On July 1st, 1969, Donald Crowhurst wrote in his logbook titled “Philosophy:”
“It is the time for your move to begin / I have not need to prolong the game / It has been a good game that must be ended at the / I will play this game when I choose I will resign the game 11 20 40 There is no reason for harmful”
For approximately the last seven months, Crowhurst hid by himself in radio silence in the Atlantic aboard the trimaran Teignmouth Electron. He spent his time keeping the borderline unseaworthy boat afloat and maintaining a fictitious logbook of a solo circumnavigation of the globe.
The deception was to save him from financial ruin and public humiliation. He entered the 1968 Sunday Times Golden Globe Race to reconcile the difference between his aspirations and his lived reality. He wanted to prove to himself and the world that he was a man of great worth. So, the small-time inventor leveraged every penny, gambling his business and family home on his success or failure in the race around the world.
Crowhurst departed in a rush on the race’s start deadline of October 31, 1968. He was weeks behind the seven other accomplished sailors in the race and the Teignmouth Electron was not capable of catching up, let alone rounding the Cape of Good Hope or Cape Horn. Donald gave himself a 50/50 chance of surviving the race.
In early December, amidst ever-flagging progress and outlook, Crowhurst’s fake voyage began when he reported record-breaking progress back to England. To avoid being tracked, he claimed generator issues prevented him from maintaining radio contact. He then drifted without human connection, barring one rule-breaking stop at a naval base in the Falkland Islands for repairs, for around five months. On board, he kept two logbooks, one tracking his imaginary route and one tracking his actual.
Only two other competing sailors remained once spring dawned, Nigel Tetley and Bernard Moitessier. Donald waited until they rounded South America then slipped in behind, reestablished radio contact, and planned to quietly finish the race outside of the limelight. His fake journey might hold up under less intense scrutiny, hopefully saving his reputation. He radioed England and told them he rounded Cape Horn.
Crowhurst’s plan of hiding behind Tetley and Moitessier did not last long. Tetley pushed his trimaran too hard and was rescued from the sinking vessel at the end of May. Moitessier fired a note at a passing ship with a slingshot, stating that he would sail around the globe again “because I am happy at sea and perhaps to save my soul.”
All eyes fell on Crowhurst. His lies would be exposed and he would be destroyed in the public eye. If he was not immediately revealed, he could not handle the guilt of faking his greatest achievement.
Teignmouth Electron was found drifting empty in the North Atlantic on July 10th.
Existential isolation is characterized by despair brought on by an acute awareness of the disconnect between one’s private internal self and the reality of the world. This awareness is generally triggered by intense loss or catastrophe that highlights our inevitable death, the death of our loved ones, and the fallibility of humanity. As Adlous Huxeley wrote in The Doors of Perception, “We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the area; they are crucified alone.” Isolation lies at the root of our condition. Most of our time is spent circumnavigating loneliness by way of work, friends, and family.
The ocean lays us bare. The desert of wind and waves strips the mind of all crutches, leaving only contemplation.
Of all disciplines, philosophy is unique in that in our daily lives it is hard to convince people of its worth. Most philosophical work looks trifling and useless from the outside. It does not pay the bills and it does not produce anything of obvious worth. But, when our existence is exposed and we are forced to reconcile with ourselves, philosophy is the only tool that can help.
Bernard Moitessier faced his philosophical trial during the race. After re-entering the Atlantic Ocean, he realized that everything he loathed, commercialism, public opinion, and the demands of modern life, lay ahead of him in Europe. He had been practicing yoga on board his boat and found that the rhythm of sailing was his spiritual connection to the world. The money and fame from completing the race were not worth his soul. He fired his fateful note and happily sailed to Tahiti.
When confronted with the crippling reality of our isolation, Moitessier found love within the southern waters of the world. Love for the way his boat Joshua split the surface, love for the dolphins that accompanied him, love for the fish he caught, love for the sound of wind in the sails, and love for the feel of rope on his hands. These relationships were essential to him, and out on his boat is where he learned to focus on the essentials. His ten months of sailing 37,455 miles would set a record for the longest solo non-stop yacht voyage. After arriving in Tahiti, Moitessier spent the next three years on an atoll in French Polynesia with his wife and son, growing vegetables and living in a hut.
At the apex of his isolation, Donald Crowhurst also turned to philosophy to save himself. In his mind, he was a man out to do great things by way of a world-spanning game. But Donald’s reality was that he was desperate and lying. He wrote of becoming a cosmic being by willing himself out of “the game,” leaving behind his corporeal body and becoming a disembodied intelligence on par with the gods. In an unstable script, he spilled his philosophy into the logbook with spelling errors and unfinished thoughts:
“…Now is revealed the true nature and purpose and power of the game offence … I am what I am and I see the nature of my offence … It is finished – It is finished – IT IS THE MERCY
It is the end of my my game the truth has been revealed and it will be done as my family require me to do it”
Crowhurst did not find a connection between himself and the world as Moitessier did. Two men flying alone across the blue for nearly a year paint a poignant picture of what philosophy can do for us in times of immense existential trial.
I am not a sailor. I am not even particularly fond of water. But, in a post-COVID world, I have felt shades of an isolation like the one that drove Crowhurst from the deck of his boat. From my windows and computer screens, the connection between myself and the rest of the world remains real, despite how little I might interact with it. A short walk or a video chat keeps me within reach of the wonderful things in existence. What incredible power thresholds hide! They can sever one from the totality of life or mark the first step to salvation. I traverse both my physical and digital thresholds to save my soul when confronted with the despair of isolation. I pity Crowhurst, for out in the Atlantic, no such portal was available to him.
We can look to our surroundings and find the relationships that ground our being. Our souls can blend with the roll of waves or the whipping of winds. The essential ties we cultivate with the things and people around us can fill us with meaning and purpose. We can bridge the void that separates our thoughts from our world. Or we can see ruses and games, and slip beneath the surface.
