Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency
“You need not,” says he, “bring me forward as a witness; if I am
brought forward I shall deny what I have said; unless you excuse
me from appearing I shall never tell you anything.” At the same
time he spurs you on and withdraws himself from the strife and
battle. The man who will tell you nothing save in secret hardly
tells you anything at all. What can be more unjust than to believe
in secret, and to be angry openly?
XXX. Some offences we ourselves witness: in these cases let us
examine the disposition and purpose of the offender. Perhaps he is
a child; let us pardon his youth, he knows not whether he is doing
wrong: or he is a father; he has either rendered such great services,
as to have won the right even to wrong us—or perhaps this very act
which offends us is his chief merit: or a woman; well, she made a
mistake. The man did it because he was ordered to do it. Who but
an unjust person can be angry with what is done under compulsion?
You had hurt him: well, there is no wrong in suffering the pain
which you have been the first to inflict. Suppose that your opponent
is a judge; then you ought to take his opinion rather than your
own: or that he is a king; then, if he punishes the guilty, yield
to him because he is just, and if he punishes the innocent, yield
to him because he is powerful. Suppose that it is a dumb animal or
as stupid as a dumb animal: then, if you are angry with it, you
will make yourself like it. Suppose that it is a disease or a
misfortune; it will take less effect upon you if you bear it quietly:
or that it is a god; then you waste your time by being angry with
him as much {106} as if you prayed him to be angry with some one
else. Is it a good man who has wronged you? do not believe it: is
it a bad one? do not be surprised at this; he will pay to some one
else the penalty which he owes to you—indeed, by his sin he has
already punished himself.
XXXI. There are, as I have stated, two cases which produce anger:
first, when we appear to have received an injury, about which enough
has been said, and, secondly, when we appear to have been treated
unjustly: this must now be discussed. Men think some things unjust
because they ought not to suffer them, and some because they did
not expect to suffer them: we think what is unexpected is beneath
our deserts. Consequently, we are especially excited at what befalls
us contrary to our hope and expectation: and this is why we are
irritated at the smallest trifles in our own domestic affairs, and
why we call our friends’ carelessness deliberate injury. How is it,
then, asks our opponent, that we are angered by the injuries inflicted
by our enemies? It is because we did not expect those particular
injuries, or, at any rate, not on so extensive a scale. This is
caused by our excessive self-love: we think that we ought to remain
uninjured even by our enemies: every man bears within his breast
the mind of a despot, and is willing to commit excesses, but unwilling
to submit to them. Thus it is either ignorance or arrogance that
makes us angry: ignorance of common facts; for what is there to
wonder at in bad men committing evil deeds? what novelty is there
in your enemy hurting you, your friend quarrelling with you, your
son going wrong, or your servant doing amiss? Fabius was wont to
say that the most shameful excuse a general could make was “I did
not think.” I think it the most shameful excuse that a man can make.
Think of everything, expect everything: even with men of good
character something queer will crop up; human nature produces minds
that are treacherous, ungrateful, greedy, and impious: when you are
considering what any {107} man’s morals may be, think what those
of mankind are. When you are especially enjoying yourself, be
especially on your guard: when everything seems to you to be peaceful,
be sure that mischief is not absent, but only asleep. Always believe
that something will occur to offend you. A pilot never spreads all
his canvas abroad so confidently as not to keep his tackle for
shortening sail ready for use. Think, above all, how base and hateful
is the power of doing mischief, and how unnatural in man, by whose
kindness even fierce animals are rendered tame. See how bulls yield
their necks to the yoke, how elephants[13] allow boys and women to
dance on their backs unhurt, how snakes glide harmlessly over our
bosoms and among our drinking-cups, how within their dens bears and
lions submit to be handled with complacent mouths, and wild beasts
fawn upon their master: let us blush to have exchanged habits with
wild beasts. It is a crime to injure one’s country: so it is,
therefore, to injure any of our countrymen, for he is a part of our
country; if the whole be sacred, the parts must be sacred too.
Therefore it is also a crime to injure any man: for he is your
fellow-citizen in a larger state. What, if the hands were to wish
to hurt the feet? or the eyes to hurt the hands? As all the limbs
act in unison, because it is the interest of the whole body to keep
each one of them safe, so men should spare one another, because
they are born for society. The bond of society, however, cannot
exist unless it guards and loves all its members. We should not
even destroy vipers and water-snakes and other creatures whose teeth
and claws are dangerous, if we were able to tame them as we do other
animals, or to prevent their being a peril to us: neither ought we,
therefore, to hurt a man because he has done wrong, but lest he
should do wrong, and our punishment should always look to the future,
and never to the past, because it is inflicted in a spirit of
precaution, not of anger: for if everyone {108} who has a crooked
and vicious disposition were to be punished, no one would escape
punishment.
XXXII. “But anger possesses a certain pleasure of its own, and it
is sweet to pay back the pain you have suffered.” Not at all; it
is not honourable to requite injuries by injuries, in the same way
as it is to repay benefits by benefits. In the latter case it is a
shame to be conquered; in the former it is a shame to conquer.
