“If we are unable to be alone, we will be more lonely,” writes Sherry Turkle in “Reclaiming Conversation.” This paradoxical statement strikes us as odd at first glance, but it contains a germ of great wisdom.
Our capacity to remain peacefully introspective – at least sometimes – helps us be more truly present and available to others the rest of the time. Someone whose internal state remains permanently in disarray, confusion, or turmoil lacks the necessary reserves to give of themselves to others and to connect with others on the deepest level. When constant distractions or perpetual social interactions (especially of the digital variety) become a crutch for our own discomfort with ourselves – our anxious intolerance of silence – then our human connections can become egocentric, and, ultimately, isolating.
“[I]n our rush to connect, we flee solitude, Turkle argues. “In time, our ability to be separate and gather ourselves is diminished.” This is a problem because without a stable sense of self we look to others to affirm us, and the interactions take on a basically selfish character. “If we don’t know who we are when we are alone, we turn to other people to support our sense of self, she continues. “This makes it impossible to fully experience others as who they are. We take what we need from them in bits and pieces; it is as though we use them as spare parts to support our fragile selves.”
In an essay from her book, “What Grows in Weary Lands: On Christian Resilience,” Tish Warren recounts an ancient story about three monks. The first monk dedicates his life to reconciling others. The second devotes his life to tending the sick. But the third dedicates himself to quiet and solitude. The first two monks do good work, but eventually find themselves burned out and discouraged. They visit the third monk – the hermit – telling him of their woes. In answer, he pours water into a cup and says, “Look at this water.” Dirty and full of silt at first, the silt eventually settles and the water clears. “So it is with anyone who lives in a crowd; because of the turbulence, he does not see his sins: but when he has been quiet, above all in solitude, then he recognizes his own faults.”
The story illustrates the importance of self-knowledge even for those engaged in busy, active lives. Their work will be more fruitful if it’s rooted in a peaceful and self-aware interior life. “This story implies that solitude and silence are our orienting goals, the rehumanizing rhythms that teach us that we are not, in fact, machines, but creatures – creatures with faults, limits, beauty, and worth, creatures made to dwell deeply with God,” Warren comments. Once again, our ability to truly connect with others begins with our ability to connect with ourselves and God in seclusion.
Human solidarity depends in part on individuals’ capacity for fruitful solitude. Similarly, cultural development as a whole has roots in silence, solitude, and communing with God and nature, which this quiet environment makes possible. Silence and solitude form the necessary conditions for the contemplative action that lies at the heart of art, culture, music, and worship. Philosopher Josef Pieper explains why this is in “Leisure: The Basis of Culture.” “Leisure is only possible when we are at one with ourselves,” he writes. “We tend to overwork as a means of self-escape….” By leisure, Pieper refers not to cookouts or golf but rather to the attitude of contemplative celebration of the world that is, in his estimation, the fountainhead of civilization.
Culture means, in part, the cultivation of an appreciation of the world God made. But developing this appreciation requires a degree of quiet and freedom from distractions that allows us to be attentive to the cosmic harmony thrumming through everything surrounding us. Pieper explains:
“Leisure is a form of silence, of that silence which is the prerequisite of the apprehension of reality: only the silent hear and those who do not remain silent do not hear. Silence, as it is used in this context, does not mean ‘dumbness’ or ‘noiselessness’; it means more nearly that the soul’s power to ‘answer’ to the reality of the world is left undisturbed. For leisure is a receptive attitude of mind, a contemplative attitude, and it is not only the occasion but also the capacity for steeping oneself in the whole of creation.”
This attitude of truly seeing and celebrating creation undergirds all genuine cultural activity. The artist, the sculptor, the craftsman, the writer, even the good politician – all these engage in their work because they have seen and fallen in love with something – fundamentally, with Creation, including the human experience that forms a core part of that Creation. But this love is born of contemplation. Peaceful contemplation, then, forms the necessary precondition for culture.
Yet culture culminates in a “festive” attitude of sheer gratitude and celebration of the goodness in the world and human society, and feasts are by nature social. The human family comes together to celebrate and to worship. Thus, the conclusion of contemplation is communion; the result of solitude is solidarity. These realities need not stand in opposition to each other; they are complimentary.
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This article was made possible by The Fred & Rheta Skelton Center for Cultural Renewal.
Image Credit: Picryl
