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diff --git a/old/56075-0.txt b/old/56075-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 55d393a..0000000 --- a/old/56075-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10273 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Seneca's Morals of a Happy Life, Benefits, -Anger and Clemency, by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Translated by Sir Roger -L'Estrange - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Seneca's Morals of a Happy Life, Benefits, Anger and Clemency - - -Author: Lucius Annaeus Seneca - - - -Release Date: November 28, 2017 [eBook #56075] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENECA'S MORALS OF A HAPPY LIFE, -BENEFITS, ANGER AND CLEMENCY*** - - -E-text prepared by Turgut Dincer, Les Galloway, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/cu31924101956971 - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -SENECA’S MORALS OF A HAPPY LIFE, -BENEFITS, ANGER AND CLEMENCY. - -Translated by - -SIR ROGER L’ESTRANGE. - -New Edition. - - - - - - -Chicago: -Belford, Clarke & Co., -1882. - -Belford . Clarke & Co., -1881. - -Printed and Bound by -Donohue & Henneberry. -Chicago, Ill. - - - - -TO THE READER. - - -It has been a long time my thought to turn SENECA into English; -but whether as a _translation_ or an _abstract_, was the question. -A _translation_, I perceive, it must not be, at last, for several -reasons. First, it is a thing already done to my hand, and of above -sixty years’ standing; though with as little _credit_, perhaps, to -the Author, as _satisfaction_ to the Reader. Secondly, There is a -great deal in him, that is wholly foreign to my business: as his -philosophical treatises of _Meteors_, _Earthquakes_, the Original -of _Rivers_, several frivolous disputes betwixt the Epicureans and -the Stoics, etc., to say nothing of his frequent repetitions of the -same thing again in other words, (wherein he very handsomely excuses -himself, by saying, “That he does but inculcate over and over the same -counsels to those that over and over commit the same faults.”)Thirdly, -His excellency consists rather in a rhapsody of divine and -extraordinary _hints_ and _notions_, than in any regulated method of -discourse; so that to take him as he lies, and so to go through with -him, were utterly inconsistent with the order and brevity which I -propound; my principal design, being only to digest, and commonplace -his _Morals_, in such sort, that any man, upon occasion, may know where -to find them. And I have kept myself so close to this proposition, -that I have reduced all his scattered Ethics to their _proper heads_, -without any additions of my own, more than of absolute necessity -for the tacking of them together. Some other man in my place would -perhaps make you twenty apologies for his want of skill and address, -in governing this affair; but these are formal and pedantic fooleries, -as if any man that first takes himself for a coxcomb in his own heart, -would afterwards make himself one in print too. This _Abstract_, such -as it is, you are extremely welcome to; and I am sorry it is no better, -both for your sakes and my own, for if it were written up to the spirit -of the original, it would be one of the most valuable presents that -ever any private man bestowed upon the public; and this, too, even in -the judgment of both parties, as well Christian as Heathen, of which in -its due place. - -Next to my choice of the _Author_ and of the _subject_, together with -the manner of handling it, I have likewise had some regard, in this -publication, to the _timing_ of it, and to the preference of this topic -of _Benefits_ above all others, for the groundwork of my _first essay_. -We are fallen into an age of _vain philosophy_ (as the holy apostle -calls it) and so desperately overrun with Drolls and Sceptics, that -there is hardly any thing so certain or so sacred, that is not exposed -to question and contempt, insomuch, that betwixt the hypocrite and the -Atheist, the very foundations of religion and good manners are shaken, -and the two tables of the _Decalogue_ dashed to pieces the one against -the other; the laws of government are subjected to the fancies of the -vulgar; public authority to the private passions and opinions of the -people; and the supernatural motions of grace confounded with the -common dictates of nature. In this state of corruption, who so fit as a -good honest Christian Pagan for a moderator among Pagan Christians? - -To pass now from the general scope of the whole work to the particular -argument of the first part of it, I pitched upon the theme of -_Benefits_, _Gratitude_, and _Ingratitude_, to begin withal, as an -earnest of the rest, and a lecture expressly calculated for the -unthankfulness of these times; the foulest undoubtedly, and the most -execrable of all others, since the very apostasy of the angels: -nay, if I durst but suppose a possibility of mercy for those damned -spirits, and that they might ever be taken into favor again, my -charity would hope even better for them than we have found from some -of our revolters, and that they would so behave themselves as not to -incur a second forfeiture. And to carry the resemblance yet one point -farther, they do both of them agree in an implacable malice against -those of their fellows that keep their stations. But, alas! what -could _Ingratitude_ do without _Hypocrisy_, the inseparable companion -of it, and, in effect, the bolder and blacker devil of the two? for -Lucifer himself never had the face to lift up his eyes to heaven, and -talk to the ALMIGHTY at the familiar rate of our pretended patriots -and zealots, and at the same time to make him party to a cheat. It is -not for nothing that the Holy Ghost has denounced so many woes, and -redoubled so many cautions against _hypocrites_; plainly intimating -at once how dangerous a snare they are to mankind, and no less odious -to God himself; which is sufficiently denoted in the force of that -dreadful expression, _And your portion shall be with hypocrites_. You -will find in the holy scriptures (as I have formerly observed) that -God has given the grace of repentance to _persecutors_, _idolaters_, -_murderers_, _adulterers_, etc., but I am mistaken if the whole Bible -affords you any one instance of a _converted hypocrite_. - -To descend now from truth itself to our own experience have we not -seen, even in our days, a most pious (and almost faultless) Prince -brought to the scaffold by his own subjects? The most glorious -constitution upon the face of the earth, both ecclesiastical and -civil, torn to pieces and dissolved? The happiest people under the sun -enslaved? Our temples sacrilegiously profaned, and a license given -to all sorts of heresy and outrage? And by whom but by a race of -_hypocrites?_ who had nothing in their mouths all this while but _the -purity of the gospel_, _the honor of the king_, and _the liberty of -the people_, assisted underhand with _defamatory papers_, which were -levelled at the _king_ himself through the sides of his most faithful -_ministers_. This PROJECT succeeded so well against one government, -that it is now again set afoot against another; and by some of the -very actors too in that TRAGEDY, and after a most gracious pardon -also, when Providence had laid their necks and their fortunes at his -majesty’s feet. It is a wonderful thing that _libels_ and _libellers_, -the most _infamous_ of _practices_ and of _men_; the most _unmanly -sneaking methods_ and _instruments_ of _mischief_; the very bane -of _human society_, and the _plague_ of all _governments_; it is a -wonderful thing (I say) that these engines and engineers should ever -find credit enough in the world to engage a party; but it would be -still more wonderful if the _same trick_ should pass twice upon the -_same people_, in the _same age_, and from the _same_ IMPOSTORS. This -contemplation has carried me a little out of my way, but it has at -length brought me to my text again, for there is in the bottom of it -the highest opposition imaginable of _ingratitude_ and _obligation_. - -The reader will, in some measure, be able to judge by this taste what -he is farther to expect; that is to say, as to the cast of my design, -and the simplicity of the style and dress; for that will still be the -same, only accompanied with variety of matter. Whether it pleases the -world or no, the care is taken; and yet I could wish that it might be -as delightful to others upon the perusal, as it has been to me in the -speculation. Next to the gospel itself, I do look upon it as the most -sovereign remedy against the miseries of human nature: and I have ever -found it so, in all the injuries and distresses of an unfortunate life. -You may read more of him, if you please, in the _Appendix_, which I -have here subjoined to this Preface, concerning the authority of his -_writings_, and the circumstances of his _life_; as I have extracted -them out of Lipsius. - - - - -OF SENECA’S WRITINGS. - - -It appears that our author had among the ancients three professed -enemies. In the first place Caligula, who called his writings, _sand -without lime_; alluding to the starts of his fancy, and the incoherence -of his sentences. But Seneca was never the worse for the censure of a -person that propounded even the suppressing of Homer himself; and of -casting Virgil and Livy out of all _public libraries_. The next was -Fabius, who taxes him for being too bold with the eloquence of former -times, and failing in that point himself; and likewise for being too -quaint and finical in his expressions; which Tacitus imputes, in -part to the freedom of his own particular inclination, and partly to -the humor of the times. He is also charged by Fabius as no profound -philosopher; but with all this, he allows him to be a man very studious -and learned, of great wit and invention, and well read in all sorts of -literature; a severe reprover of vice; most divinely sententious; and -well worth the reading, if it were only for his morals; adding, that if -his judgment had been answerable to his wit, it had been much the more -for his reputation; but he wrote whatever came next; so that I would -advise the reader (says he) to distinguish where he _himself_ did not, -for there are many things in him, not only to be approved, but admired; -and it was great pity that he that could do what he would, should not -always make the best choice. His third adversary is Agellius, who -falls upon him for his style, and a kind of tinkling in his sentences, -but yet commends him for his piety and good counsels. On the other -side, Columela calls him _a man of excellent wit and learning_; Pliny, -_the prince of erudition;_ Tacitus gives him the character of _a wise -man, and a fit tutor for a prince_; Dio reports him to have been _the -greatest man of his age_. - -Of those pieces of his that are extant, we shall not need to give -any particular account: and of those that are lost, we cannot, any -farther than by lights to them from other authors, as we find them -cited much to his honor; and we may reasonably compute them to be -the greater part of his works. That he wrote several _poems_ in his -banishment, may be gathered partly from himself, but more expressly -out of Tacitus, who says, “that he was reproached with his applying -himself to poetry, after he saw that Nero took pleasure in it, out -of a design to curry favor.” St. Jerome refers to a discourse of his -concerning matrimony. Lactantius takes notice of his history, and his -books of Moralities: St. Augustine quotes some passages of his out of -a book of Superstition; some references we meet with to his books of -Exhortations: Fabius makes mention of his Dialogues: and he himself -speaks of a treatise of his own concerning Earthquakes, which he wrote -in his youth, but the opinion of an epistolary correspondence that he -had with St. Paul, does not seem to have much color for it. - -Some few fragments, however, of those books of his that are wanting, -are yet preserved in the writings of other eminent authors, sufficient -to show the world how great a treasure they have lost by the excellency -of that little that is left. - -Seneca, says Lactantius, that was the sharpest of all the Stoics, -how great a veneration has he for the Almighty! as for instance, -discoursing of a violent death; “Do you not understand?” says he, “the -majesty and the authority of your Judge; he is the supreme Governor of -heaven and earth, and the God of all your gods; and it is upon him that -all those powers depend which we worship for deities.” Moreover, in his -Exhortations, “This God,” says he, “when he laid the foundations of the -universe, and entered upon the greatest and the best work in nature, in -the ordering of the government of the world, though he was himself All -in all, yet he substituted other subordinate ministers, as the servants -of his commands.” And how many other things does this Heathen speak of -God like one of us! - -Which the acute Seneca, says Lactantius again, saw in his Exhortations. -“We,” says he, “have our dependence elsewhere, and should look up to -that power, to which we are indebted for all that we can pretend to -that is good.” - -And again, Seneca says very well in his Morals, “They worship the -images of the God,” says he, “kneel to them, and adore them, they are -hardly ever from them, either plying them with offerings or sacrifices, -and yet, after all this reverence to the image, they have no regard at -all to the workman that made it.” - -Lactantius again. “An invective,” says Seneca in his Exhortations, “is -the masterpiece of most of our philosophers; and if they fall upon -the subject of _avarice_, _lust_, _ambition_, they lash out into such -excess of bitterness, as if railing were a mark of their profession. -They make me think of gallipots in an apothecary’s shop, that have -remedies without and poison within.” - -Lactantius still. “He that would know all things, let him read Seneca; -the most lively describer of public vices and manners, and the smartest -reprehender of them.” - -And again; as Seneca has it in the books of Moral Philosophy, “He is -the brave man, whose splendor and authority is the least part of his -greatness, that can look death in the face without trouble or surprise; -who, if his body were to be broken upon the wheel, or melted lead to be -poured down his throat, would be less concerned for the pain itself, -than for the dignity of bearing it.” - -Let no man, says Lactantius, think himself the safer in his wickedness -for want of a witness; for God is omniscient, and to him nothing can -be a secret. It is an admirable sentence that Seneca concludes his -Exhortations withal: “God,” says he, “is a great, (I know not what), -an incomprehensible Power; it is to him that we live, and to him that -we must approve ourselves. What does it avail us that our consciences -are hidden from men, when our souls lie open to God?” What could a -Christian have spoken more to the purpose in this case than this divine -Pagan? And in the beginning of the same work, says Seneca, “What is -it that we do? to what end is it to stand contriving, and to hide -ourselves? We are under a guard, and there is no escaping from our -keeper. One man may be parted from another by travel, death, sickness; -but there is no dividing us from ourselves. It is to no purpose to -creep into a corner where nobody shall see us. Ridiculous madness! -Make it the case, that no mortal eye could find us out, he that has a -conscience gives evidence against himself.” - -It is truly and excellently spoken of Seneca, says Lactantius, once -again; “Consider,” says he “the majesty, the goodness, and the -venerable mercies of the Almighty; a friend that is always at hand. -What delight can it be to him the slaughter of innocent creatures or -the worship of bloody sacrifices? Let us purge our minds, and lead -virtuous and honest lives. His pleasure lies not in the magnificence of -temples made with stone, but in the pity and devotion of consecrated -hearts.” - -In the book that Seneca wrote against Superstitions, treating of -images, says St. Austin, he writes thus: “They represent the holy, the -immortal, and the inviolable gods in the basest matter, and without -life or motion; in the forms of men, beasts, fishes, some of mixed -bodies, and those figures they call deities, which, if they were but -animated, would affright a man, and pass for monsters.” And then, a -little farther, treating of Natural Theology, after citing the opinions -of philosophers, he supposes an objection against himself: “Somebody -will perhaps ask me, would you have me then to believe the heavens and -the earth to be gods, and some of them above the moon, and some below -it? Shall I ever be brought to the opinion of Plato, or of Strabo the -Peripatetic? the one of which would have God to be without a body, -and the other without a mind.” To which he replies, “And do you give -more credit then to the dreams of T. Tatius, Romulus, Hostilius, who -caused, among other deities, even Fear and Paleness to be worshipped? -the vilest of human affections; the one being the motion of an -affrighted mind, and the other not so much the disease as the color -of a disordered body. Are these the deities that you will rather put -your faith in, and place in the heavens?” And speaking afterward of -their abominable customs, with what liberty does he write! “One,” says -he, “out of zeal, makes himself an eunuch, another lances his arms; if -this be the way to _please_ their gods, what should a man do if he had -a mind to _anger_ them? or, if this be the way to please them, they do -certainly deserve not to be worshipped at all. What a frenzy is this to -imagine that the gods can be delighted with such cruelties, as even the -worst of men would make a conscience to inflict! The most barbarous and -notorious of tyrants, some of them have perhaps done it themselves, or -ordered the tearing of men to pieces by others; but they never went so -far as to command any man to torment himself. We have heard of those -that have suffered castration to gratify the lust of their imperious -masters, but never any man that was forced to act it upon himself. They -murder themselves in their very temples, and their prayers are offered -up in blood. Whosoever shall but observe what they do, and what they -suffer, will find it so misbecoming an honest man, so unworthy of a -freeman, and so inconsistent with the action of a man in his wits, that -he must conclude them all to be mad, if it were not that there are so -many of them; for only their number is their justification and their -protection.” - -When he comes to reflect, says St. Augustine, upon those passages which -he himself had seen in the Capitol, he censures them with liberty and -resolution; and no man will believe that such things would be done -unless in mockery or frenzy. What lamentation is there in the Egyptian -sacrifices for the loss of Osiris? and then what joy for the finding -of him again? Which he makes himself sport with; for in truth it is -all a fiction; and yet those people that neither lost any thing nor -found any thing, must express their sorrows and their rejoicings to -the highest degree. “But there is only a certain time,” says he, “for -this freak, and once in a year people may be allowed to be mad. I came -into the Capitol,” says Seneca, “where the several deities had their -several servants and attendants, their lictors, their dressers, and -all in posture and action, as if they were executing their offices; -some to hold the glass, others to comb out Juno’s and Minerva’s hair; -one to tell Jupiter what o’clock it is; some lasses there are that sit -gazing upon the image, and fancy Jupiter has a kindness for them. All -these things,” says Seneca, a while after, “a wise man will observe for -the law’s sake more than for the gods; and all this rabble of deities, -which the superstition of many ages has gathered together, we are in -such manner to adore, as to consider the worship to be rather matter -of custom than of conscience.” Whereupon St. Augustine observes, that -this illustrious senator worshipped what he reproved, acted what he -disliked, and adored what he condemned. - - - - -SENECA’S LIFE AND DEATH. - - -It has been an ancient custom to record the actions and the writings -of eminent men, with all their circumstances, and it is but a right -that we owe to the memory of our famous author. Seneca was by birth a -Spaniard of Cordova, (a Roman colony of great fame and antiquity.) He -was of the family of Annæus, of the order of knights; and the father, -Lucius Annæus Seneca, was distinguished from the son, by the name -of _the Orator_. His mother’s name was Helvia, a woman of excellent -qualities. His father came to Rome in the time of Augustus, and his -wife and children soon followed him, our Seneca yet being in his -infancy. There were three brothers of them, and never a sister. Marcus -Annæus Novatus, Lucius Annæus Seneca, and Lucius Annæus Mela; the first -of these changed his name for Junius Gallio, who adopted him; to him it -was that he dedicated his treatise of ANGER, whom he calls Novatus too; -and he also dedicated his discourse of a _Happy Life_ to his brother -Gallio. The youngest brother (Annæus Mela) was Lucan’s father. Seneca -was about twenty years of age in the _fifth year_ of Tiberius, when the -Jews were expelled from Rome. His father trained him up to _rhetoric,_ -but his genius led him rather to _philosophy;_ and he applied his wit -to _morality_ and _virtue_. He was a great hearer of the celebrated -men of those times; as Attalus, Sotion, Papirius, Fabianus, (of whom -he makes often mention,) and he was much an admirer also of Demetrius -the Cynic, whose conversation he had afterwards in the Court, and both -at home also and abroad, for they often travelled together. His father -was not at all pleased with his humor of _philosophy_, but forced him -upon the _law_, and for a while he practiced _pleading_. After which -he would needs put him upon _public employment:_ and he came first to -be _quæstor_, then _prætor,_ and some will have it that he was chosen -_consul_; but this is doubtful. - -Seneca finding that he had ill offices done him at court, and that -Nero’s favor began to cool, he went directly and resolutely to Nero, -with an offer to refund all that he had gotten, which Nero would not -receive; but however, from that time he changed his course of life, -received few visits, shunned company, went little abroad; still -pretending to be kept at home, either by indisposition or by his -study. Being Nero’s tutor and governor, all things were well so long -as Nero followed his counsel. His two chief favorites were Burrhus and -Seneca, who were both of them excellent in their ways: Burrhus, in -his care of _military_ affairs, and severity of _discipline_; Seneca -for his _precepts_ and _good advice_ in the matter of _eloquence,_ -and the _gentleness_ of an _honest mind_; assisting one another, in -that slippery age of the prince (says Tacitus) to invite him, by the -allowance of lawful pleasures, to the love of virtue. Seneca had two -wives; the name of the first is not mentioned; his second was Paulina, -whom he often speaks of with great passion. By the former he had his -son Marcus. - -In the first year of Claudius he was banished into Corsica, when Julia, -the daughter of Germanicus, was accused by Messalina of adultery and -banished too, Seneca being charged as one of the adulterers. After a -matter of eight years or upwards in exile, he was called back, and as -much in favor again as ever. His estate was partly patrimonial, but the -greatest part of it was the bounty of his prince. His gardens, villas, -lands, possessions, and incredible sums of money, are agreed upon at -all hands; which drew an envy upon him. Dio reports him to have had -250,000_l._ sterling at interest in Britanny alone, which he called in -all at a sum. The Court itself could not bring him to flattery; and -for his piety, submission, and virtue, the practice of his whole life -witnesses for him. “So soon,” says he, “as the candle is taken away, -my wife, that knows my custom, lies still, without a word speaking, -and then do I recollect all that I have said or done that day, and -take myself to shrift. And why should I conceal or reserve anything, -or make any scruple of inquiring into my errors, when I can say to -myself, Do so no more, and for this once I will forgive thee?” And -again, what can be more pious and self-denying than this passage, in -one of his epistles? “Believe me now, when I tell you the very bottom -of my soul: in all the difficulties and crosses of my life, this is my -consideration—since it is God’s will, I do not only obey, but assent to -it; nor do I comply out of necessity, but inclination.” - -“Here follows now,” says Tacitus, “the death of Seneca, to Nero’s great -satisfaction; not so much for any pregnant proof against him that he -was of Piso’s conspiracy; but Nero was resolved to do that by the sword -which he could not effect by poison. For it is reported, that Nero -had corrupted Cleonicus (a freeman of Seneca’s) to give his master -poison, which did not succeed. Whether that the servant had discovered -it to his master, or that Seneca, by his own caution and jealousy, had -avoided it; for he lived only upon a simple diet, as the fruits of the -earth, and his drink was most commonly river water. - -“Natalis, it seems, was sent upon a visit to him (being indisposed) -with a complaint that he would not let Piso come at him; and advising -him to the continuance of their friendship and acquaintance as -formerly. To whom Seneca made answer, that frequent meetings and -conferences betwixt them could do neither of them any good; but that -he had a great interest in Piso’s welfare. Hereupon Granius Silvanus -(a captain of the guard) was sent to examine Seneca upon the discourse -that passed betwixt him and Natalis, and to return his answer. Seneca, -either by chance or upon purpose, came that day from Campania, to -a villa of his own, within four miles of the city; and thither the -officer went the next evening, and beset the place. He found Seneca -at supper with his wife Paulina, and two of his friends; and gave him -immediately an account of his commission. Seneca told him, that it was -true that Natalis had been with him in Piso’s name, with a complaint -_that Piso could not be admitted to see him_; and that he excused -himself by reason of his want of health, and his desires to be quiet -and private; and that he had no reason to prefer another man’s welfare -before his own. Cæsar himself, he said, knew very well that he was not -a man of compliment, having received more proofs of his freedom than -of his flattery. This answer of Seneca’s was delivered to Cæsar in the -presence of Poppæa, and Tigellinus, the intimate confidants of this -barbarous prince: and Nero asked him whether he could gather anything -from Seneca as if he intended to make himself away? The tribune’s -answer was, that he did not find him one jot moved with the message: -but that he went on roundly with his tale, and never so much as changed -countenance for the matter. Go back to him then, says Nero, and tell -him, _that he is condemned to die_. Fabius Rusticus delivers it, that -the tribune did not return the same way he came, but went aside to -Fenius (a captain of that name) and told him Cæsar’s orders, asking his -advice whether he should obey them or not; who bade him by all means -to do as he was ordered. Which want of resolution was fatal to them -all; for Silvanus also, that was one of the conspirators, assisted now -to serve and to increase those crimes, which he had before complotted -to revenge. And yet he did not think fit to appear himself in the -business, but sent a centurion to Seneca to tell him his doom. - -“Seneca, without any surprise or disorder, calls for his will; which -being refused him by the officer, he turned to his friends, and told -them that since he was not permitted to requite them as they deserved, -he was yet at liberty to bequeath them the thing of all others that -he esteemed the most, that is, the image of his life; which should -give them the reputation both of _constancy_ and _friendship_, if they -would but imitate it; exhorting them to a firmness of mind, sometimes -by good counsel, otherwhile by reprehension, as the occasion required. -Where, says he, is all your philosophy now? all your _premeditated -resolutions_ against the violences of Fortune? Is there any man so -ignorant of Nero’s cruelty, as to expect, after the murder of his -mother and his brother, that he should ever spare the life of his -governor and tutor? After some general expressions to this purpose, he -took his wife in his arms, and having somewhat fortified her against -the present calamity, he besought and conjured her to moderate her -sorrows, and betake herself to the contemplations and comforts of a -virtuous life; which would be a fair and ample consolation to her for -the loss of her husband. Paulina, on the other side, tells him her -determination to bear him company, and wills the executioner to do -his office. Well, says Seneca, if after the sweetness of life, as I -have represented it to thee, thou hadst rather entertain an honorable -death, I shall not envy thy example; consulting, at the same time, the -fame of the person he loved, and his own tenderness, for fear of the -injuries that might attend her when he was gone. Our resolution, says -he, in this generous act, may be equal, but thine will be the greater -reputation. After this the veins of both their arms were opened at the -same time. Seneca did not bleed so freely, his spirits being wasted -with age and a thin diet; so that he was forced to cut the veins of his -thighs and elsewhere, to hasten his dispatch. When he was far spent, -and almost sinking under his torments, he desired his wife to remove -into another chamber, lest the agonies of the one might work upon the -courage of the other. His eloquence continued to the last, as appears -by the excellent things he delivered at his death; which being taken -in writing from his own mouth, and published in his own words, I shall -not presume to deliver them in any other. Nero, in the meantime, who -had no particular spite to Paulina, gave orders to prevent her death, -for fear his cruelty should grow more and more insupportable and -odious. Whereupon the soldiers gave all freedom and encouragement to -her servants to bind up her wounds, and stop the blood, which they did -accordingly; but whether she was sensible of it or not is a question. -For among the common people, who are apt to judge the worst, there -were some of opinion, that as long as she despaired of Nero’s mercy, -she seemed to court the glory of dying with her husband for company; -but that upon the likelihood of better quarter she was prevailed upon -to outlive him; and so for some years she did survive him, with all -piety and respect to his memory; but so miserably pale and wan, that -everybody might read the loss of her blood and spirits in her very -countenance. - -“Seneca finding his death slow and lingering, desires Statius Annæus -(his old friend and physician) to give him a dose of poison, which he -had provided beforehand, being the same preparation which was appointed -for capital offenders in Athens. This was brought him, and he drank -it up, but to little purpose; for his body was already chilled, and -bound up against the force of it. He went at last into a hot bath, and -sprinkling some of his servants that were next him, this, says he, -is an oblation to Jupiter _the deliverer_. The fume of the bath soon -dispatched him, and his body was burnt, without any funeral solemnity, -as he had directed in his testament: though this will of his was made -in the height of his prosperity and power. There was a rumor that -Subrius Flavius, in a private consultation with the centurions, had -taken up this following resolution, (and that Seneca himself was no -stranger to it) that is to say, that after Nero should have been slain -by the help of Piso, Piso himself should have been killed too; and the -empire delivered up to Seneca, as one that well deserved it, for his -integrity and virtue.” - - - - -SENECA OF BENEFITS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -OF BENEFITS IN GENERAL. - - -It is, perhaps, one of the most pernicious errors of a rash and -inconsiderate life, the common ignorance of the world in the matter of -exchanging _benefits_. And this arises from a mistake, partly in the -person that we would oblige, and partly in the thing itself. To begin -with the latter: “A benefit is a good office, done with intention and -judgment;” that is to say, with a due regard to all the circumstances -of _what_, _how_, _why_, _when_, _where_, _to whom_, _how much_, and -the like; or otherwise: “It is a voluntary and benevolent action that -delights the giver in the comfort it brings to the receiver.” It will -be hard to draw this subject, either into method or compass: the one, -because of the infinite variety and complication of cases; the other, -by reason of the large extent of it: for the whole business (almost) -of mankind in society falls under this head; the duties of kings -and subjects, husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and -servants, natives and strangers, high and low, rich and poor, strong -and weak, friends and enemies. The very meditation of it breeds good -blood and generous thoughts; and instructs us in honor, humanity, -friendship, piety, gratitude, prudence, and justice. In short, the art -and skill of conferring benefits is, of all human duties, the most -absolutely necessary to the well-being, both of reasonable nature, and -of every individual; as the very cement of all communities, and the -blessing of particulars. He that does good to another man does good -also to himself; not only in the consequence, but in the very act of -doing it; for the conscience of well-doing is an ample reward. - -Of benefits in general, there are several sorts; as _necessary_, -_profitable_, and _delightful_. Some things there are, without which -we _cannot_ live; others without which we _ought not_ to live; and -some, again, without which we _will not_ live. In the first rank are -those which deliver us from capital dangers, or apprehensions of -death: and the favor is rated according to the hazard; for the greater -the extremity, the greater seems the obligation. The next is a case -wherein we may indeed live, but we had better die; as in the question -of liberty, modesty, and a good conscience. In the third place, follow -those things which custom, use, affinity, and acquaintance, have made -dear to us; as husbands, wives, children, friends, etc., which an -honest man will preserve at his utmost peril. Of things profitable -there is a large field, as money, honor, etc., to which might be -added, matters of superfluity and pleasure. But we shall open a way -to the circumstances of a benefit by some previous and more general -deliberations upon the thing itself. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -SEVERAL SORTS OF BENEFITS. - - -We shall divide _benefits_ into _absolute_ and _vulgar_; the one -appertaining to good life, the other is only matter of commerce. The -former are the more excellent, because they can never be made void; -whereas all material benefits are tossed back and forward, and change -their master. There are some offices that look like benefits, but are -only desirable conveniences, as wealth, etc., and these a wicked man -may receive from a good, or a good man from an evil. Others, again, -that bear the face of injuries, which are only benefits ill taken; as -cutting, lancing, burning, under the hand of a surgeon. The greatest -benefits of all are those of good education, which we receive from our -parents, either in the state of ignorance or perverseness; as, their -care and tenderness in our infancy; their discipline in our childhood, -to keep us to our duties by fear; and, if fair means will not do, -their proceeding afterwards to severity and punishment, without which -we should never have come to good. There are matters of great value, -many times, that are but of small price; as instructions from a tutor, -medicine from a physician, etc. And there are small matters again, -which are of great consideration to us: the gift is small, and the -consequence great; as a cup of cold water in a time of need may save a -man’s life. Some things are of great moment to the giver, others to the -receiver: one man gives me a house; another snatches me out when it is -falling upon my head; one gives me an estate; another takes me out of -the fire, or casts me out a rope when I am sinking. Some good offices -we do to friends, others to strangers; but those are the noblest that -we do without pre-desert. There is an obligation of bounty, and an -obligation of charity; this in case of necessity, and that in point of -convenience. Some benefits are common, others are personal; as if a -prince (out of pure grace) grant a privilege to a city, the obligation -lies upon the community, and only upon every individual as a part of -the whole; but if it be done particularly for my sake, then am I singly -the debtor for it. The cherishing of strangers is one of the duties -of hospitality, and exercises itself in the relief and protection of -the distressed. There are benefits of good counsel, reputation, life, -fortune, liberty, health, nay, and of superfluity and pleasure. One man -obliges me out of his pocket; another gives me matter of ornament and -curiosity; a third, consolation. To say nothing of negative benefits; -for there are that reckon it an obligation if they do a body no hurt; -and place it to account, as if they saved a man, when they do not undo -him. To shut up all in one word; as benevolence is the most sociable of -all virtues, so it is of the largest extent; for there is not any man, -either so great or so little, but he is yet capable of giving and of -receiving benefits. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A SON MAY OBLIGE HIS FATHER, AND A SERVANT HIS MASTER. - - -The question is (in the first place) whether it may not be possible -for a father to owe more to a son, in other respects, than the son -owes to his father for his being? That many sons are both greater and -better than their fathers, there is no question; as there are many -other things that derive their beings from others, which yet are far -greater than their original. Is not the tree larger than the seed? the -river than the fountain? The foundation of all things lies hid, and -the superstructure obscures it. If I owe all to my father, because he -gives me life, I may owe as much to a physician that saved his life; -for if my father had not been cured, I had never been begotten: or, if -I stand indebted for all that I am to my beginning, my acknowledgment -must run back to the very original of all human beings. My father gave -me the benefit of life: which he had never done, if his father had not -first given it to him. He gave me life, not knowing to whom; and when -I was in a condition neither to feel death nor to fear it. That is the -great benefit, to give life to one that knows how to use it, and that -is capable of the apprehension of death. It is true, that without a -father I could never have had a being; and so, without a nurse, that -being had never been improved: but I do not therefore owe my virtue -either to my nativity or to her that gave me suck. The generation of me -was the last part of the benefit: for to live is common with brutes; -but to live well is the main business; and that virtue is all my own, -saving what I drew from my education. It does not follow that the -_first_ benefit must be the _greatest_, because without the first the -greatest could never have been. The father gives life to the son but -once; but if the son save the father’s life often, though he do but his -duty, it is yet a greater benefit. And again, the benefit that a man -receives is the greater, the more he needs it; but the living has more -need of life than he that is not yet born; so that the father receives -a greater benefit in the continuance of his life than the son in the -beginning of it. What if a son deliver his father from the rack; or, -which is more, lay himself down in his place? The giving of him a being -was but the office of a father; a simple act, a benefit given at a -venture: beside that, he had a participant in it, and a regard to his -family. He gave only a single life, and he received a happy one. My -mother brought me into the world naked, exposed, and void of reason; -but my reputation and my fortune are advanced by my virtue. Scipio (as -yet in his minority) rescued his father in a battle with Hannibal, and -afterward from the practices and persecution of a powerful faction; -covering him with consulary honors, and the spoils of public enemies. -He made himself as eminent for his moderation as for his piety and -military knowledge: he was the defender and the establisher of his -country: he left the empire without a competitor, and made himself as -well the ornament of Rome as the security of it: and did not Scipio, -in all this, more than requite his father barely for begetting of him? -Whether did Anchises more for Æneas, in dandling the child in his arms; -or Æneas for his father, when he carried him upon his back through -the flames of Troy, and made his name famous to future ages among the -founders of the Roman Empire? T. Manlius was the son of a sour and -imperious father, who banished him his house as a blockhead, and a -scandal to the family. This Manlius, hearing that his father’s life was -in question, and a day set for his trial, went to the tribune that was -concerned in his cause, and discoursed with him about it: the tribune -told him the appointed time, and withal (as an obligation upon the -young man) that his cruelty to his son would be part of his accusation. -Manlius, upon this, takes the tribune aside, and presenting a poniard -to his breast, “Swear,” says he, “that you will let this cause fall, -or you shall have this dagger in the heart of you; and now it is at -your choice which way you will deliver my father.” The tribune swore -and kept his word, and made a fair report of the whole matter to the -council. He that makes himself famous by his eloquence, justice, or -arms, illustrates his extraction, let it be never so mean; and gives -inestimable reputation to his parents. We should never have heard of -Sophroniscus, but for his son Socrates; nor for Aristo and Gryllus, if -it had not been for Xenophon and Plato. - -This is not to discountenance the veneration we owe to parents; nor -to make children the worse, but the better; and to stir up generous -emulations: for, in contests of good offices, both parties are happy; -as well the vanquished as those that overcome. It is the only honorable -dispute that can arise betwixt a father and son, which of the two -shall have the better of the other in the point of benefits. - -In the question betwixt a master and a servant, we must distinguish -betwixt benefits, duties, and actions ministerial. By _benefits_, we -understand those good offices that we receive from strangers, which -are voluntary, and may be forborne without blame. _Duties_ are the -parts of a son and wife, and incumbent upon kindred and relations. -_Offices ministerial_ belong to the part of a servant. Now, since it -is the _mind_, and not the _condition_ of a person, that prints the -value upon the benefit, a servant may oblige his master, and so may a -subject his sovereign, or a common soldier his general, by doing more -than he is expressly bound to do. Some things there are, which the law -neither commands nor forbids; and here the servant is free. It would -be very hard for a servant to be chastised for doing less than his -duty, and not thanked for it when he does more. His body, it is true, -is his master’s, but his mind is his own: and there are many commands -which a servant ought no more to obey than a master to impose. There is -no man so great, but he may both need the help and service, and stand -in fear of the power and unkindness, even of the meanest of mortals. -One servant kills his master; another saves him, nay, preserves his -master’s life, perhaps, with the loss of his own: he exposes himself to -torment and death; he stands firm against all threats and batteries: -which is not only a benefit in a servant, but much the greater for his -being so. - -When Domitius was besieged in Corfinium, and the place brought to great -extremity, he pressed his servant so earnestly to poison him, that at -last he was prevailed upon to give him a potion; which, it seems, was -an innocent opiate, and Domitius outlived it: Cæsar took the town, and -gave Domitius his life, but it was his servant that gave it him first. - -There was another town besieged, and when it was upon the last pinch, -two servants made their escape, and went over to the enemy: upon the -Romans entering the town, and in the heat of the soldiers’ fury, these -two fellows ran directly home, took their mistress out of her house, -and drove her before them, telling every body how barbarously she had -used them formerly, and that they would now have their revenge; when -they had her without the gates, they kept her close till the danger was -over; by which means they gave their mistress her life, and she gave -them their freedom. This was not the action of a servile mind, to do so -glorious a thing, under an appearance of so great a villainy; for if -they had not passed for deserters and parricides, they could not have -gained their end. - -With one instance more (and that a very brave one) I shall conclude -this chapter. - -In the civil wars of Rome, a party coming to search for a person of -quality that was proscribed, a servant put on his master’s clothes, -and delivered himself up to the soldiers as the master of the house; -he was taken into custody, and put to death, without discovering the -mistake. What could be more glorious, than for a servant to die for his -master, in that age, when there were not many servants that would not -betray their masters? So generous a tenderness in a public cruelty; -so invincible a faith in a general corruption; what could be more -glorious, I say, than so exalted a virtue, as rather to choose death -for the reward of his fidelity, than the greatest advantages he might -otherwise have had for the violation of it? - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -IT IS THE INTENTION, NOT THE MATTER, THAT MAKES THE BENEFIT. - - -The _good-will_ of the benefactor is the fountain of all benefits; -nay it is the benefit itself, or, at least, the stamp that makes it -valuable and current. Some there are, I know, that take the matter -for the benefit, and tax the obligation by weight and measure. When -anything is given them, they presently cast it up; “What may such a -house be worth? such an office? such an estate?” as if that were the -benefit which is only the sign and mark of it: for the obligation -rests in the mind, not in the matter; and all those advantages which -we see, handle, or hold in actual possession by the courtesy of -another, are but several modes or ways of explaining and putting the -good-will in execution. There needs no great subtlety to prove, that -both benefits and injuries receive their value from the intention, -when even brutes themselves are able to decide this question. Tread -upon a dog by chance, or put him to pain upon the dressing of a wound; -the one he passes by as an accident; and the other, in his fashion, he -acknowledges as a kindness: but, offer to strike at him, though you -do him no hurt at all, he flies yet in the face of you, even for the -mischief that you barely meant him. - -It is further to be observed, that all benefits are good; and (like the -distributions of Providence) made up of wisdom and bounty; whereas the -gift itself is neither good nor bad, but may indifferently be applied, -either to the one or to the other. The benefit is immortal, the gift -perishable: for the benefit itself continues when we have no longer -either the use or the matter of it. He that is dead was alive; he that -has lost his eyes, did see; and, whatsoever is done, cannot be rendered -undone. My friend (for instance) is taken by pirates; I redeem him; and -after that he falls into other pirates’ hands; his obligation to me is -the same still as if he had preserved his freedom. And so, if I save -a man from any misfortune, and he falls into another; if I give him a -sum of money, which is afterwards taken away by thieves; it comes to -the same case. Fortune may deprive us of the matter of a benefit, but -the benefit itself remains inviolable. If the benefit resided in the -matter, that which is good for one man would be so for another; whereas -many times the very same thing, given to several persons, work contrary -effects, even to the difference of life or death; and that which is one -body’s cure proves another body’s poison. Beside that, the timing of -it alters the value; and a crust of bread, upon a pinch, is a greater -present than an imperial crown. What is more familiar than in a battle -to shoot at an enemy and kill a friend? or, instead of a friend, to -save an enemy? But yet this disappointment, in the event, does not at -all operate upon the intention. What if a man cures me of a wen with -a stroke that was designed to cut off my head? or, with a malicious -blow upon my stomach, breaks an imposthume? or, what if he saves my -life with a draught that was prepared to poison me? The providence -of the issue does not at all discharge the obliquity of the intent. -And the same reason holds good even in religion itself. It is not the -incense, or the offering, that is acceptable to God, but the purity and -devotion of the worshipper: neither is the bare will, without action, -sufficient, that is, where we have the means of acting; for, in that -case, it signifies as little to _wish_ well, without _well-doing_, as -to _do_ good without _willing_ it. There must be effect as well as -intention, to make me owe a benefit; but, to will against it, does -wholly discharge it. In fine, the conscience alone is the judge, both -of benefits and injuries. - -It does not follow now, because the benefit rests in the good-will, -that therefore the good-will should be always a benefit; for if it be -not accompanied with government and discretion, those offices, which we -call _benefits_, are but the works of passion, or of chance; and many -times, the greatest of all injuries. One man does me good by mistake; -another ignorantly; a third upon force: but none of these cases do I -take to be an obligation; for they were neither directed to me, nor -was there any kindness of intention; we do not thank the seas for the -advantages we receive by navigation; or the rivers with supplying us -with fish and flowing of our grounds; we do not thank the trees either -for their fruits or shades, or the winds for a fair gale; and what is -the difference betwixt a reasonable creature that does not know and -an inanimate that cannot? A good _horse_ saves one man’s life; a good -suit of _arms_ another’s; and a _man_, perhaps, that never intended it, -saves a third. Where is the difference now betwixt the obligation of -one and of the other? A man falls into a river, and the fright cures -him of the ague; we may call this a kind of lucky mischance, but not -a remedy. And so it is with the good we receive, either without, or -beside, or contrary to intention. It is the mind, and not the event, -that distinguishes a benefit from an injury. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THERE MUST BE JUDGMENT IN A BENEFIT, AS WELL AS MATTER AND INTENTION; -AND ESPECIALLY IN THE CHOICE OF THE PERSON. - - -As it is the _will_ that designs the benefit, and the _matter_ that -conveys it, so it is the _judgment_ that perfects it; which depends -upon so many critical niceties, that the least error, either in the -person, the matter, the manner, the quality, the quantity, the time, or -the place, spoils all. - -The consideration of the _person_ is a main point: for we are to give -by choice, and not by hazard. My inclination bids me oblige one man; I -am bound in duty and justice to serve another; here it is a charity, -there it is pity; and elsewhere, perhaps, encouragement. There are some -that want, to whom I would not give; because, if I did, they would want -still. To one man I would barely offer a benefit; but I would press it -upon another. To say the truth, we do not employ any more profit than -that which we bestow; and it is not to our friends, our acquaintances -or countrymen, nor to this or that condition of men, that we are to -restrain our bounties; but wheresoever there is a man, there is a place -and occasion for a benefit. We give to some that are good already; to -others, in hope to make them so: but we must do all with discretion; -for we are as well answerable for what we give as for what we receive; -nay, the misplacing of a benefit is worse than the not receiving of it; -for the one is another man’s fault; but the other is mine. The error -of the giver does oft-times excuse the ingratitude of the receiver: -for a favor ill-placed is rather a profusion than a benefit. It is the -most shameful of losses, an inconsiderate bounty. I will choose a man -of integrity, sincere, considerate, grateful, temperate, well-natured, -neither covetous nor sordid: and when I have obliged such a man, though -not worth a groat in the world, I have gained my end. If we give only -to receive, we lose the fairest objects of our charity: the absent, -the sick, the captive, and the needy. When we oblige those that can -never pay us again in kind, as a stranger upon his last farewell, or a -necessitous person upon his death-bed, we make Providence our debtor, -and rejoice in the conscience even of a fruitless benefit. So long as -we are affected with passions, and distracted with hopes and fears, -and (the most unmanly of vices) with our pleasures, we are incompetent -judges where to place our bounties: but when death presents itself, -and that we come to our last will and testament, we leave our fortunes -to the most worthy. He that gives nothing, but in hopes of receiving, -must die intestate. It is the honesty of another man’s mind that moves -the kindness of mine; and I would sooner oblige a grateful man than -an ungrateful: but this shall not hinder me from doing good also to a -person that is known to be ungrateful: only with this difference, that -I will serve the one in all extremities with my life and fortune, and -the other no farther than stands with my convenience. But what shall -I do, you will say, to know whether a man will be grateful or not? I -will follow probability, and hope the best. He that sows is not sure -to reap; nor the seaman to reach his port; nor the soldier to win -the field: he that weds is not sure his wife shall be honest, or his -children dutiful: but shall we therefore neither sow, sail, bear arms, -nor marry? Nay, if I knew a man to be incurably thankless, I would yet -be so kind as to put him in his way, or let him light a candle at mine, -or draw water at my well; which may stand him perhaps in great stead, -and yet not be reckoned as a benefit from me; for I do it carelessly, -and not for his sake, but my own; as an office of humanity, without any -choice or kindness. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE MATTER OF OBLIGATIONS, WITH ITS CIRCUMSTANCES. - - -Next to the choice of the _person_ follows that of the _matter_; -wherein a regard must be had to time, place, proportion, quality; -and to the very nicks of opportunity and humor. One man values his -peace above his honor, another his honor above his safety; and not -a few there are that (provided they may save their bodies) never -care what becomes of their souls. So that good offices depend much -upon construction. Some take themselves to be obliged, when they are -not; others will not believe it, when they are; and some again take -obligations and injuries, the one for the other. - -For our better direction, let it be noted, “That a benefit is a common -tie betwixt the giver and receiver, with respect to both:” wherefore -it must be accommodated to the rules of discretion; for all things -have their bounds and measures, and so must liberality among the rest; -that it be neither too much for the one nor too little for the other; -the excess being every jot as bad as the defect. Alexander bestowed a -city upon one of his favorites; who modestly excusing himself, “That -it was too much for him to receive.” “Well, but,” says Alexander, “it -is not too much for me to give.” A haughty certainly, and an imprudent -speech; for that which was not fit for the one to take could not be -fit for the other to give. It passes in the world for greatness of mind -to be perpetually giving and loading of people with bounties; but it is -one thing to know how to _give_, and another thing not to know how to -_keep_. Give me a heart that is easy and open, but I will have no holes -in it; let it be bountiful with judgment, but I will have nothing run -out of it I know not how. How much greater was he that refused the city -than the other that offered it? Some men throw away their money as if -they were angry with it, which is the error commonly of weak minds and -large fortunes. No man esteems of anything that comes to him by chance; -but when it is governed by reason, it brings credit both to the giver -and receiver; whereas those favors are, in some sort, scandalous, that -make a man ashamed of his patron. - -It is a matter of great prudence, for the benefactor to suit the -benefit to the condition of the receiver: who must be either his -superior, his inferior, or his equal; and that which would be the -highest obligation imaginable to the one, would perhaps be as great a -mockery and affront to the other; as a plate of broken meat (for the -purpose) to a rich man were an indignity, which to a poor man is a -charity. The benefits of princes and of great men, are honors, offices, -monies, profitable commissions, countenance, and protection: the poor -man has nothing to present but good-will, good advice, faith, industry, -the service and hazard of his person, an early apple, peradventure, or -some other cheap curiosity: equals indeed may correspond in kind; but -whatsoever the present be, or to whomsoever we offer it, this general -rule must be observed, that we always design the good and satisfaction -of the receiver, and never grant anything to his detriment. It is not -for a man to say, I was overcome by importunity; for when the fever is -off, we detest the man that was prevailed upon to our destruction. I -will no more undo a man with his will, than forbear saving him against -it. It is a benefit in some cases to grant, and in others to deny; so -that we are rather to consider the advantage than the desire of the -petitioner. For we may in a passion earnestly beg for (and take it ill -to be denied too) that very thing, which, upon second thoughts, we may -come to curse, as the occasion of a most pernicious bounty. Never give -anything that shall turn to mischief, infamy, or shame. I will consider -another man’s want or safety; but so as not to forget my own; unless -in the case of a very excellent person, and then I shall not much -heed what becomes of myself. There is no giving of water to a man in -a fever; or putting a sword into a madman’s hand. He that lends a man -money to carry him to a bawdy-house, or a weapon for his revenge, makes -himself a partaker of his crime. - -He that would make an acceptable present, will pitch upon something -that is desired, sought for, and hard to be found; that which he sees -nowhere else, and which few have; or at least not in that place or -season; something that may be always in his eye, and mind him of his -benefactor. If it be lasting and durable, so much the better; as plate, -rather than money; statues than apparel; for it will serve as a monitor -to mind the receiver of the obligation, which the presenter cannot so -handsomely do. However, let it not be improper, as arms to a woman, -books to a clown, toys to a philosopher: I will not give to any man -that which he cannot receive, as if I threw a ball to a man without -hands; but I will make a _return_, though he cannot receive it; for my -business is not to oblige him, but to free myself: nor anything that -may reproach a man of his vice or infirmity; as false dice to a cheat; -spectacles to a man that is blind. Let it not be unseasonable neither; -as a furred gown in summer, an umbrella in winter. It enhances the -value of the present, if it was never given to him by anybody else, nor -by me to any other; for that which we give to everybody is welcome to -nobody. - -The particularity does much, but yet the same thing may receive -a different estimate from several persons; for there are ways of -marking and recommending it in such a manner, that if the same _good -office_ be done to twenty people, every one of them shall reckon -himself peculiarly obliged as a cunning whore, if she has a thousand -sweethearts, will persuade every one of them she loves him best. But -this is rather the artifice of conversation than the virtue of it. - -The citizens of Megara send ambassadors to Alexander in the height of -his glory, to offer him, as a compliment, the freedom of their city. -Upon Alexander’s smiling at the proposal, they told him, that it was -a present which they had never made but to Hercules and himself. -Whereupon Alexander treated them kindly, and accepted of it; not for -the presenters’ sake, but because they had joined him with Hercules; -now unreasonably soever; for Hercules conquered nothing for himself, -but made his business to vindicate and to protect the miserable, -without any private interest or design; but this intemperate young -man (whose virtue was nothing else but a successful temerity) was -trained up from his youth in the trade of violence; the common enemy -of mankind, as well of his friends as of his foes, and one that valued -himself upon being terrible to all mortals: never considering, that the -dullest creatures are as dangerous and as dreadful, as the fiercest; -for the poison of a toad, or the tooth of a snake, will do a man’s -business, as sure as the paw of a tiger. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE MANNER OF OBLIGING. - - -There is not any benefit so glorious in itself, but it may yet be -exceedingly sweetened and improved by the _manner_ of conferring it. -The virtue, I know, rests in the _intent,_ the profit in the judicious -application of the _matter_; but the beauty and ornament of an -obligation lies in the _manner_ of it; and it is then perfect when the -dignity of the office is accompanied with all the charms and delicacies -of humanity, good-nature, and address; and with dispatch too; for he -that puts a man off from time to time, was never right at heart. - -In the first place, whatsoever we give, let us do it _frankly_: a -kind benefactor makes a man happy as _soon_ as he can, and as _much_ -as he can. There should be no _delay_ in a benefit but the modesty -of the receiver. If we cannot forsee the request, let us, however, -immediately grant it, and by no means suffer the repeating of it. It -is so grievous a thing to say, _I BEG_; the very word puts a man out -of countenance; and it is a double kindness to do the thing, and save -an honest man the confusion of a blush. It comes too late that comes -for the asking: for nothing costs us so dear as that we purchase with -our prayers: it is all we give, even for heaven itself; and even there -too, where our petitions are at the fairest, we choose rather to -present them in secret ejaculations than by word of mouth. That is the -lasting and the acceptable benefit that meets the receiver half-way. -The rule is, we are to _give_, as we would _receive_, _cheerfully_, -_quickly_, and without _hesitation_; for there is no grace in a benefit -that sticks to the fingers. Nay, if there should be occasion for delay, -let us, however, not seem to deliberate; for _demurring_ is next door -to _denying_; and so long as we suspend, so long are we unwilling. It -is a court-humor to keep people upon the tenters; their injuries are -quick and sudden, but their benefits are slow. Great ministers love -to rack men with attendance, and account it an ostentation of their -power to hold their suitors in hand, and to have many witnesses of -their interest. A benefit should be made acceptable by all possible -means, even to the end that the receiver, who is never to forget it, -may bear it in his mind with satisfaction. There must be no mixture of -sourness, severity, contumely, or reproof, with our obligations; nay, -in case there should be any occasion for so much as an admonition, let -it be referred to another time. We are a great deal apter to remember -injuries than benefits; and it is enough to forgive an obligation that -has the nature of an offence. - -There are some that spoil a good office after it is done and others, -in the very instant of doing it. There be so much entreaty and -importunity; nay, if we do but suspect a petitioner, we put on a sour -face; look another way; pretend haste, company, business; talk of other -matters, and keep him off with artificial delays, let his necessities -be never so pressing; and when we are put to it at last, it comes so -hard from us that it is rather extorted than obtained; and not so -properly the giving of a bounty, as the quitting of a man’s hold upon -the tug, when another is too strong for him; so that this is but doing -one kindness for me, and another for himself: he gives for his own -quiet, after he has tormented me with difficulties and delays. The -_manner_ of _saying_ or of _doing_ any thing, goes a great way in the -value of the thing itself. It was well said of him that called a good -office, that was done harshly, and with an ill will, a _stony piece -of bread_; it is necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but -it almost chokes a man in the going down. There must be no pride, -arrogance of looks, or tumor of words, in the bestowing of benefits; no -insolence of behavior, but a modesty of mind, and a diligent care to -catch at occasions and prevent necessities. A pause, an unkind tone, -word, look, or action, destroys the grace of a courtesy. It corrupts a -bounty, when it is accompanied with state, haughtiness, and elation of -mind, in the giving of it. Some have a trick of shifting off a suitor -with a point of wit, or a cavil. As in the case of the Cynic that -begged a talent of Antigonus: “That is too much,” says he, “for a Cynic -to ask;” and when he fell to a penny, “That is too little,” says he, -“for a prince to give.” He might have found a way to have compounded -this controversy, by giving him a _penny_ as to a _Cynic_ and a -_talent_ as from a _prince_. Whatsoever we bestow, let it be done with -a frank and cheerful countenance: a man must not give with his hand, -and deny with his looks. He that gives quickly, gives willingly. - -We are likewise to accompany _good deeds_ with _good words,_ and say, -(for the purpose,) “Why should you make such a matter of this? why -did not you come to me sooner? why would you make use of any body -else? I take it ill that you should bring me a recommendation; pray -let there be no more of this, but when you have occasion hereafter, -come to me upon your own account.” That is the glorious bounty, when -the receiver can say to himself; “What a blessed day has this been -to me! never was any thing done so generously, so tenderly, with so -good a grace. What is it I would not do to serve this man? A thousand -times as much another way could not have given me this satisfaction.” -In such a case, let the benefit be never so considerable, the manner -of conferring it is yet the noblest part. Where there is harshness of -language, countenance, or behavior, a man had better be without it. A -flat denial is infinitely before a vexatious delay: as a quick death is -a mercy, compared with a lingering torment. But to be put to waitings -and intercessions, after a promise is passed, is a cruelty intolerable. -It is troublesome to stay long for a benefit, let it be never so great; -and he that holds me needlessly in pain, loses two precious things, -time, and the proof of friendship. Nay, the very hint of a man’s want -comes many times too late. “If I had money,” said Socrates, “I would -buy me a cloak.” They that knew he wanted one should have prevented -the very intimation of that want. It is not the value of the present, -but the benevolence of the mind, that we are to consider. “He gave me -but a little, but it was generously and frankly done; it was a little -out of a little: he gave it me without asking; he pressed it upon me; -he watched the opportunity of doing it, and took it as an obligation -upon himself.” On the other side, many benefits are great in show, but -little or nothing perhaps in effect, when they come hard, slow, or at -unawares. That which is given with pride and ostentation, is rather an -ambition than a bounty. - -Some favors are to be conferred in _public_, others in _private_. -In _public_ the rewards of great actions; as honors, charges, or -whatsoever else gives a man reputation in the world; but the good -offices we do for a man in want, distress, or under reproach, these -should be known only to those that have the benefit of them. Nay, not -to them neither, if we can handsomely conceal it from whence the favor -came; for the secrecy, in many cases, is a main part of the benefit. -There was a good man that had a friend, who was both poor and sick, -and ashamed to own his condition: he privately conveyed a bag of money -under his pillow, that he might seem rather to find than receive it. -Provided I know that I give it, no matter for his knowing from whence -it comes that receives it. Many a man stands in need of help that has -not the face to confess it: if the discovery may give offence, let it -lie concealed; he that gives to be seen would never relieve a man in -the dark. It would be too tedious to run through all the niceties that -may occur upon this subject; but, in two words, he must be a wise, a -friendly, and a well-bred man, that perfectly acquits himself in the -art and duty of obliging: for all his actions must be squared according -to the measures of _civility_, _good-nature_ and _discretion._ - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE DIFFERENCE AND VALUE OF BENEFITS. - - -We have already spoken of _benefits_ in _general_; the _matter_ and -the _intention_, together with the _manner_ of conferring them. It -follows now, in course, to say something of the _value_ of them; which -is rated, either by the good they do us, or by the inconvenience they -save us, and has no other standard than that of a judicious regard -to circumstance and occasion. Suppose I save a man from drowning, -the advantage of life is all one to him, from what hand soever it -comes, or by what means; but yet there may be a vast difference in the -obligation. I may do it with hazard, or with security, with trouble, or -with ease; willingly, or by compulsion; upon intercession, or without -it: I may have a prospect of vain-glory or profit: I may do it in -kindness to another, or an hundred _by-ends_ to myself; and every point -does exceedingly vary the case. Two persons may part with the same sum -of money, and yet not the same benefit: the one had it of his _own_, -and it was but a _little_ out of a _great deal_; the other _borrowed_ -it, and bestowed upon me that which he wanted for himself. Two boys -were sent out to fetch a certain person to their master: the one of -them hunts up and down, and comes home again weary, without finding -him; the other falls to play with his companions at the wheel of -Fortune, sees him by chance passing by, delivers him his errand, and -brings him. He that found him by chance deserves to be punished; and he -that sought for him, and missed him, to be rewarded for his good-will. - -In some cases we value the _thing_, in others the _labor_ and -_attendance_. What can be more precious than good manners, good -letters, life, and health? and yet we pay our physicians and tutors -only for their service in the professions. If we buy things cheap, it -matters not, so long as it is a bargain: it is no obligation from the -seller, if nobody else will give him more for it. What would not a -man give to be set ashore in a tempest? for a house in a wilderness? -a shelter in a storm? a fire, or a bit of meat, when a man is pinched -with hunger or cold? a defence against thieves, and a thousand other -matters of moment, that cost but little? And yet we know that the -skipper has but his freight for our passage; and the carpenters and -bricklayers do their work by the day. Those are many times the greatest -obligations in truth, which in vulgar opinions are the smallest: as -comfort to the sick, poor captives; good counsel, keeping of people -from wickedness, etc. Wherefore we should reckon ourselves to owe most -for the noblest benefits. If the physician adds care and friendship -to the duty of his calling, and the tutor to the common method of his -business, I am to esteem them as the nearest of my relations: for to -watch with me, to be troubled for me, and to put off all other patients -for my sake, is a particular kindness: and so it is in my tutor, if -he takes more pains with me than with the rest of my fellows. It is -not enough, in this case, to pay the one his fees, and the other his -salary; but I am indebted to them over and above for their friendship. -The meanest of mechanics, if he does his work with industry and care, -it is an usual thing to cast in something by way of reward more than -the bare agreement: and shall we deal worse with the preservers of our -lives, and the reformers of our manners? He that gives me himself (if -he be worth taking) gives the greatest benefit: and this is the present -which Æschines, a poor disciple of Socrates, made to his master, and as -a matter of great consideration: “Others may have given you much,” says -he, “but I am the only man that has left nothing to himself.” “This -gift,” says Socrates, “you shall never repent of; for I will take care -to return it better than I found it.” So that a brave mind can never -want matter for liberality in the meanest condition; for Nature has -been so kind to us, that where we have nothing of Fortune’s, we may -bestow something of our own. - -It falls out often, that a benefit is followed with an injury; let -which will be foremost, it is with the latter as with one writing -upon another; it does in a great measure hide the former, and keep it -from appearing, but it does not quite take it away. We may in some -cases divide them, and both requite the one, and revenge the other; -or otherwise compare them, to know whether I am creditor or debtor. -You have obliged me in my servant, but wounded me in my brother; you -have saved my son, but have destroyed my father; in this instance, I -will allow as much as piety, and justice, and good nature, will bear; -but I am not willing to set an injury against a benefit. I would -have some respect to the time; the obligation came first; and then, -perhaps, the one was designed, the other against his will; under these -considerations I would amplify the benefit, and lessen the injury; and -extinguish the one with the other; nay, I would pardon the injury even -_without_ the benefit, but much more _after_ it. Not that a man can be -bound by one benefit to suffer all sorts of injuries; for there are -some cases wherein we lie under no obligation for a benefit; because -a greater injury absolves it: as, for example, a man helps me out of -a law-suit, and afterwards commits a rape upon my daughter; where the -following impiety cancels the antecedent obligation. A man lends me a -little money, and then sets my house on fire; the debtor is here turned -creditor, when the injury outweighs the benefit. Nay, if a man does -but so much as repent the good office done, and grow sour and insolent -upon it, and upbraid me with it; if he did it only for his own sake, or -for any other reason than for mine, I am in some degree, more or less, -acquitted of the obligation. I am not at all beholden to him that makes -me the instrument of his own advantage. He that does me good for his -own sake, I will do him good for mine. - -Suppose a man makes suit for a place, and cannot obtain it, but upon -the ransom of ten slaves out of the galleys. If there be ten, and -_no more_, they owe him nothing for their redemption; but _they_ are -indebted to him for the choice, where he might have taken ten others -as well as these. Put the case again, that by an act of grace so many -prisoners are to be released, their names to be drawn by lot, and mine -happens to come out among the rest: one part of my obligation is to him -that put me in a capacity of freedom, and the other is to Providence -for my being one of that number. The greatest benefits of all have no -witnesses, but lie concealed in the conscience. - -There is a great difference betwixt a common obligation and a -particular; he that lends my country money, obliges me only as a part -of the whole. Plato crossed the river, and the ferry-man would take no -money of him: he reflected upon it as honor done to himself; and told -him, “That Plato was in debt.” But Plato, when he found it to be no -more than he did for others, recalled his words, “For,” says he, “Plato -will owe nothing in particular for a benefit in common; what I owe with -others, I will pay with others.” - -Some will have it that the necessity of wishing a man well is some -abatement to the obligation in the doing of him a good office. But I -say, on the contrary, that it is the greater; because the good-will -cannot be changed. It is one thing to say, that a man could not but -do me this or that civility, because he was forced to do it; and -another thing, that he could not quit the good-will of doing it. In -the former case, I am a debtor to him that imposeth the force, in -the other to himself. The unchangeable good-will is an indispensable -obligation: and, to say, that nature cannot go out of her course, does -not discharge us of _what we owe to Providence_. Shall he be said to -will, that may change his mind the next moment? and shall we question -the will of the Almighty, whose nature admits no change? Must the -stars quit their stations, and fall foul one upon another? must the -sun stand still in the middle of his course, and heaven and earth drop -into confusion? must a devouring fire seize upon the universe; the -harmony of the creation be dissolved; and the whole frame of nature -swallowed up in a dark abyss; and will nothing less than this serve to -convince the world of their audacious and impertinent follies? It is -not to say, that _these heavenly bodies are not made for us_; for in -part they are so; and we are the better for their virtues and motions, -whether we will or not; though, undoubtedly, the principal cause is -the unalterable law of God. Providence is not moved by anything from -without; but the Divine will is an everlasting law, an immutable -decree; and the impossibility of variation proceeds from God’s purpose -of preserving; for he never repents of his first counsels. It is not -with our heavenly as with our earthly father. God thought of us and -provided for us, before he made us: (for unto him all future events -are present.) Man was not the work of chance; his mind carries him -above the slight of fortune, and naturally aspires to the contemplation -of heaven and divine mysteries. How desperate a frenzy is it now to -undervalue, nay, to contemn and to disclaim these divine blessings, -without which we are utterly incapable of enjoying any other! - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -AN HONEST MAN CANNOT BE OUTDONE IN COURTESY. - - -It passes in the world for a generous and magnificent saying, that “it -is a shame for a man to be outdone in courtesy;” and it is worth the -while to examine, both the truth of it, and the mistake. First, there -can be no shame in a virtuous emulation; and, secondly, there can be -no victory without crossing the cudgels, and yielding the cause. One -man may have the advantage of strength, of means, of fortune; and this -will undoubtedly operate upon the events of good purposes, but yet -without any diminution to the virtue. The good will may be the same in -both, and yet one may have the heels of the other; for it is not in a -good office as in a course, where he wins the plate that comes first to -the post: and even there also, chance has many times a great hand in -the success. Where the contest is about benefits; and that the one has -not only a _good will_, but _matter_ to work upon, and a power to put -that good intent in execution; and the other has barely a _good-will_, -without either the _means_, or the _occasion_, of a requital; if he -does but affectionately wish it, and endeavor it, the latter is no more -overcome in courtesy than he is in courage that dies with his sword in -his hand, and his face to the enemy, and without shrinking maintains -his station: for where _fortune_ is _par__tial_, it is enough that -the _good-will_ is _equal_. There are two errors in this proposition: -first, to imply that a good man may be overcome; and then to imagine -that anything shameful can befall him. The Spartans prohibited all -those exercises where the victory was declared by the confession of -the contendant. The 300 Fabii were never said to be _conquered_, but -_slain_; nor Regulus to be _overcome_, though he was taken _prisoner_ -by the Carthaginians. The mind may stand firm under the greatest malice -and iniquity of fortune; and yet the giver and receiver continue upon -equal terms: as we reckon it a drawn battle, when two combatants are -parted, though the one has lost more blood than the other. He that -knows how to owe a courtesy, and heartily wishes that he could requite -it, is invincible; so that every man may be as grateful as he pleases. -It is your happiness to give, it is my fortune that I can only receive. -What advantage now has your chance over my virtue? But there are some -men that have philosophized themselves almost out of the sense of human -affections; as Diogenes, that walked naked and unconcerned through -the middle of Alexander’s treasures, and was, as well in other men’s -opinions as in his own, even above Alexander himself, who at that -time had the whole world at his feet: for there was more that the one -scorned to take than that the other had it in his power to give: and it -is a greater generosity for a beggar to refuse money than for a prince -to bestow it. This is a remarkable instance of an immovable mind, and -there is hardly any contending with it; but a man is never the less -valiant for being worsted by an invulnerable enemy; nor the fire one -jot the weaker for not consuming an incombustible body; nor a sword -ever a whit the worse for not cleaving a rock that is impenetrable; -neither is a grateful mind overcome for want of an answerable fortune. -No matter for the inequality of the things given and received, so long -as, in point of good affection, the two parties stand upon the same -level. It is no shame not to overtake a man, if we follow him as fast -as we can. That tumor of a man, the vain-glorious Alexander, was used -to make his boast, that never any man went beyond him in benefits; and -yet he lived to see a poor fellow in a tub, to whom there was nothing -that he could give, and from whom there was nothing that he could take -away. - -Nor is it always necessary for a poor man to fly to the sanctuary of -an invincible mind to quit scores with the bounties of a plentiful -fortune; but it does often fall out, that the returns which he cannot -make in _kind_ are more than supplied in _dignity_ and _value_. -Archelaus, a king of Macedon, invited Socrates to his palace: but he -excused himself, as unwilling to receive greater benefits than he -was able to requite. This perhaps was not _pride_ in Socrates, but -_craft_; for he was afraid of being forced to accept of something -which might possibly have been unworthy of him; beside, that he was -a man of liberty, and loath to make himself a voluntary slave. The -truth of it is, that Archelaus had more need of Socrates than Socrates -of Archelaus; for he wanted a man to teach him the art of life and -death, and the skill of government, and to read the book of Nature to -him, and show him the light at noon-day: he wanted a man that, when -the sun was in an eclipse, and he had locked himself up in all the -horror and despair imaginable; he wanted a man, I say, to deliver -him from his apprehensions, and to expound the prodigy to him, by -telling him, that there was no more in it than only that the _moon_ -was got betwixt the _sun_ and the _earth_, and all would be well again -presently. Let the world judge now, whether Archelaus’ _bounty_, or -Socrates’ _philosophy_, would have been the greater present: he does -not understand the value of wisdom and friendship that does not know -a wise friend to be the noblest of presents. A rarity scarce to be -found, not only in a family, but in an age; and nowhere more wanted -than where there seems to be the greatest store. The greater a man is, -the more need he has of him; and the more difficulty there is both -of finding and of knowing him. Nor is it to be said, that “I cannot -requite such a benefactor because I am poor, and have it not;” I can -give good counsel; a conversation wherein he may take both delight and -profit; freedom of discourse, without flattery; kind attention, where -he deliberates; and faith inviolable where he trusts; I may bring him -to a love and knowledge of truth; deliver him from the errors of his -credulity, and teach him to distinguish betwixt friends and parasites. