Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency
their enemy through their confidence in the strength of their
position, cut many jokes upon the ugliness of Antigonus, at one
time mocking him for his shortness of stature, at another for his
broken nose, he answered, “I rejoice, and expect some good fortune
because I have a Silenus in my camp.” After he had conquered these
witty folk by hunger, his treatment of them was to form regiments
of those who were fit for service, and sell the rest by public
auction; nor would he, said he, have done this had it not been
better that men who had such evil tongues should be under the control
of a master.
XXIII. This man’s grandson[9] was Alexander, who used to hurl his
lance at his guests, who, of the two friends which I have mentioned
above, exposed one to the rage of a wild beast, and the other to
his own; yet of these two men, he who was exposed to the lion
survived. He did not derive this vice from his grandfather, nor
even from his father; for it was an especial virtue of Philip’s to
endure insults patiently, and was a great safeguard of his kingdom.
Demochares, who was surnamed Parrhesiastes on account of his unbridled
and impudent tongue, came on an embassy to him with other ambassadors
from Athens. After graciously {142} listening to what they had to
say, Philip said to them, “Tell me, what can I do that will please
the Athenians? “Demochares took him up, and answered, “Hang yourself.”
All the bystanders expressed their indignation at so brutal an
answer, but Philip bade them be silent, and let this Thersites
depart safe and sound. “But do you,” said he, “you other ambassadors,
tell the Athenians that those who say such things are much more
arrogant than those who hear them without revenging themselves.”
The late Emperor Augustus also did and said many memorable things,
which prove that he was not under the dominion of anger. Timagenes,
the historical writer, made some remarks upon him, his wife, and
his whole family: nor did his jests fall to the ground, for nothing
spreads more widely or is more in people’s mouths than reckless
wit. Caesar often warned him to be less audacious in his talk, and
as he continued to offend, forbade him his house. Timagenes after
this passed the later years of his life as the guest of Asinius
Pollio, and was the favourite of the whole city: the closing of
Caesar’s door did not close any other door against him. He read
aloud the history which he wrote after this, but burned the books
which contained the doings of Augustus Caesar. He was at enmity
with Caesar, but yet no one feared to be his friend, no one shrank
from him as though he were blasted by lightning: although he fell
from so high a place, yet some one was found to catch him in his
lap. Caesar, I say, bore this with patience, and was not even
irritated by the historian’s having laid violent hands upon his own
glories and acts: he never complained of the man who afforded his
enemy shelter, but merely said to Asinius Pollio “You are keeping
a wild beast:” then, when the other would have excused his conduct,
he stopped him, and said “Enjoy, my Pollio, enjoy his friendship.”
When Pollio said, “If you order me, Caesar, I will straightway
forbid him my house,” he {143} answered, “Do you think that I am
likely to do this, after having made you friends again?” for formerly
Pollio had been angry with Timagenes, and ceased to be angry with
him for no other reason than that Caesar began to be so.
XXIV. Let every one, then, say to himself, whenever he is provoked,
“Am I more powerful than Philip? yet he allowed a man to curse him
with impunity. Have I more authority in my own house than the Emperor
Augustus possessed throughout the world? yet he was satisfied with
leaving the society of his maligner. Why should I make my slave
atone by stripes and manacles for having answered me too loudly or
having put on a stubborn look, or muttered something which I did
not catch? Who am I, that it should be a crime to shock my ears?
Many men have forgiven their enemies: shall I not forgive men for
being lazy, careless, and gossipping?” We ought to plead age as an
excuse for children, sex for women, freedom for a stranger, familiarity
for a house-servant. Is this his first offence? think how long he
has been acceptable. Has he often done wrong, and in many other
cases? then let us continue to bear what we have borne so long. Is
he a friend? then he did not intend to do it. Is he an enemy? then
in doing it he did his duty. If he be a sensible man, let us believe
his excuses; if a fool, let us grant him pardon; whatever he may
be, let us say to ourselves on his behalf, that even the wisest of
men are often in fault, that no one is so alert that his carefulness
never betrays itself, that no one is of so ripe a judgment that his
serious mind cannot be goaded by circumstances into some hotheaded
action, that, in fine, no one, however much he may fear to give
offence, can help doing so even while he tries to avoid it.
XXV. As it is a consolation to a humble man in trouble that the
greatest are subject to reverses of fortune, and a man weeps more
calmly over his dead son in the corner of {144} his hovel if he
sees a piteous[10] funeral proceed out of the palace as well; so
one bears injury or insult more calmly if one remembers that no
power is so great as to be above the reach of harm. Indeed, if even
the wisest do wrong, who cannot plead a good excuse for his faults?
