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 a benefit is followed by an injury. Whichever comes first, the later one is like writing over other writing. It largely hides the earlier one and keeps it from showing, but it does not quite take it away. In some cases we may separate them, and both repay the one and avenge the other. Or else we may compare them, to learn 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 destroyed my father. In such a case I will allow as much as piety, justice, and good nature will bear. But I am not willing to set an injury against a benefit. I would have some regard to the timing: the obligation came first. And then perhaps the one was intended and the other done against his will. With these things in mind, I would enlarge the benefit and lessen the injury, and cancel the one with the other. Indeed, I would pardon the injury even without the benefit, and much more after it. This does not mean a man can be bound by one benefit to suffer every sort of injury. There are some cases in which we are under no obligation for a benefit, because a greater injury releases us from it. For example, a man helps me out of a lawsuit, and afterwards rapes my daughter. Here the later wickedness cancels the earlier obligation. A man lends me a little money and then sets my house on fire. Here the debtor has become the creditor, since the injury outweighs the benefit. Indeed, a man may only regret the kindness he did, and grow sour and insolent about it, and reproach me with it. Or he may have done it only for his own sake, or for any reason other than mine. In any of these cases I am in some degree, more or less, released from the obligation. I owe nothing at all to a man who makes me the instrument of his own advantage. If he does me good for his own sake, I will do him good for mine.
Suppose a man makes suit for a place, and cannot obtain it, but upon the ransom of ten slaves out of the galleys. If there be ten, and no more, they owe him nothing for their redemption; but they are indebted to him for the choice, where he might have taken ten others as well as these. Put the case again, that by an act of grace so many prisoners are to be released, their names to be drawn by lot, and mine happens to come out among the rest: one part of my obligation is to him that put me in a capacity of freedom, and the other is to Providence for my being one of that number. The greatest benefits of all have no witnesses, but lie concealed in the conscience.
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 hold that if a man cannot help wishing another well, the one he helps owes him somewhat less for the kind service. But I say, on the contrary, that he owes him more, because the goodwill cannot change. It is one thing to say that a man could not help doing me this or that courtesy, because he was forced to it. It is another thing to say that he could not give up his goodwill in doing it. In the first case, I am in debt to whoever imposes the force. In the second, I am in debt to the man himself. Unchangeable goodwill creates an obligation that cannot be escaped. And to say that nature cannot leave her course does not release us from what we owe to Providence. Shall a man be said to will, when he may change his mind the next moment? And shall we question the will of the Almighty, whose nature admits no change? Must the stars leave their stations and crash into one another? Must the sun stand still in the middle of its course, and heaven and earth drop into confusion? Must a devouring fire seize the universe, the harmony of creation be dissolved, and the whole frame of nature be swallowed up in a dark abyss? Will nothing less than this convince the world of its bold and absurd follies? This is not to say that these heavenly bodies are not made for us. In part they are, and we are the better for their powers and motions whether we will or not. Yet undoubtedly the principal cause is the unalterable law of God. Providence is not moved by anything from outside. The Divine will is an everlasting law, an unchangeable decree. And the impossibility of change comes from God’s purpose to preserve, for he never repents of his first counsels. It is not with our heavenly Father as with our earthly one. God thought of us and provided for us before he made us (for to him all future events are present). Man was not the work of chance. His mind carries him above the tricks of fortune, and naturally aspires to the contemplation of heaven and divine mysteries. How desperate a madness it is, then, to undervalue these divine blessings, and even to despise and disown them! Without them we are utterly unable to enjoy any others.