Book 3, Chapter 13
Solitude and the Solitary Person
Solitude is a certain condition of a helpless man. For because a man is alone, he is not for that reason also solitary; just as though a man is among numbers, he is not therefore not solitary. When then we have lost either a brother, or a son or a friend on whom we were accustomed to repose, we say that we are left solitary, though we are often in Rome, though such a crowd meet us, though so many live in the same place, and sometimes we have a great number of slaves. For the man who is solitary, as it is conceived, is considered to be a helpless person and exposed to those who wish to harm him. For this reason when we travel, then especially do we say that we are lonely when we fall among robbers, for it is not the sight of a human creature which removes us from solitude, but the sight of one who is faithful and modest and helpful For if being alone is enough to make solitude, you may say that even Zeus is solitary in the conflagration and bewails himself saying, Unhappy that I am who have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor Apollo, nor brother, nor son, nor descendant nor kinsman. This is what some say that he does when he is alone at the conflagration. For they do not understand how a man passes his life when he is alone, because they set out from a certain natural principle, from the natural desire of community and mutual love and from the pleasure of conversation among men. But none the less a man ought to be prepared in a manner for this also (being alone), to be able to be sufficient for himself and to be his own companion. For as Zeus dwells with himself, and is tranquil by himself, and thinks of his own administration and of its nature, and is employed in thoughts suitable to himself; so ought we also to be able to talk with ourselves, not to feel the want of others also, not to be unprovided with the means of passing our time; to observe the divine administration, and the relation of ourselves to every thing else; to consider how we formerly were affected towards things that happen and how at present; what are still the things which give us pain; how these also can be cured and how removed; if any things require improvement, to improve them according to reason.
Solitude is a condition of helplessness. A person is not necessarily lonely just because he is alone. Nor is he necessarily free from loneliness just because he is among many people. When we lose a brother, a son, or a friend we relied on, we say we are left alone. We say this even in Rome, where crowds meet us and so many people live. Sometimes we even have a great number of slaves. For we think of a solitary person as helpless and exposed to those who wish to harm him. That is why, when we travel, we feel especially lonely if we fall among robbers. It is not the sight of a human being that ends our solitude. It is the sight of someone faithful, decent, and helpful. If being alone were enough to make someone solitary, you could say that even Zeus is solitary during the conflagration. You could say that he laments: How unhappy I am! I have no Hera, no Athena, no Apollo, no brother, son, descendant, or kinsman. Some say that Zeus does this when he is alone during the conflagration. They say this because they do not understand how a person can live when alone. They begin with a natural principle: our natural desire for community, mutual love, and the pleasure of conversation. But a person should also be prepared, in a way, to be alone. He should be able to rely on himself and be his own companion. Zeus lives with himself and is peaceful on his own. He thinks about his own governance and its nature, and occupies himself with thoughts suited to him. In the same way, we should be able to talk with ourselves without feeling the need for others. We should not lack the means to occupy our time. We should observe divine governance and our relationship to everything else. We should consider how events affected us in the past and how they affect us now. We should ask what still causes us pain and how that pain can be cured and removed. If anything needs improvement, we should improve it according to reason.
Heraclitus taught 'that all things were composed from (had their origin in) fire, and were resolved into it,' a view later adopted by the Stoics. Some people may find it extravagant to suppose that the earth had a beginning. But it is not so extravagant to suppose that the earth is continually changing, will eventually be destroyed somehow, and will begin again. See Seneca, Ep. 9 'cum resoluto mundo, diis in unum confusis, paulisper cessante natura, adquiescit sibi Jupiter, cogitationibus suis traditus.'
The Latin translation is: 'hoc etiam nonnulli facturum eum in conflagratione mundi . . . . aiunt.' But the word is ποιεῖ. This may mean that the conflagration has happened and will happen again. Greek philosophers did not concern themselves with time in their speculations. Even Herodotus (ii. 11) speculated that the Nile valley was once a gulf. He said that it could be filled up in 20,000 years or less. Only recently have modern speculators become bold enough to reject the limits on the age of the earth and other bodies in space that the ignorant have imagined.
For you see that Caesar appears to furnish us with great peace, that there are no longer enemies nor battles nor great associations of robbers nor of pirates, but we can travel at every hour and sail from east to west. But can Caesar give us security from fever also, can he from shipwreck, from fire, from earthquake or from lightning? well, I will say, can he give us security against love? He cannot. From sorrow? He cannot. From envy? He cannot. In a word then he cannot protect us from any of these things. But the doctrine of philosophers promises to give us security (peace) even against these things. And what does it say? Men, if you will attend to me, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you will not feel sorrow, nor anger, nor compulsion, nor hindrance, but you will pass your time without perturbations and free from every thing. When a man has this peace, not proclaimed by Caesar, (for how should he be able to proclaim it?), but by God through reason, is he not content when he is alone? when he sees and reflects, Now no evil can happen to me; for me there is no robber, no earthquake, every thing is full of peace, full of tranquillity: every way, every city, every meeting, neighbour, companion is harmless. One person whose business it is, supplies me with food; another with raiment; another with perceptions, and preconceptions (προλήψεις). And if he does not supply what is necessary, he (God) gives the signal for retreat, opens the door, and says to you, Go. Go whither? To nothing terrible, but to the place from which you came, to your friends and kinsmen, to the elements: what there was in you of fire goes [4] to fire; of earth, to earth; of air (spirit), to air; of water to water: no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Cocytus, nor Pyriphlegethon, but all is full of Gods and Daemons. When a man has such things to think on, and sees the sun, the moon and stars, and enjoys earth and sea, he is not solitary nor even helpless. Well then, if some man should come upon me when I am alone and murder me? Fool, not murder You, but your poor body.