Revenge and retaliation are words which men use and even think to
be righteous, yet they do not greatly differ from wrong-doing,
except in the order in which they are done: he who renders pain for
pain has more excuse for his sin; that is all. Some one who did not
know Marcus Cato struck him in the public bath in his ignorance,
for who would knowingly have done him an injury? Afterwards when
he was apologizing, Cato replied, “I do not remember being struck.”
He thought it better to ignore the insult than to revenge it. You
ask, “Did no harm befall that man for his insolence?” No, but rather
much good; he made the acquaintance of Cato. It is the part of a
great mind to despise wrongs done to it; the most contemptuous form
of revenge is not to deem one’s adversary worth taking vengeance
upon. Many have taken small injuries much more seriously to heart
than they need, by revenging them: that man is great and noble who
like a large wild animal hears unmoved the tiny curs that bark at
him.
XXXIII. “We are treated,” says our opponent, “with more respect if
we revenge our injuries.” If we make use of revenge merely as a
remedy, let us use it without anger, and not regard revenge as
pleasant, but as useful: yet often it is better to pretend not to
have received an injury than to avenge it. The wrongs of the powerful
must not only be borne, but borne with a cheerful countenance: they
will repeat the wrong if they think they have inflicted it. This
is the worst trait of minds rendered arrogant by {109} prosperity,
they hate those whom they have injured. Every one knows the saying
of the old courtier, who, when some one asked him how he had achieved
the rare distinction of living at court till he reached old age,
replied, “By receiving wrongs and returning thanks for them.” It
is often so far from expedient to avenge our wrongs, that it will
not do even to admit them. Gaius Caesar, offended at the smart
clothes and well-dressed hair of the son of Pastor, a distinguished
Roman knight, sent him to prison. When the father begged that his
son might suffer no harm, Caius, as if reminded by this to put him
to death, ordered him to be executed, yet, in order to mitigate his
brutality to the father, invited him that very day to dinner. Pastor
came with a countenance which betrayed no illwill. Caesar pledged
him in a glass of wine, and set a man to watch him. The wretched
creature went through his part, feeling as though he were drinking
his son’s blood: the emperor sent him some perfume and a garland,
and gave orders to watch whether he used them: he did so. On the
very day on which he had buried, nay, on which he had not even
buried his son, he sat down as one of a hundred guests, and, old
and gouty as he was, drank to an extent which would have been hardly
decent on a child’s birthday; he shed no tear the while; he did not
permit his grief to betray itself by the slightest sign; he dined
just as though his entreaties had gained his son’s life. You ask
me why he did so? he had another son. What did Priam do in the
Iliad? Did he not conceal his wrath and embrace the knees of Achilles?
did he not raise to his lips that death-dealing hand, stained with
the blood of his son, and sup with his slayer? True! but there were
no perfumes and garlands, and his fierce enemy encouraged him with
many soothing words to eat, not to drain huge goblets with a guard
standing over him to see that he did it. Had he only feared for
himself, the father would have treated the {110} tyrant with scorn:
but love for his son quenched his anger: he deserved the emperor’s
permission to leave the banquet and gather up the bones of his son:
but, meanwhile, that kindly and polite youth the emperor would not
even permit him to do this, but tormented the old man with frequent
invitations to drink, advising him thereby to lighten his sorrows.
He, on the other hand, appeared to be in good spirits, and to have
forgotten what had been done that day: he would have lost his second
son had he proved an unacceptable guest to the murderer of his
eldest.
XXXIV. We must, therefore, refrain from anger, whether he who
provokes us be on a level with ourselves, or above us, or below us.
A contest with one’s equal is of uncertain issue, with one’s superior
is folly, and with one’s inferior is contemptible. It is the part
of a mean and wretched man to turn and bite one’s biter: even mice
and ants show their teeth if you put your hand to them, and all
feeble creatures think that they are hurt if they are touched. It
will make us milder tempered to call to mind any services which he
with whom we are angry may have done us, and to let his deserts
balance his offence. Let us also reflect, how much credit the tale
of our forgiveness will confer upon us, how many men may be made
into valuable friends by forgiveness. One of the lessons which
Sulla’s cruelty teaches us is not to be angry with the children of
our enemies, whether they be public or private; for he drove the
sons of the proscribed into exile. Nothing is more unjust than that
any one should inherit the quarrels of his father. Whenever we are
loth to pardon any one, let us think whether it would be to our
advantage that all men should be inexorable. He who refuses to
pardon, how often has he begged it for himself? how often has he
grovelled at the feet of those whom he spurns from his own? How can
we gain more glory than by turning anger {111} into friendship?
what more faithful allies has the Roman people than those who have
been its most unyielding enemies? where would the empire be to-day,
had not a wise foresight united the conquered and the conquerors?
If any one is angry with you, meet his anger by returning benefits