The virtues of the Populist: A Restatement

Some time ago, I posted a brief defense of socializing with the masses that generated a small amount of controversy among people who are opposed to such things. I'd like to clarify my views on the solitary life, to put a stop to any misconceptions that might be floating around these mighty internets.

I spend most of my free time alone. I specify "free time" because I must work to support myself, and, though I am on a hiatus, I am a student. Time spent at work and at school is time necessarily spent with people. When I am free of such things, I am most often to be found studying, reading, writing, and of late, translating. I have filled dozens of journals with solitary musings; I read rabidly, and though school has forced my output to dwindle, I write short fiction regularly. My time alone is some of my most valued, especially given its unfortunate infrequency.

The amount of time I actually spend with people is by far the less. On Saturdays, I usually see Barnes and Louis. Sundays are spent with assorted friends at restaurants and coffee shops. Once and a while, I'll get together with some people during the week, but other than weekends, I enjoy my time alone.

The fundamental difference between the renowned cave-dweller and me is that I enjoy solitude for what it offers, not for what it can shield me from. I am not a misanthrope. I have always enjoyed a general and abiding love for humanity, even if I dislike several of her constituents. Most people are fine by me, and when I emerge from my solitude I enjoy spending time with them. Solitude wrought from hatred is hardly the Thoreauvian ideal. The Man himself enjoyed the company of the simple woodcutter and the passers-by through his woods. Of course, referencing great men proves not a thing; but the point ought to be made that when one values solitude because one hates humanity, the actual merits of being alone are smothered.

It should also be noted that humanity is what makes solitude possible for most of us in the first place. Without the innumerable benefits conferred upon us by existing in a functional society, we would not have the books to read or the pens with which to write or the food to sustain us while doing both. Thoreau built his home with supplies from town, and sold his beans for a profit there. Without extraordinary effort that would likely detract from hating the world, effort that would include cultivating the land, building a home, and dozens of daily chores; without that sort of effort, solitude would be impossible if it were not for the hated many. The paradox of hating those who feed you would be funny if it weren't just sort of sad.

Have your solitude, gentle reader, and enjoy it. Be warned, though: excessive solitude has been known to cause misanthropy, a bloated sense of self-worth, and the delusion that feuds with your computer screen are meaningful.