Minor Dialogues, Together With the Dialogue on Clemency
will come to pass. Let your own goodness of heart be gradually
spread and diffused throughout the whole body of the empire, and
all parts of it will mould themselves into your likeness. Good
health proceeds from the head into all the members of the body:
they are all either brisk and erect, or languid and drooping,
according as their guiding spirit blooms or withers. Both Romans
and allies will prove worthy of this goodness of yours, and good
morals will return to all the world: your hands will everywhere
find less to do. Allow me to dwell somewhat upon this saying of
yours, not because it is a pleasant subject for your ears (indeed,
this is not my way; I would rather offend by telling the truth than
curry favour by flattery). What, then, is my reason? Besides wishing
that you should be as familiar as possible with your own good deeds
and good words, in order that what is now untutored impulse may
grow into matured decision, I remember that many great but odious
sayings have become part of human life and are familiar in men’s
mouths, such as that celebrated “Let them hate me, provided that
they fear me,” which is like that Greek verse, έμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα
μιχθήτω πνρί, in which a man bids the earth perish in flame after
he is dead, and others of the like sort. I know not how it is, but
certainly human ingenuity seems to have found it {417} easier to
find emphatic and ardent expression for monstrous and cynical
sentiments: I have never hitherto heard any spirited saying from a
good and gentle person. What, then, is the upshot of all this? It
is that, albeit seldom and against your will, and after much
hesitation, you sometimes nevertheless must write that which made
you hate your letters, but that you ought to do so with great
hesitation and after many postponements, even as you now do.
III. But lest the plausible word “mercy” should sometimes deceive
us and lead us into the opposite extreme, let us consider what mercy
is, what its qualities are, and within what limits it is confined.
Mercy is “a restraining of the mind from vengeance when it is in
its power to avenge itself,” or it is “gentleness shown by a powerful
man in fixing the punishment of a weaker one.” It is safer to have
more than one definition, since one may not include the whole
subject, and may, so to speak, lose its cause: mercy, therefore,
may likewise be termed a tendency towards mildness in inflicting
punishment. It is possible to discover certain inconsistencies in
the definition which comes nearer the truth than all the rest, which
is to call mercy “self-restraint, which remits some part of a fine
which it deserves to receive and which is due to it.” To this it
will be objected that no virtue ever gives any man less than his
due. However, all men understand mercy to consist in coming short
of the penalty which might with justice be inflicted.
IV. The unlearned think that its opposite is strictness: but no
virtue is the opposite of another virtue. What, then, is the opposite
of mercy? Cruelty: which is nothing more than obstinacy in exacting
punishments. “But,” say you, “some men do not exact punishments,
and nevertheless are cruel, such as those who kill the strangers
whom they meet, not in order to rob them, but for killing’s sake,
and men who are not satisfied with killing, but kill {418} with
savage tortures, like the famous Busiris,[1] and Procrustes, and
pirates who flog their captives and burn them alive.” This appears
to be cruelty: but as it is not the result of vengeance (for it has
received no wrong), and is not excited by any offence (for no crime
has preceded it), it does not come within our definition, which was
limited to “extravagance in exacting the penalties of wrongdoing.”
We may say that this is not cruelty, but ferocity, which finds
pleasure in savagery: or we may call it madness; for madness is of
various kinds, and there is no truer madness than that which takes
to slaughtering and mutilating human beings. I shall, therefore,
call those persons cruel who have a reason for punishing but who
punish without moderation, like Phalaris, who is not said to have
tortured innocent men, but to have tortured criminals with inhuman
and incredible barbarity. We may avoid hairsplitting by defining
cruelty to be “a tendency of the mind towards harsh measures.” Mercy
repels cruelty and bids it be far from her: with strictness she is
on terms of amity.
At this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for many
praise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of pity.
This also is a disease of the mind. Both of these stand close to
mercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, lest under
the name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and under the name
of mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make the latter mistake,
but both lead us equally far away from the truth.
V. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonoured
by superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, but
will avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which cannot
endure the sight of another’s sufferings. It is, therefore, most
commonly {419} found in the worst people; there are old women and
girls[2] who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals,
and who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers
a man’s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due:
mercy is combined with reason. I know that the doctrine of the
Stoics is unpopular among the ignorant as being excessively severe
and not at all likely to give kings and princes good advice; it is
blamed because it declares that the wise man knows not how to feel
pity or to grant pardon. These doctrines, if taken separately, are
indeed odious, for they appear to give men no hope of repairing
their mistakes but exact a penalty for every slip. If this were
true, how can it be true wisdom to bid us put off human feeling,
and to exclude us from mutual help, that surest haven of refuge
against the attacks of Fortune? But no school of philosophy is more
gentle and benignant, none is more full of love towards man or more
anxious to promote the happiness of all, seeing that its maxims
are, to be of service and assistance to others, and to consult the
interests of each and all, not of itself alone. Pity is a disorder
of the mind caused by the sight of other men’s miseries, or it is
a sadness caused by the evils with which it believes others to be
undeservedly afflicted: but the wise man cannot be affected by any
disorder: his mind is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to
ruffle it. Moreover, nothing becomes a man more than magnanimity:
but magnanimity cannot coexist with sorrow. Sorrow overwhelms men’s
minds, casts them down, contracts them: now this cannot happen to
the wise man even in his greatest misfortunes, but he will beat
back the rage of Fortune and triumph over it: he will {420} always
retain the same calm, undisturbed expression of countenance, which
he never could do were he accessible to sorrow.
VI. Add to this, that the wise man provides for the future and
always has a distinct plan of action ready: yet nothing clear and
true can flow from a disturbed source. Sorrow is awkward at reviewing
the position of affairs, at devising useful expedients, avoiding
dangerous courses, and weighing the merits of fair and just ones:
therefore the wise man will not feel pity, because this cannot
happen to a man unless his mind is disturbed. He will do willingly
and highmindedly all that those who feel pity are wont to do; he
will dry the tears of others, but will not mingle his own with them;
he will stretch out his hand to the shipwrecked mariner, will offer
hospitality to the exile, and alms to the needy—not in the offensive
way in which most of those who wish to be thought tender-hearted
fling their bounty to those whom they assist and shrink from their
touch, but as one man would give another something out of the common
stock—he will restore children to their weeping mothers, will loose
the chains of the captive, release the gladiator from his bondage,
and even bury the carcase of the criminal, but he will perform all
this with a calm mind and unaltered expression of countenance. Thus
the wise man will not pity men, but will help them and be of service
to them, seeing that he is born to be a help to all men and a public
benefit, of which he will bestow a share upon every one. He will
even grant a proportional part of his bounty to those sufferers who
deserve blame and correction; but he will much more willingly help
those whose troubles and adversities are caused by misfortune.
Whenever he is able he will interpose between Fortune and her
victims: for what better employment can he find for his wealth or
his strength than in setting up again what chance has overthrown?
He will not show or feel any {421} disgust at a man’s having withered
legs, or a flabby wrinkled skin, or supporting his aged body upon
a staff; but he will do good to those who deserve it, and will,
like a god, look benignantly upon all who are in trouble. Pity
borders upon misery: it is partly composed of it and partly derived
from it. You know that eyes must be weak, if they fill with rheum
at the sight of another’s blearedness, just as it is not real
merriment but hysteria which makes people laugh because others
laugh, and yawn whenever others open their jaws: pity is a defect
in the mind of people who are extraordinarily affected by suffering,
and he who requires a wise man to exhibit it is not far from requiring
him to lament and groan when strangers are buried.
VII. But why should he not pardon?[3] Let us decide by exact
definition this other slippery matter, the true nature of pardon,
and we shall then perceive that the wise man ought not to grant it.
Pardon is the remitting of a deserved punishment. The reasons why
the wise man ought not to grant this remission are given at length
by those of whom this question is specially asked: I will briefly
say, as though it were no concern of mine to decide this point, “A
man grants pardon to one whom he ought to punish: now the wise man
does nothing which he ought not to do, and omits to [do] nothing
which he ought to do: he does not, therefore, remit any punishment
which he ought to exact. But the wise man will bestow upon you in
a more honourable way that which you wish to obtain by pardon, for
he will make allowances for you, will consult your interests, and
will correct your bad habits: he will act just as though he were
pardoning you, but nevertheless he will not pardon you, because he
who pardons admits that in so doing he has neglected a part of {422}
his duty. He will only punish some people by reprimanding them, and
will inflict no further penalty if he considers that they are of
an age which admits of reformation: some people who are undeniably
implicated in an odious charge he will acquit, because they were
deceived into committing, or were not sober when they committed the
offence with which they are charged: he will let his enemies depart
unharmed, sometimes even with words of commendation, if they have
taken up arms to defend their honour, their covenants with others,
their freedom, or on any other honourable ground. All these doings
come under the head of mercy, not of pardon. Mercy is free to come
to what decision it pleases: she gives her decision, not under any
statute, but according to equity and goodness: she may acquit the
defendant, or impose what damages she pleases. She does not do any
of these things as though she were doing less than justice requires,
but as though the justest possible course were that which she adopts.
On the other hand, to pardon is not to punish a man whom you have
decided ought to be punished; pardon is the remission of a punishment