Solitude and isolation

A discussion with myself

This article was written as a contribution to the Soaring Twenties (STSC) Symposium. This month’s Symposium theme is “isolation.” The STSC is a group of creatives who write, paint, versify and experiment their way through life. Join us!

When I told Elaine I was going to be working on an article about isolation, she said:

I was reminded of this week’s theme of isolation when listening to the beginning of Vaughan William’s “In the Fen Country¹”. The oboe solo gives me the feeling of emptiness, is this isolation? Is the feeling of emptiness the same as isolation? ²

This is a good question, and I don’t really have an answer. I have always wondered if there is something not quite right about my liking for solitude. Not just solitude, but bleakness. More of that in a moment. For now, here is the piece that Elaine refers to:

One of the things I loved about cross-country running at school — in fact, the only thing I loved apart from being alone — was the sheer bleakness of Wormwood Scrubs, not the prison, but the wide open space of the same name, with virtually nothing in it, only grass and trees.

In 2013 I took a week’s holiday in Southwold, a seaside resort in Suffolk, England. Nothing unusual in that choice of destination, you may think, and you’d be right. But I went in December, a time when there is almost nothing except Nature in all its ferocious glory.

Southwold in winter, by Terry Freedman

Southwold in winter, by Terry Freedman

Yes, I like my solitude, I enjoy my aloneness. But for me isolation is something else, less of a choice, something externally imposed.

For example, I have known people who are very hard of hearing. Even in a group of family and friends they are isolated unless someone makes the effort to ensure they are included.

Or in a school, the solution to the problem of a pupil misbehaving might be to put them in another room, away from the rest of the class, thereby isolating them.

Or in a hospital, a patient might be isolated in order to reduce the risk of contagion.

In none of these examples does the person concerned choose isolation. But they might still enjoy solitude.

To return to Elaine’s question: is emptiness the same as isolation? I suppose it is in some circumstances. But I like emptiness, I think it has its own beauty, without the need to proclaim itself, if I can put it that way. It seems to me to be a counterpart of Salvator Rosa’s dictum:

Be silent, unless what you have to say is better than silence.

And emptiness, looked at in another way, can be essential. This is the view proposed by Lao Tzu in the Tao Te Ching, or Way of Life³:

Thirty spokes

Round one hub.

Employ the nothing inside

And you can use a cart.

Knead the clay to make a pot.

Employ the nothing inside

And you can use a pot.

Cut out doors and windows.

Employ the nothing inside

And you can use a room.

What is achieved is something,

By employing nothing it can be used.

Interestingly, the theme of aloneness comes up a great deal in the writings of Kahlil Gibran. For example, this from Sand and Foam:

My loneliness was born when men praised my talkative faults and blamed my silent virtues.

And I love this quote from Wendell Berry⁴:

We enter solitude, in which also we lose loneliness…

True solitude is found in the wild places, where one is without human obligation.

In conclusion, perhaps solitude and isolation are, or can be, on a continuum.

Thoughts?

1. For those who don’t know the fens they are the wide open flat lands in the east of England, they have big skies and winds which feel like they are unchanged from their arctic origins.

2. If you have an opinion about this, please do share it in the comments section.

3. Taken from this version: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Chinese/TaoTeChing.php.

4. Taken from The Marginalian.