Book 4
Ch. 1
Of freedom.
He is free who lives as he likes; who is not subject to compulsion, to restraint, or to violence;
whose pursuits are unhindered, his desires successful,
his aversions unincurred. Who, then, would wish
to lead a wrong course of life? "No one." Who
would live deceived, erring, unjust, dissolute, discontented, dejected? "No one." No wicked man, then,
lives as he likes; therefore no such man is free. And
who would live in sorrow, fear, envy, pity, with disappointed desires and unavailing aversions? "No
one." Do we then find any of the wicked exempt
from these evils? "Not one." Consequently, then,
they are not free.
If some person who has been twice consul should
hear this, he will forgive you, provided you add, "but
you are wise, and this has no reference to you." But
if you tell him the truth, that, in point of slavery, he
does not necessarily differ from those who have been
thrice sold, what but chastisement can you expect?
"For how," he says, "am I a slave? My father was
free, my mother free. Besides, I am a senator, too,
and the friend of Caesar, and have been twice consul,
and have myself many slaves." In the first place,
most worthy sir, perhaps your father too was a slave
of the same kind; and your mother, and your grandfather, and all your series of ancestors. But even
were they ever so free, what is that to you? For
what if they were of a generous, you of a mean spirit;
they brave, and you a coward; they sober, and you
dissolute?
"But what," he says, "has this to do with my
being a slave? " Is it no part of slavery to act against
your will, under compulsion, and lamenting? "Be it
so. But who can compel me but the master of all,
Caesar?" By your own confession, then, you have
one master; and let not his being, as you say, master
of all, give you any comfort; for then you are merely
a slave in a large family. Thus the Nicopolitans,
too, frequently cry out, " By the genius of Caesar we
are free ! "
For the present, however, if you please, we will let
Caesar alone. But tell me this. Have you never
been in love with any one, either of a servile or liberal condition? "Why, what has that to do with
being slave or free?" Were you never commanded
anything by your mistress that you did not choose?
Have you never flattered your fair slave? Have you
never kissed her feet? And yet if you were commanded to kiss Caesar's feet, you would think it an
outrage and an excess of tyranny. What else is this
than slavery? Have you never gone out by night
where you did not desire? Have you never spent
more than you chose? Have you not sometimes
uttered your words with sighs and groans? Have
you never borne to be reviled and shut out of doors?
But if you are ashamed to confess your own follies,
see what Thrasonides71 says and does; who, after
having fought more battles perhaps than you, went
out by night, when [his slaves Geta would not dare
to go; nay, had he been compelled to do it, would
have gone bewailing and lamenting the bitterness of
servitude. And what says he afterwards? "A contemptible girl has enslaved me, whom no enemy ever
enslaved." Wretch ! to be the slave of a girl and a
contemptible girl too! Why, then, do you still call
yourself free? Why do you boast your military expeditions? Then he calls for a sword, and is angry with
the person who, out of kindness, denies it; and sends
presents to her who hates him; and begs, and weeps,
and then again is elated on every little success.
But what elation? Is he raised above desire or fear?
Consider what is our idea of freedom in animals.
Some keep tame lions, and feed them and even lead
them about; and who will say that any such lion is
free? Nay, does he not live the more slavishly the
more he lives at ease? And who that had sense and
reason would wish to be one of those lions? Again,
how much will caged birds suffer in trying to escape?
Nay, some of them starve themselves rather than
undergo such a life; others are saved only with difficulty and in a pining condition; and the moment
they find any opening, out they go. Such a desire
have they for their natural freedom, and to be at their
own disposal, and unrestrained. "And what harm
can this confinement do you?" "What say you?
I was born to fly where I please, to live in the open
air, to sing when I please. You deprive me of all
this, and then ask what harm I suffer?"
Hence we will allow those only to be free who will
not endure captivity, but, so soon as they are taken,
die and so escape. Thus Diogenes somewhere says
that the only way to freedom is to die with ease.
And he writes to the Persian king, "You can no more
enslave the Athenians than you can fish." "How?
Can I not get possession of them?" "If you do,"
said he, " they will leave you, and be gone like fish.
For catch a fish, and it dies. And if the Athenians,
too, die as soon as you have caught them, of what use
are your warlike preparations? " This is the voice of
a free man who had examined the matter in earnest,
and, as it might be expected, found it all out. But
if you seek it where it is not, what wonder if you
never find it?
