Against Those Who Readily Share Their Personal Affairs

When a man has seemed to us to have talked with simplicity (candour) about his own affairs, how is it that at last we are ourselves also induced to discover to him⁸⁰⁵ our own secrets and we think this to be candid behaviour? In the first place because it seems unfair for a man to have listened to the affairs of his neighbour, and not to communicate to him also in turn our own affairs: next, because we think that we shall not present to them the appearance of candid men when we are silent about our own affairs. Indeed men are often accustomed to say, I have told you all my affairs, will you tell me nothing of your own? where is this done?—Besides, we have also this opinion that we can safely trust him who has already told us his own affairs; for the notion rises in our mind that this man could never divulge our affairs because he would be cautious that we also should not divulge his. In this way also the incautious are caught by the soldiers at Rome. A soldier sits by you in a common dress and begins to speak ill of Caesar; then you, as if you had received a pledge of his fidelity by his having begun the abuse, utter yourself also what you think, and then you are carried off in chains.⁸⁰⁶

When someone seems to have spoken candidly about his own affairs, why are we eventually persuaded to reveal⁸⁰⁵ our own secrets to him? And why do we think this is candid behavior? First, it seems unfair to listen to someone’s affairs without sharing our own in return. Second, we think we will not seem candid if we remain silent about our own affairs. Indeed, people often say, I have told you all my affairs. Will you tell me nothing of your own? Who behaves like that? Besides, we also think we can safely trust someone who has already told us his own affairs. We imagine he would never reveal ours, because he would be careful not to let us reveal his. This is also how soldiers in Rome catch the unwary. A soldier in ordinary clothes sits beside you and begins to criticize Caesar. Then you speak your own mind, as if his criticism were a pledge of his trustworthiness. And then you are carried off in chains.⁸⁰⁶

Something of this kind happens to us also generally. Now as this man has confidently intrusted his affairs to me, shall I also do so to any man whom I meet? (No), for when I have heard, I keep silence, if I am of such a disposition; but he goes forth and tells all men what he has heard. Then if I hear what has been done, if I be a man like him, I resolve to be revenged, I divulge what he has told me; I both disturb others and am disturbed myself. But if I remember that one man does not injure another, and that every man's acts injure and profit him, I secure this, that I do not any thing like him, but still I suffer what I do suffer through my own silly talk.

Something like this happens to us all the time. A man has confidently entrusted his affairs to me. Should I do the same with just anyone I meet? No. If I am the sort of person who can keep a secret, I stay silent about what I hear. But he goes out and tells everyone what he has heard. Then, if I hear what he has done and I am like him, I decide to get revenge. I reveal what he has told me. I upset others and upset myself. But if I remember that one person does not harm another, and that each person's actions harm or benefit that person, I make sure not to act as he did. Still, I suffer what I suffer because of my own foolish talk.

True: but it is unfair when you have heard the secrets of your neighbour for you in your turn to communicate nothing to him.—Did I ask you for your secrets, my man? did you communicate your affairs on certain terms, that you should in return hear mine also? If you are a babbler and think that all who meet you are friends, do you wish me also to be like you? But why, if you did well in intrusting your affairs to me, and it is not well for me to intrust mine to you, do you wish me to be so rash? It is just the same as if I had a cask which is water-tight, and you one with a hole in it, and you should come and deposit with me your wine that I might put it into my cask, and then should complain that I also did not intrust my wine to you, for you have a cask with a hole in it. How then is there any equality here? You intrusted your affairs to a man who is faithful, and modest, to a man who thinks that his own actions alone are injurious and (or) useful, and that nothing external is. Would you have me intrust mine to you, a man who has dishonoured his own faculty of will, and who wishes to gain some small bit of money or some office or promotion in the court (emperor's palace), even if you should be going to murder your own children, like Medea? Where (in what) is this equality (fairness)? But show yourself to me to be faithful, modest, and steady: show me that you have friendly opinions; show that your cask has no hole in it; and you will see how I shall not wait for you to trust me with your affairs, but I myself shall come to you and ask you to hear mine. For who does not choose to make use of a good vessel? Who does not value a benevolent and faithful adviser? who will not willingly receive a man who is ready to bear a share, as we may say, of the difficulty of his circumstances, and by this very act to ease the burden, by taking a part of it.