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE QUESTION DISCUSSED, WHETHER OR NOT A MAN MAY GIVE OR RETURN A -BENEFIT TO HIMSELF? - - -There are many cases, wherein a man speaks of himself as of another. -As, for example, “I may thank myself for this; I am angry at myself; I -hate myself for that.” And this way of speaking has raised a dispute -among the Stoics, “whether or not a man may give or return a benefit to -himself?” For, say they, if I may hurt myself, I may oblige myself; and -that which were a benefit to another body, why is it not so to myself? -And why am I not as criminal in being ungrateful to myself as if I were -so to another body? And the case is the same in flattery and several -other vices; as, on the other side, it is a point of great reputation -for a man to command himself. Plato thanked Socrates for what he had -_learned_ of him; and why might not Socrates as well thank Plato for -that which he had _taught_ him? “That which you want,” says Plato, -“borrow it of yourself.” And why may not I as well give to myself as -lend? If I may be angry with myself, I may thank myself; and if I chide -myself, I may as well commend myself, and do myself good as well as -hurt; there is the same reason of contraries: it is a common thing to -say, “Such a man hath done himself an injury.” If an injury, why not a -benefit? But I say, that no man can be a debtor to himself; for the -benefit must naturally precede the acknowledgment; and a debtor can -no more be without a creditor than a husband without a wife. Somebody -must give, that somebody may receive; and it is neither giving nor -receiving, the passing of a thing from one hand to the other. What -if a man should be ungrateful in the case? there is nothing lost; -for he that gives it has it: and he that gives and he that receives -are one and the same person. Now, properly speaking, no man can be -said to bestow any thing upon himself, for he obeys his nature, that -prompts every man to do himself all the good he can. Shall I call him -liberal, that gives to himself; or good-natured, that pardons himself; -or pitiful, that is affected with his own misfortunes? That which -were bounty, clemency, compassion, to another, to myself is nature. -A benefit is a voluntary thing; but to do good to myself is a thing -necessary. Was ever any man commended for getting out of a ditch, or -for helping himself against thieves? Or what if I should allow, that a -man might confer a benefit upon himself; yet he cannot owe it, for he -returns it in the same instant that he receives it. No man gives, owes, -or makes a return, but to another. How can one man do that to which two -parties are requisite in so many respects? Giving and receiving must -go backward and forward betwixt two persons. If a man give to himself, -he may sell to himself; but to sell is to alienate a thing, and to -translate the right of it to another; now, to make a man both the giver -and the receiver is to unite two contraries. That is a benefit, which, -when it is given, may possibly not be requited; but he that gives to -himself, must necessarily receive what he gives; beside, that all -benefits are given for the receiver’s sake, but that which a man does -for himself, is for the sake of the giver. - -This is one of those subtleties, which, though hardly worth a man’s -while, yet it is not labor absolutely lost neither. There is more of -trick and artifice in it than solidity; and yet there is matter of -diversion too; enough perhaps to pass away a winter’s evening, and keep -a man waking that is heavy-headed. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -HOW FAR ONE MAN MAY BE OBLIGED FOR A BENEFIT DONE TO ANOTHER. - - -The question now before us requires _distinction_ and _caution_. For -though it be both natural and generous to wish well to my friend’s -friend, yet a _second-hand benefit_ does not bind me any further than -to a _second-hand gratitude_: so that I may receive great satisfaction -and advantage from a good office done to my friend, and yet lie under -no obligation myself; or, if any man thinks otherwise, I must ask -him, in the first place, Where it begins? and, How it extends? that -it may not be boundless. Suppose a man obliges the son, does that -obligation work upon the father? and why not upon the uncle too? the -brother? the wife? the sister? the mother? nay, upon all that have any -kindness for him? and upon all the lovers of his friends? and upon all -that love them too? and so _in infinitum_. In this case we must have -recourse, as is said heretofore, to the intention of the benefactor, -and fix the obligation upon him unto whom the kindness was directed. -If a man manures my ground, keeps my house from burning or falling, -it is a benefit to me, for I am the better for it, and my house and -land are insensible. But if he save the life of my son, the benefit is -to my son; it is a joy and a comfort to me, but no obligation. I am -as much concerned as I ought to be in the health, the felicity, and -the welfare of my son, as happy in the enjoyment of him; and I should -be as unhappy as is possible in his loss; but it does not follow that -I must of necessity lie under an obligation for being either happier -or less miserable, by another body’s means. There are some benefits, -which although conferred upon one man, may yet work upon others; as -a sum of money may be given to a poor man for his own sake, which in -the consequence proves the relief of his whole family; but still the -immediate receiver is the debtor for it; for the question is not, to -whom it comes afterward to be transferred, but who is the principal? -and upon whom it was first bestowed? My son’s life is as dear to me -as my own; and in saving him you preserve me too: in this case I will -acknowledge myself obliged to you, that is to say, in my son’s name; -for in my own, and in strictness, I am not; but I am content to make -myself a voluntary debtor. What if he had borrowed money? my paying -of it does not at all make it my debt. It would put me to the blush -perhaps to have him taken in bed with another man’s wife; but that does -not make me an adulterer. It is a wonderful delight and satisfaction -that I receive in his safety; but still this good is not a benefit. A -man may be the better for an animal, a plant, a stone; but there must -be a will, an intention, to make it an obligation. You save the son -without so much as knowing the father, nay, without so much as thinking -of him; and, perhaps you would have done the same thing even if you had -hated him. - -But without any further alteration of dialogue, the conclusion is this; -if you meant him the kindness, he is answerable for it, and I may enjoy -the fruit of it without being obliged by it: but if it was done for -my sake, then I am accountable; or howsoever, upon any occasion, I am -ready to do you all the kind offices imaginable; not as the return of -a benefit, but as the earnest of a friendship; which you are not to -challenge neither, but to entertain as an act of honor and of justice, -rather than of gratitude. If a man find the body of my dead father in -a desert, and give it a burial; if he did it as to my father, I am -beholden to him: but if the body was unknown to him, and that he would -have done the same thing for any other body, I am no farther concerned -in it than as a piece of public humanity. - -There are, moreover, some cases wherein an unworthy person may be -obliged and for the sake of others: and the sottish extract of an -ancient nobilty may be preferred before a better man that is but of -yesterday’s standing. And it is but reasonable to pay a reverence -even to the memory of eminent virtues. He that is not illustrious in -himself, may yet be reputed so in the right of his ancestors: and -there is a gratitude to be entailed upon the offspring of famous -progenitors. Was it not for the _father’s_ sake that Cicero the _son_ -was made counsel? and was it not the eminence of one Pompey that raised -and dignified the rest of his family? How came Caligula to be emperor -of the world? a man so cruel, that he spilt blood as greedily as if -he were to drink it; the empire was not given to himself, but to his -father Germanicus. A brave man deserved that for him, which he could -never have challenged upon his own merit. What was it that preferred -Fabius Persicus, (whose very mouth was the uncleanest part about him,) -what was it but the 300 of that family that so generously opposed the -enemy for the safety of the commonwealth? - -Nay, Providence itself is gracious to the wicked posterity of an -honorable race. The counsels of heaven are guided by wisdom, mercy, and -justice. Some men are made kings of their proper virtues, without any -respect to their predecessors: others for their ancestors’ sakes, whose -virtues, though neglected in their lives, come to be afterward rewarded -in their issues. And it is but equity, that our gratitude should extend -as far as the influence of their heroical actions and examples. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE BENEFACTOR MUST HAVE NO BY-ENDS. - - -We come now to the main point of the matter in question: that is to -say, whether or not it be a thing desirable in itself, the giving and -receiving of benefits? There is a sect of philosophers that accounts -nothing valuable but what is profitable, and so makes all virtue -mercenary; an unmanly mistake to imagine, that the hope of gain, or -fear of loss, should make a man either the more or less honest. As -who should say, “What will I get by it, and I will be an honest man?” -Whereas, on the contrary, honesty is a thing in itself to be purchased -at any rate. It is not for a body to say, “It will be a charge, a -hazard, I shall give offence,” etc. My business is to do what I ought -to do: all other considerations are foreign to the office. Whensoever -my duty calls me, it is my part to attend, without scrupulizing upon -forms or difficulties. Shall I see an honest man oppressed at the bar, -and not assist him, for fear of a court faction? or not second him upon -the highway against thieves, for fear of a broken head? and choose -rather to sit still, the quiet spectator of fraud and violence? Why -will men be just, temperate, generous, brave, but because it carries -along with it fame and a good conscience? and for the same reason, and -no other, (to apply it to the subject in hand,) let a man also be -bountiful. The school of Epicurus, I am sure, will never swallow this -doctrine: (that effeminate tribe of lazy and voluptuous philosophers;) -they will tell you, that virtue is but the servant and vassal of -pleasure. “No,” says Epicurus, “I am not for pleasure neither without -virtue.” But, why then for pleasure, say I, _before_ virtue? Not that -the stress of the controversy lies upon the _order_ only; for the -_power_ of it, as well as the _dignity_, is now under debate. It is -the office of virtue to superintend, to lead, and to govern; but the -parts you have assigned it, are to submit, to follow, and to be under -command. But this, you will say, is nothing to the purpose, so long as -both sides are agreed, that there can be no happiness without _virtue_: -“Take away that,” says Epicurus, “and I am as little a friend to -pleasure as you.” The pinch, in short, is this, whether virtue itself -be the supreme good or the only cause of it? It is not the inverting of -the order that will clear this point; (though it is a very preposterous -error, to set that first which should be last.) It does not half -so much offend me; ranging of pleasure before virtue, as the very -comparing of them; and the bringing of the two opposites, and professed -enemies, into any sort of competition. - -The drift of this discourse is, to support the cause of benefits; and -to prove, that it is a mean and dishonorable thing to give for any -other end than for giving’s sake. He that gives for gain, profit, or -any by-end, destroys the very intent of bounty; for it falls only upon -those that do not want, and perverts the charitable inclinations of -princes and of great men, who cannot reasonably propound to themselves -any such end. What does the sun get by travelling about the universe; -by visiting and comforting all the quarters of the earth? Is the whole -creation made and ordered for the good of mankind, and every particular -man only for the good of himself? There passes not an hour of our -lives, wherein we do not enjoy the blessings of Providence, without -measure and without intermission. And what design can the Almighty have -upon us, who is in himself full, safe, and inviolable? If he should -give only for his own sake, what would become of poor mortals, that -have nothing to return him at best but dutiful acknowledgments? It is -putting out of a benefit to interest only to bestow where we may place -it to advantage. - -Let us be liberal then, after the example of our great Creator, and -give to others with the same consideration that he gives to us. -Epicurus’s answer will be to this, that God gives no benefits at all, -but turns his back upon the world; and without any concern for us, -leaves Nature to take her course: and whether he does anything himself, -or nothing, he takes no notice, however, either of the good or of the -ill that is done here below. If there were not an ordering and an -over-ruling Providence, how comes it (say I, on the other side) that -the universality of mankind should ever have so unanimously agreed in -the madness of worshipping a power that can neither hear nor help us? -Some blessings are freely given us; others upon our prayers are granted -us; and every day brings forth instances of great and of seasonable -mercies. There never was yet any man so insensible as not to feel, see, -and understand, a Deity in the ordinary methods of nature, though many -have been so obstinately ungrateful as not to confess it; nor is any -man so wretched as not to be a partaker in that divine bounty. Some -benefits, it is true, may appear to be unequally divided; but it is -no small matter yet that we possess in common: and which Nature has -bestowed upon us in her very self. If God be not bountiful, whence is -it that we have all that we pretend to? That which we give, and that -which we deny, that which we lay up, and that which we squander away? -Those innumerable delights for the entertainment of our eyes, our -ears, and our understandings? nay, that copious matter even for luxury -itself? For care is taken, not only for our necessities, but also for -our pleasures, and for the gratifying of all our senses and appetites. -So many pleasant groves; fruitful and salutary plants; so many fair -rivers that serve us, both for recreation, plenty, and commerce: -vicissitudes of seasons; varieties of food, by nature made ready to our -hands, and the whole creation itself subjected to mankind for health, -medicine and dominion. We can be thankful to a friend for a few acres, -or a little money: and yet for the freedom and command of the whole -earth, and for the great benefits of our being, as life, health, and -reason, we look upon ourselves as under no obligation. If a man bestows -upon us a house that is delicately beautified with paintings, statues, -gildings, and marble, we make a mighty business of it, and yet it lies -at the mercy of a puff of wind, the snuff of a candle, and a hundred -other accidents, to lay it in the dust. And is it nothing now to sleep -under the canopy of heaven, where we have the globe of the earth for -our place of repose, and the glories of the heavens for our spectacle? -How comes it that we should so much value what we have, and yet at -the same time be so unthankful for it? Whence is it that we have our -breath, the comforts of light and of heat, the very blood that runs in -our veins? the cattle that feed us, and the fruits of the earth that -feed them? Whence have we the growth of our bodies, the succession of -our ages, and the faculties of our minds? so many veins of metals, -quarries of marble, etc. The seed of everything is in itself, and it is -the blessing of God that raises it out of the dark into act and motion. -To say nothing of the charming varieties of music, beautiful objects, -delicious provisions for the palate, exquisite perfumes, which are cast -in, over and above, to the common necessities of our being. - -All this, says Epicurus, we are to ascribe to Nature. And why not to -God, I beseech ye? as if they were not both of them one and the same -power, working in the whole, and in every part of it. Or, if you call -him the Almighty Jupiter; the Thunderer; the Creator and Preserver of -us all: it comes to the same issue; some will express him under the -notion of _Fate_; which is only a connexion of causes, and himself the -uppermost and original, upon which all the rest depend. The Stoics -represent the several _functions_ of the _Almighty Power_ under -several _appellations_. When they speak of him as the father and the -fountain of all beings, they call him _Bacchus_: and under the name of -_Hercules_, they denote him to be _indefatigable_ and _invincible_; and -in the contemplation of him in the _reason_, _order_, _proportion_, and -_wisdom_ of his proceedings, they call him _Mercury_; so that which way -soever they look, and under what name soever they couch their meaning, -they never fail of finding him; for he is everywhere, and fills his -own work. If a man should borrow money of Seneca, and say that he owes -it to Amnæus or Lucius, he may change the name but not his creditor; -for let him take which of the three names he pleases, he is still a -debtor to the same person. As justice, integrity, prudence, frugality, -fortitude, are all of them goods of one and the same mind, so that -whichsoever of them pleases us, we cannot distinctly say that it is -this or that, but the mind. - -But, not to carry this digression too far; that which God himself does, -we are sure is well done; and we are no less sure, that for whatsoever -he gives, he neither wants, expects, nor receives, anything in return; -so that the end of a benefit ought to be the advantage of the receiver; -and that must be our scope without any by-regard to ourselves. It is -objected to us, the singular caution we prescribe in the choice of the -person: for it were a madness, we say, for a husbandman to sow the -sand: which, if true, say they, you have an eye upon profit, as well -in giving as in plowing and sowing. And then they say again, that if -the conferring of a benefit were desirable in itself, it would have -no dependence upon the choice of a man; for let us give it when, how, -or wheresoever we please, it would be still a benefit. This does not -at all affect our assertion; for the person, the matter, the manner, -and the time, are circumstances absolutely necessary to the reason of -the action: there must be a right judgment in all respects to make it -a benefit. It is my duty to be true to a trust, and yet there may be -a time or a place, wherein I would make little difference betwixt the -renouncing of it and the delivering of it up; and the same rule holds -in benefits; I will neither render the one, nor bestow the other, to -the damage of the receiver. A wicked man will run all risks to do -an injury, and to compass his revenge; and shall not an honest man -venture as far to do a good office? All benefits must be gratuitous. A -merchant sells me the corn that keeps me and my family from starving; -but he sold it for his interests, as well as I bought it for mine; -and so I owe him nothing for it. He that gives for profit, gives to -himself; as a physician or a lawyer, gives counsel for a fee, and only -makes use of me for his own ends; as a grazier fats his cattle to -bring them to a better market. This is more properly the driving of a -trade than the cultivating of a generous commerce. This for that, is -rather a truck than a benefit; and he deserves to be cozened that gives -any thing in hope of a return. And in truth, what end should a man -honorably propound? not _profit_; sure that is _vulgar_ and _mechanic_; -and he that does not contemn it can never be grateful. And then for -_glory_, it is a mighty matter indeed for a man to boast of doing his -duty. We are to _give_, if it were only to avoid _not giving_; if any -thing comes of it, it is clear gain; and, at worst, there is nothing -lost; beside, that one benefit well placed makes amends for a thousand -miscarriages. It is not that I would exclude the benefactor neither for -being himself the better for a good office he does for another. Some -there are that do us good only for their own sakes; others for ours; -and some again for both. He that does it for me in common with himself, -if he had a prospect upon both in the doing it, I am obliged to him for -it; and glad with all my heart that he had a share in it. Nay, I were -ungrateful and unjust if I should not rejoice, that what was beneficial -to me might be so likewise to himself. - -To pass now to the matter of gratitude and ingratitude. There never -was any man yet so wicked as not to approve of the one, and detest -the other; as the two things in the whole world, the one to be the -most abominated, the other the most esteemed. The very story of an -ungrateful action puts us out of all patience, and gives us a loathing -for the author of it. “That inhuman villain,” we cry, “to do so horrid -a thing:” not, “that inconsiderate fool for omitting so profitable a -virtue;” which plainly shows the sense we naturally have, both of the -one and of the other, and that we are led to it by a common impulse of -reason and of conscience. Epicurus fancies God to be without power, -and without arms; above fear himself, and as little to be feared. He -places him betwixt the orbs, solitary and idle, out of the reach of -mortals, and neither hearing our prayers nor minding our concerns; -and allows him only such a veneration and respect as we pay to our -parents. If a man should ask him now, why any reverence at all, if we -have no obligation to him, or rather, why that greater reverence to his -fortuitous atoms? his answer would be, that it was for their majesty -and their admirable nature, and not out of any hope or expectation from -them. So that by his proper confession, a thing may be desirable for -its own worth. But, says he, gratitude is a virtue that has commonly -profit annexed to it. And where is the virtue, say I, that has not? but -still the virtue is to be valued for itself, and not for the profit -that attends it. There is no question, but gratitude for benefits -received is the ready way to procure more; and in requiting one friend -we encourage many: but these accessions fall in by the by; and if I -were sure that the doing of good offices would be my ruin, I would yet -pursue them. He that visits the sick, in hope of a legacy, let him be -never so friendly in all other cases, I look upon him in this to be no -better than a raven, that watches a weak sheep only to peck out the -eyes of it. We never give with so much judgment or care, as when we -consider the honesty of the action, without any regard to the profit of -it; for our understandings are corrupted by fear, hope, and pleasure. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THERE ARE MANY CASES WHEREIN A MAN MAY BE MINDED OF A BENEFIT, BUT IT -IS VERY RARELY TO BE CHALLENGED, AND NEVER TO BE UPBRAIDED. - - -If the world were wise, and as honest as it should be, there would be -no need of caution or precept how to behave ourselves in our several -stations and duties; for both the giver and the receiver would do what -they ought to do on their own accord: the one would be bountiful, and -the other grateful, and the only way of minding a man of one good turn -would be the following of it with another. But as the case stands, we -must take other measures, and consult the best we can, the common ease -and relief of mankind. - -As there are several sorts of ungrateful men, so there must be several -ways of dealing with them, either by artifice, counsel, admonition, -or reproof, according to the humor of the person, and the degree of -the offence: provided always, that as well in the reminding a man of -a benefit, as in the bestowing of it, the good of the receiver be -the principal thing intended. There is a curable ingratitude, and an -incurable; there is a slothful, a neglectful, a proud, a dissembling, a -disclaiming, a heedless, a forgetful, and a malicious ingratitude; and -the application must be suited to the matter we have to work upon. A -gentle nature may be reclaimed by authority, advice, or reprehension; -a father, a husband, a friend may do good in the case. There are a sort -of lazy and sluggish people, that live as if they were asleep, and must -be lugged and pinched to wake them. These men are betwixt grateful -and ungrateful; they will neither deny an obligation nor return it, -and only want quickening. I will do all I can to hinder any man from -ill-doing, but especially a friend; and yet more especially from doing -ill to me. I will rub up his memory with new benefits: if that will not -serve, I will proceed to good counsel, and from thence to rebuke: if -all fails, I will look upon him as a desperate debtor, and even let him -alone in his ingratitude, without making him my enemy: for no necessity -shall ever make me spend time in wrangling with any man upon that point. - -Assiduity of obligation strikes upon the conscience as well as the -memory, and pursues an ungrateful man till he becomes grateful: if one -good office will not do it, try a second, and then a third. No man can -be so thankless, but either shame, occasion, or example, will, at some -time or other, prevail upon him. The very beasts themselves, even lions -and tigers, are gained by good usage: beside, that one obligation does -naturally draw on another; and a man would not willingly leave his own -work imperfect. “I have helped him thus far, and I will even go through -with it now.” So that, over and above the delight and the virtue of -obliging, one good turn is a shouting-horn to another. This, of all -hints, is perhaps the most effectual, as well as the most generous. - -In some cases it must be carried more home: as in that of Julius Cæsar, -who, as he was hearing a cause, the defendant finding himself pinched; -“Sir,” says he, “do not you remember a strain you got in your ankle -when you commanded in Spain; and that a soldier lent you his cloak -for a cushion, upon the top of a craggy rock, under the shade of a -little tree, in the heat of the day?” “I remember it perfectly well,” -says Cæsar, “and that when I was ready to choke with thirst, an honest -fellow fetched me a draught of water in his helmet.” “But that man, and -that helmet,” says the soldier, “does Cæsar think that he could not -know them again, if he saw them?” “The man, perchance, I might,” says -Cæsar, somewhat offended, “but not the helmet. But what is the story -to my business? you are none of the man.” “Pardon me, Sir,” says the -soldier, “I am that very man; but Cæsar may well forget me: for I have -been trepanned since, and lost an eye at the battle of Munda, where -that helmet too had the honor to be cleft with a Spanish blade.” Cæsar -took it as it was intended: and it was an honorable and a prudent way -of refreshing his memory. But this would not have gone down so well -with Tiberius: for when an old acquaintance of his began his address -to him with, “You remember, Cæsar.” “No,” says Cæsar, (cutting him -short,) “I do not remember what I WAS.” Now, with him, it was better -to be forgotten than remembered; for an _old friend_ was as bad as an -_informer_. It is a common thing for men to hate the authors of their -preferment, as the witnesses of their mean original. - -There are some people well enough disposed to be grateful, but -they cannot hit upon it without a prompter; they are a little like -school-boys that have treacherous memories; it is but helping them -here and there with a word, when they stick, and they will go through -with their lesson; they must be taught to be thankful, and it is a -fair step, if we can but bring them to be willing, and only offer -at it. Some benefits we have neglected; some we are not willing to -remember. He is ungrateful that disowns an obligation, and so is he -that dissembles it, or to his power does not requite it; but the worst -of all is he that forgets it. Conscience, or occasion, may revive the -rest; but here the very memory of it is lost. Those eyes that cannot -endure the light are weak, but those are stark blind that cannot see -it. I do not love to hear people say, “Alas! poor man, he has forgotten -it,” as if that were the excuse of ingratitude, which is the very cause -of it: for if he were not ungrateful, he would not be forgetful, and -lay that out of the way which should be always uppermost and in sight. -He that thinks as he ought to do, of requiting a benefit, is in no -danger of forgetting it. There are, indeed, some benefits so great that -they can never slip the memory; but those which are less in value, and -more in number, do commonly escape us. We are apt enough to acknowledge -that “such a man has been the making of us;” so long as we are in -possession of the advantage he has brought us; but new appetites deface -old kindnesses, and we carry our prospect forward to something more, -without considering what we have obtained already. All that is past -we give for lost; so that we are only intent upon the future. When a -benefit is once out of sight, or out of use, it is buried. - -It is the freak of many people, they cannot do a good office but they -are presently boasting of it, drunk or sober: and about it goes into -all companies what wonderful things they have done for this man, and -what for the other. A foolish and a dangerous vanity, of a doubtful -friend to make a certain enemy. For these reproaches and contempts will -set everybody’s tongue a walking; and people will conclude that these -things would never be, if there were not something very extraordinary -in the bottom of it. When it comes to that once, there is not any -calumny but fastens more or less, nor any falsehood so incredible, but -in some part or other of it, shall pass for a truth. Our great mistake -is this, we are still inclined to make the most of what we give, and -the least of what we receive; whereas we should do the clean contrary. -“It might have been more, but he had a great many to oblige. It was as -much as he could well spare; but he will make it up some other time,” -etc. Nay, we should be so far from making publication of our bounties, -as not to hear them so much as mentioned without sweetening the matter: -as, “Alas, I owe him a great deal more than that comes to. If it were -in my power to serve him, I should be very glad of it.” And this, too, -not with the figure of a compliment, but with all humanity and truth. -There was a man of quality, that in the triumviral proscription, was -saved by one of Cæsar’s friends, who would be still twitting him with -it; who it was that preserved him, and telling him over and over, “you -had gone to pot, friend, but for me.” “Pr’ythee,” says the proscribed, -“let me hear no more of this, or even leave me as you found me: I am -thankful enough of myself to acknowledge that I owe you my life, but it -is death to have it rung in my ears perpetually as a reproach; it looks -as if you had only saved me to carry me about for a spectacle. I would -fain forget the misfortune that I was once a prisoner, without being -led in triumph every day of my life.” - -Oh! the pride and folly of a great fortune, that turns benefits -into injuries! that delights in excesses, and disgraces every thing -it does! Who would receive any thing from it upon these terms? the -higher it raises us, the more sordid it makes us. Whatsoever it gives -it corrupts. What is there in it that should thus puff us up? by -what magic is it that we are so transformed, that we do no longer -know ourselves? Is it impossible for greatness to be liberal without -insolence? The benefits that we receive from our superiors are then -welcome when they come with an open hand, and a clear brow; without -either contumely or state; and so as to prevent our necessities. The -benefit is never the greater for the making of a bustle and a noise -about it: but the benefactor is much the less for the ostentation of -his good deeds; which makes that odious to us, which would otherwise -be delightful. Tiberius had gotten a trick, when any man begged money -of him, to refer him to the senate, where all the petitioners were to -deliver up the names of their creditors. His end perhaps was, to deter -men from asking, by exposing the condition of their fortunes to an -examination. But it was, however, a benefit turned unto a reprehension, -and he made a reproach of a bounty. - -But it is not enough yet to forbear the casting of a benefit in a man’s -teeth; for there are some that will not allow it to be so much as -challenged. For an ill man, say they, will not make a return, though it -be demanded, and a good man will do it of himself: and then the asking -of it seems to turn it into a debt. It is a kind of injury to be too -quick with the former: for to call upon him too soon reproaches him, as -if he would not have done it otherwise. Nor would I recall a benefit -from any man so as to force it, but only to receive it. If I let him -quite alone, I make myself guilty of his ingratitude: and undo him for -want of plain dealing. A father reclaims a disobedient son, a wife -reclaims a dissolute husband; and one friend excites the languishing -kindness of another. How many men are lost for want of being touched to -the quick? So long as I am not pressed, I will rather desire a favor, -than so much as mention a requital; but if my country, my family, or -my liberty, be at stake, my zeal and indignation shall overrule my -modesty, and the world shall then understand that I have done all I -could, not to stand in need of an ungrateful man. And in conclusion the -necessity of receiving a benefit shall overcome the shame of recalling -it. Nor is it only allowable upon some exigents to put the receiver in -mind of a good turn, but it is many times for the common advantage of -both parties. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -HOW FAR TO OBLIGE OR REQUITE A WICKED MAN. - - -There are some benefits whereof a wicked man is wholly incapable; of -which hereafter. There are others, which are bestowed upon him, not -for his own sake, but for secondary reasons; and of these we have -spoken in part already. There are, moreover, certain common offices -of humanity, which are only allowed him as he is a man, and without -any regard either to vice or virtue. To pass over the first point; the -second must be handled with care and distinction, and not without some -seeming exceptions to the general rule; as first, here is no _choice_ -or _intention_ in the case, but it is a good office done him for some -_by-interest_, or by _chance_. Secondly, There is no _judgment_ in -it neither, for it is to a _wicked man_. But to shorten the matter: -without these circumstances it is not properly a benefit; or at least -not to him; for it looks another way. I rescue a friend from thieves, -and the other escapes for company. I discharge a debt for a friend, and -the other comes off too: for they were both in a bond. The third is of -a great latitude, and varies according to the degree of generosity on -the one side, and of wickedness on the other. Some benefactors will -supererogate, and do more than they are bound to do; and some men are -so lewd, that it is dangerous to do them any sort of good; no, not so -much as by way of return or requital. - -If the benefactor’s bounty must extend to the bad as well as the -good; put the case, that I promise a good office to an ungrateful -man; we are first to distinguish (as I said before) betwixt a _common -benefit_ and a _personal_; betwixt what is given for _merit_ and what -for _company_. Secondly, Whether or not we know the person to be -ungrateful, and can reasonably conclude, that this vice is _incurable_. -Thirdly, A consideration must be had of the promise, how far that may -oblige us. The two first points are cleared both in one: we cannot -justify any particular kindness for one that we conclude to be a -hopelessly wicked man: so that the force of the promise is in the -single point in question. In the promise of a good office to a wicked -or ungrateful man, I am to blame if I did it knowingly; and I am to -blame nevertheless, if I did it otherwise: but I must yet make it good, -(under due qualifications,) because I promised it; that is to say, -matters continuing in the same state, for no man is answerable for -accidents. I will sup at such a place though it be cold; I will rise -at such an hour though I be sleepy; but if it prove tempestuous, or -that I fall sick of a fever, I will neither do the one nor the other. -I promise to second a friend in a quarrel, or to plead his cause; and -when I come into the field, or into the court, it proves to be against -my father or my brother: I promise to go a journey with him, but there -is no traveling upon the road for robbing; my child is fallen sick; or -my wife is in labor: these circumstances are sufficient to discharge -me; for a promise against law or duty is void in its own nature. - -The counsels of a wise man are certain, but events are uncertain: and -yet if I have passed a rash promise, I will in some degree punish the -temerity of making it with the damage of keeping it, unless it turn -very much to my shame or detriment, and then I will be my own confessor -in the point, and rather be once guilty of denying, than always of -giving. It is not with a benefit as with a debt—it is one thing to -trust an ill paymaster, and another thing to oblige an unworthy -person—the one is an ill man, and the other only an ill husband. - -There was a valiant fellow in the army, that Philip of Macedon took -particular notice of, and he gave him several considerable marks of -the kindness he had for him. This soldier put to sea and was cast away -upon a coast where a charitable neighbor took him up half dead, carried -him to the house, and there, at his own charge maintained and provided -for him thirty days, until he was perfectly recovered, and, after all, -furnished him over and above, with a viaticum at parting. The soldier -told him the mighty matters that he would do for him in return, so soon -as he should have the honor once again to see his master. To court he -goes, tells Philip of the wreck, but not a syllable of his preserver, -and begs the estate of this very man that kept him alive. It was with -Philip as it was with many other princes, they give they know not -what, especially in a time of war. He granted the soldier his request, -contemplating at the same time, the impossibility of satisfying so many -ravenous appetites as he had to please. When the good man came to be -turned out of all, he was not so mealy-mouthed as to thank his majesty -for not giving away his person too as well as his fortune; but in a -bold, frank letter to Philip, made a just report of the whole story. -The king was so incensed at the abuse, that he immediately commanded -the right owner to be restored to his estate, and the unthankful guest -and soldier to be stigmatized for an example to others. - -Should Philip now have kept this promise? First, he owed the soldier -nothing. Secondly, it would have been injurious and impious; and, -lastly, a precedent of dangerous consequence to human society; for it -would have been little less than an interdiction of fire and water to -the miserable, to have inflicted such a penalty upon relieving them; so -that there must be always some tacit exception or reserve: _if I can_, -_if I may_; or, _if matters continue as they were_. - -If it should be my fortune to receive a benefit from one that -afterwards betrays his country, I should still reckon myself obliged -to him for such a requital as might stand with my public duty; I -would not furnish him with arms, nor with money or credit, or levy -or pay soldiers; but I should not stick to gratify him at my own -expense with such curiosities as might please him one way without -doing mischief another. I would not do any thing that might contribute -to the support or advantage of his party. But what should I do now -in the case of a benefactor, that should afterwards become not only -mine and my country’s enemy, but the common enemy of mankind! I would -here distinguish betwixt the wickedness of a man and the cruelty of a -beast—betwixt a limited or a particular passion and a sanguinary rage -that extends to the hazard and destruction of human society. In the -former case I would quit scores, that I might have no more to do with -him; but if he comes once to delight in blood, and to act outrages -with greediness—to study and invent torments, and to take pleasure in -them—the law of reasonable nature has discharged me of such a debt. -But this is an impiety so rare that it might pass for a portent, and -be reckoned among comets and monsters. Let us therefore restrain our -discourse to such men as we detest without horror; such men as we see -every day in courts, camps, and upon the seats of justice; to such -wicked men I will return what I have received, without making any -advantage of their unrighteousness. - -It does not divert the Almighty from being still gracious, though we -proceed daily in the abuse of his bounties. How many there are that -enjoy the comfort of the light that do not deserve it; that wish they -had never been born! and yet Nature goes quietly on with her work, and -allows them a being, even in despite of their unthankfulness. Such -a knave, we cry, was better used than I: and the same complaint we -extend to Providence itself. How many wicked men have good crops, when -better than themselves have their fruits blasted! Such a man, we say, -has treated me very ill. Why, what should we do, but that very thing -which is done by God himself? that is to say, give to the ignorant, -and persevere to the wicked. All our ingratitude, we see, does not -turn Providence from pouring down of benefits, even upon those that -question whence they come. The wisdom of Heaven does all things with -a regard to the good of the universe, and the blessings of nature -are granted in common, to the worst as well as to the best of men; -for they live promiscuously together; and it is God’s will, that the -wicked shall rather fare the better for the good, than that the good -shall fare the worse for the wicked. It is true that a wise prince -will confer peculiar honors only upon the worthy; but in the dealing -of a public dole, there is no respect had to the manners of the man; -but a thief or traitor shall put in for a share as well as an honest -man. If a good man and a wicked man sail both in the same bottom, it -is impossible that the same wind which favors the one should cross the -other. The common benefits of laws, privileges, communities, letters, -and medicines, are permitted to the bad as well as to the good; and no -man ever yet suppressed a sovereign remedy for fear a wicked man might -be cured with it. Cities are built for both sorts, and the same remedy -works upon both alike. In these cases, we are to set an estimate upon -the persons: there is a great difference betwixt the choosing of a man -and the not excluding him: the law is open to the rebellious as well -as to the obedient: there are some benefits which, if they were not -allowed to all, could not be enjoyed by any. The sun was never made for -me, but for the comfort of the world, and for the providential order -of the seasons; and yet I am not without my private obligation also. -To conclude, he that will oblige the wicked and the ungrateful, must -resolve to oblige nobody; for in some sort or another we are all of us -wicked, we are all of us ungrateful, every man of us. - -We have been discoursing all this while how far a wicked man may be -obliged, and the Stoics tell us at last, that he cannot be obliged -at all. For they make him incapable of any good, and consequently -of any benefit. But he has this advantage, that if he cannot be -obliged, he cannot be ungrateful: for if he cannot receive, he is not -bound to return. On the other side, a good man and an ungrateful, -are a contradiction: so that at this rate there is no such thing as -ingratitude in nature. They compare a wicked man’s mind to a vitiated -stomach; he corrupts whatever he receives, and the best nourishment -turns to the disease. But taking this for granted, a wicked man may -yet so far be obliged as to pass for ungrateful, if he does not -requite what he receives: for though it be not a perfect benefit, yet -he receives something like it. There are goods of the mind, the body, -and of fortune. Of the first sort, fools and wicked men are wholly -incapable; to the rest they may be admitted. But why should I call any -man ungrateful, you will say, for not restoring that which I deny to be -a benefit? I answer, that if the receiver take it for a benefit, and -fails of a return, it is ingratitude in him: for that which goes for an -obligation among wicked men, is an obligation upon them: and they may -pay one another in their own coin; the money is current, whether it be -gold or leather, when it comes once to be authorized. Nay, Cleanthes -carries it farther; he that is wanting, says he, to a kind office, -though it be no benefit, would have done the same thing if it had been -one; and is as guilty as a thief is, that has set his booty, and is -already armed and mounted with a purpose to seize it, though he has -not yet drawn blood. Wickedness is formed in the heart; and the matter -of fact is only the discovery and the execution of it. Now, though a -wicked man cannot either receive or bestow a benefit, because he wants -the will of doing good, and for that he is no longer wicked, when -virtue has taken possession of him; yet we commonly call it one, as we -call a man illiterate that is not learned, and naked that is not well -clad; not but that the one can read, and the other is covered. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -A GENERAL VIEW OF THE PARTS AND DUTIES OF THE BENEFACTOR. - - -The three main points in the question of benefits are, first, a -_judicious choice_ in the _object_; secondly, in the _matter_ of our -benevolence; and thirdly, a grateful _felicity_ in the _manner_ of -expressing it. But there are also incumbent upon the benefactor other -considerations, which will deserve a place in this discourse. - -It is not enough to do one good turn, and to do it with a good grace -too, unless we follow it with more, and without either upbraiding or -repining. It is a common shift, to charge that upon the ingratitude -of the receiver, which, in truth, is most commonly the levity and -indiscretion of the giver; for all circumstances must be duly weighed -to consummate the action. Some there are that we find ungrateful; but -what with our forwardness, change of humor and reproaches, there are -more that we make so. And this is the business: we give with design, -and most to those that are able to give most again. We give to the -covetous, and to the ambitious; to those that can never be thankful, -(for their desires are insatiable,) and to those that _will_ not. -He that is a tribune would be prætor; the prætor, a consul; never -reflecting upon what he _was_, but only looking forward to what he -_would_ be. People are still computing, _Must I lose this or that -benefit_? If it be lost, the fault lies in the ill bestowing of it; -for rightly placed, it is as good as consecrated; if we be deceived -in another, let us not be deceived in ourselves too. A charitable man -will mend the matter: and say to himself, _Perhaps he has forgot it, -perchance he could not, perhaps he will yet requite it_. A patient -creditor will, of an ill paymaster, in time make a good one; an -obstinate goodness overcomes an ill disposition, as a barren soil is -made fruitful by care and tillage. But let a man be never so ungrateful -or inhuman, he shall never destroy the satisfaction of my having done a -good office. - -But what if _others_ will be wicked? does it follow that we must be so -too? If _others_ will be ungrateful, must _we_ therefore be inhuman? -To give and to lose, is nothing; but to lose and to give still, is the -part of a great mind. And the others in effect is the greater loss; -for the one does but lose his benefit, and the other loses himself. -The light shines upon the profane and sacrilegious as well as upon the -righteous. How many disappointments do we meet with in our wives and -children, and yet we couple still? He that has lost one battle hazards -another. The mariner puts to sea again after a wreck. An illustrious -mind does not propose the profit of a good office, but the duty. If the -world be wicked, we should yet persevere in well-doing, even among evil -men. I had rather never receive a kindness than never bestow one: not -to return a benefit is the _greater_ sin, but not to _confer_ it is the -_earlier_. We cannot propose to ourselves a more glorious example than -that of the Almighty, who neither needs nor expects anything from us; -and yet he is continually showering down and distributing his mercies -and his grace among us, not only for our necessities, but also for -our delights; as fruits and seasons, rain and sunshine, veins of water -and of metal; and all this to the wicked as well as to the good, and -without any other end than the common benefit of the receivers. With -what face then can we be mercenary one to another, that have received -all things from Divine Providence _gratis_? It is a common saying, “I -gave such or such a man so much money: I would I had thrown it into -the sea;” and yet the merchant trades again after a piracy, and the -banker ventures afresh after a bad security. He that will do no good -offices after a disappointment, must stand still, and do just nothing -at all. The plow goes on after a barren year: and while the ashes -are yet warm, we raise a new house upon the ruins of a former. What -obligations can be greater than those which children receive from their -parents? and yet should we give them over in their infancy, it were all -to no purpose. Benefits, like grain, must be followed from the seed to -the harvest. I will not so much as leave any place for ingratitude. I -will pursue, and I will encompass the receiver with benefits; so that -let him look which way he will, his benefactor shall be still in his -eye, even when he would avoid his own memory: and then I will remit -to one man because he calls for it; to another, because he does not; -to a third, because he is wicked; and to a fourth, because he is the -contrary. I will cast away a good turn upon a bad man, and I will -requite a good one; the one because it is my duty, and the other that I -may not be in debt. - -I do not love to hear any man complain that he has met with a thankless -man. If he has met but with one, he has either been very fortunate or -very careful. And yet care is not sufficient: for there is no way to -escape the hazard of losing a benefit but the not bestowing of it, and -to neglect a duty to myself for fear another should abuse it. It is -_another’s_ fault if he be ungrateful, but it is _mine_ if I do not -give. To find one thankful man, I will oblige a great many that are -not so. The business of mankind would be at a stand, if we should do -nothing for fear of miscarriages in matters of certain event. I will -try and believe all things, before I give any man over, and do all that -is possible that I may not lose a good office and a friend together. -What do I know but _he may misunderstand the obligation? business may -have put it out of his head, or taken him off from it: he may have -slipt his opportunity_. I will say, in excuse of human weakness, that -one man’s memory is not sufficient for all things; it is but a limited -capacity, so as to hold only so much, and no more: and when it is once -full, it must let out part of what it had to take in anything beside; -and the last benefit ever sits closest to us. In our youth we forget -the obligations of our infancy, and when we are men we forget those -of our youth. If nothing will prevail, let him keep what he has and -welcome; but let him have a care of returning evil for good, and making -it dangerous for a man to do his duty. I would no more give a benefit -for such a man, than I would lend money to a beggarly spendthrift; or -deposit any in the hands of a known _knight of the post_. However the -case stands, an ungrateful person is never the better for a reproach; -if he be already hardened in his wickedness, he gives no heed to it; -and if he be not, it turns a doubtful modesty into an incorrigible -impudence: beside that, he watches for all ill words to pick a quarrel -with them. - -As the benefactor is not to upbraid a benefit, so neither to delay -it: the one is tiresome, and the other odious. We must not hold men -in hand, as physicians and surgeons do their patients, and keep them -longer in fear and pain than needs, only to magnify the cure. A -generous man gives easily, and receives as he gives, but never exacts. -He rejoices in the return, and judges favorably of it whatever it be, -and contents himself with bare thanks for a requital. It is a harder -matter with some to get the benefit after it is promised than the first -promise of it, there must be so many friends made in the case. One -must be desired to solicit another; and he must be entreated to move -a third; and a fourth must be at last besought to receive it; so that -the author, upon the upshot, has the least share in the obligation. It -is then welcome when it comes free, and without deduction; and no man -either to intercept or hinder, or to detain it. And let it be of such a -quality too, that it be not only delightful in the receiving, but after -it is received; which it will certainly be, if we do but observe this -rule, never to do any thing for another which we would not honestly -desire for ourselves. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -HOW THE RECEIVER OUGHT TO BEHAVE HIMSELF. - - -There are certain rules in common betwixt the giver and the receiver. -We must do both cheerfully, that the giver may receive the fruit of -his benefit in the very act of bestowing it. It is a just ground of -satisfaction to _see_ a friend pleased; but it is much more to _make_ -him so. The intention of the one is to be suited to the intention -of the other; and there must be an emulation betwixt them, whether -shall oblige most. Let the one say, that he has received a benefit, -and let the other persuade himself that he has not returned it. Let -the one say, _I am paid_, and the other, _I am yet in your debt_; let -the benefactor acquit the receiver, and the receiver bind himself. -The frankness of the discharge heightens the obligation. It is in -_conversation_ as in a _tennis-court_; benefits are to be tossed like -balls; the longer the rest, the better are the gamesters. The giver, in -some respect, has the odds, because (as in a race) he starts first, and -the other must use great diligence to overtake him. The return must be -larger than the first obligation to come up to it; and it is a kind of -ingratitude not to render it with interest. In a matter of money, it -is a common thing to pay a debt out of course, and before it be due; -but we account ourselves to owe nothing for a good office; whereas -the benefit increases by delay. So insensible are we of the most -important affair of human life! That man were doubtless in a miserable -condition, that could neither see, nor hear, nor taste, nor feel, nor -smell; but how much more unhappy is he then that, wanting a sense of -benefits, loses the greatest comfort in nature in the bliss of giving -and receiving them? He that takes a benefit as it is meant is in the -right; for the benefactor has then his end, and his only end, when the -receiver is grateful. - -The more glorious part, in appearance, is that of the giver; but the -receiver has undoubtedly the harder game to play in many regards. -There are some from whom I would not accept of a benefit; that is to -say, from those upon whom I would not bestow one. For why should I not -scorn to receive a benefit where I am ashamed to own it? and I would -yet be more tender too, where I receive, than where I give; for it is -no torment to be in debt where a man has no mind to pay; as it is the -greatest delight imaginable to be engaged by a friend, whom I should -yet have a kindness for; if I were never so much disobliged. It is a -pain to an honest and a generous mind to lie under a duty of affection -against inclination. I do not speak here of wise men, that love to -do what they ought to do; that have their passions at command; that -prescribe laws to themselves, and keep them when they have done; but of -men in a state of imperfection, that may have a good will perhaps to -be honest, and yet be overborne by the contumacy of their affections. -We must therefore have a care to whom we become obliged; and I would -be much stricter yet in the choice of a creditor for benefits than for -money. In the one case, it is but paying what I had, and the debt is -discharged; in the other, I do not only owe more, but when I have paid -that, I am still in arrear: and this law is the very foundation of -friendship. I will suppose myself a prisoner; and a notorious villain -offers to lay down a good sum of money for my redemption. _First_, -Shall I make use of this money or not? _Secondly_, If I do, what return -shall I make him for it? To the first point, I will take it; but only -as a debt; not as a benefit, that shall ever tie me to a friendship -with him; and, secondly, my acknowledgment shall be only correspondent -to such an obligation. It is a school question, whether or not Brutus, -that thought Cæsar not fit to live, (and put himself at the head of a -conspiracy against him,) could honestly have received his life from -Cæsar, if he had fallen into Cæsar’s power, without examining what -reason moved him to that action? How great a man soever he was in -other cases, without dispute he was extremely out in this, and below -the dignity of his profession. For a Stoic to fear the name of a king, -when yet monarchy is the best state of government; or there to hope for -liberty, where so great rewards are propounded, both for tyrants and -their slaves; for him to imagine ever to bring the laws to their former -state, where so many thousand lives had been lost in the contest, not -so much whether they should serve or not, but who should be their -master: he was strangely mistaken, in the nature and reason of things, -to fancy, that when Julius was gone, somebody else would not start up -in his place, when there was yet a Tarquin found, after so many kings -that were destroyed, either by sword or thunder: and yet the resolution -is, that he might have received it, but not as a benefit; for at that -rate I owe my life to every man that does not take it away. - -Græcinus Julius (whom Caligula put to death out of a pure malice to his -virtue) had a considerable sum of money sent him from Fabius Persicus -(a man of great and infamous example) as a contribution towards the -expense of plays and other public entertainments; but Julius would -not receive it; and some of his friends that had an eye more upon the -present than the presenter, asked him, with some freedom, what he meant -by refusing it? “Why,” says he, “do you think that I will take money -where I would not take so much as a glass of wine?” After this Rebilus -(a man of the same stamp) sent him a greater sum upon the same score. -“You must excuse me,” says he to the messenger, “for I would not take -any thing of Persicus neither.” - -To match this scruple of receiving money with another of keeping it; -and the sum not above three pence, or a groat at most. There was a -certain Pythagorean that contracted with a cobbler for a pair of shoes, -and some three or four days after, going to pay him his money, the -shop was shut up; and when he had knocked a great while at the door, -“Friend,” says a fellow, “you may hammer your heart out there, for the -man that you look for is dead. And when our friends are dead, we hear -no more news of them; but yours, that are to live again, will shift -well enough,” (alluding to Pythagora’s transmigration). Upon this the -philosopher went away, with his money chinking in his hand, and well -enough content to save it: at last, his conscience took check at it; -and, upon reflection, “Though the man be dead,” says he, “to others, he -is alive to thee; pay him what thou owest him:” and so he went back -presently, and thrust it into his shop through the chink of the door. -Whatever we owe, it is our part to find where to pay it, and to do it -without asking too; for whether the creditor be good or bad, the debt -is still the same. - -If a benefit be forced upon me, as from a tyrant, or a superior, where -it may be dangerous to refuse, this is rather obeying than receiving, -where the necessity destroys the choice. The way to know what I have a -mind to do, is to leave me at liberty whether I will do it or not; but -it is yet a benefit, if a man does me good in spite of my teeth; as it -is none, if I do any man good against my will. A man may both hate and -yet receive a benefit at the same time; the money is never the worse, -because a fool that is not read in coins refuses to take it. If the -thing be good for the receiver, and so intended, no matter how ill it -is taken. Nay, the receiver may be obliged, and not know it; but there -can be no benefit which is unknown to the giver. Neither will I, upon -any terms, receive a benefit from a worthy person that may do him a -mischief: it is the part of an enemy to save himself by doing another -man harm. - -But whatever we do, let us be sure always to keep a grateful mind. -It is not enough to say, what requital shall a poor man offer to a -prince; or a slave to his patron; when it is the glory of gratitude -that it depends only upon the good will? Suppose a man defends my -fame; delivers me from beggary; saves my life; or gives me liberty, -that is more than life; how shall I be grateful to that man? I will -receive, cherish, and rejoice in the benefit. Take it kindly, and -it is requited: not that the debt itself is discharged, but it is -nevertheless a discharge of the conscience. I will yet distinguish -betwixt the debtor that becomes insolvent by expenses upon whores and -dice, and another that is undone by fire or thieves; nor do I take this -gratitude for a payment, but there is no danger, I presume, of being -arrested for such a debt. - -In the return of benefits let us be ready and cheerful but not -pressing. There is as much greatness of mind in the owing of a good -turn as in doing of it; and we must no more force a requital out of -season than be wanting in it. He that precipitates a return, does -as good as say, “I am weary of being in this man’s debt:” not but -that the hastening of a requital, as a good office, is a commendable -disposition, but it is another thing to do it as a discharge; for it -looks like casting off a heavy and a troublesome burden. It is for the -benefactor to say _when_ he will receive it; no matter for the opinion -of the world, so long as I gratify my own conscience; for I cannot be -mistaken in myself, but another may. He that is over solicitous to -return a benefit, thinks the other so likewise to receive it. If he had -rather we should keep it, why should we refuse, and presume to dispose -of his treasure, who may call it in, or let it lie out, at his choice? -It is as much a fault to receive what I ought not, as not to give what -I ought; for the giver has the privilege of choosing his own time of -receiving. - -Some are too proud in the conferring of benefits; others, in the -receiving of them; which is, to say the truth, intolerable. The same -rule serves both sides, as in the case of a father and a son; a husband -and a wife; one friend or acquaintance and another, where the duties -are known and common. There are some that will not receive a benefit -but in private, nor thank you for it but in your ear, or in a corner; -there must be nothing under hand and seal, no brokers, notaries, or -witnesses, in the case: that is not so much a scruple of modesty as a -kind of denying the obligation, and only a less hardened ingratitude. -Some receive benefits so coldly and indifferently, that a man would -think the obligation lay on the other side: as who should say, “Well, -since you will needs have it so, I am content to take it.” Some again -so carelessly, as if they hardly knew of any such thing, whereas we -should rather aggravate the matter: “You cannot imagine how many -you have obliged in this act: there never was so great, so kind, so -seasonable a courtesy.” Furnius never gained so much upon Augustus as -by a speech, upon the getting of his father’s pardon for siding with -Antony: “This grace,” says he, “is the only injury that ever Cæsar did -me: for it has put me upon a necessity of living and dying ungrateful.” -It is safer to affront some people than to oblige them; for the better -a man deserves, the worse they will speak of him: as if the possessing -of open hatred to their benefactors were an argument that they lie -under no obligation. Some people are so sour and ill-natured, that they -take it for an affront to have an obligation or a return offered them, -to the discouragement both of bounty and gratitude together. The not -doing, and the not receiving, of benefits, are equally a mistake. He -that refuses a new one, seems to be offended at an old one: and yet -sometimes I would neither return a benefit, no, nor so much as receive -it, if I might. