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.
There are some benefits that a wicked person cannot receive at all. We'll discuss those later. There are others that are given to them, not for their own sake, but for other reasons. We've already talked about some of these. There are also certain basic acts of human kindness that are allowed to them simply because they are human, without considering whether they are good or bad. Let's skip the first point for now. The second must be handled carefully and with clear distinctions, and it has some apparent exceptions to the general rule. First, there is no choice or intention involved. It's a good deed done for them because of some other interest, or by chance. Second, there is no judgment in it either, because it's done for a wicked person. But to make this shorter: without these circumstances, it's not really a benefit, or at least not to them, because it's aimed at something else. I rescue a friend from thieves, and another person escapes along with him. I pay off a debt for a friend, and another person is freed too because they were both bound by the same agreement. The third type has a wide range and varies depending on how generous the giver is on one side, and how wicked the receiver is on the other. Some benefactors will go above and beyond, doing more than they're required to do. Some people are so corrupt that it's dangerous to do them any kind of good, not even as a way of returning a favor or paying them back.
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.
If a benefactor's generosity must extend to bad people as well as good ones, consider this case: I promise to do a favor for an ungrateful person. First, we need to distinguish (as I said before) between a general benefit and a personal one. We must separate what is given for merit from what is given for companionship. Second, we need to know whether the person is ungrateful and whether we can reasonably conclude that this vice cannot be cured. Third, we must consider the promise and how far it obligates us. The first two points can be cleared up together: we cannot justify any particular kindness toward someone we believe to be hopelessly wicked. So the force of the promise is the only question that matters. When I promise a favor to a wicked or ungrateful person, I am wrong if I did it knowingly. I am also wrong if I did it without knowing. But I must still keep my word (with proper qualifications) because I promised it. This assumes circumstances remain the same, since no one is responsible for accidents. I will eat dinner at a certain place even if it's cold. I will wake up at a certain hour even if I'm sleepy. But if a storm hits, or if I fall sick with a fever, I will do neither. I promise to support a friend in a quarrel or to argue his case. But when I arrive at the battlefield or in court, it turns out to be against my father or my brother. I promise to take a journey with him, but the road is too dangerous because of robbers. My child falls sick, or my wife goes into labor. These circumstances are enough to release me from my promise. A promise that goes against law or duty is naturally void.
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.
A wise man's advice is reliable, but outcomes are unpredictable. If I've made a reckless promise, I'll punish my boldness in making it by suffering the consequences of keeping it. The exception is if keeping the promise would bring me great shame or serious harm. In that case, I'll be my own judge and choose to break my word once rather than always give unwisely. A favor is different from a debt. Trusting someone who won't pay you back is one thing. Helping someone who doesn't deserve it is another. The first person is simply dishonest. The second is just a poor manager of resources.
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.
There was a brave soldier in the army that Philip of Macedon particularly liked. The king gave him several important signs of his favor. This soldier went to sea and was shipwrecked on a coast where a kind neighbor found him half dead. The neighbor carried him to his house and took care of him at his own expense for thirty days until he was completely recovered. When the soldier was ready to leave, the neighbor even gave him money for his journey. The soldier promised his rescuer that he would do great things for him in return, as soon as he had the honor of seeing his master again. He went to court and told Philip about the shipwreck, but he didn't say a word about the man who saved him. Instead, he asked for the estate of this very man who had kept him alive. Philip was like many other princes who give away things without really knowing what they're giving, especially during wartime. He granted the soldier's request, thinking at the same time about how impossible it was to satisfy all the greedy people he had to please. When the good man was thrown out of everything he owned, he wasn't polite enough to thank his majesty for not giving away his life along with his fortune. Instead, he wrote a bold, honest letter to Philip telling him the whole story. The king was so angry about this abuse that he immediately ordered the rightful owner to get his estate back. He also commanded that the ungrateful guest and soldier be publicly shamed as 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.
Should Philip have kept this promise? First, he owed the soldier nothing. Second, it would have been harmful and wrong. Last, it would have set a dangerous precedent for human society. It would have been almost like banning fire and water from the miserable if such a penalty had been placed on helping them. So there must always be some unspoken exception or condition: if I can, if I may, or if things stay as they are.
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.
