'No Man is an island' the words of John Donne have never been more starkly in focus than during the current worldwide battle against a common invisible enemy. A virus has shown up the lies that tell us that we can be divided into different groups, that there is such an entity as 'them' and 'us'. An organism designed to attack human beings is currently ravaging every nation, every race, every creed, every age group, every shape, shade and form of humanity across the world.
I have often thought on and off about ideas of loneliness, isolation and solitude and the different qualities that each can bring to our experience.
At this very moment we are following government instructions to distance ourselves and to avoid social contact outside our homes. In reality we have been forced to put physical walls around behaviours which we have fallen into and which have always forced us into a kind of social distancing before we had a name for it. We have been forced in concrete terms to live out the reality of what impact dividing ourselves from the wider community and world outside our homes can have on us as human beings.
In thinking about what isolation and loneliness can mean to us as human beings I have found that it is helpful to have before me the complete sonnet from which the famous quote comes:
No Man is an island
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were as well as if a manor
Of thy friend's or thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Nowhere is the fragmentation and division within our communities more evident than in our collective response to death. Death and grieving has increasingly become private and individual. One of the most visible impacts of the current outbreak within Northern Ireland was a realisation that traditionally, we as a people, were out of step with much of the UK as we continue to grieve as a community. Families reported the difficulties of facing death without our cultural gathering together not only in emotional and spiritual support, but also in the very practical provision of sustenance to the bereaved. In a sense, the culture I belong to has come face to face with the isolation felt when death comes to call and it is not felt as a wider community.
This pandemic in contrast to our modern response to death has been to reinforce Donne's words, 'Any man's death diminishes me'. If anything, in the regular displays of support for the NHS and the bringing of help by neighbours and community groups is bringing us back to the idea of shared grief, for the first time since WWII. There is a natural desire to care communally which has been stifled by the way we have developed our modern way of living.
We have been living in a fractured world, separated and isolated into political, cultural and religious ghettos. Never more so than in the last five years or so. The danger in this is in believing that I or we don't need anyone else. However, community is not just a good idea but is bound up in our very nature. I am made for connection and my humanity is somehow wounded when I fail to acknowledge this.
Death in reality is the great leveller. It is the one experience that every single one of us will face, young or old, rich or poor, educated or uneducated. It is also the one life experience through which we see starkly our shared humanity. Suddenly in the face of death we are faced with a sense of something sacred about human life, something which day in, day out, in normal times we are able to ignore.
The core issue with loneliness and isolation is that both of these states result from a lack of connection. As we socially distance we are challenged by the fact that it may not be the physical proximity of others that influences how lonely we feel. We all know the moments when we experience being 'lonely in a crowd'. I live alone, so it is not an effort for me to 'socially distance', physically it is easy for me to be on my own, isolated or lonely. Yet in this period of isolation I am feeling more connected to my family and friends than usual. This crisis is enabling people to strip away the masks of social niceties and busyness which means that interactions can be deeper. It's a waste of a video call to reply 'fine' to the question 'how are you doing?' We can see it as being an opportunity to share a uniquely common experience, to share how it has affected us and our families, to share how we feel about it. In short I am finding that this situation is creating time for us to be honest with ourselves and our loved ones. And our relationships are feeling deeper and more connected as a result. Or is that just me?
In offering some steps to take I think the most helpful thing I can do is share with you the gift of solitude. It is different from isolation and loneliness, in that it provides a uniquely spiritual time to reflect and be honest with myself, so that I can more effectively reconnect with those I love once I have come out of solitude:
'Solitude is the furnace of transformation, without it we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self. Solitude is the place of the great struggle and the great encounter, the struggle against the the compulsion of the false self, and the encounter with loving God who offers himself as the substance of the new self' (Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart)
This reflection from Henri Nouwen clearly focuses on a Christian perspective where solitude allows him to connect with his God. When we begin to reconnect following isolation caused sometimes by mental illness, or physical illness, periods of time when we need to regroup before engaging again with the society around us, it is important that we establish from whence our hope and meaning come. For me, as I have often said in this blog I find it in my personal faith in God. For others it may be other 'higher powers', but this is a starting point.
When we seek to connect or reconnect in a meaningful way with those around us, I have found another Rule of Living helpful to encourage me to connect honestly, it comes from the Northumbria Community and is encompassed in two words: Vulnerability and Availability.
In the coming together of communities at this time I have witnessed both vulnerability: NHS staff willing to risk their lives on the frontline, neighbours helping the elderly out in their neighbourhoods despite having to go outside their own cocoons. Availability means breaking out of our walls and making ourselves available by being authentic and offering to share our real selves with those with whom we come into contact. When you are facing an mortal enemy, the social fears and anxieties pale beside them. I can only relearn trust if I am willing to be both vulnerable to disappointment, or rejection and if I am willing to break my own sense of reticence to engage with people and make connections as much as a I can.
Ultimately, because I have a shared humanity and 'because I am involved in mankind, any man's death diminishes me'. However, when I recognise our shared humanity and join with others to address sometimes boring, practical issues together, sometimes saving actual lives, then I am most profoundly connected not only with the people around me, but with the wider world and creation of which I am an intrinsic and valuable part.
