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.
Everyone agrees that this virtue shows both humanity and excellence. This includes people who live for pleasure and think everyone should look out for themselves. It also includes the Stoics, who believe "man is a social creature, born for the common good of mankind." Of all character traits, this one creates the most peace and calm. Before we go further in this discussion, we should first understand what clemency is. We need to distinguish it from pity, which is a weakness that many people mistake for a virtue. The next step will be to train our minds to develop and practice this habit.
“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.
"Clemency is a favorable attitude when it comes to punishment. It means reducing a penalty that someone has earned. Pardon, on the other hand, means completely canceling a deserved punishment." We must be careful not to confuse clemency with pity. Religion worships God, while superstition corrupts that worship. In the same way, we should distinguish between clemency and pity. We should practice one and avoid the other. Pity comes from a narrow mind that focuses more on someone's bad luck than on the actual situation. It's a kind of moral sickness we catch from other people's misfortune. It's like laughing or yawning just because others do, or like having sore eyes that start watering when you look at someone else with infected eyes. I will give a plank to a shipwrecked man, shelter to a stranger, or money to someone who needs it. I will dry my friend's tears, but I won't cry with him. Instead, I'll treat him with steadiness and kindness, the way one person should 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?
Some people argue that clemency is a worthless virtue. They claim only bad people benefit from it, since good people don't need it. But this view is wrong for several reasons. First, medicine is only used by sick people, yet healthy people still respect it. In the same way, innocent people respect clemency even though criminals are the ones who need it. Second, even innocent people sometimes need mercy. Bad luck or difficult times can put even virtuous people in danger. Think about the most crowded city or nation. What a wasteland it would become if only people who could pass a test of perfect justice were allowed to stay! We would have no judges or accusers left. No one would be around to grant pardons or ask for them. We are all sinners to some degree. Even the person with the clearest conscience reached that point by learning from mistakes. Clemency also benefits humanity because many wrongdoers can change for the better. We show kindness even to our slaves and those we've bought with money. How much more should we show mercy to free and honest people who are under our protection rather than our control? I don't think mercy should be so universal that it fails to distinguish between good and bad people. That would create chaos and encourage wickedness. Mercy must consider the character of the offender. It should separate those who can be reformed from those who are hopeless. It's equally cruel to pardon everyone and to pardon no one. When a case could go either way, let mercy tip the scales. If all wicked people were punished, who would 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.
Though mercy and gentleness keep everyone peaceful and calm, even in a simple cottage, these qualities are much more valuable and noticeable in a palace. Private citizens live quietly with their virtues and vices. But the words and actions of princes become the subject of public gossip. Therefore, they need to be careful about what they give people to talk about, because people will always be talking. There is the government of a prince over his people, a father over his children, a master over his students, an officer over his soldiers. A father is unnatural if he beats his children for every small mistake. Who is the better teacher: one who rages at his students for missing just one word in a lesson, or one who tries to instruct and correct them through advice and kind words? A harsh officer makes his men desert their posts. A skilled rider brings his horse to obedience by mixing gentle methods with firm ones. But constantly whipping and spurring makes the horse mean and stubborn. Shouldn't we take more care with people than with animals? It crushes the hope of noble spirits when they are beaten down by slavery and fear. No creature is harder to please with bad treatment than 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.
Clemency works well for everyone, but it works best for princes. It makes their power comfortable and beneficial, when it would otherwise be a plague on mankind. It establishes their greatness when they make the public good their special concern and use their power to keep people safe. The prince is really just the soul of the community, while the community is only the body of the prince. So when he shows mercy to others, he's being tender with himself. No person is so lowly that his master doesn't feel the loss of him as part of his empire. The prince takes care not only of his people's lives, but also of their reputation. Now, assuming that all virtues are equal in themselves, we still can't deny that they may benefit mankind more in one person than in another. A beggar may be as noble as a king. After all, what could be greater or braver than defeating bad fortune? This doesn't change the fact that a person in authority with plenty of resources has more opportunities for generosity than a private person. It's also more noticed when it comes from someone in power than from someone at ground 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?
When a good ruler shows himself to his people, they don't run from him like from a dangerous tiger coming out of its den. Instead, they worship him as a positive force. They protect him from all plots and put their own bodies between him and danger. They guard him while he sleeps and defend him in battle against his enemies. This united love and loyalty makes sense. This heroic willingness to sacrifice themselves for their ruler's safety serves the people's interests too. A ruler holds life and death in his breath. His decisions stand, whether right or wrong. If he's angry, no one dares give him advice. If he does wrong, who can hold him accountable? When someone has so much power to cause harm, yet uses that power for his people's benefit and good, what greater blessing could mankind have? He spreads mercy and kindness into their hearts as well. Any person can kill another against the law, but only a ruler can save someone from that fate. Let him treat his subjects the way he wants God to treat him. If Heaven showed no mercy to sinners and destroyed everyone without compassion, what person could survive?
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?
Great men don't get struck by lightning for their mistakes, so they should show the same patience with those beneath them. A person who has the power to take revenge but chooses not to is truly great. Which is more beautiful and pleasant: a calm, mild, clear day, or one filled with lightning, thunder, and storms? This is exactly the difference between moderate and chaotic government. Only low and common people brawl, rage, and lose control of themselves. It's beneath a prince's dignity to explode into angry words. Some people think it's slavery rather than leadership to be denied free speech. But what if it is? Government itself is just a more glorious form of 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.
A leader who uses his power properly takes as much pleasure in making his people comfortable as in bringing glory to himself. He is friendly and easy to approach. His very face brings joy to his people's eyes and delights all mankind. All his subjects love, defend, and respect him. People speak just as well of him in private as they do in public. He stays safe without guards. His sword serves more as decoration than protection. His duty resembles that of a good father who sometimes gently scolds his son, sometimes threatens him, and perhaps even punishes him. But no father in his right mind would disown a son for his first mistake. There must be many serious offenses and only desperate circumstances that would drive him to such a final decision. He will try many approaches to see if he can reform his son first. Only complete despair would push him to such extremes.
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.
When we call a prince the father of his country, we're not just flattering him. Titles like "great" and "august" are simply compliments and honors. But calling him father reminds him of the moderation and kindness he owes to his children. His subjects are like parts of his own body. If he must cut off a part, let him do it slowly. When the part is removed, let him wish it could be put back on. Let him grieve while doing it. A ruler who passes judgment hastily looks like he enjoys it. That creates injustice through 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 a glorious thing for a prince to first consider the vast numbers of his people. Their rebellious, divided, and powerless passions would throw everything into chaos and destroy themselves and public order too, if the government did not restrain them. Then he should examine his conscience, saying to himself: "Providence has chosen me to be God's representative on earth, the judge of life and death. My people's fortune depends on my word. My lips speak their fate, and the destiny of both cities and men hangs on them. People seek prosperity or protection through my favor. Thousands of swords are drawn or put away at my command. What towns will rise or fall, who will be slaves or free, depends on my will. Yet with all this unlimited power to act without control, I was never driven to cruelty by my own anger or passion, or by other men's stubbornness, recklessness, or provocations, even when they were enough to turn mercy itself into fury. I was never moved by the hateful vanity of making myself feared through my power. That cursed but common desire for show and glory haunts tyrannical natures. My sword has not only stayed in its sheath, but has been bound to peace, careful even of the cheapest blood. Where I find no other reason for compassion, simple humanity is enough. I have always been slow to punish and quick to forgive. I guard the laws as strictly as if I were accountable for breaking them. I pardoned some for their youth, others for their age. I spare one man for his dignity, another for his humility. When I find no other reason to work with, I spare myself. So if God should call me to account right now, the whole world would agree to witness for me that I have never cheated the commonwealth by any force, public or private, either by myself or through others. The reputation I have always sought is one that few princes have achieved: the knowledge of my own innocence. I have not wasted my efforts either. No man was ever so dear to another as I have made myself to my entire people." Under such a prince, subjects have nothing to wish for beyond what they already enjoy. Their fears are calmed and their prayers are heard. Nothing can make their happiness greater except to make it last forever. The only freedom denied to the people is the freedom to destroy 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.
All nations agree that people should risk everything to protect their ruler. They should be willing to die a thousand deaths to save that one life that millions depend on. The whole body serves the mind, even though only the body is visible while the mind remains thin and invisible, hidden in an uncertain location. Yet our hands, feet, and eyes follow the mind's commands. We lie down, run around, and wander wherever it tells us to go. If we're greedy, we search the seas and dig through the earth for treasure. If we're ambitious, we burn our own flesh like Scævola or throw ourselves into the abyss like Curtius. In the same way, that vast crowd of people, animated by one soul, governed by one spirit, and moved by one reason, would destroy itself with its own strength if wisdom and government didn't support it. People risk their lives for their prince for their own safety. The prince is the bond that holds the republic together, the vital spirit of thousands who would be nothing but a burden and easy prey without a leader.
