Friendly Hermits and Friendly Introverts
Do hermits inherently reject human connections? Are they antisocial beings? The answers may surprise you.
Both in Asia and in the West, kids grow up hearing tales of wise old men living in seclusion in desert caves or high on a mountaintop. Someone looking for wisdom seeks them out and receives the gruff reply, “Go away!” No wonder most of us get the idea that hermits are people-hating isolates with a nasty, uncaring, dour personality. A hermit who enjoys one-on-one conversation and charms visitors seems contradictory.
Yet I have a neighbor named Jack who built a house for himself deep in the woods near me on land owned by a former girlfriend of his. It was an illegal habitation since it violated a dozen and one construction and health regulations. He lived there alone for months at a time during the off-season from carpentry and house painting odd jobs, and at least once a year he went on silent retreats at a meditation center. A poet as well, he self-published a book with the word “hermit” in the title. His book demonstrates that he created a solitary lifestyle in the woods as contentedly as Henry David Thoreau:
“If it had snowed in the night I was obliged to strap on snowshoes or skis and go on a tour of my neighborhood, remarking how heavy or light the snow was, how well the hemlocks bore their burdens, what the chipmunks and bluejays thought about it all. Sometimes, as I made my rounds, the crows that seemed to rule the neighborhood accompanied me overhead, keeping an eye on my progress, squawking their outrageous opinions like teenagers showing off before a camera…”
Given that, what amazed and amused me about Jack was his habit of stopping his car and leaning out the window when he saw me out for a walk. He would then regale me with pleasantries, stories and chitchat. Always I was the one to end the interchange with a firm, final “Good to see you.”
A new book from the UK breaks the stereotype of the misanthropic, antisocial hermit even further. Ken Smith, known as “the Hermit of Treig,” spent some 40 years living off the land alone in the Scottish Highlands. From the log cabin he constructed near the bank of a loch to the nearest road took a walk of eight miles, with 18 more miles to a town where he could buy groceries. People who met Smith in person describe him as charming and colorful, with a twinkle in his eye. Throughout his recently published book, The Way of the Hermit, he’s a first-rate raconteur. His tale of inexplicable events in a hiking hut reputed to be haunted, for example, is spine-chilling:
“I leapt to one side as a whole series of stone blocks flew into the fire, sending out a great molten cloud of ash, smoke and flaming sparks; but there was no time to regain control of my senses. A terrible metallic crunching from behind saw me swiveling around, only to observe two metal deckchairs walk their way right across the room… I was bristling with a brand of absolute horror, the like of which I would quite frankly not wish on anyone.”
Not a single anecdote in the book shows Smith as a cold-shoulder “Go away” type. On the contrary, he chats up strangers when he hitchhikes to town and turns distant locals into his fans. He listens to the BBC, writes letters to family and old friends, takes photos and enjoys showing them off. He doesn’t reject people or find them annoying. He simply loves nature, self-sufficiency and solitude more. As he put it in the book: “My decision to immerse myself in this place is not one based on pulling myself away from all of you, rather it is to give myself wholly to this wild space instead.”
Smith explicitly debunks the notion that anyone who lives as he does must either hate humanity or be fundamentally odd.
“More often than not, introversion and reclusion, the fundamental character traits of a hermit, have become closely associated with those who have a visceral anger and forceful hostility towards humankind. [This is] a dreadful smear on all those who prefer the quiet life. People like me have existed within every culture on earth. We are as much a part of you, as you are of us.”
For many who adhere to a modern-conveniences, ever-striving lifestyle, it’s hard to wrap their minds around the notion that liking solitude and loving elemental nature can be positive traits, not necessarily a character flaw or a manifestation of trauma. Perhaps The Way of the Hermit will help them understand.
What’s true for hermits applies to introverts generally. “Friendly introvert” is not a head-scratching absurdity. Someone can enjoy impromptu conversations, be pleasantly well-mannered and yet have a deep-down need for alone time in order to feel aright with the world. Introversion “doesn’t always look like a person standing in the corner,” notes Caylie Evans. “We might not jump into a deep conversation right away, but we can show that we’re approachable and open to making connections,” observes Taha Khan. “Though introverts may not be as ‘out-there’ and lively as extroverts, [we] still possess the capacity for sociability, warmth, and kindness. For us, it’s about finding a balance between meaningful connections and personal space.”
And by the way, in the classic hermit stories the gruff “Go away!” usually proves to be a tactic testing the supplicant’s motivation. Do they really, really, really want to know the secrets of life? If so, the wise ones eventually share what they know.