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -OF GRATITUDE. - - -He that preaches gratitude, pleads the cause both of God and man; for -without it we can neither be sociable nor religious. There is a strange -delight in the very purpose and contemplation of it, as well as in the -action; when I can say to myself, “I love my benefactor; what is there -in this world that I would not do to oblige and serve him?” Where I -have not the _means_ of a requital, the very _meditation_ of it is -sufficient. A man is nevertheless an artist for not having his tools -about him; or a musician, because he wants his fiddle: nor is he the -less brave because his hands are bound; or the worse pilot for being -upon dry ground. If I have only _will_ to be grateful, I _am_ so. Let -me be upon the wheel, or under the hand of the executioner; let me be -burnt limb by limb, and my whole body dropping in the flames, a good -conscience supports me in all extremes; nay, it is comfortable even -in death itself; for when we come to approach that point, what care -do we take to summon and call to mind all our benefactors, and the -good offices they have done us, that we leave the world fair, and set -our minds in order? Without gratitude, we can neither have security, -peace, nor reputation: and it is not therefore the less desirable, -because it draws many adventitious benefits along with it. Suppose the -sun, the moon, and the stars, had no other business than only to pass -over our heads, without any effect upon our minds or bodies; without -any regard to our health, fruits, or seasons; a man could hardly lift -up his eyes towards the heavens without wonder and veneration, to -see so many millions of radiant lights, and to observe their courses -and revolutions, even without any respect to the common good of the -universe. But when we come to consider that Providence and Nature are -still at work when we sleep, with the admirable force and operation -of their influences and motions, we cannot then but acknowledge their -ornament to be the least part of their value; and that they are more -to be esteemed for their virtues than for their splendor. Their main -end and use is matter of life and necessity, though they may seem to -us more considerable for their majesty and beauty. And so it is with -gratitude; we love it rather for secondary ends, than for itself. - -No man can be grateful without contemning those things that put the -common people out of their wits. We must go into banishment; lay -down our lives; beggar and expose ourselves to reproaches; nay, it -is often seen, that loyalty suffers the punishment due to rebellion, -and that treason receives the rewards of fidelity. As the benefits -of it are many and great, so are the hazards; which is the case more -or less of all other virtues: and it were hard, if this, above the -rest, should be both painful and fruitless: so that though we may go -currently on with it in a smooth way, we must yet prepare and resolve -(if need be) to force our passage to it, even if the way were covered -with thorns and serpents; and _fall back_, _fall edge_, we must be -grateful still: grateful for the virtue’s sake, and grateful over and -above upon the point of interest; for it preserves old friends, and -gains new ones. It is not our business to fish for one benefit with -another; and by bestowing a little to get more; or to oblige for any -sort of expedience, but because I ought to do it, and because I love -it, and that to such a degree, that if I could not be grateful without -appearing the contrary, if I could not return a benefit without being -suspected of doing an injury; in despite of infamy itself, I would -yet be grateful. No man is greater in my esteem than he that ventures -the fame to preserve the conscience of an honest man; the one is but -imaginary, the other solid and inestimable. I cannot call him grateful, -who in the instant of returning one benefit has his eye upon another. -He that is grateful for profit or fear, is like a woman that is honest -only upon the score of reputation. - -As gratitude is a necessary and a glorious, so it is also an obvious, a -cheap, and an easy virtue; so obvious, that wheresoever there is a life -there is a place for it—so cheap that the covetous man may be grateful -without expense—and so easy that the sluggard may be so, likewise, -without labor. And yet it is not without its niceties too; for there -may be a time, a place or occasion wherein I ought not to return a -benefit; nay, wherein I may better disown it than deliver it. - -Let it be understood, by the way, that it is one thing to be grateful -for a good office, and another thing to return it—the good will is -enough in one case, being as much as the one side demands and the other -promises; but the effect is requisite in the other. The physician that -has done his best is acquitted though the patient dies, and so is the -advocate, though the client may lose his cause. The general of an -army, though the battle be lost, is yet worthy of commendation, if he -has discharged all the parts of a prudent commander; in this case, the -one acquits himself, though the other be never the better for it. He -is a grateful man that is always willing and ready: and he that seeks -for all means and occasions of requiting a benefit, though without -attaining his end, does a great deal more than the man that, without -any trouble, makes an immediate return. Suppose my friend a prisoner, -and that I have sold my estate for his ransom; I put to sea in foul -weather, and upon a coast that is pestered with pirates; my friend -happens to be redeemed before I come to the place; my gratitude is as -much to be esteemed as if he had been a prisoner; and if I had been -taken and robbed myself, it would still have been the same case. Nay, -there is a gratitude in the very countenance; for an honest man bears -his conscience in his face, and propounds the requital of a good turn -in the very moment of receiving it; he is cheerful and confident; and, -in the possession of a true friendship, delivered from all anxiety. -There is this difference betwixt a thankful man and an unthankful, the -one is _always_ pleased in the good he has _done_, and the other only -_once_ in what he has _received_. There must be a benignity in the -estimation even of the smallest offices; and such a modesty as appears -to be obliged in whatsoever it gives. As it is indeed a very great -benefit, the opportunity of doing a good office to a worthy man. He -that attends to the present, and remembers what is past, shall never be -ungrateful. But who shall judge in the case? for a man may be grateful -without making a return, and ungrateful with it. Our best way is to -help every thing by a fair interpretation; and wheresoever there is -a doubt, to allow it the most favorable construction; for he that is -exceptious at words, or looks, has a mind to pick a quarrel. For my -own part, when I come to cast up my account, and know what I owe, and -to whom, though I make my return sooner to some, and later to others, -as occasion or fortune will give me leave, yet I will be just to all: -I will be grateful to God, to man, to those that have obliged me: nay, -even to those that have obliged my friends. I am bound in honor and in -conscience to be thankful for what I have received; and if it be not -yet full, it is some pleasure still that I may hope for more. For the -requital of a favor there must be virtue, occasion, means, and fortune. - -It is a common thing to screw up justice to the pitch of an injury. A -man may be _over-righteous_; and why not _over-grateful_ too? There is -a mischievous excess, that borders so close upon ingratitude, that it -is no easy matter to distinguish the one from the other: but, in regard -that there is good-will in the bottom of it, (however distempered, for -it is effectually but kindness out of the wits,) we shall discourse it -under the title of _Gratitude mistaken_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -GRATITUDE MISTAKEN. - - -To refuse a good office, not so much because we do not need it, as -because we would not be indebted for it, is a kind of fantastical -ingratitude, and somewhat akin to that nicety of humor, on the other -side, of being over-grateful; only it lies another way, and seems to be -the more pardonable ingratitude of the two. Some people take it for a -great instance of their good-will to be wishing their benefactors such -or such a mischief; only, forsooth, that they themselves may be the -happy instruments of their release. - -These men do like extravagant lovers, that take it for a great proof of -their affection to wish one another banished, beggared, or diseased, -that they might have the opportunity of interposing to their relief. -What difference is there betwixt such wishing and cursing? such an -affection and a mortal hatred? The intent is good, you will say, but -this is a misapplication of it. Let such a one fall into my power, or -into the hands of his enemies, his creditors, or the common people, and -no mortal be able to rescue him but myself: let his life, his liberty, -and his reputation, lie all at stake, and no creature but myself in -condition to succor him; and why all this, but because he has obliged -me, and I would requite him? If this be gratitude to propound jails, -shackles, slavery, war, beggary, to the man that you would requite, -what would you do where you are ungrateful? This way of proceeding, -over and above that it is impious in itself, is likewise over-hasty and -unseasonable: for he that goes too fast is as much to blame as he that -does not move at all, (to say nothing of the injustice,) for if I had -never been obliged, I should never have wished it. - -There are seasons wherein a benefit is neither to be received nor -requited. To press a return upon me when I do not desire it, is -unmannerly; but it is worse to force me to desire it. How rigorous -would he be to exact a requital; who is thus eager to return it! To -wish a man in distress that I may relieve him, is first to wish him -miserable: to wish that he may stand in need of anybody, is _against -him_; and to wish that he may stand in need of me, is _for myself_: -so that my business is not so much a charity to my friend as the -cancelling of a bond; nay, it is half-way the wish of an enemy. It is -barbarous to wish a man in chains, slavery, or want, only to bring -him out again: let me rather wish him powerful and happy, and myself -indebted to him! By nature we are prone to mercy, humanity compassion; -may we be excited to be more so by the number of the grateful! may -their number increase, and may we have no need of trying them! - -It is not for an honest man to make way to a good office by a crime: as -if a pilot should pray for a tempest, that he might prove his skill: -or a general wish his army routed, that he may show himself a great -commander in recovering the day. It is throwing a man into a river to -take him out again. It is an obligation, I confess, to cure a wound or -a disease; but to _make_ that wound or disease on purpose to _cure_ it, -is a most perverse ingratitude. It is barbarous even to an enemy, much -more to a friend; for it is not so much to do him a kindness, as to put -him in need of it. Of the two, let me rather be a scar than a wound; -and yet it would be better to have it neither. Rome had been little -beholden to Scipio if he had prolonged the Punic war that he might -have the finishing of it at last, or to the Decii for dying for their -country, if they had first brought it to the last extremity of needing -their devotion. It may be a good contemplation, but it is a lewd wish. -Æneas had never been surnamed _the Pious_, if he had wished the ruin -of his country, only that he might have the honor of taking his father -out of the fire. It is the scandal of a physician to make work, and -irritate a disease, and to torment his patient, for the reputation of -his cure. If a man should openly imprecate poverty, captivity, fear, -or danger, upon a person that he has been obliged to, would not the -whole world condemn him for it? And what is the difference, but the one -is only a private wish, and the other a public declaration? Rutilius -was told in his exile, that, for his comfort, there would be ere-long -a civil war, that would bring all the banished men home again. “God -forbid,” says he, “for I had rather my country should blush for my -banishment than mourn for my return.” How much more honorable it is to -owe cheerfully, than to pay dishonestly? It is the wish of an enemy -to take a town that he may preserve it, and to be victorious that he -may forgive; but the mercy comes after the cruelty; beside that it is -an injury both to God and man; for the man must be first afflicted by -_Heaven_ to be relieved by _me_. So that we impose the cruelty upon -God, and take the compassion to ourselves; and at the best, it is but -a curse that makes way for a blessing; the bare wish is an injury; and -if it does not take effect, it is because Heaven has not heard our -prayers; or if they should succeed, the fear itself is a torment; and -it is much more desirable to have a firm and unshaken security. It is -friendly to wish it in your power to oblige me, if ever I chance to -need it; but it is unkind to wish me miserable that I may need it. How -much more pious is it, and humane, to wish that I may never want the -occasion of obliging, nor the means of doing it; nor ever have reason -to repent of what I have done? - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -OF INGRATITUDE. - - -Ingratitude is of all the crimes, that which we are to account the -most venial in others, and the most unpardonable in ourselves. It -is impious to the highest degree; for it makes us fight against our -children and our altars. There are, there ever were, and there ever -will be criminals of all sorts, as murderers, tyrants, thieves, -adulterers, traitors, robbers and sacrilegious persons; but there -is hardly any notorious crime without a mixture of ingratitude. It -disunites mankind, and breaks the very pillars of society; and yet so -far is this prodigious wickedness from being any wonder to us, that -even thankfulness itself were much the greater of the two; for men -are deterred from it by labor, expense, laziness, business; or else -diverted from it by lust, envy, ambition, pride, levity, rashness, -fear; nay, by the very shame of confessing what they have received. And -the unthankful man has nothing to say for himself all this while, for -there needs neither pains or fortune for the discharge of his duty, -beside the inward anxiety and torment when a man’s conscience makes him -afraid of his own thoughts. - -To speak against the ungrateful is to rail against mankind, for even -those that complain are guilty: nor do I speak only of those that -do not live up to the strict rule of virtue; but mankind itself is -degenerated and lost. We live unthankfully in this world, and we go -struggling and murmuring out of it, dissatisfied with our lot, whereas -we should be grateful for the blessings we have enjoyed, and account -that sufficient which Providence has provided for us; a little more -time may make our lives longer but not happier, and whensoever it is -the pleasure of God to call us, we must obey; and yet all this while -we go on quarreling at the world for what we find in ourselves, and -we are yet more unthankful to Heaven than we are to one another. What -benefit can be great now to that man that despises the bounties of his -Maker? We would be as strong as elephants, as swift as bucks, as light -as birds—and we complain that we have not the sagacity of dogs, the -sight of eagles, the long life of ravens—nay, that we are not immortal, -and endued with the knowledge of things to come: nay, we take it ill -that we are not gods upon earth, never considering the advantages -of our condition, or the benignity of Providence in the comforts -that we enjoy. We subdue the strongest of creatures and overtake the -fleetest—we reclaim the fiercest and outwit the craftiest. We are -within one degree of heaven itself, and yet we are not satisfied. - -Since there is not any one creature which we had rather be, we take it -ill that we cannot draw the united excellencies of all other creatures -into ourselves. Why are we not rather thankful to that goodness which -has subjected the whole creation to our use and service? - -The principal causes of ingratitude are pride and self-conceit, -avarice, envy, etc. It is a familiar exclamation, “It is true he did -this or that for me, but it came so late, and it was so little, I had -even as good have been without it—if he had not given it to me, he must -have given it to somebody else—it was nothing out of his pocket.” Nay, -we are so ungrateful, that he that gives us all we have, if he leaves -any thing to himself, we reckon that he does us an injury. - -It cost Julius Cæsar his life by the disappointment of his insatiable -companions; and yet he reserved nothing of all that he got to himself -but the liberty of disposing of it. There is no benefit so large -but malignity will still lessen it; none so narrow, which a good -interpretation will not enlarge. No man shall ever be grateful that -views a benefit on the wrong side, or takes a good office by the wrong -handle. The avaricious man is naturally ungrateful, for he never thinks -he has enough, but, without considering what he has, only minds what -he covets. Some pretend want of power to make a competent return, and -you shall find in others a kind of graceless modesty, that makes a man -ashamed of requiting an obligation, because it is a confession that he -has received one. - -Not to return one good office for another is inhuman; but to return -evil for good is diabolical. There are too many even of this sort, who, -the more they owe, the more they hate. There is nothing more dangerous -than to oblige those people; for when they are conscious of not paying -the debt, they wish the creditor out of the way. It is a mortal hatred, -that which arises from the shame of an abused benefit. When we are on -the asking side, what a deal of cringing there is, and profession! -“Well, I shall never forget this favor, it will be an eternal -obligation to me.” But within a while the note is changed, and we -hear no more words of it, until, by little and little, it is all quite -forgotten. So long as we stand in need of a benefit, there is nothing -dearer to us; nor anything cheaper, when we have received it. And yet -a man may as well refuse to deliver up a sum of money that is left him -in trust without a suit, as not to return a good office without asking; -and when we have no value any farther for the benefit, we do commonly -care as little for the author. People follow their interest: one man -is grateful for his convenience, and another man is ungrateful for the -same reason. - -Some are ungrateful to their own country, and their country no less -ungrateful to others; so that the complaint of ingratitude reaches -all men. Doth not the son wish for the death of his father, the -husband for that of his wife, etc. But who can look for gratitude -in an age of so many gaping and craving appetites, where all people -take, and none give? In an age of license to all sorts of vanity -and wickedness, as lust, gluttony, avarice, envy, ambition, sloth, -insolence, levity, contumacy, fear, rashness, private discords and -public evils, extravagant and groundless wishes, vain confidences, -sickly affections, shameless impieties, rapine authorized, and the -violation of all things, sacred and profane: obligations are pursued -with sword and poison; benefits are turned into crimes, and that blood -most seditiously spilt for which every honest man should expose his -own. Those that should be the preservers of their country are the -destroyers of it; and it is a matter of dignity to trample upon the -government: the sword gives the law, and mercenaries take up arms -against their masters. Among these turbulent and unruly motions, what -hope is there of finding honesty or good faith, which is the quietest -of all virtues? There is no more lively image of human life than that -of a conquered city; there is neither mercy, modesty, nor religion; -and if we forget our lives, we may well forget our benefits. The -world abounds with examples of ungrateful persons, and no less with -those of ungrateful governments. Was not Catiline ungrateful? whose -malice aimed, not only at the mastering of his country, but at the -total destruction of it, by calling in an inveterate and vindictive -enemy from beyond the Alps, to wreak their long-thirsted-for revenge, -and to sacrifice the lives of as many noble Romans as might serve -to answer and appease the ghosts of the slaughtered Gauls? Was not -Marius ungrateful, that, from a common soldier, being raised up to a -consul, not only gave the world for civil bloodshed and massacres, but -was himself the sign of the execution; and every man he met in the -streets, to whom he did not stretch out his right hand, was murdered? -And was not Sylla ungrateful too? that when he had waded up to the -gates in human blood, carried the outrage into the city, and there most -barbarously cut two entire legions to pieces in a corner, not only -after the victory, but most perfidiously after quarter given them? -Good God! that ever any man should not only escape with impunity, but -receive a reward for so horrid a villainy! Was not Pompey ungrateful -too? who, after three consulships, three triumphs, and so many honors, -usurped before his time, split the commonwealth into three parts, -and brought it to such a pass, that there was no hope of safety but -by slavery only; forsooth, to abate the envy of his power, he took -other partners with him into the government, as if that which was not -lawful for any one might have been allowable for more; dividing and -distributing the provinces, and breaking all into a _triumvirate_, -reserving still two parts of the three in his own family. And was not -Cæsar ungrateful also, though to give him his due, he was a man of his -word; merciful in his victories, and never killed any man but with his -sword in his hand? Let us therefore forgive one another. Only one word -more now for the shame of ungrateful Governments. Was not Camillus -banished? Scipio dismissed? and Cicero exiled and plundered? But, what -is all this to those who are so mad, and to dispute even the goodness -of Heaven, which gives us all, and expects nothing again, but continues -giving to the most unthankful and complaining? - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THERE CAN BE NO LAW AGAINST INGRATITUDE. - - -Ingratitude is so dangerous to itself, and so detestable to other -people, that nature, one would think, had sufficiently provided against -it, without need of any other law. For every ungrateful man is his -own enemy, and it seems superfluous to compel a man to be kind to -himself, and to follow in his own inclinations. This, of all wickedness -imaginable, is certainly the vice which does the most divide and -distract human nature. Without the exercise and the commerce of mutual -offices, we can be neither happy nor safe for it is only society that -secures us: take us one by one, and we are a prey even to brutes as -well as to one another. - -Nature has brought us into the world naked and unarmed; we have not -the teeth or the paws of lions or bears to make ourselves terrible; -but by the two blessings of reason and union, we secure and defend -ourselves against violence and fortune. This it is that makes man the -master of all other creatures, who otherwise were scarce a match for -the weakest of them. This it is that comforts us in sickness, in age, -in misery, in pains, and in the worst of calamities. Take away this -combination, and mankind is dissociated, and falls to pieces. It is -true, that there is no law established against this abominable vice; -but we cannot say yet that it escapes unpunished, for a public hatred -is certainly the greatest of all penalties; over and above that we lose -the most valuable blessings of life, in the not bestowing and receiving -of benefits. If ingratitude were to be punished by a law, it would -discredit the obligation; for a benefit to be given, not lent: and if -we have no return at all, there is no just cause of complaint: for -gratitude were no virtue, if there were any danger in being ungrateful. -There are halters, I know, hooks and gibbets, provided for homicide -poison, sacrilege, and rebellion; but ingratitude (here upon earth) is -only punished in the schools; all farther pains and inflictions being -wholly remitted to divine justice. And, if a man may judge of the -conscience by the countenance the ungrateful man is never without a -canker at his heart; his mind an aspect is sad and solicitous; whereas -the other is always cheerful and serene. - -As there are no laws extant against ingratitude, so is it utterly -impossible to contrive any, that in all circumstances shall reach it. -If it were actionable, there would not be courts enough in the whole -world to try the causes in. There can be no setting a day for the -requiting of benefits as for the payment of money, nor any estimate -upon the benefits themselves; but the whole matter rests in the -conscience of both parties: and then there are so many degrees of it, -that the same rule will never serve all. Beside that, to proportion -it as the benefit is greater or less, will be both impracticable and -without reason. One good turn saves my life; another, my freedom, or -peradventure my very soul. How shall any law now suit a punishment to -an ingratitude under these differing degrees? It must not be said in -benefits as in bonds, _Pay what you owe_. How shall a man pay life, -health, credit, security, in _kind_? There can be no set rule to bound -that infinite variety of cases, which are more properly the subject of -humanity and religion than of law and public justice. There would be -disputes also about the benefit itself, which must totally depend upon -the courtesy of the judge; for no law imaginable can set it forth. One -man _gives_ me an estate; another only _lends_ me a sword, and that -sword preserves my life. Nay, the very same thing, several ways done, -changes the quality of the obligation. A word, a tone, a look, makes a -great alteration in the case. How shall we judge then, and determine -a matter which does not depend upon the fact itself, but upon the -force and intention of it? Some things are reputed benefits, not for -their value, but because we desire them: and there are offices of as -much greater value, that we do not reckon upon at all. If ingratitude -were liable to a law, we must never give but before witnesses, which -would overthrow the dignity of the benefit: and then the punishment -must either be equal where the crimes are unequal, or else it must be -unrighteous, so that blood must answer for blood. He that is ungrateful -for my saving his life must forfeit his own. And what can be more -inhuman than that benefits should conclude in sanguinary events? A -man saves my life, and I am ungrateful for it. Shall I be punished -in my purse? that is too little; if it be less than the benefit, it -is unjust, and it must be capital to be made equal to it. There are, -moreover, certain privileges granted to parents, that can never be -reduced to a common rule. Their injuries may be cognizable, but not -their benefits. The diversity of cases is too large and intricate to -be brought within the prospect of a law: so that it is much more -equitable to punish none than to punish all alike. What if a man -follows a good office with an injury; whether or no shall this quit -scores? or who shall compare them, and weigh the one against the other? -There is another thing yet which perhaps we do not dream of: not one -man upon the face of the earth would escape, and yet every man would -expect to be his judge. Once again, we are all of us ungrateful; and -the number does not only take away the shame, but gives authority and -protection to the wickedness. - -It is thought reasonable by some, that there should be a law against -ingratitude; for, say they, it is common for one city to upbraid -another, and to claim that of posterity which was bestowed upon their -ancestors; but this is only clamor without reason. It is objected by -others, as a discouragement to good offices, if men shall not be made -answerable for them; but I say, on the other side, that no man would -accept of a benefit upon those terms. He that gives is prompted to it -by a goodness of mind, and the generosity of the action is lessened -by the caution: for it is his desire that the receiver should please -himself, and owe no more than he thinks fit. But what if this might -occasion fewer benefits, so long as they would be franker? nor is there -any hurt in putting a check upon rashness and profusion. In answer to -this; men will be careful enough when they oblige without a law: nor is -it possible for a judge ever to set us right in it; or indeed, anything -else, but the faith of the receiver. The honor of a benefit is this way -preserved, which is otherwise profaned, when it comes to the mercenary, -and made matter of contention. We are even forward enough of ourselves -to wrangle, without necessary provocations. It would be well, I think, -if moneys might pass upon the same conditions with other benefits, and -the payment remitted to the conscience, without formalizing upon bills -and securities: but human wisdom has rather advised with convenience -than virtue; and chosen rather to _force_ honesty than _expect_ it. For -every paltry sum of money there must be bonds, witnesses, counterparts, -powers, etc., which is no other than a shameful confession of fraud and -wickedness, when more credit is given to our seals than to our minds; -and caution taken lest he that has received the money should deny it. -Were it not better now to be deceived by some than to suspect all? what -is the difference, at this rate, betwixt the benefactor and the usurer, -save only that in the benefactor’s case there is nobody stands bound? - - - - -SENECA OF A HAPPY LIFE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -OF A HAPPY LIFE, AND WHEREIN IT CONSISTS. - - -There is not any thing in this world, perhaps, that is more talked -of, and less understood, than the business of a _happy life_. It is -every man’s wish and design; and yet not one of a thousand that knows -wherein that happiness consists. We live, however, in a blind and eager -pursuit of it; and the more haste we make in a wrong way, the further -we are from our journey’s end. Let us therefore, _first_, consider -“what it is we should be at;” and, _secondly_, “which is the readiest -way to compass it.” If we be right, we shall find every day how much -we improve; but if we either follow the cry, or the track, of people -that are out of the way, we must expect to be misled, and to continue -our days in wandering in error. Wherefore, it highly concerns us to -take along with us a skilful guide; for it is not in this, as in other -voyages, where the highway brings us to our place of repose; or if -a man should happen to be out, where the inhabitants might set him -right again: but on the contrary, the beaten road is here the most -dangerous, and the people, instead of helping us, misguide us. Let -us not therefore follow, like beasts, but rather govern ourselves by -_reason_, than by _example_. It fares with us in human life as in a -routed army; one stumbles first, and then another falls upon him, and -so they follow, one upon the neck of another, until the whole field -comes to be but one heap of miscarriages. And the mischief is, “that -the number of the multitude carries it against truth and justice;” so -that we must leave the crowd, if we would be happy: for the question -of a _happy life_ is not to be decided by vote: nay, so far from it, -that plurality of voices is still an argument of the wrong; the common -people find it easier to believe than to judge, and content themselves -with what is usual, never examining whether it be good or not. By the -_common people_ is intended _the man of title_ as well as the _clouted -shoe_: for I do not distinguish them by the eye, but by the mind, which -is the proper judge of the man. Worldly felicity, I know, makes the -head giddy; but if ever a man comes to himself again, he will confess, -that “whatsoever he has done, he wishes undone;” and that “the things -he feared were better than those he prayed for.” - -The true felicity of life is to be free from perturbations, to -understand our duties towards God and man: to enjoy the present without -any anxious dependence upon the future. Not to amuse ourselves with -either hopes or fears, but to rest satisfied with what we have, which -is abundantly sufficient; for he that is so, wants nothing. The great -blessings of mankind are within us, and within our reach; but we shut -our eyes, and, like people in the dark, we fall foul upon the very -thing which we search for without finding it. “Tranquillity is a -certain equality of mind, which no condition of fortune can either -exalt or depress.” Nothing can make it less: for it is the state of -human perfection: it raises us as high as we can go; and makes every -man his own supporter; whereas he that is borne up by any thing else -may fall. He that judges aright, and perseveres in it, enjoys a -perpetual calm: he takes a true prospect of things; he observes an -order, measure, a decorum in all his actions; he has a benevolence -in his nature; he squares his life according to reason; and draws to -himself love and admiration. Without a certain and an unchangeable -judgment, all the rest is but fluctuation: but “he that always wills -and nills the same thing, is undoubtedly in the right.” Liberty and -serenity of mind must necessarily ensue upon the mastering of those -things which either allure or affright us; when instead of those flashy -pleasures, (which even at the best are both vain and hurtful together,) -we shall find ourselves possessed of joy transporting and everlasting. -It must be a _sound mind_ that makes a _happy man_; there must be a -constancy in all conditions, a care for the things of this world, but -without trouble; and such an indifferency for the bounties of fortune, -that either with them, or without them, we may live contentedly. There -must be neither lamentation, nor quarrelling, nor sloth, nor fear; -for it makes a discord in a man’s life. “He that fears, serves.” The -joy of a wise man stands firm without interruption; in all places, -at all times, and in all conditions, his thoughts are cheerful and -quiet. As it never _came in_ to him from _without_, so it will never -leave him; but it is born within him, and inseparable from him. It -is a solicitous life that is egged on with the hope of any thing, -though never so open and easy, nay, though a man should never suffer -any sort of disappointment. I do not speak this either as a bar to the -fair enjoyment of lawful pleasures, or to the gentle flatteries of -reasonable expectations: but, on the contrary, I would have men to be -always in good humor, provided that it arises from their own souls, -and be cherished in their own breasts. Other delights are trivial; -they may smooth the brow, but they do not fill and affect the heart. -“True joy is a serene and sober motion;” and they are miserably out -that take _laughing_ for _rejoicing_. The seat of it is within, and -there is no cheerfulness like the resolution of a brave mind, that -has fortune under his feet. He that can look death in the face, and -bid it welcome; open his door to poverty, and bridle his appetites; -this is the man whom Providence has established in the possession of -inviolable delights. The pleasures of the vulgar are ungrounded, thin, -and superficial; but the others are solid and _eternal_. As the _body_ -itself is rather a _necessary thing_, than a _great_; so the comforts -of it are but temporary and vain; beside that, without extraordinary -moderation, their end is only pain and repentance; whereas a peaceful -conscience, honest thoughts, virtuous actions, and an indifference for -casual events, are blessings without end, satiety, or measure. This -consummated state of felicity is only a submission to the dictate of -right nature; “The foundation of it is wisdom and virtue; the knowledge -of what we ought to do, and the conformity of the will to that -knowledge.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -HUMAN HAPPINESS IS FOUNDED UPON WISDOM AND VIRTUE; AND FIRST, OF WISDOM. - - -Taking for granted that _human happiness_ is founded upon _wisdom_ and -_virtue_ we shall treat of these two points in order as they lie: and, -_first_, of _wisdom_; not in the latitude of its various operations but -as it has only a regard to good life, and the happiness of mankind. - -Wisdom is a right understanding, a faculty of discerning good from -evil; what is to be chosen, and what rejected; a judgment grounded upon -the value of things, and not the common opinion of them; an equality -of force, and a strength of resolution. It sets a watch over our -words and deeds, it takes us up with the contemplation of the works -of nature, and makes us invincible by either good or evil fortune. It -is large and spacious, and requires a great deal of room to work in; -it ransacks heaven and earth; it has for its object things past and -to come, transitory and eternal. It examines all the circumstances -of time; “what it is, when it began, and how long it will continue: -and so for the mind; whence it came; what it is; when it begins; how -long it lasts; whether or not it passes from one form to another, or -serves only one and wanders when it leaves us; whether it abides in a -state of separation, and what the action of it; what use it makes of -its liberty; whether or not it retains the memory of things past, and -comes to the knowledge of itself.” It is the habit of a perfect mind, -and the perfection of humanity, raised as high as Nature can carry it. -It differs from _philosophy_, as avarice and money; the one desires, -and the other is desired; the one is the effect and the reward of the -other. To be wise is the use of wisdom, as seeing is the use of eyes, -and well-speaking the use of eloquence. He that is perfectly wise is -perfectly happy; nay, the very beginning of wisdom makes life easy to -us. Neither is it enough to know this, unless we print it in our minds -by daily meditation, and so bring a _good-will_ to a good habit. And -we must practice what we preach: for _philosophy_ is not a subject for -popular ostentation; nor does it rest in words, but in things. It is -not an entertainment taken up for delight, or to give a taste to our -leisure; but it fashions the mind, governs our actions, tells us what -we are to do, and what not. It sits at the helm, and guides us through -all hazards; nay, we cannot be safe without it, for every hour gives -us occasion to make use of it. It informs us in all duties of life, -piety to our parents, faith to our friends, charity to the miserable, -judgment in counsel; it gives us _peace_ by _fearing_ nothing, and -_riches_ by _coveting nothing_. - -There is no condition of life that excludes a wise man from discharging -his duty. If his fortune be good, he _tempers_ it; if bad, he _masters_ -it; if he has an estate, he will exercise his virtue in plenty; if -none, in poverty: if he cannot do it in his country, he will do it in -banishment; if he has no command, he will do the office of a common -soldier. Some people have the skill of reclaiming the fiercest of -beasts; they will make a lion embrace his keeper, a tiger kiss him, -and an elephant kneel to him. This is the case of a wise man in the -extremest difficulties; let them be never so terrible in themselves, -when they come to him once, they are perfectly tame. They that ascribe -the invention of tillage, architecture, navigation, etc., to wise -men, may perchance be in the right, that they were invented by wise -men, as _wise men_; for wisdom does not teach our fingers, but our -minds: fiddling and dancing, arms and fortifications, were the works -of luxury and discord; but wisdom instructs us in the way of nature, -and in the arts of unity and concord, not in the instruments, but in -the government of life; not to make us live only, but to live happily. -She teaches us what things are good, what evil, and what only appear -so; and to distinguish betwixt true greatness and tumor. She clears -our minds of dross and vanity; she raises up our thoughts to heaven, -and carries them down to hell: she discourses of the nature of the -soul, the powers and faculties of it; the first principles of things; -the order of Providence: she exalts us from things corporeal to things -incorporeal, and retrieves the truth of all: she searches nature, gives -laws to life; and tells us, “That it is not enough to God, unless we -obey him:” she looks upon all accidents as acts of Providence: sets a -true value upon things; delivers us from false opinions, and condemns -all pleasures that are attended with repentance. She allows nothing -to be good that will not be so forever; no man to be happy but that -needs no other happiness than what he has within himself. This is the -felicity of human life; a felicity that can neither be corrupted nor -extinguished: it inquires into the nature of the heavens, the influence -of the stars; how far they operate upon our minds and bodies: which -thoughts, though they do not form our manners, they do yet raise and -dispose us for glorious things. - -It is agreed upon all hands that “right reason is the perfection of -human nature,” and wisdom only the dictate of it. The greatness that -arises from it is solid and unmovable, the resolutions of wisdom being -free, absolute and constant; whereas folly is never long pleased with -the same thing, but still shifting of counsels and sick of itself. -There can be no happiness without constancy and prudence, for a wise -man is to write without a blot, and what he likes once he approves for -ever. He admits of nothing that is either evil or slippery, but marches -without staggering or stumbling, and is never surprised; he lives -always true and steady to himself, and whatsoever befalls him, this -great artificer of both fortunes turns to advantage; he that demurs -and hesitates is not yet composed; but wheresoever virtue interposes -upon the main, there must be concord and consent in the parts; for -all virtues are in agreement, as well as all vices are at variance. A -wise man, in what condition soever he is will be still happy, for he -subjects all things to himself, because he submits himself to reason, -and governs his actions by council, not by passion. - -He is not moved with the utmost violence of fortune, nor with the -extremities of fire and sword; whereas a fool is afraid of his own -shadow, and surprised at ill accidents, as if they were all levelled at -him. He does nothing unwillingly, for whatever he finds necessary, he -makes it his choice. He propounds to himself the certain scope and end -of human life: he follows that which conduces to it, and avoids that -which hinders it. He is content with his lot whatever it be, without -wishing what he has not, though, of the two, he had rather abound than -want. The great business of his life like that of nature, is performed -without tumult or noise. He neither fears danger or provokes it, but -it is his caution, not any want of courage—for captivity, wounds and -chains, he only looks upon as false and lymphatic terrors. He does not -pretend to go through with whatever he undertakes, but to do that well -which he does. Arts are but the servants—wisdom commands—and where the -matter fails it is none of the workman’s fault. He is cautelous in -doubtful cases, in prosperity temperate, and resolute in adversity, -still making the best of every condition and improving all occasions to -make them serviceable to his fate. Some accidents there are, which I -confess may affect him, but not overthrow him, as bodily pains, loss of -children and friends, the ruin and desolation of a man’s country. One -must be made of stone or iron, not to be sensible of these calamities; -and, beside, it were no virtue to _bear_ them, if a body did not _feel_ -them. - -There are _three degrees of proficients_ in the school of wisdom. -The _first_ are those that come within sight of it, but not up to -it—they have learned what they ought to do, but they have not put -their knowledge in practice—they are past the hazard of a relapse, but -they have still the grudges of a disease, though they are out of the -danger of it. By a disease I do understand an obstinacy in evil, or an -ill habit, that makes us over eager upon things which are either not -much to be desired, or not at all. A _second_ sort are those that have -subjected their appetites for a season, but are yet in fear of falling -back. A _third_ sort are those that are clear of many vices but not of -all. They are not covetous, but perhaps they are choleric—nor lustful, -but perchance ambitious; they are firm enough in some cases but weak -enough in others: there are many that despise death and yet shrink at -pain. There are diversities in wise men, but no inequalities—one is -more affable, another more ready, a third a better speaker; but the -felicity of them all is equal. It is in this as in heavenly bodies, -there is a _certain state_ in greatness. - -In civil and domestic affairs, a wise man may stand in need of -counsel, as of a physician, an advocate, a solicitor; but in greater -matters, the blessing of wise men rests in the joy they take in the -communication of their virtues. If there were nothing else in it, a -man would apply himself to wisdom, because it settles him in a perfect -tranquillity of mind. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THERE CAN BE NO HAPPINESS WITHOUT VIRTUE. - - -Virtue is that perfect good which is the complement of a _happy life_; -the only immortal thing that belongs to mortality—it is the knowledge -both of others and itself—it is an invincible greatness of mind, not -to be elevated or dejected with good or ill fortune. It is sociable -and gentle, free, steady, and fearless, content within itself, full of -inexhaustible delights, and it is valued for itself. One may be a good -physician, a good governor, a good grammarian, without being a good -man, so that all things from without are only accessories, for the seat -of it is a pure and holy mind. It consists in a congruity of actions -which we can never expect so long as we are distracted by our passions: -not but that a man may be allowed to change color and countenance, and -suffer such impressions as are properly a kind of natural force upon -the body, and not under the dominion of the mind; but all this while -I will have his judgment firm, and he shall act steadily and boldly, -without wavering betwixt the motions of his body and those of his mind. - -It is not a thing indifferent, I know, whether a man lies at ease upon -a bed, or in torment upon a wheel—and yet the former may be the worse -of the two if he suffer the latter with honor, and enjoy the other -with infamy. It is not the _matter_, but the _virtue_, that makes the -action _good or ill_; and he that is led in triumph may be yet greater -than his conqueror. - -When we come once to value our flesh above our honesty we are lost: -and yet I would not press upon dangers, no, not so much as upon -inconveniences, unless where the man and the brute come in competition; -and in such a case, rather than make a forfeiture of my credit, my -reason, or my faith, I would run all extremities. - -They are great blessings to have tender parents, dutiful children, and -to live under a just and well-ordered government. Now, would it not -trouble even a virtuous man to see his children butchered before his -eyes, his father made a slave, and his country overrun by a barbarous -enemy? There is a great difference betwixt the simple loss of a -blessing and the succeeding of a great mischief in the place of it, -over and above. The loss of health is followed with sickness, and the -loss of sight with blindness; but this does not hold in the loss of -friends and children, where there is rather something to the contrary -to supply that loss: that is to say, _virtue_, which fills the mind, -and takes away the desire of what we have not. What matters it whether -the water be stopped or not, so long as the fountain is safe? Is a man -ever the wiser for a multitude of friends, or the more foolish for the -loss of them? so neither is he the happier, nor the more miserable. -Short life, grief and pain are accessions that have no effect at all -upon virtue. It consists in the action and not in the things we do—in -the choice itself, and not in the subject-matter of it. It is not a -despicable body or condition, nor poverty, infamy or scandal, that -can obscure the glories of virtue; but a man may see her through all -oppositions: and he that looks diligently into the state of a wicked -man will see the canker at his heart, through all the false and -dazzling splendors of greatness and fortune. We shall then discover -our _childishness_, in setting our hearts upon things trivial and -contemptible, and in the selling of our very country and parents for -a _rattle_. And what is the difference (in effect) betwixt _old men_ -and _children_, but that the _one_ deals in _paintings_ and _statues_, -and the _other_ in _babies_, so that we ourselves are only the more -expensive fools. - -If one could but see the mind of a good man, as it is illustrated with -virtue; the beauty and the majesty of it, which is a dignity not so -much as to be thought of without love and veneration—would not a man -bless himself at the sight of such an object as at the encounter of -some supernatural power—a power so miraculous that it is a kind of -charm upon the souls of those that are truly affected with it. There -is so wonderful a grace and authority in it that even the worst of men -approve it, and set up for the reputation of being accounted virtuous -themselves. They covet the fruit indeed, and the profit of wickedness; -but they hate and are ashamed of the imputation of it. It is by an -impression of Nature that all men have a reverence for virtue—they -know it and they have a respect for it though they do not practice -it—nay, for the countenance of their very _wickedness_, they miscall it -_virtue_. Their injuries they call _benefits_, and expect a man should -thank them for doing him a mischief—they cover their most notorious -iniquities with a pretext of justice. - -He that robs upon the highway had rather find his booty than force -it; ask any of them that live upon rapine, fraud, oppression, if they -had not rather enjoy a fortune honestly gotten, and their consciences -will not suffer them to deny it. Men are vicious only for the proof of -villainy; for at the same time that they commit it they condemn it; -nay, so powerful is virtue, and so gracious is Providence, that every -man has a light set up within him for a guide, which we do, all of -us, both see and acknowledge, though we do not pursue it. This it is -that makes the prisoner upon the torture happier than the executioner, -and sickness better than health, if we bear it without yielding or -repining—this it is that overcomes ill-fortune and moderates good—for -it marches betwixt the one and the other, with an equal contempt for -both. It turns (like fire) all things into itself, our actions and our -friendships are tinctured with it, and whatever it touches becomes -amiable. - -That which is frail and mortal rises and falls, grows, wastes, and -varies from itself; but the state of things divine is always the same; -and so is virtue, let the matter be what it will. It is never the worse -for the difficulty of the action, nor the better for the easiness of -it. It is the same in a rich man as in a poor; in a sickly man as in a -sound; in a strong as in a weak; the virtue of the besieged is as great -as that of the besiegers. There are some virtues, I confess, which a -good man cannot be without, and yet he had rather have no occasion to -employ them. If there were any difference, I should prefer the virtues -of patience before those of pleasure; for it is braver to break through -difficulties than to temper our delights. But though the subject of -virtue may possibly be against nature, as to be burnt or wounded, yet -the virtue itself of _an invincible patience_ is according to nature. -We may seem, perhaps, to promise more than human nature is able to -perform; but we speak with a respect to the mind, and not to the body. - -If a man does not live up to his own rules, it is something yet to have -virtuous meditations and good purposes, even without acting; it is -generous, the very adventure of being good, and the bare proposal of -an eminent course of life, though beyond the force of human frailty to -accomplish. There is something of honor yet in the miscarriage; nay, -in the naked contemplation of it. I would receive my own death with as -little trouble as I would hear of another man’s; I would bear the same -mind whether I be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world; -what I have, I will neither sordidly spare, or prodigally squander -away, and I will reckon upon benefits well-placed as the fairest part -of my possession: not valuing them by number or weight, but by the -profit and esteem of the receiver; accounting myself never the poorer -for that which I give to a worthy person. What I do shall be done for -conscience, not ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my -palate, or only to fill and empty, but to satisfy nature: I will be -cheerful to my friends, mild and placable to my enemies: I will prevent -an honest request if I can foresee it, and I will grant it without -asking: I will look upon the whole world as my country, and upon the -gods, both as the witnesses and the judges of my words and deeds. I -will live and die with this testimony, that I loved good studies, and a -good conscience; that I never invaded another man’s liberty; and that -I preserved my own. I will govern my life and my thoughts as if the -whole world were to see the one, and to read the other; for “what does -it signify to make anything a secret to my neighbor, when to God (who -is the searcher of our hearts) all our privacies are open?” - -Virtue is divided into two parts, _contemplation_ and _action_. The -one is delivered by institution, the other by admonition: one part of -virtue consists in discipline, the other in exercise: for we must first -learn, and then practice. The sooner we begin to apply ourselves to -it, and the more haste we make, the longer shall we enjoy the comforts -of a rectified mind; nay, we have the fruition of it in the very act -of forming it: but it is another sort of delight, I must confess, -that arises from a contemplation of a soul which is advanced into the -possession of wisdom and virtue. If it was so great a comfort to us -to pass from the subjection of our childhood into a state of liberty -and business, how much greater will it be when we come to cast off the -boyish levity of our minds, and range ourselves among the philosophers? -We are past our minority, it is true, but not our indiscretions; -and, which is yet worse, we have the authority of seniors, and the -weaknesses of children, (I might have said of infants, for every little -thing frights the one, and every trivial fancy the other.) Whoever -studies this point well will find that many things are the less to -be feared the more terrible they appear. To think anything good that -is not honest, were to reproach Providence; for good men suffer many -inconveniences; but virtue, like the sun, goes on still with her work, -let the air be never so cloudy, and finishes her course, extinguishing -likewise all other splendors and oppositions; insomuch that calamity is -no more to a virtuous mind, than a shower into the sea. That which is -right, is not to be valued by _quantity_, _number_, or _time_; a life -of a day may be as honest as a life of a hundred years: but yet virtue -in one man may have a larger field to show itself in than in another. -One man, perhaps, may be in a station to administer unto cities and -kingdoms; to contrive good laws, create friendships, and do beneficial -offices to mankind. - -For virtue is open to all; as well to servants and exiles, as to -princes: it is profitable to the world and to itself, at all distances -and in all conditions; and there is no difficulty can excuse a man from -the exercise of it; and it is only to be found in a wise man, though -there may be some faint resemblances of it in the common people. The -Stoics hold all virtues to be equal; but yet there is great variety -in the matter they have to work upon, according as it is larger or -narrower, illustrious or less noble, of more or less extent; as all -good men are equal, that is to say, as they are good; but yet one may -be young, another old; one may be rich, another poor; one eminent and -powerful, another unknown and obscure. There are many things which have -little or no grace in themselves, and are yet glorious and remarkable -by virtue. Nothing can be good which gives neither greatness nor -security to the mind; but, on the contrary, infects it with insolence, -arrogance, and tumor: nor does virtue dwell upon the tip of the tongue, -but in the temple of a purified heart. He that depends upon any other -good becomes covetous of life, and what belongs to it; which exposes a -man to appetites that are vast, unlimited, and intolerable. Virtue is -free and indefatigable, and accompanied with concord and gracefulness; -whereas pleasure is mean, servile, transitory, tiresome, and sickly -and scarce outlives the tasting of it: it is the good of the belly, -and not of the man; and only the felicity of brutes. Who does not know -that fools enjoy their pleasures, and that there is great variety in -the entertainments of wickedness? Nay, the mind itself has its variety -of perverse pleasures as well as the body: as insolence, self-conceit, -pride, garrulity, laziness, and the abusive wit of turning everything -into _ridicule_, whereas virtue weighs all this, and corrects it. It is -the knowledge both of others and of itself; it is to be learned from -itself; and the very will itself may be taught; which will cannot be -right, unless the whole habit of the mind be right from whence the will -comes. It is by the impulse of virtue that we love virtue, so that the -very way to virtue, lies by virtue, which takes in also, at a view, the -laws of human life. - -Neither are we to value ourselves upon a day, or an hour, or any one -action, but upon the whole habit of the mind. Some men do one thing -bravely, but not another; they will shrink at infamy, and bear up -against poverty: in this case, we commend the fact, and despise the -man. The soul is never in the right place until it be delivered from -the cares of human affairs; we must labor and climb the hill, if we -will arrive at virtue, whose seat is upon the top of it. He that -masters avarice, and is truly good, stands firm against ambition; he -looks upon his last hour not as a punishment, but as the equity of a -common fate; he that subdues his carnal lusts shall easily keep himself -untainted with any other: so that reason does not encounter this or -that vice by itself, but beats down all at a blow. What does he care -for ignominy that only values himself upon conscience, and not opinion? -Socrates looked a scandalous death in the face with the same constancy -that he had before practiced towards the thirty tyrants: his virtue -consecrated the very dungeon: as Cato’s repulse was Cato’s honor, and -the reproach of the government. He that is wise will take delight even -in an ill opinion that is well gotten; it is ostentation, not virtue, -when a man will have his good deeds published; and it is not enough -to be just where there is honor to be gotten, but to continue so, in -defiance of infamy and danger. - -But virtue cannot lie hid, for the time will come that shall raise it -again (even after it is buried) and deliver it from the malignity of -the age that oppressed it: immortal glory is the shadow of it, and -keeps it company whether we will or not; but sometimes the shadow -goes before the substance, and other whiles it follows it; and the -later it comes, the larger it is, when even envy itself shall have -given way to it. It was a long time that Democritus was taken for a -madman, and before Socrates had any esteem in the world. How long was -it before Cato could be understood? Nay, he was affronted, contemned, -and rejected; and the people never knew the value of him until they had -lost him: the integrity and courage of mad Rutilius had been forgotten -but for his sufferings. I speak of those that fortune has made famous -for their persecutions: and there are others also that the world never -took notice of until they were dead; as Epicurus and Metrodorus, that -were almost wholly unknown, even in the place where they lived. Now, as -the body is to be kept in upon the down-hill, and forced upwards, so -there are some virtues that require the rein and others the spur. In -_liberality_, _temperance_, _gentleness_ of nature, we are to check -ourselves for fear of falling; but in _patience_, _resolutions_, and -_perseverance_, where we are to mount the hill, we stand in need of -encouragement. Upon this division of the matter, I had rather steer the -smoother course than pass through the experiments of sweat and blood: -I know it is my duty to be content in all conditions; but yet, if it -were at my election, I would choose the fairest. When a man comes once -to stand in need of fortune, his life is anxious, suspicious, timorous, -dependent upon every moment, and in fear of all accidents. How can that -man resign himself to God, or bear his lot, whatever it be, without -murmuring, and cheerfully submit to Providence, that shrinks at every -motion of pleasure or pain? It is virtue alone that raises us above -griefs, hopes, fears and chances; and makes us not only patient, but -willing, as knowing that whatever we suffer is according to the decree -of Heaven. He that is overcome with pleasure, (so contemptible and -weak an enemy) what will become of him when he comes to grapple with -dangers, necessities, torments, death, and the dissolution of nature -itself? Wealth, honor, and favor, may come upon a man by chance; nay, -they may be cast upon him without so much as looking after them: but -virtue is the work of industry and labor; and certainly it is worth the -while to purchase that good which brings all others along with it. A -good man is happy within himself, and independent upon fortune: kind -to his friend, temperate to his enemy, religiously just, indefatigably -laborious; and he discharges all duties with a constancy and congruity -of actions. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -PHILOSOPHY IS THE GUIDE OF LIFE. - - -If it be true, that the _understanding_ and the _will_ are the _two -eminent faculties of the reasonable soul_, it follows necessarily, -that _wisdom_ and _virtue_, (which are the best improvements of these -two faculties,) must be the perfection also of our _reasonable being_; -and consequently, _the undeniable foundation of a happy life_. There -is not any duty to which Providence has not annexed a blessing; nor -any institution of Heaven which, even in this life, we may not be the -better for; not any temptation, either of fortune or of appetite, that -is not subject to our reason; nor any passion or affliction for which -virtue has not provided a remedy. So that it is our own fault if we -either fear or hope for anything; which two affections are the root of -all our miseries. From this general prospect of the _foundation_ of our -_tranquillity_, we shall pass by degrees to a particular consideration -of the _means_ by which it may be _procured_, and of the _impediments_ -that _obstruct_ it; beginning with that _philosophy_ which principally -regards our manners, and instructs us in the measures of a virtuous and -quiet life. - -_Philosophy_ is divided into _moral_, _natural_, and _rational_: the -_first_ concerns our _manners_; the _second_ searches the works of -_Nature_; and the _third_ furnishes us with propriety of _words_ and -_arguments_, and the faculty of _distinguishing_, that we may not be -imposed upon with tricks and fallacies. The _causes_ of things fall -under _natural philosophy_, _arguments_ under _rational_, and _actions_ -under _moral_. _Moral philosophy_ is again divided into matter of -_justice_, which arises from the estimation of things and of men; and -into _affections_ and _actions_; and a failing in any one of these, -disorders all the rest: for what does it profit us to know the true -value of things, if we be transported by our passion? or to master our -appetites without understanding the _when_, the _what_, the _how_, -and other circumstances of our proceedings? For it is one thing to -know the rate and dignity of things, and another to know the little -nicks and springs of acting. _Natural philosophy_ is conversant about -things _corporeal_ and _incorporeal_; the disquisition of _causes_ and -_effects_, and the contemplation of the _cause of causes_. _Rational -philosophy_ is divided into _logic_ and _rhetoric_; the one looks after -_words_, _sense_, and _order_; the other treats barely of _words_, -and the _significations_ of them. Socrates places all _philosophy_ in -_morals_; and _wisdom_ in the distinguishing of _good_ and _evil_. -It is the art and law of life, and it teaches us what to do in all -cases, and, like good marksmen, to hit the white at any distance. The -force of it is incredible; for it gives us in the weakness of a man -the security of a _spirit_: in sickness it is as good as a remedy to -us; for whatsoever eases the mind is profitable also to the body. The -_physician_ may prescribe diet and exercise, and accommodate his rule -and medicine to the disease, but it is _philosophy_ that must bring -us to a contempt of death, which is the remedy of all diseases. In -poverty it gives us riches, or such a state of mind as makes them -superfluous to us. It arms us against all difficulties: one man is -pressed with death, another with poverty; some with envy, others are -offended at Providence, and unsatisfied with the condition of mankind: -but _philosophy_ prompts us to relieve the prisoner, the infirm, the -necessitous, the condemned; to show the ignorant their errors, and -rectify their affections. It makes us inspect and govern our manners; -it rouses us where we are faint and drowsy: it binds up what is loose, -and humbles in us that which is contumacious: it delivers the mind -from the bondage of the body, and raises it up to the contemplation of -its divine original. Honors, monuments, and all the works of vanity -and ambition are demolished and destroyed by time; but the reputation -of wisdom is venerable to posterity, and those that were envied or -neglected in their lives are adored in their memories, and exempted -from the very laws of created nature, which has set bounds to all other -things. The very shadow of _glory_ carries a man of _honor_ upon all -dangers, to the contempt of fire and sword; and it were a shame if -_right reason_ should not inspire as generous resolutions into a man of -_virtue_. - -Neither is _philosophy_ only profitable to the public, but one wise man -helps another, even in the exercise of the virtues; and the one has -need of the other, both for conversation and counsel; for they kindle a -mutual emulation in good offices. We are not so perfect yet, but that -many new things remain still to be found out, which will give us the -reciprocal advantages of instructing one another: for as one wicked man -is contagious to another, and the more vices are mingled, the worse it -is, so is it on the contrary with good men and their virtues. As men -of letters are the most useful and excellent of friends, so are they -the best of subjects; as being better judges of the blessings they -enjoy under a well-ordered government, and of what they owe to the -magistrate for their freedom and protection. They are men of sobriety -and learning, and free from boasting and insolence; they reprove the -vice without reproaching the person; for they have learned to be -without either pomp or envy. That which we see in high mountains, -we find in _philosophers_; they seem taller near at hand than at a -distance. They are raised above other men, but their greatness is -substantial. Nor do they stand upon tiptoe, that they may seem higher -than they are, but, content with their own stature, they reckon -themselves tall enough when fortune cannot reach them. Their laws are -short, and yet comprehensive too, for they bind all. - -It is the bounty of _nature_ that we _live_; but of _philosophy_ that -we _live well_, which is in truth a greater benefit than life itself. -Not but that _philosophy_ is also the gift of Heaven, so far as to -the faculty, but not to the science; for that must be the business -of industry. No man is born wise; but wisdom and virtue require a -tutor, though we can easily learn to be vicious without a master. It -is _philosophy_ that gives us a veneration for God, a charity for our -neighbor, that teaches us our duty to Heaven, and exhorts us to an -agreement one with another; it unmasks things that are terrible to us, -assuages our lusts, refutes our errors, restrains our luxury, reproves -our avarice, and works strangely upon tender natures. I could never -hear Attalus (says Seneca) upon the vices of the age and the errors -of life, without a compassion for mankind; and in his discourses -upon poverty, there was something methought that was more than human. -“More than we use,” says he, “is more than we need, and only a burden -to the bearer.” That saying of his put me out of countenance at the -superfluities of my own fortune. And so in his invectives against vain -pleasures, he did at such a rate advance the felicities of a sober -table, a pure mind, and a chaste body that a man could not hear him -without a love for continence and moderation. Upon these lectures of -his, I denied myself, for a while after, certain delicacies that I had -formerly used: but in a short time I fell to them again, though so -sparingly, that the proportion came little short of a total abstinence. - -Now, to show you (says our author) how much earnester my entrance upon -philosophy was than my progress, my tutor Sotion gave me a wonderful -kindness for Pythagoras, and after him for Sextius: the former forbore -shedding of blood upon his _metempsychosis:_ and put men in fear of it, -lest they should offer violence to the souls of some of their departed -friends or relations. “Whether,” says he, “there be a transmigration or -not; if it be true, there is no hurt; if false, there is frugality: and -nothing is gotten by cruelty neither, but the cozening a wolf, perhaps, -or a vulture, of a supper.” - -Now, Sextius abstained upon another account, which was, that he -would not have men inured to hardness of heart by the laceration and -tormenting of living creatures; beside, “that Nature had sufficiently -provided for the sustenance of mankind without blood.” This wrought -upon me so far that I gave over eating of flesh, and in one year I -made it not only easy to me but pleasant; my mind methought was more -at liberty, (and I am still of the same opinion,) but I gave it over -nevertheless; and the reason was this: it was imputed as a superstition -to the Jews, the forbearance of some sorts of flesh, and my father -brought me back again to my old custom, that I might not be thought -tainted with their superstition. Nay, and I had much ado to prevail -upon myself to suffer it too. I make use of this instance to show the -aptness of youth to take good impressions, if there be a friend at hand -to press them. Philosophers are the tutors of mankind; if they have -found out remedies for the mind, it must be our part to employ them. -I cannot think of Cato, Lelius, Socrates, Plato, without veneration: -their very names are sacred to me. Philosophy is the health of the -mind; let us look to that health first, and in the second place to -that of the body, which may be had upon easier terms; for a strong -arm, a robust constitution, or the skill of procuring this, is not a -philosopher’s business. He does some things as a _wise man,_ and other -things as he is a _man_; and he may have strength of body as well as of -mind; but if he runs, or casts the sledge, it were injurious to ascribe -that to his wisdom which is common to the greatest of fools. He studies -rather to fill his mind than his coffers; and he knows that gold and -silver were mingled with dirt, until avarice or ambition parted them. -His life is ordinate, fearless, equal, secure; he stands firm in all -extremities, and bears the lot of his humanity with a divine temper. -There is a great difference betwixt the splendor of philosophy and -of fortune; the one shines with an original light, the other with a -borrowed one; beside that it makes us happy and immortal: for learning -shall outlive palaces and monuments. The house of a wise man is safe, -though narrow; there is neither noise nor furniture in it, no porter -at the door, nor anything that is either vendible or mercenary, nor any -business of fortune, for she has nothing to do where she has nothing -to look after. This is the way to Heaven which Nature has chalked out, -and it is both secure and pleasant; there needs no train of servants, -no pomp or equipage, to make good our passage; no money or letters of -credit, for expenses upon the voyage; but the graces of an honest mind -will serve us upon the way, and make us happy at our journey’s end. - -To tell you my opinion now of the _liberal sciences_; I have no great -esteem for any thing that terminates in profit or money; and yet I -shall allow them to be so far beneficial, as they only _prepare_ the -understanding without _detaining_ it. They are but the rudiments -of wisdom, and only then to be learned when the mind is capable of -nothing better, and the knowledge of them is better worth the keeping -than the acquiring. They do not so much as pretend to the making of -us virtuous, but only to give us an aptitude of disposition to be -so. The _grammarian’s_ business lies in a _syntax_ of speech; or if -he proceed to _history_, or the measuring of a _verse_, he is at -the end of his line; but what signifies a congruity of periods, the -computing of syllables, or the modifying of numbers, to the taming -of our passions, or the repressing of our lusts? The _philosopher_ -proves the body of the sun to be large, but for the true dimensions -of it we must ask the _mathematician_: _geometry_ and _music_, if -they do not teach us to master our hopes and fears, all the rest is -to little purpose. What does it concern us which was the elder of the -two, Homer or Hesiod? or which was the taller, Helen or Hecuba? We -take a great deal of pains to trace Ulysses in his wanderings, but -were it not time as well spent to look to ourselves that we may not -wander at all? Are not we ourselves tossed with tempestuous passions? -and both _assaulted_ by terrible _monsters_ on the one hand, and -_tempted_ by _syrens_ on the other? Teach me my duty to my country, to -my father, to my wife, to mankind. What is it to me whether Penelope -was _honest_ or not? teach me to know how to be so myself, and to -live according to that knowledge. What am I the better for putting so -many parts together in _music_, and raising a harmony out of so many -different tones? teach me to tune my affections, and to hold constant -to myself. _Geometry_ teaches me the art of _measuring acres_; teach -me to _measure my appetites_, and to know when I have enough; teach -me to divide with my brother, and to rejoice in the prosperity of my -neighbor. You teach me how I may hold my own, and keep my estate; but -I would rather learn how I may lose it all, and yet be contented. “It -is hard,” you will say, “for a man to be forced from the fortune of his -family.” This estate, it is true, was my _father’s_; but whose was it -in the time of my _grandfather_? I do not only say, what _man’s_ was -it? but what _nation’s_? The _astrologer_ tells me of Saturn and Mars -in _opposition_; but I say, let them be as they will, their courses -and their positions are ordered them by an unchangeable decree of -fate. Either they produce and point out the effects of all things, or -else they signify them; if the former, what are we the better for the -knowledge of that which must of necessity come to pass? If the latter, -what does it avail us to foresee what we cannot avoid? So that whether -we know or not know, the event will still be the same. - -He that designs the institution of human life should not be -over-curious of his words; it does not stand with his dignity to be -solicitous about sounds and syllables, and to debase the mind of -man with trivial things; placing wisdom in matters that are rather -difficult than great. If it be _eloquent_, it is his _good fortune_, -not his _business_. Subtle disputations are only the sport of wits, -that play upon the catch, and are fitter to be contemned than resolved. -Were not I a madman to sit wrangling about words, and putting of -nice and impertinent questions, when the enemy has already made the -breach, the town fired over my head, and the mine ready to play that -shall blow me up into the air? were this a time for fooleries? Let me -rather fortify myself against death and inevitable necessities; let -me understand that the good of life does not consist in the length or -space, but in the use of it. When I go to _sleep_, who knows whether -I shall ever _wake_ again? and when I _wake_, whether ever I shall -_sleep_ again? When I go _abroad_, whether ever I shall come _home_ -again? and when I _return_, whether ever I shall go _abroad_ again? It -is not at sea only that life and death are within a few inches one of -another; but they are as near everywhere else too, only we do not take -so much notice of it. What have we to do with frivolous and captious -questions, and impertinent niceties? Let us rather study how to deliver -ourselves from sadness, fear, and the burden of all our secret lusts: -let us pass over all our most solemn levities, and make haste to a -good life, which is a thing that presses us. Shall a man that goes -for a midwife, stand gaping upon a post to see _what play to-day_? -or, when his house is on fire, stay the curling of a periwig before -he calls for help? Our houses are on fire, our country invaded, our -goods taken away, our children in danger; and, I might add to these, -the calamities of earthquakes, shipwrecks, and whatever else is most -terrible. Is this a time for us now to be playing fast and loose with -idle questions, which are in effect so many unprofitable riddles? Our -duty is the cure of the mind rather than the delight of it; but we have -only the words of wisdom without the works; and turn philosophy into a -pleasure that was given for a remedy. What can be more ridiculous than -for a man to _neglect_ his _manners_ and _compose_ his _style_? We are -sick and ulcerous, and must be lanced and scarified, and every man has -as much business within himself as a physician in a common pestilence. -“Misfortunes,” in fine, “cannot be avoided; but they may be sweetened, -if not overcome; and our lives may be made happy by philosophy.