The Hard Work of Combatting Loneliness

Five Januarys ago, I wrote an essay that became my most-read piece ever: “Little Women and the Truth We’re Too Scared to Say.” The article was less about Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film and more about the role loneliness plays in our lives — even those (myself included) who exude independence. Five years and one pandemic later, the issue of loneliness continues to be discussed and diagnosed as one of the gravest ills plaguing modern society. Last week, The Atlantic published its February cover story on the topic, an article by Derek Thompson titled “The Anti-Social Century.” The approximately 8,000-word essay is a detailed and sobering look at the factors behind the rise of “self-imposed solitude” in twenty-first-century America.

As someone who lives alone and works remotely from my home, I have to admit that the article bummed me out. However, Thompson does end the essay with somewhat-hopeful or at least compelling content, asserting that the problem of loneliness is a “collective-action problem,” suggesting that a possible solution could be the (re)cultivation of “deeply etched communal habits.” He writes, “Our smallest actions create norms. Our norms create values. Our values drive behavior. And our behaviors cascade.”

One example Thompson references is a social experiment spearheaded by Nick Epley, a psychologist at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business. From the article:

Epley’s team created an experiment in which some people were asked to keep to themselves, while others were instructed to talk with a stranger […] Despite the broad assumption that the best commute is a silent one, the people instructed to talk with strangers actually reported feeling significantly more positive than those who’d kept to themselves. “A fundamental paradox at the core of human life is that we are highly social and made better in every way by being around people,” Epley said. “And yet over and over, we have opportunities to connect that we don’t take, or even actively reject, and it is a terrible mistake.

Thompson’s conclusion of Epley’s study is this: both personal habits and community rituals are deeply helpful for combatting loneliness. I most certainly agree with the merit of this solution and have experienced the benefit of social opportunities like weekly group runs and intergenerational church small groups, and have even been pleasantly surprised to realize how much I enjoy small talk at the gym or grocery store. And I must add this: I’ve found the work of combatting loneliness to be a hard, humbling, and complicated problem that permeates nearly every area of my life and health.

Upon finishing Thompson’s article, I could not help but feel that the solution he suggested was the same pig wearing a different shade of lipstick. Maybe I’m wrong, but the rest of the article seems to explore how our personal habits and community rituals have failed us, thereby spiraling us into this “anti-social century,” so I wondered how “renewed” habits or “redeemed” rituals could propel us out of it. After all, what happens when our “deeply etched communal habits” do not relieve our deeply etched loneliness? 

Loneliness is such a complicated issue because within it, like Russian nesting dolls, are more issues stacking one within the other. The issue of loneliness is also an issue of identity and theology, faith and freedom. Loneliness involves the self and others. It also involves risk, even when there is (almost always) a reward. When it comes to interacting with others in both thick communities and surface-level social scenarios, people can and do and will most certainly disappoint us in trivial and profound ways. I can understand how and why the people that Derek Thompson writes about have settled for self-imposed solitude: it’s less risky.

So what are we to do? Is loneliness simply a problem that will haunt us forever with no solution to be found? Well, yes, I think. But as strange as it sounds, I do not want this to be interpreted as bad news. To take this view, we can seek an understanding of how and why loneliness interacts in our relationships with others, and finally, the role loneliness plays in our relationship with God.

First, David Zahl and his book Low Anthropology provides some context to consider when our communities and relationships — places and people meant to assuage our loneliness — disappoint us. Zahl writes:

A low anthropology understands that we are all, to some extent, beholden to our histories and subject to relational patterns beyond our choosing. Our loved one’s alienating behavior suddenly stands a chance of being received with generosity instead of accusation. No wonder Alain de Botton says, “This is what it means to truly love someone: to be generous in one’s interpretation of another person.”‘ This posture theoretically allows a low anthropologist to head into a relationship with eyes open, sparing themselves the shock and surprise when limitation, doubleness, and self-centeredness raise their heads, as they inevitably do.

A low anthropology does not expect other people to be any more virtuous, stable, or capable than we ourselves are. As a result, it fosters patience and understanding and, in many cases, keeps disappointment from choking the seeds of affection before they’ve had an opportunity to take root. Relationships bathed in disappointment seldom survive, especially if the disappointment morphs into superiority (p. 168).

When it comes to combatting loneliness, I’ve found it very important to not let disappointment choke the seeds of affection. Instead of allowing bitterness for a friend’s lack of communication to cause me to slap them with the silent treatment, I’ve been graciously reminded (maybe graciously reprimanded is a better way of saying it) to be generous, get curious, and reach out anyway. A few months ago, this happened when I spoke with an AWOL friend on the phone, and she revealed several complex problems that had been occupying her time and relational capacity. I had no idea. I was humbled to tears, sad both for the burden my friend had been bearing and grateful for the opportunity to reconnect in a meaningful way with someone who means a lot to me. I believe that we’re all lonelier than we care to admit, and sometimes, we need to be humbled in our collective humanity and reoriented into love, compassion, and patient care.

Lastly, the problem of loneliness is an immensely complicated one because it requires us to stand before others and God and admit that we are — to borrow a phrase from a friend of mine named Brad Montague — “Just humans who want to be loved.” No matter what virtuous habits we cultivate, what thick communities we form, what problematic attachment styles we work to heal, or what meaningful text messages we exchange, we are all still humans who want to be liked and loved. But here’s the problem: even if every human being gave an earnest and honest attempt to remedy our “collective-action problem” through “deeply etched communal habits” that helped everyone feel encouraged, included, and admired, we would still be dissatisfied. Why? Because 1) we will let each other down and 2) humans cannot be each other’s sole source of fulfilling love.

For me, my hardest times of loneliness were riddled with a misattribution of my belovedness. Over the last year — a year in which I have felt both profoundly lonely and profoundly cared for by God and others — I have had to relearn how God sees me holistically. God does not tolerate me. He likes me and he loves me. Immensely. Unequivocally. Irrevocably. When we begin to believe and live into this grace-filled view of God’s view of us, I think we can better give and receive love.

As Thompson writes — and hundreds of psychologists, physiatrists, pastors, doctors, and therapists will tell you — eliminating loneliness is and always will be a lofty goal. Because of this, I think our only solution for relief is to look to lofty places to steer and soften us to be people filled with the love of Christ — the only person who said he could defeat death through the power of love… and he did. Now that’s pretty lofty, wouldn’t you say?

You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain. (Ps 139:1–6)

So let us raise a glass to unattainable human goals — let us exchange “cheers” to our dissatisfied hearts and discontented spirits. Let us find hope in feeling like nothing will ever satisfy us, for it all proves the point: “We have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked” (2 Cor 5:1–3).