Oh the blessings of privacy and leisure! The wish of the powerful and eminent, but the privilege only of inferiors; who are the only people that live to themselves: nay, the very thought and hope of it is a consolation, even in the middle of all the tumults and hazards that attend greatness. It was Augustus’ prayer, that he might live to retire and deliver himself from public business: his discourses were still pointing that way, and the highest felicity which this mighty prince had in prospect, was the divesting himself of that illustrious state, which, how glorious soever in show, had at the bottom of it only anxiety and care. But it is one thing to retire for pleasure, and another thing for virtue, which must be active even in that retreat, and give proof of what it has learned: for a good and a wise man does in privacy consult the well-being of posterity. Zeno and Chrysippus did greater things in their studies than if they had led armies, borne offices, or given laws; which in truth they did, not to one city alone, but to all mankind: their quiet contributed more to the common benefit than the sweat and labor of other people. That retreat is not worth the while which does not afford a man greater and nobler work than business. There is no slavish attendance upon great officers, no canvassing for places, no making of parties, no disappointments in my pretension to this charge, to that regiment, or to such or such a title, no envy of any man’s favor or fortune; but a calm enjoyment of the general bounties of Providence in company with a good conscience. A wise man is never so busy as in the solitary contemplation of God and the works of Nature. He withdraws himself to attend the service of future ages: and those counsels which he finds salutary to himself, he commits to writing for the good of after-times, as we do the receipts of sovereign antidotes or balsams. He that is well employed in his study, though he may seem to do nothing at all, does the greatest things yet of all others, in affairs both human and divine. To supply a friend with a sum of money, or give my voice for an office, these are only private and particular obligations: but he that lays down precepts for the governing of our lives and the moderating of our passions, obliges human nature not only in the present, but in all succeeding generations.
Oh, the blessings of privacy and leisure! The powerful and famous wish for it, but only ordinary people actually get to enjoy it. They're the only ones who truly live for themselves. Even just thinking about this possibility brings comfort in the middle of all the chaos and dangers that come with greatness. Augustus prayed that he might live to retire and free himself from public duties. His conversations always turned to this topic. The highest happiness this mighty prince could imagine was giving up his illustrious position. No matter how glorious it looked on the surface, it was really just anxiety and worry underneath. But retiring for pleasure is different from retiring for virtue. Virtue must stay active even in retreat and prove what it has learned. A good and wise person uses privacy to think about the well-being of future generations. Zeno and Chrysippus accomplished greater things in their studies than if they had led armies, held offices, or made laws. In truth, they did make laws - not just for one city, but for all humanity. Their quiet work contributed more to the common good than other people's sweat and labor. A retreat isn't worthwhile unless it gives someone greater and nobler work than regular business. There's no slavish attendance on great officers, no campaigning for positions, no forming political parties, no disappointments about not getting this job or that regiment or such-and-such a title. There's no envy of anyone's favor or fortune. Instead, there's calm enjoyment of Providence's general gifts, along with a good conscience. A wise person is never busier than when alone, contemplating God and the works of nature. He withdraws to serve future ages. The insights he finds helpful for himself, he writes down for the good of later times, like recording recipes for powerful medicines or healing balms. Someone well-employed in study may seem to do nothing at all, but actually does the greatest things of all in both human and divine affairs. Lending money to a friend or voting for someone's appointment - these are only private, individual favors. But someone who writes down rules for governing our lives and controlling our passions helps not just people today, but all future generations.
He that would be at quiet, let him repair to his philosophy, a study that has credit with all sorts of men. The eloquence of the bar, or whatsoever else addresses to the people, is never without enemies; but philosophy minds its own business, and even the worst have an esteem for it. There can never be such a conspiracy against virtue, the world can never be so wicked, but the very name of a philosopher shall still continue venerable and sacred. And yet philosophy itself must be handled modestly and with caution. But what shall we say of Cato then, for his meddling in the broil of a civil war, and interposing himself in the quarrel betwixt two enraged princes? He that, when Rome was split into two factions betwixt Pompey and Cæsar, declared himself against both. I speak this of Cato’s last part; for in his former time the commonwealth was made unfit for a wise man’s administration. All he could do then was but bawling and beating of the air: one while he was lugged and tumbled by the rabble, spit upon and dragged out of the forum, and then again hurried out of the senate-house to prison. There are some things which we propound originally, and others which fall in as accessory to another proposition. If a wise man retire, it is no matter whether he does it because the commonwealth was wanting to him, or because he was wanting to it. But to what republic shall a man betake himself? Not to Athens, where Socrates was condemned, and whence Aristotle fled, for fear he should have been condemned too, and where virtue was oppressed by envy: not to Carthage, where there was nothing but tyranny, injustice, cruelty, and ingratitude. There is scarce any government to be found that will either endure a wise man, or which a wise man will endure; so that privacy is made necessary, because the only thing which is better is nowhere to be had. A man may commend navigation, and yet caution us against those seas that are troublesome and dangerous: so that he does as good as command me not to weigh anchor that commends sailing only upon these terms. He that is a slave to business is the most wretched of slaves.
Anyone who wants peace should turn to philosophy, a field that earns respect from all kinds of people. Public speaking and other activities that appeal to crowds always make enemies. But philosophy keeps to itself, and even the worst people respect it. There could never be such a plot against virtue, the world could never become so corrupt, that the very name of philosopher wouldn't remain honored and sacred. Still, philosophy itself must be approached humbly and carefully. But what should we say about Cato then, for getting involved in the chaos of civil war and inserting himself into the fight between two angry rulers? When Rome was split between two factions supporting Pompey and Caesar, he declared himself against both. I'm talking about Cato's final years. In his earlier time, the republic had become unfit for a wise man to govern. All he could do then was shout and waste his breath. Sometimes the mob grabbed and roughed him up, spat on him and dragged him from the forum, then hauled him from the senate house to prison. Some things we propose from the start, and others come up as side effects of another idea. If a wise man withdraws, it doesn't matter whether he does it because the state failed him or because he failed the state. But what republic should a man choose? Not Athens, where Socrates was executed and Aristotle fled for fear he'd be condemned too, where virtue was crushed by jealousy. Not Carthage, where there was nothing but tyranny, injustice, cruelty, and ingratitude. You can hardly find any government that will tolerate a wise man, or that a wise man will tolerate. So privacy becomes necessary, because the only better option doesn't exist anywhere. A person might praise sailing while warning us against rough and dangerous seas. In doing so, he's basically telling me not to set sail if those are the only conditions for sailing. The person who is enslaved by work is the most miserable of all slaves.
“But how shall I get myself at liberty? We can run any hazards for money: take any pains for honor; and why do we not venture also something for leisure and freedom? without which we must expect to live and die in a tumult: for so long as we live in public, business breaks in upon us, as one billow drives on another; and there is no avoiding it with either modesty or quiet.” It is a kind of whirlpool, that sucks a man in, and he can never disengage himself. A man of business cannot in truth be said to live, and not one of a thousand understands how to do it: for how to live, and how to die, is the lesson of every moment of our lives: all other arts have their masters.
"But how can I free myself? We'll take any risk for money and endure any hardship for honor. So why don't we also risk something for leisure and freedom? Without these, we're doomed to live and die in chaos. As long as we live in public, business crashes over us like one wave after another. There's no escaping it, no matter how modest or quiet we try to be." It's like a whirlpool that sucks a man in, and he can never break free. A businessman can't truly be said to live, and not one in a thousand knows how to do it properly. Learning how to live and how to die is the lesson of every moment of our lives. All other skills have their teachers.
As a busy life is always a miserable life, so it is the greatest of all miseries to be perpetually employed upon other people’s business; for to sleep, to eat, to drink, at their hour; to walk their pace, and to love and hate as they do, is the vilest of servitudes. Now, though business must be quitted, let it not be done unseasonably; the longer we defer it, the more we endanger our liberty; and yet we must no more fly before the time than linger when the time comes: or, however, we must not love business for business’ sake, nor indeed do we, but for the profit that goes along with it: for we love the reward of misery, though we hate the misery itself. Many people, I know, seek business without choosing it, and they are even weary of their lives without it for want of entertainment in their own thoughts; the hours are long and hateful to them when they are alone, and they seem as short on the other side in their debauches. When they are no longer candidates, they are suffragans; when they give over other people’s business, they do their own; and pretend business, but they make it, and value themselves upon being thought men of employment.
