To refuse a good office, not so much because we do not need it, as because we would not be indebted for it, is a kind of fantastical ingratitude, and somewhat akin to that nicety of humor, on the other side, of being over-grateful; only it lies another way, and seems to be the more pardonable ingratitude of the two. Some people take it for a great instance of their good-will to be wishing their benefactors such or such a mischief; only, forsooth, that they themselves may be the happy instruments of their release.
To refuse help, not because we don't need it, but because we don't want to owe anyone a favor, is a strange kind of ingratitude. It's somewhat like the opposite problem of being overly grateful. It just goes the other direction and seems like the more forgivable type of ingratitude. Some people think it shows great goodwill to wish misfortune on their benefactors. They do this only so they can be the ones to rescue them later.
These men do like extravagant lovers, that take it for a great proof of their affection to wish one another banished, beggared, or diseased, that they might have the opportunity of interposing to their relief. What difference is there betwixt such wishing and cursing? such an affection and a mortal hatred? The intent is good, you will say, but this is a misapplication of it. Let such a one fall into my power, or into the hands of his enemies, his creditors, or the common people, and no mortal be able to rescue him but myself: let his life, his liberty, and his reputation, lie all at stake, and no creature but myself in condition to succor him; and why all this, but because he has obliged me, and I would requite him? If this be gratitude to propound jails, shackles, slavery, war, beggary, to the man that you would requite, what would you do where you are ungrateful? This way of proceeding, over and above that it is impious in itself, is likewise over-hasty and unseasonable: for he that goes too fast is as much to blame as he that does not move at all, (to say nothing of the injustice,) for if I had never been obliged, I should never have wished it.
These men act like obsessive lovers who think it shows great affection to wish their beloved would be banished, made poor, or fall sick. Then they could swoop in to help. What's the difference between such wishing and cursing? Between such affection and deadly hatred? You might say the intent is good, but this is using it wrong. Let such a person fall into my power, or into the hands of his enemies, his creditors, or angry crowds. Let no one else be able to rescue him but me. Let his life, his freedom, and his reputation all be at risk, with no one but myself able to save him. And why all this? Because he helped me once, and I want to repay him. If this is gratitude—to wish jails, chains, slavery, war, and poverty on the man you want to repay—what would you do when you're ungrateful? This way of thinking is not only wicked in itself, but also too hasty and badly timed. Someone who moves too fast is as much to blame as someone who doesn't move at all. To say nothing of the injustice, because if I had never been helped, I would never have wished for such things.
There are seasons wherein a benefit is neither to be received nor requited. To press a return upon me when I do not desire it, is unmannerly; but it is worse to force me to desire it. How rigorous would he be to exact a requital; who is thus eager to return it! To wish a man in distress that I may relieve him, is first to wish him miserable: to wish that he may stand in need of anybody, is against him; and to wish that he may stand in need of me, is for myself: so that my business is not so much a charity to my friend as the cancelling of a bond; nay, it is half-way the wish of an enemy. It is barbarous to wish a man in chains, slavery, or want, only to bring him out again: let me rather wish him powerful and happy, and myself indebted to him! By nature we are prone to mercy, humanity compassion; may we be excited to be more so by the number of the grateful! may their number increase, and may we have no need of trying them!
There are times when a benefit is neither to be received nor repaid. To press a return on me when I do not desire it is ill-mannered. But it is worse to force me to desire it. How strict would he be in demanding repayment, who is so eager to make it! To wish a man in distress so that I may relieve him is first to wish him miserable. To wish that he may need anybody is against him. And to wish that he may need me is for my own sake. So my business is not so much charity to my friend as the cancelling of a bond. Indeed, it is halfway to the wish of an enemy. It is barbarous to wish a man in chains, slavery, or want, only to bring him out again. Let me rather wish him powerful and happy, and myself in his debt! By nature we are inclined to mercy, humanity, and compassion. May we be moved to be more so by the number of the grateful! May their number increase, and may we have no need of testing them!