A slave wishes to be immediately set free. Think
you it is because he is desirous to pay his fee [of
manumission] to the officer? No, but because he
fancies that, for want of acquiring his freedom, he has
hitherto lived under restraint and unprosperously.
"If I am once set free," he says, "it is all prosperity;
I care for no one; I can speak to all as being their
equal and on a level with them. I go where I will, I
come when and how I will." He is at last made free,
and presently having nowhere to eat he seeks whom
he may flatter, with whom he may sup. He then
either submits to the basest and most infamous degradation, and if he can obtain admission to some great
man's table, falls into a slavery much worse than the
former; or perhaps, if the ignorant fellow should grow
rich, he doats upon some girl, laments, and is unhappy, and wishes for slavery again. " For what
harm did it do me? Another clothed me, another
shod me, another fed me, another took care of me
when I was sick. It was but in a few things, by way
of return, I used to serve him. But now, miserable
wretch ! what do I suffer, in being a slave to many,
instead of one ! Yet, if I can be promoted to equestrian rank, I shall live in the utmost prosperity and
happiness." In order to obtain this, he first deservedly suffers; and as soon as he has obtained it, it
is all the same again. "But then," he says, "if I
do but get a military command, I shall be delivered
from all my troubles." He gets a military command.
He suffers as much as the vilest rogue of a slave; and,
nevertheless, he asks for a second command and a
third; and when he has put the finishing touch, and
is made a senator, then he is a slave indeed. When
he comes into the public assembly, it is then that he
undergoes his finest and most splendid slavery.
[It is needful] not to be foolish, but to learn what
Socrates taught, the nature of things; and not rashly
to apply general principles to particulars. For the
cause of all human evils is the not being able to apply general principles to special cases. But different
people have different grounds of complaint; one, for
instance, that he is sick. That is not the trouble;
it is in his principles. Another, that he is poor;
another, that he has a harsh father and mother;
another, that he is not in the good graces of Caesar.
This is nothing else but not understanding how to
apply our principles. For who has not an idea of
evil, that it is hurtful; that it is to be avoided;
that it is by all means to be prudently guarded
against? One principle does not contradict another,
except when it comes to be applied. What, then, is
this evil, --thus hurtful and to be avoided? "Not
to be the friend of Caesar," says some one. He is
gone; he has failed in applying his principles; he is
embarrassed; he seeks what is nothing to the purpose.
For if he comes to be Caesar's friend, he is still no
nearer to what he sought. For what is it that every
man seeks? To be secure, to be happy, to do what
he pleases without restraint and without compulsion.
When he becomes the friend of Caesar, then does he
cease to be restrained; to be compelled? Is he
secure? Is he happy? Whom shall we ask? Whom
can we better credit than this very man who has
been his friend? Come forth and tell us whether
you sleep more quietly now than before you were
the friend of Caesar. You presently hear him cry,
"Leave off, for Heaven's sake! and do not insult
me. You know not the miseries I suffer; there is no
sleep for me; but one comes and says that Caesar
is already awake; another, that he is just going out.
Then follow perturbations, then cares." Well, and
when did you use to sup the more pleasantly,-
formerly, or now? Hear what he says about this too.
When he is not invited, he is distracted; and if he is,
he sups like a slave with his master, solicitous all the
while not to say or do anything foolish. And what
think you? Is he afraid of being whipped like a
slave? No such easy penalty. No; but rather, as
becomes so great a man, Caesar's friend, of losing his
head. And when did you bathe the more quietly;
when did you perform your exercises the more at
your leisure; in short, which life would you rather
wish to live, -your present, or the former? I could
swear there is no one so stupid and insensible as
not to deplore his miseries, in proportion as he is
the more the friend of Caesar.
Since, then, neither they who are called kings nor
the friends of kings live as they like, who, then, after
all, is free? Seek, and you will find; for you are fur-
nished by nature with means for discovering the truth.
But if you are not able by these alone to find the
consequence, hear them who have sought it. What
do they say? Do you think freedom a good? "The
greatest." Can any one, then, who attains the greatest good be unhappy or unsuccessful in his affairs?
" No." As many, therefore, as you see unhappy, lamenting, unprosperous, -confidently pronounce them
not free. " I do." Henceforth, then, we have done
with buying and selling, and such like stated conditions of becoming slaves. For if these concessions
hold, then, whether the unhappy man be a great or a
little king, - of consular or bi-consular dignity, - he
is not free. " Agreed."
Further, then, answer me this: do you think freedom to be something great and noble and valuable?