A busy life is always a miserable life. The greatest misery of all is being constantly employed on other people's business. To sleep, eat, and drink at their chosen hour, to walk at their pace, and to love and hate as they do—this is the worst kind of slavery. Business must eventually be abandoned, but not at the wrong time. The longer we put it off, the more we risk our freedom. Yet we must not flee before the right moment arrives, nor linger when it comes. Most importantly, we must not love business for its own sake. We don't actually love it, but rather the profit that comes with it. We love the reward of misery, even though we hate the misery itself. Many people seek business without choosing it carefully. They grow weary of their lives without it because they lack entertainment in their own thoughts. Hours feel long and hateful when they are alone. Those same hours seem short when they indulge in pleasures. When they are no longer candidates for office, they become supporters of others. When they stop handling other people's business, they focus on their own. They pretend to have business, but they actually create it. They take pride in being seen as busy, important people.
Liberty is the thing which they are perpetually a-wishing, and never come to obtain: a thing never to be bought nor sold, but a man must ask it of himself, and give it to himself. He that has given proof of his virtue in public, should do well to make a trial of it in private also. It is not that solitude, or a country life, teaches innocence or frugality; but vice falls of itself, without witnesses and spectators, for the thing it designs is to be taken notice of. Did ever any man put on rich clothes not to be seen? or spread the pomp of his luxury where nobody was to take notice of it? If it were not for admirers and spectators there would be no temptations to excess: the very keeping of us from exposing them cures us of desiring them, for vanity and intemperance are fed with ostentation.
Liberty is something people constantly wish for but never actually achieve. It can't be bought or sold. A person must ask it of themselves and give it to themselves. Someone who has proven their virtue in public should also test it in private. It's not that solitude or country life teaches innocence or thrift. Vice simply falls away on its own without witnesses and spectators, because vice exists to be noticed. Has anyone ever put on expensive clothes just to avoid being seen? Or displayed their luxury where no one would notice it? Without admirers and spectators, there would be no temptations to excess. Simply keeping us from showing off cures us of wanting these things, because vanity and overindulgence feed on being seen.
He that has lived at sea in a storm, let him retire and die in the haven; but let his retreat be without ostentation, and wherein he may enjoy himself with a good conscience, without the want, the fear, the hatred, or the desire, of anything, not out of malevolent detestation of mankind, but for satisfaction and repose. He that shuns both business and men, either out of envy, or any other discontent, his retreat is but to the life of a mole: nor does he live to himself, as a wise man does, but to his bed, his belly, and his lusts. Many people seem to retire out of a weariness of public affairs, and the trouble of disappointments; and yet ambition finds them out even in that recess into which fear and weariness had cast them; and so does luxury, pride, and most of the distempers of a public life.
Someone who has weathered a storm at sea should retire to safe harbor and find peace there. But let his retreat be humble, where he can live with a clear conscience. He should be free from want, fear, hatred, or desire for anything. This withdrawal shouldn't come from bitter hatred of humanity, but from a search for satisfaction and rest. Anyone who avoids both work and people out of envy or other discontent lives like a mole. He doesn't truly live for himself, as a wise person does, but only for his bed, his appetite, and his desires. Many people seem to retire because they're tired of public life and frustrated by disappointments. Yet ambition still finds them even in the retreat where fear and weariness drove them. So do luxury, pride, and most of the other problems that plague public life.
There are many that lie close, not that they may live securely, but that they may transgress more privately: it is their conscience, not their states, that makes them keep a porter; for they live at such a rate, that to be seen before they be aware is to be detected. Crates saw a young man walking by himself; “Have a care,” says he “of lewd company.” Some men are busy in idleness, and make peace more laborious and troublesome than war; nay, and more wicked too, when they bestow it upon such lusts, and other vices, which even the license of a military life would not endure. We cannot call these people men of leisure that are wholly taken up with their pleasures. A troublesome life is much to be preferred before a slothful one; and it is a strange thing, methinks, that any man should fear death that has buried himself alive; as privacy without letters is but the burying of a man quick.
Many people hide away, not to live safely, but to sin more privately. It's their guilty conscience, not their wealth, that makes them keep a doorkeeper. They live in such a way that to be seen unexpectedly means being caught in wrongdoing. Crates saw a young man walking alone. "Be careful," he said, "of bad company." Some people are busy doing nothing. They make peace more difficult and troublesome than war. They make it more wicked too, when they spend their time on such desires and other vices that even the freedom of military life wouldn't tolerate. We can't call these people leisurely when they're completely consumed by their pleasures. A troubled life is much better than a lazy one. I think it's strange that anyone should fear death when they've already buried themselves alive. Privacy without learning is just burying a person while they're still breathing.
