L. Annaeus Seneca on Benefits
directs us. Wait, do nothing that will not turn out well, form no
opinion until you have searched but the truth, and your life will pass
in absolute in action. Since it is only the appearance of truth, not
truth itself, which leads me hither or thither, I shall confer benefits
upon the man who apparently will be grateful.
XXXIV. "Many circumstances," argues he, "may arise which may enable a
bad man to steal into the place of a good one, or may cause a good man
to be disliked as though he were a bad one; for appearances, to which
we trust, are deceptive." Who denies it? Yet I can find nothing else by
which to guide my opinion. I must follow these tracks in my search after
truth, for I have none more trustworthy than these; I will take pains
to weigh the value of these with all possible care, and will not hastily
give my assent to them. For instance, in a battle, it may happen that my
hand may be deceived by some mistake into turning my weapon against my
comrade, and sparing my enemy as though he were on my side; but this
will not often take place, and will not take place through any fault of
mine, for my object is to strike the enemy, and defend my countryman.
If I know a man to be ungrateful, I shall not bestow a benefit upon him.
But the man has passed himself off as a good man by some trick, and has
imposed upon me. Well, this is not at all the fault of the giver, who
gave under the impression that his friend was grateful. "Suppose," asks
he, "that you were to promise to bestow a benefit, and afterwards were
to learn that your man was ungrateful, would you bestow it or not? If
you do, you do wrong knowingly, for you give to one to whom you ought
not; if you refuse, you do wrong likewise, for you do not give to him to
whom you promised to give. This case upsets your consistency, and that
proud assurance of yours that the wise man never regrets his actions,
or amends what he has done, or alters his plans." The wise man never
changes his plans while the conditions under which he formed them remain
the same; therefore, he never feels regret, because at the time nothing
better than what he did could have been done, nor could any better
decision have been arrived at than that which was made; yet he begins
everything with the saving clause, "If nothing shall occur to the
contrary." This is the reason why we say that all goes well with him,
and that nothing happens contrary to his expectation, because he
bears in mind the possibility of something happening to prevent the
realization of his projects. It is an imprudent confidence to trust that
fortune will be on our side. The wise man considers both sides: he knows
how great is the power of errors, how uncertain human affairs are, how
many obstacles there are to the success of plans. Without committing
himself, he awaits the doubtful and capricious issue of events, and
weighs certainty of purpose against uncertainty of result. Here also,
however, he is protected by that saving clause, without which he decides
upon nothing, and begins nothing.
XXXV. When I promise to bestow a benefit, I promise it, unless something
occurs which makes it my duty not to do so. What if, for example, my
country orders me to give to her what I had promised to my friend? or if
a law be passed forbidding any one to do what I had promised to do for
him? Suppose that I have promised you my daughter in marriage, that
then you turn out to be a foreigner, and that I have no right of
intermarriage with foreigners; in this case, the law, by which I
am forbidden to fulfil my promise, forms my defence. I shall be
treacherous, and hear myself blamed for inconsistency, only if I do not
fulfil, my promise when all conditions remain the same as when I made
it; otherwise, any change makes me free to reconsider the entire case,
and absolves me from my promise. I may have promised to plead a cause;
afterwards it appears that this cause is designed to form a precedent
for an attack upon my father. I may have promised to leave my country,
and travel abroad; then news comes that the road is beset with robbers.
I was going to an appointment at some particular place; but my son's
illness, or my wife's confinement, prevented me. All conditions must be
the same as they were when I made the promise, if you mean to hold me
bound in honour to fulfil it. Now what greater change can take place
than that I should discover you to be a bad and ungrateful man? I
shall refuse to an unworthy man that which I had intended to give him
supposing him to be worthy, and I shall also have reason to be angry
with him for the trick which he has put upon me.
XXXVI. I shall nevertheless look into the matter, and consider what the
value of the thing promised may be. If it be trifling, I shall give it,
not because you are worthy of it, but because I promised it, and I shall
not give it as a present, but merely in order to make good my words
and give myself a twitch of the ear. I will punish my own rashness in
promising by the loss of what I gave. "See how grieved you are; mind you
take more care what you say in future." As the saying is, I will take
tongue money from you. If the matter be important, I will not, as
Maecenas said, let ten million sesterces reproach me. I will weigh the
two sides of the question one against the other: there is something in
abiding by what you have promised; on the other hand, there is a great
deal in not bestowing a benefit upon one who is unworthy of it. Now, how
great is this benefit? If it is a trifling one, let us wink and let it
pass; but if it will cause me much loss or much shame to give it, I had
rather excuse myself once for refusing it than have to do so ever after
for giving it. The whole point, I repeat, depends upon how much the
thing given is worth: let the terms of my promise be appraised. Not only
shall I refuse to give what I may have promised rashly, but I shall also
demand back again what I may have wrongly bestowed: a man must be mad
who keeps a promise made under a mistake.
