Discourses: Book 3 24 : 12

How, then, shall I become affectionate?—As a man of noble spirit, as one who is fortunate; for it is against all reason to be abject, or broken in spirit, or to depend on something other than yourself, or even to blame either God or man. I would have you become affectionate in such a way as to maintain at the same time all these rules; if, however, by virtue of this natural affection, whatever it is you call by that name, you are going to be a slave and miserable, it does not profit you to be affectionate. And what keeps you from loving a person as one subject to death, as one who may leave you? Did not Socrates love his own children? But in a free spirit, as one who remembers that it was his first duty to be a friend to the gods. That is why he succeeded in everything that becomes a good man, both in making his defence, and in assessing his own penalty, and before that time in his services as senator or soldier. But we abound in all manner of excuses for being ignoble; with some it is a child, with others a mother, and then again it is brothers. But it is not becoming for us to be unhappy on any person's account, but to be happy because of all, and above all others because of God, who has made us for this end. Come, was there anybody that Diogenes did not love, a man who was so gentle and kind-hearted that he gladly took upon himself all those troubles and physical hardships for the sake of the common weal? But what was the manner of his loving? As became a servant of Zeus, caring for men indeed, but at the same time subject unto God. That is why for him alone the whole world, and no special place, was his fatherland; and when he had been taken prisoner he did not hanker for Athens nor his acquaintances and friends there, but he got on good terms with the pirates and tried to reform them. And later, when he was sold into slavery at Corinth he kept on living there just as he had formerly lived at Athens; yes, and if he had gone off to the Perrhaebians he would have acted in quite the same way. That is how freedom is achieved. That is why he used to say, "From the time that Antisthenes set me free, I have ceased to be a slave." How did Antisthenes set him free? Listen to what Diogenes says. "He taught me what was mine, and what was not mine. Property is not mine; kinsmen, members of my household, friends, reputation, familiar places, converse with men—all these are not my own. 'What, then, is yours? Power to deal with external impressions.' He showed me that I possess this beyond all hindrance and constraint; no one can hamper me; no one can force me to deal with them otherwise than as I will. Who, then, has authority over me? Philip, or Alexander, or Perdiccas, or the Great King? Where can they get it? For the man who is destined to be overpowered by a man must long before that have been overpowered by things." Therefore, the man over whom pleasure has no power, nor evil, nor fame, nor wealth, and who, whenever it seems good to him, can spit his whole paltry body into some oppressor's face and depart from this life—whose slave can he any longer be, whose subject? But if he had gone on living pleasantly in Athens, and had been enamoured of his life there, his fortune would have been in every man's control, and the man who was stronger than he would have had power to cause him grief. How do you imagine he would have wheedled the pirates to sell him to some Athenian, so that he might some time see the beautiful Piraeus, and the Long Walls and the Acropolis! Who are you that you should see them, slave? A thrall and a person of abject spirit; and what good are they to you?—No, not a slave, but a free man.—Show me how you are free. See, some person or other has laid hands on you—the man who takes you away from your accustomed way of life, and says, "You are my slave; for it is in my power to prevent you from living as you will, it is in my power to lighten your servitude, or to humble you; whenever I wish, you can be happy again, and go off to Athens in high spirits." What do you say to this man who makes you his slave? Whom have you to offer him as your emancipator? Or do you not even look him in the face at all, but cutting all argument short do you implore him to set you free? Man, you ought to go gladly to prison, in haste, outstripping those who lead you away. And then, I do beseech you, are you loath to live in Rome, and do you yearn for Greece? And when you have to die, then also, I suppose, will you weep all over us, because you are never going to see Athens again or stroll in the Lyceum?