dark solitude

The religion in Christianity is all about family, community and state. We need this religion to draw comfort when we need to celebrate, and when we need to grief. The sharing of such that makes for healing the wounds of life, and renewal of purpose in life. We need friends, relatives, children and spouse. But we live in an imperfect world where our church, family and social connectivity is less than ideal. There is no lack of people who need to be comforted but to be the one to comfort must come from inner vision that gives strength. To be able to distinguish our own strength from our innate needs is important to grow spiritually. This maturity is only possible when one comes to terms about the reality of the human condition, the existential reality of the person, wherein lies the fathomable and the abyss, the pain and the fear, and the coming to terms with the cessation of it all. This is not earned in the noisy marketplace or in the bustle of life but in solitude.

Solitude is a discipline that, I believe, is central to Christian living. To me, this often painful withdrawal from everyday demands of life has been the most meaningful aspect of Christian spirituality: solitude to me is the journey back to God. It is a journey that one makes not to live in the splendid beauty of the mountain top but to find inner strength to descend back to the village and the business of living. Solitude is not an ultimate goal, but a respite beside still waters.

To withdraw from society, the television and the internet, is to withdraw from all those things that continuously bombard us with cues that affirm our place in society, our sense of self worth, and our identity. It is frightening at a visceral level. But it is also frightening at a more intellectual level because the emotional reinforcement that the world offers is ultimately an artificial construct. To tear away from that interface is an experience in itself. But the question who are we? And for the Christian who are we in relation to God?

the nature of our heart

The abject truth about our humanity is that we are inherently alone and lonely. We think and all thought is evident of our aloneness in our thoughts. We know for a fact that we are born without our will and die against our will. All that we can possibly possess can never be ours. They never were. And all that we think is what we are, the memory, the ambition, the pride, the name by which we call ourselves, the education and skill in us, the title, and the social status are all borrowed. Imputed by others, given by others, for others, and are forever extrinsic to us. What is mine can never be me. Unclothed, what is I is nothing. In our nakedness before ourselves we are temporary and forever separated from all that surrounds us in the physical world as well as in our mental world. Even our thoughts are not for our keeping. And the realization that we are the possibly the only intelligent being contemplating this extremely vast universe, that is harsh. And as a result, we keep ourselves busy with unworthy things that we may not recall or remember. But this pushes the loneliness of the soul into deeper and often unendurable depths of unimportant things. I have not read Maurice Friedman but this quote of his “The greatest mystery was not that we have been flung at random among the profusion of the earth and the galaxy of the stars, but that in this prison we can fashion images of ourselves sufficiently powerful to deny our nothingness” is most succinct.

Where philosophy left off, religion picks up. Religion seeks to give us an answer, by paraphrasing this struggle in mythological frames. The Bible talks of a primordial state of man that is neither temporal nor spatial but which subsists in all of us - an archetypical garden in the centre of our being – the Eden where we live in complete nakedness and in complete communion with God. No separation. The myth tells us that the archetypical us fell so as to explore our identity and sought meaning it did not please God and the angels thought that Adam has become like them! God put Adam and Eve away from His presence. And God, put an emptiness in our innermost place, our soul if you would, so that we will perpetually seek to return to Eden.

our restless soul

Adam’s desire was not to live forever but to know, to find meaning and live meaningfully. And it is this basic almost feral impulse that drives us to succumb to whatever fiction the mind can grab and hold. Take for example, our most basic drive, sex. Sexuality is the expression of desire of one human being to be united with another human being. For both, ones who can truly love, this can be an intense experience. Unknowing to the lovers, the loneliness makes one love more the object of their love: a person. A separation of lovers scratches that surface of loneliness and the fury and anxiety is terrible. While romance, sex and love is permissible, elevated in poetry and songs, we also have a tendency to place our desire in less worthy objects: money, power, fame and all things to the aggrandizement of the singular fiction of the universe: the meaningful life! This is sin, it is the darkness that lies in the soul that blinds us to the knowledge of our eternal longing … for God! But the darkness hides our terror and consequently hides us from God, too.