"How should I not? " Is it possible, then, that he
who acquires anything so great and valuable and
noble should be of an abject spirit? "It is not."
Whenever, then, you see any one subject to another,
and flattering him contrary to his own opinion, confidently say that he too is not free; and not only when
he does this for a supper, but even if it be for a government, nay, a consulship. Call those indeed little
slaves who act thus for the sake of little things; and
call the others, as they deserve, great slaves. "Be
this, too, agreed." Well, do you think freedom
to be something independent and self-determined?
"How can it be otherwise?" Him, then, whom it
is in the power of another to restrain or to compel,
affirm confidently to be by no means free. And do
not heed his grandfathers or great-grandfathers, or
inquire whether he has been bought or sold; but if
you hear him say from his heart and with emotion,
"my master," though twelve Lictors should march
before him, call him a slave. And if you should hear
him say, "Wretch that I am! what do I suffer ! "
call him a slave. In short, if you see him wailing,
complaining, unprosperous, call him a slave, even in
purple.
"Suppose, then, that he does nothing of all this."
Do not yet say that he is free; but learn whether his
principles are in any event liable to compulsion, to
restraint, or disappointment; and if you find this to
be the case, call him a slave, keeping holiday during
the Saturnalia. Say that his master is abroad; that
he will come presently; and you will know what he
suffers. "Who will come? " Whoever has the power
either of bestowing or of taking away any of the
things he desires.
"Have we so many masters, then?" We have.
For, prior to all such, we have the things themselves
for our masters. Now they are many; and it is
through these that the men who control the things
inevitably become our masters too. For no one fears
Caesar himself; but death, banishment, confiscation,
prison, disgrace. Nor does any one love Caesar unless
he be a person of great worth; but we love riches,
the tribunate, the praetorship, the consulship. When
we love or hate or fear such things, they who have the
disposal of them must necessarily be our masters.
Hence we even worship them as gods. For we consider that whoever has the disposal of the greatest advantages is a deity; and then further reason falsely,
"But such a one has the control of the greatest advantages; therefore he is a deity." For if we reason
falsely, the final inference must be also false.
What is it, then, that makes a man free and independent? For neither riches, nor consulship, nor
the command of provinces nor of kingdoms, can
make him so; but something else must be found.
What is it that keeps any one from being hindered
and restrained in penmanship, for instance? " The
science of penmanship." In music? "The science
of music." Therefore in life too, it must be the science of living. As you have heard it in general, then,
consider it likewise in particulars. Is it possible for
him to be unrestrained who desires any of those
things that are within the power of others? "No."
Can he avoid being hindered? "No." Therefore
neither can he be free. Consider, then, whether we
have nothing or everything in our own sole power, -
or whether some things are in our own power and
some in that of others. "What do you mean?"
When you would have your body perfect, is it in your
own power, or is it not? "It is not." When you
would be healthy? "It is not." When you would
be handsome? "It is not." When you would live
or die? "It is not." Body then is not our own;
but is subject to everything that proves stronger than
itself. "Agreed." Well; is it in your own power
to have an estate when you please, and such a one
as you please? "No." Slaves? "No." Clothes?
"No." A house? "No." Horses? " Indeed, none
of these." Well, if you desire ever so earnestly to
have your children live, or your wife, or your brother,
or your friends, is it in your own power? " No, it is
not."
Will you then say that there is nothing independent,
which is in your own power alone, and unalienable?
See if you have anything of this sort. "I do not
know." But consider it thus: can any one make
you assent to a falsehood? " No one." In the matter of assent, then, you are unrestrained and unhindered. "Agreed." Well, and can any one compel
you to exert your aims towards what you do not like?
"He can. For when he threatens me with death, or
fetters, he thus compels me." If, then, you were to
despise dying or being fettered, would you any longer
regard him? "No." Is despising death, then, an
action in our power, or is it not? "It is." Is it
therefore in your power also to exert your aims
towards anything, or is it not? "Agreed that it is.
But in whose power is my avoiding anything? " This,
too, is in your own. "What then if, when I am exerting myself to walk, any one should restrain me?
What part of you can he restrain? Can he restrain
your assent? " No, but my body." Ay, as he may
a stone. "Be it so. But still I cease to walk." And
who claimed that walking was one of the actions that
cannot be restrained? For I only said that your
exerting yourself towards it could not be restrained.
But wherever the body and its assistance are essential,
you have already heard that nothing is in your power.
