Eremitism: The Psychology of Solitude and the Desire to Be Alone
“Solitude isn’t a retreat from life—it’s often where life gets clearer. In this episode, I explore the psychology of eremitism: what it means to step away, why some people crave it, and how solitude can become a source of clarity, creativity, and healing—when it’s intentional, not avoidant.”
Transcript
Welcome to The Psychology of Us with Professor RJ Starr. This is the podcast where we take deep dives into the ways psychology shapes our everyday lives—our thoughts, our behaviors, and the choices we make, often without even realizing it. I’m your host, RJ Starr, and in every episode, we explore a different aspect of what makes us human.
Today, we’re talking about something that might sound simple on the surface but is actually deeply complex: solitude. More specifically, we’re looking at eremitism—the act of withdrawing from society, either temporarily or permanently, to live in solitude. Maybe you’ve fantasized about stepping away from the noise of the world, disconnecting from social media, shutting the door, and just… being. But what happens when that desire for solitude turns into something more? When stepping away becomes a way of life?
This idea—removing oneself from the world—isn’t new. In fact, it has been practiced for centuries, across cultures and belief systems, by monks, hermits, philosophers, and artists seeking clarity, wisdom, or even just relief from the demands of society. But solitude isn’t just for mystics or recluses. It’s something we all experience in one form or another, whether by choice or circumstance.
The question is: Is solitude healing or harmful? What happens to the mind when we remove ourselves from social interaction? Can solitude bring self-discovery and renewal, or does it risk leading us down a path of loneliness and despair?
In this episode, we’ll explore the psychology of solitude, what research tells us about its effects on the human mind, and why some people seek it out while others avoid it at all costs. We’ll look at historical examples of eremitism, from monks in the desert to modern-day hermits. We’ll also examine what solitude does to our brains—both the benefits and the risks—and how we can apply the wisdom of those who have embraced solitude to our own modern, hyper-connected lives.
And throughout, I’ll share a few personal insights, because I think solitude is something that, in one way or another, touches all of us. I’ve had my own experiences of stepping back, retreating, even if just temporarily, and I’ll tell you how that shaped my thinking.
So, let’s begin. Let’s step into the quiet. Let’s explore what it means to be alone—not lonely, but alone—and why, in the right balance, solitude might just be one of the most powerful tools we have for self-understanding.
Segment 1: The Psychology of Solitude
Solitude is a fascinating thing. It can be a refuge or a punishment, a source of strength or suffering, depending on the context and, more importantly, the person experiencing it. Some people crave time alone, while others dread it. But what exactly happens to the mind when we step away from the world?
First, let’s distinguish between solitude and isolation. They may seem similar, but psychologically, they are very different. Solitude is chosen—it’s voluntary, intentional, and often restorative. Isolation, on the other hand, is typically unwanted. It’s forced upon a person, whether by circumstance, social exclusion, or psychological distress. While solitude can bring clarity and creativity, prolonged isolation is often associated with loneliness, anxiety, and even cognitive decline.
In psychology, solitude has long been recognized as essential to self-development. Carl Jung, one of the great pioneers of analytical psychology, talked about the individuation process—the journey of becoming one's true self. He believed that people often needed to retreat from the external world to fully integrate their thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Stepping away from the roles society places on us can help us hear our own voices more clearly.
We also see this in Mihály Csíkszentmihályi’s work on flow states—those moments of deep immersion where time seems to disappear, and we’re completely absorbed in what we’re doing. Many of history’s greatest thinkers, from scientists to artists, have sought solitude as a way to enter that state more easily. Newton. Einstein. Thoreau. Even Steve Jobs was known to take long, solitary walks to think through ideas.
And maybe you’ve felt this yourself. Have you ever had a moment alone—perhaps on a quiet drive, a morning walk, or just sitting with a cup of coffee—where a thought suddenly became clearer? Where an idea came to you in a way it never would have in the middle of a conversation or a busy day? That’s the power of solitude. It gives the mind space to process, to wander, to make connections it wouldn’t otherwise make.
I can tell you from my own experience that some of my best ideas—whether for teaching, writing, or just understanding something in my own life—have come when I’ve stepped away from the noise. I remember once, during a particularly overwhelming period of my career, I took a weekend and went completely off the grid. No phone, no email, no outside conversations. Just books, a journal, and silence. At first, it was uncomfortable. The urge to reach for my phone, to check messages, to fill the space with distraction, was almost automatic. But after a while, something shifted. My thoughts slowed down. I started paying attention to things I’d been too busy to notice—how I was feeling, what I was avoiding, what I truly wanted. By the time I re-emerged, I had more clarity in two days than I had in months of constant engagement.