You see that Caesar seems to give us great peace. There are no longer enemies, battles, or large bands of robbers or pirates. We can travel at any hour and sail from east to west. But can Caesar also protect us from fever, shipwreck, fire, earthquakes, or lightning? Let me ask, can he protect us from love? He cannot. From sorrow? He cannot. From envy? He cannot. In short, he cannot protect us from any of these things. But the teaching of philosophers promises to give us peace even against these things. What does it say? People, if you listen to me, you will feel no sorrow or anger, wherever you are and whatever you do. You will face no compulsion or hindrance. You will live undisturbed and free from everything. When a man has this peace, is he not content when he is alone? It is not peace proclaimed by Caesar. How could Caesar proclaim it? It is peace proclaimed by God through reason. The man sees and reflects: Now no evil can happen to me. For me there is no robber, no earthquake. Everything is full of peace and tranquility. Every road, every city, every meeting, neighbor, and companion is harmless. One person, whose job it is, supplies me with food. Another supplies me with clothing. Another supplies me with perceptions and preconceptions (προλήψεις). And if he does not supply what is necessary, God gives the signal to retreat. He opens the door and says to you, Go. Go where? Not to anything terrible, but to the place you came from, to your friends and family, the elements. The fire in you goes [4] to fire, the earth to earth, the air (spirit) to air, and the water to water. There is no Hades, Acheron, Cocytus, or Pyriphlegethon. Instead, everything is full of Gods and Daemons. When a man has such thoughts and sees the sun, moon, and stars, he is not lonely or even helpless. He also enjoys the earth and sea. But what if someone comes upon me when I am alone and murders me? Fool, he does not murder You, but your poor body.
See iii. 1, 43.
What kind of solitude then remains? what want? why do we make ourselves worse than children? and what do children do when they are left alone? They take up shells and ashes, and they build something, then pull it down, and build something else, and so they never want the means of passing the time. Shall I then, if you sail away, sit down and weep, because I have been left alone and solitary? Shall I then have no shells, no ashes? But children do what they do through want of thought (or deficiency in knowledge), and we through knowledge are unhappy.
What loneliness or need remains, then? Why do we make ourselves worse off than children? What do children do when they are left alone? They pick up shells and ashes and build something. Then they pull it down and build something else. So they never lack a way to pass the time. If you sail away, should I sit down and weep because I have been left all alone? Will I have no shells or ashes? But children do what they do because they do not think (or because they lack knowledge). We, on the other hand, are unhappy because of our knowledge.
Every great power (faculty) is dangerous to beginners. You must then bear such things as you are able, but conformably to nature: but not . . . . Practise, sometimes a way of living like a person out of health that you may at some time live like a man in health. Abstain from food, drink water, abstain sometimes altogether from desire, in order that you may some time desire consistently with reason; and if consistently with reason, when you have anything good in you, you will desire well.—Not so; but we wish to live like wise men immediately and to be useful to men—Useful how? what are you doing? have you been useful to yourself? But, I suppose, you wish to exhort them? You exhort them! You wish to be useful to them. Show to them in your own example what kind of men philosophy makes, and don't trifle. When you are eating, do good to those who eat with you; when you are drinking, to those who are drinking with you; by yielding to all, giving way, bearing with them, thus do them good, and do not spit on them your phlegm (bad humours).
Every great ability is dangerous to beginners. So you must bear what you can, but in accordance with nature. But not . . . . Sometimes practice living like a sick person, so that one day you may live like a healthy person. Go without food, drink water, and sometimes give up desire altogether. Do this so that one day you may desire in accordance with reason. And if you desire in accordance with reason, then, when you have something good in you, you will desire well. But no, we want to live like wise people immediately and be useful to others. Useful how? What are you doing? Have you been useful to yourself? But I suppose you want to advise them? You advise them! You want to be useful to them. Show them by your own example what kind of people philosophy makes, and stop fooling around. When you eat, do good to those who eat with you. When you drink, do good to those who drink with you. Do them good by yielding to everyone, giving way, and bearing with them. Do not spit your phlegm, your bad moods, on them.
The text has ἀρχομένων, but it probably should be ἀρχομένῳ. Compare i. 1, 8, πᾶσα δύναμις ἐπισφαλής. The text from φέρειν οὖν δεῖ to τῷ φθισικῷ is unintelligible. Lord Shaftesbury says the passage is not corrupt and offers an explanation. But Schweig. says the learned Englishman's explanation does not make the text clearer to him. It does not to me either. Schweig. observes that the passage beginning πᾶσα μεγάλη and what follows seem to belong to the next chapter xiv.
See Schweig.'s note and the Latin version.