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.
When this union breaks apart, everything falls to pieces. Empire and obedience must stand and fall together. It's no wonder that a prince is dear to his people when the community is wrapped up in him. The good of both is as inseparable as the body and the head. One provides strength, and the other provides counsel. What good is the force of the body without the direction of 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. His office is only to see that the rest perform their duties. When their king is lost, the whole swarm dissolves. More than one they will not admit. Then they contend who shall have the best. They are of all creatures the fiercest for their size. They leave their stings behind them in their quarrels. Only the king himself has none, suggesting 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.
Isn't it shameful that men are still so excessive, even after seeing such restraint in these creatures? It would be better if people lost their ability to harm others when seeking revenge, just like bees lose their stings. Then they could only hurt someone once and couldn't cause damage through others acting on their behalf. This would exhaust them quickly, since they'd either have to carry out all their revenge personally or risk their own lives when harming others.
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.
A prince should act generously with the power God has given him over life and death. This is especially true when dealing with those who were once his equals. One person gets revenge, while the other receives punishment. Someone who owes their life to another has already lost it. But someone who receives their life at their enemy's feet lives to honor their savior. They become a lasting monument to their preserver's virtue. If they had been paraded in triumph instead, the spectacle would have ended quickly. What if the prince restored them to their kingdom again? Wouldn't this greatly add to his honor? It would show that he found nothing in the conquered person worthy of the conqueror. Nothing is more admirable than a prince who doesn't seek revenge for an injury. A gracious ruler is loved and respected like a common father. But a tyrant lives in fear and danger, even from his own guards. No prince can be safe if everyone else fears him. To spare no one is to anger everyone. It's a mistake to think anyone can be secure while making everyone else insecure. How can anyone bear to live an uneasy, suspicious, anxious life when they could be safe and enjoy all the benefits of power along with their people's prayers? Mercy protects a prince without needing guards. There's no need for troops, castles, or fortifications. Security on one side creates security on the other. The people's love forms the most unbeatable fortress. What could be better than for a prince to live as the object of his people's love? To have their heartfelt prayers as well as their spoken ones? To have his health and sickness become their shared hopes and fears? There would be no danger of plots. On the contrary, who wouldn't gladly risk their blood to save him? Under his government, justice, peace, modesty, and dignity flourish. Under his influence, people grow rich and happy. They look upon him with the same reverence they would show the immortal gods if they could see them. They consider him the true representative of the ALMIGHTY when he is gracious and generous, using his power for his subjects' benefit.
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.
When a prince decides to punish someone, he must be doing it either to defend himself or to defend others. It's difficult for him to stay fair when he's the one who was wronged. If someone advised him not to believe accusations too quickly, but to investigate carefully and show mercy to the innocent, this would be justice rather than mercy. But if he has clearly been wronged, I think he should forgive when it's safe to do so. He should be gentle even when he can't forgive. He should be much more willing to show mercy in his own case than when defending others.
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.
It's easy to be generous with someone else's money, and just as easy to show mercy in someone else's affairs. The truly great person is one who controls his anger when he's been personally wronged, and forgives when he has the power to destroy. Punishment serves two purposes: to comfort the injured party, or to protect them in the future. A prince's wealth puts him above needing such comfort, and his power is too great to need a boost in reputation by harming a private citizen. This applies when dealing with insults from those beneath us. But when an equal has made himself inferior to someone, that person gets his revenge simply by bringing him down. A prince can be killed by a servant or destroyed by a snake. But whoever spares a man's life must be greater than the person he saves. A prince shouldn't compete with citizens, strangers, and people of low status because they're beneath him. He may spare some out of goodwill, and others the way he would avoid touching small creatures that would dirty his fingers. For those who deserve either pardon or public punishment, he can show mercy as he sees fit. A generous mind never lacks reasons and motives for mercy. Whether dealing with old or young, male or female, high-born or low-born, nothing is inappropriate for mercy.
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.
