On Solitude - The Necessity of an Honest Assessment of Individual Self-Sufficiency

The nature of solitude, as well as the consequences, benefits and dangers thereof, is a question of substantial philosophical significance that has constantly confronted humanity. Francis Bacon, Michel de Montaigne, Alexander Pope, Henry Thoreau - these are a few universally recognized names that comprise the historical group of eminent scholars who have written extensively on this admittedly broad subject. Their reflections are many and varied and have provided us with valuable insights, but, while the essayists excel at isolating and discussing specific aspects of solitude, it seems like they have largely failed to address what I believe is the crucial issue at hand- the necessity of an honest assessment of individual self-sufficiency, which is the premise that any relatively comprehensive consideration of the concept should eventually come down to. When solitude is defined as the absence of external stimulation (intellectual, sensual and emotional), as manifested in an objective environment, then, and only then, do we begin to see what it really means. The question confronts us - what happens when we are deracinated from our present support system, when we are deprived of what we consider to be (and as such, take for granted) certain basic, essential elements of our lives? Things that, whether we realize and admit it or not, make up an alarming percentage of the person that we equate ourselves with, and have a considerable influence on our self-image? When we lose the parts of our lives that are not really ‘us,’ what is left? What is our intrinsic value? Who are we when we are truly alone? The potential answers to these questions border on frightening. There are three major factors involved that must be considered in this discussion - the definition of self-sufficiency, the nature of our transient environment, and the result of mental speculation on a theoretical illustration of solitude.

I do not in any way employ the term ‘self-sufficiency’ in a strictly literal sense, because in the real human world it is an entirely impossible state of existence, and the word’s implicit self-contradiction very nearly categorizes it as an oxymoron. As the sole consummation and fulfillment of the soul, God, the Supreme Good, the utter actuality which has no opposite, is the only self-existent, self-sufficient reality, and all other autonomy is relative to this ultimate, because the will of the created is only independent in proportion as it is within the will of the Creator. (My intention here is not to defend this basic assumption, but to work from it.) Therefore, our definition of self-sufficiency is not to be interpreted as independence of God, but rather, independence of all else. It is impossible to be independent of an omnipresent God, and thus, it is likewise impossible to be absolutely alone. With this in mind, we redefine our concept of solitude. We are no longer asking, ‘who are we when we are alone?’ Now the question is, ‘who are we when we are alone with God?’ More often than not, our current environment effectively conceals the implications of this question. It acts like an anesthetic, desensitizing our already callous consciousness of the actual state of our relationship with the Ultimate, diverting us from ourselves, creating a complicated clockwork exterior that we identify as ‘our life’ without ever asking how much of it is actually ours.

Our current environment is a dichotomy, separated into the social and natural, both of which heavily influence who we are. Our social, or human environment, (generally considered the more apparently essential of the two,) is a result of our inherent need for human society and is comprised of an intricate, layered network of individual and group relationships, which gives us a sense of community and security. Family, friends, partners, relatives, co-workers, acquaintances and even strangers - individual and en masse - all affect our lives in distinctive ways that are different for each of us. We are not talking about the abstract concept of ‘social environment’, but about my specific social environment, what it means to me, how it influences who I am and who I think I am, how much my worldview depends on it, and what I would be without it. Our natural, or physical environment, also affects us. Our immediate daily surroundings, the place where we live, the comforts and conveniences we are accustomed to - these are the things that constitute our unique world. Direct contact with Nature itself is usually an important part of that world, connection with natural beauty, with forests and oceans and mountains, with an affirmative external reality. Most of us have probably experienced the temporary depression that comes from a prolonged absence from the ‘great outdoors’, so to speak. These things generally constitute a stabilizing atmosphere that confirms and reinforces what we claim to believe about the world. We need them - they are part of our support system. They stimulate us, mentally, emotionally, sensually, intellectually, and spiritually. What we must realize is that they are temporary, and that they are emphatically not part of who we are. We can lay no claim to either Nature and the constantly renewed inspiration it affords us, or to the people around us, and the support they provide, as some meritorious element of our own character. It does not require much creativity to imagine the radical alteration our lives would undergo in the absence of our current environment, social or natural.

This idea of solitude is largely an exercise of the imagination. Most of us are never really alone, at least, not to any significant degree, or for any significant stretch of time, so it can be difficult to grasp the essence of an idea that must, in all probability, remain abstract. But sometimes, an arbitrary ‘random’ experience unconsciously constructed of certain settings and sensations coming together, almost accidentally, at just the right time, in just the right way, will seep through the dense, complex stratum of the finite reality that shields us from our own inadequacy, and shock us with a fleeting glimpse of what solitude must be. A long walk on a deserted road in the middle of a rainy night. A crawling afternoon spent alone upstairs in an empty office, staring at an LCD screen. A sultry evening spent hurrying through the crowded streets of a giant city of 8.8 million nameless strangers. A visit to the ruins of an ancient Greek temple on a tiny isolated island in the middle of the Mediterranean, enclosed by an infinity of sky and sea. What if these relatively average, albeit potentially thought-provoking, experiences were magnified to the limit of the endurable? Several easily recognized historical and literary examples, stereotyped, but nonetheless valid, leap to mind. What if you were condemned to life-imprisonment in a North Korean death camp? Marooned indefinitely on Isla Alejhandro Selkirk? Drafted into the Red Army? Incarcerated in solitary confinement in the Château d'If for fourteen years? Forced to pass the rest of your life in hiding alone in the backwoods of Missouri, or the wilderness of 15^th century Northern Scotland? What if something like that happened to us? These examples are imperfect illustrations of the absolute solitude that will eventually overtake every individual soul - we must realize this is not a question of if but of when - when our life, as we see it, impermanent and therefore undeniably unreliable, falls apart and leaves us alone with the Ultimate.

So the question remains. Are we self-sufficient? The only one who can really answer that question is the individual person asking it of themselves, and the answer will probably be different for everyone, but by the time we are capable of seriously asking it, we should be able to provide a valid answer. We owe it to ourselves to do so. And, if we find that we are largely dependent on other things and other people, on our current external environment, which is temporary at best, then we owe it to ourselves to change that - whatever it takes.