"Be this, too, agreed." And can any one compel
you to desire against your Will? "No one." Or to
propose, or intend, or, in short, not to be beguiled by
the appearances of things? "Nor this. But when I
desire anything, he can restrain me from obtaining
what I desire." If you desire anything that is truly
within your reach, and that cannot be restrained, how
can he restrain you? "By no means." And pray
who claims that he who longs for what depends on
another will be free from restraint?
"May I not long for health, then? " By no means;
nor for anything else that depends on another; for
what is not in your own power, either to procure or
to preserve when you will, that belongs to another.
Keep off not only your hands from it, but even more
than these, your desires. Otherwise you have given
yourself up as a slave; you have put your neck under
the yoke, if you admire any of the things which are
not your own, but which are subject and mortal, to
which of them soever you are attached. " Is not my
hand my own?" It is a part of you, but it is by
nature clay, liable to restraint, to compulsion; a slave
to everything stronger than itself. And why do I say,
your hand? You ought to hold your whole body but
as a useful ass, with a pack-saddle on, so long as may
be, so long as it is allowed you. But if there should
come a military conscription, and a soldier should lay
hold on it, let it go. Do not resist, or murmur;
otherwise you will be first beaten and lose the ass
after all. And since you are thus to regard even the
body itself, think what remains to do concerning
things to be provided for the sake of the body. If
that be an ass, the rest are but bridles, pack-saddles,
shoes, oats, hay for him. Let these go too. Quit
them yet more easily and expeditiously. And when
you are thus prepared and trained to distinguish what
belongs to others from your own; what is liable to
restraint from what is not; to esteem the one your
own property, but not the other; to keep your desire,
to keep your aversion, carefully regulated by this point,
-whom have you any longer to fear? " No one."
For about what should you be afraid, - about what is
your own, in which consists the essence of good and
evil? And who has any power over this? Who can
take it away? Who can hinder you, any more than
God can be hindered? But are you afraid for body,
for possessions, for what belongs to others, for what is
nothing to you? And what have you been studying
all this while, but to distinguish between your own
and that which is not your own; what is in your
power and what is not in your power; what is liable
to restraint and what is not? And for what purpose
have you applied to the philosophers, - that you
might nevertheless be disappointed and unfortunate?
No doubt you will be exempt from fear and perturbation! And what is grief to you? For whatsoever
we anticipate with fear, we endure with grief. And
for what will you any longer passionately wish? For
you have acquired a temperate and steady desire of
things dependent on will, since they are accessible
and desirable; and you have no desire of things uncontrollable by will. so as to leave room for that
irrational, and impetuous, and precipitate passion.
Since then you are thus affected with regard to
things, what man can any longer be formidable to
you? What has man that he can be formidable
to man, either in appearance, or speech, or mutual
intercourse? No more than horse to horse, or dog
to dog, or bee to bee. But things are formidable to
every one, and whenever any person can either give
these to another, or take them away, he becomes formidable too. "How, then, is this citadel to be destroyed?" Not by sword or fire, but by principle.
For if we should demolish the visible citadel, shall
we have demolished also that of some fever, of some
fair woman,-in short, the citadel [of temptation]
within ourselves; and have turned out the tyrants
to whom we are subject upon all occasions and every
day, sometimes the same, sometimes others? From
hence we must begin; hence demolish the citadel,
and turn out the tyrants, -give up body, members,
riches, power, fame, magistracies, honors, children,
brothers, friends; esteem all these as belonging to
others. And if the tyrants be turned out from hence,
why should I also demolish the external citadel, at
least on my own account? For what harm to me
from its standing? Why should I turn out the guards?
For in what point do they affect me? It is against
others that they direct their fasces, their staves, and
their swords. Have I ever been restrained from what
I willed, or compelled against my will? Indeed, how
is this possible? I have placed my pursuits under
the direction of God. Is it his will that I should
have a fever? It is my will too. Is it his will that
I should pursue anything? It is my will too. Is it
his will that I should desire? It is my will too. Is
it his will that I should obtain anything? It is mine
too. Is it not his will? It is not mine. Is it his will
that I should be tortured? Then it is my will to be
tortured. Is it his will that I should die? Then it is
my will to die. Who can any longer restrain or compel
me, contrary to my own opinion? No more than Zeus.
It is thus that cautious travellers act. Does some
one hear that the road is beset by robbers? He does
not set out alone, but waits for the retinue of an
ambassador or quaestor or proconsul, and when he
has joined himself to their company, goes along in
safety. Thus does the prudent man act in the world.