So, if solitude is so powerful, why do some people fear it? Why does the idea of being alone—even for a short time—make some people deeply uncomfortable? That’s what we’ll explore next. Because while solitude can be a source of peace and self-discovery, for some, it can also be a confrontation with things they’d rather not face.
Segment 2: Eremetism Throughout History
Solitude isn’t just a personal preference—it’s a practice that has shaped human history. Throughout time, people have chosen to step away from society, not out of rejection or punishment, but out of a desire for something deeper. Eremetism, the act of withdrawing from the world to live in solitude, has existed in nearly every culture, often linked to spiritual enlightenment, intellectual growth, or personal transformation.
Let’s start with one of the earliest and most well-documented groups of eremites: the Desert Fathers and Mothers. These were early Christian hermits who, around the 3rd and 4th centuries, left behind the cities and towns of the Roman Empire to live in the Egyptian desert. They believed that solitude freed them from worldly distractions, allowing them to cultivate wisdom and spiritual discipline. They weren’t just sitting in caves meditating—they were wrestling with their own minds, their doubts, their fears. They saw solitude as a test, one that could either break a person or refine them.
But this wasn’t just a Christian tradition. Buddhism has a long history of monastic retreats, where monks remove themselves from society to meditate in silence. The Buddha himself is said to have attained enlightenment only after years of solitude and deep contemplation. Even today, in some Buddhist traditions, monks spend extended periods—sometimes years—completely alone in the mountains or forests, relying on their inner world for growth and understanding.
And then there’s Henry David Thoreau, the 19th-century writer and philosopher best known for Walden, his account of living in solitude by a pond in the Massachusetts wilderness. Thoreau didn’t retreat from society permanently, but he spent over two years in a small cabin, observing nature, reflecting on life, and questioning the values of a society obsessed with material success. He wrote, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life." And in many ways, that captures the spirit of eremetism—not just escaping the world, but stripping life down to its essence to understand it more clearly.
But here’s where it gets really interesting: modern eremites still exist today. There are people, right now, who have chosen to live in complete solitude, away from modern life. Some of them are spiritual seekers, like hermit monks who take vows of silence. Others are survivalists, people who have chosen to live off the grid, disconnected from the internet, from news, from everything. And then there are those who didn’t necessarily set out to be eremites but found themselves drawn into a life of solitude anyway.
Take Christopher Knight, for example—better known as the North Pond Hermit. In 1986, at the age of 20, he walked into the woods of Maine and didn’t speak to another human being for nearly three decades. He lived in complete isolation, surviving off food he stole from nearby cabins. When he was finally caught in 2013, he admitted that in all those years, he had spoken only a single word—"Hi"—to a passing hiker. What’s fascinating is that Knight didn’t leave society out of trauma or ideology. He simply felt more comfortable in solitude. He described the noise and stimulation of modern life as unbearable, and he thrived in silence. But he also admitted that prolonged solitude did something to his sense of self—he said that after years alone, he felt like he had "vanished" as an individual, as if his identity had dissolved into the forest around him.
That raises an important question: What does extended solitude do to the human mind? At what point does being alone stop being restorative and start becoming dangerous? And why do some people seem to flourish in isolation while others crumble under it? That’s what we’ll explore next. Because solitude, as powerful as it is, comes with risks—and the line between self-discovery and self-destruction isn’t always as clear as we might think.
Segment 3: The Psychological Impact of Eremetism
Solitude can be transformative. It can foster creativity, deepen self-awareness, and provide a level of peace that’s hard to find in a world filled with distractions. But prolonged solitude—especially extreme forms of eremetism—can also change the mind in ways that aren’t always positive.
So, what happens to the brain when we spend extended time alone? Psychologists and neuroscientists have studied solitude for decades, and the findings reveal both profound benefits and potential dangers.
Let’s start with the benefits. When we step away from constant social interaction, the default mode network of the brain becomes more active. This is the part of the brain that engages when we’re daydreaming, reflecting on ourselves, or making sense of our experiences. Research shows that people who spend regular time in solitude tend to have stronger self-awareness, better problem-solving skills, and higher levels of creativity. Think about the moments in your life when you’ve had sudden clarity—maybe while driving alone, taking a long walk, or just staring out a window. That’s the brain using solitude to process information in ways that social interaction doesn’t always allow.
But there’s a tipping point. Studies on social isolation—which is different from chosen solitude—show that too much time alone can start to disrupt cognitive and emotional regulation. Extended periods without human interaction have been linked to increased anxiety, depression, and even changes in how the brain processes information.