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE FORCE OF PRECEPTS. - - -There seems to be so near an affinity betwixt _wisdom_, _philosophy_, -and _good counsels_, that it is rather matter of curiosity than of -profit to divide them; _philosophy_, being only a _limited wisdom_; -and _good counsels a communication of that wisdom_, for the good of -_others_, as well as of _ourselves_; and to _posterity_, as well as to -the _present_. The _wisdom_ of the _ancients_, as to the government of -life, was no more than certain precepts, what to do and what not: and -men were much better in that simplicity; for as they came to be more -_learned_, they grew less careful of being _good_. That _plain_ and -_open virtue_ is now turned into a _dark_ and _intricate science_; and -we are taught to _dispute_ rather than to _live_. So long as wickedness -was simple, simple remedies also were sufficient against it; but now it -has taken root, and spread, we must make use of stronger. - -There are some dispositions that embrace good things as soon as they -hear them; but they will still need quickening by admonition and -precept. We are rash and forward in some cases, and dull in others; -and there is no repressing of the one humor, or raising of the other, -but by removing the causes of them; which are (in one word) _false -admiration_ and _false fear_. - -Every man knows his duty to his country, to his friends, to his -guests; and yet when he is called upon to draw his sword for the one, -or to labor for the other, he finds himself distracted betwixt his -apprehensions and his delights: he knows well enough the injury he -does his wife in the keeping of a wench, and yet his lust overrules -him: so that it is not enough to give good advice, unless we can take -away that which hinders the benefit of it. If a man does what he ought -to do, he will never do it constantly or equally, without knowing why -he does it: and if it be only chance or custom, he that does well by -chance, may do ill so too. And farther, a precept may direct us what -we _ought_ to do, and yet fall short in the manner of doing it: an -expensive entertainment may, in one case be extravagance or gluttony, -and yet a point of honor and discretion in another. Tiberius Cæsar had -a huge _mullet_ presented him, which he sent to the market to be sold: -“and now,” says he, “my masters,” to some company with him, “you shall -see that either Apicius or Octavius will be the chapman for this fish.” -Octavius beat the price, and gave about thirty pounds sterling for it. -Now, there was a great difference between Octavius, that bought it for -his luxury, and the _other_ that purchased it for a _compliment_ to -Tiberius. Precepts are idle, if we be not first taught what opinion -we are to have of the matter in question; whether it be _poverty_, -_riches_, _disgrace_, _sickness_, _banishment_, etc. Let us therefore -examine them one by one; not what they are _called_, but what in truth -they _are_. And so for the _virtues_; it is to no purpose to set a high -esteem upon prudence, _fortitude_, _temperance_, _justice_, if we do -not first know _what virtue is_; whether _one_ or _more_; or if he -that has _one_, has _all_; or _how they differ_. - -Precepts are of great weight; and a few useful ones at hand do more -toward a happy life than whole volumes or cautions, that we know not -where to find. These salutary precepts should be our daily meditation, -for they are the rules by which we ought to square our lives. When they -are contracted into _sentences_, they strike the _affections_: whereas -_admonition_ is only _blowing_ of the _coal_; it moves the vigor of the -mind, and excites virtue: we have the thing already, but we know not -where it lies. It is by precept that the understanding is nourished -and augmented: the offices of prudence and justice are guided by them, -and they lead us to the execution of our duties. A _precept_ delivered -in _verse_ has a much greater effect than in _prose_: and those very -people that never think they have enough, let them but hear a sharp -sentence against _avarice_, how will they clap and admire it, and bid -open defiance to money? So soon as we find the affections struck, we -must follow the blow; not with _syllogisms_ or quirks of _wit_; but -with _plain_ and _weighty reason_ and we must do it with _kindness_ -too, and _respect_ for “there goes a blessing along with counsels and -discourses that are bent wholly upon the good of the hearer:” and -those are still the most efficacious that take reason along with them; -and tell us as well why we are to do this or that, as _what_ we are -to do: for some understandings are weak, and need an instructor to -expound to them what is good and what is evil. It is a great virtue -to _love_, to _give_, and to _follow good counsel_; if it does not -_lead_ us to honesty, it does at least _prompt_ us to it. As several -parts make up but one harmony, and the most agreeable music arises -from discords; so should a wise man gather many acts, many precepts, -and the examples of many arts, to inform his own life. Our forefathers -have left us in charge to avoid three things; _hatred_, _envy_, and -_contempt_; now, it is hard to avoid envy and not incur _contempt_; -for in taking too much care not to usurp upon others, we become many -times liable to be trampled upon ourselves. Some people are afraid of -others, because it is possible that others may be afraid of them: but -let us secure ourselves upon all hands; for _flattery_ is as dangerous -as _contempt_. It is not to say, in case of admonition, I knew this -before, for we know many things, but we do not think of them; so that -it is the part of a _monitor_, not so much to _teach_ as to _mind_ us -of our duties. Sometimes a man oversees that which lies just under his -nose; otherwhile he is careless, or _pretends_ not to see it: we do all -know that friendship is sacred, and yet we violate it; and the greatest -libertine expects that his own wife should be honest. - -Good counsel is the most needful service that we can do to mankind; -and if we give it to _many_, it will be sure to profit _some_: for of -many trials, some or other will undoubtedly succeed. He that places -a man in the possession of himself does a great thing; for wisdom -does not show itself so much in precept as in life; in a firmness of -mind and a mastery of appetite: it teaches us to _do_ as well as to -_talk_: and to make our words and actions all of a color. If that fruit -be pleasantest which we gather from a tree of our own planting, how -much greater delight shall we take in the growth and increase of good -manners of our own forming! It is an eminent mark of wisdom for a man -to be always like himself. You shall have some that keep a thrifty -table, and lavish out upon building; profuse upon themselves, and -forbid to others; niggardly at home, and lavish abroad. This diversity -is vicious, and the effect of a dissatisfied and uneasy mind; whereas -every wise man lives by rule. This disagreement of purposes arises -from hence, either that we do not propound to ourselves what we would -be at; or if we do, that we do not pursue it, but pass from one thing -to another; and we do not only _change_ neither but return to the very -thing which we had both quitted and condemned. - -In all our undertakings, let us first examine our own strength; the -enterprise next; and, thirdly, the persons with whom we have to do. The -first point is most important; for we are apt to overvalue ourselves, -and reckon that we can do more than indeed we can. One man sets up -for a speaker, and is out as soon as he opens his mouth; another -overcharges his estate, perhaps, or his body: a bashful man is not -fit for public business: some again are too stiff and peremptory for -the court: many people are apt to fly out in their anger, nay, and in -a frolic too; if any sharp thing fall in their way, they will rather -venture a neck than lose a jest. These people had better be quiet in -the world than busy. Let him that is naturally choleric and impatient -avoid all provocations, and those affairs also that multiply and draw -on more; and those also from which there is no retreat. When we may -come off at pleasure, and fairly hope to bring our matters to a period, -it is well enough. If it so happen that a man be tied up to business, -which he can neither loosen nor break off, let him imagine those -shackles upon his mind to be irons upon his legs: they are troublesome -at first; but when there is no remedy but patience, custom makes them -easy to us, and necessity gives us courage. We are all slaves to -fortune: some only in loose and golden chains, others in strait ones, -and coarser: nay, and _they that bind us are slaves too themselves_; -some to honor, others to wealth; some to offices, and others to -contempt; some to their superiors, others to themselves: nay, life -itself is a servitude: let us make the best of it then, and with our -philosophy mend our fortune. Difficulties may be softened, and heavy -burdens disposed of to our ease. Let us covet nothing out of our reach, -but content ourselves with things hopeful and at hand; and without -envying the advantages of others; for greatness stands upon a craggy -precipice, and it is much safer and quieter living upon a level. How -many great men are forced to keep their station upon mere necessity; -because they find there is no coming down from it but headlong? These -men should do well to fortify themselves against ill consequences by -such virtues and meditations as may make them less solicitous for the -future. The surest expedient in this case is to bound our desires, and -to leave nothing to fortune which we may keep in our own power. Neither -will this course wholly compose us, but it shows us at worst the end of -our troubles. - -It is but a main point to take care that we propose nothing but what is -hopeful and honest. For it will be equally troublesome to us, either -not to succeed, or to be ashamed of the success. Wherefore let us be -sure not to admit any ill design into our heart; that we may lift up -pure hands to heaven and ask nothing which another shall be a loser by. -Let us pray for a good mind, which is a wish to no man’s injury. I -will remember always that I am a man, and then consider, that if I am -_happy_, it will not last _always_; if _unhappy_, I may be _other_ if -I please. I will carry my life in my hand, and deliver it up readily -when it shall be called for. I will have a care of being a slave to -myself; for it is a perpetual, a shameful, and the heaviest of all -servitudes: and this may be done by moderate desires. I will say to -myself, “What is it that I labor, sweat, and solicit for, when it is -but very little that I want, and it will not be long that I will need -any thing?” He that would make a trial of the firmness of his mind, let -him set certain days apart for the practice of his virtues. Let him -mortify himself with fasting, coarse clothes, and hard lodging; and -then say to himself, “Is this the thing now that I was afraid of?” In a -state of security, a man may thus prepare himself against hazards, and -in plenty fortify himself against want. If you will have a man resolute -when he comes to the push, train him up to it beforehand. The soldier -does duty in peace, that he may be in breath when he comes to battle. -How many great and wise men have made experiment of their moderation -by a practice of abstinence, to the highest degree of hunger and -thirst; and convinced themselves that a man may fill his belly without -being beholden to fortune; which never denies any of us wherewith to -satisfy our necessities, though she be never so angry! It is as easy -to _suffer_ it _always_ as to _try_ it _once_; and it is no more than -thousands of servants and poor people do every day in their lives. He -that would live happily, must neither trust to good fortune nor submit -to bad: he must stand upon his guard against all assaults; he must -stick to himself, without any dependence upon other people. Where -the mind is tinctured with philosophy, there is no place for grief, -anxiety, or superfluous vexations. It is prepossessed with virtue to -the neglect of fortune, which brings us to a degree of security not -to be disturbed. It is easier to give counsel than to take it; and -a common thing for one choleric man to condemn another. We may be -sometimes earnest in advising, but not violent or tedious. Few words, -with gentleness and efficacy, are best: the misery is, that the wise -do not need counsel, and fools will not take it. A good man, it is -true, delights in it; and it is a mark of folly and ill-nature to hate -reproof. - -To a friend I would be always frank and plain; and rather fail in the -success than be wanting in the matter of faith and trust. There are -some precepts that serve in common both to the rich and poor, but they -are too general; as “Cure your avarice, and the work is done.” It is -one thing not to desire money, and another thing not to understand -how to use it. In the choice of the persons we have to do withal, we -should see that they be worth our while; in the choice of our business, -we are to consult nature, and follow our inclinations. He that gives -sober advice to a witty droll must look to have every thing turned into -ridicule. “As if you philosophers,” says Marcellinus, “did not love -your whores and your guts as well as other people:” and then he tells -you of such and such that were taken in the manner. We are all sick, I -must confess, and it is not for sick men to play the physicians; but -it is yet lawful for a man in an hospital to discourse of the common -condition and distempers of the place. He that should pretend to teach -a madman how to speak, walk, and behave himself, were not he the most -mad man of the two? He that directs the pilot, makes him move the -helm, order the sails so or so, and makes the best of a scant wind, -after this or that manner. And so should we do in our counsels. - -Do not tell me what a man should do in health or poverty, but show -me the way to be either sound or rich. Teach me to master my vices: -for it is to no purpose, so long as I am under their government, to -tell me what I must do when I am clear of it. In case of an avarice a -little eased, a luxury moderated, a temerity restrained, a sluggish -humor quickened; precepts will then help us forward, and tutor us how -to behave ourselves. It is the first and the main tie of a soldier his -military oath, which is an engagement upon him both of religion and -honor. In like manner, he that pretends to a happy life must first lay -a foundation of virtue, as a bond upon him, to live and die true to -that cause. We do not find felicity in the veins of the earth where we -dig for gold, nor in the bottom of the sea where we fish for pearls, -but in a pure and untainted mind, which, if it were not holy, were not -fit to entertain the Deity. “He that would be truly happy, must think -his own lot best, and so live with men, as considering that God sees -him, and so speak to God as if men heard him.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -NO FELICITY LIKE PEACE OF CONSCIENCE. - - -“A good conscience is the testimony of a good life, and the reward -of it.” This is it that fortifies the mind against fortune, when a -man has gotten the mastery of his passions; placed his treasure and -security within himself; learned to be content with his condition; -and that death is no evil in itself, but only the end of man. He that -has dedicated his mind to virtue, and to the good of human society, -whereof he is a member, has consummated all that is either profitable -or necessary for him to know or to do toward the establishment of his -peace. Every man has a judge and a witness within himself of all the -good and ill that he does, which inspires us with great thoughts, and -administers to us wholesome counsels. We have a veneration for all the -works of Nature, the heads of rivers, and the springs of medicinal -waters; the horrors of groves and of caves strike us with an impression -of religion and worship. To see a man fearless in dangers, untainted -with lusts, happy in adversity, composed in a tumult, and laughing at -all those things which are generally either coveted or feared; all men -must acknowledge that this can be nothing else but a beam of divinity -that influences a mortal body. And this is it that carries us to the -disquisition of things divine and human; what the state of the world -was before the distribution of the first matter into parts; what power -it was that drew order out of that confusion, and gave laws both to the -whole, and to every particle thereof; what that space is beyond the -world; and whence proceed the several operations of Nature. - -Shall any man see the glory and order of the universe; so many -scattered parts and qualities wrought into one mass; such a medley of -things, which are yet distinguished: the world enlightened, and the -disorders of it so wonderfully regulated; and shall he not consider -the Author and Disposer of all this; and whither we ourselves shall -go, when our souls shall be delivered from the slavery of our flesh? -The whole creation we see conforms to the dictates of Providence, and -follows God both as a governor and as a guide. A great, a good, and -a right mind, is a kind of divinity lodged in flesh, and may be the -blessing of a slave as well as of a prince; it came from heaven, and to -heaven it must return; and it is a kind of heavenly felicity, which a -pure and virtuous mind enjoys, in some degree, even upon earth: whereas -temples of honor are but empty names, which, probably, owe their -beginning either to ambition or to violence. - -I am strangely transported with the thoughts of eternity; nay, with -the belief of it; for I have a profound veneration for the opinions -of great men, especially when they promise things so much to my -satisfaction: for they do promise them, though they do not prove them. -In the question of the immortality of the soul, it goes very far with -me, a general consent to the opinion of a future reward and punishment; -which meditation raises me to the contempt of this life, in hopes of -a better. But still, though we know that we have a soul; yet what the -soul is, how, and from whence, we are utterly ignorant: this only we -understand, that all the good and ill we do is under the dominion of -the mind; that a clear conscience states us in an inviolable peace; and -that the greatest blessing in Nature is that which every honest man may -bestow upon himself. The body is but the clog and prisoner of the mind; -tossed up and down, and persecuted with punishments, violences, and -diseases; but the mind itself is sacred and eternal, and exempt from -the danger of all actual impression. - -Provided that we look to our consciences, no matter for opinion: let -me deserve well, though I hear ill. The common people take stomach and -audacity for the marks of magnanimity and honor; and if a man be soft -and modest, they look upon him as an easy fop; but when they come once -to observe the dignity of his mind in the equality and firmness of his -actions; and that his external quiet is founded upon an internal peace, -the very same people who have him in esteem and admiration; for there -is no man but approves of virtue, though but few pursue it; we see -where it is, but we dare not venture to come at it: and the reason is, -we overvalue that which we must quit to obtain it. - -A good conscience fears no witnesses, but a guilty conscience is -solicitous even of solitude. If we do nothing but what is honest, let -all the world know it; but if otherwise, what does it signify to have -nobody else know it, so long as I know it myself? Miserable is he that -slights that witness! Wickedness, it is true, may escape the law, but -not the conscience; for a private conviction is the first and the -greatest punishment to offenders; so that sin plagues itself; and the -fear of vengeance pursues even those that escape the stroke of it. -It were ill for good men that iniquity may so easily evade the law, -the judge, and the execution, if Nature had not set up torments and -gibbets in the consciences of transgressors. He that is guilty lives -in perpetual terror; and while he expects to be punished, he punishes -himself; and whosoever deserves it expects it. What if he be not -detected? he is still in apprehension yet that he may be so. His sleeps -are painful, and never secure; and he cannot speak of another man’s -wickedness without thinking of his own, whereas a good conscience is a -continual feast. - -Those are the only certain and profitable delights, which arise from -the consciousness of a well-acted life; no matter for noise abroad, -so long as we are quiet within: but if our passions be seditious, -that is enough to keep us waking without any other tumult. It is not -the posture of the body, or the composure of the bed, that will give -rest to an uneasy mind: there is an impatient sloth that may be roused -by action, and the vices of laziness must be cured by business. True -happiness is not to be found in excesses of wine, or of women, or in -the largest prodigalities of fortune; what she has given to me, she -may take away, but she shall not tear it from me; and, so long as it -does not grow to me, I can part with it without pain. He that would -perfectly know himself, let him set aside his money, his fortune, his -dignity, and examine himself naked, without being put to learn from -others the knowledge of himself. - -It is dangerous for a man too suddenly, or too easily, to believe -himself. Wherefore let us examine, observe, and inspect our own -hearts, for we ourselves are our own greatest flatterers: we should -every night call ourselves to account, “What infirmity have I mastered -to-day? what passion opposed? what temptation resisted? what virtue -acquired?” Our vices will abate of themselves, if they be brought every -day to the shrift. Oh the blessed sleep that follows such a diary! Oh -the tranquillity, liberty, and greatness of that mind that is a spy -upon itself, and a private censor of its own manners! It is my custom -(says our author) every night, so soon as the candle is out, to run -over all the words and actions of the past day; and I let nothing -escape me; for why should I fear the sight of my own errors, when I can -admonish and forgive myself? “I was a little too hot in such a dispute: -my opinion might have been as well spared, for it gave offence, and -did no good at all. The thing was true, but all truths are not to be -spoken at all times; I would I had held my tongue, for there is no -contending either with fools or our superiors. I have done ill, but it -shall be so no more.” If every man would but thus look into himself, -it would be the better for us all. What can be more reasonable than -this daily review of a life that we cannot warrant for a moment? Our -fate is set, and the first breath we draw is only the first motion -toward our last: one cause depends upon another; and the course of all -things, public and private, is but a long connection of providential -appointments. There is a great variety in our lives, but all tends to -the same issue. Nature may use her own bodies as she pleases; but a -good man has this consolation, that nothing perishes which he can call -his own. It is a great comfort that we are only condemned to the same -fate with the universe; the heavens themselves are mortal as well -as our bodies; Nature has made us passive, and to suffer is our lot. -While we are in flesh, every man has his chain and his clog, only it is -looser and lighter to one man than to another; and he is more at ease -that takes it up and carries it, than he that drags it. We are born, to -lose and to perish, to hope and to fear, to vex ourselves and others; -and there is no antidote against a common calamity but virtue; for “the -foundation of true joy is in the conscience.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A GOOD MAN CAN NEVER BE MISERABLE, NOR A WICKED MAN HAPPY. - - -There is not in the scale of nature a more inseparable connection -of cause and effect, than in the case of happiness and virtue; nor -anything that more naturally produces the one, or more necessarily -presupposes the other. For what is it to be happy, but for a man to -content himself with his lot, in a cheerful and quiet resignation to -the appointments of God? All the actions of our lives ought to be -governed with respect to good and evil: and it is only reason that -distinguishes; by which reason we are in such manner influenced, as -if a ray of the Divinity were dipt in a mortal body, and that is the -perfection of mankind. It is true, we have not the eyes of eagles -or the sagacity of hounds: nor if we had, could we pretend to value -ourselves upon anything which we have in common with brutes. What -are we the better for that which is foreign to us, and may be given -and taken away? As the beams of the sun irradiate the earth, and yet -remain where they were; so is it in some proportion with a holy mind -that illustrates all our actions, and yet it adheres to its original. -Why do we not as well commend a horse for his glorious trappings, as a -man for his pompous additions? How much a braver creature is a lion, -(which by nature ought to be fierce and terrible) how much braver (I -say) in his natural horror than in his chains? so that everything in -its pure nature pleases us best. It is not health, nobility, riches, -that can justify a wicked man: nor is it the want of all these that -can discredit a good one. That is the sovereign blessing, which makes -the possessor of it valuable without anything else, and him that wants -it contemptible, though he had all the world besides. It is not the -painting, gilding, or carving, that makes a good ship; but if she be -a nimble sailer, tight and strong to endure the seas; that is her -excellency. It is the edge and temper of the blade that makes a good -sword, not the richness of the scabbard: and so it is not money or -possessions, that makes a man considerable, but his virtue. - -It is every man’s duty to make himself profitable to mankind—if he -can, to many—if not, to fewer—if not so neither, to his neighbor—but, -however, to himself. There are two republics: a great one, which is -human nature; and a less, which is the place where we were born. Some -serve both at a time, some only the greater, and some again only the -less. The greater may be served in privacy, solitude, contemplation, -and perchance that way better than any other; but it was the intent -of Nature, however, that we should serve both. A good man may serve -the public, his friend, and himself in any station: if he be not for -the sword, let him take the gown; if the bar does not agree with him, -let him try the pulpit; if he be silenced abroad, let him give counsel -at home, and discharge the part of a faithful friend and a temperate -companion. When he is no longer a citizen, he is yet a man; but the -whole world is his country, and human nature never wants matter to work -upon: but if nothing will serve a man in the _civil government_ unless -he be _prime minister_, or in the _field_ but to _command in chief_, it -is his own fault. - -The common soldier where he cannot use his hands, fights with his -looks, his example, his encouragement, his voice, and stands his ground -even when he has lost his hands, and does service too with his very -clamor, so that in any condition whatsoever, he still discharges the -duty of a good patriot—nay, he that spends his time well even in a -retirement, gives a great example. - -We may enlarge, indeed, or contract, according to the circumstances -of time, place, or abilities; but above all things we must be sure to -keep ourselves in action, for he that is slothful is dead even while -he lives. Was there ever any state so desperate as that of Athens -under the thirty tyrants—where it was capital to be honest, and the -senate-house was turned into a college of hangmen? Never was any -government so wretched and so hopeless; and yet Socrates at the same -time preached _temperance_ to the _tyrants_, and courage to the rest, -and afterwards died an eminent example of faith and resolution, and a -sacrifice for the common good. - -It is not for a wise man to stand shifting and fencing with fortune, -but to oppose her barefaced, for he is sufficiently convinced that -she can do him no hurt; she may take away his servants, possessions, -dignity, assault his body, put out his eyes, cut off his hands, and -strip him of all the external comforts of life. But what does all this -amount to more than the recalling of a trust which he has received, -with condition to deliver it up again upon demand? He looks upon -himself as precarious, and only lent to himself, and yet he does not -value himself ever the less because he is not his own, but takes such -care as an honest man should do of a thing that is committed to him in -trust. Whensoever he that lent me myself and what I have, shall call -for all back again, it is not a loss but a restitution, and I must -willingly deliver up what most undeservedly was bestowed upon me, and -it will become me to return my mind better than I received it. - -Demetrius, upon the taking of Megara, asked Stilpo, the philosopher, -what he had lost. “Nothing,” said he, “for I had all that I could call -my own about me.” And yet the enemy had then made himself master of -his patrimony, his children, and his country; but these he looked upon -as only adventitious goods, and under the command of fortune. Now, he -that neither lost any thing nor feared any thing in a public ruin, but -was safe and at peace in the middle of the flames, and in the heat of a -military intemperance and fury—what violence or provocation imaginable -can put such a man as this out of the possession of himself? Walls -and castles may be mined and battered, but there is no art or engine -that can subvert a steady mind. “I have made my way,” says Stilpo, -“through fire and blood—what has become of my children I know not; but -these are transitory blessings, and servants that are bound to change -their masters; what was my own before is my own still. Some have lost -their estates, others their dear-bought mistresses, their commissions -and offices: the usurers have lost their bonds and securities: but, -Demetrius, for my part I have saved all, and do not imagine after -all this, either that Demetrius is a conqueror, or that Stilpo is -overcome—it is only thy fortune has been too hard for mine.” - -Alexander took Babylon, Scipio took Carthage, the capitol was burnt; -but there is no fire or violence that can discompose a generous mind; -and let us not take this character either for a chimera, for all ages -afford some, though not many, instances of this elevated virtue. - -A good man does his duty, let it be never so painful, so hazardous, or -never so great a loss to him; and it is not all the money, the power, -and the pleasure in the world; not any force of necessity, that can -make him wicked: he considers what he is to do, not what he is to -suffer, and will keep on his course, though there should be nothing -but gibbets and torments in the way. And in this instance of Stilpo, -who, when he had lost his country, his wife, his children, the town -on fire over his head, himself escaping very hardly and naked out of -the flames; “I have saved all my goods,” says he, “my justice, my -courage, my temperance, my prudence;” accounting nothing his own, or -valuable, and showing how much easier it was to overcome a nation than -one wise man. It is a certain mark of a brave mind not to be moved -by any accidents: the upper region of the air admits neither clouds -nor tempests; the thunder, storms, and meteors, are formed below; and -this is the difference betwixt a mean and an exalted mind; the former -is rude and tumultuary; the latter is modest, venerable, composed, -and always quiet in its station. In brief, it is the conscience that -pronounces upon the man whether he be happy or miserable. But, though -sacrilege and adultery be generally condemned, how many are there -still that do not so much as blush at the one, and in truth that -take a glory in the other? For nothing is more common than for great -thieves to ride in triumph when the little ones are punished. But -let “wickedness escape as it may at the bar, it never fails of doing -justice upon itself; for every guilty person is his own hangman.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE DUE CONTEMPLATION OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE IS THE CERTAIN CURE OF ALL -MISFORTUNES. - - -Whoever observes the world, and the order of it, will find all the -motions in it to be only vicissitudes of falling and rising; nothing -extinguished, and even those things which seem to us to perish are in -truth but changed. The seasons go and return, day and night follow in -their courses, the heavens roll, and Nature goes on with her work: all -things succeed in their turns, storms and calms; the law of Nature -will have it so, which we must follow and obey, accounting all things -that are done to be well done; so that what we cannot mend we must -suffer, and wait upon Providence without repining. It is the part of -a cowardly soldier to follow his commander groaning: but a generous -man delivers himself up to God without struggling; and it is only -for a narrow mind to condemn the order of the world, and to propound -rather the mending of Nature than of himself. No man has any cause -of complaint against Providence, if that which is right pleases him. -Those glories that appear fair to the eye, their lustre is but false -and superficial; and they are only vanity and delusion: they are rather -the goods of a dream than a substantial possession: they may cozen us -at a distance, but bring them once to the touch, they are rotten and -counterfeit. There are no greater wretches in the world than many of -those which the people take to be happy. Those are the only true and -incorruptible comforts that will abide all trials, and the more we turn -and examine them, the more valuable we find them; and the greatest -felicity of all is, not to stand in need of any. What is _poverty_? No -man lives so poor as he was born. What is _pain_? It will either have -an end itself, or make an end of us. In short, Fortune has no weapon -that reaches the mind: but the bounties of Providence are certain and -permanent blessings; and they are the greater and the better, the -longer we consider them; that is to say, “the power of contemning -things terrible, and despising what the common people covet.” In the -very methods of Nature we cannot but observe the regard that Providence -had to the good of mankind, even in the disposition of the world, in -providing so amply for our maintenance and satisfaction. It is not -possible for us to comprehend what the Power is which has made all -things: some few sparks of that Divinity are discovered, but infinitely -the greater part of it lies hid. We are all of us, however, thus far -agreed, first, in the acknowledgement and belief of that almighty -Being; and, secondly, that we are to ascribe to it all majesty and -goodness. - -“If there be a Providence,” say some, “how comes it to pass that -good men labor under affliction and adversity, and wicked men enjoy -themselves in ease and plenty?” My answer is, that God deals by us as a -good father does by his children; he tries us, he hardens us, and fits -us for himself. He keeps a strict hand over those that he loves; and by -the rest he does as we do by our slaves; he lets them go on in license -and boldness. - -As the master gives his most hopeful scholars the hardest lessons, so -does God deal with the most generous spirits; and the cross encounters -of fortune we are not to look upon as a cruelty, but as a contest: the -familiarity of dangers brings us to the contempt of them, and that part -is strongest which is most exercised: the seaman’s hand is callous, the -soldier’s arm is strong, and the tree that is most exposed to the wind -takes the best root: there are people that live in a perpetual winter, -in extremity of frost and penury, where a cave, a lock of straw, or a -few leaves, is all their covering, and wild beasts their nourishment; -all this by custom is not only made tolerable, but when it is once -taken up upon necessity, by little and little, it becomes pleasant to -them. Why should we then count that condition of life a calamity which -is the lot of many nations? There is no state of life so miserable -but that there are in it remissions, diversions, nay, and delights -too; such is the benignity of Nature towards us, even in the severest -accidents of human life. There were no living if adversity should hold -on as it begins, and keep up the force of the first impression. We are -apt to murmur at many things as great evils, that have nothing at all -of evil in them besides the complaint, which we should more reasonably -take up against ourselves. If I be sick, it is part of my fate; and -for other calamities, they are usual things; they ought to be; nay, -which is more, they must be, for they come by divine appointment. So -that we should not only submit to God, but assent to him, and obey him -out of _duty_, even if there were no _necessity_. All those terrible -appearances that make us groan and tremble are but the tribute of life; -we are neither to wish, nor to ask, nor to hope to escape them; for -it is a kind of dishonesty to pay a tribute unwillingly. Am I troubled -with the stone, or afflicted with continual losses? nay, is my body in -danger? All this is no more than what I prayed for when I prayed for -old age. All these things are as familiar in a long life, as dust and -dirt in a long way. Life is a warfare; and what brave man would not -rather choose to be in a tent than in shambles? Fortune does like a -swordsman, she scorns to encounter a fearful man: there is no honor in -the victory where there is no danger in the way to it; she tries Mucius -by _fire_; Rutilius by _exile_; Socrates by _poison_; Cato by _death_. - -It is only in adverse fortune, and in bad times, that we find great -examples. Mucius thought himself happier with his hand in the flame, -than if it had been in the bosom of his mistress. Fabricius took more -pleasure in eating the roots of his own planting than in all the -delicacies of luxury and expense. Shall we call Rutilius miserable, -whom his very enemies have adored? who, upon a glorious and a public -principle, chose rather to lose his country than to return from -banishment? the only man that denied any thing to Sylla the dictator, -who recalled him. Nor did he only refuse to come, but drew himself -further off: “Let them,” says he, “that think banishment a misfortune, -live slaves at Rome, under the imperial cruelties of Sylla: he that -sets a price upon the heads of senators; and after a law of his own -institution against cut-throats, becomes the greatest himself.” Is it -not better for a man to live in exile abroad than to be massacred at -home? In suffering for virtue, it is not the torment but the cause, -that we are to consider; and the more pain, the more renown. When any -hardship befalls us, we must look upon it as an act of Providence, -which many times suffers particulars to be wounded for the conservation -of the whole: beside that, God chastises some people under an -appearance of blessing them, turning their prosperity to their ruin as -a punishment for abusing his goodness. And we are further to consider, -that many a good man is afflicted, only to teach others to suffer; for -we are born for example; and likewise that where men are contumacious -and refractory, it pleases God many times to cure greater evils by -less, and to turn our miseries to our advantage. - -How many casualties and difficulties are there that we dread as -insupportable mischiefs, which, upon farther thoughts, we find to -be mercies and benefits? as banishment, poverty, loss of relations, -sickness, disgrace. Some are cured by the lance; by fire, hunger, -thirst; taking out of bones, lopping off limbs, and the like: nor do -we only fear things that are many times beneficial to us; but, on the -other side, we hanker after and pursue things that are deadly and -pernicious: we are poisoned in the very pleasure of our luxury, and -betrayed to a thousand diseases by the indulging of our palate. To lose -a child or a limb, is only to part with what we have received, and -Nature may do what she pleases with her own. We are frail ourselves, -and we have received things transitory—that which was given us may be -taken away—calamity tries virtue as the fire does gold, nay, he that -lives most at ease is only delayed, not dismissed, and his portion is -to come. When we are visited with sickness or other afflictions we are -not to murmur as if we were ill used—it is a mark of the general’s -esteem when he puts us upon a post of danger: we do not say “My -captain uses me ill,” but “he does me honor;” and so should we say that -are commanded to encounter difficulties, for this is our case with God -Almighty. - -What was Regulus the worse, because Fortune made choice of him for -an eminent instance both of faith and patience? He was thrown into a -case of wood stuck with pointed nails, so that which way soever he -turned his body, it rested upon his wounds; his eyelids were cut off -to keep him waking; and yet Mecænas was not happier upon his _bed_ -than Regulus upon his _torments_. Nay, the world is not yet grown so -wicked as not to prefer Regulus before Mecænas: and can any man take -that to be an evil of which Providence accounted this brave man worthy? -“It has pleased God,” says he, “to single me out for an experiment of -the force of human nature.” No man knows his own strength or value but -by being put to the proof. The pilot is tried in a storm; the soldier -in a battle; the rich man knows not how to behave himself in poverty: -he that has lived in popularity and applause, knows not how he would -bear infamy and reproach: nor he that never had children how he would -bear the loss of them. Calamity is the occasion of virtue, and a spur -to a great mind. The very apprehension of a wound startles a man when -he first bears arms; but an old soldier bleeds boldly, because he -knows that a man may lose blood, and yet win the day. Nay, many times -a calamity turns to our advantage; and great ruins have but made way -to greater glories. The crying out of _fire_ has many times quieted -a fray, and the interposing of a wild beast has parted the thief and -the traveller; for we are not at leisure for less mischiefs while we -are under the apprehensions of greater. One man’s life is saved by a -disease: another is arrested, and taken out of the way, just when his -house was falling upon his head. - -To show now that the favors or the crosses of fortune, and the -accidents of sickness and of health, are neither good nor evil, God -permits them indifferently both to good and evil men. “It is hard,” you -will say, “for a virtuous man to suffer all sorts of misery, and for -a wicked man not only to go free, but to enjoy himself at pleasure.” -And is it not the same thing for men of prostituted impudence and -wickedness to sleep in a whole skin, when men of honor and honesty -bear arms; lie in the trenches, and receive wounds? or for the vestal -virgins to rise in the night to their prayers, when common strumpets -lie stretching themselves in their beds? We should rather say with -Demetrius, “If I had known the will of Heaven before I was called to -it, I would have offered myself.” If it be the pleasure of God to take -my children, I have brought them up to that end: if my fortune, any -part of my body, or my life, I would rather present it than yield it -up: I am ready to part with all, and to suffer all; for I know that -nothing comes to pass but what God appoints: our fate is decreed, and -things do not so much happen, as in their due time proceed, and every -man’s portion of joy and sorrow is predetermined. - -There is nothing falls amiss to a good man that can be charged upon -Providence; for wicked actions, lewd thoughts, ambitious projects, -blind lusts, and insatiable avarice—against all these he is armed by -the benefit of reason: and do we expect now that God should look to -our luggage too? (I mean our bodies.) Demetrius discharged himself of -his treasure as the clog and burden of his mind: shall we wonder then -if God suffers that to befall a good man which a good man sometimes -does to himself? I lose a son, and why not, when it may sometimes so -fall out that I myself may kill him? Suppose he be banished by an order -of state, is it not the same thing with a man’s voluntarily leaving -his country never to return? Many afflictions may befall a good man, -but no evil, for contraries will never incorporate—all the rivers in -the world are never able to change the taste or quality of the sea. -Prudence and religion are above accidents, and draw good out of every -thing—affliction keeps a man in use, and makes him strong, patient, and -hardy. Providence treats us like a generous father, and brings us up -to labors, toils, and dangers; whereas the indulgence of a fond mother -makes us weak and spiritless. - -God loves us with a masculine love, and turns us loose to injuries -and indignities: he takes delight to see a brave and a good man -wrestling with evil fortune, and yet keeping himself upon his legs, -when the whole world is in disorder about him. And are not we ourselves -delighted, to see a bold fellow press with his lance upon a boar or -lion? and the constancy and resolution of the action is the grace and -dignity of the spectacle. No man can be happy that does not stand firm -against all contingencies; and say to himself in all extremities, “I -should have been content, if it might have been so or so, but since it -is otherwise determined, God will provide better.” The more we struggle -with our necessities, we draw the knot the harder, and the worse it -is with us: and the more a bird flaps and flutters in the snare, the -surer she is caught: so that the best way is to submit and lie still, -under this double consideration, that “the proceedings of God are -unquestionable, and his decrees are not to be resisted.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -OF LEVITY OF MIND, AND OTHER IMPEDIMENTS OF A HAPPY LIFE. - - -Now, to sum up what is already delivered, we have showed what happiness -is, and wherein it consists: that it is founded upon wisdom and virtue; -for we must first know what we ought to do, and then live according to -that knowledge. We have also discoursed the helps of philosophy and -precept toward a _happy life_; the blessing of a good conscience; that -a good man can never be miserable, nor a wicked man happy; nor any -man unfortunate that cheerfully submits to Providence. We shall now -examine, how it comes to pass that, when the certain way to happiness -lies so fair before us, men will yet steer their course on the other -side, which as manifestly leads to ruin. - -There are some that live without any design at all, and only pass -in the world like straws upon a river; they do not go, but they are -carried. Others only deliberate upon the parts of life, and not upon -the whole, which is a great error: for there is no disposing of the -circumstances of it, unless we first propound the main scope. How shall -any man take his aim without a mark? or what wind will serve him that -is not yet resolved upon his port? We live as it were by chance, and -by chance we are governed. Some there are that torment themselves -afresh with the memory of what is past: “Lord! what did I endure? never -was any man in my condition; everybody gave me over; my very heart -was ready to break,” etc. Others, again, afflict themselves with the -apprehension of evils to come; and very ridiculously: for the _one_ -does not _now_ concern us, and the _other_ not _yet_: beside that, -there may he remedies for mischiefs likely to happen; for they give us -warning by signs and symptoms of their approach. Let him that would be -quiet take heed not to provoke men that are in power, but live without -giving offence; and if we cannot make all great men our friends, it -will suffice to keep them from being our enemies. This is a thing we -must avoid, as a mariner would do a storm. - -A rash seaman never considers what wind blows, or what course he -steers, but runs at a venture, as if he would brave the rocks and the -eddies; whereas he that is careful and considerate, informs himself -beforehand where the danger lies, and what weather it is like to be: -he consults his compass, and keeps aloof from those places that are -infamous for wrecks and miscarriages; so does a wise man in the common -business of life; he keeps out of the way from those that may do him -hurt: but it is a point of prudence not to let them take notice that -he does it on purpose; for that which a man shuns he tacitly condemns. -Let him have a care also of _listeners_, _newsmongers_, and _meddlers_ -in other people’s matters; for their discourse is commonly of such -things as are never profitable, and most commonly dangerous either to -be spoken or heard. - -Levity of mind is a great hindrance of repose, and the very change -of wickedness is an addition to the wickedness itself; for it is -inconstancy added to iniquity; we relinquish the thing we sought, and -then we take it up again; and so divide our lives between our lust and -our repentances. From one appetite we pass to another, not so much -upon choice as for change; and there is a check of conscience that -casts a damp upon all our unlawful pleasures, which makes us lose the -day in expectation of the night, and the night itself for fear of the -approaching light. - -Some people are _never_ at quiet, others are _always_ so, and they are -both to blame: for that which looks like vivacity and industry in the -one is only a restlessness and agitation; and that which passes in the -other for moderation and reserve is but a drowsy and unactive sloth. -Let motion and rest both take their turns, according to the order of -Nature, which makes both the day and the night. Some are perpetually -shifting from one thing to another; others, again, make their whole -life but a kind of uneasy sleep: some lie tossing and turning until -very weariness brings them to rest; others, again, I cannot so properly -call inconstant as lazy. There are many proprieties and diversities of -vice; but it is one never-failing effect of it to live displeased. We -do all of us labor under inordinate desires; we are either timorous, -and dare not venture, or venturing we do not succeed; or else we cast -ourselves upon uncertain hopes, where we are perpetually solicitous, -and in suspense. In this distraction we are apt to propose to ourselves -things dishonest and hard; and when we have taken great pains to no -purpose, we come then to repent of our undertakings: we are afraid to -go on, and we can neither master our appetites nor obey them: we live -and die restless and irresolute; and, which is worst of all, when we -grow weary of the public, and betake ourselves to solitude for relief, -our minds are sick and wallowing, and the very house and walls are -troublesome to us; we grow impatient and ashamed of ourselves, and -suppress our inward vexation until it breaks our heart for want of -vent. This is it that makes us sour and morose, envious of others, and -dissatisfied with ourselves; until at last, betwixt our troubles for -other people’s successes and the despair of our own, we fall foul upon -Fortune and the times, and get into a corner perhaps, where we sit -brooding over our own disquiets. In these dispositions there is a kind -of pruriginous fancy, that makes some people take delight in labor and -uneasiness, like the clawing of an itch until the blood starts. - -This is it that puts us upon rambling voyages; one while by land; but -still disgusted with the present: the town pleases us to-day, the -country to-morrow: the splendors of the court at one time, the horrors -of a wilderness at another, but all this while we carry our plague -about us; for it is not the place we are weary of, but ourselves. Nay, -our weakness extends to everything; for we are impatient equally of -toil and of pleasure. This trotting of the ring, and only treading -the same steps over and over again, has made many a man lay violent -hands upon himself. It must be the change of the mind, not of the -climate, that will remove the heaviness of the heart; our vices go -along with us, and we carry in ourselves the causes of our disquiets. -There is a great weight lies upon us, and the bare shocking of it -makes it the more uneasy; changing of countries, in this case, is not -travelling, but wandering. We must keep on our course, if we would gain -our journey’s end. “He that cannot live happily anywhere, will live -happily nowhere.” What is a man the better for travelling? as if his -cares could not find him out wherever he goes? Is there any retiring -from the fear of death, or of torments? or from those difficulties -which beset a man wherever he is? It is only philosophy that makes the -mind invincible, and places us out of the reach of fortune, so that -all her arrows fall short of us. This it is that reclaims the rage of -our lusts, and sweetens the anxiety of our fears. Frequent changing of -places or councils, shows an instability of mind; and we must fix the -body before we can fix the soul. We can hardly stir abroad, or look -about us, without encountering something or other that revives our -appetites. As he that would cast off an unhappy love avoids whatsoever -may put him in mind of the person, so he that would wholly deliver -himself from his beloved lusts must shun all objects that may put them -in his head again, and remind him of them. We travel, as children run -up and down after strange sights, for novelty, not profit; we return -neither the better nor the sounder; nay, and the very agitation hurts -us. We learn to call towns and places by their names, and to tell -stories of mountains and of rivers; but had not our time been better -spent in the study of wisdom and of virtue? in the learning of what -is already discovered, and in the quest of things not yet found out? -If a man break his leg, or strain his ankle, he sends presently for a -surgeon to set all right again, and does not take horse upon it, or put -himself on ship-board; no more does the change of place work upon our -disordered minds than upon our bodies. It is not the place, I hope, -that makes either an orator or a physician. Will any man ask upon the -road, Pray, which is the way to prudence, to justice, to temperance, -to fortitude? No matter whither any man goes that carries his -affections along with him. He that would make his travels delightful -must make himself a temperate companion. - -A great traveller was complaining that he was never the better for his -travels; “That is very true,” said Socrates, “because you travelled -with yourself.” Now, had not he better have made himself another man -than to transport himself to another place? It is no matter what -manners we find anywhere; so long as we carry our own. But we have all -of us a natural curiosity of seeing fine sights, and of making new -discoveries, turning over antiquities, learning the customs of nations, -etc. We are never quiet; to-day we seek an office, to-morrow we are -sick of it. We divide our lives betwixt a dislike of the present and a -desire of the future: but he that lives as he should, orders himself -so, as neither to fear nor to wish for to-morrow; if it comes, it is -welcome; but if not, there is nothing lost; for that which is come, is -but the same over again with what is past. As levity is a pernicious -enemy to quiet, so pertinacity is a great one too. The one changes -nothing, the other sticks to nothing; and which of the two is the -worse, may be a question. It is many times seen, that we beg earnestly -for those things, which, if they were offered us, we would refuse; and -it is but just to punish this easiness of asking with an equal facility -of granting. There are some things we would be thought to desire, which -we are so far from desiring that we dread them. “I shall tire you,” -says one, in the middle of a tedious story. “Nay, pray be pleased to -go on,” we cry, though we wish his tongue out at half-way: nay, we do -not deal candidly even with God himself. We should say to ourselves -in these cases, “This I have drawn upon myself. I could never be quiet -until I had gotten this woman, this place, this estate, this honor, and -now see what is come of it.” - -One sovereign remedy against all misfortunes is constancy of mind: the -changing of parties and countenances looks as if a man were driven with -the wind. Nothing can be above him that is above fortune. It is not -violence, reproach, contempt, or whatever else from without, that can -make a wise man quit his ground: but he is proof against calamities, -both great and small: only our error is, that what we cannot do -ourselves, we think nobody else can; so that we judge of the wise by -the measures of the weak. Place me among princes or among beggars, the -one shall not make me proud, nor the other ashamed. I can take as sound -a sleep in a barn as in a palace, and a bundle of hay makes me as good -a lodging as a bed of down. Should every day succeed to my wish, it -should not transport me; nor would I think myself miserable if I should -not have one quiet hour in my life. I will not transport myself with -either pain or pleasure; but yet for all that, I could wish that I had -an easier game to play, and that I were put rather to moderate my joys -than my sorrows. If I were an imperial prince, I had rather take than -be taken; and yet I would bear the same mind under the chariot of my -conqueror that I had in my own. It is no great matter to trample upon -those things that are most coveted or feared by the common people. -There are those that will laugh upon the wheel, and cast themselves -upon a certain death, only upon a transport of love, perhaps anger, -avarice, or revenge; how much more then upon an instinct of virtue, -which is invincible and steady! If a short obstinacy of mind can do -this, how much more shall a composed and deliberate virtue, whose force -is equal and perpetual. - -To secure ourselves in this world, first, we must aim at nothing that -men count worth the wrangling for. Secondly, we must not value the -possession of any thing which even a common thief would think worth the -stealing. A man’s body is no booty. Let the way be never so dangerous -for robberies, the poor and the naked pass quietly. A plain-dealing -sincerity of manners makes a man’s life happy, even in despite of scorn -and contempt, which is every clear man’s fate. But we had better yet -be contemned for simplicity than lie perpetually upon the torture of -a counterfeit; provided that care be taken not to confound simplicity -with negligence; and it is, moreover, an uneasy life that of a -disguise; for a man to seem to be what he is not, to keep a perpetual -guard upon himself, and to live in fear of a discovery. He takes every -man that looks upon him for a spy, over and above the trouble of being -put to play another man’s part. It is a good remedy in some cases for -a man to apply himself to civil affairs and public business; and yet, -in this state of life too, what betwixt ambition and calumny, it is -hardly safe to be honest. There are, indeed, some cases wherein a wise -man will give way; but let him not yield over easily neither; if he -marches off, let him have a care of his honor, and make his retreat -with his sword in his hand, and his face to the enemy. Of all others, a -studious life is the least tiresome: it makes us easy to ourselves and -to others, and gains us both friends and reputation. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -HE THAT SETS UP HIS REST UPON CONTINGENCIES SHALL NEVER BE QUIET. - - -Never pronounce any man happy that depends upon fortune for his -happiness; for nothing can be more preposterous than to place the -good of a reasonable creature in unreasonable things. If I have lost -any thing, it was adventitious; and the less money, the less trouble; -the less favor, the less envy; nay, even in those cases that put us -out of their wits, it is not the loss itself, but the opinion of the -loss, that troubles us. It is a common mistake to account those things -necessary that are superfluous, and to depend upon fortune for the -felicity of life, which arises only from virtue. There is no trusting -to her smiles; the sea swells and rages in a moment, and the ships are -swallowed at night, in the very place where they sported themselves in -the morning. And fortune has the same power over princes that it has -over empires, over nations that it has over cities, and the same power -over cities that it has over private men. Where is that estate that may -not be followed upon the heel with famine and beggary? that dignity -which the next moment may not be laid in the dust? that kingdom that is -secure from desolation and ruin? The period of all things is at hand, -as well that which casts out the fortunate as the other that delivers -the unhappy; and that which may fall out at any time may fall out this -very day. What _shall_ come to pass I know not, but what _may_ come to -pass I know: so that I will despair of nothing, but expect everything; -and whatsoever Providence remits is clear gain. Every moment, if it -spares me, deceives me; and yet in some sort it does not deceive me; -for though I know that any thing may happen, yet I know likewise -that everything will not. I will hope the best, and provide for the -worst. Methinks we should not find so much fault with Fortune for her -inconstancy when we ourselves suffer a change every moment that we -live; only other changes make more noise, and this steals upon us like -the shadow upon a dial, every jot as certainly, but more insensibly. - -The burning of Lyons may serve to show us that we are never safe, and -to arm us against all surprises. The terror of it must needs be great, -for the calamity is almost without example. If it had been fired by an -enemy, the flame would have left some further mischief to have been -done by the soldiers; but to be wholly consumed, we have not heard of -many earthquakes so pernicious: so many rarities to be destroyed in -one night; and in the depth of peace to suffer an outrage beyond the -extremity of war; who would believe it? but twelve hours betwixt so -fair a city and none at all! It was laid in ashes in less time than it -would require to tell the story. - -To stand unshaken in such a calamity is hardly to be expected, and -our wonder can but be equal to our grief. Let this accident teach us -to provide against all possibilities that fall within the power of -fortune. All external things are under her dominion: one while she -calls our hands to her assistance; another while she contents herself -with her own force, and destroys us with mischiefs of which we cannot -find the author. No time, place, or condition, is excepted; she makes -our very pleasures painful to us; she makes war upon us in the depth of -peace, and turns the means of our security into an occasion of fear; -she turns a friend into an enemy, and makes a foe of a companion; we -suffer the effects of war without any adversary; and rather than fail, -our felicity shall be the cause of our destruction. Lest we should -either forget or neglect her power, every day produces something -extraordinary. She persecutes the most temperate with sickness, the -strongest constitutions with the phthisis; she brings the innocent -to punishment, and the most retired she assaults with tumults. Those -glories that have grown up with many ages, with infinite labor and -expense, and under the favor of many auspicious providences, one day -scatters and brings to nothing. He that pronounced a day, nay, an hour, -sufficient for the destruction of the greatest empire, might have -fallen to a moment. - -It were some comfort yet to the frailty of mankind and of human -affairs, if things might but decay as slowly as they rise; but they -grow by degrees, and they fall to ruin in an instant. There is no -felicity in anything either private or public; men, nations, and -cities, have all their fates and periods; our very entertainments are -not without terror, and our calamity rises there where we least expect -it. Those kingdoms that stood the shock both of foreign wars and civil, -come to destruction without the sight of an enemy. Nay, we are to dread -our peace and felicity more than violence, because we are here taken -unprovided; unless in a state of peace we do the duty of men in war, -and say to ourselves, _Whatsoever may be, will be_. I am to-day safe -and happy in the love of my country; I am to-morrow banished: to-day in -pleasure, peace, health; to-morrow broken upon a wheel, led in triumph, -and in the agony of sickness. Let us therefore prepare for a shipwreck -in the port, and for a tempest in a calm. One violence drives me from -my country, another ravishes that from me; and that very place where -a man can hardly pass this day for a crowd may be to-morrow a desert. -Wherefore let us set before our eyes the whole condition of human -nature, and consider as well what _may_ happen as what commonly _does_. -The way to make future calamities easy to us in the sufferance, is to -make them familiar to us in the contemplation. How many cities in Asia, -Achaia, Assyria, Macedonia, have been swallowed up by earthquakes? -nay, whole countries are lost, and large provinces laid under water; -but time brings all things to an end; for all the works of mortals -are mortal; all possessions and their possessors are uncertain and -perishable; and what wonder is it to lose anything at any time, when we -must one day lose all? - -That which we call our own is but lent us; and what we have received -_gratis_ we must return without complaint. That which Fortune gives -us this hour she may take away the next; and he that trusts to her -favors, shall either find himself deceived, or if he be not, he will -at least be troubled, because he may be so. There is no defence in -walls, fortifications, and engines, against the power of fortune; we -must provide ourselves within, and when we are safe there, we are -invincible; we may be battered, but not taken. She throws her gifts -among us, and we sweat and scuffle for them, never considering how few -are the better for that which is expected by all. Some are transported -with what they get; others tormented for what they miss; and many -times there is a leg or an arm broken in a contest for a counter. She -gives us honors, riches, favors, only to take them away again, either -by violence or treachery: so that they frequently turn to the damage -of the receiver. She throws out baits for us, and sets traps as we do -for birds and beasts; her bounties are snares and lime-twigs to us; we -think that we take, but we are taken. If they had any thing in them -that was substantial, they would some time or other fill and quiet us; -but they serve only to provoke our appetite without anything more than -pomp and show to allay it. But the best of it is, if a man cannot mend -his fortune, he may yet mend his manners, and put himself so far out of -her reach, that whether she gives or takes, it shall be all one to us; -for we are neither the greater for the one, nor the less for the other. -We call this a dark room, or that a light one; when it is in itself -neither the one nor the other, but only as the day and the night render -it. And so it is in riches, strength of body, beauty, honor, command: -and likewise in pain, sickness, banishment, death: which are in -themselves middle and indifferent things, and only good or bad as they -are influenced by virtue. To weep, lament, and groan, is to renounce -our duty; and it is the same weakness on the other side to exult and -rejoice. I would rather make my fortune than expect it; being neither -depressed with her injuries, nor dazzled with her favors. When Zeno was -told, that all his goods were drowned; “Why then,” says he, “Fortune -has a mind to make me a philosopher.” It is a great matter for a man to -advance his mind above her threats or flatteries; for he that has once -gotten the better of her is safe forever. - -It is some comfort yet to the unfortunate, that great men lie under the -lash for company; and that death spares the palace no more than the -cottage, and that whoever is above me has a power also above him. Do -we not daily see funerals without trouble, princes deposed, countries -depopulated, towns sacked; without so much as thinking how soon it may -be our own case? whereas, if we would but prepare and arm ourselves -against the iniquities of fortune, we should never be surprised. - -When we see any man banished, beggared, tortured, we are to account, -that though the mischief fell upon another, it was levelled at us. What -wonder is it if, of so many thousands of dangers that are constantly -hovering about us, one comes to hit us at last? That which befalls any -man, may befall every man; and then it breaks the force of a present -calamity to provide against the future. Whatsoever our lot is, we must -bear it: as suppose it be contumely, cruelty, fire, sword, pains, -diseases, or a prey to wild beasts; there is no struggling, nor any -remedy but moderation. It is to no purpose to bewail any part of our -life, when life itself is miserable throughout; and the whole flux of -it only a course of transition from one misfortune to another. - -A man may as well wonder that he should be cold in winter, sick at sea, -or have his bones clatter together in a wagon, as at the encounter -of ill accidents and crosses in the passage of human life; and it is -in vain to run away from fortune, as if there were any hiding-place -wherein she could not find us; or to expect any quiet from her; for she -makes life a perpetual state of war, without so much as any respite or -truce. This we may conclude upon, that her empire is but imaginary, and -that whosoever serves her, makes himself a voluntary slave; for “the -things that are often contemned by the inconsiderate, and always by the -wise, are in themselves neither good nor evil:” as pleasure and pains; -prosperity and adversity; which can only operate upon our outward -condition, without any proper and necessary effect upon the mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A SENSUAL LIFE IS A MISERABLE LIFE. - - -The sensuality that we here treat of falls naturally under the head of -luxury; which extends to all the excesses of gluttony, lust, effeminacy -of manners; and, in short, to whatsoever concerns the overgreat care of -the carcass. - -To begin now with the pleasures of the palate, (which deal with us like -Egyptian thieves, that strangle those they embrace), what shall we say -of the luxury of Nomentanus and Apicius, that entertained their very -souls in the kitchen: they have the choicest music for their ears; the -most diverting spectacles for their eyes; the choicest variety of meats -and drinks for their palates. What is all this, I say, but a _merry -madness_? It is true, they have their delights, but not without heavy -and anxious thoughts, even in their very enjoyments, beside that, they -are followed with repentance, and their frolics are little more than -the laughter of so many people out of their wits. Their felicities are -full of disquiet, and neither sincere nor well grounded: but they have -need of one pleasure to support another; and of new prayers to forgive -the errors of their former. Their life must needs be wretched that get -with great pains what they keep with greater. - -One diversion overtakes another; hope excites hope; ambition begets -ambition; so that they only change the matter of their miseries, -without seeking any end of them; and shall never be without either -prosperous or unhappy causes of disquiet. What if a body might have -all the pleasures in the world for the asking? who would so much unman -himself, as by accepting of them, to desert his soul, and become a -perpetual slave to his senses? Those false and miserable palates, that -judge of meats by the price and difficulty, not by the healthfulness -of taste, they vomit that they may eat, and they eat that they may -fetch it up again. They cross the seas for rarities, and when they have -swallowed them, they will not so much as give them time to digest. -Wheresoever Nature has placed men, she has provided them aliment: but -we rather choose to irritate hunger by expense than to allay it at an -easier rate. - -What is it that we plow the seas for; or arm ourselves against men and -beasts? To what end do we toil, and labor, and pile bags upon bags? We -may enlarge our fortunes, but we cannot our bodies; so that it does -but spill and run over, whatsoever we take more than we can hold. Our -forefathers (by the force of whose virtues we are now supported in our -vices) lived every jot as well as we, when they provided and dressed -their own meat with their own hands; lodged upon the ground, and were -not as yet come to the vanity of gold and gems; when they swore by -their earthen gods, and kept their oath, though they died for it. - -Did not our consuls live more happily when they cooked their own meat -with those victorious hands that had conquered so many enemies and -won so many laurels? Did they not live more happily, I say, than our -Apicius (that corrupter of youth, and plague of the age he lived in) -who, after he had spent a prodigious fortune upon his belly, poisoned -himself for fear of starving, when he had yet 250,000 crowns in his -coffers? which may serve to show us, that it is the mind, and not -the sum, that makes any man rich; when Apicius with all his treasure -counted himself in a state of beggary, and took poison to avoid that -condition, which another would have prayed for. But why do we call -it poison, which was the wholesomest draught of his life? His daily -gluttony was poison rather, both to himself and others. His ostentation -of it was intolerable; and so was the infinite pains he took to mislead -others by his example, who went even fast enough of themselves without -driving. - -It is a shame for a man to place his felicity in those entertainments -and appetites that are stronger in brutes. Do not beasts eat with a -better stomach? Have they not more satisfaction in their lusts? And -they have not only a quicker relish of their pleasures, but they enjoy -them without either scandal or remorse. If sensuality were happiness, -beasts were happier than men; but human felicity is lodged in the -soul, not in the flesh. They that deliver themselves up to luxury -are still either tormented with too little, or oppressed with too -much; and equally miserable, by being either deserted or overwhelmed: -they are like men in a dangerous sea; one while cast a-dry upon a -rock, and another while swallowed up in a whirlpool; and all this -from the mistake of not distinguishing good from evil. The huntsman, -that with which labor and hazard takes a wild beast, runs as great a -risk afterwards in the keeping of him; for many times he tears out -the throat of his master; and it is the same thing with inordinate -pleasures: the more in number, and the greater they are, the more -general and absolute a slave is the servant of them. Let the common -people pronounce him as happy as they please, he pays his liberty for -his delights, and sells himself for what he buys. - -Let any man take a view of our kitchens, the number of our cooks, and -the variety of our meats; will he not wonder to see so much provision -made for one belly? We have as many diseases as we have cooks or -meats; and the service of the appetite is the study now in vogue. To -say nothing of our trains of lackeys, and our troops of caterers and -sewers: Good God! that ever one belly should employ so many people! -How nauseous and fulsome are the surfeits that follow these excesses? -Simple meats are out of fashion, and all are collected into one; so -that the cook does the office of the stomach; nay, and of the teeth -too; for the meat looks as if it were chewed beforehand: here is the -luxury of all tastes in one dish, and liker a vomit than a soup. From -these compounded dishes arise compounded diseases, which require -compounded medicines. It is the same thing with our minds that it is -with our tables; simple vices are curable by simple counsels, but a -general dissolution of manners is hardly overcome; we are overrun with -a public as well as with a private madness. The physicians of old -understood little more than the virtue of some herbs to stop blood, or -heal a wound; and their firm and healthful bodies needed little more -before they were corrupted by luxury and pleasure; and when it came to -that once, their business was not to allay hunger, but to provoke it by -a thousand inventions and sauces. That which was aliment to a craving -stomach is become a burden to a full one. From hence came paleness, -trembling, and worse effects from crudities than famine; a weakness in -the joints, the belly stretched, suffusion of choler, the torpor of -the nerves, and a palpitation of the heart. To say nothing of megrims, -torments of the eyes and ears, head-ache, gout, scurvy, several sorts -of fevers and putrid ulcers, with other diseases that are but the -punishment of luxury. So long as our bodies were hardened with labor, -or tired with exercise or hunting, our food was plain and simple; many -dishes have made many diseases. - -It is an ill thing for a man not to know the measure of his stomach, -nor to consider that men do many things in their drink that they are -ashamed of sober; drunkenness being nothing else but a voluntary -madness. It emboldens men to do all sorts of mischiefs; it both -irritates wickedness and discovers it; it does not make men vicious, -but it shows them to be so. It was in a drunken fit that Alexander -killed Clytus. It makes him that is insolent prouder, him that is -cruel fiercer, it takes away all shame. He that is peevish breaks out -presently into ill words and blows. The lecher, without any regard to -decency or scandal, turns up his whore in the market-place. A man’s -tongue trips, his head runs round, he staggers in his pace. To say -nothing of the crudities and diseases that follow upon this distemper, -consider the public mischiefs it has done. How many warlike nations -and strong cities, that have stood invincible to attacks and sieges, -has drunkenness overcome! Is it not a great honor to drink the company -dead? a magnificent virtue to swallow more wine than the rest, and yet -at last to be outdone by a hogshead? What shall we say of those men -that invert the offices of day and night? as if our eyes were only -given us to make use of in the dark? Is it day? “It is time to go to -bed.” Is it night? “It is time to rise.” Is it toward morning? “Let us -go to supper.” When other people lie down they rise, and lie till the -next night to digest the debauch of the day before. It is an argument -of clownery, to do as other people do. - -Luxury steals upon us by degrees; first, it shows itself in a more -than ordinary care of our bodies, it slips next into the furniture of -our houses; and it gets then into the fabric, curiosity, and expense -of the house itself. It appears, lastly, in the fantastical excesses -of our tables. We change and shuffle our meats, confound our sauces, -serve that in first that used to be last, and value our dishes, not for -the taste, but for the rarity. Nay, we are so delicate, that we must -be told when we are to eat or drink; when we are hungry or weary; and -we cherish some vices as proofs and arguments of our happiness. The -most miserable mortals are they that deliver themselves up to their -palates, or to their lusts: the pleasure is short and turns presently -nauseous, and the end of it is either shame or repentance. It is a -brutal entertainment, and unworthy of a man, to place his felicity in -the service of his senses. As to the wrathful, the contentious, the -ambitious, though the distemper be great, the offence has yet something -in it that is manly; but the basest of prostitutes are those that -dedicate themselves wholly to lust; what with their hopes and fears, -anxiety of thought, and perpetual disquiets, they are never well, full -nor fasting. - -What a deal of business is now made about our houses and diet, which -was at first both obvious and of little expense? Luxury led the -way, and we have employed our wits in the aid of our vices. First -we desired superfluities, our next step was to wickedness, and, in -conclusion, we delivered up our minds to our bodies, and so became -slaves to our appetites, which before were our servants, and are now -become our masters. What was it that brought us to the extravagance -of embroideries, perfumes, tire-women, etc. We passed the bounds of -Nature, and launched out into superfluities; insomuch, that it is -now-a-days only for beggars and clowns to content themselves with what -is sufficient; our luxury makes us insolent and mad. We take upon us -like princes, and fly out for every trifle, as though there were life -and death in the case. What a madness is it for a man to lay out an -estate upon a table or a cabinet, a patrimony upon a pain of pendants, -and to inflame the price of curiosities according to the hazard either -of breaking or losing of them? To wear garments that will neither -defend a woman’s body, nor her modesty: so thin that one could make a -conscience of swearing she were naked: for she hardly shows more in -the privacies of her amour than in public? How long shall we covet -and oppress, enlarge our possessions, and account that too little for -one man which was formerly enough for a nation? And our luxury is as -insatiable as our avarice. Where is that lake, that sea, that forest, -that spot of land; that is not ransacked to gratify our palate? The -very earth is burdened with our buildings; not a river, not a mountain, -escapes us. Oh, that there should be such boundless desires in our -little bodies! Would not fewer lodgings serve us? We lie but in one, -and where we are not, that is not properly ours. What with our hooks, -snares, nets, dogs, etc., we are at war with all living creatures; and -nothing comes amiss but that which is either too cheap, or too common; -and all this is to gratify a fantastical palate. Our avarice, our -ambition, our lusts, are insatiable; we enlarge our possessions, swell -our families, we rifle sea and land for matter of ornament and luxury. -A bull contents himself with one meadow, and one forest is enough for a -thousand elephants; but the little body of a man devours more than all -other living creatures. We do not eat to satisfy hunger, but ambition; -we are dead while we are alive, and our houses are so much our tombs, -that a man might write our _epitaphs_ upon our very doors. - -A voluptuous person, in fine, can neither be a good man, a good -patriot, nor a good friend; for he is transported with his appetites, -without considering, that the lot of man is the law of Nature. A good -man (like a good soldier) will stand his ground, receive wounds, glory -in his scars, and in death itself love his master for whom he falls; -with that divine precept always in his mind, “Follow good:” whereas -he that complains, laments, and groans, must yield nevertheless, and -do his duty though in spite of his heart. Now, what a madness is it -for a man to choose rather to be lugged than to follow, and vainly to -contend with the calamities of human life? Whatsoever is laid upon -us by necessity, we should receive generously; for it is foolish to -strive with what we cannot avoid. We are born subjects, and to obey -God is perfect liberty. He that does this shall be free, safe, and -quiet: all his actions shall succeed to his wish: and what can any man -desire more than to want nothing from without, and to have all things -desirable within himself? Pleasures do but weaken our minds, and send -us for our support to Fortune, who gives us money only as the wages of -slavery. We must stop our eyes and our ears. Ulysses had but one rock -to fear, but human life has many. Every city, nay, every man, is one; -and there is no trusting even to our nearest friends. Deliver me from -the superstition of taking those things which are light and vain for -felicities. