My Hermitage

When I inform people that I live as a hermit, I sometimes get the feeling that their image of what I do isn’t a good match with the reality of my life. I think they see me as much more withdrawn from society, more isolated than I am. While I do seek solitude, I haven’t mainly disconnected from the world at all. Even Thoreau—while hermiting on Walden Pond—visited, and was visited by, folks quite often.

In Western cultures hermits are often viewed as misanthropes, as outsiders, as oddballs, as withdrawn personalities. (I will confess to a mild case of some of these qualities.) This perception stems, to some extent, from early Christian church leaders. After waiting several decades for what they believed would be Jesus’ imminent return—while living under voluntary poverty conditions—church leaders concluded that the Messiah was not coming back anytime soon. Their next step was to decide that being wealthy was OK after all.

Some early Christians disagreed, however. They believed that very simple living led to a more devout life, so they continued their ascetic ways. They became outcasts, and retreated into solitude, in the barren wilderness. We now call the them Desert Mothers and Fathers. The powerful church leaders branded them as hostile misfits, bad-mouthed them, and established an ongoing suspicion of hermits, in Christian eyes. In the far East, it’s been quite another matter: elderly people often retreat into hermitage, after family obligations are discharged. It’s an honored tradition.

I find resonance with the hermit tradition: that ones lives largely in solitude, in order to seek insights and understanding that one cannot get, as a full-time member of society. Today’s society (or the one of Jesus’ time, for that matter) is caught up in activities that lead to mental and physical ills. There’s a craziness that abounds in the fast lane of urban life—a craziness that swoops one up and distorts one’s ability to think clearly. A hermit finds mental health in nature, away from society’s delusions.

So yes, I’ve retreated from my culture, to the sacredness of the woods. It’s taught me that there is so much more to learn about my world than just the narrow slice of humanity’s focus. The flora, fauna, and silence have much to teach me.

And I’m not at all disconnected from the human world. For example, even in the most remote corner of today’s world, one can access the internet. I browse, I research, I email, I keep up with human happenings. I like to stay in touch with numerous people, but I treasure being able to shut humanity’s craziness out and wander through the woods at my leisure.