It is not for an honest man to make way to a good office by a crime: as if a pilot should pray for a tempest, that he might prove his skill: or a general wish his army routed, that he may show himself a great commander in recovering the day. It is throwing a man into a river to take him out again. It is an obligation, I confess, to cure a wound or a disease; but to make that wound or disease on purpose to cure it, is a most perverse ingratitude. It is barbarous even to an enemy, much more to a friend; for it is not so much to do him a kindness, as to put him in need of it. Of the two, let me rather be a scar than a wound; and yet it would be better to have it neither. Rome had been little beholden to Scipio if he had prolonged the Punic war that he might have the finishing of it at last, or to the Decii for dying for their country, if they had first brought it to the last extremity of needing their devotion. It may be a good contemplation, but it is a lewd wish. Æneas had never been surnamed the Pious, if he had wished the ruin of his country, only that he might have the honor of taking his father out of the fire. It is the scandal of a physician to make work, and irritate a disease, and to torment his patient, for the reputation of his cure. If a man should openly imprecate poverty, captivity, fear, or danger, upon a person that he has been obliged to, would not the whole world condemn him for it? And what is the difference, but the one is only a private wish, and the other a public declaration? Rutilius was told in his exile, that, for his comfort, there would be ere-long a civil war, that would bring all the banished men home again. “God forbid,” says he, “for I had rather my country should blush for my banishment than mourn for my return.” How much more honorable it is to owe cheerfully, than to pay dishonestly? It is the wish of an enemy to take a town that he may preserve it, and to be victorious that he may forgive; but the mercy comes after the cruelty; beside that it is an injury both to God and man; for the man must be first afflicted by Heaven to be relieved by me. So that we impose the cruelty upon God, and take the compassion to ourselves; and at the best, it is but a curse that makes way for a blessing; the bare wish is an injury; and if it does not take effect, it is because Heaven has not heard our prayers; or if they should succeed, the fear itself is a torment; and it is much more desirable to have a firm and unshaken security. It is friendly to wish it in your power to oblige me, if ever I chance to need it; but it is unkind to wish me miserable that I may need it. How much more pious is it, and humane, to wish that I may never want the occasion of obliging, nor the means of doing it; nor ever have reason to repent of what I have done?
It is not for an honest man to make way for a kind service by a crime. It is as if a pilot should pray for a storm so that he might prove his skill. Or as if a general should wish his army routed, so that he might show himself a great commander in winning the day back. It is throwing a man into a river to pull him out again. Curing a wound or a disease does place a man under obligation, I confess. But to cause that wound or disease on purpose in order to cure it is a most perverse ingratitude. It is barbarous even toward an enemy, and much more toward a friend. For it is not so much doing him a kindness as putting him in need of one. Of the two, let me rather be a scar than a wound. And yet it would be better to be neither. Rome would have owed little to Scipio if he had prolonged the Punic war in order to have the finishing of it at last. Nor would it owe much to the Decii for dying for their country, if they had first brought it to the last extremity of needing their self-sacrifice. It may be a fine thing to imagine, but it is a wicked thing to wish. Aeneas would never have been called the Pious if he had wished for the ruin of his country, only to have the honor of carrying his father out of the fire. It is the disgrace of a physician to make work, aggravate a disease, and torment his patient for the sake of his reputation for curing. Suppose a man should openly call down poverty, captivity, fear, or danger on someone to whom he was obliged. Would not the whole world condemn him for it? And what is the difference, except that the one is only a private wish and the other a public declaration? Rutilius was told in his exile, for his comfort, that there would soon be a civil war that would bring all the banished men home again. “God forbid,” he said, “for I would rather my country should blush for my banishment than mourn for my return.” How much more honorable is it to owe cheerfully than to pay dishonestly? It is the wish of an enemy to take a town so that he may spare it, and to win so that he may forgive. But the mercy comes after the cruelty. Besides, it is an injury both to God and man. For the man must first be afflicted by Heaven in order to be relieved by me. So we lay the cruelty on God and take the compassion to ourselves. At best, it is a curse that makes way for a blessing. The bare wish is an injury. And if it does not take effect, it is because Heaven has not heard our prayers. Or if they should succeed, the fear itself is a torment, and it is much more desirable to have firm and unshaken security. It is friendly to wish it in your power to oblige me, if ever I should happen to need it. But it is unkind to wish me miserable so that I may need it. How much more pious and humane is it to wish that I may never lack the occasion of obliging or the means of doing it, nor ever have reason to regret what I have done?