There are many robberies, tyrants, storms, distresses,
losses of things most dear. Where is there any refuge?
How can he go alone unattacked? What retinue can
he wait for, to go safely through his journey? To
what company shall he join himself, -to some rich
man; to some consular senator? And what good
will that do me? He may be robbed himself, groaning and lamenting. And what if my fellow-traveller
himself should turn against me and rob me? What
shall I do? I say I will be the friend of Caesar.
While I am his companion, no one will injure me,
Yet before I can become illustrious enough for this,
what must I bear and suffer ! How often, and by how
many, must I be robbed ! And then, if I do become
the friend of Caesar, he too is mortal; and if, by any
accident, he should become my enemy, where can I
best retreat, -to a desert? Well, and may not a
fever come there? What can be done, then? Is it
not possible to find a fellow-traveller safe, faithful,
brave, incapable of being surprised? A person who
reasons thus, understands and considers that if he
joins himself to God, he shall go safely through his
journey.
"How do you mean, join himself? " That whatever
is the will of God may be his will too; that whatever
is not the will of God may not be his. "How, then,
can this be done?" Why, how otherwise than by
considering the workings of God's power and his administration? What has he given me to be my own,
and independent? What has he reserved to himself?
He has given me whatever depends on will. The
things within my power he has made incapable of hindrance or restraint. Bat how could he make a body
of clay incapable of hindrance? Therefore he has
subjected possessions, furniture, house, children, wife,
to the revolutions of the universe. Why, then, do
I fight against God? Why do I will to retain that
which depends not on will; that which is not
granted absolutely, but how, - in such a manner and
for such a time as was thought proper? But he who
gave takes away. Why, then, do I resist? Besides
being a fool, in contending with a stronger than my
self, I shall be unjust, which is a more important consideration. For whence had I these things, when I
came into the world? My father gave them to me.
And who gave them to him? And who made the
sun; who the fruits; who the seasons; who their
connection and relations with each other? And after
you have received all, and even your very self, from
another, are you angry with the giver, and do you
complain, if he takes anything away from you? Who
are you; and for what purpose did you come? Was
it not he who brought you here? Was it not he
who showed you the light? Hath not he given you
companions? Hath not he given you senses? Hath
not he given you reason? And as whom did he
bring you here? Was it not as a mortal? Was it not
as one to live with a little portion of flesh upon earth,
and to see his administration; to behold the spectacle
with him, and partake of the festival for a short time?
After having beheld the spectacle and the solemnity,
then, as long as it is permitted you, will you not depart
when he leads you out, adoring and thankful for what
you have heard and seen? "No; but I would enjoy
the feast still longer." So would the initiated [in the
mysteries], too, be longer in their initiation; so, perhaps, would the spectators at Olympia see more
combatants. But the solemnity is over. Go away.
Depart like a grateful and modest person; make room
for others. Others, too, must be born as you were;
and when they are born must have a place, and habitations, and necessaries. But if the first do not give
way, what room is there left? Why are you insatiable,
unconscionable? Why do you crowd the world?
" Ay, but I would have my wife and children with
me too." Why, are they yours? Are they not the
Giver's? Are they not his who made you also? Will
you not then quit what belongs to another? Will you
not yield to your Superior? "Why, then, did he
bring me into the world upon these conditions?"
Well, if it is not worth your while, depart. He has
no need of a discontented spectator. He wants such
as will share the festival; make part of the chorus;
who will extol, applaud, celebrate the solemnity. He
will not be displeased to see the wretched and fearful dismissed from it. For when they were present
they did not behave as at a festival, nor fill a proper
place, but lamented, found fault with the Deity, with
their fortune, with their companions. They were
insensible both of their advantages and of the powers
which they received for far different purposes, - the
powers of magnanimity, nobleness of spirit, fortitude,
and that which now concerns us, freedom. "For
what purpose, then, have I received these things?"
To use them. "How long?" As long as he who
lent them pleases. If, then, they are not necessary,
do not make an idol of them, and they will not be
so; do not tell yourself that they are necessary, when
they are not.
This should be our study from morning till night
beginning with the least and frailest things, as with
earthenware, with glassware. Afterwards proceed to
a suit of clothes, a dog, a horse, an estate; thence
to yourself, body, members, children, wife, brothers.
Look everywhere around you, and be able to detach
yourself from these things. Correct your principles.