True, but it is unfair to hear your neighbor’s secrets and share none of your own in return. Did I ask you for your secrets, my friend? Did you share your affairs on the condition that you would hear mine in return? If you are a chatterbox who thinks everyone you meet is a friend, do you want me to be like you? Perhaps you were right to trust me with your affairs, but I would be wrong to trust you with mine. Why, then, do you want me to be so rash? Suppose I had a watertight cask and yours had a hole in it. You came and left your wine with me to put in my cask. Then you complained that I did not trust you with my wine, even though your cask had a hole in it. How would that be fair? You trusted your affairs to a man who is trustworthy and modest. He believes that only his own actions can harm or benefit him, and that nothing external can do so. Would you have me trust my affairs to you? You have dishonored your own power of choice. You want to gain a little money, an office, or a promotion at the emperor’s court, even if you have to murder your own children, like Medea. Where is the fairness in that? Show me that you are trustworthy, modest, and steady. Show me that you have a friendly outlook. Show me that your cask has no hole in it. Then you will see that I will not wait for you to trust me with your affairs. I will come to you myself and ask you to hear mine. For who would not choose to use a good vessel? Who does not value a kind and trustworthy adviser? Who would not gladly welcome someone ready to share the difficulties of his circumstances? By taking on part of the burden, such a person lightens it.

True: but I trust you; you do not trust me.—In the first place, not even do you trust me, but you are a babbler, and for this reason you cannot hold any thing; for indeed, if it is true that you trust me, trust your affairs to me only; but now whenever you see a man at leisure, you seat yourself by him and say: Brother, I have no friend more benevolent than you nor dearer; I request you to listen to my affairs. And you do this even to those who are not known to you at all. But if you really trust me, it is plain that you trust me because I am faithful and modest, not because I have told my affairs to you. Allow me then to have the same opinion about you. Show me that if one man tells his affairs to another, he who tells them is faithful and modest. For if this were so, I would go about and tell my affairs to every man, if that would make me faithful and modest. But the thing is not so, and it requires no common opinions (principles). If then you see a man who is busy about things not dependent on his will and subjecting his will to them, you must know that this man has ten thousand persons to compel and hinder him. He has no need of pitch or the wheel to compel him to declare what he knows:⁸⁰⁷ but a little girl's nod, if it should so happen, will move him, the blandishment of one who belongs to Caesar's court, desire of a magistracy or of an inheritance, and things without end of that sort. You must remember then among general principles that secret discourses (discourses about secret matters) require fidelity and corresponding opinions. But where can we now find these easily? Or if you cannot answer that question, let some one point out to me a man who can say: I care only about the things which are my own, the things which are not subject to hindrance, the things which are by nature free. This I hold to be the nature of the good: but let all other things be as they are allowed; I do not concern myself.

True, but I trust you, and you do not trust me. First of all, you do not even trust me. You are a chatterbox, and that is why you cannot keep anything to yourself. If you really trusted me, you would confide your affairs only to me. But whenever you see someone with time to spare, you sit down beside him and say: Brother, I have no kinder or dearer friend than you. Please listen to my affairs. You do this even with people you do not know at all. But if you really trust me, it is clearly because I am trustworthy and discreet, not because I have told you my affairs. So let me judge you by the same standard. Show me that telling someone your affairs makes you trustworthy and discreet. If that were true, I would go around telling everyone my affairs, if doing so would make me trustworthy and discreet. But that is not how it works. Trustworthiness and discretion require principles that are not common. Suppose you see a man who concerns himself with things beyond his control and makes his will subject to them. You must know that ten thousand people can compel or hinder him. There is no need for pitch or the wheel to force him to reveal what he knows.⁸⁰⁷ A little girl's nod might move him to do it. So might flattery from someone at Caesar's court, the desire for public office or an inheritance, and countless things of that sort. Remember this general principle: discussions of secret matters require fidelity and principles that go with it. But where can we now easily find these? Or, if you cannot answer that question, let someone show me a man who can say: I care only about what is my own, what cannot be hindered, what is free by nature. That is what I hold to be the nature of the good. Let everything else be as it is allowed to be. I do not concern myself with it.