If I receive a favor from someone who later betrays his country, I would still feel obligated to repay him in ways that don't conflict with my public duty. I wouldn't give him weapons, money, credit, or help him raise or pay soldiers. But I wouldn't hesitate to gratify him at my own expense with harmless curiosities that please him without causing harm elsewhere. I would never do anything that might support or benefit his faction. But what should I do if a benefactor becomes not only my enemy and my country's enemy, but the common enemy of all mankind? Here I would distinguish between human wickedness and animal cruelty. I would separate limited or personal passion from bloodthirsty rage that threatens to destroy human society itself. In the first case, I would settle my debts so I could be done with him. But if he begins to delight in blood and commits outrages with greed, if he studies and invents torments and takes pleasure in them, then the law of reasonable nature has freed me from such a debt. But this kind of impiety is so rare it might be considered a supernatural sign, ranked among comets and monsters. Let us therefore limit our discussion to men we detest without horror. These are men we see every day in courts, military camps, and on the seats of justice. To such wicked men I will return what I have received, without taking 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.
God doesn't stop being gracious to us, even though we abuse his gifts every day. Many people enjoy the comfort of sunlight who don't deserve it. Some even wish they had never been born! Yet Nature quietly continues her work and lets them exist, despite their ingratitude. We complain that some scoundrel was treated better than we were. We even make this same complaint about Providence itself. Many wicked people have good harvests while better people see their crops destroyed! We say that someone has treated us very badly. But what should we do? The very same thing that God himself does. Give to the ignorant and keep helping the wicked. All our ingratitude doesn't stop Providence from pouring down benefits, even on those who question where they come from. Heaven's wisdom does everything with regard to the good of the universe. Nature's blessings are granted to everyone, to the worst as well as to the best of people. They all live together mixed up. It is God's will that the wicked should benefit from the good, rather than the good suffering because of the wicked. A wise prince will give special honors only to the worthy. But when distributing public aid, no one considers a person's character. A thief or traitor gets a share just like an honest person. If a good man and a wicked man sail in the same ship, the same wind that helps one cannot hurt the other. The common benefits of laws, privileges, communities, education, and medicine are available to the bad as well as to the good. No one has ever withheld a powerful remedy for fear that a wicked person might be cured by it. Cities are built for both types of people. The same medicine works on both alike. In these cases, we must judge the people differently. There's a big difference between choosing someone and simply not excluding them. The law is open to rebels as well as to the obedient. Some benefits couldn't be enjoyed by anyone if they weren't allowed to everyone. The sun was never made just for me, but for the comfort of the world and for the natural order of the seasons. Yet I still have my own personal benefit from it too. In the end, anyone who wants to help only the good and grateful people must decide to help nobody at all. In some way or another, we are all wicked. We are all ungrateful, every single one 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.
We have been discussing how far a wicked person can be obligated to others. The Stoics tell us that such a person cannot be obligated at all. They believe wicked people are incapable of any good, and therefore incapable of receiving any real benefit. But this gives them one advantage: if they cannot be obligated, they cannot be ungrateful either. If they cannot receive anything meaningful, they are not bound to return anything. On the other hand, a good person and an ungrateful person are contradictory terms. At this rate, there would be no such thing as ingratitude in nature. The Stoics compare a wicked person's mind to a diseased stomach. Such a person corrupts whatever they receive, and even the best nourishment turns to poison. But let's accept this premise. A wicked person may still be obligated enough to appear ungrateful if they don't repay what they receive. Even if it's not a perfect benefit, they still receive something like it. There are goods of the mind, the body, and of fortune. Fools and wicked people are completely incapable of the first kind, but they may receive the other two. But why should I call anyone ungrateful for not returning something I claim isn't really a benefit? I answer this way: if the receiver takes it for a benefit and fails to return it, that's ingratitude. What passes for an obligation among wicked people is still an obligation to them. They may pay each other in their own currency. The money is valid, whether it's gold or leather, once it's been authorized. Cleanthes takes this even further. He says that someone who fails to perform a kind act, even if it's not a true benefit, would have done the same thing if it had been one. Such a person is as guilty as a thief who has spotted his target and is already armed and mounted to seize it, even though he hasn't yet drawn blood. Wickedness forms in the heart. The actual deed is only the discovery and execution of it. Now, a wicked person cannot truly receive or give a benefit because they lack the will to do good. They are no longer wicked when virtue takes hold of them. Yet we commonly call their actions benefits, just as we call someone illiterate who hasn't learned to read, and naked who isn't well dressed. This doesn't mean the illiterate person can't read or that the naked person isn't covered at all.