Permit nothing to cleave to you that is not your own;
nothing to grow to you that may give you agony
when it is torn away. And say, when you are daily
training yourself as you do here, not that you act the
philosopher, which may be a presumptuous claim, but
that you are asserting your freedom. For this is true
freedom. This is the freedom that Diogenes gained
from Antisthenes, and declared it was impossible
that he should ever after be a slave to any one.
Hence, when he was taken prisoner, how did he treat
the pirates? Did he call any of them master? I do
not mean the name, for I am not afraid of a word,
but of the disposition from whence the word proceeds.
How did he reprove them for feeding their prisoners
ill? How was he sold? Did he seek a master? No,
but a slave. And when he was sold, how did he converse with his lord? He immediately disputed with
him whether he ought to be dressed or shaved in the
manner he was; and how he ought to bring up his
children. And where is the wonder? For if the
same master had bought some one to instruct his
children in gymnastic exercises, would he in those
exercises have treated him as a servant or as a
master? And so if he had bought a physician or
an architect. In every department the skilful must
necessarily be superior to the unskilful. What else,
then, can he be but master, who possesses the universal knowledge of life? For who is master in a
ship? The pilot. Why? Because whoever disobeys
him is a loser. "But a master can put me in
chains." Can he do it, then, without being a loser?
"I think not, indeed." But because he must be a
loser, he evidently must not do it; for no one acts
unjustly without being a loser. "And how does he
suffer, who puts his own slave in chains?" What
think you? From the very fact of chaining him.
This you yourself must grant, if you would hold to
the doctrine that man is not naturally a wild, but a
gentle, animal. For when is it that a vine is in a bad
condition? "When it is in a condition contrary to
its nature." How is it with a cock? "The same."
It is therefore the same with a man also. What is
his nature, -to bite and kick and throw into prison
and cut off heads? No, but to do good, to assist, to
indulge the wishes of others. Whether you will or
not, then, he is in a bad condition whenever he acts
unreasonably. "And so was not Socrates in a bad
condition? " No, but his judges and accusers. " Nor
Helvidius, at Rome? " No, but his murderer. " How
do you talk?" Why, just as you do. You do not
call that cock in a bad condition which is victorious,
and yet wounded; but that which is conquered and
comes off unhurt. Nor do you call a dog happy
which neither hunts nor toils; but when you see him
perspiring, and distressed, and panting with the chase.
In what do we talk paradoxes? If we say that the
evil of everything consists in what is contrary to its
nature, is this a paradox? Do you not say it with
regard to other things? Why, therefore, in the case
of man alone, do you take a different view? But
further, it is no paradox to say that by nature man
is gentle and social and faithful. "This is none."
How then [is it a paradox to say] that, when he is
whipped, or imprisoned, or beheaded, he is not hurt?
If he suffers nobly, does he not come off even the
better and a gainer? But he is the person hurt who
suffers the most miserable and shameful evils; who, instead of a man, becomes a wolf, a viper, or a hornet.
Come, then; let us recapitulate what has been
granted. The man who is unrestrained, who has all
things in his power as he wills, is free; but he who
may be restrained or compelled or hindered, or
thrown into any condition against his will, is a slave.
"And who is unrestrained? " He who desires none
of those things that belong to others. "And what
are those things which belong to others?" Those
which are not in our own power, either to have or
not to have; or to have them thus or so. Body,
therefore, belongs to another; its parts to another;
property to another. If, then, you attach yourself to
any of these as your own, you will be punished as he
deserves who desires what belongs to others. This
is the way that leads to freedom, this the only
deliverance from slavery, to be able at length to say,
from the bottom of one's soul,-
Conduct me, Zeus, and thou, O Destiny,
Wherever your decrees have fixed my lot. A Fragment of Cleanthes, before quoted; and given in full in Enchiridion, c. 52.-H.
But what say you, philosopher? A tyrant calls
upon you to speak something unbecoming you. Will
you say it, or will you not? "Stay, let me consider." Would you consider now? And what did
you use to consider when you were in the schools?
Did you not study what things were good and evil,
and what indifferent? "I did." Well, and what
were the opinions which pleased us? "That just
and fair actions were good; unjust and base ones,
evil." Is living a good? "No." Dying, an evil?
