We come now to the main point of the matter in question: that is to say, whether or not it be a thing desirable in itself, the giving and receiving of benefits? There is a sect of philosophers that accounts nothing valuable but what is profitable, and so makes all virtue mercenary; an unmanly mistake to imagine, that the hope of gain, or fear of loss, should make a man either the more or less honest. As who should say, “What will I get by it, and I will be an honest man?” Whereas, on the contrary, honesty is a thing in itself to be purchased at any rate. It is not for a body to say, “It will be a charge, a hazard, I shall give offence,” etc. My business is to do what I ought to do: all other considerations are foreign to the office. Whensoever my duty calls me, it is my part to attend, without scrupulizing upon forms or difficulties. Shall I see an honest man oppressed at the bar, and not assist him, for fear of a court faction? or not second him upon the highway against thieves, for fear of a broken head? and choose rather to sit still, the quiet spectator of fraud and violence? Why will men be just, temperate, generous, brave, but because it carries along with it fame and a good conscience? and for the same reason, and no other, (to apply it to the subject in hand,) let a man also be bountiful. The school of Epicurus, I am sure, will never swallow this doctrine: (that effeminate tribe of lazy and voluptuous philosophers;) they will tell you, that virtue is but the servant and vassal of pleasure. “No,” says Epicurus, “I am not for pleasure neither without virtue.” But, why then for pleasure, say I, before virtue? Not that the stress of the controversy lies upon the order only; for the power of it, as well as the dignity, is now under debate. It is the office of virtue to superintend, to lead, and to govern; but the parts you have assigned it, are to submit, to follow, and to be under command. But this, you will say, is nothing to the purpose, so long as both sides are agreed, that there can be no happiness without virtue: “Take away that,” says Epicurus, “and I am as little a friend to pleasure as you.” The pinch, in short, is this, whether virtue itself be the supreme good or the only cause of it? It is not the inverting of the order that will clear this point; (though it is a very preposterous error, to set that first which should be last.) It does not half so much offend me; ranging of pleasure before virtue, as the very comparing of them; and the bringing of the two opposites, and professed enemies, into any sort of competition.
We come now to the main point of the question: whether the giving and receiving of benefits is desirable in itself. There is a sect of philosophers that counts nothing valuable except what is profitable, and so makes all virtue mercenary. It is an unmanly mistake to imagine that the hope of gain or fear of loss should make a man either more or less honest. It is as if someone should say, “What will I get by it, and then I will be an honest man?” But on the contrary, honesty is a thing in itself to be bought at any price. It is not for anyone to say, “It will be costly, risky, I shall give offence,” and so on. My business is to do what I ought to do. All other considerations are foreign to the duty. Whenever my duty calls me, it is my part to answer, without fussing over forms or difficulties. Shall I see an honest man oppressed at the bar and not help him, for fear of a court faction? Or not back him up on the highway against thieves, for fear of a broken head? Shall I choose instead to sit still, the quiet spectator of fraud and violence? Why will men be just, temperate, generous, and brave, except because it brings fame and a good conscience along with it? And for the same reason and no other (to apply it to the subject in hand), let a man also be bountiful. The school of Epicurus, I am sure, will never swallow this doctrine. (They are that effeminate tribe of lazy and pleasure-loving philosophers.) They will tell you that virtue is only the servant and vassal of pleasure. “No,” says Epicurus, “I am not for pleasure without virtue either.” But why, then, I ask, put pleasure before virtue? Not that the weight of the dispute lies in the order only. For the power of virtue, as well as its dignity, is now under debate. It is the office of virtue to oversee, to lead, and to govern. But the parts you have assigned it are to submit, to follow, and to be under command. But this, you will say, is beside the point, as long as both sides agree that there can be no happiness without virtue. “Take that away,” says Epicurus, “and I am as little a friend to pleasure as you.” The sticking point, in short, is this: is virtue itself the supreme good, or the only cause of it? Reversing the order will not settle this point (though it is a very absurd error to put first what should be last). It does not offend me half so much to rank pleasure before virtue as to compare them at all. What offends me is bringing two opposites and declared enemies into any sort of competition.