Let us look back upon our own youth, and think how often we then
were too slothful in our duty, too impudent in our speech, too
intemperate in our cups. Is anyone angry? then let us give him
enough time to reflect upon what he has done, and he will correct
his own self. But suppose he ought to pay the penalty of his deeds:
well, that is no reason why we should act as he does. It canot be
doubted that he who regards his tormentor with contempt raises
himself above the common herd and looks down upon them from a loftier
position: it is the property of true magnanimity not to feel the
blows which it may receive. So does a huge wild beast turn slowly
and gaze at yelping curs: so does the wave dash in vain against a
great cliff. The man who is not angry remains unshaken by injury:
he who is angry has been moved by it. He, however, whom I have
described as being placed too high for any mischief to reach him,
holds as it were the highest good in his arms: he can reply, not
only to any man, but to fortune herself: “Do what you will, you are
too feeble to disturb my serenity: this is forbidden by reason, to
whom I have entrusted the guidance of my life: to become angry would
do me more harm than your violence can do me. ‘More harm?’ say you.
Yes, certainly: I know how much injury you have done me, but I
cannot tell to what excesses anger might not carry me.”
XXVI. You say, “I cannot endure it: injuries are hard to bear.” You
lie; for how can any one not be able to bear injury, if he can bear
to be angry? Besides, what you {145} intend to do is to endure both
injury and anger. Why do you bear with the delirium of a sick man,
or the ravings of a madman, or the impudent blows of a child?
Because, of course, they evidently do not know what they are doing:
if a man be not responsible for his actions, what does it matter
by what malady he became so: the plea of ignorance holds equally
good in every case. “What then?” say you, “shall he not be punished?”
He will be, even supposing that you do not wish it: for the greatest
punishment for having done harm is the sense of having done it, and
no one is more severely punished than he who is given over to the
punishment of remorse. In the next place, we ought to consider the
whole state of mankind, in order to pass a just judgment on all the
occurrences of life: for it is unjust to blame individuals for a
vice which is common to all. The colour of an Aethiop is not
remarkable amongst his own people, nor is any man in Germany ashamed
of red hair rolled into a knot. You cannot call anything peculiar
or disgraceful in a particular man if it is the general characteristic
of his nation. Now, the cases which I have quoted are defended only
by the usage of one out-of-the-way quarter of the world: see now,
how far more deserving of pardon those crimes are which are spread
abroad among all mankind. We all are hasty and careless, we all are
untrustworthy, dissatisfied, and ambitious: nay, why do I try to
hide our common wickedness by a too partial description? we all are
bad. Every one of us therefore will find in his own breast the vice
which he blames in another. Why do you remark how pale this man,
or how lean that man is? there is a general pestilence. Let us
therefore be more gentle one to another: we are bad men, living
among bad men: there is only one thing which can afford us peace,
and that is to agree to forgive one another. “This man has already
injured me,” say you, “and I have not yet injured him.” No, but you
have probably injured some one else, and you will injure {146} him
some day. Do not form your judgment by one hour, or one day: consider
the whole tendency of your mind: even though you have done no evil,
yet you are capable of doing it.
XXVII. How far better is it to heal an injury than to avenge it?
Revenge takes up much time, and throws itself in the way of many
injuries while it is smarting under one. We all retain our anger
longer than we feel our hurt: how far better it were to take the
opposite course and not meet one mischief by another. Would any one
think himself to be in his perfect mind if he were to return kicks
to a mule or bites to a dog?” These creatures,” you say, “know not
that they are doing wrong.” Then, in the first place, what an unjust
judge you must be if a man has less chance of gaining your forgiveness
than a beast! Secondly, if animals are protected from your anger
by their want of reason, you ought to treat all foolish men in the
like manner: for if a man has that mental darkness which excuses
all the wrong-doings of dumb animals, what difference does it make
if in other respects he be unlike a dumb animal? He has sinned.
Well, is this the first time, or will this be the last time? Why,
you should not believe him even if he said, “Never will I do so
again.” He will sin, and another will sin against him, and all his
life he will wallow in wickedness. Savagery must be met by kindness:
we ought to use, to a man in anger, the argument which is so effective
with one in grief, that is, “Shall you leave off this at some time,
or never? If you will do so at some time, how better is it that you
should abandon anger than that anger should abandon you? Or, will
this excitement never leave you? Do you see to what an unquiet life
you condemn yourself? for what will be the life of one who is always
swelling with rage?” Add to this, that after you have worked yourself
up into a rage, and have from time to time renewed the causes of
your {147} excitement, yet your anger will depart from you of its
own accord, and time will sap its strength: how much better then
is it that it should be overcome by you than by itself?
XXVIII. If you are angry, you will quarrel first with this man, and
then with that: first with slaves, then with freedmen: first with
parents, then with children: first with acquaintances, then with
strangers: for there are grounds for anger in every case, unless
your mind steps in and intercedes with you: your frenzy will drag
you from one place to another, and from thence to elsewhere, your
madness will constantly meet with newly-occurring irritants, and
will never depart from you. Tell me, miserable man, what time you
will have for loving? O, what good time you are wasting on an evil
thing! How much better it would be to win friends, and disarm