"No." A prison? "No." And what did a mean
and dishonest speech, the betraying a friend, or the
flattering a tyrant, appear to us? "Evils." Why,
then, are you still considering, and have not already
considered and come to a resolution? For what sort
of a consideration is this: "Whether I ought, when
it is in my power, to procure myself the greatest good,
instead of procuring myself the greatest evil." A
fine and necessary consideration, truly, and deserving mighty deliberation ! Why do you trifle with us,
man? No one ever needed to consider any such
point; nor, if you really imagined things fair and
honest to be good, things base and dishonest to be
evil, and all other things indifferent, would you ever
be in such a perplexity as this, or near it; but you
would presently be able to distinguish by your understanding as you do by your sight. For do you ever
have to consider whether black is white, or whether
light is heavy? Do you not follow the plain evidence
of your senses? Why, then, do you say that you are
now considering whether things indifferent are to be
avoided, rather than evils? The truth is, you have
no principles; for things indifferent do not impress
you as such, but as the greatest evils; and these last,
on the other hand, as things of no importance.
For thus has been your practice from the first.
"Where am I? If I am in the school and there is
an audience, I talk as the philosophers do; but if I
am out of the school, then away with this stuff that
belongs only to scholars and fools." This man is
accused by the testimony of a philosopher, his friend;
this philosopher turns parasite; another hires himself
out for money; a third does that in the very senate.
When one is not governed by appearances, then his
principles speak for themselves. You are a poor cold
lump of prejudice, consisting of mere phrases, on
which you hang as by a hair. You should preserve
yourself firm and practical, remembering that you
are to deal with real things. In what manner do
you hear, - I will not say that your child is dead, for
how could you possibly bear that?- but that your
oil is spilled, your wine consumed? Would that
some one, while you are bawling, would only say this:
"Philosopher, you talk quite otherwise when in the
schools. Why do you deceive us? Why, when you
are a worm, do you call yourself a man? " I should
be glad to be near one of these philosophers while
he is revelling in debauchery, that I might see how
he demeans himself, and what sayings he utters;
whether he remembers the title he bears and the
discourses which he hears, or speaks, or reads.
" And what is all this to freedom?" It lies in
nothing else than this, - whether you rich people approve or not. "And who affords evidence of this? "
Who but yourselves? You who have a powerful
master, and live by his motion and nod, and faint
away if he does but look sternly upon you, who pay
your court to old men and old women, and say, " I
cannot do this or that, it is not in my power." Why
is it not in your power? Did you not just now contradict me, and say you were free? " But Aprylla has
forbidden me." Speak the truth, then, slave, and do
not run away from your masters nor deny them, nor
dare to assert your freedom, when you have so many
proofs of your slavery. One might indeed find some
excuse for a person compelled by love to do something contrary to his opinion, even when at the same
time he sees what is best without having resolution
enough to follow it, since he is withheld by something
overpowering, and in some measure divine. But who
can bear with you, who are in love with old men and
old women, and perform menial offices for them,
and bribe them with presents, and wait upon them
like a slave when they are sick; at the same time
wishing they may die, and inquiring of the physician
whether their distemper be yet mortal? And again,
when for these great and venerable magistracies and
honors you kiss the hands of the slaves of others; so
that you are the slave of those who are not free themselves ! And then you walk about in state, a praetor
or a consul. Do I not know how you came to be
praetor; whence you received the consulship; who
gave it to you? For my own part, I would not even
live, if I must live by Felicio's means, and bear his
pride and slavish insolence. For I know what a
slave is, blinded by what he thinks good fortune.
" Are you free yourself, then? " you may ask. By
Heaven, I wish and pray for it. But I own I cannot
yet face my masters. I still pay a regard to my body,
and set a great value on keeping it whole; though,
for that matter, it is not whole. But I can show
you one who was free, that you may no longer seek
an example. Diogenes was free. " How so?" Not
because he was of free parents, for he was not; but
because he was so in himself; because he had cast
away all which gives a handle to slavery; nor was
there any way of getting at him, nor anywhere to lay
hold on him, to enslave him. Everything sat loose
upon him; everything only just hung on. If you took
hold on his possessions, he would rather let them
go than follow you for them; if on his leg, he let go
his leg; if his body, he let go his body; acquaintance, friends, country, just the same. For he knew
whence he had them, and from whom, and upon what
conditions he received them. But he would never
have forsaken his true parents, the gods, and his real
country [the universe]; nor have suffered any one to
be more dutiful and obedient to them than he; nor
would any one have died more readily for his country
than he. He never had to inquire whether he should
act for the good of the whole universe; for he remembered that everything that exists belongs to
that administration, and is commanded by its ruler.
