[Stoicism] - Dịch Seneca (81): Về lòng biết ơn và việc trả ơn

Lời tựa:
                      
Như đã giới thiệu trong series, Seneca thực sự là nguồn cảm hứng Stoicism của mình. Đọc Seneca không chỉ là về triết học mà còn là một trải nghiệm nghệ thuật, khi những bài học, triết lý quan trọng được phản ánh qua những hình ảnh quen thuộc, bình dị và đời thường, thể hiện cái tinh tế trong quan sát của một thiên tài với sự từng trải của cuộc đời.
                                          
Với hy vọng giới thiệu Stoicism đến với các bạn trẻ Việt Nam, xin gửi tới các bạn bản dịch những bức thư quan trọng nhất trong cuốn "Moral Letters to Lucilius", tác phẩm đã làm nên tên tuổi của Seneca và là một trong bộ ba cuốn sách nền tảng của Stoicism.    
                                                        
Do không phải anh dịch thuật, nên bản dịch này hoàn toàn tập trung vào việc truyền tải thông điệp và hy vọng có thể giúp bạn cảm thấy dễ dàng hơn trong việc tiếp cận với bản tiếng Anh, để có thể thấy cái hay cái đẹp trong việc sử dụng ngôn từ của Seneca (dù thực ra bản tiếng Anh cũng chỉ là một bản dịch). Một anh bạn người Ý của mình đã chia sẻ Seneca được đưa vào chương trình giảng dạy tại Ý như một bậc thầy về việc sử dụng ngôn từ. Vì vậy, xin cam đoan tất cả những gì khiến bạn cảm thấy trúc trắc từ bản dịch là bởi khả năng hạn chế của mình, và rất mong nhận được đóng góp của các cao nhân để bản dịch được hoàn thiện hơn. 

Bức thư số 81

Vì nếu ta không thể chắc chắn thu được kết quả từ một hành động mà bản thân hiểu là đáng làm, thì ta lại càng nên làm nó thường xuyên hơn, để có nhiều hy vọng thành công hơn.

Một cách tự nhiên, họ thậm chí có thể tìm thấy nhiều hạnh phúc ở sự cho đi hơn là những kẻ khác ở sự nhận lấy.

Không, ý tôi là mỗi phẩm cách đều là phần thưởng của chính nó. Vì một người không rèn luyện phẩm cách để nhận được một thứ phần thưởng bên ngoài: cái tốt đẹp của một hành động cao quý ở chính trong hành động ấy. 

Thói xấu uống gần như trọn vẹn nọc độc của chính nó.

