Seneca of Clemency

Seneca establishes that clemency is recognized as a virtue by all schools of thought, from pleasure-seekers to Stoics, because it is the most peaceable and quiet of dispositions.

Clemency is defined as a favorable disposition in the matter of inflicting punishment, or a moderation that remits some of a deserved penalty, which is distinct from total pardon.

Clemency must be distinguished from pity, which is a weakness arising from narrow-mindedness that focuses on fortune rather than cause, like an emotional contagion.

Some object that clemency is insignificant because only the wicked need it, while the good have no use for it.

Like medicine honoring the healthy who respect its existence, even the innocent reverence clemency and may need it through misfortune or changing circumstances.

In any large society, if only the perfectly just survived strict justice, there would be no judges, accusers, or anyone to grant or request pardon, since everyone has sinned.

Clemency is profitable to mankind because many criminals are converted through mercy, and even slaves and honest men deserve tenderness from their superiors.

Clemency must distinguish between the curable and desperate offenders; pardoning all or none would be equally cruel, so mercy should tilt the balance when matters are uncertain.

While clemency maintains peace even in a cottage, it is more visible and important in palaces because princes' actions are subject to public rumor and shape how entire communities are governed.

Seneca gives examples of how clemency benefits fathers with children, masters with students, officers with soldiers, and riders with horses, showing that gentleness works better than harshness in all subordinate relationships.

Clemency makes princely power comfortable and beneficial rather than pestilential, establishing their greatness by making public good their particular care.

The prince is the soul of the community as the community is the body of the prince, so mercy toward subjects is self-care, and each subject is felt as a part of the prince's empire.

Though all virtues are equal in themselves, they benefit mankind more in authority; a king's generosity has more matter to work upon than a beggar's, and is more visible on the bench than at ground level.

When a gracious prince appears, people worship him rather than fear him, securing him against conspiracies and offering their lives for his safety.

This devotion is rational self-interest, as the prince holds power of life and death, and absolute authority; a merciful prince wielding such power for common utility is the greatest blessing.

Any man can kill another against law, but only a prince can legally save a person, giving clemency a unique moral dimension when exercised by rulers.

As a prince should desire God to show mercy to him, he should extend mercy to his subjects; if Heaven were inexorable to all sinners, no flesh would be safe.

The truly great man is he who has revenge in his power but does not use it, and a calm, temperate government is more beautiful than one governed by lightning and storms.

Though some think being debarred liberty of speech in restraint is slavery, government itself is merely a more illustrious form of servitude, so constraint is inherent to rule.

A prince who uses his power well takes delight in making it comfortable to his people as well as glorious to himself, becoming accessible, beloved, and safe without guards.

Like a good father who gently reproves, threatens, or corrects but does not disinherit on first fault, a prince must make many attempts to reclaim offenders before resorting to extremity.

The titles 'great' and 'august' are compliments, but 'father of country' reminds a prince of the moderation and indulgence he owes his people, who are his members.

A prince who passes sentence hastily appears to do it willingly rather than reluctantly, which constitutes an injustice in the excess of punishment.

A prince should consider the vast multitudes under his rule and recognize that he is God's deputy with power over life and death, cities and freedom, all held through Providence.

Seneca presents an extended first-person meditation by a clemency-minded prince, showing how he resisted anger and cruelty despite having absolute power, and never sought to be terrible.

The clemency-minded prince avoids the 'odious vanity' of making himself terrible through power, keeping his sword bound to peace and tender even to the cheapest blood.

The merciful prince is slow to severity and prone to forgive, with reasons for sparing each person—youth, age, dignity, humility—and when no other reason exists, he spares himself.

By refusing to defraud the commonwealth, the clemency-minded prince gains the reputation few achieve: conscience of his own innocence, making himself dear to all his people.

Under such a merciful prince, subjects have nothing to wish for beyond what they enjoy; their fears are quieted and prayers heard, with no liberty denied except that of destroying one another.

