Alone by Richard Byrd

A few weeks ago I reread Alone, the book Admiral Richard Byrd wrote about the Antarctic winter he spent alone at a research station near the South Pole. I don’t remember exactly when I read it before.  My best guess is that  it was sometime in the last couple of years of junior high in the eighth or ninth grade when I would have been between thirteen and fifteen years old.

It is a tale of fortitude, courage, and adventure and one well worth reading. However my rereading was less to enjoy the book itself than to try to figure something out.  I remembered very little of the details of the book, but I remembered vividly  what reading it had done to me.  I came away from the experience  having decided a person had to deal  with the big questions of life and existence and work out for himself what he thought and believed. (I didn’t always do much about it, and I certainly did not immediately become a philosopher, but things were different from then on.)  I wanted to read it again  after many years  to see what had led me to those conclusions.  So I did, but I still don’t know for sure.  

The book is mainly a month by month account of Admiral Byrd’s daily activities, observations, and struggles. There are a few fairly short passages about his philosophical musings over the winter and the changes his reflecting on his experiences caused in his life and world view. Perhaps it was the example of a strong, admirable and scientific man of action engaging in philosophical speculations that got my attention. (I know it wasn’t his specific conclusions. I had forgotten what they were until I read the book again.)  Maybe it was the romantic image of an adventurer, isolated at the end of the world, with only his books and thoughts, taking advantage of that isolation to decide for himself what he really believed and how he really wanted to live.  It might have been simply a reaction to reading about  someone honestly and clearly questioning  the beliefs and attitudes he had held in the past without any fear or idea that the act of  questioning was wrong but rather with a sense that it was both right and important.   Maybe it was just exposure to the idea and act of delving into those sorts of questions. It could have been some of all of that. I  don’t know. I do know I’m grateful.

I would guess that many people have had similar experiences, often also with books one would not have thought likely to produce such results. It would be interesting if someone would compile information on that.