From Seneca to Lucilius
Greetings
1 You complain that you have encountered someone who was ungrateful.
If this is the fi rst time, then you yourself should be grateful
either to fortune or to your own eff orts. But in this case, your eff orts
cannot achieve anything except to make yourself uncharitable. For if
you are unwilling to risk the present situation, you won’t confer any
benefi ts at all. Th e result will be that instead of perishing with the
recipient, the benefi ts will perish with you. Better there should be
no response than no giving. Even after a bad harvest, one should still
sow the seed: often, what was lost due to poor soil over a long period
is regained in a single year when the soil is fertile. 2 It’s worth dealing
with some ungrateful types in order to fi nd one who is grateful.
No one has such a sure hand in conferring benefi ts that he is not
frequently misled. Let some of them go astray so that others may hit
the mark. After a shipwreck, men take to the seas again; a bad loan
does not frighten the moneylender from the forum. Life will soon
grind to a halt if one has to give up every activity that meets with
resistance. But as for you, let what has happened make you all the
more generous. For where the results of an action are uncertain, one
should attempt it often in order to succeed now and then.
3 But I have said enough on this subject in my work entitled On
Benefi ts.* A more pressing inquiry, which has not to my mind been
adequately discussed, concerns the person who has done us some
service and then afterward harmed us. Has he made things even,
canceling our debt of gratitude? If you like, you can compound the
problem: the harm done at a later time was much greater than the
service performed earlier.
4 If you ask the proverbially strict opinion of the infl exible judge,
he will have the one action cancel the other, saying, “Even though
there is a preponderance of injury, let’s credit the diff erence to the side of benefi ts.” Th e harm was greater, but the service was done fi rst,
so let’s take the factor of time into account. 5 Th ere are additional
considerations, which are so obvious that I need not remind you of
them: how willing he was to perform the service, and how unwilling
he was to commit the wrong, since both benefi ts and injuries depend
on intent. “I did not wish to confer a benefi t: I was shamed into it,
or I was pestered to do it, or I hoped to gain by it.” 6 Every benefi t
merits gratitude matching the attitude of the giver: one weighs not
the size of the benefi t but the willingness to bestow it. Now take the
guesswork out of it: that previous action was a benefi t, the subsequent
action is an injury and is of greater magnitude than the other. A good
man still does the reckoning in a way detrimental to himself: he adds
to the benefi t and subtracts from the injury.
Th e other, more lenient judge—the one I would prefer to be—will
tell you to forget the injury but remember the favor. 7 You say, “Surely
what accords with justice is to render to each his due: gratitude for
a benefi t, vengeance or at least resentment for an injury.” Th at’s true,
when it is one person who commits the injury and another who
confers the benefi t; but when it is the same person, then the eff ect
of the injury is negated by the benefi t. For if a person ought to have
been forgiven even without having done something meritorious beforehand,
then when he does wrong after conferring benefi ts, what
is owed is more than mere forgiveness. 8 I do not set the same price
on the two: I consider a benefi t to be worth more than an injury.
Not everyone knows how to be grateful. Even a thoughtless or
untutored person or one from the common crowd can recognize an
obligation, especially when it has not been long since he received the
benefi t; but he does not know the extent of his obligation. Only the
wise person knows what value ought to be assigned to each thing.
For the person I was just now speaking of, who is foolish even if well
intentioned, repays the favor either less generously than he should
or at the wrong time or place. Th us what ought to have been repaid
is squandered and thrown away.
9 It’s amazing how apposite our language is in some cases, how the
conventions of our ancient speech refer to certain things with expressions
that not only work very well but also point out our responsibilities.
For instance, surely we are in the habit of saying, “Th is person rendered thanks to that person” (gratiam rettulit). To “render” is to
bring of your own accord what you owe. We don’t say, “He gave back
thanks” (gratiam reddidit). People give something back even when
they do so unwillingly or at an inopportune time or by another’s hand.
We don’t say, “He paid back the benefi t” (reposuit benefi cium) or “He
reimbursed it” (resolvit). An expression that is suited to the repayment
of debts doesn’t seem right to us. 10 To “render” is to bring a thing
back to the one you got it from. Th e word signifi es that the act was
voluntary: the one who brought it was answering his own summons.
Th e wise person will take stock in his mind of how much he has
received and from whom, and when, where, why, and how. Th at’s why
we say that only the sage knows how to render thanks, just as only he
knows how to confer a benefi t. Naturally, this is the same wise person
who fi nds more joy in giving than others do in receiving.
11 Some consider this to be one of those sayings of our school
that run counter to everyone’s expectations—the Greeks call them
paradoxa. Th ey say, “So only the sage knows how to render thanks?
Nobody else knows how to repay what is owing to a creditor or
to pay the amount due when he makes a purchase?” Lest there be
resentment against our school, be aware that Epicurus holds the
same opinion. At any rate, Metrodorus says that only the wise person
knows how to render thanks.* 12 Th en the same Metrodorus
expresses surprise when we say, “Only the wise person knows how to
love; only the wise person is a friend.” Yet rendering thanks is part of
love and friendship. In fact, it is even more common and applicable
to more people than true friendship is. Th en that same Metrodorus is
surprised that we say loyalty exists only in the sage—as if he himself
did not say the same thing! Or do you think that a person exhibits
loyalty when he does not know how to render thanks? 13 So let them
stop charging us with saying what no one can believe!
Th ey should realize that in the case of the wise person, what one
sees is honorable conduct itself; in the case of the common person, a
mere image and likeness of honorable conduct. No one knows how
to render thanks except the sage. To be sure, the foolish person does
also render thanks to the extent of his knowledge and ability. He is
defi cient in knowledge rather than in willingness, for willingness is
not something that has to be learned. 14 One who is wise will assess
all aspects of the situation relative to one another, for even when the act is the same, the obligation becomes greater or less according to
the time, place, and reason. A thousand denarii, given at the right
moment, will often achieve more in a household than showering a
whole fortune upon it. It makes a great deal of diff erence whether
you are making a gift or providing aid, whether your generosity rescues
someone or merely furnishes him with something useful. Often
the gift is small but its consequences are great. And don’t you think
it makes a great diff erence whether the gift is made from one’s own
resources or was passed on from some previous benefi t?
15 But let’s not repeat points we have already covered suffi ciently.
In this comparative assessment of benefi ts and injuries, the good
man will indeed judge what will be the fairest response, but he will
incline toward benefi ts; he will lean in that direction. 16 In matters
of this kind, there is a tendency to give much weight to social roles.
“You did me a favor as concerns my slave; you injured me as concerns
my father. You saved my son, but you took my father away from me.”
Every comparative assessment will take these and other similar matters
into account; and if the diff erence is minimal, the wise person
will let it go. Indeed, he will let it pass even if it is substantial but can
be conceded without detriment to loyalty or devotion, that is, if the
wrong pertains only to himself. 17 In sum, he will be easy to bargain
with, generous in acknowledging an obligation, reluctant to make an
injury cancel out a benefi t. All his inclination, all his wishes, will tend
toward gratitude and thanks.
It is a mistake to be more willing to receive a favor than to return
one. Just as the person paying off a debt is more cheerful than the
one who is borrowing, so should we be happier when unburdening
ourselves of the great debt of a benefi t received than when we are
extremely obligated. 18 In this too, the ungrateful are mistaken: they
pay their creditors with interest, but think that benefi ts can be held
on to without repayment. In fact, our obligation for favors also increases
with delay: the longer one waits, the more should be repaid.
He who returns a benefi t without interest is ungrateful. Th erefore
this too should be taken into account when one makes an assessment
of receipts and expenditures.
19 We should make every eff ort to show all the gratitude we can.
For the good in it is our own. After all, gratitude is not justice (as is
commonly believed), for justice pertains to others, but much of the good in gratitude redounds to oneself. Everyone who helps another
person helps himself. I do not mean that one who has received aid
will want to off er aid, or that one who has been protected will want
to protect others. Nor do I mean that a good deed circles back by
example to the doer. (Bad examples too revert to those who set them:
no one wins any pity when the wrongs they suff er are just what
they taught others how to do.) No, I mean that every virtue is its
own reward. For one doesn’t practice the virtues in order to receive
a prize: the reward for right action is having acted rightly. 20 I do
not show gratitude in order that my example will make someone
else more generous in showing gratitude to me, but simply in order
to perform a most pleasant and beautiful action. I show gratitude
not because it is expedient but because it is agreeable. To prove this
to you: if the only way I could show gratitude were by appearing to
be ungrateful—if I could not return a benefi t except by seeming to
injure someone—I would be quite content to carry out an honorable
intention in the midst of infamy. No one, I think, values virtue more
or is more devoted to it than the man who has lost his good reputation
in order to keep a good conscience.
21 So as I said before, your gratitude is more for your good than
for another’s. Th e other person has gained a common, ordinary thing:
receiving again what he had given. You have gained something wonderful,
something that comes of the best possible state of mind:
gratitude. For if vice makes people miserable and virtue makes them
happy, and if gratitude is a virtue, then you have given what is commonplace
and have obtained what is beyond price: a thankful heart,
which only the divine, the blessed spirit can ever attain.
One who is in the opposite state experiences deep dissatisfaction.
No one can be in his own good graces if he is not grateful to
others. Do you think I am saying that the ingrate will eventually be
miserable? I am not granting him any delay: he is miserable right
now. 22 Th erefore we should avoid ingratitude not for the sake of
others but for our own sake. Only the smallest and lightest portion of
one’s wickedness overfl ows onto others; the worst of it—the thickest
part, as it were—remains in the vessel to choke the possessor. As our
friend Attalus used to say,
Vice drinks most of its own venom.*