By all nations' consent, people run hazards and risk death to preserve their prince's life, upon which millions depend, just as the body serves the mind.

As hands, feet, and eyes follow the mind's motions, so do people run about or ramble according to their prince's commands, whether for covetousness, ambition, or other drives.

A vast multitude animated by one soul and governed by one spirit would destroy itself by its own strength without the support of wisdom and government.

People risk their lives for their prince as the bond that ties the republic together, the vital spirit that would otherwise be nothing but a burden and prey without a governor.

When the union between prince and people dissolves, all falls apart, as empire and obedience must both stand and fall together.

The prince is dear to his people because the community is wrapt up in him and the good of both is inseparable as body from head, with the body providing strength and the head providing counsel.

While the prince watches, his people sleep; his labor keeps them at ease and his business keeps them quiet, giving meaning to princely authority.

Bees assign their master the fairest lodgings and safest place, with his office only to see others perform duties; when the king is lost, the swarm dissolves, and only the king has no stinger.

It is shameful that men are still intemperate when bees demonstrate such moderation by not being vindictive; men should lose their stings in revenge as bees do, able to hurt only once.

It would tire princes if they had to execute revenge by their own hands or wound others at peril of their own lives, suggesting nature discourages excessive vengeance.

A prince should behave generously in wielding power of life and death, especially toward those once his equals, as keeping them alive honors the conqueror better than triumph or even restoration.

If a prince restores a conquered enemy to his kingdom, it shows he found nothing about the conquered worthy of the conqueror, adding to his honor.

Nothing is more venerable than a prince who does not revenge an injury; a gracious prince is beloved and reverenced as a father, while a tyrant fears even his guards.

No prince can be safe if all others fear him; to spare none is to enrage all, and an error to imagine that one can be secure by letting nobody else be so.

It is better to live safely and enjoy power's blessings with people's prayers than to lead an anxious, suspicious life through constant punishment.

Clemency protects a prince without need for guards, troops, or castles; subjects' affections are the most invincible fortress, and security flows both ways.

A fair state is for a prince to live as his people's love, with their vows and hearts, their common hopes and fears, and no danger of plots from those who flourish under his justice and peace.

People regard a gracious and bountiful prince as the true representative of the Almighty when he employs his power to his subjects' advantage.

When a prince proceeds to punishment, it must be to vindicate himself or to protect others, with justice in examining the case being distinct from clemency.

When manifestly injured, a prince should forgive where he can do so safely and be tender even where he cannot forgive, being exorable in his own case more than in another's.

Showing mercy in another's cause is easy; the great man is he who masters his passion where he is personally stung and pardons when he might destroy.

Punishment aims either to comfort the injured party or to secure against future harm, neither of which serves a prince's needs or reputation.

A prince who makes an equal his inferior through conquest already has his revenge; he need not further punish and maintains dignity by rising above contention with inferiors.

Though a prince may be killed by a servant or struck by a serpent, whosoever preserves a man must be greater than the person preserved, establishing a principle of clemency.

With citizens, strangers, and low-condition people, a prince is not to contend, for they are beneath him; he may spare some from good will and others as one would small creatures.

Whether to pardon or expose offenders to public punishment, a prince may use mercy as he sees fit; a generous mind never lacks motives to it, whether from age, sex, status, or other grounds.

In punishing on behalf of others, a prince must consider whether the punishment will amend the offender, deter others by fear, or remove a danger to society.

Amendment is better procured by small punishment, as one who still has something to lose lives more carefully, whereas incapacity for further punishment is a kind of impunity.

A city's corruptions are best cured by sparing severities; multitude of offenders creates a custom of offending, and company authorizes crime.

More good is done upon a dissolute age by patience than by rigor, provided it is not mistaken for approval of ill-manners but seen as unwillingness to proceed to extremities.

