Will you, gentlemen of the jury, empower this
man to punish his benefactor, to banish his saviour,
to hate the one who made him sane, to take vengeance
on the one who set him on his feet? Not if you do
what is just. For if I were really now guilty of the
greatest offences, there was no slight gratitude
owing me previously; keeping this in sight and in
mind, he would have done well to ignore the present
and to be prompt to forgive for the sake of the past,
especially if the benefaction were so great as to
overtop everything subsequent. That, I think, is
true of mine toward this man, whom I saved, who
is my debtor for the whole of his life, to whom I
have given existence, sanity, and intelligence, and
that at a time when all the others had finally given
up and were confessing themselves defeated by the
malady.
 
My benefaction, I think, is the greater because,


 

although I was not his son at that time and had no
imperative reason to take the case but was free
and independent, having been released from the
responsibility imposed by nature, nevertheless I was
not indifferent but came voluntarily, unsummoned,
on my own initiative; I gave my assistance, lavished
my attentions, brought about a cure, and set my
father on his feet, preserving him for myself, pleading
my own cause against his disownment, stilling his
anger by my friendliness, annulling the law by my
love, purchasing by a great benefaction my reentrance into the family, demonstrating my loyalty
to my father at a crisis so dangerous, bringing about
my own adoption with the help of my profession, and
proving myself a legitimate son in his time of dire
need. 
What do you suppose my sufferings were, what my
exertions, to be with him, to wait upon him, to watch
my opportunity, now yielding to the full force of the
ailment, now bringing my professional skill to bear
when the disorder abated a little? And truly, of all
these duties that are included in medical science,
the most dangerous is to treat such patients and to
approach people in that condition, for often they
loose their frenzy upon those who are near them,
when their ailment has become severe. And yet
none of these considerations made me hesitant or
faint-hearted. I joined battle with the disease and
measured myself against it in every way, and so at
last prevailed by means of my remedy.
 
Let no one, hearing this, be quick to remark:
“What sort of feat is it, and how great, to give a
remedy?”’ Many things must precede this; one
must prepare the way for the medicine, make the

 

body easy to cure, and take thought for the patient’s
whole condition, purging him, reducing him, nourishing him with the proper foods, rousing him as
much as is expedient, planning for periods of sleep,
contriving periods of solitude. Those who have any
other sickness can readily be persuaded to consent to
all this, but the insane because of their independence
of spirit are hard to influence and hard to direct,
dangerous to the physician, and hard to conquer by
the treatment. Often when we think we are near
the goal at last and become hopeful, some trivial
slip, occurring when the illness has reached its
height, easily overturns everything that has been
done, hampers the treatment, and thwarts our skill.
 
When a man has endured all this, has wrestled with
an illness so serious, and has conquered the ailment
of all ailments most difficult to master, will you
empower the plaintiff to disown him again, permit
him to interpret the laws in any way he will against
a benefactor, and allow him to fight with nature?
 I, obeying nature, save and preserve my father for
my own sake, gentlemen of the jury, even if he
wrongs me; but that father, following, he says, the
laws, ruins the son that has done him a benefit, and
deprives him of his family. He is his son’s enemy,
I am my father’s friend. I cherish nature, he slights
and insults her just claims. To think of a father who
hates his son unjustly! To think of a son that loves his
father still more unjustly! For I bring it as a charge


 

against myself, since my father constrains me to do
so, that I who am hated love when I should not and
love more than I ought. Yet it is nature’s behest
that fathers love their sons more than sons their
fathers. He, however, deliberately slights even the
laws, which preserve for the family sons who have
done no wrong, as well as nature, who draws parents
into great affection for their children. It cannot be
said that, having exceptional grounds for good-will
towards me, he pays me exceptional dues of good-will
and runs the measure over, or that at least he imitates
and rivals me in my love; no, alas! he even hates
one who loves him, repels one who cherishes him,
injures one who helps him, and disowns one who
clings to him. Aye, though the laws are kindly to
children, he employs them against me as if they
were unkindly. Ah, what a conflict you wish to
precipitate, father, between the laws and nature !
 
Truly, truly, this matter is not as you will have it
tobe. Youillinterpret the laws, father, for they are
well made. Nature and law are not at war in the
matter of good-will; they go hand in hand there,
and work together for the righting of wrongs. You
mistreat your benefactor; you wrong nature. Why
wrong the laws, as well as nature? They mean to
be good, and just, and kindly to children, but you will
not allow it, inciting them repeatedly against one
son as if his name were legion, and not suffering
them to rest contented with punishments when they
are willing to rest contented with demonstrations
of filial affection; and yet they were not made,
surely, as a menace to those who have done no
wrong. Indeed, the laws permit suit to be brought
on the charge of ingratitude against persons who do

 

not help those who have helped them. The existence of a law making ingratitude (dyapio7ia) actionable was part of the accepted tradition of the Greek rhetorical seHnee (Sopater in Walz, Rhetores Graect, VIII, 175 and 239; Cyrus, tbsd., 391; cf. Seneca, de Benef., III, 6, 1). For its existence outside the schools the evidence is conflicting. The name of the action is included in the list given by Pollux, VIII, 31, and Valerius Maximus (V, 3, ext. 3) says that Athens had such a law. On the other hand, Xenophon puts into the mouth of Socrates (Mem., II, 2,13; ef. Cyrop. I, 2,7) the statement that Athens took no cognisance of ingratitude except toward parents, and Seneca (loc. cit.) says that no nation except the Macedonians had a law against it, _ But when a
man, besides failing to render like for like, even
deems it right to inflict punishment in return for
the very benefits that he has received, think whether
there is any exaggeration of injustice which he has
overlooked ! 
That it is neither possible for him to disown a
son after having already once for all exhausted his
paternal right and made use of the laws, nor yet just
to thrust away one who has shown himself so great
a benefactor and exclude him from the house has
been, I think, sufficiently established.