Solitude emerged in the early modern era, attempting to recover the motive of the medieval hermit, polished over several centuries to become a suitable alternative. But the process was slow and tortured, and has never realized the validity of eremitism. The validity of medieval eremitism was purposeful and spiritual, wherein life became a project, but by the early modern era had been identified as quaint, eccentric, and irrelevant.
Medieval eremitism had always been deprecated by the Church, and was attacked by the twin pillars of Augustine and Benedict as a practice riddled with thieves and vagrants. Eremitism was intolerable to authority because it represented the priority of the individual and the moral over the institutional and the rote. Still, great efforts by eremitic innovators of the central Middle Ages, from Romuald to Stephen Muret to the Beguines, attempted to reconcile the two. Eremitic religious orders patterned after the decentralized communities of the desert hermits thrived until the end of the medieval era, until Church and state combined to overthrow the remnants of eremitism. The subsequent wars of religion attacked eremitism from both a Catholic and Protestant critique. By the dawn of the Renaissance and early modern era, eremitism was formally ended.
A few early modern era thinkers (Petrarch, Montaigne), hearkening to Stoicism, hoped to salvage solitude for its core ethics. This core was noticed intuitively, hesitantly, tentatively, without a firm structure applied to living. Solitude in this era wavered between disintegrating into eccentricity and instability, presented one moment as a balm to society and at another a dangerous disaffection. Stoicism was insufficient. Solitude was not truly the hallmark of Stoicism, as Seneca (the chef ancient Stoic) reveals.
The hesitancy of Seneca in his moral advice to Lucilius is indicative of how the later moderns might proceed with solitude. Seneca knows that solitude is an aberration in society and cannot be justified because the world condemns solitude and the individual who is alone. The logic of Seneca is that aloneness, without check from a guardian, friend, or mentor, leaves the individual open to temptation and dissolution. (Of course, Seneca’s notion of solitude is not coming from a tradition of eremitism but from the somewhat cold-heartedness of ancient Greek Stoicism). The following passages (from Letter 25, to Lucilius) is indicative:
“There is no real doubt that it is good for one to have appointed a guardian over oneself, and to have someone whom you may look up to,someone whom you may regard as a witness of your thoughts. It is, indeed, nobler by far to live as you would live under the eyes of some good man, always at your side; but nevertheless I am content if you only act, in whatever you do, as you would act ifanyone at all were looking on; because solitude prompts us to all kinds of evil.”
What Carl Jung called “culture” in his assessment of social impacts on the stages of life, and in his presentation of the dichotomy between nature and culture, is here presented by Seneca as the strong censorious character of society that will pass judgment on otherwise innocuous social conventions. Thus, to the young Lucilius, Seneca cautions against an embrace of solitude because it will appears too anti-social, too youthful, too revellious, too flagrant. Not only that. Solitude will appear to be a cover for immoral behavior!
“You ought to make yourself of a different stamp from the multitude. Therefore, while it is not yet safe to withdraw into solitude, seek out certain individuals; for everyone is better off in the company of somebody or other — no matter who—than in his own company alone. The time when you should most of all withdraw into yourself is when you are forced to be in a crowd. Yes, provided that you are a good, tranquil, and self-restrained man; otherwise, you had better withdraw into a crowd in order to get away from your self. Alone, you are too close to a rascal.”
Clearly, Seneca is not a true proponent of solitude as it would be understood in modern circles. He is conscious of its attractions but uncertain if it would not alienate the solitary from all social interrelations, whether in society or even among friends. In the worldly sense, Seneca’s advice is sound, perhaps. If we must function in the world we may as well conform to certain (or many) conventions. This position reveals the absence of psychology and effectively leaves solitude to those who can afford it. And, perhaps, he is right. Perhaps the hermit is not made for society, not made to succeed in the world.