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.
We have already talked about benefits in general. We've covered what they are, why we give them, and how we give them. Now we need to discuss their value. We measure this value by the good they do us or by the problems they save us from. There's no other standard except good judgment about the circumstances and timing. Suppose I save a man from drowning. The benefit of staying alive is the same for him, no matter who saves him or how. But there can be a huge difference in the obligation. I might do it with danger to myself, or safely. I might struggle, or it might be easy. I might act willingly, or be forced to help. Someone might beg me to help, or I might act on my own. I might want glory or profit from it. I might do it out of kindness, or for a hundred selfish reasons. Every detail changes the situation completely. Two people might give away the same amount of money, but not provide the same benefit. One person had plenty of his own money, so giving away a little was no sacrifice. The other person borrowed the money and gave me something he needed for himself. Two boys were sent to bring a certain person to their master. One of them searches everywhere and comes home tired without finding the man. The other starts playing games with his friends, happens to see the person walking by, delivers the message, and brings him back. The boy who found him by accident deserves punishment. The boy who searched hard but failed deserves a reward for his good intentions.
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.
Sometimes we value the thing itself, other times we value the work and effort that went into it. What could be more precious than good manners, education, life, and health? Yet we only pay our doctors and teachers for their professional services. When we buy things cheap, it doesn't matter as long as it's a good deal. The seller has no obligation to us if no one else will pay him more for it. What wouldn't a person give to reach shore during a storm? For a house in the wilderness? A shelter in bad weather? A fire or some food when starving or freezing? Protection from thieves? And a thousand other urgent needs that cost very little? Yet we know the ship captain only gets his standard fare for our passage. Carpenters and bricklayers work for daily wages. Often the greatest favors are the ones people think matter least: comforting the sick and poor prisoners, giving good advice, keeping people from doing wrong, and so on. We should feel most grateful for the noblest benefits. If my doctor adds personal care and friendship to his professional duties, and my teacher goes beyond the usual methods of his work, I should value them like my closest family. To stay up with me, to worry about me, and to put aside other patients for my sake shows special kindness. The same goes for my teacher if he takes more trouble with me than with other students. In these cases, it's not enough to just pay the doctor his fees and the teacher his salary. I owe them something extra for their friendship. Even the humblest craftsman who does his work with care and effort usually gets something extra as a reward beyond the basic agreement. Should we treat the people who save our lives and improve our character any worse? Someone who gives me himself (if he's worth having) gives the greatest gift. This was the present that Æschines, a poor student of Socrates, gave to his master. He considered it very important. "Others may have given you much," he said, "but I'm the only one who has kept nothing for himself." Socrates replied, "You'll never regret this gift. I'll make sure to return it to you better than I received it." A noble mind can always find ways to be generous, even in the poorest circumstances. Nature has been so kind to us that when we have nothing from fortune, we can still give something of ourselves.
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.
It often happens that someone who helps you later hurts you. Whichever comes first, the injury is like writing over the original text. It largely hides the earlier kindness and keeps it from showing, but it doesn't completely erase it. In some cases, we can separate them and both repay the kindness and get revenge for the injury. Or we can compare them to see whether we owe more or are owed more. You helped me with my servant, but you wounded my brother. You saved my son, but you destroyed my father. In this situation, I'll be as fair as duty, justice, and good nature allow. But I don't want to cancel out an injury with a benefit. I would consider the timing. The favor came first. Perhaps one was intentional, the other accidental. With these things in mind, I would emphasize the benefit and minimize the injury. I would cancel one out with the other. I would even forgive the injury without the benefit, but especially after it. This doesn't mean one favor obligates a person to endure all kinds of injuries. There are cases where we owe nothing for a benefit because a greater injury cancels it out. For example, a man helps me win a lawsuit, then rapes my daughter. Here the later crime cancels the earlier obligation. A man lends me a little money, then burns down my house. The debtor becomes the creditor when the injury outweighs the benefit. Even if someone just regrets the good deed and becomes bitter and rude about it, bragging about what they did, if they did it only for themselves or for any reason other than to help me, I'm somewhat freed from the obligation. I owe nothing to someone who makes me a tool for their own gain. If someone helps me for their own benefit, I'll help them 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.
Suppose a man applies for a position but can only get it if he pays to free ten slaves from the galleys. If there are exactly ten slaves available, they owe him nothing for buying their freedom. But they are indebted to him for choosing them when he could have picked ten others just as easily. Consider another case. An act of mercy decides that several prisoners will be released. Their names are drawn by lottery, and mine happens to be selected. Part of my debt is to the person who made my freedom possible. The other part is to Providence for making me one of the lucky ones. The greatest benefits of all have no witnesses. They remain hidden in our 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.”
There is a big difference between a general obligation and a personal one. When someone lends money to my country, they only put me in debt as part of the whole group. Plato crossed the river, and the ferry-man wouldn't take any money from him. He thought about this as an honor done to himself. He told the ferry-man, "That means Plato is in debt." But when Plato realized this was just what the ferry-man did for everyone, he took back his words. "Plato will owe nothing special for a benefit that's common to all," he said. "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!
Some people argue that when someone is naturally inclined to wish you well, it reduces their obligation to actually help you. I believe the opposite is true. The obligation is actually greater because that good will cannot be changed. There's a difference between saying a man had to show you courtesy because he was forced to, and saying he couldn't help but want to do good for you. In the first case, you owe gratitude to whoever applied the force. In the second, you owe it to the man himself. Unchangeable good will creates an unbreakable obligation. Just because nature cannot go against its course doesn't mean we owe nothing to Providence. Can we really say someone has free will if they might change their mind the next moment? Should we question the will of the Almighty, whose nature never changes? Must the stars abandon their positions and crash into each other? Must the sun stop in the middle of its path? Must heaven and earth fall into chaos? Must a consuming fire seize the universe, dissolving the harmony of creation and swallowing the whole structure of nature into a dark abyss? Will nothing less than this convince the world of their reckless and foolish arrogance? This doesn't mean the heavenly bodies weren't made for us. In part, they were. We benefit from their powers and movements whether we want to or not. But undoubtedly, the main cause is God's unchangeable law. Providence isn't moved by anything external. The Divine will is an everlasting law, an unchanging decree. The impossibility of change comes from God's purpose of preservation. He never regrets his original plans. Our heavenly Father is not like our earthly father. God thought of us and provided for us before he made us. To him, all future events are present. Man was not created by chance. His mind lifts him above the reach of fortune and naturally reaches toward contemplating heaven and divine mysteries. How desperately mad it is to undervalue, despise, and reject these divine blessings! Without them, we are completely unable to enjoy anything else.