Are we then without salvation, for we are never in Eden in our heart but forever longing? Of course, not. God tells us, “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) To ‘be still’ seems to be a pre-requisite here the ‘to know.’ It is impossible to be still when our mind is constantly responding to the environment because the habit not to ignore stimuli is part of our survival instinct. That is why one needs the silence and separation that comes with solitude to turn our attention from the outside world to the inside reality – to look at what we are and acknowledge our wretchedness.

silence and silent places

Celano writes of St. Francis that “he used often to choose out solitary places in order that he might therein wholly direct his mind to God.” Monks deliberately chose to cultivate this discipline but it is a full-time occupation for them. In our ordinary mundane life, that sort of withdrawal is a luxury we can seldom afford. How do we then seek solitude that we may hear the “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12) of God. It is not the going into the woods that is important nor the commitment to a monastic order that can help us to solitude but the withdrawal itself. The physical removal of oneself from the noisy everyday life to a place to be with God without undue influence is possible for the moderns. It is often described as their “secret place to be alone with God.” I imagine it is a place or a sacred hour set aside with no intrusions of chatter and clatter!

The deprivation of the sources of attention means silence. Silence is essential for solitude. Richard Foster in his book Celebration of Discipline, says that “without silence there is no solitude.” The intention of the mind in solitude is to wrestle with God, grapple with our soul, and to wait upon the Lord. It is a prayer in itself because we come before God but it is not a prayer of utterance. The Psalmist tells us: “commune with your own hearts on your bed and be silent”(Psalm 4:4). If we be not silent, it is not that God will not talk to us but that there will be no opportunity for us to hear Him right. He may come to us as in a thunder rolling over the dark mountains but God’s voice can also waft in the breeze, who are we to tell God how that He may speak to us. God did admonish Job, not so much for talking too much but I believe for talking at all. In speech we are constantly searching for meaning. In talking we are exercising our lust for meaning: “Give heed, O Job, listen to me; be silent and I will speak.”(Job 33:31).

bereft of meaning in an arid land

What then of a person bereft of meaning in their life, without a soul that is naked, wait upon the Lord? The contemplative aspect of solitude very often leads to two very dramatic turns. One for which I dare not lay claim is the overwhelming mystical experience; and the other is what St. John of the Cross calls the “dark night of the soul.” Whatever the outcome, the truth seems that when people take their discontent with existence before God, they are answered. Such answers seems to come as gift: an alarming glimpse of a part of God’s glory. Such was the grace of God when He spoke to Job. Such was the grace of God when Peter, James, and John saw Jesus transfigured (Matthew 17:1-9). In the chronicles of mystics, right through the ages, there is visions and voices of God that  bestow grace.

But the Bible also says that man shall not see God and live. (Exodus 33:20) Whether this means that one’s sinfulness destroys them before God’s holiness or that that one will see God and not want to live anymore. But then when one’s soul is so completely cleansed of the world and its worldliness, what is there to come before a majesty so divine and surrender to its reality and its incomprehensible purpose – a tumultuous soul finds peace!

For someone lesser I am often thrilled by the wisdom of great minds but as I grow up I realized that all truths can be pared down. And truth when stripped off its clothing soon become terrible to behold for there is nothing in this world that can give me there is a single atom of meaningfulness. Detachment and distrust of all things of this world is a phase in solitude. It is a crippling sense of loss that comes with the realization that one is thirsty for living water but the frightened soul is an arid land.