Accordingly, see what he himself says and writes.
"Upon this account," said he, "O Diogenes, it is
in your power to converse as you will with the Persian
monarch and with Archidamus, king of the Lacedemonians." Was it because he was born of free parents?
Or was it because they were descended from slaves,
that all the Athenians, and all the Lacedemonians, and
Corinthians, could not converse with them as they
pleased; but feared and paid court to them? Why
then is it in your power, Diogenes? "Because I do
not esteem this poor body as my own. Because I
want nothing. Because this and nothing else is a
law to me." These were the things that enabled him
to be free.
And that you may not urge that I show you the
example of a man clear of incumbrances, without a
wife or children or country or friends or relations, to
bend and draw him aside, take Socrates, and consider him, who had a wife and children, but held them
not as his own; had a country, friends, relations, but
held them only so long as it was proper, and in the
manner that was proper; submitting all these to the
law and to the obedience due to it. Hence, when it
was proper to fight, he was the first to go out, and
exposed himself to danger without the least reserve.
But when he was sent by the thirty tyrants to apprehend Leon,72 because he esteemed it a base action, he
did not even deliberate about it; though he knew that,
perhaps, he might die for it. But what did that
signify to him? For it was something else that he
wanted to preserve, not his mere flesh; but his fidelity,
his honor, free from attack or subjection. And afterwards, when he was to make a defence for his life,
does he behave like one having children, or a wife?
No, but like a single man. And how does he behave,
when required to drink the poison? When he might
escape, and Crito would have him escape from prison
for the sake of his children, what says he? Does he
esteem it a fortunate opportunity? How should he?
But he considers what is becoming, and neither sees
nor regards anything else. " For I am not desirous,"
he says, " to preserve this pitiful body; but that part
which is improved and preserved by justice, and impaired and destroyed by injustice." Socrates is not to
be basely preserved. He who refused to vote for what
the Athenians commanded; he who contemned the
thirty tyrants; he who held such discourses on virtue
and moral beauty, - such a man is not to be preserved
by a base action, but is preserved by dying, instead of
running away. For even a good actor is preserved as
such by leaving off when he ought; not by going on
to act beyond his time. " What then will become of
your children? " If I had gone away into Thessaly,
you would have taken care of them; and will there be
no one to take care of them when I am departed to
Hades? Plato, Crito, i. 5. You see how he ridicules and plays with
death. But if it had been you or I, we should presently have proved by philosophical arguments that
those who act unjustly are to be repaid in their own
way; and should have added, "If I escape I shall
be of use to many; if I die, to none." Nay, if it
had been necessary, we should have crept through a
mouse-hole to get away. But how should we have
been of use to any? Where must they have dwelt?
If we were useful alive, should we not be of still more
use to mankind by dying when we ought and as we
ought? And now the remembrance of the death of
Socrates is not less, but even more useful to the world
than that of the things which he did and said when
alive.
Study these points, these principles, these discourses; contemplate these examples if you would
be free, if you desire the thing in proportion to its
value. And where is the wonder that you should
purchase so good a thing at the price of other things,
be they never so many and so great? Some hang
themselves, others break their necks, and sometimes
even whole cities have been destroyed for that which
is reputed freedom; and will not you for the sake of
the true and secure and inviolable freedom, repay
God what he hath given when he demands it? Will
you not study not only, as Plato says, how to die, but
how to be tortured and banished and scourged; and,
in short, how to give up all that belongs to others?
If not, you will be a slave among slaves, though you
were ten thousand times a consul; and even though
you should rise to the palace, you will never be the
less so. And you will feel that, though philosophers
(as Cleanthes says) do, perhaps, talk contrary to
common opinion, yet it is not contrary to reason.
For you will find it true, in fact, that the things that
are eagerly followed and admired are of no use to
those who have gained them; while they who have not
yet gained them imagine that, if they are acquired,
every good will come along with them; and then,
when they are acquired, there is the same feverishness, the same agitation, the same nausea, and the
same desire for what is absent. For freedom is not
procured by a full enjoyment of what is desired, but
by controlling the desire. And in order to know that
this is true, take the same pains about these which
you have taken about other things. Hold vigils to
acquire a set of principles that will make you free.
Instead of a rich old man, pay your court to a philosopher. Be seen about his doors. You will not get any
disgrace by being seen there. You will not return
empty or unprofited if you go as you ought. However, try at least. The trial is not dishonorable.