Now let's turn to defending others through punishment. We must consider three goals: reforming the person being punished, deterring others through fear, or removing the offender to protect society. Small punishments can often bring about reform. Someone who still has something to lose lives more carefully. When someone can't be punished further, that's almost like giving them immunity. A city's problems are best solved with few but well-chosen harsh measures. When many people commit crimes, it becomes a habit. Group behavior makes crime seem acceptable. You can do more good in a corrupt age through patience than through harshness. Just make sure people don't think you approve of bad behavior. Show that you simply don't want to go to extremes. Under a merciful ruler, people feel ashamed to break the law. Punishment from a gentle leader seems heavier and more shameful. It's also worth noting that "crimes are often committed when they're frequently punished." In five years, Caligula condemned more people to death by drowning than all previous rulers combined. There were "fewer cases of children killing parents before the law against it than after." Our ancestors wisely assumed such crimes would never happen. But by creating laws to punish them, they showed that these crimes were possible. Parent-killing began with the law against it. The punishment taught people about the crime. Where punishments are rare, innocence is treated as a public good. It's dangerous to show a city how many criminals it contains. Human nature includes a stubborn streak that makes us resist when pushed. We respond better to being led than driven. A noble horse rides best with a gentle bit. People obey willingly when they're 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.
When Burrhus the prefect was about to sentence two criminals, he brought the warrant to Nero to sign. After much hesitation, Nero finally signed it with this exclamation: "I wish I could not write!" This was a speech that deserved the whole world as an audience, but especially all princes. The hearts of all subjects should match the character of their masters. As the head is healthy or sick, so the mind is dull or cheerful. What is the difference between a king and a tyrant, but a difference of will under the same power? One destroys for pleasure, the other out of necessity. This is a distinction in action rather 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.
A good prince is just as well-armed as a tyrant, but he uses his power to defend his people, not destroy them. No king can ever have loyal servants if he subjects them to torture and executions. Even the guilty don't live as anxiously as those who persecute others. Persecutors fear both divine and human justice, and it's dangerous for them to change their ways. Once they start down this path, they must continue being wicked out of necessity. Universal hatred unites people in popular rage. Moderate fear can be controlled, but when fear becomes constant and intense, it drives people to extremes. It pushes them toward desperate actions, like wild animals that turn and attack their hunters when cornered. A turbulent government creates endless trouble for both ruler and people. The person who terrorizes everyone else lives in terror too. Frequent punishments and revenge might silence a few enemies, but they stir up hatred in everyone else. You can't destroy one enemy without making many more. It's wise to control the urge to be cruel, even when there might be reason for it and opportunities to act on it.
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.”
Augustus was a gracious prince when he held power in his own hands. But during the triumvirate, he used his sword and kept his friends armed and ready to attack Antony during their disputes. Later, he behaved very differently. When he was between forty and fifty years old, someone told him that Cinna was plotting to murder him. The informant was one of the conspirators and revealed the time, place, and method of the planned assassination. Augustus decided to take revenge and called several friends to advise him. The thought kept him awake as he considered that a young nobleman's life was at stake. Cinna was Pompey's nephew and otherwise innocent. Augustus went back and forth several times about whether to have him killed. "What!" he said. "Should I live in trouble and danger while the person planning my death walks around free and safe? Will nothing satisfy him except the life that Providence has saved through so many civil wars and battles on sea and land? Even now, during universal peace, he wants not just a simple murder but a sacrifice. I'm to be attacked at the very altar, and the mastermind of this crime will escape unpunished?" Augustus paused for a moment, then collected himself. "No, no, Caesar," he said. "I should be angry with Caesar, not Cinna. Why do I continue living when my death has become so many people's goal? If I keep going, when will the bloodshed and punishment end? If the nobility arms itself and aims its weapons at my life, my single life isn't worth it if so many others must die to preserve me."
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.
