stratagem of Xanthippus, a Spartan general serving under the command of Hannibal’s father Hamilcar.{107} He was sent to the senate on parole, sworn to return to Carthage himself, if certain noble prisoners of war{108} were not restored to the Carthaginians. When he came to Rome, he could not fail to see the specious appearance of expediency, but he decided that it was unreal, as the outcome proves. His apparent interest was to remain in his own country, to stay at home with his wife and children, and to retain his rank and dignity as an ex-consul, regarding the defeat which he had suffered as a misfortune that might come to anyone in the game of war. Who says that this was not expedient? Who, think you? Greatness of soul and courage say that it was not.
XXVII. Can you ask for more competent authorities? The denial comes from those virtues, for it is characteristic of them to await nothing with fear, to rise superior to all the vicissitudes of earthly life, and to count nothing intolerable that can befall a human being. What, then, did he do? He came into the senate and stated his mission; but he refused to give his own vote on the question; for, he held, he was not a member of the senate so long as he was bound by the oath sworn to his enemies. And more than that, he said—“What a foolish fellow,” someone will say, “to oppose his own best interests”—he said that it was not expedient that the prisoners should be returned; for they were young men and gallant officers, while he was already bowed with age. And when his counsel prevailed, the prisoners were retained and he himself returned to Carthage; affection for his country and his family failed to hold him back. And even then he was not ignorant of the fact that he was going to a most cruel enemy and to exquisite torture; still, he thought his oath must be sacredly kept. And so even then, when he was being slowly put to death by enforced wakefulness, he enjoyed a happier lot than if he had remained at home an aged prisoner of war, a man of consular rank forsworn.
“But,” you will say, “it was foolish of him not only not to advocate the exchange of prisoners but even to plead against such action!”
How was it foolish? Was it so, even if his policy was for the good of the state? Nay; can what is inexpedient for the state be expedient for any individual citizen?
XXVIII. People overturn the fundamental principles established by Nature, when they divorce expediency from moral rectitude. For we all seek to obtain what is to us expedient; we are irresistibly drawn toward it, and we cannot possibly be otherwise. For who is there that would turn his back upon what is to him expedient? Or rather, who is there that does not exert himself to the utmost to secure it? But because we cannot discover it anywhere except in good report, propriety, and moral rectitude, we look upon these three for that reason as the first and the highest objects of endeavour, while what we term expediency we account not so much an ornament to our dignity as a necessary incident to living.
“What significance, then,” someone will say, “do we attach to an oath? It is not that we fear the wrath of Jove, is it? Not at all; it is the universally accepted view of all philosophers that God is never angry, never hurtful. This is the doctrine not only of those{109} who teach that God is Himself free from troubling cares and that He imposes no trouble upon others, but also of those{110} who believe that God is ever working and ever directing His world. Furthermore, suppose Jupiter had been wroth, what greater injury could He have inflicted upon Regulus than Regulus brought upon himself? Religious scruple, therefore, had no such preponderance as to outweigh so great expediency.”
“Or was he afraid that his act would be morally wrong? As to that, first of all, the proverb says, ‘Of evils choose the least.’ Did that moral wrong, then, really involve as great an evil as did that awful torture? And secondly, there are the lines of Accius:
Thyestes. Hast thou broke thy faith?
Atreus. None have I given; none give I ever to the faithless.
Although this sentiment is put into the mouth of a wicked king, still it is illuminating in its correctness.”
Their third argument is this: just as we maintain that some things seem expedient but are not, so they maintain, some things seem morally right but are not. “For example,” they contend, “in this very case it seems morally right for Regulus to have returned to torture for the sake of being true to his oath. But it proves not to be morally right, because what an enemy extorted by force ought not to have been binding.”
As their concluding argument, they add: whatever is highly expedient may prove to be morally right, even if it did not seem so in advance.
These are in substance the arguments raised against the conduct of Regulus. Let us consider them each in turn.
XXIX. “He need not have been afraid that Jupiter in anger would inflict injury upon him; he is not wont to be angry or hurtful.”
This argument, at all events, has no more weight against Regulus’s conduct than it has against the keeping of any other oath. But in taking an oath it is our duty to consider not what one may have to fear in case of violation but wherein its obligation lies: an oath is an assurance backed by religious sanctity; and a solemn promise given, as before God as one’s witness, is to be sacredly kept. For the question no longer concerns the wrath of the gods (for there is no such thing) but the obligations of justice and good faith. For, as Ennius says so admirably:
“Gracious Good Faith, on wings upborne;
thou oath in Jupiter’s great name!”
Whoever, therefore, violates his oath violates Good Faith; and, as we find it stated in Cato’s speech, our forefathers chose that she should dwell upon the Capitol “neighbour to Jupiter Supreme and Best.”
“But,” objection was further made, “even if Jupiter had been angry, he could not have inflicted greater injury upon Regulus than Regulus brought upon himself.” Quite true, if there is no evil except pain. But philosophers{111} of the highest authority assure us that pain is not only not the supreme evil but no evil at all. And pray do not disparage Regulus, as no unimportant witness—nay, I am rather inclined to think he was the very best witness—to the truth of their doctrine. For what more competent witness do we ask for than one of the foremost citizens of Rome, who voluntarily faced torture for the sake of being true to his moral duty?
Again, they say, “Of evils choose the least”— that is, shall one “choose moral wrong rather than misfortune,” or is there any evil greater than moral wrong? For if physical deformity excites a certain amount of aversion, how offensive ought the deformity and hideousness of a demoralized soul to seem! Therefore, those{112} who discuss these problems with more rigour make bold to say that moral wrong is the only evil, while those{113} who treat them with more laxity do not hesitate to call it the supreme evil.
Once more, they quote the sentiment:
“None have I given, none give I ever to the faithless.”
It was proper for the poet to say that, because, when he was working out his Atreus, he had to make the words fit the character. But if they mean to adopt it as a principle, that a pledge given to the faithless is no pledge, let them look to it that it be not a mere loophole for perjury that they seek.
Furthermore, we have laws regulating warfare, and fidelity to an oath must often be observed in dealings with an enemy: for an oath sworn with the clear understanding in one’s own mind that it should be performed must be kept; but if there is no such understanding, it does not count as perjury if one does not perform the vow. For example, suppose that one does not deliver the amount agreed upon with pirates as the price of one’s life, that would be accounted no deception—not even if one should fail to deliver the ransom after having sworn to do so; for a pirate is not included in the number of lawful enemies, but is not included in the number of lawful enemies, but is the common foe of all the world; and with him there ought not to be any pledged word nor any oath mutually binding. For swearing to what is false is not necessarily perjury, but to take an oath “upon your conscience,” as it is expressed in our legal formulas, and then fail to perform it, that is perjury. For Euripides aptly says:
“My tongue has sworn; the mind I have has sworn no oath.”
But Regulus had no right to confound by perjury the terms