The drift of this discourse is, to support the cause of benefits; and to prove, that it is a mean and dishonorable thing to give for any other end than for giving’s sake. He that gives for gain, profit, or any by-end, destroys the very intent of bounty; for it falls only upon those that do not want, and perverts the charitable inclinations of princes and of great men, who cannot reasonably propound to themselves any such end. What does the sun get by travelling about the universe; by visiting and comforting all the quarters of the earth? Is the whole creation made and ordered for the good of mankind, and every particular man only for the good of himself? There passes not an hour of our lives, wherein we do not enjoy the blessings of Providence, without measure and without intermission. And what design can the Almighty have upon us, who is in himself full, safe, and inviolable? If he should give only for his own sake, what would become of poor mortals, that have nothing to return him at best but dutiful acknowledgments? It is putting out of a benefit to interest only to bestow where we may place it to advantage.
The drift of this discussion is to support the cause of benefits. It aims to prove that it is mean and dishonorable to give for any other end than for the sake of giving. He who gives for gain, profit, or any ulterior end destroys the very purpose of bounty. For such giving falls only on those who are not in need. And it perverts the charitable leanings of princes and great men, who cannot reasonably set themselves any such end. What does the sun gain by travelling about the universe, visiting and comforting every quarter of the earth? Is the whole creation made and ordered for the good of mankind, and each particular man only for the good of himself? Not an hour of our lives passes in which we do not enjoy the blessings of Providence, without measure and without pause. And what design can the Almighty have on us, when he is in himself full, safe, and beyond harm? If he gave only for his own sake, what would become of poor mortals? At best we have nothing to return him but dutiful thanks. To give only where we can place it to advantage is to put out a benefit at interest.
Let us be liberal then, after the example of our great Creator, and give to others with the same consideration that he gives to us. Epicurus’s answer will be to this, that God gives no benefits at all, but turns his back upon the world; and without any concern for us, leaves Nature to take her course: and whether he does anything himself, or nothing, he takes no notice, however, either of the good or of the ill that is done here below. If there were not an ordering and an over-ruling Providence, how comes it (say I, on the other side) that the universality of mankind should ever have so unanimously agreed in the madness of worshipping a power that can neither hear nor help us? Some blessings are freely given us; others upon our prayers are granted us; and every day brings forth instances of great and of seasonable mercies. There never was yet any man so insensible as not to feel, see, and understand, a Deity in the ordinary methods of nature, though many have been so obstinately ungrateful as not to confess it; nor is any man so wretched as not to be a partaker in that divine bounty. Some benefits, it is true, may appear to be unequally divided; but it is no small matter yet that we possess in common: and which Nature has bestowed upon us in her very self. If God be not bountiful, whence is it that we have all that we pretend to? That which we give, and that which we deny, that which we lay up, and that which we squander away? Those innumerable delights for the entertainment of our eyes, our ears, and our understandings? nay, that copious matter even for luxury itself? For care is taken, not only for our necessities, but also for our pleasures, and for the gratifying of all our senses and appetites. So many pleasant groves; fruitful and salutary plants; so many fair rivers that serve us, both for recreation, plenty, and commerce: vicissitudes of seasons; varieties of food, by nature made ready to our hands, and the whole creation itself subjected to mankind for health, medicine and dominion. We can be thankful to a friend for a few acres, or a little money: and yet for the freedom and command of the whole earth, and for the great benefits of our being, as life, health, and reason, we look upon ourselves as under no obligation. If a man bestows upon us a house that is delicately beautified with paintings, statues, gildings, and marble, we make a mighty business of it, and yet it lies at the mercy of a puff of wind, the snuff of a candle, and a hundred other accidents, to lay it in the dust. And is it nothing now to sleep under the canopy of heaven, where we have the globe of the earth for our place of repose, and the glories of the heavens for our spectacle? How comes it that we should so much value what we have, and yet at the same time be so unthankful for it? Whence is it that we have our breath, the comforts of light and of heat, the very blood that runs in our veins? the cattle that feed us, and the fruits of the earth that feed them? Whence have we the growth of our bodies, the succession of our ages, and the faculties of our minds? so many veins of metals, quarries of marble, etc. The seed of everything is in itself, and it is the blessing of God that raises it out of the dark into act and motion. To say nothing of the charming varieties of music, beautiful objects, delicious provisions for the palate, exquisite perfumes, which are cast in, over and above, to the common necessities of our being.