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -AVARICE AND AMBITION ARE INSATIABLE AND RESTLESS. - - -The man that would be truly rich must not increase his fortune, but -retrench his appetites: for riches are not only superfluous, but mean, -and little more to the possessor than to the looker-on. What is the -end of ambition and avarice, when at best we are but stewards of what -we falsely call our own? All those things that we pursue with so much -hazard and expense of blood, as well to keep as to get, for which we -break faith and friendship, what are they but the mere _deposita_ of -Fortune? and not ours, but already inclining toward a new master. -There is nothing our own but that which we give to ourselves, and of -which we have a certain and an inexpugnable possession. Avarice is -so insatiable, that it is not in the power of liberality to content -it; and our desires are so boundless, that whatever we get is but in -the way to getting more without end: and so long as we are solicitous -for the increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our -time in putting out, calling in, and passing our accounts, without -any substantial benefit, either to the world or to ourselves. What is -the difference betwixt old men and children? the one cries for nuts -and apples, and the other for gold and silver: the one sets up courts -of justice, hears and determines, acquits and condemns, in jest; the -other in earnest: the one makes houses of clay, the other of marble: -so that the works of old men are nothing in the world but the progress -and improvement of children’s errors; and they are to be admonished and -punished too like children, not in revenge for injuries received, but -as a correction of injuries done, and to make them give over. There -is some substance yet in gold and silver; but as to judgments and -statutes, procuration and continuance-money, these are only the visions -and dreams of avarice. Throw a crust of bread to a dog, he takes it -open-mouthed, swallows it whole, and presently gapes for more: just so -do we with the gifts of Fortune; down they go without chewing, and we -are immediately ready for another chop. But what has avarice now to do -with gold and silver, that is so much outdone by curiosities of a far -greater value? Let us no longer complain that there was not a heavier -load laid upon those precious metals, or that they were not buried -deep enough, when we have found out ways by wax and parchments, and -by bloody usurious contracts, to undo one another. It is remarkable, -that Providence has given us all things for our advantage near at hand; -but iron, gold, and silver, (being both the instrument of blood and -slaughter, and the price of it) Nature has hidden in the bowels of the -earth. - -There is no avarice without some punishment, over and above that which -it is to itself. How miserable is it in the desire! how miserable even -in the attaining of our ends! For money is a greater torment in the -possession than it is in the pursuit. The fear of losing it is a great -trouble, the loss of it a greater, and it is made a greater yet by -opinion. Nay, even in the case of no direct loss at all, the covetous -man loses what he does not get. It is true, the people call the rich -man a happy man, and wish themselves in his condition; but can any -condition be worse than that which carries vexation and envy along with -it? Neither is any man to boast of his fortune, his herds of cattle, -his number of slaves, his lands and palaces; for comparing that which -he has to that which he further covets, he is a beggar. No man can -possess all things, but any man may contemn them; and the contempt of -riches is the nearest way to the gaining of them. - -Some magistrates are made for money, and those commonly are bribed with -money. We are all turned merchants, and look not into the quality of -things, but into the price of them; for reward we are pious, and for -reward again we are impious. We are honest so long as we may thrive -upon it; but if the devil himself gives better wages, we change our -party. Our parents have trained us up into an admiration of gold and -silver, and the love of it is grown up with us to that degree that -when we would show our gratitude to Heaven, we make presents of those -metals. This it is that makes poverty look like a curse and a reproach; -and the poets help it forward; the chariot of the sun must be all of -gold; the best of times must be the Golden Age, and thus they turn the -greatest misery of mankind into the greatest blessings. - -Neither does avarice make us only unhappy in ourselves, but malevolent -also to mankind. The soldier wishes for war; the husbandman would have -his corn dear; the lawyer prays for dissension; the physician for a -sickly year; he that deals in curiosities, for luxury and excess, for -he makes up his fortunes out of the corruptions of the age. High winds -and public conflagrations make work for the carpenter and bricklayer, -and one man lives by the loss of another; some few, perhaps, have -the fortune to be detected, but they are all wicked alike. A great -plague makes work for the sexton; and, in one word, whosoever gains -by the dead has not much kindness for the living. Demades of Athens -condemned a fellow that sold necessaries for funerals, upon proof that -he wished to make himself a fortune by his trade, which could not be -but by a great mortality; but perhaps he did not so much desire to have -many customers, as to sell dear, and buy cheap; besides, that all of -that trade might have been condemned as well as he. Whatsoever whets -our appetites, flatters and depresses the mind, and, by dilating it, -weakens it; first blowing it up, and then filling and deluding it with -vanity. - -To proceed now from the most prostitute of all vices, sensuality and -avarice, to that which passes in the world for the most generous, the -thirst of glory and dominion. If they that run mad after wealth and -honor, could but look into the hearts of them that have already gained -these points, how would it startle them to see those hideous cares and -crimes that wait upon ambitious greatness: all those acquisitions that -dazzle the eyes of the vulgar are but false pleasures, slippery and -uncertain. They are achieved with labor, and the very guard of them is -painful. Ambition puffs us up with vanity and wind: and we are equally -troubled either to see any body before us, or nobody behind us; so that -we lie under a double envy; for whosoever envies another is also envied -himself. What matters it how far Alexander extended his conquests, -if he was not yet satisfied with what he had? Every man wants as -much as he covets; and it is lost labor to pour into a vessel that -will never be full. He that had subdued so many princes and nations, -upon the killing of Clytus (one friend) and the loss of Hyphestion -(another) delivered himself up to anger and sadness; and when he was -master of the world, he was yet a slave to his passions. Look into -Cyrus, Cambyses, and the whole Persian line, and you shall not find so -much as one man of them that died satisfied with what he had gotten. -Ambition aspires from great things to greater; and propounds matters -even impossible, when it has once arrived at things beyond expectation. -It is a kind of dropsy; the more a man drinks, the more he covets. Let -any man but observe the tumults and the crowds that attend palaces; -what affronts must we endure to be admitted, and how much greater when -we are in! The passage to virtue is fair, but the way to greatness -is craggy and it stands not only upon a precipice, but upon ice too; -and yet it is a hard matter to convince a great man that his station -is slippery, or to prevail with him not to depend upon his greatness; -but all superfluities are hurtful. A rank crop lays the corn; too -great a burden of fruit breaks the bough; and our minds may be as well -overcharged with an immoderate happiness. Nay, though we ourselves -would be at rest, our fortune will not suffer it: the way that leads -to honor and riches leads to troubles; and we find the source of our -sorrows in the very objects of our delights. - -What joy is there in feasting and luxury; in ambition and a crowd of -clients; in the arms of a mistress, or in the vanity of an unprofitable -knowledge? These short and false pleasures deceive us, and, like -drunkenness, revenge the jolly madness of _one_ hour with the nauseous -and sad repentance of _many_. Ambition is like a gulf: everything is -swallowed up in it and buried, beside the dangerous consequences of -it; for that which one has taken from all, may be easily taken away -again by all from one. It was not either virtue or reason, but the -mad love of a deceitful greatness, that animated Pompey in his wars, -either abroad or at home. What was it but his ambition that hurried -him to Spain, Africa, and elsewhere, when he was too great already -in everybody’s opinion but his own? And the same motive had Julius -Cæsar, who could not, even then, brook a superior himself, when the -commonwealth had submitted unto two already. - -Nor was it any instinct of virtue that pushed on Marius, who at the -head of an army was himself led on under the command of ambition: but -he came at last to the deserved fate of other wicked men, and to drink -himself of the same cup that he had filled to others. We impose upon -our reason, when we suffer ourselves to be transported with titles; for -we know that they are nothing but a more glorious sound; and so for -ornaments and gildings, though there be a lustre to dazzle our eyes, -our understanding tells us that it is only outside, and the matter -under it is only coarse and common. - -I will never envy those that the people call great and happy. A sound -mind is not to be shaken with a popular and vain applause; nor is it -in the power of their pride to disturb the state of our happiness. An -honest man is known now-a-days by the dust he raises upon the way, and -it is become a point of honor to overrun people, and keep all at a -distance; though he that is put out of the way may perchance be happier -than he that takes it. He that would exercise a power profitable to -himself, and grievous to nobody else, let him practice it upon his -passion. They that have burnt cities, otherwise invincible, driven -armies before them, and bathed themselves in human blood, after they -have overcome all open enemies, they have been vanquished by their -lust, by their cruelty, and without any resistance. - -Alexander was possessed with the madness of laying kingdoms waste. -He began with Greece, where he was brought up; and there he quarried -himself upon that in it which was the best; he enslaved Lacedemon, and -silenced Athens: nor was he content with the destruction of those towns -which his father Philip had either conquered or bought; but he made -himself the enemy of human nature; and, like the worst of beasts, he -worried what he could not eat. - -Felicity is an unquiet thing; it torments itself, and puzzles the -brain. It makes some people ambitious, others luxurious; it puffs up -some, and softens others; only (as it is with wine) some heads bear -it better than others; but it dissolves all. Greatness stands upon a -precipice: and if prosperity carries a man never so little beyond his -poise, it overbears and dashes him to pieces. It is a rare thing for -a man in a great fortune to lay down his happiness gently; it being a -common fate for a man to sink under the weight of those felicities that -raise him. How many of the nobility did Marius bring down to herdsmen -and other mean offices! Nay, in the very moment of our despising -servants, we may be made so ourselves. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -HOPE AND FEAR ARE THE BANE OF HUMAN LIFE. - - -No man can be said to be perfectly happy that runs the risk of -disappointment: which is the case of every man that _fears_ or _hopes_ -for anything. For _hope_ and _fear_, how distant soever they may seem -to be the one from the other, they are both of them yet coupled in the -same chain, as the guard and the prisoner; and the one treads upon -the heels of the other. The reason of this is obvious, for they are -passions that look forward, and are ever solicitous for the future; -only _hope_ is the more plausible weakness of the two, which in truth, -upon the main, are inseparable; for the one cannot be without the -other: but where the _hope_ is stronger than the _fear_, or the _fear_ -than the _hope_, we call it the one or the other; for without _fear_ it -were no longer _hope_, but _certainty_; as without _hope_ it were no -longer _fear_ but _despair_. - -We may come to understand whether our disputes are vain or not, if we -do but consider that we are either troubled about the _present_, the -_future_ or _both_. If the present, it is easy to judge, and the future -is uncertain. It is a foolish thing to be miserable beforehand for -fear of misery to come; for a man loses the present, which he might -enjoy, in expectation of the future: nay, the fear of losing anything -is as bad as the loss itself. I will be as prudent as I can, but not -timorous or careless; and I will bethink myself, and forecast what -inconveniences may happen before they come. It is true, a man may fear, -and yet not be fearful; which is no more than to have the affection of -fear without the vice of it; but yet a frequent admittance of it runs -into a habit. It is a shameful and an unmanly thing to be doubtful, -timorous, and uncertain; to set one step forward, and another backward; -and to be irresolute. Can there be any man so fearful, that had not -rather fall once than hang always in suspense? - -Our miseries are endless, if we stand in fear of all possibilities; -the best way, in such a case, is to drive out one nail with another, -and a little to qualify fear with hope; which may serve to palliate a -misfortune; though not to cure it. There is not anything that we fear, -which is so certain to come, as it is certain that many things which -we do fear will not come; but we are loth to oppose our credulity when -it begins to move us, and so to bring our fear to the test. Well! but -“what if the thing we fear should come to pass?” Perhaps it will be -the better for us. Suppose it be _death_ itself, why may it not prove -the glory of my life? Did not poison make Socrates famous? and was not -Cato’s sword a great part of his honor? “Do we fear any misfortune to -befall us?” We are not presently sure that it will happen. How many -deliverances have come unlooked for? and how many mischiefs that we -looked for have never come to pass? It is time enough to lament when it -comes, and, in the _interim_, to promise ourselves the best. What do I -know but something or other may delay or divert it? Some have escaped -out of the fire; others, when a house has fallen over their head, -have received no hurt: one man has been saved when a sword was at his -throat; another has been condemned, and outlived his headsman: so that -ill-fortune, we see, as well as good, has her levities; peradventure -it will be, peradventure not; and until it comes to pass, we are not -sure of it: we do many times take words in a worse sense than they were -intended, and imagine things to be worse taken than they are. It is -time enough to bear a misfortune when it comes, without anticipating it. - -He that would deliver himself from all apprehensions of the future, -let him first take for granted, that all fears will fall upon him; and -then examine and measure the evil that he fears, which he will find -to be neither great nor long. Beside, that the ills which he fears he -may suffer, he suffers in the very fear of them. As in the symptoms of -an approaching disease, a man shall find himself lazy and listless: a -weariness in his limbs, with a yawning and shuddering all over him; so -it is in the case of a weak mind, it fancies misfortunes, and makes a -man wretched before his time. Why should I torment myself at present -with what, perhaps, may fall out fifty years hence? This humor is a -kind of voluntary disease, and an industrious contrivance of our own -unhappiness, to complain of an affliction that we do not feel. Some -are not only moved with grief itself, but with the mere opinion of -it; as children will start at a shadow, or at the sight of a deformed -person. If we stand in fear of violence from a powerful enemy, it is -some comfort to us, that whosoever makes himself terrible to others is -not without fear himself: the least noise makes a lion start; and the -fiercest of beasts, whatsoever enrages them, makes them tremble too: a -shadow, a voice, an unusual odor, rouses them. - -The things most to be feared I take to be of three kinds; _want_, -_sickness_, and those _violences_ that may be imposed upon us by a -_strong hand_. The last of these has the greatest force, because it -comes attended with noise and tumult; whereas the incommodities of -poverty and diseases are more natural, and steal upon us in silence, -without any external circumstances of horror: but the other marches in -pomp, with fire and sword, gibbets, racks, hooks; wild beasts to devour -us; stakes to impale us; engines to tear us to pieces; pitched bags to -burn us in, and a thousand other exquisite inventions of cruelty. No -wonder then, if that be the most dreadful to us that presents itself in -so many uncouth shapes; and by the very solemnity is rendered the most -formidable. The more instruments of bodily pain the executioner shows -us, the more frightful he makes himself: for many a man that would have -encountered death in any generous form, with resolution enough, is -yet overcome with the _manner_ of it. As for the calamities of hunger -and thirst, inward ulcers, scorching fevers, tormenting fits of the -stone, I look upon these miseries to be at least as grievous as any -of the rest; only they do not so much affect the fancy, because they -lie out of sight. Some people talk high of danger at a distance; but -(like cowards) when the executioner comes to do his duty, and show us -the fire, the ax, the scaffold, and death at hand, their courage fails -them upon the very pinch, when they have most need of it. Sickness, (I -hope) captivity, fire, are no new things to us; the fall of houses, -funerals, and conflagrations, are every day before our eyes. The man -that I supped with last night is dead before morning; why should I -wonder then, seeing so many fall about me, to be hit at last myself? -What can be greater madness than to cry out, “Who would have dreamed -of this?” And why not, I beseech you? Where is that estate that may -not be reduced to beggary? that dignity which may not be followed with -banishment, disgrace, and extreme contempt? that kingdom that may not -suddenly fall to ruin; change its master, and be depopulated? that -prince that may not pass the hand of a common hangman? That which is -one man’s fortune may be another’s; but the foresight of calamities to -come breaks the violence of them. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -IT IS ACCORDING TO THE TRUE OR FALSE ESTIMATE OF THINGS THAT WE ARE -HAPPY OR MISERABLE. - - -How many things are there that the fancy makes terrible by night, which -the day turns into ridiculous! What is there in labor, or in death, -that a man should be afraid of? They are much slighter in act than -in contemplation; and we _may_ contemn them, but we _will_ not: so -that it is not because they are hard that we dread them, but they are -hard because we are first afraid of them. Pains, and other violences -of Fortune, are the same thing to us that goblins are to children: -we are more scared with them than hurt. We take up our opinions upon -trust, and err for company, still judging that to be best that has -most competitors. We make a false calculation of matters, because we -advise with opinion, and not with Nature; and this misleads us to a -higher esteem for riches, honor, and power, than they are worth: we -have been used to admire and recommend them, and a private error is -quickly turned into a public. The greatest and the smallest things -are equally hard to be comprehended; we account many things _great_, -for want of understanding what effectually is so: and we reckon other -things to be _small_, which we find frequently to be of the highest -value. Vain things only move vain minds. The accidents that we so -much boggle at are not terrible in themselves, but they are made so -by our infirmities; but we consult rather what we hear than what we -feel, without examining, opposing, or discussing the things we fear; -so that we either stand still and tremble, or else directly run for -it, as those troops did, that, upon the raising of the dust, took a -flock of sheep for the enemy. When the body and mind are corrupted, -it is no wonder if all things prove intolerable; and not because they -are so in truth, but because we are dissolute and foolish: for we are -infatuated to such a degree, that, betwixt the common madness of men, -and that which falls under the care of the physician, there is but -this difference, the one labors of a disease, and the other of a false -opinion. - -The Stoics hold, that all those torments that commonly draw from us -groans and ejaculations, are in themselves trivial and contemptible. -But these high-flown expressions apart (how true soever) let us -discourse the point at the rate of ordinary men, and not make ourselves -miserable before our time; for the things we apprehend to be at hand -may possibly never come to pass. Some things trouble us more than they -should, other things sooner; and some things again disorder us that -ought not to trouble us at all; so that we either enlarge, or create, -or anticipate our disquiets. For the first part, let it rest as a -matter in controversy; for that which I account light, another perhaps -will judge insupportable! One man laughs under the lash, and another -whines for a fillip. How sad a calamity is poverty to one man, which to -another appears rather desirable than inconvenient? For the poor man, -who has nothing to lose, has nothing to fear: and he that would enjoy -himself to the satisfaction of his soul, must be either poor indeed, -or at least look as if he were so. Some people are extremely dejected -with sickness and pain; whereas Epicurus blessed his fate with his last -breath, in the acutest torments of the stone imaginable. And so for -banishment, which to one man is so grievous, and yet to another is no -more than a bare change of place: a thing that we do every day for our -health, pleasure, nay, and upon the account even of common business. - -How terrible is death to one man, which to another appears the greatest -providence in nature, even toward all ages and conditions! It is the -wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all. It sets the slave -at liberty, carries the banished man home, and places all mortals upon -the same level: insomuch, that life itself were a punishment without -it. When I see tyrants, tortures, violences, the prospect of death is a -consolation to me, and the only remedy against the injuries of life. - -Nay, so great are our mistakes in the true estimate of things, that we -have hardly done any thing that we have not had reason to wish undone; -and we have found the things we feared to be more desirable than those -we coveted. Our very prayers have been more pernicious than the curses -of our enemies; and we must pray to have our former prayers forgiven. -Where is the wise man that wishes to himself the wishes of his mother, -nurse, or his tutor; the worst of enemies, with the intention of the -best of friends. We are undone if their prayers be heard; and it is our -duty to pray that they may not; for they are no other than well-meaning -execrations. They take evil for good, and one wish fights with another: -give me rather the contempt of all those things whereof they wish me -the greatest plenty. We are equally hurt by some that pray for us, and -by others that curse us: the one imprints in us a false fear, and the -other does us mischief by a mistake: so that it is no wonder if mankind -be miserable, when we are brought up from the very cradle under the -imprecations of our parents. We pray for trifles, without so much as -thinking of the greatest blessings; and we are not ashamed many times -to ask God for that which we should blush to own to our neighbor. - -It is with us as with an innocent that my father had in his family; she -fell blind on a sudden, and nobody could persuade her she was blind. -“She could not endure the house,” she cried, “it was so dark,” and was -still calling to go abroad. That which we laughed at in her we find -to be true in ourselves, we are covetous and ambitious; but the world -shall never bring us to acknowledge it, and we impute it to the place: -nay, we are the worse of the two; for that blind fool called for a -guide, and we wander about without one. It is a hard matter to cure -those that will not believe they are sick. We are ashamed to admit a -master, and we are too old to learn. Vice still goes before virtue: so -that we have two works to do: we must cast off the one, and learn the -other. By one evil we make way to another, and only seek things to be -avoided, or those of which we are soon weary. That which seemed too -much when we wished for it, proves too little when we have it; and it -is not, as some imagine, that felicity is greedy, but it is little and -narrow, and cannot satisfy us. That which we take to be very high at a -distance, we find to be but low when we come at it. And the business -is, we do not understand the true state of things: we are deceived by -rumors; when we have gained the thing we aimed at, we find it to be -either ill or empty; or perchance less than we expect, or otherwise -perhaps great, but not good. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE AND MODERATION. - - -There is not anything that is necessary to us but we have it either -_cheap_ or _gratis_: and this is the provision that our heavenly -Father has made for us, whose bounty was never wanting to our needs. -It is true the belly craves and calls upon us, but then a small matter -contents it: a little bread and water is sufficient, and all the rest -is but superfluous. He that lives according to reason shall never be -poor, and he that governs his life by opinion shall never be rich: -for nature is limited, but fancy is boundless. As for meat, clothes, -and lodging, a little feeds the body, and as little covers it; so -that if mankind would only attend human nature, without gaping at -superfluities, a cook would be found as needless as a soldier: for we -may have necessaries upon very easy terms; whereas we put ourselves to -great pains for excesses. When we are cold, we may cover ourselves with -skins of beasts; and, against violent heats, we have natural grottoes; -or with a few osiers and a little clay we may defend ourselves against -all seasons. Providence has been kinder to us than to leave us to live -by our wits, and to stand in need of invention and arts. - -It is only pride and curiosity that involve us in difficulties: if -nothing will serve a man but rich clothes and furniture, statues and -plate, a numerous train of servants, and the rarities of all nations, -it is not Fortune’s fault, but his own, that he is not satisfied: for -his desires are insatiable, and this is not a thirst, but a disease; -and if he were master of the whole world, he would be still a beggar. -It is the mind that makes us rich and happy, in what condition soever -we are; and money signifies no more to it than it does to the gods. If -the religion be sincere, no matter for the ornaments it is only luxury -and avarice that make poverty grievous to us; for it is a very small -matter that does our business; and when we have provided against cold, -hunger, and thirst, all the rest is but vanity and excess: and there -is no need of expense upon foreign delicacies, or the artifices of the -kitchen. What is he the worse for poverty that despises these things? -nay, is he not rather the better for it, because he is not able to go -to the price of them? for he is kept sound whether he will or not: and -that which a man _cannot_ do, looks many times as if he _would not_. - -When I look back into the moderation of past ages, it makes me ashamed -to discourse, as if poverty had need of any consolation; for we are -now come to that degree of intemperance, that a fair patrimony is too -little for a meal. Homer had but one servant, Plato three, and Zeno -(the master of the masculine sect of Stoics) had none at all. The -daughters of Scipio had their portions out of the common treasury, -for their father left them not a penny: how happy were the husbands -that had the people of Rome for their father-in-law! Shall any man now -contemn poverty after these eminent examples, which are sufficient -not only to justify but to recommend it? Upon Diogenes’ only servant -running away from him, he was told where he was, and persuaded to fetch -him back again: “What,” says he, “can Manes live without Diogenes, and -not Diogenes without Manes?” and so let him go. - -The piety and moderation of Scipio have made his memory more venerable -than his arms; and more yet after he left his country than while he -defended it: for matters were come to that pass, that either Scipio -must be injurious to Rome or Rome to Scipio. Coarse bread and water to -a temperate man is as good as a feast; and the very herbs of the field -yield a nourishment to man as well as to beasts. It was not by choice -meats and perfumes that our forefathers recommended themselves, but -in virtuous actions, and the sweat of honest, military, and of manly -labors. - -While Nature lay in common, and all her benefits were promiscuously -enjoyed, what could be happier than the state of mankind, when people -lived without avarice or envy? What could be richer than when there -was not a poor man to be found in the world? So soon as this impartial -bounty of Providence came to be restrained by covetousness, and -that particulars appropriated to themselves that which was intended -for all, then did poverty creep into the world, when some men, by -desiring more than came to their share, lost their title to the rest; -a loss never to be repaired; for though we may come yet to get much, -we once had all. The fruits of the earth were in those days divided -among the inhabitants of it, without either want or excess. So long -as men contented themselves with their lot, there was no violence, -no engrossing or hiding of those benefits for particular advantages, -which were appointed for the community; but every man had as much -care for his neighbor as for himself. No arms or bloodshed, no war, -but with wild beasts: but under the protection of a wood or a cave, -they spent their days without cares, and their nights without groans; -their innocence was their security and their protection. There were -as yet no beds of state, no ornaments, of pearl or embroidery, nor -any of those remorses that attend them; but the heavens were their -canopy, and the glories of them their spectacle. The motions of the -orbs, the courses of the stars, and the wonderful order of Providence, -was their contemplation. There was no fear of the house falling, or -the rustling of a rat behind the arras; they had no palaces then like -cities; but they had open air, and breathing room, crystal fountains, -refreshing shades, the meadows dressed up in their native beauty, and -such cottages as were according to nature, and wherein they lived -contentedly, without fear either of losing or of falling. These people -lived without either solitude or fraud; and yet I must call them rather -happy than wise. - -That men were generally better before they were corrupted than after, -I make no doubt; and I am apt to believe that they were both stronger -and hardier too but their wits were not yet come to maturity; for -Nature does not give virtue; and it is a kind of art to become good. -They had not as yet torn up the bowels of the earth for gold, silver, -or precious stones; and so far were they from killing any man, as we -do, for a spectacle, that they were not as yet come to it, either in -fear or anger; nay, they spared the very fishes. But, after all this, -they were innocent because they were ignorant: and there is a great -difference betwixt not knowing how to offend and not being willing to -do it. They had, in that rude life, certain images and resemblances of -virtue, but yet they fell short of virtue itself, which comes only by -institution, learning, and study, as it is perfected by practice. It is -indeed the end for which we were born, but yet it did not come into the -world with us; and in the best of men, before they are instructed, we -find rather the matter and the seeds of virtue than the virtue itself. -It is the wonderful benignity of Nature that has laid open to us all -things that may do us good, and only hid those things from us that may -hurt us; as if she durst not trust us with gold and silver, or with -iron, which is the instrument of war and contention, for the other. -It is we ourselves that have drawn out of the earth both the _causes_ -and the _instruments_ of our dangers: and we are so vain as to set -the highest esteem upon those things to which Nature has assigned the -lowest place. What can be more coarse and rude in the mine than these -precious metals, or more slavish and dirty than the people that dig and -work them? and yet they defile our minds more than our bodies, and make -the possessor fouler than the artificer of them. Rich men, in fine, are -only the greater slaves; both the one and the other want a great deal. - -Happy is that man that eats only for hunger, and drinks only for -thirst; that stands upon his own legs, and lives by reason, not by -example; and provides for use and necessity, not for ostentation -and pomp! Let us curb our appetites, encourage virtue, and rather -be beholden to ourselves for riches than to Fortune, who when a man -draws himself into a narrow compass, has the least mark at him. Let -my bed be plain and clean, and my clothes so too: my meat without -much expense, or many waiters, and neither a burden to my purse nor -to my body, not to go out the same way it came in. That which is too -little for luxury, is abundantly enough for nature. The end of eating -and drinking is satiety; now, what matters it though one eats and -drinks more, and another less, so long as the one is not a-hungry, nor -the other athirst? Epicurus, who limits pleasure to nature, as the -Stoics do virtue, is undoubtedly in the right; and those that cite -him to authorize their voluptuousness do exceedingly mistake him, and -only seek a good authority for an evil cause: for their pleasures of -sloth, gluttony, and lust, have no affinity at all with his precepts -or meaning. It is true, that at first sight his philosophy seems -effeminate; but he that looks nearer him will find him to be a very -brave man only in a womanish dress. - -It is a common objection, I know, that these philosophers do not -live at the rate they talk; fer they can flatter their superiors, -gather estates, and be as much concerned at the loss of fortune, or -of friends, as other people: as sensible of reproaches, as luxurious -in their eating and drinking, their furniture, their houses; as -magnificent in their plate, servants, and officers; as profuse and -curious in their gardens, etc. Well! and what of all this, or if it -were twenty times more? It is some degree of virtue for a man to -condemn himself; and if he cannot come up to the best, to be yet -better than the worst; and if he cannot wholly subdue his appetites, -however to check and diminish them. If I do not live as I preach, take -notice that I do not speak of myself, but of virtue, nor am I so much -offended with other men’s vices as with my own. All this was objected -to Plato, Epicurus, Zeno; nor is any virtue so sacred as to escape -malevolence. The Cynic Demetrius was a great instance of severity and -mortification; and one that imposed upon himself neither to possess -anything, nor so much as to ask it: and yet he had this _scorn_ put -upon him, that his profession was _poverty_, not _virtue_. Plato is -blamed for _asking_ money; Aristotle for _receiving_ it; Democritus -for _neglecting_ it; Epicurus for _consuming_ it. How happy were we if -we could but come to imitate these men’s vices; for if we knew our own -condition, we should find work enough at home. But we are like people -that are making merry at a play or a tavern when their own houses are -on fire, and yet they know nothing of it. Nay, Cato himself was said to -be a drunkard; but _drunkenness_ itself shall sooner be proved to be -no crime than Cato dishonest. They that demolish temples, and overturn -altars, show their good-will, though they can do the gods no hurt, and -so it fares with those that invade the reputation of great men. - -If the professors of virtue be as the world calls them, avaricious, -libidinous, ambitious—what are they then that have a detestation for -the very name of it: but malicious natures do not want wit to abuse -honester men than themselves. It is the practice of the multitude to -bark at eminent men as little dogs do at strangers; for they look upon -other men’s virtues as the upbraiding of their own wickedness. We -should do well to commend those that are good, if not, let us pass them -over; but, however, let us spare ourselves: for beside the blaspheming -of virtue, our rage is to no purpose. But to return now to my text. - -We are ready enough to limit others but loth to put bonds and -restraints upon ourselves, though we know that many times a greater -evil is cured by a less; and the mind that will not be brought to -virtue by precepts, comes to it frequently by necessity. Let us try a -little to eat upon a joint stool, to serve ourselves, to live within -compass, and accommodate our clothes to the end they were made for. -Occasional experiments of our moderation give us the best proof of -our firmness and virtue. A well-governed appetite is a great part of -liberty, and it is a blessed lot, that since no man can have all things -that he would have, we may all of us forbear desiring what we have not. -It is the office of temperance to overrule us in our pleasures; some -she rejects, others she qualifies and keeps within bounds. Oh! the -delights of rest when a man comes to be weary, and of meat when he is -heartily hungry. - -I have learned (says our author) by one journey how many things we have -that are superfluous, and how easily they might be spared, for when we -are without them upon necessity, we do not so much as feel the want of -them. This is the second blessed day (says he) that my friend and I -have travelled together: one wagon carries ourselves and our servants; -my mattress lies upon the ground and I upon that: our diet answerable -to our lodging, and never without our figs and our table-books. The -muleteer without shoes, and the mules only prove themselves to be alive -by their walking. In this equipage, I am not willing, I perceive, -to own myself, but as often as we happen into better company, I -presently fall a-blushing, which shows that I am not yet confirmed in -those things which I approve and commend. I am not yet come to own my -frugality, for he that is ashamed to be seen in a mean condition would -be proud of a splendid one. I value myself upon what passengers think -of me, and tacitly renounce my principles, whereas I should rather -lift up my voice to be heard by mankind, and tell them “You are all -mad—your minds are set upon superfluities and you value no man for his -virtues.” - -I came one night weary home, and threw myself upon the bed with this -consideration about me: “There is nothing ill that is well taken.” My -baker tells me he has no bread; but, says he, I may get some of your -tenants, though I fear it is not good. No matter, said I, for I will -stay until it be better—that is to say until my stomach will be glad -of worse. It is discretion sometimes to practice temperance and wont -ourselves to a little, for there are many difficulties both of time and -place that may force us upon it. - -When we come to the matter of patrimony, how strictly do we examine -what every man is worth before we will trust him with a penny! “Such a -man,” we cry, “has a great estate, but it is shrewdly encumbered—a very -fair house, but it was built with borrowed money—a numerous family, -but he does not keep touch with his creditors—if his debts were paid -he would not be worth a groat.” Why do we not take the same course in -other things, and examine what every man is worth? It is not enough to -have a long train of attendants, vast possessions, or an incredible -treasure in money and jewels—a man may be poor for all this. There -is only this difference at best—one man borrows of the _usurer_, and -the other of _fortune_. What signifies the carving or gilding of the -chariot; is the master ever the better of it? - -We cannot close up this chapter with a more generous instance of -moderation than that of Fabricius. Pyrrhus tempted him with a sum of -money to betray his country, and Pyrrhus’s physician offered Fabricius, -for a sum of money, to poison his _master_; but he was too brave -either to be overcome by gold, or to be overcome by poison, so that he -refused the money, and advised Pyrrhus to have a care of treachery: -and this too in the heat of a licentious war. Fabricius valued himself -upon his poverty, and was as much above the thought of riches as of -poison. “Live Pyrrhus,” says he “by my friendship; and turn that to -thy satisfaction which was before thy trouble:” that is to say that -Fabricius could not be corrupted. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -CONSTANCY OF MIND GIVES A MAN REPUTATION, AND MAKES HIM HAPPY IN -DESPITE OF ALL MISFORTUNE. - - -The whole duty of man may be reduced to the two points of _abstinence_ -and _patience_; _temperance_ in _prosperity_, and _courage_ in -_adversity_. We have already treated of the former: and the other -follows now in course. - -Epicurus will have it, that a wise man will _bear all injuries_; but -the Stoics will not allow those things to be _injuries_ which Epicurus -calls so. Now, betwixt _these two_, there is the same difference that -we find betwixt two _gladiators_; the one receives wounds, but yet -maintains his ground, the other tells the people, when he is in blood, -that _it is but a scratch_, and will not suffer anybody to part them. -An _injury_ cannot be received, but it must be _done_; but it may be -_done_ and yet not _received_; as a man may be in the water, and not -swim, but if he swims, it is presumed that he is in the water. Or if -a blow or a shot be levelled at us, it may so happen that a man may -miss his aim, or some accident interpose that may divert the mischief. -That which is hurt is passive, and inferior to that which hurts it. -But you will say, that Socrates was condemned and put to death, and -so received an injury; but I answer, that the tyrants _did_ him an -injury, and yet he _received_ none. He that steals anything from me -and hides it in my own house, though I have not lost it, yet he has -stolen it. He that lies with his own wife, and takes her for another -woman, though the woman be honest, the man is an adulterer. Suppose a -man gives me a draught of poison and it proves not strong enough to -kill me, his guilt is nevertheless for the disappointment. He that -makes a pass at me is as much a murderer, though I put it by, as if he -had struck me to the heart. It is the intention, not the effect, that -makes the wickedness. He is a thief that has the will of killing and -slaying, before his hand is dipt in blood; as it is sacrilege, the very -intention of laying violent hands upon holy things. If a philosopher -be exposed to torments, the ax over his head, his body wounded, his -guts in his hands, I will allow him to groan; for virtue itself cannot -divest him of the nature of a man; but if his mind stand firm, he has -discharged his part. A great mind enables a man to maintain his station -with honor; so that he only makes use of what he meets in his way, as a -pilgrim that would fain be at his journey’s end. - -It is the excellency of a great mind to _ask_ nothing, and to _want_ -nothing; and to say, “I will have nothing to do with fortune, that -repulses Cato, and prefers Vatinius.” He that quits his hold, -and accounts anything good that is not honest, runs gaping after -casualties, spends his days in anxiety and vain expectation, that -man is miserable. And yet it is hard, you will say, to be banished -or cast into prison: nay, what if it were to be burnt, or any other -way destroyed? We have examples in all ages and cases, of great men -that have triumphed over all misfortunes. Metellus suffered exile -resolutely, Rutilius cheerfully; Socrates disputed in the dungeon; and -though he might have made his escape, refused it; to show the world how -easy a thing it was to subdue the two great terrors of mankind, _death_ -and a _jail_. Or what shall we say of Mucius Scevola, a man only of -a military courage, and without the help either of philosophy or -letters? who, when he found that he had killed the Secretary instead of -Porsenna, (the prince,) burnt his right hand to ashes for the mistake; -and held his arm in the flame until it was taken away by his very -enemies. Porsenna did more easily pardon Mucius for his intent to kill -him than Mucius forgave _himself_ for missing of his aim. He might have -a luckier thing, but never a braver. - -Did not Cato, in the last night of his life, take Plato to bed with -him, with his sword at his bed’s head; the one that he might have death -at his will, the other, that he might have it in his power; being -resolved that no man should be able to say, either that he killed or -that he saved Cato? So soon as he had composed his thoughts, he took -his sword; “Fortune,” says he, “I have hitherto fought for my country’s -liberty, and for my own, and only that I might live free among freemen; -but the cause is now lost, and Cato safe.” With that word he cast -himself upon his sword; and after the physicians that pressed in upon -him had bound up his wound, he tore it up again, and expired with the -same greatness of soul that he lived. But these are the examples, you -will say, of men famous in their generations. - -Let us but consult history, and we shall find, even in the most -effeminate of nations, and the most dissolute of times, men of all -degrees, ages, and fortunes, nay, even women themselves, that have -overcome the fear of death: which, in truth, is so little to be -feared, that duly considered, it is one of the greatest benefits of -nature. It was as great an honor for Cato, when his party was broken, -that he himself stood his ground, as it would have been if he had -carried the day, and settled an universal peace: for, it is an equal -prudence, to make the best of a bad game, and to manage a good one. The -day that he was _repulsed_, he _played_, and the night that he _killed_ -himself, he _read_, as valuing the loss of his life, and the missing of -an office at the same rate. People, I know, are apt to pronounce upon -other men’s infirmities by the measure of their own, and to think it -impossible that a man should be content to be burnt, wounded, killed, -or shackled, though in some cases he may. It is only for a great mind -to judge of great things; for otherwise, that which is our infirmity -will seem to be another body’s, as a straight stick in the water -appears to be crooked: he that yields, draws upon his own head his -own ruin; for we are sure to get the better of Fortune, if we do but -struggle with her. Fencers and wrestlers, we see what blows and bruises -they endure, not only for honor, but for exercise. If we turn our backs -once, we are routed and pursued; that man only is happy that draws -good out of evil, that stands fast in his judgment, and unmoved by any -external violence; or however, so little moved, that the keenest arrow -in the quiver of Fortune is but as the prick of a needle to him rather -than a wound; and all her other weapons fall upon him only as hail upon -the roof of a house, that crackles and skips off again, without any -damage to the inhabitant. - -A generous and clear-sighted young man will take it for a happiness to -encounter ill fortune. It is nothing for a man to hold up his head in -a calm; but to maintain his post when all others have quitted their -ground, and there to stand upright where other men are beaten down, -this is divine and praiseworthy. What ill is there in torments, or in -those things which we commonly account grievous crosses? The great evil -is the want of courage, the bowing and submitting to them, which can -never happen to a wise man; for he stands upright under any weight; -nothing that is to be borne displeases him; he knows his strength, and -whatsoever may be any man’s lot, he never complains of, if it be his -own. Nature, he says, deceives nobody; she does not tell us whether -our children shall be fair or foul, wise or foolish, good subjects or -traitors, nor whether our fortune shall be good or bad. We must not -judge of a man by his ornaments, but strip him of all the advantages -and the impostures of Fortune, nay, of his very body too, and look into -his mind. If he can see a naked sword at his eyes without so much as -winking; if he make it a thing indifferent to him whether his life go -out at his throat or at his mouth; if he can hear himself sentenced to -torments or exiles, and under the very hand of the executioner, says -thus to himself, “All this I am provided for, and it is no more than -a man that is to suffer the fate of humanity.” This is the temper of -mind that speaks a man happy; and without this, all the confluences -of external comforts signify no more than the personating of a king -upon the stage; when the curtain is drawn, we are players again. Not -that I pretend to exempt a wise man out of a number of men, as if he -had no sense of pain; but I reckon him as compounded of body and soul; -the body is irrational, and may be galled, burnt, tortured; but the -rational part is fearless, invincible, and not to be shaken. This -it is that I reckon upon as the supreme good of man; which until it -be perfected, is but an unsteady agitation of thought, and in the -perfection an immovable stability. It is not in our contentions with -Fortune as in those of the theatre, where we may throw down our arms, -and pray for quarter; but here we must die firm and resolute. There -needs no encouragement to those things which we are inclined to by -a natural instinct, as the preservation of ourselves with ease and -pleasure; but if it comes to the trial of our faith by torments, or of -our courage by wounds, these are difficulties that we must be armed -against by philosophy and precept; and yet all this is no more than -what we were born to, and no matter of wonder at all; so that a wise -man prepares himself for it, as expecting whatsoever _may be will be_. -My body is frail, and liable not only to the impressions of violence, -but to afflictions also, that naturally succeed our pleasures. Full -meals bring crudities; whoring and drinking make the hands to shake -and the knees to tremble. It is only the surprise and newness of the -thing which makes that misfortune terrible, which, by premeditation, -might be made easy to us: for that which some people make light by -sufferance, others do by foresight. Whatsoever is necessary, we must -bear patiently. It is no new thing to die, no new thing to mourn, and -no new thing to be merry again. Must I be _poor_? I shall have company: -in _banishment_? I will think myself born there. If I _die_, I shall be -no more sick; and it is a thing I cannot do but once. - -Let us never wonder at anything we are born to; for no man has reason -to complain, where we are all in the same condition. He that escapes -might have suffered; and it is but equal to submit to the law of -mortality. We must undergo the colds of winter, the heats of summer; -the distempers of the air, and the diseases of the body. A wild beast -meets us in one place, and a man that is more brutal in another; we -are here assaulted by fire, there by water. Demetrius was reserved by -Providence for the age he lived in, to show, that neither the times -could corrupt him, nor he reform the people. He was a man of an exact -judgment, steady to his purpose, and of a strong eloquence; not finical -in his words, but his sense was masculine and vehement. He was so -qualified in his life and discourse, that he served both for an example -and a reproach. If fortune should have offered that man the government -and possession of the whole world, upon condition not to lay it down -again, I dare say he would have refused it: and thus have expostulated -the matter with you: “Why should you tempt a freeman to put his -shoulder under a burden; or an honest man to pollute himself with the -dregs of mankind? Why do you offer me the spoils of princes, and of -nations, and the price not only of your blood, but of your souls?” - -It is the part of a great mind to be temperate in prosperity, -resolute in adversity; to despise what the vulgar admire, and to -prefer a mediocrity to an excess. Was not Socrates oppressed with -poverty, labor, nay, the worst of wars in his own family, a fierce -and turbulent woman for his wife? were not his children indocile, and -like their mother? After seven-and-twenty years spent in arms, he -fell under a slavery to the _thirty tyrants_, and most of them his -bitter enemies: he came at last to be sentenced as “a violater of -religion, a corrupter of youth, and a common enemy to God and man.” -After this he was imprisoned, and put to death by poison, which was -all so far from working upon his mind, that it never so much as altered -his countenance. We are to bear ill accidents as unkind seasons, -distempers, or diseases; and why may we not reckon the actions of -wicked men even among those accidents; their deliberations are not -counsels but frauds, snares, and inordinate motions of the mind; and -they are never without a thousand pretences and occasions of doing a -man mischief. They have their informers, their knights of the post; -they can make an interest with powerful men, and one may be robbed -as well upon the bench as upon the highway. They lie in wait for -advantages, and live in perpetual agitation betwixt hope and fear; -whereas he that is truly composed will stand all shocks, either of -violences, flatteries, or menaces, without perturbation. It is an -inward fear that makes us curious after what we hear abroad. - -It is an error to attribute either _good_ or _ill_ to _Fortune_; but -the _matter_ of it we may; and we ourselves are the occasion of it, -being in effect the artificers of our own happiness or misery: for the -mind is above fortune; if that be evil, it makes everything else so -too; but if it be right and sincere, it corrects what is wrong, and -mollifies what is hard, with modesty and courage. There is a great -difference among those that the world calls wise men. Some take up -private resolutions of opposing Fortune, but they cannot go through -with them; for they are either dazzled with splendor on the one hand, -or affrighted with terrors on the other; but there are others that will -close and grapple with Fortune, and still come off victorious. - -Mucius overcame the fire; Regulus, the gibbet; Socrates, poison; -Rutilius, banishment; Cato, death; Fabricius, riches; Tubero, poverty; -and Sextius, honors. But there are some again so delicate, that they -cannot so much as bear a scandalous report; which is the same thing -as if a man should quarrel for being jostled in a crowd, or dashed as -he walks in the streets. He that has a great way to go must expect a -slip, to stumble, and to be tired. To the luxurious man frugality is a -punishment; labor and industry to the sluggard; nay, study itself is a -torment to him; not that these things are hard to us by nature, but we -ourselves are vain and irresolute; nay, we wonder many of us, how any -man can live without wine, or endure to rise so early in a morning. - -A brave man must expect to be tossed; for he is to steer his course -in the teeth of Fortune, and to work against wind and weather. In the -suffering of torments, though there appears but one virtue, a man -exercises many. That which is most eminent is patience, (which is but a -branch of fortitude.) But there is prudence also in the choice of the -action, and in the bearing what we cannot avoid; and there is constancy -in bearing it resolutely: and there is the same concurrence also of -several virtues in other generous undertakings. - -When Leonidas was to carry his 300 men into the Straits of Thermopylæ, -to put a stop to Xerxes’s huge army: “Come, fellow-soldiers,” says he, -“eat your dinners here as if you were to sup in another world.” And -they answered his resolution. How plain and imperious was that short -speech of Cæditius to his men upon a desperate action! and how glorious -a mixture was there in it both of bravery and prudence! “Soldiers,” -says he, “it is necessary for us to go, but it is not necessary for us -to return.” This brief and pertinent harangue was worth ten thousand -of the frivolous cavils and distinctions of the schools, which rather -break the mind than fortify it; and when it is once perplexed and -pricked with difficulties and scruples, there they leave it. Our -passions are numerous and strong, and not to be mastered with quirks -and tricks, as if a man should undertake to defend the cause of God -and man with a bulrush. It was a remarkable piece of honor and policy -together, that action of Cæsar’s upon the taking of Pompey’s cabinet at -the battle of Pharsalia: it is probable that the letters in it might -have discovered who were his friends, and who his enemies; and yet he -burnt it without so much as opening it; esteeming it the noblest way -of pardoning, to keep himself ignorant both of the offender and of -the offense. It was a brave presence of mind also in Alexander, who, -upon advice that his physician Philip intended to poison him, took -the letter of advice in one hand and the cup in the other; delivering -Philip the letter to read while he himself drank the potion. - -Some are of opinion that death gives a man courage to support pain, -and that pain fortifies a man against death: but I say rather, that a -wise man depends upon himself against both, and that he does not either -suffer with patience, in hopes of death, or die willingly, because he -is weary of life; but he bears the one, and waits for the other, and -carries a divine mind through all the accidents of human life. He looks -upon faith and honesty as the most sacred good of mankind, and neither -to be forced by necessity nor corrupted by reward; kill, burn, tear him -in pieces, he will be true to his trust; and the more any man labors -to make him discover a secret, the deeper will he hide it. Resolution -is the inexpugnable defence of human weakness, and it is a wonderful -Providence that attends it. - -Horatius Cocles opposed his single body to the whole army until the -bridge was cut down behind him and then leaped into the river with his -sword in his hand and came off safe to his party. There was a fellow -questioned about a plot upon the life of a tyrant, and put to the -torture to declare his confederates: he named, by one and one, all the -tyrant’s friends that were about him: and still as they were named, -they were put to death: the tyrant asked him at last if there were any -more. “Yes,” says he, “yourself were in the plot; and now you have -never another friend left in the world:” whereupon the tyrant cut the -throats of his own guards. “He is the happy man that is the master of -himself, and triumphs over the fear of death, which has overcome the -conquerors of the world.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -OUR HAPPINESS DEPENDS IN A GREAT MEASURE UPON THE CHOICE OF OUR COMPANY. - - -The comfort of life depends upon conversation. Good offices, and -concord, and human society, is like the working of an arch of stone; -all would fall to the ground if one piece did not support another. -Above all things let us have a tenderness for blood; and it is yet too -little not to hurt, unless we profit one another. We are to relieve -the distressed; to put the wanderer into his way; and to divide our -bread with the hungry: which is but the doing of good to ourselves; -for we are only several members of one great body. Nay, we are all of -a consanguinity; formed of the same materials, and designed to the -same end; this obliges us to a mutual tenderness and converse; and -the other, to live with a regard to equity and justice. The love of -society is natural; but the choice of our company is matter of virtue -and prudence. Noble examples stir us up to noble actions; and the -very history of large and public souls, inspires a man with generous -thoughts. It makes a man long to be in action, and doing something that -the world may be the better for; as protecting the weak, delivering -the oppressed, punishing the insolent. It is a great blessing the very -conscience of giving a good example; beside, that it is the greatest -obligation any man can lay upon the age he lives in. - -He that converses with the proud shall be puffed up; a lustful -acquaintance makes a man lascivious; and the way to secure a man from -wickedness is to withdraw from the examples of it. It is too much to -have them _near_ us, but more to have them _within_ us—ill examples, -pleasure and ease, are, no doubt of it, great corrupters of manners. - -A rocky ground hardens the horse’s hoof; the mountaineer makes the best -soldier; the miner makes the best pioneer, and severity of discipline -fortifies the mind. In all excesses and extremities of good and of ill -fortune, let us have recourse to great examples that have contemned -both. “These are the best instructors that teach in their lives, and -prove their words by their actions.” - -As an ill air may endanger a good constitution, so may a place of ill -example endanger a good man, nay, there are some places that have a -kind of privilege to be licentious, and where luxury and dissolution -of manners seem to be lawful; for great examples give both authority -and excuse to wickedness. Those places are to be avoided as dangerous -to our manners. Hannibal himself was unmanned by the looseness of -Campania, and though a conqueror by his arms, he was overcome by his -pleasures. I would as soon live among butchers as among cooks—not but a -man may be temperate in any place—but to see drunken men staggering up -and down everywhere, and only the spectacle of lust, luxury and excess -before our eyes, it is not safe to expose ourselves to the temptation. -If the victorious Hannibal himself could not resist it, what shall -become of us then that are subdued, and give ground to our lusts -already? He that has to do with an enemy in his breast, has a harder -task upon him than he that is to encounter one in the field; his hazard -is greater if he loses ground, and his duty is perpetual, for he has no -place or time for rest. If I give way to pleasure, I must also yield to -grief, to poverty, to labor, ambition, anger, until I am torn to pieces -by my misfortunes and lusts. But against all this philosophy propounds -a liberty, that is to say, a liberty from the service of accidents and -fortune. There is not anything that does more mischief to mankind than -mercenary masters and philosophy, that do not live as they teach—they -give a scandal to virtue. How can any man expect that a ship should -steer a fortunate course, when the pilot lies wallowing in his own -vomit? It is a usual thing first to learn to do ill ourselves, and then -to instruct others to do so: but that man must needs be very wicked -that has gathered into himself the wickedness of other people. - -The best conversation is with the philosophers—that is to say, with -such of them as teach us matter, not words—that preach to us things -necessary and keep us to the practice of them. There can be no peace in -human life without the contempt of all events. There is nothing that -either puts better thoughts into a man, or sooner sets him right that -is out of the way, than a good companion, for the example has the force -of a precept, and touches the heart with an affection to goodness; and -not only the frequent hearing and seeing of a wise man delights us, but -the very encounter of him suggests profitable contemplation such as a -man finds himself moved with when he goes into a holy place. I will -take more care with _whom_ I eat and drink than _what_, for without a -friend the table is a manger. - -Writing does well, but personal discourse and conversation does better; -for men give great credit to their ears, and take stronger impressions -from example than precept. Cleanthes had never hit Zeno so to the life -if he had not been in with him at all his privacies, if he had not -watched and observed him whether or not he practised as he taught. -Plato got more from Socrates’ _manners_ than from his _words_, and it -was not the _school_, but the company and _familiarity_ of Epicurus -that made Metrodorus, Hermachus and Polyænus so famous. - -Now, though it be by instinct that we covet society, and avoid -solitude, we should yet take this along with us, that the more -acquaintance the more danger: nay, there is not one man of a hundred -that is to be trusted with himself. If company cannot alter us, it may -interrupt us, and he that so much as stops upon the way loses a great -deal of a short life, which we yet make shorter by our inconstancy. If -an enemy were at our heels, what haste should we make!