There are some that make a boast of their retreat, which is but a kind of lazy ambition; they retire to make people talk of them, whereas I would rather withdraw to speak to myself. And what shall that be, but that which we are apt to speak of one another? I will speak ill of myself: I will examine, accuse, and punish my infirmities. I have no design to be cried up for a great man, that has renounced the world in a contempt of the vanity and madness of human life; I blame nobody but myself, and I address only to myself. He that comes to me for help is mistaken, for I am not a physician, but a patient: and I shall be well enough content to have it said, when any man leaves me, “I took him for a happy and a learned man, and truly I find no such matter.” I had rather have my retreat pardoned than envied.
Some people boast about withdrawing from society, but that's just lazy ambition. They retreat to make people talk about them. I would rather withdraw to speak to myself. And what will I say? The same things we usually say about each other. I will speak ill of myself. I will examine, accuse, and punish my own faults. I don't want to be praised as a great man who has rejected the world because he despises the vanity and madness of human life. I blame nobody but myself, and I speak only to myself. Anyone who comes to me for help is mistaken. I'm not a physician, but a patient. I'll be content enough if people say when they leave me, "I thought he was a happy and learned man, but I don't see any evidence of that." I'd rather have my retreat pardoned than envied.
There are some creatures that confound their footing about their dens, that they may not be found out, and so should a wise man in the case of his retirement. When the door is open, the thief passes it by as not worth his while; but when it is bolted and sealed, it is a temptation for people to be prying. To have it said “that such a one is never out of his study, and sees nobody,” etc.; this furnishes matter for discourse. He that makes his retirement too strict and severe, does as good as call company to take notice of it.
Some animals deliberately mess up the tracks around their dens so they won't be discovered. A wise person should do the same thing when it comes to their private retreat. When a door is left open, a thief walks right past it because it doesn't seem worth the trouble. But when it's locked and sealed tight, it tempts people to start prying. Having people say "that person never leaves their study and never sees anyone" gives them something to talk about. Someone who makes their retreat too strict and obvious might as well invite others to pay attention to it.
Every man knows his own constitution; one eases his stomach by vomit—another supports it with good nourishment; he that has the gout forbears wine and bathing, and every man applies to the part that is most infirm. He that shows a gouty foot, a lame hand, or contracted nerves, shall be permitted to lie still and attend his cure; and why not so in the vices of his mind! We must discharge all impediments and make way for philosophy, as a study inconsistent with common business. To all other things we must deny ourselves openly and frankly, when we are sick refuse visits, keep ourselves close, and lay aside all public cares, and shall we not do as much when we philosophize? Business is the drudgery of the world, and only fit for slaves, but contemplation is the work of wise men. Not but that solitude and company may be allowed to take their turns: the one creates in us the love of mankind, the other that of ourselves; solitude relieves us when we are sick of company, and conversation when we are weary of being alone; so that the one cures the other. “There is no man,” in fine, “so miserable as he that is at a loss how to spend his time.” He is restless in his thoughts, unsteady in his counsels, dissatisfied with the present, solicitous for the future; whereas he that prudently computes his hours and his business, does not only fortify himself against the common accidents of life, but improves the most rigorous dispensations of Providence to his comfort, and stands firm under all the trials of human weakness.
Everyone knows their own body. One person settles their stomach by vomiting, another strengthens it with good food. Someone with gout avoids wine and bathing. Each person treats their weakest part. If you show a gouty foot, a lame hand, or damaged nerves, people will let you rest and focus on healing. Why shouldn't we do the same for mental problems? We must clear away all obstacles and make room for philosophy, since it conflicts with everyday business. We must openly deny ourselves other things. When we're sick, we refuse visitors, stay home, and set aside public duties. Shouldn't we do the same when we study philosophy? Business is the world's drudgery, fit only for slaves. But contemplation is the work of wise people. This doesn't mean we can't balance solitude and company. One creates love for humanity, the other love for ourselves. Solitude helps when we're tired of people, and conversation helps when we're tired of being alone. Each one cures the other. "No one is more miserable than someone who doesn't know how to spend their time." Such a person is restless in thought, unsteady in decisions, unhappy with the present, and worried about the future. But someone who carefully plans their hours and work not only protects themselves against life's common problems, but turns even harsh circumstances to their advantage. They stand firm through all human trials.