Under a merciful prince, a man will be ashamed to offend because punishment from a gentle governor falls heavier and with more reproach than harsh punishment.

Those sins are often committed which are very often punished; the law against parricide created the crime, as it taught men it might be done.

Caligula condemned more people to the sack in five years than had been before, showing how harshness can proliferate crime rather than prevent it.

Where there are few punishments, innocency is indulged as a public good, and it is dangerous to show a city how strong it is in delinquents.

A certain contumacy in human nature makes people oppose difficulties; they follow better than being driven, like a generous horse with an easy bit.

People obey willingly where they are commanded kindly, suggesting that gentle rule gains more genuine compliance than harsh rule.

When Burrhus brought two malefactors' death warrant to Nero, Nero reluctantly signed it, saying 'I would I could not write!' a speech worthy of all princes.

Nero's reluctance and wish that he could not write expressed a sentiment deserving 'the whole world for an auditory,' especially princes, whose hearts should conform to such moderation.

As the head's condition makes the mind dull or merry, subjects' hearts conform to their master's disposition, whether temperate or turbulent.

The only difference between a king and a tyrant is a diversity of will under the same power: one destroys for pleasure, the other from necessity.

A gracious prince has arms like a tyrant but uses them for his people's defense, not their ruin; no faithful servants follow one who tortures and executes.

The very guilty do not lead as anxious a life as those who torture and execute, being afraid of divine and human justice and unable to improve without becoming wicked by necessity.

Universal hatred from harsh rule unites in popular rage; continuous and sharp fear provokes people to desperate resolutions, like wild beasts cornered on the toil.

A turbulent government is perpetual trouble to both prince and people; he who is terror to all is not without terror himself.

Frequent punishments and revenges suppress hatred of a few but stir up detestation of all; 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.

Augustus exemplifies clemency's virtue in his mature years, having overcome his youthful passion and shown moderation that came to define his reign.

In his youth, Augustus was passionate and sudden, committing severities like the Perusian sacrifice of 300 lives to Julius's ghost and numerous proscriptions.

Augustus's later temperance seemed little more than weary cruelty until he forgave those he conquered, which was necessary for him to govern them.

Augustus chose his life-guard from among his enemies, and the flower of Romans owed their lives to his clemency.

Augustus only punished Lepidus with banishment, permitting him to wear the ensigns of his dignity, and refusing to possess the pontificate himself while Lepidus lived.

This clemency secured Augustus in his greatness and ingratiated him to the people, making his name famous to posterity and considered divine without formal apotheosis.

Augustus was so tender and patient that though many bitter jests were made at his expense, and contumelies to princes are intolerable injuries, he never punished anyone for this.

It is truly generous to be merciful when we have the power to take revenge, showing that clemency's virtue depends on having the capacity to act otherwise.

A son of Titus Arius was examined, found guilty of parricide, and banished to Marseilles, yet his father allowed him the same annuity, seemingly condemning him for not being able to hate him.

Augustus attended Arius's hearing only as a single council member rather than in Caesar's palace, to prevent his judgment from being seen as Caesar's rather than the father's.

Augustus directed council members to write opinions without declaring his own vote first, ensuring impartiality, and swore beforehand he would not be Arius's heir.

Augustus insisted the young man receive only banishment, not ordinary parricide punishment or prison, arguing he was not malicious and merely wavering in his resolution.

This is glorious mercy worthy of a prince, showing how he makes all things gentler wherever he comes through his clemency.

A man who employs his power in rapine and cruelty is unhappy in himself, standing in fear of domestics and strangers, and living more odious to himself than to others.

The cruel man, contemplating what he has done and must do, suffers from wickedness and conscience torment, often fearing death and wishing for it.

The merciful prince who cares for the public views even one part of it as part of himself; his mind is tender and gentle, unwilling to punish without good reason.

Let authority be what it will, clemency becomes it; the greater the power, the greater the glory of clemency.

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.