Let us be generous then, following the example of our great Creator, and give to others with the same consideration that he gives to us. Epicurus would answer that God gives no benefits at all, but turns his back upon the world. Without any concern for us, he leaves Nature to take her course. Whether he does anything himself, or nothing, he takes no notice of either the good or the ill that is done here below. If there were not an ordering and overruling Providence, how is it (I ask, on the other side) that all of mankind should have so unanimously agreed in the madness of worshipping a power that can neither hear nor help us? Some blessings are freely given to us. Others are granted upon our prayers. Every day brings forth instances of great and timely mercies. There never was yet any man so insensitive as not to feel, see, and understand a Deity in the ordinary methods of nature, though many have been so stubbornly ungrateful as not to confess it. No man is so wretched as not to share in that divine bounty. Some benefits, it is true, may appear to be unequally divided. But it is no small matter that we possess in common what Nature has bestowed upon us in herself. If God is not generous, where do we get all that we claim to have? That which we give, and that which we deny, that which we save, and that which we waste? Those countless delights for the entertainment of our eyes, our ears, and our minds? Even that abundant matter for luxury itself? Care is taken not only for our necessities, but also for our pleasures, and for satisfying all our senses and appetites. So many pleasant groves, fruitful and healing plants, so many fair rivers that serve us for recreation, plenty, and commerce. The changing seasons, varieties of food made ready to our hands by nature, and the whole creation itself subjected to mankind for health, medicine and dominion. We can be thankful to a friend for a few acres, or a little money. Yet for the freedom and command of the whole earth, and for the great benefits of our being—life, health, and reason—we look upon ourselves as under no obligation. If a man gives us a house that is beautifully decorated with paintings, statues, gildings, and marble, we make a great fuss about it. Yet it lies at the mercy of a puff of wind, the snuff of a candle, and a hundred other accidents that could lay it in the dust. Is it nothing now to sleep under the canopy of heaven, where we have the globe of the earth for our place of rest, and the glories of the heavens for our spectacle? How is it that we should so much value what we have, and yet at the same time be so unthankful for it? Where do we get our breath, the comforts of light and heat, the very blood that runs in our veins? The cattle that feed us, and the fruits of the earth that feed them? Where do we get the growth of our bodies, the succession of our ages, and the faculties of our minds? So many veins of metals, quarries of marble, and more. The seed of everything is in itself, and it is the blessing of God that raises it out of the dark into action and motion. To say nothing of the charming varieties of music, beautiful objects, delicious food for the palate, exquisite perfumes, which are added over and above the common necessities of our being.
All this, says Epicurus, we are to ascribe to Nature. And why not to God, I beseech ye? as if they were not both of them one and the same power, working in the whole, and in every part of it. Or, if you call him the Almighty Jupiter; the Thunderer; the Creator and Preserver of us all: it comes to the same issue; some will express him under the notion of Fate; which is only a connexion of causes, and himself the uppermost and original, upon which all the rest depend. The Stoics represent the several functions of the Almighty Power under several appellations. When they speak of him as the father and the fountain of all beings, they call him Bacchus: and under the name of Hercules, they denote him to be indefatigable and invincible; and in the contemplation of him in the reason, order, proportion, and wisdom of his proceedings, they call him Mercury; so that which way soever they look, and under what name soever they couch their meaning, they never fail of finding him; for he is everywhere, and fills his own work. If a man should borrow money of Seneca, and say that he owes it to Amnæus or Lucius, he may change the name but not his creditor; for let him take which of the three names he pleases, he is still a debtor to the same person. As justice, integrity, prudence, frugality, fortitude, are all of them goods of one and the same mind, so that whichsoever of them pleases us, we cannot distinctly say that it is this or that, but the mind.
Epicurus says we should credit all this to Nature. But why not to God? They're both the same power, working in everything and every part of it. You might call him the Almighty Jupiter, the Thunderer, or the Creator and Preserver of us all. It amounts to the same thing. Some people call him Fate, which is just a chain of causes with him as the first and highest cause that all others depend on. The Stoics give different names to the various functions of the Almighty Power. When they talk about him as the father and source of all beings, they call him Bacchus. Under the name of Hercules, they mean he's tireless and unbeatable. When they think about his reason, order, balance, and wisdom, they call him Mercury. No matter how they look at it or what name they use, they always find him. He is everywhere and fills his own creation. If someone borrowed money from Seneca and said he owed it to Amnæus or Lucius, he could change the name but not his creditor. Whatever name he chooses from the three, he still owes the same person. Justice, integrity, wisdom, thrift, and courage are all qualities of one mind. Whichever one appeals to us, we can't really say it's separate from the others. They're all part of the same mind.