His wife Livia interrupted him and asked him to listen to a woman's advice for once. "Act like a doctor," she said. "When common treatments fail, try the opposite approach. Severity has gotten you nowhere so far. After Salvidianus came Lepidus, then Muræna, then Cæpio, then Egnatius followed Cæpio. Try mercy now. Forgive Cinna. He's been discovered and can't hurt you anymore. This will actually help your reputation." Augustus was pleased with this advice and thanked her for it. He then canceled the meeting with his friends and ordered that Cinna be brought to him alone. He had a chair set up for Cinna and dismissed everyone else. "Cinna," Augustus said, "before I continue, you must promise not to interrupt me with even one word until I've finished everything I have to say. After that, you can say whatever you want. You can't forget that when I found you fighting against me—not just my enemy, but born to be one—I spared your life and let you keep your fortune. When you asked for the priesthood, I granted it, even though I had to turn down the sons of men who had fought alongside me. Today you're so wealthy and successful that even the victors envy the defeated. Yet after all this, Cinna, you're plotting to murder me." At those words, Cinna jumped and protested that he was certainly neither so wicked nor so mad. "You're breaking our agreement, Cinna," Augustus said. "It's not your turn to speak yet. I'm telling you again that you're plotting to murder me." He then told him the time, the place, the conspirators, the plan and method of the assassination, and who was supposed to carry it out. Cinna stared at the ground without replying. He stayed silent not because of his promise, but because his conscience was troubled. Augustus continued. "What's your goal in all this?" he asked. "Do you think you could take my place? The republic would be in terrible shape if only Augustus stood between you and power. You lost a court case the other day to one of your own freed slaves. Do you really think you'd find Caesar a weaker opponent? But what if I were gone? There's Æmilius Paulus, Fabius Maximus, and twenty other families with great bloodlines and influence who would never accept it." To make a long story short (the conversation lasted over two hours, and Augustus drew out this verbal punishment since he intended it to be the only punishment), he finally said, "Well, Cinna, I once gave you life when you were my enemy. Now I'm giving it to you again as a traitor and would-be assassin. This will be the last reproach I give you. From now on, our only competition will be to see which of us can be a better friend to the other." After this, Augustus made Cinna consul, an honor Cinna admitted he hadn't even dared to hope for. Cinna remained faithfully devoted to him from then on. He made Caesar his sole heir, and this was the last conspiracy ever formed against Augustus.
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.
Augustus showed this moderation in his mature years. But in his youth he was passionate and impulsive. He did many things that he later regretted. After the battle of Actium, he destroyed so many fleets in Sicily, both Roman and foreign. At the Perusian altars, he sacrificed 300 lives to the ghost of Julius. He ordered frequent proscriptions and other harsh punishments. His later restraint seemed like nothing more than tired cruelty. If he hadn't forgiven those he conquered, who would he have ruled? He chose his own bodyguards from among his former enemies. The finest Romans owed their lives to his mercy. He only punished Lepidus with exile and let him keep the symbols of his rank. Augustus didn't take the pontificate for himself while Lepidus lived. He wanted to possess it as an honor, not as stolen goods. This mercy secured his power and won over the people. He had seized control before they fully accepted his rule. This same mercy made his name famous for future generations. This is what makes us consider him divine without needing official deification. He was so gentle and patient that many bitter jokes were made about him. Insults against rulers are the most unbearable of all injuries, yet he never punished anyone for this. It is noble to show mercy when you have the 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.
A son of Titus Arius was examined and found guilty of parricide. He was banished from Rome and confined to Marseilles. His father allowed him the same annuity he had received before. This made everyone conclude he was guilty. They saw that his father had condemned the son he could not bring himself to hate. Augustus chose to sit on the case in Arius's house. He served only as a single member of the council examining it. If the trial had been held in Caesar's palace, the judgment would have been Caesar's and not the father's. After a full hearing, Caesar directed that every man should write his opinion on whether the son was guilty or not. Caesar did not declare his own opinion, fearing it would influence the vote. Before opening the written opinions, Caesar took an oath that he would not be Arius's heir. This showed he had no personal interest in his sentence. As it turned out, the son was not condemned to the ordinary punishments for parricides, nor to prison. Through Caesar's mediation, he was only banished from Rome and confined to a place his father would choose. Augustus insisted that the father should be content with an easy punishment. He argued that the young man was not moved by malice and was only half-resolved on the crime, since he wavered in it. Therefore, removing him from the city and from his father's sight would be sufficient. This is a glorious mercy, 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.”
How miserable is the man who uses his power to steal from others and treat them cruelly! He becomes even more unhappy than his victims. He lives in constant fear of his own servants and of strangers. He can't trust his friends' loyalty or his children's love. He turns to violence to protect himself from the violence he fears others might use against him. When he stops to think about what he has done, what he must do, and what he plans to do next, his conscience torments him. The wickedness of his actions weighs on him. Sometimes he fears death, but more often he wishes for it. He hates himself more than his subjects hate him. The opposite is true for a ruler who cares for his people. Even if he favors one group over another, he still sees every part of his kingdom as part of himself. His mind is kind and gentle. When punishment becomes necessary and helpful, he approaches it reluctantly. He feels no hatred or anger in his heart. Whatever form of authority someone holds, mercy suits it well. The greater the power, the greater the glory of showing mercy. "It is truly a royal virtue for a prince to protect his people from other men's anger, and not to crush them with his own."