r, to
act ungratefully may not be a sin against them, and may not wrong those
beauteous maidens. Do thou teach me how I may bestow more good things,
and be more grateful to those who have earned my gratitude, and how the
minds of both parties may vie with one another, the giver in forgetting,
the receiver in remembering his debt. As for those other follies, let
them be left to the poets, whose purpose is merely to charm the ear and
to weave a pleasing story; but let those who wish to purify men's
minds, to retain honour in their dealings, and to imprint on their minds
gratitude for kindnesses, let them speak in sober earnest and act with
all their strength; unless you imagine, perchance, that by such flippant
and mythical talk, and such old wives' reasoning, it is possible for us
to prevent that most ruinous consummation, the repudiation of benefits.

V. However, while I pass over what is futile and irrelevant I must
point out that the first thing which we have to learn is, what we owe in
return for a benefit received. One man says that he owes the money which
he has received, another that he owes a consulship, a priesthood,
a province, and so on. These, however, are but the outward signs of
kindnesses, not the kindnesses themselves. A benefit is not to be felt
and handled, it is a thing which exists only in the mind. There is
a great difference between the subject-matter of a benefit, and the
benefit itself. Wherefore neither gold, nor silver, nor any of those
things which are most highly esteemed, are benefits, but the benefit
lies in the goodwill of him who gives them. The ignorant take notice
only of that which comes before their eyes, and which can be owned and
passed from hand to hand, while they disregard that which gives these
things their value. The things which we hold in our hands, which we see
with our eyes, and which our avarice hugs, are transitory, they may
be taken from us by ill luck or by violence; but a kindness lasts even
after the loss of that by means of which it was bestowed; for it is
a good deed, which no violence can undo. For instance, suppose that I
ransomed a friend from pirates, but another pirate has caught him and
thrown him into prison. The pirate has not robbed him of my benefit, but
has only robbed him of the enjoyment of it. Or suppose that I have saved
a man's children from a shipwreck or a fire, and that afterwards disease
or accident has carried them off; even when they are no more,