But, not to carry this digression too far; that which God himself does, we are sure is well done; and we are no less sure, that for whatsoever he gives, he neither wants, expects, nor receives, anything in return; so that the end of a benefit ought to be the advantage of the receiver; and that must be our scope without any by-regard to ourselves. It is objected to us, the singular caution we prescribe in the choice of the person: for it were a madness, we say, for a husbandman to sow the sand: which, if true, say they, you have an eye upon profit, as well in giving as in plowing and sowing. And then they say again, that if the conferring of a benefit were desirable in itself, it would have no dependence upon the choice of a man; for let us give it when, how, or wheresoever we please, it would be still a benefit. This does not at all affect our assertion; for the person, the matter, the manner, and the time, are circumstances absolutely necessary to the reason of the action: there must be a right judgment in all respects to make it a benefit. It is my duty to be true to a trust, and yet there may be a time or a place, wherein I would make little difference betwixt the renouncing of it and the delivering of it up; and the same rule holds in benefits; I will neither render the one, nor bestow the other, to the damage of the receiver. A wicked man will run all risks to do an injury, and to compass his revenge; and shall not an honest man venture as far to do a good office? All benefits must be gratuitous. A merchant sells me the corn that keeps me and my family from starving; but he sold it for his interests, as well as I bought it for mine; and so I owe him nothing for it. He that gives for profit, gives to himself; as a physician or a lawyer, gives counsel for a fee, and only makes use of me for his own ends; as a grazier fats his cattle to bring them to a better market. This is more properly the driving of a trade than the cultivating of a generous commerce. This for that, is rather a truck than a benefit; and he deserves to be cozened that gives any thing in hope of a return. And in truth, what end should a man honorably propound? not profit; sure that is vulgar and mechanic; and he that does not contemn it can never be grateful. And then for glory, it is a mighty matter indeed for a man to boast of doing his duty. We are to give, if it were only to avoid not giving; if any thing comes of it, it is clear gain; and, at worst, there is nothing lost; beside, that one benefit well placed makes amends for a thousand miscarriages. It is not that I would exclude the benefactor neither for being himself the better for a good office he does for another. Some there are that do us good only for their own sakes; others for ours; and some again for both. He that does it for me in common with himself, if he had a prospect upon both in the doing it, I am obliged to him for it; and glad with all my heart that he had a share in it. Nay, I were ungrateful and unjust if I should not rejoice, that what was beneficial to me might be so likewise to himself.
But let's not get too far off track here. Whatever God does, we know is done well. We're equally sure that when he gives something, he doesn't want, expect, or receive anything back. So the purpose of doing good should be to help the person receiving it. That should be our goal, without any thought of what we might get out of it. People criticize us for being so careful about choosing who to help. They say it would be crazy for a farmer to plant seeds in sand. If that's true, they argue, then you're looking for profit in giving just like in farming. They also say that if doing good were truly worthwhile on its own, it wouldn't matter who you chose to help. Give whenever, however, or wherever you want, and it would still be good. This doesn't hurt our argument at all. The person, the situation, the way you do it, and the timing are all absolutely necessary for the action to make sense. You need good judgment in every aspect to make it truly beneficial. It's my duty to honor a trust, but there might be times or places where breaking that trust would be almost as bad as keeping it. The same rule applies to doing good. I won't honor a trust or give help if it will harm the person I'm trying to help. A wicked person will take any risk to cause harm and get revenge. Shouldn't an honest person be willing to take just as many risks to do good? All good deeds must be free gifts. A merchant sells me grain that keeps my family from starving, but he sold it for his own benefit just as I bought it for mine. So I don't owe him anything beyond the price. Someone who gives for profit is really giving to himself. A doctor or lawyer gives advice for a fee and only uses me for his own purposes, like a rancher fattens cattle to get a better price at market. This is more like running a business than building genuine relationships. Trading one thing for another is bargaining, not generosity. Anyone who gives something hoping for something back deserves to be cheated. Really, what honorable goal should a person have? Not profit, certainly. That's common and crude, and anyone who doesn't look down on it can never be truly grateful. As for glory, it's hardly worth bragging about doing your duty. We should give if only to avoid not giving. If anything good comes of it, that's pure bonus. At worst, nothing is lost. Besides, one good deed done right makes up for a thousand mistakes. I'm not saying the person doing good shouldn't benefit from helping someone else. Some people help us only for their own sake, others only for ours, and some for both reasons. If someone helps me while also helping himself, and he had both of us in mind when he did it, I'm grateful to him. I'm happy that he got something out of it too. In fact, I'd be ungrateful and unfair if I weren't glad that what helped me also helped him.
