——“But these are words of ill-omen.”
And so are some incantations, but in that they are useful I regard not this; only let them be of use. But dost thou call anything of ill-omen, save only that which betokeneth some evil? Cowardice is a word of ill-omen, and baseness and grief and mourning and shamelessness, these words are of ill-omen. And not even them must we dread to speak, if so we may defend ourselves against the things. But wilt thou say that any word is of ill-omen that betokeneth some natural thing? Say that it is of ill-omen to speak of the reaping of ears of corn, for it betokeneth the destruction of the ears—but not of the universe. Say that the falling of the leaves is of ill-omen, and the dried fig coming in the place of the green, and raisins in the place of grapes. For all these things are changes from the former estate to another; no destruction, but a certain appointed order and disposition. Here is parting for foreign lands, and a little change. Here is death—a greater change, not from that which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not now.
CHAPTER IX.
on solitude.
1. Solitude is the state of one who is helpless. For he who is alone is not therefore solitary; even as he who is in a great company is not therefore not solitary. When, therefore, we have lost a brother or a son or a friend on whom we were wont to rest, we say that we are left solitary, and oftentimes we say it in Rome, with such a crowd meeting us and so many dwelling about us, and, it may be, having a multitude of slaves. For the solitary man, in his conception, meaneth to be thought helpless, and laid open to those who wish him harm. Therefore when we are on a journey we then, above all, say that we are solitary when we are fallen among thieves; for that which taketh away solitude is not the sight of a man, but of a faithful and pious and serviceable man. For if to be solitary it sufficeth to be alone, then say that Zeus is solitary in the conflagration,[1] and bewails himself. Woe is me! I have neither Hera nor Athene nor Apollo, nor, in short, either brother or son or descendant or kinsman. And so some say he doth when alone in the conflagration. For they comprehend not the life of a man who is alone, setting out from a certain natural principle, that we are by nature social, and inclined to love each other, and pleased to be in the company of other men. But none the less is it needful that one find the means to this also, to be able to suffice to himself, and to be his own companion. For as Zeus is his own companion, and is content with himself, and considereth his own government, what it is, and is occupied in designs worthy of himself; thus should we be able to converse with ourselves, and feel no need of others, nor want means to pass the time; but to observe the divine government, and the relation of ourselves with other things; to consider how we stood formerly towards the events that befall us, and how we stand now; what things they are that still afflict us; how these, too, may be healed, how removed; and if aught should need perfecting, to perfect it according to the reason of the case.
2. Ye see now how that Cæsar seemeth to have given us a great peace; how there are no longer wars nor battles nor bands of robbers nor of pirates, but a man may travel at every season, and sail from east to west. But can he give us peace from fever? or from shipwreck? or from fire? or earthquake? or lightning? ay, or from love? He cannot. Or from grief? He cannot. Or from envy? He cannot. Briefly, then, he cannot secure us from any of such things. But the word of the philosophers doth promise us peace even from these things. And what saith it? If ye will hearken unto me, O men, wheresoever ye be, whatsoever ye do, ye shall not grieve, ye shall not be wroth, ye shall not be compelled or hindered, but ye shall live untroubled and free from every ill. Whosoever hath this peace, which Cæsar never proclaimed (for how could he proclaim it?), but which God proclaimed through His word, shall he not suffice to himself when he may be alone? for he beholdeth and considereth, Now can no evil happen to me; for me there is no robber, no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full of calm; for me no way, no city, no assembly, no neighbor, no associate hath any hurt. He is supplied by one, whose part that is, with food, by another with raiment, by another with senses, by another with natural conceptions. And when it may be that the necessary things are no longer supplied, that is the signal for retreat: the door is opened, and God saith to thee, Depart.
——“Whither?”
To nothing dreadful, but to the place from whence thou camest—to things friendly and akin to thee, to the elements of Being. Whatever in thee was fire shall go to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water, to water;[2] no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Coeytus, nor Phlegethon, but all things are full of Gods and Powers.[3] Whoso hath these things to think on, and seeth the sun and the moon and the stars, and rejoiceth in the earth and the sea, he is no more solitary than he is helpless.
——“What, then, if one come and find me alone and slay me?”
Fool! not thee, but thy wretched body.