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.
Mercy and gentleness of nature keep all in peace and calm, even in a cottage. Yet they are far more beneficial and conspicuous in a palace. Private men, in their station, are private in their virtues and their vices too. But the words and actions of princes are the subject of public talk. So princes need to take care what occasion they give for talk, since people will always be talking about them. There is the rule of a prince over his people, a father over his children, a master over his pupils, an officer over his soldiers. He is an unnatural father who beats his children for every trifle. Who is the better master: the one who rages at his pupils for missing a single word in a lesson, or the one who tries to teach and correct them by advice and kind words? A violent officer makes his men run from their colors. A skilled rider brings his horse to obedience by mixing gentle means with harsh ones. But constant whipping and spurring makes a horse vicious and stubborn. And shall we not take more care of men than of beasts? It breaks the hope of noble natures when they are crushed by servility and terror. No creature is so hard to win over by ill treatment as 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 gracious prince shows himself to his people, they do not run from him as from a tiger rousing itself out of its den. Instead they worship him as a kindly power. They protect him against all conspiracies and put their own bodies between him and danger. They guard him while he sleeps and defend him in battle against his enemies. This shared love and loyalty is not without reason, and neither is this heroic eagerness to give themselves up for their prince's safety. It is just as much in the people's own interest. Life and death are in a prince's breath. His sentence stands, right or wrong. If he is angry, nobody dares advise him. If he does wrong, who will call him to account? Now consider a man who has so much power to do harm, yet uses that power for the common good and comfort of his people, and spreads mercy and goodness into their hearts as well. What greater blessing could mankind have than such a prince? Any man may kill another against the law, but only a prince can save a man against the law. Let him deal with his own subjects as he wishes God to deal with him. If Heaven were unrelenting toward sinners and destroyed everyone without mercy, what living person could be safe?
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?
But since the faults of great men are not immediately punished with thunder from above, let them show the same forbearance toward those beneath them here on earth. The man who has revenge in his power and does not use it is the truly great man. Which is the more beautiful and pleasant: a calm, mild, clear day, or one of lightning, thunder, and storms? That is exactly the difference between a moderate government and a turbulent one. It belongs to low and common spirits to brawl, rage, and lose control of themselves. It does not suit the majesty of a prince to break out into unrestrained words. Some will think it slavery rather than rule to be denied freedom of speech. And what if it is, when government itself is only a more glorious kind 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.
It is not flattery to call a prince the father of his country. The titles Great and August are matters of compliment and honor. But in calling him father, we remind him of the moderation and indulgence he owes to his children. His subjects are his limbs. If one of them must be amputated, let him come to it slowly. When the part is cut off, let him wish it were back on. Let him grieve while doing it. A man who passes sentence hastily looks as if he does it willingly. And then the excess itself is an injustice.
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 reflect, first, on the vast multitudes of his people. Their rebellious, divided, and unbridled passions would throw everything into confusion. They would destroy themselves, and public order too, if the hand of government did not restrain them. From there he should go on to examine his conscience, saying to himself: “By the choice of Providence I am made God’s deputy here on earth, the judge of life and death. The fortune of my people depends on my breath. My lips are the oracles of their fate, and the destiny of both cities and men hangs on them. It is under my favor that people seek either prosperity or protection. Thousands of swords are drawn or sheathed at my pleasure. Which towns shall be raised up or destroyed, and who shall be slaves and who free, depends on my will. And yet, with this absolute power to act without check, I was never carried into any cruel act. My own anger or hot blood never drove me to it. Neither did other men’s defiance, rashness, or provocations, though these 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, though common, craving for show and glory that haunts domineering natures). My sword has not only been buried in its scabbard. In a way it has been bound over to keep the peace, sparing even of the cheapest blood. Where I find no other motive for compassion, humanity itself is enough. I have always been slow to severity and ready to forgive. I have kept the laws as strictly as if I were answerable for breaking them. Some I pardoned for their youth, others for their age. I spare one man for his high rank, another for his low station. And when I find no other reason, I spare for my own sake. So if God should call me to account this very moment, the whole world would agree to bear witness for me. I have not defrauded the commonwealth by any force, public or private, either by myself or through anyone else. The reputation I have always sought is one few princes have gained: the knowledge of my own innocence. Nor have I lost my labor. 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 already enjoy. Their fears are quieted and their prayers heard. Nothing could make their happiness greater except making it last forever. And no liberty is denied the people except that of destroying 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 of life and death that God has given him. This is especially true toward those who were at any time his equals. For in sparing them, the one has his revenge and the other his punishment. A man who owes his life to another has lost it. But a man who receives his life at the feet of his enemy lives to the honor of the one who saved him. He lives on as a lasting monument to his preserver's virtue. If he had been led in triumph instead, the spectacle would soon have been over. Or what if the prince should restore him to his kingdom? Would it not add greatly to his honor? It would show that he found nothing belonging to the conquered that was worthy of the conqueror. Nothing commands more reverence than a prince who does not avenge an injury. A gracious prince is loved and revered as a common father. But a tyrant lives in fear and danger, even of his own guards. No prince can be safe himself when everyone else is afraid of him, for to spare no one is to enrage everyone. It is a mistake to think any man can be secure who lets nobody else be secure. How can anyone bear to lead an uneasy, suspicious, anxious life, when he could be safe if he chose? He could 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 one side is the condition of security on the other. The affection of the subjects is the most unconquerable fortress. What could be finer than for a prince to live as the object of his people's love? He would have the prayers of their hearts as well as of their lips, and his health and sickness would be their common hopes and fears. There will be no danger of plots. On the contrary, who would not freely risk his blood to save such a prince? Under his government justice, peace, modesty, and dignity flourish. Under his influence men grow rich and happy. Men look on him with the same veneration they would show the immortal gods, if they were able to see them. And they regard him as the true representative of the ALMIGHTY when he is gracious and generous and uses his power for the good of his subjects.
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 is nothing to be generous with another man's purse, and it is just as little to be merciful in another man's cause. The great man is the one who masters his passion when he himself is stung, and pardons when he could destroy. The purpose of punishment is either to comfort the injured party or to make him safe for the future. A prince's fortune is above needing such comfort. His power is too eminent to seek a gain in reputation by harming a private man. I say this about affronts from those below us. But a man who has reduced an equal to his inferior has his revenge in bringing him down. A prince has been killed by a servant, destroyed by a serpent. But whoever saves a man must be greater than the man he saves. A prince is not to contend with citizens, strangers, and people of low condition, for they are beneath him. He may spare some out of goodwill. Others he may spare as a man spares little creatures he cannot touch without dirtying his fingers. But with those who are to be either pardoned or exposed to public punishment, he may use mercy as he sees occasion. A generous mind can never lack inducements and motives for it. Whether it is age or sex, high or low, any reason will serve.
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.
To turn now to punishing on behalf of others, there are three aims to consider. One is the reform of the person punished. Another is making others better through fear of punishment. The third is removing the offender for the safety of others. Reform may be gained by a small punishment, for a man lives more carefully when he still has something left to lose. Being beyond any further punishment is a kind of impunity. The corruptions of a city are best cured by a few sparing severities. A multitude of offenders creates a custom of offending, and numbers give a crime authority. More good can be done in a dissolute age by patience than by rigor. But this must not pass for approval of bad conduct. It should be seen only as an unwillingness to go to extremes. Under a merciful prince, a man will be ashamed to offend. A punishment inflicted by a gentle ruler seems to fall more heavily and with more disgrace. It is remarkable, too, that “those sins are often committed which are very often punished.” In five years Caligula condemned more people to the sack, the penalty for parricide, than had ever been condemned before him. And there were “fewer parricides before the law against them than after.” Our ancestors wisely assumed the crime would never be committed, until a law to punish it showed them that it could be done. Parricides began with the law against them, and the punishment taught men the crime. Where punishments are few, innocence is fostered as a public good. It is dangerous to show a city how strong it is in offenders. There is a certain stubbornness in human nature that makes a man push against difficulties. We do better when led than when driven, just as a spirited horse goes best with an easy bit. People obey willingly when they are 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 gracious prince is armed as well as a tyrant, but for the defense of his people, not for their ruin. No king who accustoms his servants to carrying out tortures and executions can ever have faithful servants. The guilty themselves do not lead so anxious a life as these persecutors. They are not only afraid of justice, both divine and human. It is also dangerous for them to mend their ways. So once they are in, they must go on being wicked out of necessity. Universal hatred unites into a popular rage. A moderate fear can be kept in check. But once it becomes constant and sharp, it provokes people to extremes and drives them to desperate resolutions. In the same way, wild beasts pressed against the hunters' nets turn back and attack their very pursuers. A turbulent government is a constant trouble to both prince and people. And he who is a terror to everyone else is not free from terror himself. Frequent punishments and revenges may suppress the hatred of a few, but they stir up the loathing of all. So there is no destroying one enemy without making many. It is good to master the will to be cruel, even when there may be cause for it and material to work on.
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.
This moderation was the excellence of Augustus's mature years. In his youth he was passionate and rash, and he did many things he later looked back on with distress. After the battle of Actium there were so many navies broken off Sicily, both Roman and foreign. There were the Perusian altars, where 300 lives were sacrificed to the ghost of Julius. There were his frequent proscriptions and other severities. His mildness at the end seemed little more than cruelty grown tired. If he had not forgiven those he conquered, whom would he have governed? He chose his very bodyguard from among his enemies, and the flower of the Romans owed their lives to his clemency. He even punished Lepidus himself with nothing more than banishment, and let him keep wearing the emblems of his rank. Augustus did not take the pontificate for himself as long as Lepidus lived. He would not hold it as plunder, only as an honor. It was this clemency that kept him secure in his greatness and won him the people's favor, though he had laid hold of the government before they had fully submitted to the yoke. It was this clemency that made his name famous to later ages. This is what makes us count him divine without the authority of an official deification. He was so gentle and patient that, though many a bitter joke was made at his expense (and insults to princes are the hardest of all injuries to bear), he never punished any man for it. It is noble, then, to be merciful when we 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."