Learn To Be Alone
Solitude is often misunderstood in the spiritual life. It’s not merely an absence of people or activity; it is a means, not an end. Physical solitude, exterior silence, and real recollection are all morally necessary for anyone who wants to lead a contemplative life, but like everything else in creation, they are nothing more than means to an end, and if we do not understand the end, we will make a wrong use of the means. We do not go into the desert to escape people but to learn how to find them. We do not leave them in order to have nothing more to do with them, but to find out the way to do them the most good. But this is only a secondary end. The one end that includes all others is the love of God. Solitude is a tool for the deepening of our relationship with God, not an escape. Too often, we think of solitude as a way to withdraw from others because we need a break or because we want to avoid the noise of life. But this perspective misses the deeper purpose of solitude, which is to open our hearts to God’s love in a profound and lasting way. As we retreat into solitude, it’s not so that we can shut ourselves off from others forever but so that we can learn how to better love them.
The ultimate purpose of solitude is not just a personal respite but an opening of the heart to the divine. The love of God is the true end of all solitude. In our quiet moments, God speaks to us, filling us with grace, wisdom, and love so that we can return to the world transformed, able to love others in the same way God loves us. The only way to find solitude is by hunger and thirst and sorrow and poverty and desire. [1] This is not a solitude that can be manufactured by circumstances or by external conditions. It is a state of the heart, a longing for the divine that nothing else can satisfy. The man who has found solitude is empty, as if he had been emptied by death. [1] This kind of solitude is not about having more space but about creating an interior emptiness, a sacred hunger for God. And yet, this emptiness is not a void but a space filled with God's presence. It is in this void that the deepest activities of the soul take place. In stillness, we discover that there is no need to search outside ourselves for fulfillment; the fulfillment we seek is found in the very silence we create. This is a country whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere. [1] We are no longer bound by space or time when we enter into the depths of solitude. It is an all-encompassing presence that is not confined to the physical world but is found in the interior journey of the soul.
Finding this solitude, this interior space, is not about traveling to far-off places, though some physical isolation may be necessary to foster the inner silence. You do not find it by traveling but by standing still. [1] True solitude requires us to stop, to be still, to let go of our constant striving and rushing. In that stillness, we allow God's presence to fill us in ways that motion and activity never could. It is in this loneliness that the deepest activities begin. [1] When we stop searching for fulfillment in the external world, we begin to discover the richness of life within. It is in the absence of noise and movement that we experience profound repose, vision, and a sense of fulfillment that is limitless, a fulfillment whose limits extend to infinity. The great paradox of solitude is that it is not about finding a physical place but about allowing our souls to find peace in the stillness that surrounds us. Whether we are in a desert, a mountain, or the heart of a bustling city, solitude is found in the stillness of the heart. And it is here that we experience the full depth of God’s presence, which is not limited by external circumstances.
While true solitude is an interior state, it is often supported by physical space, a designated place where we can withdraw from the world’s distractions. There should be at least a room, or some corner where no one will find you and disturb you or notice you. [1] This space, however small or humble, becomes a sanctuary, a sacred place where we can withdraw and be fully present to God. It could be a room in our home, a quiet corner, or even a secluded place in nature. The key is to find a place where we can be undisturbed, where we can shed the weight of the world and breathe freely. This solitude is a gift that we must treasure. Be content with it, and do not be disturbed if a good reason takes you out of it. [1] It is not about creating a permanent escape but about making space for God in our lives. Once we find this space, we are invited to return to it again and again, making it a priority in our daily life. As we return to our place of solitude, we reconnect with our truest self, and with the presence of God, which sustains and nurtures us.
In this solitude, we encounter the secret, hidden prayer that is central to the contemplative life. There can be no contemplation where there is no secret. [1] Contemplation is not a public act; it is a deeply personal, secret communion with God. Jesus himself teaches us this in Matthew 6:6, where He says, "But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen; then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." True prayer happens in the hidden spaces of the heart, where the distractions of the world are silenced, and we are left alone with God. It is in these secret moments that our souls are transformed. Though we may live in the midst of a busy world, it is still possible to find this secret place of prayer and solitude. It is possible to live in deep and peaceful interior solitude even in the midst of the world and its confusion. [1] Yet, as the passage warns, there are many who are dedicated to God but live lives full of restlessness and noise. They may avoid solitude, filling their lives with endless activity to keep from facing their own interior silence. They fear it. They do everything they can to escape it. [1] The busy activities they engage in—meetings, conferences, and gatherings—are often a way to avoid the deep work that silence requires. The danger of this constant activity is that it leads us away from the deeper truth of God’s presence, which is found in solitude, silence, and prayer.
This frenetic activity often pulls others into its grip, as these individuals seek to fill others’ lives with the same noise. They try to draw everyone else into activities as senseless and as devouring as their own. [1] In contrast, the contemplative life calls us to step away from this chaos and return to the quietude of God’s presence. We are invited to find places of refuge, where we can be still and allow God to shape us. Let there always be quiet, dark churches in which men can take refuge. [1] Churches, though not perfect, can serve as places where we can retreat from the world’s distractions and find solace in God’s presence. In the silence of these sacred spaces, even when we do not know how to pray, we are invited to simply be still. There, even when they do not know how to pray, at least they can be still and breathe easily. [1] It is in this stillness that our hearts can breathe freely, and we can experience the fullness of God’s love. A place where your mind can be idle, and forget its concerns, descend into silence, and worship the Father in secret. [1] The invitation is to find those places where we can be fully present to God and let go of the noise, if only for a little while, and to rest in the peace that God offers.
So, as we move through life, we must remember that the contemplative life is not about rejecting the world but about retreating into a deeper relationship with God, one that transforms our capacity to love and serve others. Let us be mindful of the quiet spaces we create in our lives and allow them to shape our hearts, so that we can love with the love of God and be a presence of peace in the world. May we seek solitude not as an escape from the world but as a way to be more fully present in it, transformed by the divine love that we encounter in the secret places of the heart.
[1] Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation