IT HAD been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth and untruth together in few words, than in that speech, Whatsoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or a god. For it is most true, that a natural and secret hatred, and aversation towards society, in any man, hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it is most untrue, that it should have any character at all, of the divine nature; except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a man's self, for a higher conversation: such as is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen; as Epimenides the Candian, Numa the Roman, Empedocles the Sicilian, and Apollonius of Tyana; and truly and really, in divers of the ancient hermits and holy fathers of the church. But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with it a little: Magna civitas, magna solitudo; because in a great town friends are scattered; so that there is not that fellowship, for the most part, which is in less neighborhoods. But we may go further, and affirm most truly, that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want true friends; without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in this sense also of solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and affections, is unfit for friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity.
It would have been hard to combine more truth and falsehood in so few words than in this saying: “Whoever delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.” It is certainly true that a natural, deep-seated hatred and dislike of society has something of the savage beast. But it is entirely false that this has anything divine about it. The exception is withdrawal driven not by pleasure in solitude, but by a desire for communion with something higher. Some pagans falsely claimed such communion, including Epimenides of Crete, Numa of Rome, Empedocles of Sicily, and Apollonius of Tyana. It was genuinely found in various early hermits and holy fathers of the church. But people scarcely understand what solitude is, or how far it reaches. A crowd is not company. Faces are merely a gallery of pictures, and talk merely a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin saying touches on this: “A great city is a great solitude.” In a great city, friends are scattered. For the most part, it therefore lacks the fellowship found in smaller neighborhoods. But we can go further and say with complete truth that lacking true friends is utter and miserable solitude. Without them, the world is nothing but a wilderness. Even in this sense of solitude, anyone whose nature and feelings make them unfit for friendship resembles a beast, not a human.
A principal fruit of friendship, is the ease and discharge of the fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings, and suffocations, are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind; you may take sarza to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flowers of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum for the brain; but no receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend; to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession.
One of friendship’s chief benefits is the relief it brings to a heart swollen and burdened by emotions of all kinds. We know that blockages and suffocation cause the most dangerous illnesses in the body. The mind is not much different. You may take sarsaparilla to clear the liver, iron to clear the spleen, powdered sulfur for the lungs, and castoreum for the brain. But no remedy opens the heart except a true friend. You can share your griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, plans, and whatever else weighs upon your heart with that friend. It is a kind of confession outside religion.
It is a strange thing to observe, how high a rate great kings and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship, whereof we speak: so great, as they purchase it, many times, at the hazard of their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard of the distance of their fortune from that of their subjects and servants, cannot gather this fruit, except (to make themselves capable thereof) they raise some persons to be, as it were, companions and almost equals to themselves, which many times sorteth to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such persons the name of favorites, or privadoes; as if it were matter of grace, or conversation. But the Roman name attaineth the true use and cause thereof, naming them participes curarum; for it is that which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that this hath been done, not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest and most politic that ever reigned; who have oftentimes joined to themselves some of their servants; whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed other likewise to call them in the same manner; using the word which is received between private men.
It is remarkable how highly great kings and monarchs value this benefit of friendship we have been discussing. They value it so highly that they often risk their own safety and power to obtain it. A prince’s position is so far above that of his subjects and servants that he cannot otherwise enjoy this benefit. To do so, he must raise certain people to become his companions and almost his equals. This often leads to trouble. Modern languages call such people favorites or privadoes, suggesting that the relationship rests on royal favor or companionship. But the Roman name captures its true purpose and basis, calling them participes curarum, or “sharers in cares.” For sharing cares is what binds them together. We can plainly see that not only weak and emotional princes have done this. So have some of the wisest and most politically skilled rulers who ever reigned. They have often drawn some of their servants close to themselves and called them friends. They have also allowed others to call these servants their friends, using the same word that ordinary people use.
L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after surnamed the Great) to that height, that Pompey vaunted himself for Sylla's overmatch. For when he had carried the consulship for a friend of his, against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a little resent thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned upon him again, and in effect bade him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun rising, than the sun setting. With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest as he set him down in his testament, for heir in remainder, after his nephew. And this was the man that had power with him, to draw him forth to his death. For when Caesar would have discharged the senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a dream of Calpurnia; this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate, till his wife had dreamt a better dream. And it seemeth his favor was so great, as Antonius, in a letter which is recited verbatim in one of Cicero's Philippics, calleth him venefica, witch; as if he had enchanted Caesar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth) to that height, as when he consulted with Maecenas, about the marriage of his daughter Julia, Maecenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must either marry his daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life; there was no third way, he had made him so great. With Tiberius Caesar, Sejanus had ascended to that height, as they two were termed, and reckoned, as a pair of friends. Tiberius in a letter to him saith, Haec pro amicitia nostra non occultavi; and the whole senate dedicated an altar to Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great dearness of friendship, between them two. The like, or more, was between Septimius Severus and Plautianus. For he forced his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus; and would often maintain Plautianus, in doing affronts to his son; and did write also in a letter to the senate, by these words: I love the man so well, as I wish he may over-live me. Now if these princes had been as a Trajan, or a Marcus Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded of an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so wise, of such strength and severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves, as all these were, it proveth most plainly that they found their own felicity (though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as an half piece, except they mought have a friend, to make it entire; and yet, which is more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet all these could not supply the comfort of friendship.
When Lucius Sulla ruled Rome, he raised Pompey, later called the Great, to extraordinary power. Pompey even boasted that he was more than Sulla’s equal. He secured the consulship for a friend, against Sulla’s wishes. Sulla showed some resentment and began speaking arrogantly. Pompey answered him sharply, telling him, in effect, to be quiet. More people worshipped the rising sun, he said, than the setting sun. Decimus Brutus gained such influence with Julius Caesar that Caesar named him next in line to inherit after his nephew. Yet this was the man whose influence drew Caesar out to his death. Caesar wanted to dismiss the senate because of several bad omens, especially a dream his wife Calpurnia had had. Brutus gently lifted him from his chair by the arm. He said he hoped Caesar would not dismiss the senate until his wife had dreamed a better dream. His influence seems to have been so great that Antony called him a witch, as though he had enchanted Caesar. Antony used the word “venefica” in a letter quoted word for word in one of Cicero’s Philippics. Augustus raised Agrippa to great power, though he came from a humble background. When Augustus consulted Maecenas about his daughter Julia’s marriage, Maecenas felt free to give him a blunt answer. He must either marry his daughter to Agrippa or have Agrippa killed. There was no third option, since he had made Agrippa so powerful. Sejanus rose so high in Tiberius Caesar’s favor that the two were spoken of and regarded as a pair of friends. Tiberius wrote to him, “Because of our friendship, I have not kept these things from you.” The whole senate dedicated an altar to Friendship as a goddess, honoring the close friendship between them. The bond between Septimius Severus and Plautianus was just as strong, or stronger. Severus forced his eldest son to marry Plautianus’s daughter. He often supported Plautianus when he insulted his son. He also wrote to the senate, “I love the man so much that I wish he might outlive me.” Had these rulers been like Trajan or Marcus Aurelius, one might have attributed this to their great natural goodness. But all these men were wise, strong-minded, stern, and intensely devoted to their own interests. Their conduct therefore proves something very clearly. They found their happiness only half complete without a friend to make it whole. This was true even though their happiness was as great as any mortal had ever known. What is more, these rulers had wives, sons, and nephews. Yet none of these could provide the comfort of friendship.
It is not to be forgotten, what Comineus observeth of his first master, Duke Charles the Hardy, namely, that he would communicate his secrets with none; and least of all, those secrets which troubled him most. Whereupon he goeth on, and saith that towards his latter time, that closeness did impair, and a little perish his understanding. Surely Comineus mought have made the same judgment also, if it had pleased him, of his second master, Lewis the Eleventh, whose closeness was indeed his tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true; Cor ne edito; Eat not the heart. Certainly, if a man would give it a hard phrase, those that want friends, to open themselves unto, are cannibals of their own hearts. But one thing is most admirable (wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), which is, that this communicating of a man's self to his friend, works two contrary effects; for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves. For there is no man, that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less. So that it is in truth, of operation upon a man's mind, of like virtue as the alchemists use to attribute to their stone, for man's body; that it worketh all contrary effects, but still to the good and benefit of nature. But yet without praying in aid of alchemists, there is a manifest image of this, in the ordinary course of nature. For in bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural action; and on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent impression: and even so it is of minds.
We should remember what Comineus observed about his first master, Duke Charles the Bold. He shared his secrets with no one, especially those that troubled him most. Comineus goes on to say that, toward the end, this secrecy weakened and partly damaged his understanding. Surely Comineus could have made the same judgment about his second master, Louis XI, had he chosen to. Louis’s secrecy was indeed his tormentor. Pythagoras’s saying is obscure but true: Cor ne edito, “Do not eat your heart.” Certainly, to put it harshly, people without friends to confide in are cannibals of their own hearts. But one thing is especially remarkable, and with it I will conclude this first benefit of friendship. Confiding in a friend produces two opposite effects. It doubles our joys and cuts our griefs in half. Everyone who shares joy with a friend feels greater joy. Everyone who shares grief with a friend feels less grief. Its effect on the mind truly resembles the power alchemists attribute to their philosopher’s stone over the body. They claim it produces all kinds of opposite effects, yet always benefits nature. But we need not call on alchemists for support. The ordinary course of nature offers a clear illustration. In physical bodies, joining together strengthens and supports any natural action. At the same time, it weakens and softens any violent impact. The same is true of minds.
The second fruit of friendship, is healthful and sovereign for the understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friendship maketh indeed a fair day in the affections, from storm and tempests; but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness, and confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be understood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but before you come to that, certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break up, in the communicating and discoursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly, he seeth how they look when they are turned into words: finally, he waxeth wiser than himself; and that more by an hour's discourse, than by a day's meditation. It was well said by Themistocles, to the king of Persia, That speech was like cloth of Arras, opened and put abroad; whereby the imagery doth appear in figure; whereas in thoughts they lie but as in packs. Neither is this second fruit of friendship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to such friends as are able to give a man counsel; (they indeed are best;) but even without that, a man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were better relate himself to a statua, or picture, than to suffer his thoughts to pass in smother.
The second benefit of friendship is as healing and powerful for the understanding as the first is for the emotions. Friendship turns emotional storms into fair weather. But it also brings daylight to the understanding, clearing away darkness and confused thoughts. This does not mean only the honest advice a person receives from a friend. Even before advice comes into it, talking with someone else certainly clears a mind crowded with thoughts. A person handles those thoughts more easily and arranges them more clearly. He sees how they look when put into words. In short, he becomes wiser than he was before, more through an hour’s conversation than through a day’s reflection. Themistocles put it well when he told the king of Persia that speech was like an unfolded tapestry. Once spread out, its images become visible. In thought, those images remain bundled up. This second benefit of friendship, making the understanding clearer, is not limited to friends who can offer advice. Such friends are certainly the best. But even without advice, a person learns from himself and brings his own thoughts to light. He sharpens his mind against another’s, as against a stone that cannot itself cut. In short, a person would do better to speak to a statue or picture than let his thoughts remain stifled.
Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete, that other point, which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar observation; which is faithful counsel from a friend. Heraclitus saith well in one of his enigmas, Dry light is ever the best. And certain it is, that the light that a man receiveth by counsel from another, is drier and purer, than that which cometh from his own understanding and judgment; which is ever infused, and drenched, in his affections and customs. So as there is as much difference between the counsel, that a friend giveth, and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend, and of a flatterer. For there is no such flatterer as is a man's self; and there is no such remedy against flattery of a man's self, as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts: the one concerning manners, the other concerning business. For the first, the best preservative to keep the mind in health, is the faithful admonition of a friend. The calling of a man's self to a strict account, is a medicine, sometime too piercing and corrosive. Reading good books of morality, is a little flat and dead. Observing our faults in others, is sometimes improper for our case. But the best receipt (best, I say, to work, and best to take) is the admonition of a friend. It is a strange thing to behold, what gross errors and extreme absurdities many (especially of the greater sort) do commit, for want of a friend to tell them of them; to the great damage both of their fame and fortune: for, as St. James saith, they are as men that look sometimes into a glass, and presently forget their own shape and favor. As for business, a man may think, if he win, that two eyes see no more than one; or that a gamester seeth always more than a looker-on; or that a man in anger, is as wise as he that hath said over the four and twenty letters; or that a musket may be shot off as well upon the arm, as upon a rest; and such other fond and high imaginations, to think himself all in all. But when all is done, the help of good counsel, is that which setteth business straight. And if any man think that he will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces; asking counsel in one business, of one man, and in another business, of another man; it is well (that is to say, better, perhaps, than if he asked none at all); but he runneth two dangers: one, that he shall not be faithfully counselled; for it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend, to have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and crooked to some ends, which he hath, that giveth it. The other, that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and unsafe (though with good meaning), and mixed partly of mischief and partly of remedy; even as if you would call a physician, that is thought good for the cure of the disease you complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and therefore may put you in way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in some other kind; and so cure the disease, and kill the patient. But a friend that is wholly acquainted with a man's estate, will beware, by furthering any present business, how he dasheth upon other inconvenience. And therefore rest not upon scattered counsels; they will rather distract and mislead, than settle and direct.
To complete this second benefit of friendship, add another point, one more obvious and familiar to everyone: a friend’s honest advice. Heraclitus puts it well in one of his riddles: “Dry light is always best.” Certainly, the insight we gain from another’s advice is drier and purer than what comes from our own judgment. Our own understanding is always soaked in our feelings and habits. A friend’s advice differs from our own as much as a friend’s advice differs from a flatterer’s. For no one flatters us as much as we flatter ourselves. And nothing counters self-flattery as well as a friend’s freedom to speak honestly. Advice comes in two kinds: advice about conduct and advice about practical affairs. For the first, a friend’s honest correction is the best protection for a healthy mind. Strict self-examination is a medicine that sometimes cuts too deeply and burns too fiercely. Reading good books about morality is rather dull and lifeless. Seeing our faults in others sometimes fails to fit our own situation. But a friend’s correction is the best prescription, both in its effectiveness and in its ease of taking. It is strange to see the serious errors and extreme foolishness many people, especially the powerful, fall into. They lack a friend to point these things out, greatly damaging both their reputation and their fortunes. As St. James says, they resemble people who look in a mirror and immediately forget their own appearance. In practical affairs, someone may choose to believe that two eyes see no more than one. Or that a player always sees more than a spectator. Or that an angry person is as wise as someone who has paused to recite the alphabet. Or that a musket fires as accurately from the arm as from a steady rest. Such foolish, arrogant notions lead people to believe they are sufficient for everything. But in the end, good advice is what puts affairs on the right course. Someone may decide to seek advice only in separate pieces, consulting one person about one matter and another about another. That is well enough, perhaps better than asking for no advice at all. But it carries two dangers. First, the advice may not be honest. Except from a completely devoted friend, advice rarely comes without being bent toward some purpose of the person giving it. Second, the advice may be harmful and unsafe, even when well meant, mixing harm with help. It is like consulting a doctor known for treating your illness but unfamiliar with your body. The doctor may offer an immediate cure while damaging your health in another way, curing the disease but killing the patient. But a friend who knows your whole situation will take care not to advance one matter by creating another difficulty. So do not rely on scattered advice. It is more likely to confuse and mislead you than to give you stability and direction.
After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affections, and support of the judgment), followeth the last fruit; which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels; I mean aid, and bearing a part, in all actions and occasions. Here the best way to represent to life the manifold use of friendship, is to cast and see how many things there are, which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear, that it was a sparing speech of the ancients, to say, that a friend is another himself; for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have their time, and die many times, in desire of some things which they principally take to heart; the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure that the care of those things will continue after him. So that a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body, and that body is confined to a place; but where friendship is, all offices of life are as it were granted to him, and his deputy. For he may exercise them by his friend. How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate or beg; and a number of the like. But all these things are graceful, in a friend's mouth, which are blushing in a man's own. So again, a man's person hath many proper relations, which he cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a husband; to his enemy but upon terms: whereas a friend may speak as the case requires, and not as it sorteth with the person. But to enumerate these things were endless; I have given the rule, where a man cannot fitly play his own part; if he have not a friend, he may quit the stage.
After these two noble benefits of friendship, peace of mind and support for judgment, comes the last. Like a pomegranate, it holds many seeds. I mean help and a share in the burden of all actions and occasions. The best way to show friendship’s many uses is to consider everything a man cannot do for himself. Then we will see that the ancients understated the truth when they called a friend another self. A friend is far more than another self. Men have limited lives and often die still longing for things they care deeply about. These may include arranging a child’s marriage, finishing a work, or something similar. If a man has a true friend, he can feel almost certain these concerns will be cared for after his death. In this way, a man has, as it were, two lives in which to fulfill his wishes. A man has a body, and that body is limited to one place. But friendship allows him to carry out all of life’s duties through a friend acting on his behalf. How many things can a man neither say nor do himself without embarrassment or impropriety? A man can hardly mention his own merits modestly, much less praise them. Sometimes he cannot bear to plead or beg. There are many similar cases. Yet all these things sound graceful from a friend’s mouth, though they would embarrass the man himself. Again, a man has particular relationships whose demands he cannot set aside. He can speak to his son only as a father, and to his wife only as a husband. He can speak to his enemy only within the limits their hostility imposes. But a friend can speak as the situation requires, without being bound by those relationships. To list all these things would be endless. I have given the rule. When a man cannot properly play his own part, he may leave the stage if he has no friend.