cover you, protect you, cherish
you, bring you into existence and penetrate you with its spirit? Though
these heavenly bodies are of the very first importance to us, and are,
indeed, essential to our life, yet we can think of nothing but
their glorious majesty, and similarly all virtue, especially that of
gratitude, though it confers great advantages upon us, does not wish to
be loved for that reason; it has something more in it than this, and he
who merely reckons it among useful things does not perfectly comprehend
it. A man, you say, is grateful because it is to his advantage to be
so. If this be the case, then his advantage will be the measure of his
gratitude. Virtue will not admit a covetous lover; men must approach her
with open purse. The ungrateful man thinks, "I did wish to be grateful,
but I fear the expense and danger and insults to which I should expose
myself: I will rather consult my own interest." Men cannot be rendered
grateful and ungrateful by the same line of reasoning: their actions
are as distinct as their purposes. The one is ungrateful, although it is
wrong, because it is his interest; the other is grateful, although it is
not his interest, because it is right.
XXV. It is our aim to live in harmony with the scheme of the universe,
and to follow the example of the gods. Yet in all their acts the gods
have no object in view other than the act itself, unless you suppose
that they obtain a reward for their work in the smoke of burnt
sacrifices and the scent of incense. See what great things they do every
day, how much they divide amongst us, with how great crops they fill the
earth, how they move the seas with convenient winds to carry us to all
shores, how by the fall of sudden showers they soften the ground, renew
the dried-up springs of fountains, and call them into new life by
unseen supplies of water. All this they do without reward, without any
advantage accruing to themselves. Let our line of conduct, if it would
not depart from its model, preserve this direction, and let us not act
honourably because we are hired to do so. We ought to feel ashamed that
any benefit should have a price: we pay nothing for the gods.
XXVI. "If," our adversary may say, "you wish to imitate the gods, then
bestow benefits upon the ungrateful as well as the grateful; for the
sun rises upon the wicked as well as the good, the seas are open even
to pirates." By this question he really asks whether a good man
would bestow a benefit upon an ungrateful person, knowing him to be
ungrateful. Allow me here to introduce a short explanation, that we may
not be taken in by a deceitful question. Understand that according to
the system of the Stoics there are two classes of ungrateful persons.
One man is ungrateful because he is a fool; a fool is a bad man; a man
who is bad possesses every vice: therefore he is ungrateful. In the same
way we speak of all bad men as dissolute, avaricious, luxurious, and
spiteful, not because each man has all these vices in any great or
remarkable degree, but because he might have them; they are in him, even
though they be not seen. The second form of ungrateful person is he who
is commonly meant by the term, one who is inclined by nature to this
vice. In the case of him who has the vice of ingratitude just as he has
every other, a wise man will bestow a benefit, because if he sets aside
all such men there will be no one left for him to bestow it on. As for
the ungrateful man who habitually misapplies benefits and acts so by
choice, he will no more bestow a benefit upon him than he would lend
money to a spendthrift, or place a deposit in the hands of one who had
already often refused to many persons to give up the property with which
they had entrusted him.
XXVII. We call some men timid because they are fools: in this they
are like the bad men who are steeped in all vices without distinction.
Strictly speaking, we call those persons timid who are alarmed even
at unmeaning noises. A fool possesses all vices, but he is not equally
inclined by nature to all; one is prone to avarice, another to luxury,
and another to insolence. Those persons, therefore, are mistaken, who
ask the Stoics, "What do you say, then? is Achilles timid? Aristides,
who received a name for justice, is he unjust? Fabius, who 'by delays
retrieved the day,' is he rash? Does Decius fear death? Is Mucius
a traitor? Camillus a betrayer?" We do not mean that all vices are
inherent in all men in the same way in which some especial ones are
noticeable in certain men, but we declare that the bad man and the fool
possess all vices; we do not even acquit them of fear when they are
rash, or of avarice when they are extravagant. Just as a man has all his