CC: A Solitary Mind: The Art of Loneliness in The Book of Disquiet

“I weep over my imperfect pages, but if future generations read them, they will be more touched by my weeping than by any perfection I might have achieved, since perfection would have kept me from weeping and, therefore, from writing. Perfection never materializes. The saint weeps, and is human. God is silent. That is why we can love the saint but cannot love God.”

“The Book of Disquiet”, written by Fernando Pessoa in 1982, consists of 481 chapters that seem more like diary excerpts that were randomly put together. However, after reading every single one of them, readers realize that their chronology is not coincidental. Living in Lisbon, the author takes us on a journey of self-discovery, art, and solitude. We can dive into his mind through the thoughts of Bernardo Soares – Pessoa’s semi-heteronym that he describes as a similar in essence but reduced in complexity version of himself. Through Soares, he explores the nuances of existence, the melancholy of daily life in Lisbon, and the quiet introspection that shapes his literary world.

The theme he seems to come back to the most often in his thoughts is solitude. Its different forms accompany the author throughout the book, letting him feel both its beauty and horror. Bernardo Soares finds himself fascinating enough to embrace the loneliness, with the depths of his soul seeming to be his favourite place. Because of his highly developed imagination and intelligence, he despises physical unfamiliarity. The internal world within himself fascinates him enough not to engage in “useless” travels. 

“The idea of travelling nauseates me. I’ve already seen what I have yet to see.”

Pessoa describes discovering new places and cultures as pointless. Since everything we perceive is altered through our own experiences, thoughts, and preconceptions, it is simply tedious to travel. “The sameness of everything, from church to a mosque,” and repetitive landscapes do not amuse him.

“What can China give me that my soul hasn’t already given me? For it is with my soul that I’ll see China. I could go and seek riches in the Orient, but not the riches of the soul, because I am my soul’s riches, and I am where I am, with or without the Orient.”

The experiences of our body are nothing in comparison to the experiences of the soul. He denies the existence of the universe itself – he is the universe, an eternal tourist of himself.

Many excerpts provide the reader with a sensation that Soares loves being alone. He talks about the presence of others as a threat – something that “instantly slows down his thinking” and “makes him lose his intelligence”.

“Freedom is the possibility of isolation. If you can’t live alone, you were born a slave”.

Pessoa finds peace in the freedom of withdrawal from people. He does not need them for the sake of money, company, love, or glory, since he calls these values ones that cannot thrive in silence and solitude. The only value worth pursuing is the fulfillment of self. Despite being seemingly lonely, Pessoa refers to the universality of his experience – he admits that every single human being is a separate consciousness with the same thoughts and questions. “How there can be souls that aren’t mine?” he asks. He is detached from everyone, yet knows that his thoughts are a mere repetition of those of all the other people in the world.

The existential solitude is also prevalent in Soares’ thoughts. He shares with us his deepest fears and how terrified he feels when it comes to his death. The anticipatory nostalgia of non-existence bothers his mind every other day, not letting him enjoy the present moments.

“A pre-neurosis born of what I’ll be when I no longer am grips my body and soul. An absurd remembrance of my future death makes me shiver deep down. In the fog of my intuition, I feel like dead matter fallen in the rain and mourned by the howling wind. And the chill of what I won’t feel gnaws at my present heart.” 

I believe that we all have experienced similar emotions and thoughts occurring during the late-night hours. Our bodies get tense, and the daunting anticipation of eternity of nothingness crawls into our minds. Although death is inevitable, Pessoa tries to treat it as something …

In his book, we can befriend his existential fear and everything he finds appalling. One thing is to die; another thing is to die alone. Although, after all, aren’t we all inherently alone in our minds? Isn’t it exactly why death terrifies us – because we cannot share this feeling with anyone?

“Death is liberation because to die is to need no one”.

Incredibly interesting is Pessoa’s 436th excerpt, where he seems to transform his comfortable loneliness into real sorrow about what no longer exists.

“I weep over solitude and life, over the loss of the lap where I once lay, the death of the hand I was given, the arms whose embrace I never knew, the shoulder to lean on that I could never have.”

His insignificance overwhelms him. He finishes his book with a thought about the future. He knows that everything he has ever done and everything he has felt will be “no more than one less passer-by on the everyday streets of Lisbon”. And as we all, one day, will turn into eternal nothingness.