Cyprian & Lactantius · a new plain-English translation from the original language
We must therefore preserve our common humanity, if we wish to be called men in the true sense. And what is it, this preserving of humanity, but loving a fellow man because he is a man and is the same thing that we ourselves are? Strife and discord, then, are contrary to the reasoned nature of man, and that saying of Cicero is true, that a man who obeys nature cannot bring harm upon a man. If, then, it is against nature to harm a man, it must follow that to help a man is in keeping with nature. Whoever fails to do this strips himself of the very name of man, since it is the office of humanity to come to the aid of a man's need and danger. I ask, then, of those who think it beneath a wise man to be moved and to show pity: if a man, seized by some wild beast, should beg help from an armed man standing by, would they think he ought to be rescued, or not? Such is their shame that even they will not deny that humanity's demand and appeal must be honored. Likewise, if someone is trapped by fire, crushed beneath a collapsing building, drowning in the sea, or swept away by a river, surely they would not say it is beneath a man to help him. They would not be men themselves if they thought so — for no one is exempt from being subject to dangers of this kind — indeed, they will say that to save one about to perish is the mark of both a man and a courageous man. If, then, in cases such as these, because they bring danger of death upon a man, they grant that it is a matter of humanity to come to his aid, what reason is there that, if a man is hungry, thirsty, or cold, they should not think he ought to be helped? Though these situations are, by their very nature, equal to those chance calamities and call for one and the same humanity, yet they draw a distinction between them, because they measure everything not by the truth of the matter itself but by present advantage. Those whom they snatch from danger, they hope will show them gratitude in return; but the needy, because they hope for nothing from them, they reckon that whatever is given to such people is simply lost. Hence comes that detestable maxim of Plautus: he who gives food to a beggar does poorly, for what he gives is wasted, and he only prolongs the man's life into misery. But perhaps, one might say, the poet was speaking in another's character. What then? Does not Marcus Tullius, in his books on moral duties, urge this very same thing — that one ought not to give freely at all? For he says: giving that is drawn from one's own household resources drains dry the very spring of generosity. Thus generosity is undone by generosity; the more people you use it on, the less you will be able to use it on many. And the same author, shortly after, says: what is more foolish than to take care that you cannot go on doing, for very long, what you gladly do? Clearly this professor of wisdom reins men back from humanity and advises them to guard their household estate carefully, preferring to keep their strongbox rather than preserve justice. Yet, sensing that this was inhuman and wicked, he says a little later, in another chapter, as though moved by some regret: nevertheless, one must sometimes give freely, nor should this kind of generosity be wholly rejected, and often one ought to share one's household means with suitable people in need. What does 'suitable' mean here? Clearly, those who are able to repay and return the favor. If Cicero were alive today, I would surely cry out: here, here, Marcus Tullius, you have strayed from true justice, and you have destroyed it with a single word, when you measured the duties of piety and humanity by advantage. For one ought not to give to those who are 'suitable,' but rather, as far as possible, to those who are not. For that is done justly, that is done piously, that is done humanely, which you do without hope of getting anything back. Here, finally, is real, authentic justice — the very thing you confess, in your own words, that you cannot grasp as any firm and distinct image. You yourself proclaim in many places that virtue is not for hire, and you admit, in your books on the laws, that generosity is freely given, in these words: there is no doubt that one who is called generous and kind follows duty, not gain. Why, then, do you give preferentially to the suitable, unless it is so that afterward you may collect your reward? So then, with you as authority and teacher of justice, whoever is not 'suitable' will be worn down by nakedness, thirst, and hunger, and men of wealth, overflowing even to the point of luxury, will not come to the aid of the utmost need. Since, as you claim, virtue asks no wage and ought to be pursued purely on its own account, weigh justice — parent and ruler over all the other virtues — by what she is worth herself, not by what suits you, and give her preferentially to someone from whom no return can ever be hoped. Why do you pick and choose among persons? Why do you inspect their limbs? Whoever asks of you must be reckoned a fellow man simply because he considers you a fellow man. Cast aside those shadows and mere images of justice, and hold fast to the real and genuine thing itself. Give freely to the blind, the crippled, the lame, the destitute — those who will die unless you give to them. They are useless to men, but useful to God, who keeps them alive, who grants them breath, who deems them worthy of the light. Cherish them, as far as it lies in you, and sustain the souls of men with your humanity, that they not be snuffed out. Whoever can help a man on the point of death, and does not help him, kills him. But these people, because they hold neither to nature nor understand what reward lies in such an act, while fearing to lose, do lose, and fall into the very thing they most dread — that whatever they give away is either wasted entirely or of use only for the briefest time. For those who deny a small dole to the wretched, because they are unwilling to preserve their common humanity without cost to themselves, pour out their fortunes instead in order to acquire for themselves things that will perish and crumble, or at any rate gain nothing at all despite their heaviest losses. For what is one to say of those who, carried away by popularity-seeking frivolity, spend on public shows sums that would suffice for great cities, except that they are madmen and lunatics, giving to the people what they themselves lose and what none of those to whom it is given actually keep? Because all pleasure passes quickly and does not last — the delight of sight and hearing above all — people simply forget it, treating what another lost as owed no thanks, or they even take offense, should the mob's craving go unsatisfied, so that the silliest among them end up buying themselves harm with harm; and if the spectacle did please, nothing is gained beyond hollow praise and a few days' worth of chatter. In this way the wealth of the shallowest men trickles away, day upon day, into things wholly without use. Are those, then, wiser who provide their fellow citizens with gifts more useful and more lasting — namely, those who, by erecting public works, seek to win remembrance for their own name? Not even they act rightly: they bury their goods in the earth, since neither does remembrance bring anything to the dead, nor are their works everlasting, seeing that they are either shattered and collapse in a single tremor of the earth, or are consumed by some chance fire, or are torn down by some hostile assault, or at least crumble and give way from sheer age. For nothing, as the orator says, made by craft and by hand, is such that age does not wear it down and consume it. But this kind of justice and gentleness flourishes more and more with each passing day. Better, then, are those who give freely to their own tribesmen or clients — for they do provide something to fellow men, and do them good — yet even that is not true and just generosity. For there is no true beneficence wherever there is no real need. Whatever is given for the sake of favor to those who are not in need therefore perishes, or comes back with interest, and it will not be true beneficence. Even granting that the recipient welcomes it, such giving still falls short of justice, since nothing bad would result were it withheld. There is, then, one single sure and true duty of generosity: to feed those who are in need and unable to help themselves.