will you keep faith

In moments like these, God does seem far off and aloof to entreaties and prayers. One questions grace itself: “What purpose is His grace that I live?” or “Why do I even need to keep my sanity?” But St. John of the Cross, one who have gone before us on this path have this to counsel: “dense and burdensome cloud which afflicts the should” will be lifted up. It will be like God himself is saying: “Even if I do not shine upon you, will you keep faith?” The test is sore. Richard Foster says, “God is lovingly drawing you away from every distraction so that you can see him clearly.” But the heart becomes heavy until one realizes that the love one has for God is nothing but a reflection of one’s own need. When one denies the needs there descends a shadow upon one’s countenance of a loss, an overwhelming sense of a God gone absent. An empty house. The beloved is dead and I have missed the funeral. This is dark night when God’s love has to be discovered for its own sake, and the person comes into a another kind of relationship with God for which there is no metaphor or parable. Hebrews 11:6b has a subtle nuance “And without faith it is impossible to please him. For whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.” The reward is a veil behind which God must be lest man stretches out and gains Him by his own effort … and that God is no God at all.

The wanderer must now return home to tend to his garden and cook in his kitchen. Savour the day and contemplate the beauty of the tree that grows in his yard. Paul wrote: “God who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of glory of God, in the face of Christ Jesus.” (2 Corinthians 4:6) It is at this moment when He is “my mother, my father, my Teacher, my God, my all.” I shall not want. Seek, and you will find it. The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in Him. (Matthew 7:7, Psalms 23:1; Lamentations 3:24)

              

what is solitude

Solitude as a discipline transforms the seeker in essentially two ways: it creates a deep sense of detachment from the things of this world; and a deep love for humanity. One mahatma of this order is St. Francis of Assisi.

In confronting oneself in silent repose, a complete honesty is necessary to tear away from the deceit of our self. Self-denial is not an end in itself but it must germinate from the realization that we are nothing first, and nothing at all before God. Our life, our love, our children, our wealth, our thoughts, wisdom and creations, our accomplishments, all decay in time and pass away even from memory. We never owned this world and never will we. Even all the good things in life is loaned to us. Such is what solitude teaches us when the transience of life presses upon us.

Solitude leads us to deny all those things that pretend to give us value to our self. And while it is initially frightening, it sets us free. The choice in life is not chosen at all for all things come from God and unto His own they return. (1 Chronicles 29:14b) Beauty and ugly, rich and poor, prince and subject, wise and foolish, are all the way of the world to which a free person takes no side, they are on God’s side. If we know Jesus right he is inviting us to do just that.

To seek solitude comes with a precondition that can determine a result. To the ungodly, the soul is quickly seduced by the rage and arrogance. Solitude without the motive of love is the anathema of mankind. It is evil. What shall a man seek without love but the glory of his own sin. That man is not like God but to arrogate upon himself that he is God. Instead of compelling him into a more meaningful relationship with life itself, he fills his hollowness not with love but with rage. He is a man at war with the world!

Solitude also brings us to an understanding that on that day when God put an emptiness into the heart of mankind, He too lost a bit of Himself in that separation. It is just not us who seek God but it is also God who seeks us out. It is ultimately this that sets the agony of separation and the desire for togetherness in the divine passion play of Jesus Christ on the cross. But solitude is needed to burn away the dross of the soul and all the figments of its imaginations, before God’s light can be seen, and that we may know our rightful place in the universe.

To abide in the love of God (John 15:4ff) is to be touched in our innermost to become instruments of his love, is to love because it is God who loves, and to become not-I but all things that God loves. And when we walk this earth with care, respect and responsibility for life within the possibility of our self, we for that lifespan of time, do indeed become united in an intimate way with the love that is of God. And how can we lay it apart, this that is of God and God Himself, that is the intimacy of the divine in our soul.

The fruits of that sort of soul is “joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness and faith.” (Galatians 5:22) It is the gift for those who would sit the lonely nights before God and rub away a little of the divide between oneself and God and be consciously, though fleetingly, united in his will. The truth that such a person bears comes from the emptiness of his soul into which God has poured treasures. And out of the treasures of this heart shall come good fruits! (Luke 6:45a).

(1989)