No country for good men. Seneca, Epistles 5.42.1-4

Seneca begins his fifth book of letters discussing the danger of thinking we are virtuous merely because we are weak—too weak to act out in a big way, which would reveal our wickedness. It is generally a mistake, he asserts, to think of ourselves as exceptions to the rule: most of us are simply normies, in modern terms, and would do normal and normally bad things if we found ourselves with more influence. The truly dissonant and different is rare, like the naturally virtuous (who would not go about proclaiming his own virtue, as that is not what a good person does).

Iam tibi iste persuasit virum se bonum esse? Atqui vir bonus tam cito nec fieri potest nec intellegi. Scis quem nunc virum bonum dicam? hunc secundae notae; nam ille alter fortasse tamquam phoenix semel anno quingentesimo nascitur. Nec est mirum ex intervallo magna generari: mediocria et in turbam nascentia saepe fortuna producit, eximia vero ipsa raritate commendat. Sed iste multum adhuc abest ab eo quod profitetur; et si sciret quid esset vir bonus, nondum esse se crederet, fortasse etiam fieri posse desperaret. At male existimat de malis. Hoc etiam mali faciunt, nec ulla maior poena nequitiae est quam quod sibi ac suis displicet. At odit eos qui subita et magna potentia impotenter utuntur. Idem faciet cum idem potuerit. Multorum quia imbecilla sunt latent vitia, non minus ausura cum illis vires suae placuerint quam illa quae iam felicitas aperuit. Instrumenta illis explicandae nequitiae desunt. Sic tuto serpens etiam pestifera tractatur dum riget frigore: non desunt tunc illi venena sed torpent. Multorum crudelitas et ambitio et luxuria, ut paria pessimis audeat, fortunae favore deficitur. Eadem velle, subaudis, cognosces (†): da posse quantum volunt.

Has this fellow already persuaded you that he is a good man? No man can really become good, or have his goodness properly recognized, so quickly. Do you know whom I call a good man, right now? The one who comes second to your winner. For true winners are born rarely, perhaps only once every five hundred years or so, like the phoenix. Nor is it any marvel that great things should be so long in coming to fruition. Fortune frequently produces mediocrities, even dropping them in crowds; the uncommon recommends itself to us by its very scarcity. But your man is still very far from the goodness he professes, and if he really knew what a good man is, he would not believe himself to be one: indeed, he might despair of ever becoming such. “He thinks ill of the wicked!” Yes. This is just what bad people do, nor is there any greater punishment for wickedness than the fact that it displeases itself, and those that rely upon it. “But he hates those who wield great power frivolously!” He will do the same as they do when he gets the chance. Many have vices that escape notice because they are weak; when they become strong, these vices will blaze forth as boldly as those that happiness has already published to the world. All the weakling wants are proper tools for expressing his wickedness. Even so doth the poisonous serpent become safe to handle when it goes rigid with cold: its venom is merely latent, not lacking. Fortune's favor is the only thing keeping many men from manifesting such cruelty, ambition, and debauchery as would put them on par with the worst ruins of humanity. They want the same things, you understand, and you will find this easy to prove: simply give them the power to do what they want.

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(†) The phrase subaudis, cognosces is awkward, perhaps, but I find nothing better in published readings from MSS, and the emendations given by editors appear too weak for me to adopt without autopsy.