To pass now to the matter of gratitude and ingratitude. There never was any man yet so wicked as not to approve of the one, and detest the other; as the two things in the whole world, the one to be the most abominated, the other the most esteemed. The very story of an ungrateful action puts us out of all patience, and gives us a loathing for the author of it. “That inhuman villain,” we cry, “to do so horrid a thing:” not, “that inconsiderate fool for omitting so profitable a virtue;” which plainly shows the sense we naturally have, both of the one and of the other, and that we are led to it by a common impulse of reason and of conscience. Epicurus fancies God to be without power, and without arms; above fear himself, and as little to be feared. He places him betwixt the orbs, solitary and idle, out of the reach of mortals, and neither hearing our prayers nor minding our concerns; and allows him only such a veneration and respect as we pay to our parents. If a man should ask him now, why any reverence at all, if we have no obligation to him, or rather, why that greater reverence to his fortuitous atoms? his answer would be, that it was for their majesty and their admirable nature, and not out of any hope or expectation from them. So that by his proper confession, a thing may be desirable for its own worth. But, says he, gratitude is a virtue that has commonly profit annexed to it. And where is the virtue, say I, that has not? but still the virtue is to be valued for itself, and not for the profit that attends it. There is no question, but gratitude for benefits received is the ready way to procure more; and in requiting one friend we encourage many: but these accessions fall in by the by; and if I were sure that the doing of good offices would be my ruin, I would yet pursue them. He that visits the sick, in hope of a legacy, let him be never so friendly in all other cases, I look upon him in this to be no better than a raven, that watches a weak sheep only to peck out the eyes of it. We never give with so much judgment or care, as when we consider the honesty of the action, without any regard to the profit of it; for our understandings are corrupted by fear, hope, and pleasure.
To pass now to the matter of gratitude and ingratitude. There never yet was any man so wicked as not to approve of the one and detest the other. Of all things in the whole world, ingratitude is the most hated and gratitude the most esteemed. The very story of an ungrateful act puts us out of all patience and fills us with loathing for its author. “That inhuman villain,” we cry, “to do so horrid a thing!” We do not say, “That thoughtless fool, for neglecting so profitable a virtue!” This plainly shows the sense we naturally have of both. It shows that we are led to it by a common impulse of reason and of conscience. Epicurus imagines God to be without power and without arms, above fear himself and as little to be feared. He places him between the spheres of heaven, solitary and idle, out of the reach of mortals. There he neither hears our prayers nor minds our concerns. Epicurus allows him only the kind of veneration and respect we pay to our parents. Now suppose someone asked him why we owe any reverence at all, if we have no obligation to him. Or rather, why pay that even greater reverence to his chance-made atoms? His answer would be that it was for their majesty and their admirable nature, not out of any hope or expectation from them. So by his own confession, a thing may be desirable for its own worth. But, he says, gratitude is a virtue that commonly has profit attached to it. And where is the virtue, I say, that has not? Still, the virtue is to be valued for itself, and not for the profit that comes with it. No doubt gratitude for benefits received is the ready way to get more. And in repaying one friend we encourage many. But these additions come by the way. If I were sure that doing kind services would be my ruin, I would still pursue them. Take the man who visits the sick in hope of a legacy. Let him be ever so friendly in all other cases, in this one I see him as no better than a raven. He watches a weak sheep only to peck out its eyes. We never give with so much judgment or care as when we consider the honesty of the action, without any regard to its profit. For our understandings are corrupted by fear, hope, and pleasure.