Consider a well-documented case: the experiences of prisoners held in solitary confinement. The United Nations classifies solitary confinement beyond 15 days as a form of psychological torture, because studies have shown that prolonged isolation can lead to hallucinations, paranoia, and even shifts in identity. Without social interaction, the brain struggles to orient itself. Sensory deprivation can make people lose track of time. Some have even reported feeling as though they were dissolving—losing their sense of self entirely.
Now, eremetism is voluntary, and most historical and modern eremites do not experience the same level of psychological distress as prisoners in solitary confinement. But we do see patterns in how extreme solitude can alter perception. Some long-term hermits have reported losing their ability to connect easily with others, finding even small social interactions exhausting. Some describe a blurring of identity, similar to what Christopher Knight—the North Pond Hermit—described when he said he felt as though he had "vanished" into the wilderness.
There’s also the question of loneliness. Can you be alone and not feel lonely? Absolutely. But loneliness is not just a feeling—it has physical effects. Research by psychologist John Cacioppo, who specialized in the study of loneliness, found that chronic loneliness triggers the same stress responses in the body as physical pain. The brain perceives prolonged social disconnection as a threat, leading to higher cortisol levels, increased inflammation, and even a weakened immune system.
So, why do some people thrive in solitude while others suffer? The key seems to be whether solitude is a choice. People who willingly engage in eremetism—whether monks, philosophers, or modern hermits—often develop routines and structures that keep their minds engaged. They may spend hours meditating, writing, creating, or observing nature. They use solitude as a tool, not a trap. But those who find themselves isolated due to life circumstances—like illness, social rejection, or technological withdrawal—often experience solitude in a much more painful way.
And that leads us to an important question: In a world where we are more connected than ever—digitally, at least—why are so many people experiencing loneliness at unprecedented levels? Is modern society pushing us toward a new kind of eremetism? Let’s explore that next. Because in an age of constant interaction, solitude might be harder to find than ever—but also more necessary than we realize.
Segment 4: Eremetism in the Modern World
We live in the most connected era in human history. At any moment, we can send a message across the world, scroll through thousands of people’s lives, or jump into a conversation with strangers on the internet. And yet, despite all of this, loneliness is at an all-time high. Studies show that people today report feeling less connected, less seen, and more isolated than previous generations.
How is that possible? If we’re constantly surrounded—digitally, at least—why do so many of us feel alone?
One reason is that modern life has created a new kind of eremetism—one that isn’t chosen, but enforced through the way we interact with the world. In the past, eremetism was physical—you left the village, the monastery, or the city and disappeared into the wilderness. Today, people don’t necessarily leave society, but they retreat inward. Instead of face-to-face interactions, we live through screens. Instead of deep conversations, we get surface-level digital exchanges. And ironically, the more we engage with these shallow interactions, the more isolated we can feel.
Have you ever found yourself scrolling through social media, surrounded by endless content and conversation, yet feeling more alone than ever? That’s the paradox of modern solitude—we are never really alone, but we aren’t always connected either.
Now, some people recognize this and intentionally pull away. Digital detoxing, off-grid living, and "going ghost" on social media are all modern expressions of eremetism. Many people report feeling mentally clearer, less anxious, and more present in their lives after taking breaks from technology. And there’s good reason for that—constant exposure to online interactions can overstimulate the brain, making solitude feel almost impossible, even when we’re physically alone.
But here’s the challenge: Modern eremetism is not always a healthy retreat. Some people withdraw not for self-discovery, but out of exhaustion, rejection, or social overwhelm. Take the rise of the so-called Hikikomori phenomenon in Japan—young adults who completely withdraw from society, isolating themselves in their rooms for months or even years. While traditional eremites sought solitude for enlightenment, Hikikomori often experience extreme loneliness, depression, and anxiety. Their solitude isn’t chosen for growth—it’s an escape from a world they feel unable to engage with.
And it’s not just Japan. Social withdrawal is on the rise everywhere. Studies in the U.S. and Europe show that younger generations are engaging less in face-to-face socializing than previous generations. Many prefer digital interactions or avoid social settings altogether. Some experts worry that a form of psychological eremetism is taking hold—not the intentional solitude of monks and philosophers, but a passive withdrawal from life itself.
So, how do we distinguish healthy solitude from harmful isolation? How do we integrate the wisdom of traditional eremetism into our modern lives without falling into loneliness or detachment? That’s what we’ll talk about next—because you don’t need to disappear into the woods for two years like Thoreau to benefit from solitude. In fact, learning to be alone—even for short, structured periods—might be one of the most important skills we can develop today.