Th is venom is not like the one that serpents make to poison others
without detriment to themselves, for this kind is most deadly to
those who possess it. 23 Th e ingrate torments himself, plagues himself:
he hates the favors he has received, because he has to repay them;
he makes them less than they are, while magnifying his injuries. And
what could be more wretched than having all one’s benefi ts drop
away and only the injuries remain?
Wisdom, by contrast, adds luster to every benefi t, commends
them to itself, and takes delight in the constant recollection of them.
24 Bad people have just one pleasure, and a brief one, while they are
receiving benefi ts; the wise person derives a steady and lasting joy.
For his delight is not in receiving but in having received, and that is
constant and undying. He thinks nothing of his injuries, forgetting
them not out of carelessness but of his own volition. 25 He does not
make the worst out of everything, nor does he go looking for someone
to blame for his misfortune; rather, he attributes to fortune the
misdeeds of other people. He does not fi nd fault with people’s words
or facial expressions; he puts a kind interpretation on anything that
happens and thus makes it easier to bear. He is not one to remember
an off ense rather than a service. Insofar as he can, he dwells on earlier
and better memories of others, and does not change his attitude
toward those who have deserved well of him unless their crimes are
so greatly in excess that the diff erence is obvious, even to one who
looks the other way. Even then he alters his attitude only to what it
was before the previous benefi t. For when the injury is equal to the
benefi t, some goodwill remains in his mind. 26 Just as a defendant is
acquitted by a tie vote, and in every dubious case kindness inclines
toward the better part, so, when good deeds are equal to the bad,
the wise person ceases in his mind to be obliged but does not stop
wanting to be obliged. He is like those who still pay up after a cancellation
of debts.
27 No one can be grateful unless he has little regard for the things
that ordinary people lose their heads over. If you want to render
thanks, you must be ready to go into exile, shed your own blood,
face poverty, often even stain your own reputation and expose it to
rumors you don’t deserve. Gratitude comes at no small cost to oneself.
28 As long as we are seeking a benefi t, there is nothing we value
more highly; once we have obtained it, there is nothing we value less. What makes us forget the favors we have obtained? Our desire
to obtain more: we don’t think about what we have been granted
already but only about our next request. We are drawn from what is
right by wealth, honor, power, and everything else that is precious in
our eyes, though cheap in actual worth. 29 We do not know how to
set a value on things. We should not take public opinion as the basis
for our deliberations; we should look to the nature of things. Th ere
is nothing wonderful in those objects, nothing to entice our minds,
except our own habit of admiring them. For they are not held in high
regard because they are desirable; rather, they are desired because
people hold them in high regard. Th e errors of individuals cause a
popular misconception, then the popular misconception causes individuals
to err.
30 But since we tend to believe the public, let us also believe
them in this: that nothing is more honorable than gratitude. All
nations, even the most barbarous, agree on this point; in this both
good people and bad agree. 31 Th ere are those who praise pleasure,
and those who prefer hard work; there are those who say pain is the
worst thing of all, while others will say that it is not even a bad thing.
One person considers wealth the highest good; another says that
money is the bane of human existence, and that there is no greater
wealth than when fortune has nothing it can give you. Yet even amid
such diversity of views, there is one point on which all of them speak
with one voice, as they say: that when people have done us good
service, we should render thanks. Th e whole discordant host agrees
in this; yet even so, we sometimes give back injuries for favors, and
the fi rst reason some people are ungrateful is that they are unable to
be grateful enough.
32 Th e madness has reached such a pitch that it is now extremely
dangerous to confer great benefi ts on anyone. For since the recipient
is ashamed not to return them, he prefers that there be no one
to return them to. Keep what you’ve been given! I don’t ask for it
back—I don’t insist—I’d rather help you with impunity. No hatred
is more deadly than that which comes from shame at having spoiled
a benefit.

Farewell.

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