XXXVII. Philip, king of the Macedonians, had a hardy soldier whose
services he had found useful in many campaigns. From time to time he
made this man presents of part of the plunder as the reward of his
valour, and used to excite his greedy spirit by his frequent gifts. This
man was cast by shipwreck upon the estate of a certain Macedonian,
who as soon as he heard the news hastened to him, restored his breath,
removed him to his own farmhouse, gave up his own bed to him, nursed him
out of his weakened and half-dead condition, took care of him at his own
expense for thirty days, restored him to health and gave him a sum of
money for his journey, as the man kept constantly saying, "If only I
can see my chief, I will repay your kindness." He told Philip of his
shipwreck, said nothing about the help which he had received, and at
once demanded that a certain man's estate should be given to him.
The man was a friend of his: it was that very man by whom he had been
rescued and restored to health. Sometimes, especially in time of war,
kings bestow many gifts with their eyes shut. One just man cannot deal
with such a mass of armed selfishness. It is not possible for any one
to be at the same time a good man and a good general. How are so many
thousands of insatiable men to be satiated? What would they have,
if every man had his own? Thus Philip reasoned with himself while he
ordered the man to be put in possession of the property which he asked
for. However, the other, when driven out of his estate, did not, like a
peasant, endure his wrongs in silence, thankful that he himself was not
given away also, but sent a sharp and outspoken letter to Philip, who,
on reading it, was so much enraged that he straightway ordered Pausanias
to restore the property to its former owner, and to brand that
wickedest of soldiers, that most ungrateful of guests, that greediest
of shipwrecked men, with letters bearing witness to his ingratitude. He,
indeed, deserved to have the letters not merely branded but carved in
his flesh, for having reduced his host to the condition in which he
himself had been when he lay naked and shipwrecked upon the beach;
still, let us see within what limits one ought to keep in punishing him.
Of course what he had so villainously seized ought to be taken from him.
But who would be affected by the spectacle of his punishment? The crime
which he had committed would prevent his being pitied even by any humane
person.
XXXVIII. Will Philip then give you a thing because he has promised to
give it, even though he ought not to do so, even though he will commit
a wrong by doing so, nay, a crime, even though by this one act he will
make it impossible for shipwrecked men to reach the shore? There is no
inconsistency in giving up an intention which we have discovered to
be wrong and have condemned as wrong; we ought candidly to admit, "I
thought that it was something different; I have been deceived." It is
mere pride and folly to persist, "what I once have said, be it what
it may, shall remain unaltered and settled." There is no disgrace in
altering one's plans according to circumstances. Now, if Philip had
left this man in possession of that seashore which he obtained by
his shipwreck, would he not have practically pronounced sentence of
banishment against all unfortunates for the future? "Rather," says
Philip, "do thou carry upon thy forehead of brass those letters, that
they may be impressed upon the eyes of all throughout my kingdom. Go,
let men see how sacred a thing is the table of hospitality; show them
your face, that upon it they may read the decree which prevents its
being a capital crime to give refuge to the unfortunate under one's
roof. The order will be more certainly respected by this means than if I
had inscribed it upon tablets of brass."
XXXIX. "Why then," argues our adversary, "did your Stoic philosopher
Zeno, when he had promised a loan of five hundred denarii to some
person, whom he afterwards discovered to be of doubtful character,
persist in lending it, because of his promise, though his friends
dissuaded him from doing so?" In the first place a loan is on a
different footing to a benefit. Even when we have lent money to an
undesirable person we can recall it; I can demand payment upon a certain
day, and if he becomes bankrupt, I can obtain my share of his property;
but a benefit is lost utterly and instantly. Besides, the one is the act
of a bad man, the other that of a bad father of a family. In the next
place, if the sum had been a larger one, not even Zeno would have
persisted in lending it. It was five hundred denarii; the sort of sum of
which one says, "May he spend it in sickness," and it was worth paying
so much to avoid breaking his promise. I shall go out to supper, even
though the weather be cold, because I have promised to go; but I shall
not if snow be falling. I shall leave my bed to go to a betrothal feast,
although I may be suffering from indigestion; but I shall not do so if I
am feverish. I will become bail for you, because I promised; but not if
you wish me to become bail in some transaction of uncertain issue, if
you expose me to forfeiting my money to the state. There runs through
all these cases, I argue, an implied exception; if I am able, provided
it is right for me to do so, if these things be so and so. Make the
position the same when you ask me to fulfil my promise, as it was when
I gave it, and it will be mere fickleness to disappoint you; but if
something new has taken place in the meanwhile, why should you wonder at
my intentions being changed when the conditions under which I gave the
promise are changed? Put everything back as it was, and I shall be the
same as I was. We enter into recognizances to appear, yet if we fail to