On Benefits Chapter 7

Vultus tuus, cui regendum me tradidi, colligit rugas et trahit frontem, quasi longius exeam. Videris mihi dicere : Quo tantum mihi dexter abis ? Huc derige cursum, litus ama. Non possum magis. Itaque, si huic satis factum existimas, illo transeamus, an ei debeatur aliquid, qui nobis invitus profuit. Hoc apertius potui dicere, nisi propositio deberet esse confusior, ut distinctio statim subsecuta ostenderet utrumque quaeri, et an ei deberemus, qui nobis, dum non vult, profuit, et an ei, qui, dum nescit. Nam si quis coactus aliquid boni fecit; quin nos non obliget, manifestius est, quam ut ulla in hoc verba impendenda sint. Et haec quaestio facile expedietur et si qua similis huic moveri potest, si totiens illo cogitationem nostram converterimus beneficium nullum esse, nisi quod ad nos primum aliqua cogitatio defert, deinde amica et benigna. Itaque nec fluminibus gratias agimus, quamvis aut magna navigia patiantur et ad subvehendas copias largo ac perenni alveo currant aut piscosa et amoena pinguibus arvis interfluant ; nec quisquam Nilo beneficium debere se iudicat, non magis quam odium, si immodicus superfluxit tardeque decessit ; nec ventus beneficium dat, licet lenis et secundus adspiret, nec utilis et salubris cibus. Nam qui beneficium mihi daturus est, debet non tantum prodesse, sed velle. Ideo nec mutis animalibus quicquam debetur : et quam multos e periculo velocitas equi rapuit ! nec arboribus : et quam multos aestu laborantes ramorum opacitas texit ! Quid autem interest, utrum mihi, qui nescit, profuerit, an qui scire non potuit, cum utrique velle defuerit ? Quid interest, utrum me iubeas navi aut vehiculo aut lanceae debere beneficium an ei, qui aeque quam ista propositum bene faciendi nullum habuit, sed profuit casu ?

Your face, by which I have agreed to be guided, now becomes wrinkled with frowns, as though I were straying too widely from the subject. You seem to say to me: "Why steer to seaward? Hither bend thy course, Hug close the shore..." I do hug it as close as possible. So now, if you think that we have dwelt sufficiently upon this point, let us proceed to the consideration of the next--that is, whether we are at all indebted to any one who does us good without wishing to do so. I might have expressed this more clearly, if it were not right that the question should be somewhat obscurely stated, in order that by the distinction immediately following it may be shown that we mean to investigate the case both of him who does us good against his will, and that of him who does us good without knowing it. That a man who does us good by acting under compulsion does not thereby lay us under any obligation, is so clear, that no words are needed to prove it. Both this question, and any other of the like character which may be raised, can easily be settled if in each case we bear in mind that, for anything to be a benefit, it must reach us in the first place through some thought, and secondly through the thought of a friend and well-wisher. Therefore we do not feel any gratitude towards rivers, albeit they may bear large ships, afford an ample and unvarying stream for the conveyance of merchandise, or flow beauteously and full of fish through fertile fields. No one conceives himself to be indebted for a benefit to the Nile, any more than he would owe it a grudge if its waters flooded his fields to excess, and retired more slowly than usual; the wind does not bestow benefits, gentle and favorable though it may be, nor does wholesome and useful food; for he who would bestow a benefit upon me, must not only do me good, but must wish to do so. No obligation can therefore be incurred towards dumb animals; yet how many men have been saved from peril by the swiftness of a horse!--nor yet towards trees--yet how many sufferers from summer heat have been sheltered by the thick foliage of a tree! What difference can it make, whether I have profited by the act of one who did not know that he was doing me good, or one who could not know it, when in each case the will to do me good was wanting? You might as well bid me be grateful to a ship, a carriage, or a lance for saving me from danger, as bid me be grateful to a man who may have done me good by chance, but with no more intention of doing me good than those things could have.

Mais ton visage, sur lequel j’ai voulu me régler, se rembrunit déjà, ton front se plisse : m’éloignerais-je trop de mon sujet ? Tu sembles me dire : Eh ! pourquoi tant d’écarts ? Dirige ici ta course ; Caresse le rivage… Je ne puis mieux le faire. Mais soit : si tu crois ce point suffisamment traité, passons à la question da savoir s’il est dû quelque chose à l’homme qui nous oblige malgré lui. Cet énoncé pourrait être plus net, mais il le fallait un peu vague, sauf à distinguer immédiatement pour montrer que le problème est double : doit-on à qui nous a servi sans le vouloir ? doit-on à qui nous a servi sans le savoir ? Car que quelqu’un nous fasse du bien par contrainte, l’obligation est trop évidemment nulle, pour qu’on se mette le moins du monde en frais de le prouver. Cette question, comme toute autre semblable qu’on pourrait soulever, se résoudra sans peine pour peu qu’on réfléchisse à ceci : qu’il n’y a de bienfait que dans ce que nous adresse une intention quelconque, mais une intention amie et bienveillante. Ainsi nous ne rendons point grâce aux fleuves qui portent nos grands navires et qui courent sur un large et intarissable lit pour voiturer tant de richesses, ou qui, riants et poissonneux, serpentent au sein des campagnes qu’ils fécondent ; et nul ne croit devoir de la reconnaissance au Nil, pas plus que de la haine, s’il déborde outre mesure et tarde à se retirer ; le Vent, quand même son souffle est doux et propice, n’est pas plus notre bienfaiteur que ne l’est un mets utile et salubre. L’homme qui sera mon bienfaiteur doit non-seulement m’obliger, mais le vouloir. C’est pourquoi encore on n’est point redevable aux animaux : et que d’hommes pourtant la vitesse d’un cheval a sauvés du péril ! ni aux arbres non plus et que de gens accablés de chaleur trouvent un abri sous leurs rameaux épais ! Or quelle différence y a-t-il que je sois secouru par qui ne le sait pas, ou par qui ne le peut savoir, puisque chez tous deux le vouloir a manqué ? Quelle différence y aurait-il entre me prescrire de la reconnaissance pour un navire, un chariot, une lance, ou pour un homme qui, tout comme ces objets, n’a eu nul dessein de me servir et ne l’a fait que par hasard ?