Kitap 3
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As becomes a noble-spirited and happy person. For reason will never tell you to be dejected and broken-hearted, or to depend on another, or to reproach either God or man. Be affectionate in such a manner as to observe all this. But if, from affection, as you call it, you are to be a slave and miserable, it is not worth your while to be affectionate. And what restrains you from loving any one as a mortal,—as a person who may be obliged to quit you? Pray did not Socrates love his own children? But it was as became one who was free, and mindful that his first duty was to gain the love of the gods. Hence he violated no part of the character of a good man, either in his defence or in fixing a penalty on himself.It was the custom at Athens, in cases where no fixed punishment was appointed by the law, before the judges gave sentence, to ask the criminal himself what penalty he thought he deserved. Socrates refused either to comply with this form himself, or suffer any of his friends to do it for him; alleging that the naming a penalty was a confession of guilt. When the judges therefore asked him what penalty he thought he deserved, he answered, The highest honors and rewards, and to be maintained in the Prytaneum at the public expense, an answer which so extremely irritated his judges, that they immediately condemned him to death.—C. Nor yet before, when he was a senator or a soldier. But we make use of every pretence to be mean-spirited; some on account of a child; some, of a mother; and some, of a brother. But it is not fit to be unhappy on account of any one, but happy on account of all; and chiefly of God, who has constituted us for this purpose. What! did Diogenes love nobody, who was so gentle and benevolent as cheerfully to undergo so many pains and miseries of body for the common good of mankind? Yes, he did love them; but how? As became a minister of Zeus; at once caring for men, and obedient to God. Hence the whole earth, not any particular place, was his country. And when he was taken captive he did not long for Athens and his friends and acquaintance there, but made himself acquainted with the pirates, and endeavored to reform them; and when he was at last sold into captivity, he lived at Corinth just as before at Athens; and if he had gone to the Perrhaebeans,A people towards the extremity of Greece.—C. he would have been exactly the same. Thus is freedom acquired. Hence he used to say, Ever since Antisthenes made me freeDiogenes was the disciple of Antisthenes.—C. I have ceased to be a slave. How did he make him free? Hear what he says: He taught me what was my own and what not. An estate is not my own. Kindred, domestics friends, reputation, familiar places, manner of life, all belong to another. What is your own, then? The right use of the phenomena of existence. He showed me that I have this, not subject to restraint or compulsion; no one can hinder or force me in this, any otherwise than as I please. Who, then, after this, has any power over me,—Philip, or Alexander, or Perdiccas, or the Persian king? Whence should they have it? For he that is to be subdued by man must first be subdued by things. He, therefore, of whom neither pleasure, nor pain, nor fame, nor riches can get the better; and he who is able, whenever he thinks fit, to abandon his whole body with contempt and depart, whose slave can he ever be? To whom is he subject? But if Diogenes had taken pleasure in living at Athens, and had been subdued by that manner of life, his affairs would have been at every one’s disposal; and whoever was stronger would have had the power of grieving him. How would he have flattered the pirates, think you, to make them sell him to some Athenian, that he might see again the fine Piraus, the Long Walls, and the Citadel? How would you see them,—as a slave and a miserable wretch? And what good would that do you? No; but as free. How free? See, somebody lays hold on you, takes you away from your usual manner of life, and says: You are my slave; for it is in my power to restrain you from living as you like. It is in my power to afflict and humble you. Whenever I please you may be cheerful once more, and set out elated for Athens. What do you say to him who thus enslaves you? What rescuer can you find? Or dare you not so much as look up at him; but, without making many words, do you supplicate to be dismissed? Why, you ought even to go to prison, man, with alacrity, with speed, outstripping your conductors. Instead of this do you regret living at Rome and long for Greece? And when you must die, will you then, too, come crying to us that you shall no more see Athens, nor walk in the Lyceum? Is it for this that you have travelled? Is it for this that you have been seeking for somebody to do you good? What good,—that you may the more easily solve syllogisms and manage hypothetical arguments? And is it for this reason you left your brother, your country, your friends, your family, that you might carry back such acquirements as these? So that you did not travel to learn constancy nor tranquillity; not that. secured from harm, you might complain of no one, accuse no one; that no one might injure you; and that thus you might preserve your human relations, without impediment. You have made a fine traffic of it, to carry home hypothetical arguments and convertible propositions! If you please, too, sit in the market, and cry them for sale, as mountebanks do their medicines. Why will you not rather deny that you know even what you have learned, for fear of bringing a scandal upon such theorems as useless? What harm has philosophy done you,—in what has Chrysippus injured you,—that you should demonstrate by your actions that such studies are of no value? Had you not evils enough at home? How many causes for grief and lamentation had you there, even if you had not travelled? But you have added more; and if you ever get any new acquaintance and friends, you will find fresh causes for groaning; and, in like manner, if you attach yourself to any other country. To what purpose, therefore, do you live,—to heap sorrow upon sorrow, to make you wretched? And then you tell me this is affection. What affection, man? If it be good, it cannot be the cause of any ill; if ill, I will have nothing to do with it. I was born for my own good, not ill.