Segment 5: Lessons from Eremites—What We Can Apply to Daily Life
Eremetism, at its core, is about stepping away to see more clearly. It’s about creating space—not just physical space, but mental and emotional space—to think, reflect, and process life without the constant pull of external noise. And while most of us aren’t going to retreat into the mountains for years at a time, we can still learn a great deal from those who have embraced solitude.
So, how do we apply the lessons of eremetism to our modern lives—without losing touch with the world?
One of the first things we can learn is the power of structured solitude. Solitude, when intentional, isn’t about avoiding people or responsibilities—it’s about carving out time to be with yourself. Research shows that even short periods of solitude—as little as 10 to 15 minutes—can improve focus, lower stress, and boost creativity. But the key is how you spend that time.
Eremites throughout history didn’t just sit in silence—they often had structured routines. Monks would meditate, write, or engage in slow, deliberate tasks like gardening or walking. Many of the world’s greatest thinkers had similar rituals—Einstein took long, solitary walks to process ideas; Nikola Tesla spent hours alone, visualizing his inventions in his mind before ever putting them to paper. Even in modern psychology, solitude is linked to deeper cognitive processing, problem-solving, and emotional regulation.
So, how do we build structured solitude into our own lives?
One simple way is to create a daily solitude practice. This doesn’t mean isolating yourself completely—it means setting aside intentional moments of quiet reflection. Maybe it’s ten minutes of journaling in the morning. Maybe it’s an evening walk with no music, no podcasts—just you and your thoughts. Or maybe it’s a weekly “offline hour,” where you disconnect from technology and simply exist in your own space. The important part is to make it intentional—solitude that is mindful, rather than passive.
Another lesson from eremetism is learning to be alone without feeling lonely. There’s a common fear, especially in today’s world, that being alone means something is wrong. We often see solitude as a problem to be solved, rather than a state to be embraced. But think about this: some of the greatest moments of clarity in life come not when we’re surrounded by people, but when we’re by ourselves.
If being alone makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself: Why? Are you avoiding something in the silence? Are you afraid of your own thoughts? Many people find that when they remove distractions, they come face-to-face with things they’ve been pushing away—doubts, fears, unresolved emotions. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it can be an opportunity. Solitude allows you to confront what’s really going on beneath the surface.
But just as solitude can be powerful, we also have to recognize its limits. The healthiest eremites throughout history didn’t just withdraw completely—they found ways to integrate solitude into a balanced life. Many monks, for example, lived in near-solitude but still engaged in small, meaningful social interactions. Even Thoreau, during his time at Walden Pond, wasn’t entirely alone—he had visitors, engaged with nature, and occasionally walked into town.
The key is finding your own balance. Too much social engagement, and you risk losing yourself in the noise. Too much solitude, and you risk losing connection with the world. But somewhere in between, there’s a space where solitude becomes a tool—something that strengthens you, rather than isolates you.
So, as we close this conversation, I’ll leave you with this question: When was the last time you were truly alone—not just physically, but mentally? When was the last time you allowed yourself to sit in silence, without distraction, and just be?
If the answer is “I don’t remember,” then maybe this is your sign to create that space. To step away—not permanently, not as an escape, but as a way to return to yourself. Because solitude, when embraced intentionally, isn’t about disappearing. It’s about seeing more clearly.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what we need in today’s world.
Closing Thoughts
Solitude is one of the most misunderstood experiences in modern life. We fear it, avoid it, and sometimes even pathologize it, as if being alone is something to be fixed. But history—and psychology—tell us something different. Solitude, when chosen with intention, can be one of the most powerful tools for self-awareness, creativity, and emotional resilience.
Eremetism, the practice of withdrawing from society, has been around for centuries. From monks in the desert to thinkers like Thoreau, from modern-day digital detoxers to those who simply need to step away to hear themselves think—solitude has always played a role in human development. And while we may not need to disappear into the wilderness for years, we do need to carve out space for ourselves in a world that never stops demanding our attention.
So as you go about your day, I encourage you to take a moment—just for yourself. No notifications, no distractions, no need to perform or engage. Just a few minutes of quiet. Maybe that solitude will bring you clarity. Maybe it will bring you peace. Or maybe, it will simply remind you that, even in a world full of noise, you still have the ability to retreat—to step away, reflect, and come back stronger.
Thank you for joining me on this episode of The Psychology of Us with Professor RJ Starr. If this conversation resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts—send me a message at ProfRJStarr@outlook.com and let me know how you experience solitude in your own life. And if you haven’t yet, make sure to subscribe for more deep dives into the psychology of what makes us human.
Until next time, take care of yourself—and maybe, take a little time for yourself, too.