—but death is -so, and yet we never mind it. There is no venturing of tender and easy -natures among the people, for it is odds that they will go over to the -major party. It would, perhaps, shake the constancy of Socrates, Cato, -Lælius, or any of us all, even when our resolutions are at the height, -to stand the shock of vice that presses upon us with a kind of public -authority. - -It is a world of mischief that may be done by one single example of -avarice or luxury. One voluptuous palate makes a great many. A wealthy -neighbor stirs up envy, and a fleering companion moves ill-nature -wherever he comes. What will become of those people then that expose -themselves to a popular violence? which is ill both ways; either if -they comply with the wicked, because they are many, or quarrel with -the multitude because they are not principled alike. The best way is -to retire, and associate only with those that may be the better for -us, and we for them. These respects are mutual; for while we teach, we -learn. To deal freely, I dare not trust myself in the hands of much -company: I never go abroad that I come home again the same man I went -out. Something or other that I had put in order is discomposed; some -passion that I had subdued gets head again; and it is just with our -minds as it is after a long indisposition with our bodies; we are grown -so tender, that the least breath of air exposes us to a relapse. And it -is no wonder if a numerous conversation be dangerous, where there is -scarce any single man but by his discourse, example, or behavior, does -either recommend to us, or imprint in us, or, by a kind of contagion, -insensibly infect us with one vice or other; and the more people -the greater is the peril. Especially let us have a care of public -spectacles where wickedness insinuates itself with pleasure; and, above -all others, let us avoid spectacles of cruelty and blood; and have -nothing to do with those that are perpetually whining and complaining; -there may be faith and kindness there, but no peace. People that are -either sad or fearful, we do commonly, for their own sakes, set a -guard upon them, for fear they should make an ill use of being alone; -especially the imprudent, who are still contriving of mischief, either -for others or for themselves, in cherishing their lusts, or forming -their designs. So much for the choice of a _companion_; we shall now -proceed to that of a _friend_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE BLESSINGS OF FRIENDSHIP. - - -Of all felicities, the most charming is that of a _firm_ and _gentle -friendship_. It sweetens all our cares, dispels our sorrows, and -counsels us in all extremities. Nay, if there were no other comfort in -it than the bare exercise of so generous a virtue, even for that single -reason, a man would not be without it. Beside, that it is a sovereign -antidote against all calamities, even against the fear of death itself. - -But we are not to number our friends by the _visits_ that are made us; -and to confound the decencies of _ceremony_ and _commerce_ with the -offices of _united affections_. Caius Gracchus, and after him Livius -Drusus, were the men that introduced among the Romans the fashion of -separating their visitants; some were taken into their _closet,_ others -were only admitted into the _antechamber_: and some, again, were fain -to wait in the _hall_ perhaps, or in the _court_. So that they had -their _first_, their _second,_ and their _third_ rate friends; but none -of them true: only they are called so in course, as we salute strangers -with some title or other of respect at a venture. There is no depending -upon those men that only take their compliment in their turn, and -rather slip through the door than enter at it. He will find himself in -a great mistake, that either seeks for a friend in a palace, or tries -him at a feast. - -The great difficulty rests in the choice of him; that is to say, in the -first place, let him be virtuous, for vice is contagious, and there -is no trusting the sound and the sick together; and he ought to be a -wise man too, if a body knew where to find him; but in this case, he -that is least ill is best, and the highest degree of human prudence is -only the most venial folly. That friendship where men’s affections are -cemented by an equal and by a common love of goodness, it is not either -hope or fear, or any private interest, that can ever dissolve it: but -we carry it with us to our graves, and lay down our lives for it with -satisfaction. Paulina’s good and mine (says our author) were so wrapped -up together, that in consulting her comfort I provided for my own; -and when I could not prevail upon her to take less care for me, she -prevailed upon me to take more care for myself. - -Some people make it a question, whether is the greatest delight, the -enjoying of an old friendship, or the acquiring of a new one? but it -is in the preparing of a friendship, and in the possession of it, -as it is with the husbandman in sowing and reaping; his delight is -the hope of his labor in the one case, and the fruit of it in the -other. My conversation lies among my books, but yet in the letters -of a friend, methinks I have his company; and when I answer them, I -do not only write, but speak: and, in effect, a friend is an eye, -a heart, a tongue, a hand, at all distances. When friends see one -another personally, they do not see one another as they do when they -are divided, where the meditation dignifies the prospect; but they are -effectually in a great measure absent even when they are present. -Consider their nights apart, their private studies, their separate -employments, and necessary visits; and they are almost as much together -divided as present. True friends are the whole world to one another; -and he that is a friend to himself is also a friend to mankind. Even -in my very studies, the greatest delight I take in what I learn is -the teaching of it to others; for there is no relish, methinks, in -the possession of anything without a partner; nay, if wisdom itself -were offered me upon condition only of keeping it to myself, I should -undoubtedly refuse it. - -Lucilius tells me, that he was written to by a friend, but cautions -me withal not to say anything to him of the affair in question; for -he himself stands upon the same guard. What is this but to affirm and -to deny the same thing in the same breath, in calling a man a friend, -whom we dare not trust as our own soul? For there must be no reserves -in friendship: as much deliberation as you please before the league -is struck, but no doubtings or jealousies after. It is a preposterous -weakness to love a man before we know him, and not to care for him -after. It requires time to consider of a friendship, but the resolution -once taken, entitles him to my very heart. I look upon my thoughts to -be as safe in his breast as in my own: I shall, without any scruple, -make him the confidant of my most secret cares and counsels. - -It goes a great way toward the making of a man faithful, to let him -understand that you think him so: and he that does but so much as -suspect that I will deceive him gives me a kind of right to cozen him. -When I am with my friend, methinks I am alone, and as much at liberty -to speak anything as to think it, and as our hearts are one, so must be -our interest and convenience; for friendship lays all things in common, -and nothing can be good to the one that is ill to the other. I do not -speak of such a community as to destroy one another’s propriety; but as -the father and the mother have two children, not one apiece, but each -of them two. - -But let us have a care, above all things, that our kindness be -rightfully founded; for where there is any other invitation to -friendship than the friendship itself, that friendship will be bought -and sold. He derogates upon the majesty of it that makes it only -dependent upon good fortune. It is a narrow consideration for a man -to please himself in the thought of a friend, “because,” says he, “I -shall have one to help me when I am sick, in prison, or in want.” A -brave man should rather take delight in the contemplation of doing -the same offices for another. He that loves a man for his own sake is -in an error. A friendship of interest cannot last any longer than the -interest itself, and this is the reason that men in prosperity are so -much followed, and when a man goes down the wind, nobody comes near him. - -Temporary friends will never stand the test. One man is forsaken -for fear of profit, another is betrayed. It is a negotiation, not a -friendship, that has an eye to advantages; only, through the corruption -of times, that which was formerly a friendship is now become a design -upon a booty: alter your testament, and you lose your friend. But my -end of friendship is to have one dearer to me than myself, and for -the saving of whose life I would cheerfully lay down my own; taking -this along with me, that only wise men can be friends, others are but -companions; and that there is a great difference also betwixt love and -friendship; the one may sometimes do us hurt, the other always does us -good, for the one friend is hopeful to another in all cases, as well in -prosperity as in affliction. We receive comfort, even at a distance, -from those we love, but then it is light and faint; whereas, presence -and conversation touch us to the quick, especially if we find the man -we love to be such a person as we wish. - -It is usual with princes to reproach the living by commending the dead, -and to praise those people for speaking truth from whom there is no -longer any danger of hearing it. This is Augustus’s case: he was forced -to banish his daughter Julia for her common and prostituted impudence; -and still upon fresh informations, he was often heard to say, “If -Agrippa or Mecenas had been now alive, this would never have been.” But -yet where the fault lay may be a question; for perchance it was his -own, that had rather complain for the want of them than seek for others -as good. The Roman losses by war and by fire, Augustus could quickly -supply and repair; but for the loss of two friends he lamented his -whole life after. - -Xerxes, (a vain and a foolish prince) when he made war upon Greece, one -told him, “It would never come to a battle”;another, “That he would -find only empty cities and countries, for they would not so much as -stand the very fame of his coming;” others soothed him in the opinion -of his _prodigious numbers_; and they all concurred to puff him up to -his destruction; only Damaratus advised him not to depend too much upon -his numbers, for he would rather find them a burden to him than an -advantage: and that three hundred men in the straits of the mountains -would be sufficient to give a check to his whole army; and that such an -accident would undoubtedly turn his vast numbers to his confusion. It -fell out afterward as he foretold, and he had thanks for his fidelity. -A miserable prince, that among so many thousand subjects had but one -servant to tell him the truth! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -HE THAT WOULD BE HAPPY MUST TAKE AN ACCOUNT OF HIS TIME. - - -In the distribution of human life, we find that a great part of it -passes away in _evil doing_; a greater yet in doing just _nothing at -all_: and effectually the whole in doing things _beside our business_. -Some hours we bestow upon ceremony and servile attendances; some upon -our pleasures, and the remainder runs at waste. What a deal of time -is it that we spend in hopes and fears, love and revenge, in balls, -treats, making of interests, suing for offices, soliciting of causes, -and slavish flatteries! The shortness of life, I know, is the common -complaint both of fools and philosophers; as if the time we have were -not sufficient for our duties. But it is with our lives as with our -estates, a good husband makes a little go a great way; whereas, let -the revenue of a prince fall into the hands of a prodigal, it is gone -in a moment. So that the time allotted us, if it were well employed, -were abundantly enough to answer all the ends and purposes of mankind. -But we squander it away in avarice, drink, sleep, luxury, ambition, -fawning addresses, envy, rambling, voyages, impertinent studies, -change of counsels, and the like; and when our portion is spent, we -find the want of it, though we gave no heed to it in the passage: -insomuch, that we have rather _made_ our life short than _found_ it -so. You shall have some people perpetually playing with their fingers, -whistling, humming, and talking to themselves; and others consume their -days in the composing, hearing, or reciting of songs and lampoons. How -many precious morning hours do we spend in consultation with barbers, -tailors, and tire-women, patching and painting betwixt the comb and -the glass! A council must be called upon every hair we cut; and one -curl amiss is as much as a body’s life is worth. The truth is, we are -more solicitous about our dress than our manners, and about the order -of our periwigs than that of the government. At this rate, let us but -discount, out of a life of a hundred years, that time which has been -spent upon popular negotiations, frivolous amours, domestic brawls, -sauntering up and down to no purpose, diseases that we have brought -upon ourselves, and this large extent of life will not amount perhaps -to the minority of another man. It is a _long being_, but perchance a -_short life_. And what is the reason of all this? We live as we should -never die, and without any thought of human frailty, when yet the very -moment we bestow upon this man or thing, may, peradventure, be our -last. But the greatest loss of time is delay and expectation, which -depend upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our -own power; we look forward to that which depends upon Fortune; and so -quit a certainty for an uncertainty. We should do by time as we do by a -torrent, make use of it while we have it, for it will not last always. - -The calamities of human nature may be divided into the _fear of death_, -and the _miseries and errors of life_. And it is the great work of -mankind to master the one, and to rectify the other; and so live as -neither to make life irksome to us, nor death terrible. It should be -our care, before we are old, to live well, and when we are so, to die -well; that we may expect our end without sadness: for it is the duty of -life to prepare ourselves for death; and there is not an hour we live -that does not mind us of our mortality. - -Time runs on, and all things have their fate, though it lies in the -dark. The period is certain to nature, but what am I the better for it -if it be not so to me? We propound travels, arms, adventures, without -ever considering that death lies in the way. Our term is set, and -none of us know how near it is; but we are all of us agreed that the -decree is unchangeable. Why should we wonder to have that befall us -to-day which might have happened to us any minute since we were born? -Let us therefore live as if every moment were to be our last, and set -our accounts right every day that passes over our heads. We are not -ready for death, and therefore we fear it, because we do not know what -will become of us when we are gone, and that consideration strikes us -with an inexplicable terror. The way to avoid this distraction is to -contract our business and our thoughts—when the mind is once settled, -a day or an age is all one to us; and the series of time, which is now -our trouble will be then our delight; for he that is steadily resolved -against all uncertainties, shall never be disturbed with the variety of -them. Let us make haste, therefore, to live, since every day to a wise -man is a new life—for he has done his business the day before, and so -prepared himself for the next, that if it be not his last, he knows -yet that it might have been so. No man enjoys the true taste of life -but he that is willing and ready to quit it. - -The wit of man is not able to express the blindness of human folly in -taking so much more care of our fortunes, our houses, and our money, -than we do of our lives—everybody breaks in upon the one _gratis_, but -we betake ourselves to fire and sword if any man invades the other. -There is no dividing in the case of patrimony, but people share our -time with us at pleasure, so profuse are we of that only thing whereof -we may be honestly covetous. It is a common practice to ask an hour -or two of a friend for such or such a business, and it is as easily -granted, both parties only considering the occasion, and not the thing -itself. They never put time to account, which is the most valuable of -all precious things; but because they do not see it they reckon upon -it as nothing: and yet these easy men when they come to die would give -the whole world for those hours again which they so inconsiderately -cast away before; but there is no recovering of them. If they could -number their days that are yet to come as they can those that are -already past, how would those very people tremble at the apprehension -of death, though a hundred years hence, that never so much as think of -it at present, though they know not but it may take them away the next -immediate minute! - -It is an usual saying “I would give my life for such or such a friend,” -when, at the same time, we do give it without so much as thinking -of it; nay, when that friend is never the better for it, and we -ourselves the worse. Our time is set, and day and night we travel on. -There is no baiting by the way, and it is not in the power of either -prince or people to prolong it. Such is the love of life, that even -those decrepit dotards that have lost the use of it will yet beg the -continuance of it, and make themselves younger than they are, as if -they could cozen even Fate itself! When they fall sick, what promises -of amendment if they escape that bout! What exclamations against the -folly of their misspent time—and yet if they recover, they relapse. No -man takes care to live well, but long; when yet it is in everybody’s -power to do the former, and in no man’s to do the latter. We consume -our lives in providing the very instruments of life, and govern -ourselves still with a regard to the future, so that we do not properly -live, but we are about to live. How great a shame is it to be laying -new foundations of life at our last gasp, and for an old man (that can -only prove his age by his beard,) with one foot in the grave, to go to -school again! While we are young we may learn; our minds are tractable -and our bodies fit for labor and study; but when age comes on, we are -seized with languor and sloth, afflicted with diseases, and at last -we leave the world as ignorant as we came into it—only we _die_ worse -than we were _born_, which is none of Nature’s fault, but ours; for our -fears, suspicions, perfidy, etc., are from ourselves. - -I wish with all my soul that I had thought of my end sooner, but I must -make the more haste now and spur on like those that set out late upon -a journey—it will be better to learn late than not at all—though it be -but only to instruct me how I may leave the stage with honor. - -In the division of life, there is time _present_, _past_, and _to -come_. What we _do_ is _short_, what we _shall do_ is _doubtful_, but -what we _have done_ is _certain_, and out of the power of fortune. The -passage of time is wonderfully quick, and a man must look backward to -see it; and, in that retrospect, he has all past ages at a view; but -the present gives us the slip unperceived. It is but a moment that we -live, and yet we are dividing it into _childhood_, _youth_, _man’s -estate_, and _old age_, all which degrees we bring into that narrow -compass. If we do not watch, we lose our opportunities; if we do not -make haste, we are left behind; our best hours escape us, the worst are -to come. The purest part of our life runs first, and leaves only the -dregs at the bottom; and “that time which is good for nothing else, we -dedicate to virtue;” and only propound to begin to live at an age that -very few people arrive at. What greater folly can there be in the world -than this loss of time, the future being so uncertain, and the damages -so irreparable? If death be necessary, why should any man fear it? and -if the time of it be uncertain, why should not we always expect it? We -should therefore first prepare ourselves by a virtuous life against the -dread of an inevitable death; and it is not for us to put off being -good until such or such a business is over, for one business draws on -another, and we do as good as sow it, one grain produces more. It is -not enough to philosophize when we have nothing else to do, but we must -attend wisdom even to the neglect of all things else; for we are so far -from having time to spare, that the age of the world would be yet too -narrow for our business; nor is it sufficient not to omit it, but we -must not so much as intermit it. - -There is nothing that we can properly call our own but our time, and -yet every body fools us out of it that has a mind to it. If a man -borrows a paltry sum of money, there must be bonds and securities, and -every common civility is charged upon account; but he that has my time, -thinks he owes me nothing for it, though it be a debt that gratitude -itself can never repay. I cannot call any man poor that has enough -still left, be it never so little: it is good advice yet to those that -have the world before them, to play the good husbands betimes, for it -is too late to spare at the bottom, when all is drawn out to the lees. -He that takes away a day from me, takes away what he can never restore -me. But our time is either _forced away_ from us, or _stolen_ from us, -or _lost_; of which the last is the foulest miscarriage. It is in life -as in a journey; a book or a companion brings us to our lodging before -we thought we were half-way. Upon the whole matter we consume ourselves -one upon another, without any regard at all to our own particular. I -do not speak of such as live in notorious scandal, but even those men -themselves, whom the world pronounces happy, are smothered in their -felicities, servants to their professions and clients, and drowned -in their lusts. We are apt to complain of the haughtiness of _great -men_, when yet there is hardly any of them all so proud but that, at -some time or other, a man may yet have access to him, and perhaps a -good word or look into the bargain. Why do we not rather complain of -_ourselves_, for being of all others, even to ourselves, the most deaf -and inaccessible. - -Company and business are great devourers of time, and our vices destroy -our lives as well as our fortunes. The present is but a moment, and -perpetually in flux; the time past, we call to mind when we please, and -it will abide the examination and inspection. But the busy man has -not leisure to look back, or if he has, it is an unpleasant thing to -reflect upon a life to be repented of, whereas the conscience of a good -life puts a man into a secure and perpetual possession of a felicity -never to be disturbed or taken away: but he that has led a wicked life -is afraid of his own memory; and, in the review of himself, he finds -only appetite, avarice, or ambition, instead of virtue. But still he -that is not at leisure many times to live, must, when his fate comes, -whether he will or not, be at leisure to die. Alas! what is time to -eternity? the age of a man to the age of the world? And how much of -this little do we spend in fears, anxieties, tears, childhood! nay, we -sleep away the one half. How great a part of it runs away in luxury -and excess: the ranging of our guests, our servants, and our dishes! -As if we were to eat and drink not for satiety, but ambition. The -nights may well seem short that are so dear bought, and bestowed upon -wine and women; the day is lost in expectation of the night, and the -night in the apprehension of the morning. There is a terror in our very -pleasures; and this vexatious thought in the very height of them, that -_they will not last always_: which is a canker in the delights, even of -the greatest and the most fortunate of men. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -HAPPY IS THE MAN THAT MAY CHOOSE HIS OWN BUSINESS. - - -Oh the blessings of privacy and leisure! The wish of the powerful -and eminent, but the privilege only of inferiors; who are the only -people that live to themselves: nay, the very thought and hope of it -is a consolation, even in the middle of all the tumults and hazards -that attend greatness. It was Augustus’ prayer, that he might live to -retire and deliver himself from public business: his discourses were -still pointing that way, and the highest felicity which this mighty -prince had in prospect, was the divesting himself of that illustrious -state, which, how glorious soever in show, had at the bottom of it -only anxiety and care. But it is one thing to retire for pleasure, and -another thing for virtue, which must be active even in that retreat, -and give proof of what it has learned: for a good and a wise man does -in privacy consult the well-being of posterity. Zeno and Chrysippus -did greater things in their studies than if they had led armies, borne -offices, or given laws; which in truth they did, not to one city alone, -but to all mankind: their _quiet_ contributed more to the common -benefit than the _sweat_ and _labor_ of other people. That retreat is -not worth the while which does not afford a man greater and nobler work -than business. There is no slavish attendance upon great officers, -no canvassing for places, no making of parties, no disappointments in -my pretension to this charge, to that regiment, or to such or such a -title, no envy of any man’s favor or fortune; but a calm enjoyment of -the general bounties of Providence in company with a good conscience. -A wise man is never so busy as in the solitary contemplation of God -and the works of Nature. He withdraws himself to attend the service of -future ages: and those counsels which he finds salutary to himself, he -commits to writing for the good of after-times, as we do the receipts -of sovereign antidotes or balsams. He that is well employed in his -study, though he may seem to do nothing at all, does the greatest -things yet of all others, in affairs both human and divine. To supply a -friend with a sum of money, or give my voice for an office, these are -only private and particular obligations: but he that lays down precepts -for the governing of our lives and the moderating of our passions, -obliges human nature not only in the present, but in all succeeding -generations. - -He that would be at quiet, let him repair to his philosophy, a study -that has credit with all sorts of men. The eloquence of the bar, or -whatsoever else addresses to the people, is never without enemies; but -philosophy minds its own business, and even the worst have an esteem -for it. There can never be such a conspiracy against virtue, the world -can never be so wicked, but the very name of a _philosopher_ shall -still continue venerable and sacred. And yet philosophy itself must be -handled modestly and with caution. But what shall we say of Cato then, -for his meddling in the broil of a civil war, and interposing himself -in the quarrel betwixt two enraged princes? He that, when Rome was -split into _two factions_ betwixt Pompey and Cæsar, declared himself -against _both_. I speak this of Cato’s last part; for in his former -time the commonwealth was made unfit for a wise man’s administration. -All he could do then was but bawling and beating of the air: one while -he was lugged and tumbled by the rabble, spit upon and dragged out of -the _forum_, and then again hurried out of the senate-house to prison. -There are some things which we propound originally, and others which -fall in as accessory to another proposition. If a wise man retire, it -is no matter whether he does it because the commonwealth was wanting to -him, or because he was wanting to it. But to what republic shall a man -betake himself? Not to Athens, where Socrates was condemned, and whence -Aristotle fled, for fear he should have been condemned too, and where -virtue was oppressed by envy: not to Carthage, where there was nothing -but tyranny, injustice, cruelty, and ingratitude. There is scarce any -government to be found that will either endure a wise man, or which a -wise man will endure; so that privacy is made necessary, because the -only thing which is better is nowhere to be had. A man may commend -navigation, and yet caution us against those seas that are troublesome -and dangerous: so that he does as good as command me not to weigh -anchor that commends sailing only upon these terms. He that is a slave -to business is the most wretched of slaves. - -“But how shall I get myself at liberty? We can run any hazards for -money: take any pains for honor; and why do we not venture also -something for leisure and freedom? without which we must expect to live -and die in a tumult: for so long as we live in public, business breaks -in upon us, as one billow drives on another; and there is no avoiding -it with either modesty or quiet.” It is a kind of whirlpool, that sucks -a man in, and he can never disengage himself. A man of business cannot -in truth be said to live, and not one of a thousand understands how to -do it: for how to live, and how to die, is the lesson of every moment -of our lives: all other arts have their masters. - -As a busy life is always a miserable life, so it is the greatest of all -miseries to be perpetually employed upon _other people’s business_; -for to sleep, to eat, to drink, at their hour; to walk their pace, and -to love and hate as they do, is the vilest of servitudes. Now, though -business must be quitted, let it not be done unseasonably; the longer -we defer it, the more we endanger our liberty; and yet we must no more -fly before the time than linger when the time comes: or, however, we -must not love business for business’ sake, nor indeed do we, but for -the profit that goes along with it: for we love the reward of misery, -though we hate the misery itself. Many people, I know, seek business -without choosing it, and they are even weary of their lives without it -for want of entertainment in their own thoughts; the hours are long -and hateful to them when they are alone, and they seem as short on the -other side in their debauches. When they are no longer _candidates_, -they are _suffragans_; when they give over other people’s business, -they do their own; and pretend business, but they make it, and value -themselves upon being thought men of employment. - -Liberty is the thing which they are perpetually a-wishing, and never -come to obtain: a thing never to be bought nor sold, but a man must -ask it of himself, and give it to himself. He that has given proof of -his virtue in public, should do well to make a trial of it in private -also. It is not that solitude, or a country life, teaches innocence or -frugality; but vice falls of itself, without witnesses and spectators, -for the thing it designs is to be taken notice of. Did ever any man -put on rich clothes not to be seen? or spread the pomp of his luxury -where nobody was to take notice of it? If it were not for admirers and -spectators there would be no temptations to excess: the very keeping -of us from exposing them cures us of desiring them, for vanity and -intemperance are fed with ostentation. - -He that has lived at sea in a storm, let him retire and die in the -haven; but let his retreat be without ostentation, and wherein he may -enjoy himself with a good conscience, without the want, the fear, the -hatred, or the desire, of anything, not out of malevolent detestation -of mankind, but for satisfaction and repose. He that shuns both -business and men, either out of envy, or any other discontent, his -retreat is but to the life of a mole: nor does he live to himself, as -a wise man does, but to his bed, his belly, and his lusts. Many people -seem to retire out of a weariness of public affairs, and the trouble of -disappointments; and yet ambition finds them out even in that recess -into which fear and weariness had cast them; and so does luxury, pride, -and most of the distempers of a public life. - -There are many that lie close, not that they may live securely, but -that they may transgress more privately: it is their conscience, not -their states, that makes them keep a porter; for they live at such a -rate, that to be seen before they be aware is to be detected. Crates -saw a young man walking by himself; “Have a care,” says he “of lewd -company.” Some men are busy in idleness, and make peace more laborious -and troublesome than war; nay, and more wicked too, when they bestow it -upon such lusts, and other vices, which even the license of a military -life would not endure. We cannot call these people men of leisure that -are wholly taken up with their pleasures. A troublesome life is much -to be preferred before a slothful one; and it is a strange thing, -methinks, that any man should fear death that has buried himself alive; -as privacy without letters is but the burying of a man quick. - -There are some that make a boast of their retreat, which is but a kind -of lazy ambition; they retire to make people talk of them, whereas I -would rather withdraw to speak to myself. And what shall that be, but -that which we are apt to speak of one another? I will speak ill of -myself: I will examine, accuse, and punish my infirmities. I have no -design to be cried up for a great man, that has renounced the world in -a contempt of the vanity and madness of human life; I blame nobody but -myself, and I address only to myself. He that comes to me for help is -mistaken, for I am not a physician, but a patient: and I shall be well -enough content to have it said, when any man leaves me, “I took him -for a happy and a learned man, and truly I find no such matter.” I had -rather have my retreat pardoned than envied. - -There are some creatures that confound their footing about their dens, -that they may not be found out, and so should a wise man in the case of -his retirement. When the door is open, the thief passes it by as not -worth his while; but when it is bolted and sealed, it is a temptation -for people to be prying. To have it said “that such a one is never -out of his study, and sees nobody,” etc.; this furnishes matter for -discourse. He that makes his retirement too strict and severe, does as -good as call company to take notice of it. - -Every man knows his own constitution; one eases his stomach by -vomit—another supports it with good nourishment; he that has the gout -forbears wine and bathing, and every man applies to the part that is -most infirm. He that shows a gouty foot, a lame hand, or contracted -nerves, shall be permitted to lie still and attend his cure; and why -not so in the vices of his mind! We must discharge all impediments and -make way for philosophy, as a study inconsistent with common business. -To all other things we must deny ourselves openly and frankly, when we -are sick refuse visits, keep ourselves close, and lay aside all public -cares, and shall we not do as much when we philosophize? Business is -the drudgery of the world, and only fit for slaves, but contemplation -is the work of wise men. Not but that solitude and company may be -allowed to take their turns: the one creates in us the love of mankind, -the other that of ourselves; solitude relieves us when we are sick of -company, and conversation when we are weary of being alone; so that -the one cures the other. “There is no man,” in fine, “so miserable as -he that is at a loss how to spend his time.” He is restless in his -thoughts, unsteady in his counsels, dissatisfied with the present, -solicitous for the future; whereas he that prudently computes his -hours and his business, does not only fortify himself against the -common accidents of life, but improves the most rigorous dispensations -of Providence to his comfort, and stands firm under all the trials of -human weakness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH MAKES ALL THE MISERIES OF LIFE EASY TO US. - - -It is a hard task to master the natural desire of life by a -philosophical contempt of death, and to convince the world that there -is no hurt in it, and crush an opinion that was brought up with us from -our cradles. What help? what encouragement? what shall we say to human -frailty, to carry it fearless through the fury of flames, and upon the -points of swords? what rhetoric shall we use to bear down the universal -consent of people to so dangerous an error? The captious and superfine -subtleties of the schools will never do the work: these speak many -things sharp, but utterly unnecessary, and void of effect. The truth -of it is, there is but one chain that holds all the world in bondage, -and that is the love of life. It is not that I propound the making of -death so indifferent to us, as it is, whether a man’s hairs be even or -odd; for what with self-love, and an implanted desire in every being of -preserving itself, and a long acquaintance betwixt the soul and body, -friends may be loth to part, and death may carry an appearance of evil, -though in truth it is itself no evil at all. Beside, that we are to go -to a strange place in the dark, and under great uncertainties of our -future state; so that people die in terror, because they do not know -whither they are to go, and they are apt to fancy the worst of what -they do not understand: these thoughts are indeed sufficient to startle -a man of great resolution without a wonderful support from above. And, -moreover, our natural scruples and infirmities are assisted by the wits -and fancies of all ages, in their infamous and horrid description of -another world: nay, taking it for granted that there will be no reward -and punishment, they are yet more afraid of an annihilation than of -hell itself. - -But what is it we fear? “Oh! it is a terrible thing to die.” Well; -and is it not better once to suffer it, than always to fear it? The -earth itself suffers both _with_ me, and _before_ me. How many islands -are swallowed up in the sea! how many towns do we sail over! nay, how -many nations are wholly lost, either by inundations or earthquakes! -and shall I be afraid of my little body? why should I, that am sure -to die, and that all other things are mortal, be fearful of coming to -my last gasp myself? It is the fear of death that makes us base, and -troubles and destroys the life we would preserve; that aggravates all -circumstances, and makes them formidable. We depend but upon a flying -moment. Die we must; but when? what is that to us? It is the law of -Nature, the tribute of mortals, and the remedy of all evils. It is only -the disguise that affrights us; as children that are terrified with -a vizor. Take away the instruments of death, the fire, the ax, the -guards, the executioners, the whips, and the racks; take away the pomp, -I say, and the circumstances that accompany it, and death is no more -than what my slave yesterday contemned; the pain is nothing to a fit of -the stone; if it be tolerable, it is not great; and if intolerable, -it cannot last long. There is nothing that Nature has made necessary -which is more easy than death: we are longer a-coming into the world -than going out of it; and there is not any minute of our lives wherein -we may not reasonably expect it. Nay, it is but a moment’s work, the -parting of the soul and body. What a shame is it then to stand in fear -of anything so long that is over so soon! - -Nor is it any great matter to overcome this fear; for we have examples -as well of the _meanest_ of men as of the greatest that have done it. -There was a fellow to be exposed upon the theatre, who in disdain -thrust a stick down his own throat, and choked himself; and another on -the same occasion, pretended to nod upon the chariot, as if he were -asleep, cast his head betwixt the spokes of the wheel, and kept his -seat until his neck was broken. Caligula, upon a dispute with Canius -Julius; “Do not flatter yourself,” says he, “for I have given orders to -put you to death.” “I thank your most gracious Majesty for it,” says -Canius, giving to understand, perhaps, that under his government death -was a mercy: for he knew that Caligula seldom failed of being as good -as his word in that case. He was at play when the officer carried him -away to his execution, and beckoning to the centurion, “Pray,” says -he, “will you bear me witness, when I am dead and gone, that I had the -better of the game?” He was a man exceedingly beloved and lamented, -and, for a farewell, after he had preached moderation to his friends; -“You,” says he, “are here disputing about the immortality of the soul, -and I am now going to learn the truth of it. If I discover any thing -upon that point, you shall hear of it.” Nay, the most timorous of -creatures, when they see there is no escaping, they oppose themselves -to all dangers; the despair gives them courage, and the necessity -overcomes the fear. Socrates was thirty days in prison after his -sentence, and had time enough to have starved himself, and so to have -prevented the poison: but he gave the world the blessing of his life -as long as he could, and took that fatal draught in the meditation and -contempt of death. - -Marcellinus, in a deliberation upon death, called several of his -friends about him: one was fearful, and advised what he himself would -have done in the case; another gave the counsel which he thought -Marcellinus would like best; but a friend of his that was a Stoic, and -a stout man, reasoned the matter to him after this manner; Marcellinus -do not trouble yourself, as if it were such a mighty business that you -have now in hand; it is nothing to _live_; all your servants do it, -nay, your very beasts too; but to die honestly and resolutely, that -is a great point. Consider with yourself there is nothing pleasant in -life but what you have tasted already, and that which is to come is -but the same over again; and how many men are there in the world that -rather choose to die than to suffer the nauseous tediousness of the -repetition? Upon which discourse he fasted himself to death. It was -the custom of Pacuvius to solemnize, in a kind of pageantry, every day -his own funeral. When he had swilled and gormandized to a luxurious -and beastly excess, he was carried away from supper to bed with this -song and acclamation, “He has lived, he has lived.” That which he did -in lewdness, will become us to do in sobriety and prudence. If it -shall please God to add another day to our lives, let us thankfully -receive it; but, however, it is our happiest and securest course so -to compose ourselves to-night, that we may have no anxious dependence -on to-morrow. “He that can say, I have lived this day, makes the next -clear again.” - -Death is the worst that either the severity of laws or the cruelty of -tyrants can impose upon us; and it is the utmost extent of the dominion -of Fortune. He that is fortified against that, must, consequently, be -superior to all other difficulties that are put in the way to it. Nay, -and on some occasions, it requires more courage to live than to die. -He that is not prepared for death shall be perpetually troubled, as -well with vain apprehensions, as with real dangers. It is not death -itself that is dreadful, but the fear of it that goes before it. When -the mind is under a consternation, there is no state of life that can -please us; for we do not so endeavor to avoid mischiefs as to run away -from them, and the greatest slaughter is upon a flying enemy. Had not -a man better breathe out his last once for all, than lie agonizing -in pains, consuming by inches, losing of his blood by drops? and yet -how many are there that are ready to betray their country, and their -friends, and to prostitute their very wives and daughters, to preserve -a miserable carcass! Madmen and children have no apprehension of death; -and it were a shame that our reason should not do as much toward our -security as their folly. But the great matter is to die considerately -and cheerfully upon the foundation of virtue; for life in itself is -irksome, and only eating and drinking in a circle. - -How many are there that, betwixt the apprehensions of death and the -miseries of life, are at their wits’ end what to do with themselves? -Wherefore let us fortify ourselves against those calamities from which -the prince is no more exempt than the beggar. Pompey the Great had his -head taken off by a boy and a eunuch, (young Ptolemy and Photinus.) -Caligula commanded the tribune Dæcimus to kill Lepidus; and another -tribune (Chæreus) did as much for Caligula. Never was a man so great -but he was as liable to suffer mischief as he was able to do it. Has -not a thief, or an enemy, your throat at his mercy? nay, and the -meanest of servants has the power of life and death over his master; -for whosoever contemns his own life may be master of another body’s. -You will find in story, that the displeasure of servants has been as -fatal as that of tyrants: and what matters it the power of him we -fear, when the thing we fear is in every body’s power? Suppose I fall -into the hands of an enemy, and the conqueror condemns me to be led -in triumph; it is but carrying me thither whither I should have gone -without him, that is to say, toward death, whither I have been marching -ever since I was born. It is the fear of our last hour that disquiets -all the rest. By the justice of all constitutions, mankind is condemned -to a capital punishment; now, how despicable would that man appear, -who, being sentenced to death in common with the whole world, should -only petition that he might be the last man brought to the block? - -Some men are particularly afraid of thunder, and yet extremely careless -of other and of greater dangers: as if that were all they have to -fear. Will not a sword, a stone, a fever, do the work as well? Suppose -the bolt should hit us, it were yet braver to die with a stroke than -with the bare apprehension of it: beside the vanity of imagining -that heaven and earth should be put into such a disorder only for the -death of one man. A good and a brave man is not moved with lightning, -tempest, or earthquakes; but perhaps he would voluntarily plunge -himself into that gulf, where otherwise he should only fall. The -cutting of a corn, or the swallowing of a fly, is enough to dispatch a -man; and it is no matter how great that is that brings me to my death, -so long as death itself is but little. Life is a small matter; but it -is a matter of importance to contemn it. Nature, that begat us, expels -us, and a better and a safer place is provided for us. And what is -death but a ceasing to be what we were before? We are kindled and put -out: to cease to be, and not to begin to be, is the same thing. We die -daily, and while we are growing, our life decreases; every moment that -passes takes away part of it; all that is past is lost; nay, we divide -with death the very instant that we live. As the last sand in the glass -does not measure the hour, but finishes it; so the last moment that -we live does not make up death, but concludes. There are some that -pray more earnestly for death than we do for life; but it is better to -receive it cheerfully when it comes than to hasten it before the time. - -“But what is it that we would live any longer for?” Not for our -pleasures; for those we have tasted over and over, even to satiety: so -that there is no point of luxury that is new to us. “But a man would be -loth to leave his country and his friends behind him;” that is to say, -he would have them go first; for that is the least part of his care. -“Well; but I would fain live to do more good, and discharge myself -in the offices of life;” as if to die were not the duty of every man -that lives. We are loth to leave our possessions; and no man swims -well with his luggage. We are all of us equally fearful of death, and -ignorant of life; but what can be more shameful than to be solicitous -upon the brink of security? If death be at any time to be feared, it -is always to be feared; but the way never to fear it, is to be often -thinking of it. To what end is it to put off for a little while that -which we cannot avoid? He that dies does but follow him that is dead. -“Why are we then so long afraid of that which is so little awhile of -doing?” How miserable are those people that spend their lives in the -dismal apprehensions of death! for they are beset on all hands, and -every minute in dread of a surprise. We must therefore look about us, -as if we were in an enemy’s country; and consider our last hour, not as -a punishment, but as the law of Nature: the fear of it is a continual -palpitation of the heart, and he that overcomes that terror shall never -be troubled with any other. - -Life is a navigation; we are perpetually wallowing and dashing one -against another; sometimes we suffer shipwreck, but we are always in -danger and in expectation of it. And what is it when it comes, but -either the end of a journey, or a passage? It is as great a folly to -fear _death_ as to fear _old age_; nay, as to fear life itself; for he -that would not die ought not to live, since death is the condition of -life. Beside that it is a madness to fear a thing that is certain; for -where there is no doubt, there is no place for fear. - -We are still chiding of Fate, and even those that exact the most -rigorous justice betwixt man and man are yet themselves unjust to -Providence. “Why was such a one taken away in the prime of his years?” -As if it were the number of years that makes death easy to us, and not -the temper of the mind. He that would live a little longer to-day, -would be as loth to die a hundred years hence. But which is more -reasonable for us to obey Nature, or for Nature to obey us? Go we must -at last, and no matter how soon. It is the work of Fate to make us live -long, but it is the business of virtue to make a short life sufficient. -Life is to be measured by action, not by time; a man may die old at -thirty, and young at fourscore: nay, the one lives after death, and -the other perished before he died. I look upon age among the effects -of chance. How long I shall live is in the power of others, but it is -in my own how well. The largest space of time is to live till a man is -wise. He that dies of old age does no more than go to bed when he is -weary. Death is the test of life, and it is that only which discovers -what we are, and distinguishes betwixt ostentation and virtue. A man -may dispute, cite great authorities, talk learnedly, huff it out, and -yet be rotten at heart. But let us soberly attend our business: and -since it is uncertain _when_, or _where_, we shall die, let us look for -death in all places, and at all times: we can never study that point -too much, which we can never come to experiment whether we know it or -not. It is a blessed thing to dispatch the business of life before we -die, and then to expect death in the possession of a happy life. He is -the great man who is willing to die when his life is pleasant to him. -An honest life is not a greater good than an honest death. How many -brave young men, by an instinct of Nature, are carried on to great -actions, and even to the contempt of all hazards! - -It is childish to go out of the world groaning and wailing as we came -into it. Our bodies must be thrown away, as the secundine that wraps -up the infant, the other being only the covering of the soul; we shall -then discover the secrets of Nature; the darkness shall be discussed, -and our souls irradiated with light and glory: a glory without a -shadow; a glory that shall surround us, and from whence we shall look -down and see day and night beneath us. If we cannot lift up our eyes -toward the lamp of heaven without dazzling, what shall we do when we -come to behold the divine light in its illustrious original? That death -which we so much dread and decline, is not the determination, but the -intermission of a life, which will return again. All those things, -that are the very cause of life, are the way to death: we fear it as -we do fame; but it is a great folly to fear words. Some people are so -impatient of life, that they are still wishing for death; but he that -wishes to die does not desire it: let us rather wait God’s pleasure, -and pray for health and life. If we have a mind to live, why do we -wish to die? If we have a mind to die, we may do it without talking -of it. Men are a great deal more resolute in the article of _death_ -itself than they are about the circumstances of it: for it gives a man -courage to consider that his fate is inevitable: the slow approaches of -death are the most troublesome to us; as we see many a gladiator, who -upon his wounds, will direct his adversary’s weapon to his very heart, -though but timorous perhaps in the combat. There are some that have not -the heart either to live or die; that is a sad case. But this we are -sure of, “the fear of death is a continual slavery, as the contempt of -it is certain liberty.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -CONSOLATIONS AGAINST DEATH, FROM THE PROVIDENCE AND THE NECESSITY OF IT. - - -This life is only a prelude to eternity, where we are to expect another -original, and another state of things; we have no prospect of heaven -here but at a distance; let us therefore expect our last and decretory -hour with courage. The last (I say) to our bodies, but not to our -minds: our luggage we leave behind us, and return as naked out of the -world as we came into it. The day which we fear as our last is but -the birth-day of our eternity; and it is the only way to it. So that -what we fear as a rock, proves to be but a port, in many cases to be -desired, never to be refused; and he that dies young has only made a -quick voyage of it. Some are becalmed, others cut it away before wind; -and we live just as we sail: first, we rub our childhood out of sight; -our youth next; and then our middle age: after that follows old age, -and brings us to the common end of mankind. - -It is a great providence that we have more ways out of the world than -we have into it. Our security stands upon a point, the very article -of death. It draws a great many blessings into a very narrow compass: -and although the fruit of it does not seem to extend to the defunct, -yet the difficulty of it is more than balanced by the contemplation of -the future. Nay, suppose that all the business of this world should be -forgotten, or my memory, traduced, what is all this to me? “I have done -my duty.” Undoubtedly that which puts an end to all other evils, cannot -be a very great evil itself, and yet it is no easy thing for flesh and -blood to despise life. What if death comes? If it does not stay with us -why should we fear it? One hangs himself for a mistress; another leaps -the garret-window to avoid a choleric master; a third runs away and -stabs himself, rather than he will be brought back again. We see the -force even of our infirmities, and shall we not then do greater things -for the love of virtue? To suffer death is but the law of nature; -and it is a great comfort that it can be done but once; in the very -convulsions of it we have this consolation, that our pain is near an -end, and that it frees us from all the miseries of life. - -What it is we know not, and it were rash to condemn what we do not -understand; but this we presume, either that we shall pass out of this -into a better life, where we shall live with tranquillity and splendor, -in diviner mansions, or else return to our first principles, free from -the sense of any inconvenience. There is nothing immortal, nor many -things lasting; by but divers ways everything comes to an end. What -an arrogance is it then, when the world itself stands condemned to a -dissolution, that man alone should expect to live forever! It is unjust -not to allow unto the giver the power of disposing of his own bounty, -and a folly only to value the present. Death is as much a debt as -money, and life is but a journey towards it: some dispatch it sooner, -others later, but we must all have the same period. The thunderbolt is -undoubtedly just that draws even from those that are struck with it a -veneration. - -A great soul takes no delight in staying with the body: it considers -whence it came, and knows whither it is to go. The day will come that -shall separate this mixture of soul and body, of divine and human; my -body I will leave where I found it, my soul I will restore to heaven, -which would have been there already, but for the clog that keeps it -down: and beside, how many men have been the worse for longer living, -that might have died with reputation if they had been sooner taken -away! How many disappointments of hopeful youths, that have proved -dissolute men! Over and above the ruins, shipwrecks, torments, prisons, -that attend long life; a blessing so deceitful, that if a child were -in condition to judge of it, and at liberty to refuse it, he would not -take it. - -What Providence has made necessary, human prudence should comply with -cheerfully: as there is a necessity of death, so that necessity is -equal and invincible. No man has cause of complaint for that which -every man must suffer as well as himself. When we _should_ die, we -_will not_, and when we _would not_ we _must_: but our fate is fixed, -and unavoidable is the decree. Why do we then stand trembling when -the time comes? Why do we not as well lament that we did not live a -thousand years ago, as that we shall not be alive a thousand years -hence? It is but traveling the great road, and to the place whither we -must all go at last. It is but submitting to the law of Nature, and to -that lot which the whole world has suffered that is gone before us; and -so must they too that are to come after us. Nay, how many thousands, -when our time comes, will expire in the same moment with us! He that -will not follow shall be drawn by force: and is it not much better now -to do that willingly which we shall otherwise be made to do in spite of -our hearts? - -The sons of mortal parents must expect a mortal posterity—death is -the end of great and small. We are born helpless, and exposed to the -injuries of all creatures and of all weathers. The very necessaries -of life are deadly to us; we meet with our fate in our dishes, in -our cups, and in the very air we breathe; nay, our very birth is -inauspicious, for we come into the world weeping, and in the middle of -our designs, while we are meditating great matters, and stretching of -our thoughts to after ages, death cuts us off, and our longest date is -only the revolution of a few years. One man dies at the table; another -goes away in his sleep, a third in his mistress’s arms, a fourth is -stabbed, another is stung with an adder, or crushed with the fall of -a house. We have several ways to our end, but the end itself, which -is death, is still the same. Whether we die by a sword, by a halter, -by a potion, or by a disease, it is all but _death_. A child dies in -the swaddling-clouts, and an old man at a hundred—they are both mortal -alike, though the one goes sooner than the other. All that lies betwixt -the cradle and the grave is uncertain. If we compute the _troubles_, -the life even of a child is long: if the _sweetness_ of the _passage_, -that of an old man is short; the whole is slippery and deceitful, and -only death certain; and yet all people complain of that which never -deceived any man. Senecio raised himself from a small beginning to a -vast fortune, being very well skilled in the faculties both of getting -and of keeping, and either of them was sufficient for the doing of his -business. He was a man infinitely careful both of his patrimony and of -his body. He gave me a morning’s visit, (says our author,) and after -that visit he went away and spent the rest of the day with a friend of -his that was desperately sick. At night, he was merry at supper, and -seized immediately after with a quinsy which dispatched him in a few -hours. This man that had money at use in all places, and in the very -course and height of his prosperity was thus cut off. How foolish a -thing is it then for a man to flatter himself with long hopes, and to -pretend to dispose of the future: nay, the very present slips through -our fingers, and there is not that moment which we can call our own. - -How vain a thing is it for us to enter upon projects, and to say to -ourselves, “Well, I will go build, purchase, discharge such offices, -settle my affairs, and then retire!” We are all of us born to the same -casualties—all equally frail and uncertain of to-morrow. At the very -altar where we pray for life, we learn to die, by seeing the sacrifices -killed before us. But there is no need of a wound, or searching the -heart for it, when the noose of a cord, or the smothering of a pillow -will do the work. All things have their seasons—they begin, they -increase, and they die. The heavens and the earth grow old, and are -appointed their periods. - -That which we call _death_ is but a pause or suspension; and, in -truth, a progress to life, only our thoughts look downward upon the -body, and not forward upon things to come. All things under the sun -are mortal—cities—empires—and the time will come when it shall be a -question where they were, and, perchance, whether ever they had a -being or not. Some will be destroyed by war, others by luxury, fire, -inundations, earthquakes—why should it trouble me then to die, as a -forerunner of an universal dissolution? A great mind submits itself to -God, and suffers willingly what the law of the universe will otherwise -bring to pass upon necessity. - -That good old man Bassus, (though with one foot in the grave,) how -cheerful a mind does he bear. He lives in the view of death, and -contemplates his own end with less concern of thought or countenance, -than he would do another man’s. It is a hard lesson, and we are a long -time a learning of it, to receive our death without trouble, especially -in the case of Bassus: in other deaths there is a mixture of hope—a -disease may be cured, a fire quenched, a falling house either propped -or avoided, the sea may swallow a man and throw him up again, a pardon -may interpose twixt the ax and the body—but in the case of old age -there is no place for either hope or intercession. - -Let us live in our bodies, therefore, as if we were only to lodge -in them this night, and to leave them to-morrow. It is the frequent -thought of death that must fortify us against the necessity of it. He -that has armed himself against poverty, may, perhaps, come to live -in plenty. A man may strengthen himself against pain and yet live in -a state of health; against the loss of friends, and never lose any, -but he that fortifies himself against the fear of death shall most -certainly have occasion to employ that virtue. It is the care of a wise -and a good man to look to his manners and actions; and rather how well -he lives than how long, for to die sooner or later is not the business, -but to die well or ill, for “death brings us to immortality.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW FOR THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. - - -Next to the encounter of death in our own bodies, the most sensible -calamity to an honest man is the death of a friend; and we are not in -truth without some generous instances of those that have preferred -a friend’s life before their own; and yet this affliction, which by -nature is so grievous to us, is by virtue and Providence made familiar -and easy. - -To lament the death of a friend is both natural and just; a sigh -or a tear I would allow to his memory: but no profuse or obstinate -sorrow. Clamorous and public lamentations are not so much the effects -of grief as of vain-glory. He that is sadder in company than alone, -shows rather the ambition of his sorrow than the piety of it. Nay, and -in the violence of his passion there fall out twenty things that set -him a-laughing. At the long-run, time cures all, but it were better -done by moderation and wisdom. Some people do as good as set a watch -upon themselves, as if they were afraid that their grief would make -an escape. The ostentation of grief is many times more than the grief -itself. When any body is within hearing, what groans and outcries! when -they are alone and private, all is hush and quiet: so soon as any body -comes in, they are at it again; and down they throw themselves upon the -bed; fall to wringing of their hands, and wishing of themselves dead; -which they might have executed by themselves; but their sorrow goes off -with the company. We forsake nature, and run over to the practices of -the people, that never were the authors of anything that is good. If -destiny were to be wrought upon by tears, I would allow you to spend -your days and nights in sadness and mourning, tearing of your hair, and -beating of your breast; but if Fate be inexorable, and death will keep -what it has taken, grief is to no purpose. And yet I would not advise -insensibility and hardness; it were inhumanity, and not virtue, not to -be moved at the separation of familiar friends and relations: now, in -such cases, we cannot command ourselves, we cannot forbear weeping, and -we ought not to forbear: but let us not pass the bounds of affection, -and run into imitation; within these limits it is some ease to the mind. - -A wise man gives way to tears in some cases, and cannot avoid them in -others. When one is struck with the surprise of ill-news, as the death -of a friend, or the like; or upon the last embrace of an acquaintance -under the hand of an executioner, he lies under a natural necessity -of weeping and trembling. In another case, we may indulge our sorrow, -as upon the memory of a dead friend’s conversation or kindness, one -may let fall tears of generosity and joy. We favor the one, and we are -overcome by the other; and this is well: but we are not upon any terms -to force them: they may flow of their own accord, without derogating -from the dignity of a wise man; who at the same time both preserves -his gravity, and obeys nature. Nay, there is a certain _decorum_ even -in weeping; for excess of sorrow is as foolish as profuse laughter. -Why do we not as well cry, when our trees that we took pleasure in, -shed their leaves, as at the loss of our satisfactions; when the next -season repairs them, either with the same again, or others in their -places. We may _accuse_ Fate, but we cannot _alter_ it; for it is hard -and inexorable, and not to be removed either with reproaches or tears. -They may carry _us_ to the _dead_, but never bring _them_ back again -to us. If reason does not put an end to our sorrows, fortune never -will: one is pinched with poverty; another solicited with ambition, and -fears the very wealth that he coveted. One is troubled for the loss -of children; another for the want of them: so that we shall sooner -want tears than matter for them; let us therefore spare that for which -we have so much occasion. I do confess, that in the very parting of -friends there is something of uneasiness and trouble; but it is rather -voluntary than natural; and it is custom more than sense that affects -us: we do rather impose a sorrow upon ourselves than submit to it; as -people cry when they have company, and when nobody looks on, all is -well again. To mourn without measure is folly, and not to mourn at -all is insensibility. The best temper is betwixt piety and reason; -to be sensible, but neither transported nor cast down. He that can -put a stop to his tears and pleasures when he will is safe. It is an -equal infelicity to be either too soft or too hard: we are overcome -by the one, and put to struggle with the other. There is a certain -intemperance in that sorrow that passes the rules of modesty; and yet -great piety is, in many cases, a dispensation to good manners. The -loss of a son or of a friend, cuts a man to the heart, and there is no -opposing the first violence of his passion; but when a man comes once -to deliver himself wholly up to lamentations, he is to understand, -that though some tears deserve compassion, others are yet ridiculous. A -grief that is fresh finds pity and comfort, but when it is inveterate -it is laughed at, for it is either counterfeit or foolish. Beside that, -to weep excessively for the dead is an affront to the living. The most -justifiable cause of mourning is to see good men come to ill ends, and -virtue oppressed by the iniquity of Fortune. But in this case, too, -they either suffer resolutely, and yield us delight in their courage -and example, or meanly, and so give us the less trouble for the loss. -He that dies cheerfully, dries up my tears; and he that dies whiningly, -does not deserve them. I would bear the death of friends and children -with the same constancy that I would expect my own, and no more lament -the one than fear the other. He that bethinks himself, how often -friends have been parted, will find more time lost among the living, -than upon the dead; and the most desperate mourners are they that cared -least for their friends when they were living; for they think to redeem -their credits, for want of kindness to the living, by extravagant -ravings after the dead. Some (I know) will have grief to be only the -perverse delight of a restless mind, and sorrows and pleasures to be -near akin; and there are, I am confident, that find joy even in their -tears. But which is more barbarous, to be insensible of grief for the -death of a friend, or to fish for pleasure in grief, when a son perhaps -is burning, or a friend expiring? To forget one’s friend, to bury the -memory with the body, to lament out of measure, is all inhuman. He that -is gone either would not have his friend tormented, or does not know -that he is so: if he does not feel it, it is superfluous; if he does, -it is unacceptable to him. If reason cannot prevail, reputation may; -for immoderate mourning lessens a man’s character: it is a shameful -thing for a wise man to make the _weariness_ of grieving the _remedy_ -of it. In time, the most stubborn grief will leave us, if in prudence -we do not leave that first. - -But do I grieve for my friend’s sake or for my own? Why should I -afflict myself for the loss of him that is either happy or not at all -in being? In the one case it is envy, and in the other it is madness. -We are apt to say, “What would I give to see him again, and to enjoy -his conversation! I was never sad in his company: my heart leaped -whenever I met him; I want him wherever I go.” All that is to be said -is, “The greater the loss, the greater is the virtue to overcome it.” -If grieving will do no good, it is an idle thing to grieve; and if that -which has befallen one man remains to all, it is as unjust to complain. -The whole world is upon the march towards the same point; why do we -not cry for ourselves that are to follow, as well as for him that has -gone first? Why do we not as well lament beforehand for that which we -know will be, and can not possibly but be? He is not _gone_, but _sent -before_. As there are many things that he has lost, so there are many -things that he does not fear; as anger, jealousy, envy, etc. Is he not -more happy in desiring nothing than miserable in what he has lost? We -do not mourn for the absent, why then for the dead, who are effectually -no other? We have lost one blessing, but we have many left; and shall -not all these satisfactions support us against one sorrow? - -The comfort of having a friend may be taken away, but not that -of having had one. As there is a sharpness in some fruits, and a -bitterness in some wines that please us, so there is a mixture in the -remembrance of friends, where the loss of their company is sweetened -again by the contemplation of their virtues. In some respects, I have -lost what I had, and in others, I retain still what I have lost. It -is an ill construction of Providence to reflect only upon my friend’s -being taken away, without any regard to the benefit of his being -once given me. Let us therefore make the best of our friends while -we have them; for how long we shall keep them is uncertain. I have -lost a hopeful son, but how many fathers have been deceived in their -expectations! and how many noble families have been destroyed by luxury -and riot! He that grieves for the loss of a son, what if he had lost a -friend? and yet he that has lost a friend has more cause of joy that -he once had him, than of grief that he is taken away. Shall a man bury -his friendship with his friend? We are ungrateful for that which is -past, in hope of what is to come; as if that which is to come would not -quickly be past too. That which is past we are sure of. We may receive -satisfaction, it is true, both from the future and what is already -past; the one by expectation, and the other by memory; only the one may -possibly not come to pass, and it is impossible to make the other not -to have been. - -But there is no applying of consolation to fresh and bleeding sorrow; -the very discourse irritates the grief and inflames it. It is like an -unseasonable medicine in a disease; when the first violence is over, -it will be more tractable, and endure the handling. Those people -whose minds are weakened by long felicity may be allowed to groan and -complain, but it is otherwise with those that have led their days -in misfortunes. A long course of adversity has this good in it, that -though it vexes a body a great while, it comes to harden us at last; -as a raw soldier shrinks at every wound, and dreads the surgeon more -than an enemy; whereas a _veteran_ sees his own body cut and lamed with -as little concern as if it were another’s. With the same resolution -should we stand the shock and cure of all misfortunes; we are never the -better for our experience, if we have not yet learned to be miserable. -And there is no thought of curing us by the diversion of sports and -entertainments; we are apt to fall into relapses; wherefore we had -better overcome our sorrow than delude it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -CONSOLATION AGAINST BANISHMENT AND BODILY PAIN. - - -It is a masterpiece to draw good out of evil; and, by the help of -virtue, to improve misfortunes into blessings. “It is a sad condition,” -you will say, “for a man to be barred the freedom of his own country.” -And is not this the case of thousands that we meet every day in the -streets? Some for ambition; others, to negotiate, or for curiosity, -delight, friendship, study, experience, luxury, vanity, discontent: -some to exercise their virtues, others their vices; and not a few to -prostitute either their bodies or their eloquence? To pass now from -pleasant countries into the worst of islands; let them be never so -barren or rocky, the people never so barbarous, or the clime never so -intemperate, he that is banished thither shall find many strangers to -live there for their pleasure. The mind of man is naturally curious -and restless; which is no wonder, considering their divine original; -for heavenly things are always in motion: witness the stars, and the -orbs, which are perpetually moving, rolling, and changing of place and -according to the law and appointment of Nature. But here are no woods, -you will say, no rivers, no gold nor pearl, no commodity for traffic -or commerce; nay, hardly provision enough to keep the inhabitants -from starving. It is very right; here are no palaces, no artificial -grottoes, or materials for luxury and excess; but we lie under the -protection of Heaven; and a poor cottage for a retreat is more worth -than the most magnificent temple, when that cottage is consecrated -by an honest man under the guard of his virtue. Shall any man think -banishment grievous, when he may take such company along with him! -Nor is there any banishment but yields enough for our necessities, -and no kingdom is sufficient for superfluities. It is the mind that -makes us rich in a desert; and if the body be but kept alive, the -soul enjoys all spiritual felicities in abundance. What signifies the -being banished from one spot of ground to another, to a man that has -his thoughts above, and can look forward and backward, and wherever -he pleases; and that, wherever he is, has the same matter to work -upon? The body is but the prison or the clog of the mind, subjected to -punishments, robberies, diseases; but the mind is sacred and spiritual, -and liable to no violence. Is it that, a man shall want garments or -covering in banishment? The body is as easily clothed as fed; and -Nature has made nothing hard that is necessary. But if nothing will -serve us but rich embroideries and scarlet, it is none of Fortune’s -fault that we are poor, but our own. Nay, suppose a man should have -all restored him back again that he has lost, it will come to nothing, -for he will want more after that to satisfy his desires than he did -before to supply his necessities. Insatiable appetites are not so much -a thirst as a disease. - -To come lower now; where is the people or nation that have not changed -their place of abode? Some by the fate of war; others have been cast -by tempests, shipwrecks, or want of provisions, upon unknown coasts. -Some have been forced abroad by pestilence, sedition, earthquakes, -surcharge of people at home. Some travel to see the world, others -for commerce; but, in fine, it is clear, that, upon some reason or -other, the whole race of mankind have shifted their quarters; changed -their very names as well as their habitations; insomuch that we have -lost the very memorials of what they were. All these transportations -of people, what are they but public banishments? The very _founder_ -of the _Roman empire_ was an _exile_: briefly, the whole world has -been transplanted, and one mutation treads upon the heel of another. -That which one man desires, turns another man’s stomach; and he that -proscribes me to-day, shall himself be cast out to-morrow. We have, -however, this comfort in our misfortune; we have the same nature, the -same Providence, and we carry our virtues along with us. And this -blessing we owe to that almighty Power, call it what you will; either -a _God_, or an _Incorporeal Reason_, a _Divine Spirit_, or _Fate_, and -the _unchangeable Course_ of _causes_ and _effects_: it is, however, -so ordered, that nothing can be taken from us but what we can well -spare: and that which is most magnificent and valuable continues with -us. Wherever we go, we have the heavens over our heads, and no farther -from us than they were before; and so long as we can entertain our eyes -and thoughts with those glories, what matter is it what ground we tread -upon? - -In the case of pain or sickness, it is only the body that is affected; -it may take off the speed of a footman, or bind the hands of a cobbler, -but the mind is still at liberty to hear, learn, teach, advise, and to -do other good offices. It is an example of public benefit, a man that -is in pain and patient. Virtue may show itself as well in the bed as -in the field; and he that cheerfully encounters the terrors of death -and corporal anguish, is as great a man as he that most generously -hazards himself in a battle. A disease, it is true, bars us of some -pleasures, but procures us others. Drink is never so grateful to us as -in a burning fever; nor meat, as when we have fasted ourselves sharp -and hungry. The patient may be forbidden some sensual satisfaction, -but no physician will forbid us the delight of the mind. Shall we call -any sick man miserable, because he must give over his intemperance -of wine and gluttony, and betake himself to a diet of more sobriety, -and less expense; and abandon his luxury, which is the distemper of -the mind as well as of the body? It is troublesome, I know, at first, -to abstain from the pleasures we have been used to, and to endure -hunger and thirst; but in a little time we lose the very appetite, -and it is no trouble then to be without that which we do not desire. -In diseases there are great pains; but if they be long they remit, -and give us some intervals of ease; if short and violent, either they -dispatch _us_, or consume _themselves_; so that either their respites -make them tolerable, or the extremity makes them short. So merciful -is Almighty God to us, that our torments cannot be very sharp and -lasting. The acutest pains are those that affect the nerves, but there -is this comfort in them too, that they will quickly make us stupid and -insensible. In cases of extremity, let us call to mind the most eminent -instances of patience and courage, and turn our thoughts from our -afflictions to the contemplation of virtue. Suppose it be the stone, -the gout, nay, the rack itself; how many have endured it without so -much as a groan or word speaking; without so much as asking for relief, -or giving an answer to a question! Nay, they have laughed at the -tormentors upon the very torture, and provoked them to new experiments -of their cruelty, which they have had still in derision. The _asthma_ I -look upon as of all diseases the most importunate; the physicians call -it the _meditation of death_, as being rather an agony than a sickness; -the fit holds one not above an hour, as nobody is long in expiring. Are -there not three things grievous in sickness, the fear of death, bodily -pain, and the intermission of our pleasures? the first is to be imputed -to nature, not to the disease; for we do not die because we are sick, -but because we live. Nay, sickness itself has preserved many a man from -dying. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -POVERTY TO A WISE MAN IS RATHER A BLESSING THAN A MISFORTUNE. - - -No man shall ever be poor that goes to himself for what he wants; -and that is the readiest way to riches. Nature, indeed, will have -her due; but yet whatsoever is beyond necessity is precarious, and -not necessary. It is not her business to gratify the palate, but to -satisfy a craving stomach. Bread, when a man is hungry, does his work, -let it be never so coarse; and water when he is dry; let his thirst -be quenched, and Nature is satisfied, no matter whence it comes, or -whether he drinks in gold, silver, or in the hollow of his hand. To -promise a man riches, and to teach him poverty, is to deceive him: but -shall I call him poor that wants nothing; though he maybe beholden for -it to his patience, rather than to his fortune? Or shall any man deny -him to be rich, whose riches can never be taken away? Whether is it -better to have much or enough? He that has much desires more, and shows -that he has not yet enough; but he that has enough is at rest. Shall -a man be reputed the less rich for not having that for which he shall -be banished; for which his very wife, or son, shall poison him: that -which gives him security in war, and quiet in peace; which he possesses -without danger, and disposes of without trouble? No man can be poor -that has enough; nor rich, that covets more than he has. Alexander, -after all his conquests, complained that he wanted more worlds; he -desired something more, even when he had gotten all: and that which was -sufficient for human nature was not enough for one man. Money never -made any man rich; for the more he had, the more he still coveted. The -richest man that ever lived is poor in my opinion, and in any man’s may -be so: but he that keeps himself to the stint of Nature, does neither -feel poverty nor fear it; nay, even in poverty itself there are some -things superfluous. Those which the world calls happy, their felicity -is a false splendor, that dazzles the eyes of the vulgar; but our rich -man is glorious and happy within. There is no ambition in hunger or -thirst: let there be food, and no matter for the table, the dish, and -the servants, nor with what meats nature is satisfied. Those are the -torments of luxury, that rather stuff the stomach than fill it: it -studies rather to cause an appetite than to allay it. It is not for us -to say, “This is not handsome; that is common; the other offends my -eye.” Nature provides for health, not delicacy. When the trumpet sounds -a charge, the poor man knows that he is not aimed at; when they cry -out _fire_, his body is all he has to look after: if he be to take a -journey, there is no blocking up of streets, and thronging of passages, -for a parting compliment: a small matter fills his belly, and contents -his mind: he lives from hand to mouth, without caring or fearing for -to-morrow. The temperate rich man is but his counterfeit; his wit is -quicker and his appetite calmer. - -No man finds poverty a trouble to him, but he that thinks it so; and -he that thinks it so, makes it so. Does not a rich man travel more -at ease with less luggage, and fewer servants? Does he not eat many -times as little and as coarse in the field as a poor man? Does he -not for his own pleasure, sometimes, and for variety, feed upon the -ground, and use only earthen vessels? Is not he a madman then, that -always fears what he often desires, and dreads the thing that he takes -delight to imitate: he that would know the worst of poverty, let him -but compare the looks of the rich and of the poor, and he shall find -the poor man to have a smoother brow, and to be more merry at heart; or -if any trouble befalls him, it passes over like a cloud: whereas the -other, either his good humor is counterfeit, or his melancholy deep -and ulcerated, and the worse, because he dares not publicly own his -misfortune; but he is forced to play the part of a happy man even with -a cancer in his heart. His felicity is but personated; and if he were -but stripped of his ornaments, he would be contemptible. In buying of -a horse, we take off his clothes and his trappings, and examine his -shape and body for fear of being cozened; and shall we put an estimate -upon a man for being set off by his fortune and quality? Nay, if we see -anything of ornament about him, we are to suspect him the more for some -infirmity under it. He that is not content in poverty, would not be so -neither in plenty; for the fault is not in the thing, but in the mind. -If that be sickly, remove him from a kennel to a palace, he is at the -same pass; for he carries his disease along with him. - -What can be happier than the condition both of mind and of fortune from -which we cannot fall—what can be a greater felicity than in a covetous, -designing age, for a roan to live safe among informers and thieves? It -puts a poor man into the very condition of Providence, that gives all, -without reserving anything to itself. How happy is he that owes nothing -but to himself, and only that which he can easily refuse or easily -pay! I do not reckon him poor that has but a little, but he is so that -covets more—it is a fair degree of plenty to have what is necessary. -Whether had a man better find satiety in want, or hunger in plenty? It -is not the augmenting of our fortunes, but the abating of our appetites -that makes us rich. - -Why may not a man as well contemn riches in his own coffers as in -another man’s, and rather hear that they are his than feel them to be -so, though it is a great matter not to be corrupted even by having -them under the same roof. He is the greater man that is honestly poor -in the middle of plenty—but he is the more secure that is free from -the temptation of that plenty, and has the least matter for another -to design upon. It is no great business for a poor man to preach the -contempt of riches, or for a rich man to extol the benefits of poverty, -because we do not know how either the one or the other would behave -himself in the contrary condition. The best proof is the doing of it -by choice and not by necessity; for the practice of poverty in jest -is a preparation toward the bearing of it in earnest; but it is yet a -generous disposition so to provide for the worst of fortunes as what -may be easily borne—the premeditation makes them not only tolerable but -delightful to us, for there is that in them without which nothing can -be comfortable, that is to say, security. If there were nothing else in -poverty but the certain knowledge of our friends, it were yet a most -desirable blessing, when every man leaves us but those that love us. -It is a shame to place the happiness of life in gold and silver, for -which bread and water is sufficient; or, at the worst, hunger puts an -end to hunger. - -For the honor of _poverty_, it was both the _foundation_ and the _cause -of the Roman empire_; and no man was ever yet so poor but he had enough -to carry him to his journey’s end. - -All I desire is that my property may not be a burden to myself, or make -me so to others; and that is the best state of fortune that is neither -directly necessitous, nor far from it. A mediocricity of fortune with -a gentleness of mind, will preserve us from fear or envy, which is a -desirable condition, for no man wants power to do mischief. We never -consider the blessing of coveting nothing, and the glory of being full -in ourselves, without depending upon Fortune. With parsimony a little -is sufficient and without it nothing; whereas frugality makes a poor -man rich. If we lose an estate, we had better never have had it—he that -has least to lose has least to fear, and those are better satisfied -whom Fortune never favored, than those whom she has forsaken. - -The state is most commodious that lies betwixt poverty and plenty. -Diogenes understood this very well when he put himself into an -incapacity of losing any thing. That course of life is most commodious -which is both safe and wholesome—the body is to be indulged no farther -than for health, and rather mortified than not kept in subjection to -the mind. It is necessary to provide against hunger, thirst, and cold; -and somewhat for a covering to shelter us against other inconveniences; -but not a pin matter whether it be of turf or of marble—a man may lie -as warm and as dry under a thatched as under a gilded roof. Let the -mind be great and glorious, and all other things are despicable in -comparison. “The future is uncertain, and I had rather beg of myself -not to desire any thing, than of Fortune to bestow it.” - - - - -SENECA OF ANGER. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -ANGER DESCRIBED, IT IS AGAINST NATURE, AND ONLY TO BE FOUND IN MAN. - - -We are here to encounter the most outrageous, brutal, dangerous, and -intractable of all passions; the most loathsome and unmannerly; nay, -the most ridiculous too; and the subduing of this monster will do a -great deal toward the establishment of human peace. It is the method of -_physicians_ to begin with a description of the disease, before they -meddle with the cure: and I know not why this may not do as well in the -distempers of the mind as in those of the body. - -The _Stoics_ will have _anger_ to be a “desire of punishing another -for some injury done.” Against which it is objected, that we are many -times angry with those that never did hurt us, but possibly may, though -the harm be not as yet done. But I say, that they hurt us already in -conceit: and the very purpose of it is an injury in thought before it -breaks out into act. It is opposed again, that if anger were a _desire -of punishing_, mean people would not be angry with great ones that are -out of their reach; for no man can be said to desire any thing which he -judges impossible to compass. But I answer to this, That _anger_ is the -_desire_, not the _power_ and _faculty_ of _revenge_; neither is any -man so low, but that the greatest man alive may peradventure lie at his -mercy. - -Aristotle takes _anger_ to be, “a desire of paying sorrow for sorrow;” -and of plaguing those that have plagued us. It is argued against both, -that beasts are angry; though neither provoked by any injury, nor moved -with a desire of any body’s grief or punishment. Nay, though they cause -it, they do not design or seek it. Neither is _anger_ (how unreasonable -soever in itself) found anywhere but in reasonable creatures. It is -true, the beasts have an impulse of rage and fierceness; as they are -more affected also than men with some pleasures; but we may as well -call them luxurious and ambitious as angry. And yet they are not -without certain images of human affections. They have their likings -and their loathings; but neither the passions of reasonable nature, -nor their virtues, nor their vices. They are moved to fury by some -objects; they are quieted by others; they have their terrors and their -disappointments, but without reflection: and let them be never so much -irritated or affrighted, so soon as ever the occasion is removed they -fall to their meat again, and lie down and take their rest. Wisdom and -thought are the goods of the mind, whereof brutes are wholly incapable; -and we are as unlike them within as we are without: they have an -odd kind of fancy, and they have a voice too; but inarticulate and -confused, and incapable of those variations which are familiar to us. - -Anger is not only a vice, but a vice point-blank against nature, for it -divides instead of joining; and in some measure, frustrates the end of -Providence in human society. One man was born to help another; anger -makes us destroy one another; the one unites, the other separates; the -one is beneficial to us, the other mischievous; the one succors even -strangers, the other destroys even the most intimate friends; the one -ventures all to save another, the other ruins himself to undo another. -Nature is bountiful, but anger is pernicious: for it is not fear, but -mutual love that binds up mankind. - -There are some motions that look like anger, which cannot properly be -called so; as the passion of the people against the _gladiators_, when -they hang off, and will not make so quick a dispatch as the spectators -would have them: there is something in it of the humor of children, -that if they get a fall, will never leave bawling until the naughty -ground is beaten, and then all is well again. They are angry without -any cause or injury; they are deluded by an imitation of strokes, and -pacified with counterfeit tears. A false and a childish sorrow is -appeased with as false and as childish a revenge. They take it for a -contempt, if the _gladiators_ do not immediately cast themselves upon -the sword’s point. They look presently about them from one to another, -as who should say; “Do but see, my masters, how these rogues abuse us.” - -To descend to the particular branches and varieties would be -unnecessary and endless. There is a stubborn, a vindictive, a -quarrelsome, a violent, a froward, a sullen, a morose kind of anger; -and then we have this variety in complication too. One goes no -further than words; another proceeds immediately to blows, without a -word speaking; a third sort breaks out into cursing and reproachful -language; and there are that content themselves with chiding and -complaining. There is a conciliable anger and there is an implacable; -but in what form or degree soever it appears, all anger, without -exception, is vicious. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE RISE OF ANGER. - - -The question will be here, whether _anger_ takes its rise from impulse -or judgment; that is, whether it be moved of its own accord, or, as -many other things are, from within us, that arise we know not how? The -clearing of this point will lead us to greater matters. - -The _first_ motion of _anger_ is in truth involuntary, and only a kind -of menacing preparation towards it. The _second_ deliberates; as who -should say, “This injury should not pass without a revenge,” and there -it stops. The _third_ is impotent; and, right or wrong, resolves upon -vengeance. The _first motion_ is not to be avoided, nor indeed the -_second_, any more than yawning for company; custom and care may lessen -it, but reason itself cannot overcome it. The _third_, as it rises upon -consideration, it must fall so too, for that motion which proceeds with -judgment may be taken away with judgment. A man thinks himself injured, -and hath a mind to be revenged, but for some reason lets it rest. This -is not properly _anger_, but an _affection overruled by reason_; a kind -of proposal disapproved—and what are reason and affection, but only -changes of the mind for the better or for the worse? Reason deliberates -before it judges; but anger passes sentence without deliberation. -Reason only attends the matter in hand; but anger is startled at every -accident; it passes the bounds of reason, and carries it away with -it. In short, “anger is an agitation of the mind that proceeds to the -resolution of a revenge, the mind assenting to it.” - -There is no doubt but anger is moved by the species of an injury; but -whether that motion be voluntary or involuntary is the point in debate; -though it seems manifest to me that _anger_ does nothing but where the -mind goes along with it, for, first, to take an offence, and then to -meditate a revenge, and after that to lay both propositions together, -and say to myself, “This injury ought not to have been done; but as the -case stands, I must do myself right.” This discourse can never proceed -without the concurrence of the will. - -The first motion indeed is single; but all the rest is deliberation -and superstructure—there is something understood and condemned—an -indignation conceived and a revenge propounded. This can never be -without the agreement of the mind to the matter in deliberation. The -end of this question is to know the nature and quality of _anger_. If -it be bred in us it will never yield to reason, for all involuntary -motions are inevitable and invincible; as a kind of horror and -shrugging upon the sprinkling of cold water; the hair standing on -end at ill news; giddiness at the sight of a precipice; blushing at -lewd discourse. In these cases reason can do no good, but _anger_ -may undoubtedly be overcome by caution and good counsel, for it is a -_voluntary vice_, and not of the condition of those accidents that -befall us as frailties of our humanity, amongst which must be reckoned -the first motions of the mind after the opinion of an injury received, -which it is not in the power of human nature to avoid, and this is it -that affects us upon the stage, or in a story. - -Can any man read the death of Pompey, and not be touched with an -indignation? The sound of a trumpet rouses the spirits and provokes -courage. It makes a man sad to see the shipwreck even of an enemy; and -we are much surprised by fear in other cases—all these motions are not -so much affections as preludes to them. The clashing of arms or the -beating of a drum excites a war-horse: nay, a song from Xenophantes -would make Alexander take his sword in his hand. - -In all these cases the mind rather suffers than acts, and therefore it -is not an affection _to be moved_, but _to give way_ to that motion, -and to follow willingly what was started by chance—these are not -affections, but impulses of the body. The bravest man in the world may -look pale when he puts on his armor, his knees knock, and his heart -work before the battle is joined: but these are only _motions_; whereas -_anger_ is an _excursion_, and proposes revenge or punishment, which -cannot be without the mind. As fear flies, so anger assaults; and it is -not possible to resolve, either upon violence or caution, without the -concurrence of the will. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -ANGER MAY BE SUPPRESSED. - - -It is an idle thing to pretend that we cannot govern our _anger_; -for some things that we do are much harder than others that we ought -to do; the wildest affections may be tamed by discipline, and there -is hardly anything which the mind will do but it may do. There needs -no more argument in this case than the instances of several persons, -both powerful and impatient, that have gotten the absolute mastery of -themselves in this point. - -Thrasippus in his drink fell foul upon the cruelties of Pisistratus; -who, when he was urged by several about him to make an example of him, -returned this answer, “Why should I be angry with a man that stumbles -upon me blindfold?” In effect most of our quarrels are of our own -making, either by mistake or by aggravation. Anger comes sometimes upon -us, but we go oftener to it, and instead of rejecting it we call it. - -Augustus was a great master of his passion: for Timagenus, an -historian, wrote several bitter things against his person and his -family: which passed among the people plausibly enough, as pieces of -rash wit commonly do. Cæsar advised him several times to forbear; and -when that would not do, forbade him his roof. After this, Asinius -Pollio gave him entertainment; and he was so well beloved in the -city, that every man’s house was open to him. Those things that he -had written in honor of Augustus, he recited and burnt, and publicly -professed himself Cæsar’s enemy. Augustus, for all this, never fell -out with any man that received him; only once, he told Pollio, that he -had taken a _snake_ into his bosom: and as Pollio was about to excuse -himself; “No,” says Cæsar, interrupting him, “make your best of him.” -And offering to cast him off at that very moment, if Cæsar pleased: “Do -you think,” says Cæsar, “that I will ever contribute to the parting of -you, that made you friends?” for Pollio was angry with him before, and -only entertained him now because Cæsar had discarded him. - -The moderation of Antigonus was remarkable. Some of his soldiers were -railing at him one night, where there was but a hanging betwixt them. -Antigonus overheard them, and putting it gently aside; “Soldiers,” says -he, “stand a little further off, for fear the king should hear you.” -And we are to consider, not only violent examples, but moderate, where -there wanted neither cause of displeasure nor power of revenge: as in -the case of Antigonus, who the same night hearing his soldiers cursing -him for bringing them into so foul a way, he went to them, and without -telling them who he was, helped them out of it. “Now,” says he, “you -may be allowed to curse him that brought you into the mire, provided -you bless him that took you out of it.” - -It was a notable story that of Vedius Pallio, upon his inviting of -Augustus to supper. One of his boys happened to break a glass: and his -master, in a rage, commanded him to be thrown in a pond to feed his -lampreys. This action of his might be taken for _luxury_, though, in -truth, it was cruelty. The boy was seized, but brake loose and threw -himself at Augustus’ feet, only desiring that he might not die that -death. Cæsar, in abhorrence of the barbarity, presently ordered all -the rest of the glasses to be broken, the boy to be released, and the -pond to be filled up, that there might be no further occasion for an -inhumanity of that nature. This was an authority well employed. Shall -the breaking of a glass cost a man his life? Nothing but a predominant -fear could ever have mastered his choleric and sanguinary disposition. -This man deserved to die a thousand deaths, either for eating human -flesh at second-hand in his _lampreys_, or for keeping of his fish to -be so fed. - -It is written of Præxaspes (a favorite of Cambyses, who was much given -to wine) that he took the freedom to tell this prince of his hard -drinking, and to lay before him the scandal and the inconveniences of -his excesses; and how that, in those distempers, he had not the command -of himself. “Now,” says Cambyses, “to show you your mistake, you shall -see me drink deeper than ever I did, and yet keep the use of my eyes, -and of my hands, as well as if I were sober.” Upon this he drank to -a higher pitch than ordinary, and ordered Præxaspes’ son to go out, -and stand on the other side of the threshold, with his left arm over -his head; “And,” says he, “if I have a good aim, have at the heart of -him.” He shot, and upon cutting up the young man, they found indeed -that the arrow had struck him through the middle of the heart. “What -do you think now,” says Cambyses, “is my hand steady or not?” “Apollo -himself,” says Præxaspes, “could not have outdone it.” It may be a -question now, which was the greater impiety, the murder itself, or -the commendation of it; for him to take the heart of his son, while -it was yet reeking and panting under the wound, for an occasion of -flattery: why was there not another experiment made upon the father, -to try if Cambyses could not have yet mended his shot? This was a most -unmanly violation of hospitality; but the approbation of the act was -still worse than the crime itself. This example of Præxaspes proves -sufficiently that a man may repress his anger; for he returned not -one ill word, no not so much as a complaint; but he paid dear for his -good counsel. He had been wiser, perhaps, if he had let the king alone -in his cups, for he had better have drunk wine than blood. It is a -dangerous office to give good advice to intemperate princes. - -Another instance of anger suppressed, we have in Harpagus, who was -commanded to expose Cyrus upon a mountain. But the child was preserved; -which, when Astyages came afterwards to understand, he invited Harpagus -to a dish of meat; and when he had eaten his fill, he told him it was a -piece of his son, and asked him how he liked the seasoning. “Whatever -pleases your Majesty,” says Harpagus, “must please me:” and he made no -more words of it. It is most certain, that we might govern our anger if -we would; for the same thing that galls us at home gives us no offence -at all abroad; and what is the reason of it, but that we are patient in -one place, and froward in another? - -It was a strong provocation that which was given to Philip of Macedon, -the father of Alexander. The Athenians sent their ambassadors to him, -and they were received with this compliment, “Tell me, gentlemen,” -says Philip, “what is there that I can do to oblige the Athenians?” -Democharas, one of the ambassadors, told him, that they would take it -for a great obligation if he would be pleased to hang himself. This -insolence gave an indignation to the by-standers; but Philip bade them -not to meddle with him, but even to let that foul-mouthed fellow go as -he came. “And for you, the rest of the ambassadors,” says he, “pray -tell the Athenians, that it is worse to speak such things than to hear -and forgive them.” This wonderful patience under contumelies was a -great means of Philip’s security. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -IT IS A SHORT MADNESS, AND A DEFORMED VICE. - - -He was much in the right, whoever it was, that first called _anger -a short madness_; for they have both of them the same symptoms; and -there is so wonderful a resemblance betwixt the transports of _choler_ -and those of _frenzy_, that it is a hard matter to know the one from -the other. A bold, fierce, and threatening countenance, as pale as -ashes, and, in the same moment, as red as blood; a glaring eye, a -wrinkled brow, violent motions, the hands restless and perpetually -in action, wringing and menacing, snapping of the joints, stamping -with the feet, the hair starting, trembling of the lips, a forced and -squeaking voice; the speech false and broken, deep and frequent sighs, -and ghastly looks; the veins swell, the heart pants, the knees knock; -with a hundred dismal accidents that are common to both distempers. -Neither is _anger_ a bare resemblance only of madness, but many times -an irrevocable transition into the thing itself. How many persons -have we known, read, and heard of, that have lost their wits in a -passion, and never came to themselves again? It is therefore to be -avoided, not only for moderation’s sake, but also for health. Now, if -the outward appearance of anger be so foul and hideous, how deformed -must that miserable mind be that is harassed with it? for it leaves -no place either for counsel or friendship, honesty or good manners; -no place either for the exercise of reason, or for the offices of -life. If I were to describe it, I would draw a tiger bathed in blood, -sharp set, and ready to take a leap at his prey; or dress it up as the -poets represent the furies, with whips, snakes, and flames; it should -be sour, livid, full of scars, and wallowing in gore, raging up and -down, destroying, grinning, bellowing, and pursuing; sick of all other -things, and most of all, itself. It turns beauty into deformity, and -the calmest counsels into fierceness: it disorders our very garments, -and fills the mind with horror. How abominable is it in the soul then, -when it appears so hideous even through the bones, the skin and so -many impediments! Is not he a madman that has lost the government of -himself, and is tossed hither and thither by his fury as by a tempest? -the executioner and the murderer of his nearest friends? The smallest -matter moves it, and makes us unsociable and inaccessible. It does all -things by violence, as well upon itself as others; and it is, in short; -the master of all passions. - -There is not any creature so terrible and dangerous by nature, but -it becomes fiercer by anger. Not that beasts have human affections, -but certain impulses they have which come very near them. The boar -foams, champs, and whets his tusks; the bull tosses his horns in the -air, bounds, and tears up the ground with his feet; the lion roars -and swinges himself with his tail; the serpent swells; and there is -a ghastly kind of fellness in the aspect of a mad dog. How great a -wickedness is it now to indulge a violence, that does not only turn -a man into a beast, but makes even the most outrageous of beasts -themselves to be more dreadful and mischievous! A vice that carries -along with it neither pleasure nor profit, neither honor nor security; -but on the contrary, destroys us to all the comfortable and glorious -purposes of our reasonable being. Some there are, that will have the -root of it to be the greatness of mind. And, why may we not as well -entitle _impudence_ to _courage_, whereas the one is proud, the other -brave; the one is gracious and gentle, the other rude and furious? -At the same rate we may ascribe magnanimity to avarice, luxury, and -ambition, which are all but splendid impotences, without measure and -without foundation. There is nothing great but what is virtuous, nor -indeed truly great, but what is also composed and quiet. Anger, alas! -is but a wild impetuous blast, an empty tumor, the very infirmity of -woman and children; a brawling, clamorous evil: and the more noise the -less courage; as we find it commonly, that the boldest tongues have the -faintest hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -ANGER IS NEITHER WARRANTABLE NOR USEFUL. - - -In the first place, Anger is _unwarrantable_ as it is _unjust_: for it -falls many times upon the wrong person, and discharges itself upon the -innocent instead of the guilty: beside the disproportion of making the -most trivial offences to be capital, and punishing an inconsiderate -word perhaps with torments, fetters, infamy, or death. It allows a man -neither time nor means for defence, but judges a cause without hearing -it, and admits of no mediation. It flies into the face of truth itself, -if it be of the adverse party; and turns obstinacy in an error, into -an argument of justice. It does every thing with agitation and tumult; -whereas reason and equity can destroy whole families, if there be -occasion for it, even to the extinguishing of their names and memories, -without any indecency, either of countenance or action. - -Secondly, It is unsociable to the highest point; for it spares neither -friend nor foe; but tears all to pieces, and casts human nature into -a perpetual state of war. It dissolves the bond of mutual society, -insomuch that our very companions and relations dare not come near -us; it renders us unfit for the ordinary offices of life: for we can -neither govern our tongues, our hands, nor any part of our body. It -tramples upon the laws of hospitality, and of nations, leaves every man -to be his own carver, and all things, public and private, sacred and -profane, suffer violence. - -Thirdly, It is to no purpose. “It is a sad thing,” we cry, “to put up -with these injuries, and we are not able to bear them;” as if any man -that can bear _anger_ could not bear an _injury_, which is much more -supportable. You will say that anger does some good yet, for it keeps -people in awe, and secures a man from contempt; never considering, that -it is more dangerous to be feared than despised. Suppose that an angry -man could do as much as he threatens; the more terrible, he is still -the more odious; and on the other side, if he wants power, he is the -more despicable for his anger; for there is nothing more wretched than -a choleric huff, that makes a noise, and nobody cares for it. - -If anger would be valuable because men are afraid of it, why not an -adder, a toad, or a scorpion as well? It makes us lead the life of -gladiators; we live, and we fight together. We hate the happy, despise -the miserable, envy our superiors, insult our inferiors, and there -is nothing in the world which we will not do, either for pleasure -or profit. To be angry at offenders is to make ourselves the common -enemies of mankind, which is both weak and wicked; and we may as well -be angry that our thistles do not bring forth apples, or that every -pebble in our ground is not an oriental pearl. If we are angry both -with young men and with old, because they do offend, why not with -infants too, because they will offend? It is laudable to rejoice for -anything that is well done; but to be transported for another man’s -doing ill, is narrow and sordid. Nor is it for the dignity of virtue -to be either angry or sad. - -It is with a tainted mind as with an ulcer, not only the touch, but the -very offer at it, makes us shrink and complain; when we come once to -be carried off from our poise, we are lost. In the choice of a sword, -we take care that it be wieldy and well mounted; and it concerns us as -much to be wary of engaging in the excesses of ungovernable passions. -It is not the speed of a horse altogether that pleases us unless we -find that he can stop and turn at pleasure. It is a sign of weakness, -and a kind of stumbling, for a man to run when he intends only to -walk; and it behoves us to have the same command of our mind that we -have of our bodies. Besides that the greatest punishment of an injury -is the conscience of having done it; and no man suffers more than he -that is turned over to the pain of a repentance. How much better is it -to compose injuries than to revenge them? For it does not only spend -time, but the revenge of one injury exposes to more. In fine, as it -is unreasonable to be angry at a crime, it is as foolish to be angry -without one. - -But “may not an honest man then be allowed to be angry at the murder -of his father, or the ravishing of his sister or daughter before his -face?” No, not at all. I will defend my parents, and I will repay the -injuries that are done them; but it is my piety and not my anger, that -moves me to it. I will do my duty without fear or confusion, I will not -rage, I will not weep; but discharge the office of a good man without -forfeiting the dignity of a man. If my father be assaulted, I will -endeavor to rescue him; if he be killed, I will do right to his memory; -find all this, not in any transport of passion, but in honor and -conscience. Neither is there any need of anger where reason does the -same thing. - -A man may be temperate, and yet vigorous, and raise his mind according -to the occasion, more or less, as a stone is thrown according to the -discretion and intent of the caster. How outrageous have I seen some -people for the loss of a monkey or a spaniel! And were it not a shame -to have the same sense for a friend that we have for a puppy; and to -cry like children, as much for a bauble as for the ruin of our country? -This is not the effect of reason, but of infirmity. For a man indeed to -expose his person for his prince, or his parents, or his friends, out -of a sense of honesty, and judgment of duty, it is, without dispute, a -worthy and a glorious action; but it must be done then with sobriety, -calmness, and resolution. - -It is high time to convince the world of the indignity and uselessness -of this passion, when it has the authority and recommendation of no -less than Aristotle himself, as an affection very much conducing to all -heroic actions that require heat and vigor: now, to show, on the other -side, that it is not in any case profitable, we shall lay open the -obstinate and unbridled madness of it: a wickedness neither sensible -of infamy nor of glory, without either modesty or fear; and if it -passes once from anger into a hardened hatred, it is incurable. It is -either stronger than reason, or it is weaker. If stronger, there is -no contending with it; if weaker, reason will do the business without -it. Some will have it that an angry man is good-natured and sincere; -whereas, in truth, he only lays himself open out of heedlessness and -want of caution. If it were in itself good the more of it the better; -but in this case, the more the worse; and a wise man does his duty, -without the aid of anything that is ill. It is objected by some, -that those are the most generous creatures which are the most prone -to anger. But, first, _reason_ in _man_ is _impetuous_ in _beasts_. -Secondly, without discipline it runs into audaciousness and temerity; -over and above that, the same thing does not help all. If anger helps -the lion, it is fear that saves the stag, swiftness the hawk, and -flight the pigeon: but man has God for his example (who is never -angry) and not the _creatures_. And yet it is not amiss sometimes to -counterfeit anger; as upon the stage; nay, upon the bench, and in the -pulpit, where the imitation of it is more effectual than the thing -itself. - -But it is a great error to take this passion either for a companion -or for an assistant to virtue; that makes a man incapable of those -necessary counsels by which virtue is to govern herself. Those are -false and inauspicious powers, and destructive of themselves, which -arise only from the accession and fervor of disease. Reason judges -according to right; anger will have every thing seem right, whatever it -does, and when it has once pitched upon a mistake, it is never to be -convinced, but prefers a pertinacity, even in the greatest evil, before -the most necessary repentance. - -Some people are of opinion that anger inflames and animates the -soldier; that it is a spur to bold and arduous undertakings; and that -it were better to moderate than to wholly suppress it, for fear of -dissolving the spirit and force of the mind. To this I answer, that -virtue does not need the help of vice; but where there is any ardor -of mind necessary, we may rouse ourselves, and be more or less brisk -and vigorous as there is occasion: but all without anger still. It is -a mistake to say, that we may make use of anger as a common soldier, -but not as a commander; for if it hears reason, and follows orders, -it is not properly anger; and if it does not, it is contumacious -and mutinous. By this argument a man must be angry to be valiant; -covetous to be industrious; timorous to be safe, which makes our reason -confederate with our affections. And it is all one whether passion be -inconsiderate without reason, or reason ineffectual without passion; -since the one cannot be without the other. It is true, the less the -passion, the less is the mischief; for a little passion is the smaller -evil. Nay, so far is it from being of use or advantage in the field, -that it is in place of all others where it is the most dangerous; -for the actions of war are to be managed with order and caution, not -precipitation and fancy; whereas anger is heedless and heady, and the -virtue only of _barbarous nations_; which, though their bodies were -much stronger and more hardened, were still worsted by the moderation -and discipline of the Romans. There is not upon the face of the earth -a bolder or a more indefatigable nation than the Germans; not a braver -upon a charge, nor a hardier against colds and heats; their only -delights and exercise is in arms, to the utter neglect of all things -else: and, yet upon the encounter, they are broken and destroyed -through their own undisciplined temerity, even by the most effeminate -of men. The huntsman is not angry with the wild boar when he either -pursues or receives him; a good swordsman watches his opportunity, and -keeps himself upon his guard, whereas passion lays a man open: nay, -it is one of the prime lessons in a fencing-school to learn not to -be angry. If Fabius had been _choleric_, Rome had been _lost_; and -before he conquered _Hannibal_ he overcame _himself_. If Scipio had -been _angry_, he would never have left Hannibal and his army (who were -the proper objects of his displeasure) to carry the war into Afric -and so compass his end by a more temperate way. Nay, he was so slow, -that it was charged upon him for want of mettle and resolution. And -what did the _other_ Scipio? (Africanus I mean:) how much time did he -spend before Numantia, to the common grief both of his country and -himself? Though he reduced it at last by so miserable a famine, that -the inhabitants laid violent hands upon themselves, and left neither -man, woman, nor child, to survive the ruins of it. If anger makes a -man fight better, so does wine, frenzy, nay, and fear itself; for -the greatest coward in despair does the greatest wonders. No man is -courageous in his anger that was not so without it. But put the case, -that anger by accident may have done some good, and so have fevers -removed some distempers; but it is an odious kind of remedy that makes -us indebted to a disease for a cure. How many men have been preserved -by poison; by a fall from a precipice; by a shipwreck; by a tempest! -does it therefore follow that we are to recommend the practice of these -experiments? - -“But in case of an exemplary and prostitute dissolution of manners, -when Clodius shall be preferred, and Cicero rejected; when loyalty -shall be broken upon the wheel, and treason sit triumphant upon the -bench; is not this a subject to move the choler of any virtuous man?” -No, by no means, virtue will never allow of the correcting of one vice -by another; or that anger, which is the greater crime of the two, -should presume to punish the less. It is the natural property of -virtue to make a man serene and cheerful; and it is not for the dignity -of a philosopher to be transported either with grief or anger; and then -the end of anger is sorrow, the constant effect of disappointment and -repentance. But, to my purpose. If a man should be angry at wickedness, -the greater the wickedness is, the greater must be his anger; and, so -long as there is wickedness in the world he must never be pleased: -which makes his quiet dependent upon the humor or manners of others. - -There passes not a day over our heads but he that is choleric shall -have some cause or other of displeasure, either from men, accidents, -or business. He shall never stir out of his house but he shall meet -with criminals of all sorts; prodigal, impudent, covetous, perfidious, -contentious, children persecuting their parents, parents cursing their -children, the innocent accused, the delinquent acquitted, and the judge -practicing that in his chamber which he condemns upon the bench. In -fine, wherever there are men there are faults; and upon these terms, -Socrates himself should never bring the same countenance home again -that he carried out with him. - -If anger was sufferable in any case, it might be allowed against an -incorrigible criminal under the hand of justice: but punishment is -not matter of anger but of caution. The law is without passion, and -strikes malefactors as we do serpents and venomous creatures, for fear -of greater mischief. It is not for the dignity of a judge, when he -comes to pronounce the fatal sentence, to express any motions of anger -in his looks, words, or gestures: for he condemns the vice, not the -man; and looks upon the wickedness without anger, as he does upon the -prosperity of wicked men without envy. But though he be not angry, I -would have him a little moved in point of humanity; but yet without any -offence, either to his place or wisdom. Our passions vary, but reason -is equal; and it were a great folly for that which is stable, faithful, -and sound, to repair for succor to that which is uncertain, false, and -distempered. If the offender be incurable, take him out of the world, -that if he will not be good he may cease to be evil; but this must be -without anger too. Does any man hate an arm, or a leg, when he cuts -it off; or reckon _that_ a passion which is only a miserable cure? We -knock mad dogs on the head, and remove scabbed sheep out of the fold: -and this is not anger still, but reason, to separate the sick from -the sound. Justice cannot be angry; nor is there any need of an angry -magistrate for the punishment of foolish and wicked men. The power of -life and death must not be managed with passion. We give a horse the -spur that is restive or jadish, and tries to cast his rider; but this -is without anger too, and only to take down his stomach, and bring him, -by correction, to obedience. - -It is true, that correction is necessary, yet within reason and bounds; -for it does not hurt, but profits us under an appearance of harm. Ill -dispositions in the mind are to be dealt with as those in the body: the -physician first tries purging and abstinence; if this will not do, he -proceeds to bleeding, nay, to dismembering rather than fail; for there -is no operation too severe that ends in health. The public magistrate -begins with persuasion, and his business is to beget a detestation for -vice, and a veneration for virtue; from thence, if need be, he advances -to admonition and reproach, and then to punishments; but moderate and -revocable, unless the wickedness be incurable, and then the punishment -must be so too. There is only this difference, the physician when he -cannot save his patient’s life, endeavors to make his death easy; but -the magistrate aggravates the death of the criminal with infamy and -disgrace; not as delighting in the severity of it, (for no good man -can be so barbarous) but for example, and to the end that they that -will do no good living may do some dead. The end of all correction is -either the amendment of wicked men, or to prevent the influence of -ill example: for men are punished with a respect to the future; not -to expiate offenses committed, but for fear of worse to come. Public -offenders must be a terror to others; but still, all this while, the -power of life and death must not be managed with passion. The medicine, -in the mean time must be suited to the disease; infamy cures one, pain -another, exile cures a third, beggary a fourth; but there are some that -are only to be cured by the gibbet. I would be no more angry with a -thief, or a traitor, than I am angry with myself when I open a vein. -All punishment is but a moral or civil remedy. I do not do anything -that is very ill, but yet I transgress often. Try me first with a -private reprehension, and then with a public; if that will not serve, -see what banishment will do; if not that neither, load me with chains, -lay me in prison: but if I should prove wicked for wickedness’ sake, -and leave no hope of reclaiming me, it would be a kind of mercy to -destroy me. Vice is incorporated with me; and there is no remedy but -the taking of both away together; but still without anger. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -ANGER IN GENERAL, WITH THE DANGER AND EFFECTS OF IT. - - -There is no surer argument of a great mind than not to be transported -to anger by any accident; the clouds and the tempests are formed below, -but all above is quiet and serene; which is the emblem of a brave man, -that suppresses all provocations, and lives within himself, modest, -venerable, and composed: whereas anger is a turbulent humor, which, at -first dash, casts off all shame, without any regard to order, measure, -or good manners; transporting a man into misbecoming violences with his -tongue, his hands, and every part of his body. And whoever considers -the foulness and the brutality of this vice, must acknowledge that -there is no such monster in Nature as one man raging against another, -and laboring to sink that which can never be drowned but with himself -for company. It renders us incapable either of discourse or of other -common duties. It is of all passions the most powerful; for it makes a -man that is in love to kill his mistress, the ambitious man to trample -upon his honors, and the covetous to throw away his fortune. - -There is not any mortal that lives free from the danger of it; for it -makes even the heavy and the good-natured to be fierce and outrageous: -it invades us like a pestilence, the lusty as well as the weak; and -it is not either strength of body, or a good diet, that can secure -us against it; nay, the most learned, and men otherwise of exemplary -sobriety, are infected with it. It is so potent a passion that Socrates -durst not trust himself with it. “Sirrah,” says he to his man, “now -would I beat you, if I were not angry with you!” There is no age or -sect of men that escapes it. Other vices take us one by one; but this, -like an _epidemical contagion_, sweeps all: men, women, and children, -princes and beggars, are carried away with it in shoals and troops as -one man. - -It was never seen that a whole nation was in love with one woman, or -unanimously bent upon one vice: but here and there some particular men -are tainted with some particular crimes; whereas in anger, a single -word many times inflames the whole multitude, and men betake themselves -presently to fire and sword upon it; the rabble take upon them to give -laws to their governors; the common soldiers to their officers, to the -ruin, not only of private families, but of kingdoms: turning their arms -against their own leaders, and choosing their own generals. There is -no public council, no putting things to the vote; but in a rage the -mutineers divide from the senate, name their head, force the nobility -in their own houses, and put them to death with their own hands. -The laws of nations are violated, the persons of public ministers -affronted, whole cities infected with a general madness, and no -respite allowed for the abatement or discussing of this public tumor. -The ships are crowded with tumultuary soldiers; and in this rude and -ill-boding manner they march, and act under the conduct only of their -own passions. Whatever comes next serves them for arms, until at last -they pay for their licentious rashness with the slaughter of the whole -party: this is the event of a heady and inconsiderate war. - -When men’s minds are struck with the opinion of an injury, they fall on -immediately wheresoever their passion leads them, without either order, -fear, or caution: provoking their own mischief; never at rest till they -come to blows; and pursuing their revenge, even with their bodies, -upon the points of their enemies’ weapons. So that the anger itself is -much more hurtful for us than the injury that provokes it; for the one -is bounded, but where the other will stop, no man living knows. There -are no greater slaves certainly, than those that serve anger; for they -improve their misfortunes by an impatience more insupportable than the -calamity that causes it. - -Nor does it rise by degrees, as other passions, but flashes like -gunpowder, blowing up all in a moment. Neither does it only press to -the mark, but overbears everything in the way to it. Other vices drive -us, but this hurries us headlong; other passions stand firm themselves, -though perhaps we cannot resist them; but this consumes and destroys -itself: it falls like thunder or a tempest, with an irrevocable -violence, that gathers strength in the passage, and then evaporates in -the conclusion. Other vices are unreasonable, but this is unhealthful -too; other distempers have their intervals and degrees, but in this -we are thrown down as from a precipice: there is not anything so -amazing to others, or so destructive to itself; so proud and insolent -if it succeeds, or so extravagant if it be disappointed. No repulse -discourages it, and, for want of other matter to work upon, it falls -foul upon itself; and, let the ground be never so trivial, it is -sufficient for the wildest outrage imaginable. It spares neither age, -sex, nor quality. - -Some people would be luxurious perchance, but that they are poor; and -others lazy, if they were not perpetually kept at work. The simplicity -of a country life, keeps many men in ignorance of the frauds and -impieties of courts and camps: but no nation or condition of men is -exempt from the impressions of anger; and it is equally dangerous, as -well in war as in peace. We find that elephants will be made familiar; -bulls will suffer children to ride upon their backs, and play with -their horns; bears and lions, by good usage, will be brought to fawn -upon their masters; how desperate a madness is it then for men, after -the reclaiming of the fiercest of beasts, and the bringing of them -to be tractable and domestic, to become yet worse than beasts one to -another! Alexander had two friends, Clytus and Lysimachus; the one he -exposed to a lion, the other to himself; and he that was turned loose -to the beast escaped. Why do we not rather make the best of a short -life, and render ourselves amiable to all while we live, and desirable -when we die? - -Let us bethink ourselves of our mortality, and not squander away the -little time that we have upon animosities and feuds, as if it were -never to be at an end. Had we not better enjoy the pleasure of our own -life than to be still contriving how to gall and torment another’s? -in all our brawlings and contentions never so much as dreaming of our -weakness. Do we not know that these implacable enmities of ours lie -at the mercy of a fever, or any petty accident, to disappoint? Our -fate is at hand, and the very hour that we have set for another man’s -death may peradventure be prevented by our own. What is it that we -make all this bustle for, and so needlessly disquiet our minds? We are -offended with our servants, our masters, our princes, our clients: it -is but a little patience, and we shall be all of us equal; so that -there is no need either of ambushes or of combats. Our wrath cannot -go beyond death; and death will most undoubtedly come whether we be -peevish or quiet. It is time lost to take pains to do that which will -infallibly be done without us. But suppose that we would only have our -enemy banished, disgraced, or damaged, let his punishment be more or -less, it is yet too long, either for him to be inhumanly tormented, -or for us ourselves to be most barbarously pleased with it. It holds -in anger as in mourning, it must and it will at last fall of itself; -let us look to it then betimes, for when it is once come to an ill -habit, we shall never want matter to feed it; and it is much better to -overcome our passions than to be overcome by them. Some way or other, -either our parents, children, servants, acquaintance, or strangers, -will be continually vexing us. We are tossed hither and thither by our -affections, like a feather in a storm, and by fresh provocations the -madness becomes perpetual. Miserable creatures! that ever our precious -hours should be so ill employed! How prone and eager are we in our -hatred, and how backward in our love! Were it not much better now to -be making of friendships, pacifying of enemies, doing of good offices -both public and private, than to be still meditating of mischief, and -designing how to wound one man in his fame, another in his fortune, a -third in his person? the one being so easy, innocent, and safe, and the -other so difficult, impious, and hazardous. Nay, take a man in chains, -and at the foot of his oppressor; how many are there, who, even in this -case, have maimed themselves in the heat of their violence upon others. - -This untractable passion is much more easily kept out than governed -when it is once admitted; for the stronger will give laws to the -weaker; and make reason a slave to the appetite. It carries us -headlong; and in the course of our fury, we have no more command of -our minds, than we have of our bodies down a precipice: when they are -once in motion, there is no stop until they come to the bottom. Not but -that it is possible for a man to be warm in winter, and not to sweat -in the summer, either by the benefit of the place, or the hardiness of -the body: and in like manner we may provide against anger. But certain -it is, that virtue and vice can never agree in the same subject; and -one may as well be a sick man and a sound at the same time, as a good -man, and an angry. Besides, if we will needs be quarrelsome, it must -be either with our superior, our equal, or inferior. To contend with -our superior is folly and madness: with our equals, it is doubtful and -dangerous: and with our inferiors, it is base. For does any man know -but that he that is now our enemy may come hereafter to be our friend, -over and above the reputation of clemency and good nature? And what -can be more honorable or comfortable, than to exchange a feud for a -friendship? The people of Rome never had more faithful allies than -those that were at first the most obstinate enemies; neither had the -_Roman Empire_ ever arrived at that height of power, if Providence had -not mingled the vanquished with the conquerors. - -There is an end of the contest when one side deserts it; so that -the paying of anger with benefits puts a period to the controversy. -But, however, if it be our fortune to transgress, let not our anger -descend to the children, friends or relations, even of our bitterest -enemies. The very cruelty of Sylla was heightened by that instance of -incapacitating the issue of the proscribed. It is inhuman to entail the -hatred we have for the father upon his posterity. - -A good and a wise man is not to be an _enemy_ of wicked men, but a -_reprover_ of them; and he is to look upon all the drunkards, the -lustful, the thankless, covetous, and ambitious, that he meets with, -not otherwise than as a physician looks upon his patients; for he that -will be angry with _any man_ must be displeased with _all_; which were -as ridiculous as to quarrel with a body for stumbling in the dark; with -one that is deaf, for not doing as you bid him; or with a school-boy -for loving his play better than his book. Democritus _laughed_, and -Heraclitus _wept_, at the folly and wickedness of the world, but we -never read of any _angry philosopher_. - -This is undoubtedly the most detestable of vices, even compared with -the worst of them. Avarice scrapes and gathers together that which -somebody may be the better for: but anger lashes out, and no man comes -_off_ gratis. An angry master makes one servant run away, and another -hang himself; and his choler causes him a much greater loss than he -suffered in the occasion of it. It is the cause of mourning to the -father, and of divorce to the husband: it makes the magistrate odious, -and gives the candidate a repulse. And it is worse than luxury too, -which only aims at its proper pleasure; whereas the other is bent upon -another body’s pain. - -The malevolent and the envious content themselves only to _wish_ -another man miserable; but it is the business of anger to _make_ him -so, and to wreck the mischief itself; not so much desiring the hurt -of another, as to inflict it. Among the powerful, it breaks out into -open war, and into a private one with the common people, but without -force or arms. It engages us in treacheries, perpetual troubles and -contentions: it alters the very nature of a man, and punishes itself in -the persecution of others. Humanity excites us to love, this to hatred; -that to be beneficial to others, this to hurt them: beside, that, -though it proceeds from too high a conceit of ourselves, it is yet, in -effect, but a narrow and contemptible affection; especially when it -meets with a mind that is hard and impenetrable, and returns the dart -upon the head of him that casts it. - -To take a farther view, now, of the miserable consequences and -sanguinary effects of this hideous distemper; from hence come -slaughters and poisons, wars, and desolations, the razing and burning -of cities; the unpeopling of nations, and the turning of populous -countries into deserts, public massacres and regicides; princes led in -triumph; some murdered in their bed-chambers; others stabbed in the -senate or cut off in the security of their spectacles and pleasures. -Some there are that take anger for a princely quality; as Darius, -who, in his expedition against the Scythians, being besought by a -nobleman, that had three sons, that he would vouchsafe to accept -of two of them into his service, and leave the third at home for a -comfort to his father. “I will do more for you than that,” says Darius, -“for you shall have them all three again;” so he ordered them to be -slain before his face, and left him their bodies. But Xerxes dealt a -little better with Pythius, who had five sons, and desired only one of -them for himself. Xerxes bade him take his choice, and he named the -_eldest_, whom he immediately commanded to be cut in halves; and one -half of the body to be laid on each side of the way when his army was -to pass betwixt them; undoubtedly a most auspicious sacrifice; but he -came afterward to the end that he deserved; for he lived to see that -prodigious power scattered and broken: and instead of military and -victorious troops, to be encompassed with carcasses. But these, you -will say, were only barbarous princes that knew neither civility nor -letters; and these savage cruelties will be imputed perchance to their -rudeness of manners, and want of discipline. But what will you say then -of Alexander the Great, that was trained up under the institution of -Aristotle himself, and killed Clytus, his favorite and schoolfellow, -with his _own hand_, under his _own roof_, and _over the freedom of a -cup of wine_? And what was his crime? He was loth to degenerate from a -Macedonian _liberty_ into a Persian _slavery_; that is to say, he could -not _flatter_. - -Lysimachus, another of his friends, he exposed to a lion; and this -very Lysimachus, after he had escaped this danger, was never the more -merciful when he came to reign himself; for he cut off the ears and -nose of his friend Telesphorous; and when he had so disfigured him -that he had no longer the face of a man, he threw him into a dungeon, -and there kept him to be showed for a monster, as a strange sight. -The place was so low that he was fain to creep upon all fours, and -his sides were galled too with the straitness of it. In this misery -he lay half-famished in his own filth; so odious, so terrible, and -so loathsome a spectacle, that the horror of his condition had even -extinguished all pity for him. “Nothing was ever so unlike a mar as the -poor wretch that suffered this, saving the tyrant that acted it.” - -Nor did this merciless hardness only exercise itself among foreigners, -but the fierceness of their outrages and punishments, as well as their -vices, brake in upon the Romans. C. Marius, that had his statue set up -everywhere, and was adored as a God, L. Sylla commanded his bones to be -broken, his eyes to be pulled out, his hands to be cut off; and, as if -every wound had been a several death, his body to be torn to pieces, -and Catiline was the executioner. A _cruelty_ that was only fit for -Marius to _suffer_, Sylla to _command_, and Catiline to _act_; but most -dishonorable and fatal to the commonwealth, to fall indifferently upon -the sword’s point both of citizens and of enemies. - -It was a severe instance, that of Piso too. A soldier that had leave -to go abroad with his comrade, came back to the camp at his time, -but without his companion. Piso condemned him to die, as if he had -killed him, and appoints a centurion to see the execution. Just as the -headsman was ready to do his office, the other soldier appeared, to the -great joy of the whole field, and the centurion bade the executioner -hold his hand. Hereupon Piso, in a rage, mounts the _tribunal_, and -sentences all three to death: the one because he was _condemned_, -the _other_ because it was for _his sake_ that his fellow-soldier -was _condemned_, the _centurion_ for not obeying the _order_ of his -_superior_. An ingenious piece of inhumanity, to contrive how to make -three criminals, where effectively there were none. - -There was a Persian king that caused the noses of a whole nation to -be cut off, and they were to thank him that he spared their heads. -And this, perhaps, would have been the fate of the Macrobii, (if -Providence had not hindered it,) for the freedom they used to Cambyses’ -ambassadors, in not accepting the slavish terms that were offered -them. This put Cambyses into such a rage, that he presently listed -into his service every man that was able to bear arms; and, without -either provisions or guides, marched immediately through dry and barren -deserts, and where never any man had passed before him, to take his -revenge. Before he was a third part of the way, his provisions failed -him. His men, at first, made shift with the buds of trees, boiled -leather, and the like; but soon after there was not so much as a root -or a plant to be gotten, nor a living creature to be seen; and then by -lot every tenth man was to die for a nourishment to the rest, which was -still worse than the famine. But yet this passionate king went on so -far, until one part of his army was lost, and the other devoured, and -until he feared that he himself might come to be served with the same -sauce. So that at last he ordered a retreat, wanting no delicates all -this while for himself, while his soldiers were taking their chance who -should die miserably, or live worse. Here was an anger taken up against -a whole nation, that neither deserved any ill from him, nor was so much -as known to him. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE ORDINARY GROUNDS AND OCCASIONS OF ANGER. - - -In this wandering state of life we meet with many occasions of trouble -and displeasure, both great and trivial; and not a day passes but, from -men or things, we have some cause or other for offense; as a man must -expect to be jostled, dashed, and crowded, in a populous city. One -man deceives our expectation; another delays it; and a third crosses -it; and if everything does not succeed to our wish, we presently fall -out either with the person, the business, the place, our fortune, or -ourselves. Some men value themselves upon their wit, and will never -forgive anyone that pretends to lessen it; others are inflamed by wine: -and some are distempered by sickness, weariness, watchings, love, care, -etc. Some are prone to it, by heat of constitution; but moist, dry, and -cold complexions are more liable to other affections; as suspicion, -despair, fear, jealousy, etc. But most of our quarrels are of our own -contriving. One while we suspect upon mistake; and another while we -make a great matter of trifles. To say the truth, most of those things -that exasperate us are rather subjects of disgust than of mischief: -there is a large difference betwixt opposing a man’s satisfaction -and not assisting it: betwixt _taking away_ and _not giving_; but we -reckon upon _denying_ and _deferring_ as the same thing; and interpret -another’s being _for himself_ as if he were _against us_. Nay, we do -many times entertain an ill opinion of well doing, and a good one of -the contrary: and we hate a man for doing that very thing which we -should hate him for on the other side, if he did not do it. - -We take it ill to be opposed when there is a father perhaps, a brother, -or a friend, in the case against us; when we should rather love a -man for it; and only wish that he could be honestly of our party. We -approve of the fact, and detest the doer of it. It is a base thing to -hate the person whom we cannot but commend; but it is a great deal -worse yet if we hate him for the very thing that deserves commendation. -The things that we desire, if they be such as cannot be given to one -without being taken away from another, must needs set those people -together by the ears that desire the same thing. One man has a design -upon my mistress, another upon mine inheritance; and that which should -make friends makes enemies, our being all of a mind. The general cause -of anger is the sense or opinion of an _injury_; that is, the opinion -either of an injury simply done, or of an injury done, which we have -not deserved. Some are naturally given to anger, others are provoked -to it by occasion; the anger of women and children is commonly sharp, -but not lasting: old men are rather querulous and peevish. Hard labor, -diseases, anxiety of thought, and whatsoever hurts the body or the -mind, disposes a man to be froward, but we must not add fire to fire. - -He that duly considers the subject-matter of all our controversies -and quarrels, will find them low and mean, not worth the thought of -a generous mind; but the greatest noise of all is about _money_. This -is it that sets fathers and children together by the ears, husbands -and wives; and makes way for sword and poison. This is it that tires -out courts of justice, enrages princes, and lays cities in the dust, -to seek for gold and silver in the ruins of them. This is it that -finds work for the judge to determine which side is least in the -wrong; and whose is the more plausible avarice, the plaintiff’s or the -defendant’s. And what is it that we contend for all this while, but -those baubles that make us cry when we should laugh? To see a rich -old cuff, that has nobody to leave his estate to, break his heart -for a handful of dirt; and a gouty usurer, that has no other use of -his fingers left him but to count withal; to see him, I say in the -extremity of his fit, wrangling for the odd money in his interest. If -all that is precious in Nature were gathered into one mass, it were -not worth the trouble of a sober mind. It were endless to run over all -those ridiculous passions that are moved about meats and drinks, and -the matter of our luxury; nay, about words, looks, actions, jealousies, -mistakes, which are all of them as contemptible fooleries as those very -baubles that children scratch and cry for. There is nothing great or -serious in all that which we keep such a clutter about; the madness -of it is, that we set too great a value upon trifles. One man flies -out upon a salute, a letter, a speech, a question, a gesture, a wink, -a look. An action moves one man; a word affects another; one man is -tender of his family; another of his person; one sets up for an orator, -another for a philosopher: this man will not bear pride, nor that man -opposition. He that plays the tyrant at home, is gentle as a lamb -abroad. Some take offense if a man ask a favor of them, and others, if -he does not. Every man has his weak side; let us learn which that is, -and take a care of it; for the same thing does not work upon all men -alike. We are moved like beasts at the idle appearances of things, and -the fiercer the creature, the more is it startled. The sight of a red -coat enrages a bull; a shadow provokes the asp; nay, so unreasonable -are some men, that they take moderate benefits for injuries, and -squabble about it with their nearest relations: “They have done this -and that for others,” they cry; “and they might have dealt better with -us if they had pleased.” Very good! and if it be less than we looked -for, it may be yet more than we deserve. Of all unquiet humors this -is the worst, that will never suffer any man to be happy, so long as -he sees a happier man than himself. I have known some men so weak as -to think themselves contemned if a horse did but play the jade with -_them_, that is yet obedient to _another rider_. A brutal folly to be -offended at a mute animal; for no injury can be done us without the -concurrence of reason. A beast may hurt us, as a sword or a stone, and -no otherwise. Nay, there are that will complain of “foul weather, a -raging sea, a biting winter,” as if it were expressly directed to them; -and this they charge upon Providence, whose operations are all of them -so far from being injurious, that they are beneficial to us. - -How vain and idle are many of those things that make us stark mad! A -resty horse, the overturning of a glass, the falling of a key, the -dragging of a chair, a jealousy, a misconstruction. How shall that -man endure the extremities of hunger and thirst that flies out into a -rage for putting of a little too much water in his wine? What haste -is there to lay a servant by the heels, or break a leg or an arm -immediately for it, as if he were not to have the same power over him -an hour after, that he has at that instant? The answer of a servant, a -wife, a tenant, puts some people out of all patience; and yet they can -quarrel with the government, for not allowing them the same liberty in -public, which they themselves deny to their own families. If they say -nothing, it is contumacy: if they speak or laugh, it is insolence. As -if a man had his ears given him only for music; whereas we must suffer -all sorts of noises, good and bad, both of man and beast. How idle -is it to start at the tinkling of a bell, or the creaking of a door, -when, for all this delicacy, we must endure thunder! Neither are our -eyes less curious and fantastical than our ears. When we are abroad, we -can bear well enough with foul ways, nasty streets, noisome ditches; -but a spot upon a dish at home, or an unswept hearth, absolutely -distracts us. And what is the reason, but that we are patient in the -one place, and fantastically peevish in the other? Nothing makes us -more intemperate than luxury, that shrinks at every stroke, and starts -at every shadow. It is death to some to have another sit above them, -as if a body were ever the more or the less honest for the cushion. -But they are only weak creatures that think themselves wounded if they -be but touched. One of the Sybarites, that saw a fellow hard at work a -digging, desired him to give over, for it made him weary to see him: -and it was an ordinary complaint with him, that “he could take no -rest because the rose-leaves lay double under him.” When we are once -weakened with our pleasures, everything grows intolerable. And we are -angry as well with those things that cannot hurt us as with those that -do. We tear a book because it is blotted; and our clothes, because -they are not well made: things that neither deserve our anger nor feel -it: the tailor, perchance, did his best, or, however, had no intent to -displease us: if so, first, why should we be angry at all? Secondly, -why should we be angry with the thing for the man’s sake? Nay, our -anger extends even to dogs, horses, and other beasts. - -It was a blasphemous and a sottish extravagance, that of Caius Cæsar, -who challenged Jupiter for making such a noise with his _thunder_, that -he could not hear his mimics, and so invented a machine in imitation -of it to oppose _thunder_ to _thunder_; a brutal conceit, to imagine, -either that he could reach the Almighty, or that the Almighty could not -reach him! - -And every jot as ridiculous, though not so impious, was that of Cyrus; -who, in his design upon Babylon, found a river in his way that put a -stop to his march: the current was strong, and carried away one of the -horses that belonged to his own chariot: upon this he swore, that since -it had obstructed _his_ passage, it should never hinder any body’s -else; and presently set his whole army to work upon it, which diverted -it into a hundred and fourscore channels, and laid it dry. In this -ignoble and unprofitable employment he lost his time, and the soldiers -their courage, and gave his adversaries an opportunity of providing -themselves, while he was waging war with a river instead of an enemy. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -ADVICE IN THE CASES OF CONTUMELY AND REVENGE. - - -Of provocations to anger there are two sorts; there is an _injury_, -and there is a _contumely_. The former in its own nature is the -heavier; the other slight in itself, and only troublesome to a wounded -imagination. And yet some there are that will bear blows, and death -itself, rather than contumelious words. A contumely is an indignity -below the consideration of the very law; and not worthy either of -a revenge, or so much as a complaint. It is only the vexation and -infirmity of a weak mind, as well as the practice of a haughty and -insolent nature, and signifies no more to a wise and sober man than -an idle dream, that is no sooner past than forgotten. It is true, it -implies contempt; but what needs any man care for being contemptible -to others, if he be not so to himself? For a child in the arms to -strike the mother, tear her hair, claw the face of her, and call her -names, that goes for nothing with us, because the child knows not what -he does. Neither are we moved at the impudence and bitterness of a -_buffoon_, though he fall upon his own master as well as the guests; -but, on the contrary, we encourage and entertain the freedom. - -Are we not mad then, to be delighted and displeased with the same -thing, and to take that as an _injury_ from one man, which passes only -for a _raillery_ from another? He that is wise will behave himself -toward all men as we do to our children; for they are but children -too, though they have gray hairs: they are indeed of a larger size, -and their errors are grown up with them; they live without rule, they -covet without choice, they are timorous and unsteady; and if at any -time they happen to be quiet, it is more out of fear than reason. It -is a wretched condition to stand in awe of everybody’s tongue; and -whosoever is vexed at a reproach would be proud if he were commended. -We should look upon contumelies, slanders, and ill words, only as the -clamor of enemies, or arrows shot at a distance, that make a clattering -upon our arms, but do no execution. A man makes himself less than his -adversary by fancying that he is contemned. Things are only ill that -are ill taken; and it is not for a man of worth to think himself better -or worse for the opinion of others. He that thinks himself injured, let -him say, “Either I have deserved this, or I have not. If I have, it is -a judgment; if I have not, it is an injustice: and the doer of it has -more reason to be ashamed than the sufferers.” - -Nature has assigned every man his post, which he is bound in honor to -maintain, let him be never so much pressed. Diogenes was disputing of -anger, and an insolent young fellow, to try if he could put him beside -his philosophy, spit in his face: “Young man,” says Diogenes, “this -does not make me angry yet; but I am in some doubt whether I should be -so or not.” Some are so impatient that they cannot bear a contumely, -even from a woman; whose very beauty, greatness, and ornaments, are all -of them little enough to vindicate her from any indecencies, without -much modesty and discretion; nay, they will lay it to heart even from -the meanest of servants. How wretched is that man whose peace lies at -the mercy of the people? - -A physician is not angry at the intemperance of a mad patient; nor does -he take it ill to be railed at by a man in a fever; just so should a -wise man treat all mankind as a physician does his patient; and looking -upon them only as sick and extravagant, let their words and actions, -whether good or bad, go equally for nothing, attending still his duty -even in the coarsest offices that may conduce to their recovery. Men -that are proud, froward, and powerful, he values their scorn as little -as their quality, and looks upon them no otherwise than as people in -the excess of a fever. If a beggar worships him, or if he takes no -notice of him, it is all one to him; and with a rich man he makes it -the same case. Their honors and their injuries he accounts much alike; -without rejoicing at the one, or grieving at the other. - -In these cases, the rule is to pardon all offenses, where there is any -sign of repentance, or hope of amendment. It does not hold in injuries -as in benefits, the requiting of the one with the other; for it is -a shame to overcome in the one, and in the other to be overcome. It -is the part of a great mind to despise injuries; and it is one kind -of revenge to neglect a man as not worth it: for it makes the first -aggressor too considerable. Our philosophy, methinks, might carry us -up to the bravery of a generous mastiff, that can hear the barking of -a thousand curs without taking any notice of them. He that receives -an injury from his superior, it is not enough for him to bear it with -patience, and without any thought of revenge, but he must receive it -with a cheerful countenance, and look as if he did not understand it -too; for if he appear too sensible, he shall be sure to have more of -it. “It is a damned humor in great men, that whom they wrong they will -hate.” - -It is well answered of an old courtier, that was asked how he kept -so long in favor? “Why,” says he, “by receiving injuries, and crying -your humble servant for them.” Some men take it for an argument of -greatness to have revenge in their power; but so far is he that is -under the dominion of anger from being great, that he is not so much -as free. Not but that anger is a kind of pleasure to some in the act -of revenge; but the very _word_ is _inhuman_, though it may pass for -_honest_. “Virtue,” in short, “is impenetrable, and revenge is only the -confession of an infirmity.” - -It is a fantastical humor, that the same jest in private should make us -merry, and yet enrage us in public; nay, we will not allow the liberty -that we take. Some railleries we account pleasant, others bitter: a -conceit upon a _squint-eye_, a _hunch-back_, or any personal defect, -passes for a reproach. And why may we not as well hear it as see it? -Nay, if a man imitates our gait, speech, or any natural imperfection, -it puts us out of all patience; as if the counterfeit were more -grievous than the doing of the thing itself. Some cannot endure to -hear of their age, nor others of their poverty; and they make the -thing the more taken notice of the more they desire to hide it. Some -bitter jest (for the purpose) was broken upon you at the table: keep -better company then. In the freedom of cups, a sober man will hardly -contain himself within bounds. It sticks with us extremely sometimes, -that the porter will not let us in to his great master. Will any but a -madman quarrel with a cur for barking, when he may pacify him with a -crust? What have we to do but to keep further off, and laugh at him? -Fidus Cornelius (a tall slim fellow) fell downright a-crying in the -senate-house at Corbulo’s saying that “he looked like an ostrich.” -He was a man that made nothing of a lash upon his life and manners; -but it was worse than death to him a reflection upon his person. No -man was ever ridiculous to others that laughed at himself first: it -prevents mischief, and it is a spiteful disappointment of those that -take pleasure in such abuses. Vatinius, (a man that was made up for -scorn and hatred, scurrilous and impudent to the highest degree, but -most abusively witty and with all this he was diseased, and deformed to -extremity), his way, was always to make sport with himself, and so he -prevented the mockeries of other people. There are none more abusive -to others than they that lie most open to it themselves; but the humor -goes round, and he that laughs at me to-day will have somebody to laugh -at him to-morrow, and revenge my quarrel. But, however, there are some -liberties that will never go down with some men. - -Asiaticus Valerius, (one of Caligula’s particular friends, and a man of -stomach, that would not easily digest an affront) Caligula told him in -public what kind of bedfellow his wife was. Good God! that ever any man -should hear this, or a prince speak it, especially to a man of consular -authority, a friend, and a husband: and in such a manner too as at once -to own his disgust and his adultery. The tribune Chæreas had a weak -broken voice, like an hermaphrodite; when he came to Caligula for the -_word_, he would give him sometimes _Venus_, otherwhiles _Priapus_, -as a slur upon him both ways. Valerius was afterwards the principal -instrument in the conspiracy against him; and Chæreas, to convince him -of his manhood, at one blow cleft him down the chin with his sword. -No man was so forward as Caligula to _break_ a jest, and no man so -unwilling to _bear_ it. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -CAUTIONS AGAINST ANGER IN THE MATTER OF EDUCATION, CONVERSE, AND OTHER -GENERAL RULES OF PREVENTING IT, BOTH IN OURSELVES AND OTHERS. - - -All that we have to say in particular upon this subject lies under -these two heads: first, that we do not _fall_ into anger; and secondly, -that we do not _transgress in it_. As in the case of our bodies, we -have some medicines to preserve us when we are well, and others to -recover us when we are sick; so it is one thing not to admit it, and -another thing to overcome it. We are, in the first place, to avoid all -provocations, and the beginnings of anger: for if we be once down, it -is a hard task to get up again. When our passion has got the better of -our reason, and the enemy is received into the gate, we cannot expect -that the conqueror should take conditions from the prisoner. And, in -truth, our reason, when it is thus mastered, turns effectually into -passion. A careful education is a great matter; for our minds are -easily formed in our youth, but it is a harder business to cure ill -habits: beside that, we are inflamed by climate, constitution, company, -and a thousand other accidents, that we are not aware of. - -The choice of a good nurse, and a well-natured tutor, goes a great -way: for the sweetness both of the blood and of the manners will -pass into the child. There is nothing breeds anger more than a soft -and effeminate education; and it is very seldom seen that either -the mother’s or the school-master’s darling ever comes to good. But -_my young master_, when he comes into the world, behaves himself -like a choleric coxcomb; for flattery, and a great fortune, nourish -touchiness. But it is a nice point so to check the seeds of anger in -a child as not to take off his edge, and quench his spirits; whereof -a principal care must be taken betwixt license and severity, that he -be neither too much emboldened nor depressed. Commendation gives him -courage and confidence; but then the danger is, of blowing him up -into insolence and wrath: so that when to use the bit, and when the -spur, is the main difficulty. Never put him to a necessity of begging -anything basely: or if he does, let him go without it. Inure him to -a familiarity where he has any emulation; and in all his exercises -let him understand that it is generous to overcome his competitor, -but not to hurt him. Allow him to be pleased when he does well, but -not transported; for that will puff him up into too high a conceit -of himself. Give him nothing that he cries for till the dogged fit -is over, but then let him have it when he is quiet; to show him that -there is nothing to be gotten by being peevish. Chide him for whatever -he does amiss, and make him betimes acquainted with the fortune that -he was born to. Let his diet be cleanly, but sparing; and clothe him -like the rest of his fellows: for by placing him upon that equality at -first, he will be the less proud afterward: and, consequently the less -waspish and quarrelsome. - -In the next place, let us have a care of temptations that we cannot -resist, and provocations that we cannot bear; and especially of sour -and exceptious company: for a cross humor is contagious. Nor is it all -that a man shall be the better for the example of a quiet conversation; -but an angry disposition is troublesome, because it has nothing else to -work upon. We should therefore choose a sincere, easy, and temperate -companion, that will neither provoke anger nor return it; nor give a -man any occasion of exercising his distempers. Nor is it enough to be -gentle, submissive, and humane, without integrity and plain-dealing; -for flattery is as offensive on the other side. Some men would take a -curse from you better than a compliment. Cælius, a passionate orator, -had a friend of singular patience that supped with him, who had no -way to avoid a quarrel but by saying _amen_ to all that Cælius said. -Cælius, taking this ill: “Say something against me,” says he, “that you -and I may be two;” and he was angry with him because he would not: but -the dispute fell, as it needs must, for want of an opponent. - -He that is naturally addicted to anger, let him use a moderate diet, -and abstain from wine; for it is but adding fire to fire. Gentle -exercises, recreations, and sports, temper and sweeten the mind. Let -him have a care also of long and obstinate disputes; for it is easier -not to begin them than to put an end to them. Severe studies are not -good for him either, as _law_, _mathematics_; too much attention preys -upon the spirits, and makes him eager: but _poetry_, _history_ and -those lighter entertainments, may serve him for diversion and relief. -He that would be quiet, must not venture at things out of his reach, -or beyond his strength; for he shall either stagger under the burden, -or discharge it upon the next man he meets; which is the same case in -civil and domestic affairs. Business that is ready and practicable -goes off with ease; but when it is too heavy for the bearer, they fall -both together. Whatsoever we design, we should first take a measure of -ourselves, and compare our force with the undertaking; for it vexes -a man not to go through with his work: a repulse inflames a generous -nature, as it makes one that is _phlegmatic_, _sad_. I have known -some that have advised looking in a glass when a man is in the fit, -and the very spectacle of his own deformity has cured him. Many that -are troublesome in their drink, and know their own infirmity, give -their servant order beforehand to take them away by force for fear -of mischief, and not to obey their masters themselves when they are -hot-headed. If the thing were duly considered we should need no other -cure than the bare consideration of it. We are not angry at madmen, -children, and fools, because they do not know what they do: and why -should not imprudence have an equal privilege in other cases? If a -horse kick, or a dog bite, shall a man kick or bite again? The one, -it is true, is wholly void of reason, but it is also an equivalent -darkness of mind that possesses the other. So long as we are among -men, let us cherish humanity, and so live that no man may be either in -fear or in danger of us. Losses, injuries, reproaches, calumnies, they -are but short inconveniences, and we should bear them with resolution. -Beside that, some people are above our anger, others below it. To -contend with our superiors were a folly, and with our inferiors an -indignity. - -There is hardly a more effectual remedy against anger than patience -and consideration. Let but the first fervor abate, and that mist which -darkens the mind will be either lessened or dispelled; a day, nay, -an hour, does much in the most violent cases, and perchance totally -suppresses it; time discovers the truth of things, and turns that -into judgment which at first was anger. Plato was about to strike his -servant, and while his hand was in the air, he checked himself, but -still held it in that menacing posture. A friend of his took notice of -it, and asked him what he meant? “I am now,” says Plato, “punishing of -an angry man;” so that he had left his servant to chastise himself. -Another time his servant having committed a great fault: “Speusippus,” -says he, “do you beat that fellow, for I am angry,” so that he forebore -striking him for the very reason that would have made another man have -done it. “I am angry,” says he, “and shall go further than becomes me.” -Nor is it fit that a servant should be in his power that is not his -own master. Why should any one venture now to trust an angry man with -a revenge, when Plato durst not trust himself? Either he must govern -that, or that will undo him. Let us do our best to overcome it, but let -us, however, keep it close, without giving it any vent. An angry man, -if he gives himself liberty at all times, will go too far. If it comes -once to show itself in the eye or countenance, it has got the better -of us. Nay, we should so oppose it as to put on the very contrary -dispositions; calm looks, soft and slow speech, an easy and deliberate -march, and by little and little, we may possibly bring our thoughts -into sober conformity with our actions. When Socrates was angry, he -would take himself in it, and _speak low_, in opposition to the motions -of his displeasure. His friends would take notice of it; and it was -not to his disadvantage neither, but rather to his credit, that so -many should _know_ that he was angry, and nobody _feel_ it; which -could not have been, if he had not given his friends the same liberty -of admonition which he himself took. And this course should we take; -we should desire our friends not to flatter us in our follies, but to -treat us with all liberties of reprehension, even when we are least -willing to bear it, against so powerful and so insinuating an evil; -we should call for help while we have our eyes in our head, and are -yet masters of ourselves. Moderation is profitable for subjects, but -more for princes, who have the means of executing all that their anger -prompts them to. When that power comes once to be exercised to a common -mischief, it can never long continue; a common fear joining in one -cause all their divided complaints. In a word now, how we may prevent, -moderate, or master this impotent passion in others. - -It is not enough to be sound ourselves, unless we endeavor to make -others so, wherein we must accommodate the remedy to the temper of the -patient. Some are to be dealt with by artifice and address: as, for -example, “Why will you gratify your enemies to show yourself so much -concerned? It is not worth your anger: it is below you: I am as much -troubled at it myself as you can be; but you had better say nothing, -and take your time to be even with them.” Anger in some people is to be -openly opposed; in others, there must be a little yielding, according -to the disposition of the person. Some are won by entreaties, others -are gained by mere shame and conviction, and some by delay; a dull way -of cure for a violent distemper, but this must be the last experiment. -Other affections may be better dealt with at leisure; for they proceed -gradually: but this commences and perfects itself in the same moment. -It does not, like other passions, solicit and mislead us, but it runs -away with us by force, and hurries us on with an irresistible temerity, -as well to our own as to another’s ruin: not only flying in the face -of him that provokes us, but like a torrent, bearing down all before -it. There is no encountering the first heat and fury of it: for it is -deaf and mad, the best way is (in the beginning) to give it time and -rest, and let it spend itself: while the passion is too hot to handle, -we may deceive it; but, however, let all instruments of revenge be -put out of the way. It is not amiss sometimes to pretend to be angry -too; and join with him, not only in the opinion of the injury, but in -the seeming contrivance of a revenge. But this must be a person then -that has some authority over him. This is a way to get time, and, by -advising upon some greater punishment to delay the present. If the -passion be outrageous, try what shame or fear can do. If weak, it is no -hard matter to amuse it by strange stories, grateful news, or pleasant -discourses. Deceit, in this case, is friendship; for men must be -cozened to be cured. - -The injuries that press hardest upon us are those which either we -have not deserved, or not expected, or, at least, not in so high a -degree. This arises from the love of ourselves: for every man takes -upon him, like a prince, in this case, to practice all liberties, and -to allow none, which proceeds either from ignorance or insolence. What -news is it for people to do ill things? for an enemy to hurt us; nay, -for a friend or a servant to transgress, and to prove treacherous, -ungrateful, covetous, impious? What we find in one man we may in -another, and there is more security in fortune than in men. Our joys -are mingled with fear, and a tempest may arise out of a calm; but a -skilful pilot is always provided for it. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -AGAINST RASH JUDGMENT. - - -It is good for every man to fortify himself on his weak side: and -if he loves his peace he must not be inquisitive, and hearken to -tale-bearers; for the man that is over-curious to hear and see -everything, multiplies troubles to himself: for a man does not -feel what he does not know. He that is listening after private -discourse, and what people say of him, shall never be at peace. How -many things that are innocent in themselves are made injuries yet by -misconstruction! Wherefore, some things we are to pause upon, others to -laugh at, and others again to pardon. Or, if we cannot avoid the sense -of indignities, let us however shun the open profession of it, which -may easily be done, as appears by many examples of those that have -suppressed their anger under the awe of a greater fear. It is a good -caution not to believe any thing until we are very certain of it; for -many probable things prove false, and a short time will make evidence -of the undoubted truth. We are prone to believe many things which -we are willing to hear, and so we conclude, and take up a prejudice -before we can judge. Never condemn a friend unheard; or without letting -him know his accuser, or his crime. It is a common thing to say, “Do -not you tell that you had it from me: for if you do, I will deny -it, and never tell you any thing again:” by which means friends are -set together by the ears, and the informer slips his neck out of the -collar. Admit no stories upon these terms: for it is an unjust thing -to believe in private and to be angry openly. He that delivers himself -up to guess and conjecture runs a great hazard; for there can be no -suspicion without some probable grounds; so that without much candor -and simplicity, and making the best of every thing, there is no living -in society with mankind. Some things that offend us we have by report; -others we see or hear. In the first case, let us not be too credulous: -some people frame stories that they may deceive us; others only tell -what they hear, and are deceived themselves: some make it their sport -to do ill offices, others do them only to pick a thank: there are some -that would part the dearest friends in the world; others love to do -mischief, and stand aloof off to see what comes of it. If it be a small -matter, I would have witnesses; but if it be a greater, I would have -it upon oath, and allow time to the accused, and counsel too, and hear -over and over again. - -In those cases where we ourselves are witnesses, we should take into -consideration all the circumstances. If a _child_, it was _ignorance_: -if a _woman_, a _mistake_: if done by _command_ a _necessity_; if a -_man_ be injured, it is but _quod pro quo_: if a _judge_, he _knows_ -what he does: if a _prince_, I must _submit_; either if _guilty_, to -_justice_, or if _innocent_, to _fortune_: if a _brute_, I make myself -one by _imitating_ it: if a _calamity_ or _disease_, my best relief -is _patience_: if _providence_, it is both _impious_ and _vain_ to -be _angry_ at it: if a _good_ man, I will make the _best_ of it: if -a _bad_, I will never _wonder_ at it. Nor is it only by _tales_ and -_stories_ that we are inflamed, but _suspicions_, _countenances_, nay, -a _look_ or a _smile_, is enough to blow us up. In these cases, let us -suspend our displeasure, and plead the cause of the absent. “Perhaps -he is innocent; or, if not, I have time to consider of it and may take -my revenge at leisure:” but when it is once _executed_ it is not to -be _recalled_. A jealous head is apt to take that to himself which -was never meant him. Let us therefore trust to nothing but what we -see, and chide ourselves where we are over-credulous. By this course -we shall not be so easily imposed upon, nor put to trouble ourselves -about things not worth the while: as the loitering of a servant upon an -errand, and the tumbling of a bed, or the spilling of a glass of drink. - -It is a madness to be disordered at these fooleries; we consider the -thing done, and not the doer of it. “It may be he did it unwillingly, -or by chance. It was a trick put upon him, or he was forced to it. He -did it for reward perhaps, not hatred; nor of his own accord, but he -was urged on to it.” Nay, some regard must be had to the age of the -person, or to fortune; and we must consult humanity and candor in the -case. One does me a _great mischief_ at _unawares_; another does me a -very _small_ one by _design_, or peradventure none at all, but intended -me one. The latter was more in fault, but I will be angry with neither. -We must distinguish betwixt what a man cannot do and what he will not. -“It is true he has once offended me; but how often has he pleased me! -He has offended me often, and in other kinds; and why should not I bear -it as well now as I have done?” Is he my friend? why then, “It was -against his will.” Is he my enemy? It is “no more than I looked for.” -Let us give way to wise men, and not squabble with fools; and say thus -to ourselves, “We have all of us our errors.” No man is so circumspect, -so considerate, or so fearful of offending, but he has much to answer -for. - -A generous prisoner cannot immediately comply with all the sordid and -laborious offices of a slave. A footman that is not breathed cannot -keep pace with his master’s horse. He that is over-watched may be -allowed to be drowsy. All these things are to be weighed before we give -any ear to the first impulse. If it be my duty to love my country, -I must be kind also to my countrymen; if a veneration be due to the -whole, so is a piety also to the parts: and it is the common interest -to preserve them. We are all members of one body, and it is as natural -to help one another as for the hands to help the feet, or the eyes the -hands. Without the love and care of the parts, the whole can never -be preserved, and we must spare one another because we are born for -society, which cannot be maintained without a regard to particulars. -Let this be a rule to us, never to deny a pardon, that does no hurt -either to the giver or receiver. That may be well enough in one which -is ill in another; and therefore we are not to condemn anything that is -common to a nation; for custom defends it. But much more pardonable are -those things which are common to mankind. - -It is a kind of spiteful comfort, that whoever does me an injury may -receive one; and that there is a power over him that is above me. A man -should stand as firm against all indignities as a rock does against -the waves. As it is some satisfaction to a man in a mean condition -that there is no security in a more prosperous; and as the loss of -a son in a corner is borne with more patience upon the sight of a -funeral carried out of a palace; so are injuries and contempts the more -tolerable from a meaner person, when we consider, that the greatest -men and fortunes are not exempt. The wisest also of mortals have their -failings, and no man living is without the same excuse. The difference -is, that we do not all of us transgress the same way; but we are -obliged in humanity to bear one with another. - -We should, every one of us, bethink ourselves, how remiss we have -been in our duties, how immodest in our discourses, how intemperate -in our cups; and why not, as well, how extravagant we have been in -our passions? Let us clear ourselves of this evil, purge our minds, -and utterly root out all those vices, which upon leaving the least -sting, will grow again and recover. We must think of everything, expect -everything, that we may not be surprised. It is a shame, says Fabius, -for a commander to excuse himself by saying, “I was not aware of it.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -TAKE NOTHING ILL FROM ANOTHER MAN, UNTIL YOU HAVE MADE IT YOUR OWN CASE. - - -It is not prudent to deny a pardon to any man, without first examining -if we stand not in need of it ourselves; for it may be our lot to ask -it, even at his feet to whom we refuse it. But we are willing enough to -do what we are very unwilling to suffer. It is unreasonable to charge -public vices upon particular persons; for we are all of us wicked, -and that which we blame in others we find in ourselves. It is not a -paleness in one, or a leanness in another, but a pestilence that has -laid hold upon all. - -It is a wicked world, and we make part of it; and the way to be quiet -is to bear one with another. “Such a man,” we cry, “has done me a -shrewd turn, and I never did him any hurt.” Well, but it may be I have -mischieved other people, or at least, I may live to do as much to him -as that comes to. “Such a one has spoken ill things of me;” but if I -first speak ill of him, as I do of many others, this is not an injury, -but a repayment. What if he did overshoot himself? He was loth to lose -his conceit perhaps, but there was no malice in it; and if he had -not done me a mischief, he must have done himself one. How many good -offices are there that look like injuries! Nay, how many have been -reconciled and good friends after a professed hatred! - -Before we lay anything to heart, let us ask ourselves if we have not -done the same thing to others. But where shall we find an equal judge? -He that loves another man’s wife (only because she is another’s) will -not suffer his own to be so much looked upon. No man is so fierce -against calumny as the evil speaker; none so strict exactors of modesty -in a servant as those that are most prodigal of their own. We carry our -neighbors’ crimes in sight, and we throw our own over our shoulders. -The intemperance of a bad son is chastised by a worse father; and the -luxury that we punish in others, we allow to ourselves. The tyrant -exclaims against homicide; and sacrilege against theft. We are angry -with the persons, but not with the faults. - -Some things there are that cannot hurt us, and others will not; as good -magistrates, parents, tutors, judges; whose reproof or correction we -are to take as we do abstinence, bleeding, and other uneasy things, -which we are the better for, in which cases, we are not so much to -reckon upon what we suffer as upon what we have done. “I take it ill,” -says one; and, “I have done nothing,” says another: when, at the same -time, we make it worse, by adding arrogance and contumacy to our first -error. We cry out presently, “What law have we transgressed?” As if the -letter of the law were the sum of our duty, and that piety, humanity, -liberality, justice, and faith, were things beside our business. No, -no; the rule of human duty is of a greater latitude; and we have many -obligations upon us that are not to be found in the _statute-books_. -And yet we fall short of the exactness event of that _legal -innocency_. We have intended one thing and done another; wherein only -the want of success has kept us from being criminals. This very thing, -methinks, should make us more favorable to delinquents, and to forgive -not only ourselves, but the gods too; of whom we seem to have harder -thoughts in taking that to be a particular evil directed to us, that -befalls us only by the common law of mortality. In fine, no man living -can absolve himself to his conscience, though to the world, perhaps, he -may. It is true, that we are also condemned to pains and diseases, and -to death too, which is no more than the quitting of the soul’s house. -But why should any man complain of bondage, that, wheresoever he looks, -has his way open to liberty? That precipice, that sea, that river, that -well, there is freedom in the bottom of it. It hangs upon every crooked -bow; and not only a man’s throat, or his heart, but every vein in his -body, opens a passage to it. - -To conclude, where my proper virtue fails me, I will have recourse to -examples, and say to myself, Am I greater than Philip or Augustus, who -both of them put up with greater reproaches? Many have pardoned their -enemies, and shall not I forgive a neglect, a little freedom of the -tongue? Nay, the patience but of a second thought does the business: -for though the first shock be violent; take it in parts, and it is -subdued. And, to wind up all in one word, the great lesson of mankind, -as well in this as in all other cases, is, “to do as we would be done -by.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -OF CRUELTY. - - -There is so near an affinity betwixt _anger_ and _cruelty_, that many -people confound them; as if _cruelty_ were only the _execution_ of -_anger_ in the payment of a _revenge_: which holds in some cases, -but not in others. There are a sort of men that take delight in the -spilling of human blood, and in the death of those that never did them -any injury, nor were ever so much suspected for it; as Apollodorus, -Phalaris, Sinis, Procrustus, and others, that burnt men alive; whom -we cannot so properly call _angry_ as _brutal_, for _anger_ does -necessarily presuppose an injury, either _done_, or _conceived_, or -_feared_, but the other takes _pleasure_ in _tormenting_, without so -much as pretending any _provocation_ to it, and _kills_ merely for -_killing sake_. The _original_ of this _cruelty_ perhaps was _anger_, -which by frequent _exercise_ and _custom_, has lost all sense of -_humanity_ and _mercy_, and they that are thus affected are so far -from the countenance and appearance of men in _anger_, that they will -_laugh_, _rejoice_, and _entertain themselves_ with the most _horrid -spectacles_, as _racks_, _jails_, _gibbets_, several sorts of _chains_ -and _punishments_, _dilaceration_ of _members_, _stigmatizing_, and -_wild beasts_, with other exquisite inventions of torture; and yet, at -last the cruelty itself is more horrid and odious than the means by -which it works. It is a bestial madness to _love_ mischief; beside, -that it is _womanish_ to _rage_ and _tear_. A generous beast will scorn -to do it when he has any thing at his mercy. It is a vice for wolves -and tigers, and no less _abominable_ to the _world_ than _dangerous_ to -itself. - -The Romans had their _morning_ and their _meridian spectacles_. In -the _former_, they had their combats of _men_ with _wild beasts_; and -in the _latter_, the _men_ fought _one with another_. “I went,” says -our author, “the other day to the _meridian spectacles_, in hope of -meeting somewhat of mirth and diversion to sweeten the humors of those -that had been entertained with blood in the _morning_; but it proved -otherwise, for, compared with this inhumanity, the former was a mercy. -The whole business was only murder upon murder: the combatants fought -naked, and every blow was a wound. They do not contend for _victory_, -but for _death_; and he that kills one man is to be killed by another. -By wounds they are forced upon wounds which they take and give upon -their bare _breasts. Burn that rogue_, they cry _What! Is he afraid -of his flesh? Do but see how sneakingly that rascal dies._ Look to -yourselves, my masters, and consider of it: who knows but this may come -to be your own case?” Wicked examples seldom fail of coming home at -last to the authors. To destroy a _single_ man may be dangerous; but -to murder whole nations is only a more _glorious wickedness. Private -avarice_ and _rigor_ are condemned, but _oppression_, when it comes to -be _authorized_ by an act of state, and to be publicly _commanded_, -though particularly forbidden, becomes a point of _dignity_ and -_honor_. What a shame is it for men to interworry one another, when -yet the fiercest even of beasts are at peace with those of their own -kind? This brutal fury puts philosophy itself to a stand. The drunkard, -the glutton, the covetous, may be reduced; nay, and the mischief of -it is that no vice keeps itself within its proper bounds. Luxury runs -into avarice, and when the reverence of virtue is extinguished, men -will stick at nothing that carries profit along with it; man’s blood is -shed in wantonness—his death is a spectacle for entertainment, and his -groans are music. When Alexander delivered up Lysimachus to a lion, how -glad would he have been to have had nails and teeth to have devoured -him himself: it would have too much derogated, he thought, from the -dignity of his wrath, to have appointed a _man_ for the execution of -his friend. Private cruelties, it is true, cannot do much mischief, but -in princes they are a war against mankind. - -C. Cæsar would commonly, for _exercise_ and _pleasure_, put _senators_ -and _Roman knights_ to the _torture_; and _whip_ several of them like -_slaves_, or put them to _death_ with the most acute _torments_, -merely for the satisfaction of his _cruelty_. That Cæsar that “wished -the people of Rome had but one neck, that he might cut it off at one -blow;”—it was the employment, the study, and the joy of his life. He -would not so much as give the expiring leave to groan, but caused their -mouths to be stopped with sponges, or for want of them, with rags of -their own clothes, that they might not breathe out so much as their -last agonies at liberty; or, perhaps, lest the tormented should speak -something which the tormentor had no mind to hear. Nay, he was so -impatient of delay, that he would frequently rise from supper to have -men killed by _torch-light_, as if his life and death had depended -upon their dispatch before the next morning; to say nothing how many -_fathers_ were put to death in the same night with their _sons_ (which -was a kind of mercy in the prevention of their mourning). And was not -Sylla’s cruelty prodigious too, which was only stopped for want of -enemies? He caused seven thousand _citizens_ of Rome to be slaughtered -at once; and some of the senators being startled at their cries that -were heard in the _senate-house_, “Let us mind our business,” says -Sylla; “this is nothing but a few mutineers that I have ordered to be -sent out of the way.” A _glorious spectacle_! says Hannibal, when he -saw the trenches flowing with human blood; and if the rivers had run -blood too, he would have liked it so much the better. - -Among the famous and detestable speeches that are committed to memory, -I know none worse than that impudent and _tyrannical maxim_, “Let them -hate me, so they fear me;” not considering that those that are kept -in obedience by fear, are both malicious and mercenary, and only wait -for an opportunity to change their master. Beside that, whosoever is -terrible to others is likewise afraid of himself. What is more ordinary -than for a tyrant to be destroyed by his own guards? which is no more -than the putting those crimes into practice which they learned of -their masters. How many slaves have revenged themselves of their cruel -oppressors, though they were sure to die for it! but when it comes -once to a _popular tyranny_, whole nations conspire against it. For -“whosoever threatens all, is in danger of all,” over and above, that -the cruelty of the prince increases the _number_ of his enemies, by -destroying some of them; for it entails an hereditary hatred upon the -friends and relations of those that are taken away. And then it has -this misfortune, that a man must be wicked upon necessity; for there -is no going back; so that he must betake himself to arms, and yet he -lives in fear. He can neither trust to the faith of his friends, nor -to the piety of his children; he both dreads death and wishes it; and -becomes a greater terror to himself than he is to his people. Nay, if -there were nothing else to make cruelty detestable, it were enough that -it passes all bounds, both of custom and humanity; and is followed upon -the heel with sword or poison. A private malice indeed does not move -whole cities; but that which extends to all is every body’s mark. One -sick person gives no great disturbance in a family; but when it comes -to a depopulating plague, all people fly from it. And why should a -prince expect any man to be good whom he has taught to be wicked? - -But what if it were _safe_ to be _cruel_? Were it not still a sad -thing, the very state of such a _government_? A _government_ that -bears the image of a _taken city_, where there is nothing but -_sorrow_, _trouble_, and _confusion_. Men dare not so much as trust -themselves with their friends or with their pleasures. There is not any -entertainment so innocent but it affords pretence of crime and danger. -People are betrayed at their _tables_ and in their _cups_, and drawn -from the very _theatre_ to the _prison_. How horrid a madness is it -to be still _raging_ and _killing_; to have the rattling of _chains_ -always in our _ears; bloody spectacles_ before our _eyes_; and to carry -_terror_ and _dismay_ wherever we go! If we had _lions_ and _serpents_, -to rule over us, this would be the manner of their _government_, -saving that they agree better among themselves. It passes for a mark -of greatness to burn cities, and lay whole kingdoms waste; nor is it -for the honor of a prince, to appoint this or that single man to be -killed, unless they have whole _troops_, or (sometimes) _legions_, to -work upon. But it is not the spoils of _war_ and _bloody trophies_ that -make a prince _glorious_, but the _divine power_ of preserving _unity_ -and _peace. Ruin_ without _distinction_ is more properly the business -of a general _deluge_, or a _conflagration_. Neither does a fierce -and inexorable _anger_ become the _supreme magistrate_; “Greatness of -mind is always meek and humble; but cruelty is a note and an effect of -weakness, and brings down a governor to the level of a competitor.” - - - - -SENECA OF CLEMENCY. - - -The humanity and excellence of this virtue is confessed at all hands, -as well by the men of _pleasure_, and those that think every man was -made for himself, as by the Stoics, that make “man a sociable creature, -and born for the common good of mankind:” for it is of all dispositions -the most _peaceable_ and _quiet_. But before we enter any farther upon -the discourse, it should be first known what _clemency_ is, that we may -distinguish it from _pity_; which is a _weakness_, though many times -mistaken for a _virtue_: and the next thing will be, to bring the mind -to the _habit_ and _exercise_ of it. - -“Clemency is a favorable disposition of the mind, in the matter of -inflicting punishment; or, a moderation that remits somewhat of the -penalty incurred; as _pardon_ is the total remission of a deserved -punishment.” We must be careful not to confound _clemency_ with -_pity_; for as _religion worships_ God, and _superstition profanes_ -that worship; so should we distinguish betwixt _clemency_ and _pity_; -_practicing_ the _one_, and _avoiding_ the _other_. For _pity_ proceeds -from a _narrowness of mind_, that respects rather the _fortune_ than -the _cause_. It is a kind of moral sickness, contracted from other -people’s misfortune: such another weakness as laughing or yawning for -company, or as that of sick eyes that cannot look upon others that are -bleared without dropping themselves. I will give a shipwrecked man a -plank, a lodging to a stranger, or a piece of money to him that wants -it: I will dry up the tears of my friend, yet I will not weep with him, -but treat him with constancy and humanity, as _one man_ ought to treat -_another_. - -It is objected by some, that _clemency_ is an insignificant virtue; and -that only the bad are the better for it, for the good have no need of -it. But in the first place, as physic is in use only among the sick, -and yet in honor with the sound, so the innocent have a reverence -for clemency, though criminals are properly the objects of it. And -then again, a man may be innocent, and yet have occasion for it too; -for by the accidents of fortune, or the condition of times, virtue -itself may come to be in danger. Consider the most populous city or -nation; what a solitude would it be if none should be left there but -those that could stand the test of a severe justice! We should have -neither judges nor accusers; none either to grant a pardon or to ask -it. More or less, we are all sinners; and he that has best purged his -conscience, was brought by errors to repentance. And it is farther -profitable to mankind; for many delinquents come to be converted. There -is a tenderness to be used even toward our slaves, and those that we -have bought with our money: how much more then to free and to honest -men, that are rather under our protection than dominion! Not that I -would have it so general neither as not to distinguish betwixt the good -and the bad; for that would introduce a confusion, and give a kind of -encouragement to wickedness. It must therefore have a respect to the -quality of the offender, and separate the curable from the desperate; -for it is an equal cruelty to pardon all and to pardon none. Where -the matter is in balance, let mercy turn the scale: if all wicked men -should be punished, who should escape? - -Though mercy and gentleness of nature keeps all in peace and -tranquillity, even in a _cottage_; yet it is much more beneficial -and conspicuous in a _palace. Private men_ in their _condition_ are -likewise _private_ in their _virtues_ and in their _vices_; but the -words and the actions of _princes_ are the subject of _public rumor_; -and therefore they had need have a care, what occasion they give -people for discourse, of whom people will be always a talking. There -is the _government_ of a _prince_ over his _people_, a _father_ over -his _children_, a _master_ over his _scholars_, an _officer_ over his -_soldiers_. He is an unnatural father, that for every trifle beats his -children. Who is the better master, he that rages over his scholars for -but missing a word in a lesson, or he that tries, by admonition and -fair words, to instruct and reform them? An outrageous officer makes -his men run from their colors. A skilful rider brings his horse to -obedience by mingling fair means with foul; whereas to be perpetually -switching and spurring, makes him vicious and jadish: and shall we -not have more care of _men_ than of _beasts_? It breaks the hope of -generous inclinations, when they are depressed by servility and terror. -There is no creature so hard to be pleased with ill usage as man. - -Clemency does _well_ with _all_ but _best_ with _princes_; for it makes -their power comfortable and beneficial, which would otherwise be the -pest of mankind. It establishes their greatness, when they make the -good of the public their particular care, and employ their power for -the safety of the people. The prince, in effect, is but the soul of the -community, as the community is only the body of the prince; so that -being merciful to others, he is tender of himself: nor is any man so -mean but his master feels the loss of him, as a part of his empire: and -he takes care not only of the lives of his people, but also of their -reputation. Now, giving for granted that all virtues are in themselves -equal, it will not yet be denied, that they may be more beneficial to -mankind in one person than in another. A beggar may be as magnanimous -as a king: for what can be greater or braver than to baffle ill -fortune? This does not hinder but that a man in authority and plenty -has more matter for his generosity to work upon than a private person; -and it is also more taken notice of upon the bench than upon the level. - -When a gracious prince shows himself to his people, they do not fly -from him as from a tiger that rouses himself out of his den, but they -worship him as a benevolent influence; they secure him against all -conspiracies, and interpose their bodies betwixt him and danger. They -guard him while he sleeps, and defend him in the field against his -enemies. Nor is it without reason, this unanimous agreement in love and -loyalty, and this heroical zeal of abandoning themselves for the safety -of their prince; but it is as well the interest of the people. In the -breath of a prince there is life and death; and his sentence stands -good, right or wrong. If he be angry, nobody dares advise him; and if -he does amiss, who shall call him to account? Now, for him that has so -much mischief in his power, and yet applies that power to the common -utility and comfort of his people, diffusing also clemency and goodness -into their hearts too, what can be a greater blessing to mankind than -such a prince? _Any man_ may _kill_ another _against_ the law, but only -a _prince_ can _save_ him so. Let him so deal with his own subjects as -he desires God should deal with him. If Heaven should be inexorable to -sinners, and destroy all without mercy, what flesh could be safe? - -But as the faults of great men are not presently punished with thunder -from above, let them have a like regard to their inferiors here upon -earth. He that has revenge in his power, and does not use it, is the -great man. Which is the more beautiful and agreeable state, that of -a calm, a temperate, and a clear day; or that of lightning, thunder, -and tempests? and this is the very difference betwixt a moderate and -turbulent government. It is for low and vulgar spirits to brawl, storm, -and transport themselves: but it is not for the majesty of a prince to -lash out into intemperance of words. Some will think it rather slavery -than empire to be debarred liberty of speech: and what if it be, when -government itself is but a more illustrious servitude? - -He that uses his power as he should, takes as much delight in making -it comfortable to his people as glorious to himself. He is affable -and easy of access; his very countenance makes him the joy of his -people’s eyes, and the delight of mankind. He is beloved, defended, -and reverenced by all his subjects; and men speak as well of him in -private as in public. He is safe without guards, and the sword is -rather his ornament than his defence. In his duty, he is like that of a -good father, that sometimes gently reproves a son, sometimes threatens -him; nay, and perhaps corrects him: but no father in his right wits -will disinherit a son for the first fault; there must be many and great -offences, and only desperate consequences, that should bring him to -that decretory resolution. He will make many experiments to try if he -can reclaim him first, and nothing but the utmost despair must put him -upon extremities. - -It is not flattery that calls a prince _the father of his country_; -the titles of _great_ and _august_ are matter of compliment and of -honor; but in calling him _father_, we mind him of that moderation and -indulgence which he owes to his children. His subjects are his members; -where, if there must be an amputation, let him come slowly to it; and -when the part is cut off, let him wish it were on again: let him grieve -in the doing of it. He that passes a sentence _hastily_, looks as if he -did it _willingly_; and then there is an injustice in the excess. - -It is a glorious contemplation for a prince, first to consider the -vast multitudes of his people, whose seditious, divided, and impotent -passions, would cast all in confusion, and destroy themselves, and -public order too, if the hand of government did not restrain them; -and thence to pass the examination of his conscience, saying thus to -himself, “It is by the choice of Providence that I am here made God’s -deputy upon earth, the arbitrator of life and death; and that upon -my breath depends the fortune of my people. My lips are the oracles -of their fate, and upon them hangs the destiny both of cities and of -men. It is under my favor that people seek either for prosperity or -protection: thousands of swords are drawn or sheathed at my pleasure. -What towns shall be advanced or destroyed; who shall be slaves, or who -free, depends upon my will; and yet, in this arbitrary power of acting -without control, I was never transported to do any cruel thing, either -by anger or hot blood in myself or by the contumacy, rashness, or -provocations of other men; though sufficient to turn mercy itself into -fury. I was never moved by the odious vanity of making myself terrible -by my power, (that accursed, though common humor of ostentation and -glory that haunts imperious natures.) My sword has not only been buried -in the scabbard, but in a manner bound to the peace, and tender even -of the cheapest blood: and where I find no other motive to compassion, -humanity itself is sufficient. I have been always slow to severity, and -prone to forgive; and under as strict a guard to observe the laws as if -I were accountable for the breaking of them. Some I pardoned for their -youth, others for their age. I spare one man for his dignity, another -for his humility; and when I find no other matter to work upon, I spare -myself. So that if God should at this instant call me to an account, -the whole world agree to witness for me, that I have not by any force, -either public or private, either by myself or by any other, defrauded -the commonwealth; and the reputation that I have ever sought for has -been that which few princes have obtained, the conscience of my proper -innocence. And I have not lost my labor neither; for no man was ever so -dear to another, as I have made myself to the whole body of my people.” -Under such a prince the subjects have nothing to wish for beyond what -they enjoy; their fears are quieted, and their prayers heard, and -there is nothing can make their felicity greater, unless to make it -perpetual; and there is no liberty denied to the people but that of -destroying one another. - -It is the interest of the people, by the consent of all nations, to run -all hazards for the safety of their prince, and by a thousand deaths to -redeem that one life, upon which so many millions depend. Does not the -whole body serve the mind, though only the one is exposed to the eye -and the other not, but thin and invisible, the very seat of it being -uncertain? Yet the hands, feet, and eyes, observe the motions of it. We -lie down, run about and ramble, as that commands us. If we be covetous, -we fish the seas and ransack the earth for treasure: if ambitious, we -burn our own flesh with Scævola; we cast ourselves into the gulf with -Curtius: so would that vast multitude of people, which is animated but -with one soul, governed by one spirit, and moved by one reason, destroy -itself with its own strength, if it were not supported by wisdom and -government. Wherefore, it is for their own security that the people -expose their lives for their prince, as the very bond that ties the -republic together; the vital spirit of so many thousands, which would -be nothing else but a burden and prey without a governor. - -When this union comes once to be dissolved, all falls to pieces; for -empire and obedience must stand and fall together. It is no wonder then -if a prince be dear to his people, when the community is wrapt up in -him, and the good of both as inseparable as the body and the head; the -one for strength, and the other for counsel; for what signifies the -force of the body without the direction of the understanding? While the -prince watches, his people sleep; his labor keeps them at ease, and -his business keeps them quiet. The natural intent of monarchy appears -even from the very discipline of bees: they assign to their master the -fairest lodgings, the safest place; and his office is only to see that -the rest perform their duties. When their king is lost, the whole swarm -dissolve: more than one they will not admit; and then they contend who -shall have the best. They are of all creatures the fiercest for their -bigness; and leave their stings behind them in their quarrels; only -the king himself has none, intimating that kings should neither be -vindictive nor cruel. - -Is it not a shame, after such an example of moderation in these -creatures, that men should be yet intemperate? It were well if they -lost their stings too in their revenge, as well as the other, that they -might hurt but once, and do no mischief by their proxies. It would tire -them out, if either they were to execute all with their own hands, or -to wound others at the peril of their own lives. - -A prince should behave himself generously in the power which God has -given him of life and death, especially towards those that have been -at any time his equals; for the one has his revenge, and the other his -punishment in it. He that stands indebted for his life has lost it; -but he that receives his life at the foot of his enemy, lives to the -honor of his preserver: he lives the lasting monument of his virtue; -whereas, if he had been led in triumph, the spectacle would have been -quickly over. Or what if he should restore him to his kingdom again? -would it not be an ample accession to his honor to show that he found -nothing about the conquered that was worthy of the conqueror? There is -nothing more venerable than a prince that does not revenge an injury. -He that is gracious is beloved and reverenced as a common father; but a -tyrant stands in fear and in danger even of his own guards. No prince -can be safe himself of whom all others are afraid; for to spare none -is to enrage all. It is an error to imagine that any man can be secure -that suffers nobody else to be so too. How can any man endure to lead -an uneasy, suspicious, anxious life, when he may be safe if he please, -and enjoy all the blessings of power, together with the prayers of -his people? Clemency protects a prince without a guard; there is no -need of troops, castles, or fortifications: security on the one side -is the condition of security on the other; and the affections of the -subject are the most invincible fortress. What can be fairer, than for -a prince to live the object of his people’s love; to have the vows of -their heart as well as of their lips, and his health and sickness their -common hopes and fears? There will be no danger of plots; nay, on the -contrary, who would not frankly venture his blood to save him, under -whose government, justice, peace, modesty, and dignity flourish? under -whose influence men grow rich and happy; and whom men look upon with -such veneration, as they would do upon the immortal gods, if they were -capable of seeing them? And as the true representative of the ALMIGHTY -they consider him, when he is gracious and bountiful, and employs his -power to the advantage of his subjects. - -When a prince proceeds to punishment, it must be either to vindicate -himself or others. It is a hard matter to govern himself in his own -case. If a man should advise him not to be credulous, but to examine -matters, and indulge the innocent, this is rather a point of justice -than of clemency: but in case that he be manifestly injured, I would -have him _forgive_, where he may _safely_ do it: and be _tender_ even -where he cannot _forgive_; but far more exorable in his own case, -however, than in another’s. - -It is nothing to be free of another man’s purse, and it is as little to -be merciful in another man’s cause. He is the great man that masters -his passion where he is stung himself, and pardons when he might -destroy. The end of punishment is either to comfort the party injured, -or to secure him for the future. A prince’s fortune is above the need -of such a comfort, and his power is too eminent to seek an advance of -reputation by doing a private man a mischief. This I speak in case of -an affront from those that are below us; but he that of an equal has -made any man his inferior, has his revenge in the bringing of him down. -A _prince_ has been _killed_ by a _servant_, destroyed by a serpent: -but whosoever preserves a man must be greater than the person that he -preserves. With citizens, strangers, and people of low condition, a -prince is not to contend, for they are beneath him: he may spare some -out of good will, and others as he would do some little creatures that -a man cannot touch without fouling his fingers: but for those that -are to be pardoned or exposed to public punishment, he may use mercy -as he sees occasion; and a generous mind can never want inducements -and motives to it; and whether it be _age_ or _sex_, _high_ or _low_, -nothing comes amiss. - -To pass now to the vindication of others, there must be had a regard -either to the amendment of the person punished, or the making others -better for fear of punishment, or the taking the offender out of the -way for the security of others. An amendment may be procured by a -small punishment, for he lives more carefully that has something yet -to lose—it is a kind of _impunity_ to be incapable of a _farther -punishment_. The corruptions of a city are best cured by a few and -sparing severities; for the multitude of offenders creates a custom of -offending, and company authorizes a crime, and there is more good to -be done upon a _dissolute age_ by _patience_ than by _rigor_; provided -that it pass not for an _approbation_ of _ill-manners_, but only as an -_unwillingness_ to proceed to _extremities_. Under a merciful prince, a -man will be ashamed to offend, because a punishment that is inflicted -by a gentle governor seems to fall heavier and with more reproach: -and it is remarkable also, that “those sins are often committed which -are very often punished.” Caligula, in five years, condemned more -people to the _sack_ than ever were before him: and there were “fewer -parricides before the law against them than after;” for our ancestors -did wisely presume that the crime would never be committed, until by -law for punishing it, they found that it might be done. _Parricides_ -began with the _law_ against them, and the punishment instructed men in -the crime. Where there are few punishments, innocency is indulged as a -public good, and it is a dangerous thing to show a city how strong it -is in delinquents. There is a certain contumacy in the nature of man -that makes him oppose difficulties. We are better to follow than to -drive; as a generous horse rides best with an easy bit. People _obey -willingly_ where they are _commanded kindly_. - -When Burrhus the prefect was to sentence two malefactors, he brought -the warrant to Nero to sign; who, after a long reluctancy came to it at -last with this exclamation: “I would I could not write!” A speech that -deserved the whole world for an auditory, but all princes especially; -and that the hearts of all the subjects would conform to the likeness -of their masters. As the head is well or ill, so is the mind dull or -merry. What is the difference betwixt a _king_ and a _tyrant_, but a -_diversity_ of _will_ under one and the _same power_. The one destroys -for his pleasure, the other upon necessity; a distinction rather in -fact than in name. - -A gracious prince is armed as well as a tyrant; but it is for the -defence of his people and not for the ruin of them. No king can ever -have faithful servants that accustoms them to tortures and executions; -the very guilty themselves do not lead so anxious a life as the -persecutors: for they are not only afraid of justice, both divine and -human, but it is dangerous for them to mend their manners; so that -when they are once in, they must continue to be wicked upon necessity. -An universal hatred unites in a popular rage. A temperate fear may -be kept in order; but when it comes once to be continual and sharp, -it provokes people to extremities, and transports them to desperate -resolutions, as wild beasts when they are pressed upon the _toil_, -turn back and assault the very pursuers. A turbulent government is a -perpetual trouble both to prince and people; and he that is a terror -to all others is not without terror also himself. Frequent punishments -and revenges may suppress the hatred of a few, but then it stirs up the -detestation of all, so that there is no destroying one enemy without -making many. It is good to master the _will_ of being _cruel_, even -while there may be cause for it, and matter to work upon. - -Augustus was a gracious prince when he had the power in his own hand; -but in the _triumviracy_ he made use of his sword, and had his friends -ready armed to set upon Antony during that dispute. But he behaved -himself afterwards at another rate; for when he was betwixt forty and -fifty years of age he was told that Cinna was in a plot to murder him, -with the time, place and manner of the design; and this from one of -the confederates. Upon this he resolved upon a revenge, and sent for -several of his friends to advise upon it. The thought of it kept him -waking, to consider, that there was the life of a young nobleman in the -case, the nephew of Pompey, and a person otherwise innocent. He was -off and on several times whether he should put him to death or not. -“What!” says he, “shall I live in trouble and in danger myself, and the -contriver of my death walk free and secure? Will nothing serve him but -that life which Providence has preserved in so many civil wars—in so -many battles both by sea and land; and now in the state of an universal -peace too—and not a simple murder either, but a sacrifice; for I am -to be assaulted at the very altar—and shall the contriver of all this -villainy escape unpunished?” Here Augustus made a little pause, and -then recollecting himself: “No, no, Cæsar,” says he, “it is rather -Cæsar than Cinna that I am to be angry with: why do I myself live any -longer after that my death is become the interest of so many people? -And if I go on, what end will there be of blood and of punishment? -If it be against my life that the nobility arm itself, and level its -weapons, my single life is not worth the while, if so many must be -destroyed that I may be preserved.” - -His wife Livia gave him here an interruption, and desired him that -he would for once hear a woman’s counsel. “Do,” says she, “like a -physician, that when common remedies fail, will try the contrary: you -have got nothing hitherto by severity—after Salvidianus there followed -Lepidus—after him Muræna—Cæpio followed him, and Egnatius followed -Cæpio—try now what mercy will do—forgive Cinna. He is discovered, -and can do no hurt to your person; and it will yet advantage you in -your reputation.” Augustus was glad of the advice, and he gave thanks -for it; and thereupon countermanded the meeting of his friends, and -ordered Cinna to be brought to him alone; for whom he caused a chair -to be set, and then discharged the rest of the company. “Cinna,” says -Augustus, “_before I go any farther_, you must promise not to give me -the interruption of one syllable until I have told you all I have to -say, and you shall have liberty afterwards to say what you please. You -cannot forget, that when I found you in arms against me, and not only -made my _enemy_, but _born_ so, I gave you your life and fortune. Upon -your petition for the priesthood, I granted it, with a repulse to the -sons of those that had been my fellow-soldiers; and you are at this -day so happy and so rich, that even the conquerors envy him that is -overcome; and yet after all this, you are in a plot, Cinna, to murder -me.” At that word Cinna started, and interposed with exclamations, -“that certainly he was far from being either so wicked or so mad.” -“This is a breach of conditions, Cinna,” says Augustus, “it is not your -time to speak yet: I tell you again, that you are in a plot to murder -me;” and so he told him the time, the place, the confederates, the -order and manner of the design, and who it was that was to do the deed. -Cinna, upon this, fixed his eye upon the ground without any reply: -not for his word’s sake, but as in a confusion of conscience: and so -Augustus went on. “What,” says he, “may your design be in all this? Is -it that you would pretend to step into my place? The commonwealth were -in an ill condition, if only Augustus were in the way betwixt you and -the government. You were cast the other day in a cause by one of your -own _freemen_, and do you expect to find a weaker adversary of Cæsar? -But what if I were removed? There is Æmilius Paulus, Fabius Maximus, -and twenty other families of great blood and interest, that would never -bear it.” To cut off the story short; (for it was a discourse of above -two hours; and Augustus lengthened the punishment in _words_, since he -intended that should be all;) “Well, Cinna,” says he, “the life that -I gave to you once as an enemy, I will now repeat it to a _traitor_ -and to a _parricide_, and this shall be the last reproach I will give -you. For the time to come there shall be no other contention betwixt -you and me, than which shall outdo the other in point of friendship.” -After this Augustus made Cinna _consul_, (an honor which he confessed -he durst not so much as desire) and Cinna was ever affectionately -faithful to him: he made Cæsar his _sole heir_; and this was the _last -conspiracy_ that ever was formed against him. - -This moderation of Augustus was the excellency of his mature age; for -in his youth he was passionate and sudden; and he did many things which -afterward he looked back upon with trouble: after the battle of Actium, -so many navies broken in Sicily, both _Roman_ and _strangers_: the -_Perusian altars_, where 300 _lives_ were _sacrificed_ to the _ghost_ -of Julius; his frequent _proscriptions_, and other severities; his -_temperance_ at last seemed to be little more than a _weary cruelty_. -If he had not _forgiven_ those that he _conquered_, whom should -he have _governed_? He chose his very _life-guard_ from among his -_enemies_, and the _flower_ of the Romans owed their _lives_ to his -_clemency_. Nay, he only punished Lepidus himself with _banishment_, -and permitted him to wear the _ensigns_ of his _dignity_, without -taking the _pontificate_ to himself so long as Lepidus was living; -for he would not possess it as a _spoil_, but as an _honor_. This -_clemency_ it was that secured him in his greatness, and ingratiated -him to the people, though he laid his hand upon the government before -they had thoroughly submitted to the yoke; and this clemency it was -that made his _name famous_ to _posterity_. This is it that makes us -reckon him _divine_ without the authority of an _apotheosis_. He was -so tender and patient, that though many a bitter jest was broken upon -him, (and _contumelies_ upon princes are the most _intolerable_ of all -_injuries_) yet he never punished any man upon that subject. _It is_, -then, generous _to be_ merciful, _when we have it in our_ power to -_take_ revenge. - -A son of Titus Arius, being examined and found guilty of _parricide_, -was banished Rome, and confined to Marseilles, where his father allowed -him the same annuity that he had before; which made all people conclude -him guilty, when they saw that his father had yet _condemned_ the son -that he could not _hate_. Augustus was pleased to sit upon the fact in -the house of Arius, only as a _single member_ of the _council_ that was -to examine it: if it had been in Cæsar’s palace, the judgment must have -been Cæsar’s and not the _father’s_. Upon a full hearing of the matter, -Cæsar directed that every man should write his opinion whether _guilty_ -or _not_, and without declaring of his own, for fear of a partial -vote. Before the opening of the books, Cæsar passed an oath, that he -would not be Arius’s _heir_: and to show that he had no interest in -his sentence, as appeared afterward; for he was not condemned to the -ordinary _punishments_ of _parricides_, nor to a prison, but, by the -mediation of Cæsar, only banished Rome, and confined to the place which -his father should name; Augustus insisting upon it, that the father -should content himself with an easy punishment: and arguing that the -young man was not moved to the attempt by _malice_, and that he was -but half resolved upon the fact, for he wavered in it; and, therefore, -to remove him from the city, and from his father’s sight, would be -sufficient. This is a glorious mercy, and worthy of a prince, to make -all things gentler wherever he comes. - -How miserable is that man in himself, who, when he has employed his -power in rapines and cruelty upon others, is yet more unhappy in -himself! He stands in fear both of his domestics and of strangers; the -faith of his friends and the piety of his children, and flies to actual -violence to secure him from the violence he fears. When he comes to -look about him, and to consider what he _has_ done, what he _must_, -and what he is _about_ to do; what with the _wickedness_, and with the -_torments_ of his _conscience_, many times he fears death, oftener he -wishes for it; and lives more odious to himself than to his subjects; -whereas on the contrary, he that takes a care of the public, though of -one part more perhaps than of another, yet there is not any part of it -but he looks upon as part of himself. His mind is tender and gentle; -and even where punishment is necessary and profitable, he comes to it -unwillingly, and without any rancor or enmity in his heart. Let the -authority, in fine, be what it will, clemency becomes it; and the -greater the power, the greater is the glory of it. “It is a truly royal -virtue for a prince to deliver his people _from other_ men’s anger, and -not to oppress them _with his_ own.” - - - - - * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected silently. 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