Sec. XXVIII. But since many people do not think fit or even dare to find
fault with their friends when in prosperity, but think that condition
altogether out of the reach and range of rebuke, but inveigh against
them if they have made a slip or stumble, and trample upon them if they
are in dejection and in their power, and, like a stream swollen above
its banks, pour upon them then the torrent of all their eloquence,[456]
and enjoy and are glad at their reverse of fortune, owing to their
former contempt of them when they were poor themselves, it is not amiss
to discuss this somewhat, and to answer those words of Euripides,

"What need of friends, when things go well with us?"[457]

for those in prosperity stand in especial need of friends who shall be
outspoken to them, and abate their excessive pride. For there are few
who are sensible in prosperity, most need to borrow wisdom from others,
and such considerations as shall keep them lowly when puffed up and
giving themselves airs owing to their good fortune. But when the deity
has abased them and stripped them of their conceit, there is something
in their very circumstances to reprove them and bring about a change of
mind. And so there is no need then of a friendly outspokenness, nor of
weighty or caustic words, but truly in such reverses "it is sweet to
look into the eyes of a friendly person,"[458] consoling and cheering
one up: as Xenophon[459] tells us that the sight of Clearchus in battle
and dangers, and his calm benevolent face, inspired courage in his men
when in peril. But he who uses to a man in adversity too great freedom
and severity of speech, like a man applying too pungent a remedy to an
inflamed and angry eye, neither cures him nor abates his pain, but adds
anger to his grief, and exasperates his mental distress. For example
anyone well is not at all angry or fierce with a friend, who blames him
for his excesses with women and wine, his laziness and taking no
exercise, his frequent baths, and his unseasonable surfeiting: but to a
person ill all this is unsufferable, and even worse than his illness to
hear, "All this has happened to you through your intemperance, and
luxury, your dainty food, and love for women." The patient answers, "How
unseasonable is all this, good sir! I am making my will, the doctors are
preparing me a dose of castor and scammony, and you are scolding me and
plying me with philosophy." And thus the affairs of the unfortunate do