Maine and Hermits (and one Knight-ed hermit in particular)
Oh, Pine Tree State
Your woods, fields and hills
Your lakes, streams and rockbound coast
Will ever fill our hearts with thrills
And tho’ we seek far and wide
Our search will be in vain
To find a fairer spot on earth
Than Maine! Maine! Maine!
-from State of Maine Song, by Roger Vinton Snow
This quote is from the official State of Maine song. (Yes, Virginia, there really is such a thing!) It briefly lists some of the natural attributes that make this state so appealing to both residents and visitors alike, “natives” and those “from away”. Tourism is important to Maine’s economy. A good number of people who retired early have moved to Maine (especially the midcoast) from other states. Then there are the hermits.
To my knowledge, there is no one “official” listing of diocesan hermits (that is, hermits who have been recognized as such by the Catholic Church under canon 603). One estimate is that there may be less than a hundred diocesan hermits in this country. (For more on diocesan hermits, check out this post.)That does not include Catholics who feel called to live a hermit lifestyle and who have not sought official recognition, or people of other faiths (or no faith) who have chosen to live as hermits. Interestingly, the Official Directory of the Diocese of Portland lists six officially-recognized hermits. That is an unusually high number for one diocese. Moreover, most (if not all) of these ‘official’ hermits are not natives, but ‘from away’. It seems that Maine’s “lakes, streams and rockbound coast” fill the hearts of hermits with thrills, too.
And then, there is Christopher Knight, the “North Pond Hermit”. He gained a surprising amount of publicity after his arrest in 2013, when he was caught while stealing food from a summer camp. Knight claimed to have lived in almost complete isolation from other people for 27 years before this arrest. One of the people who was entranced by his story was Michael Finkel, a writer from Montana. He flew to Maine and visited Knight in prison. A year later, he published an article on Knight which you can find here. (If you don’t know the details of Knight’s story, read the article before going on.) A few weeks ago, Finkel published a book on Knight. This book, an expanded account of what Finkel discussed in his article, is called “The Stranger In The Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit”. This book has had generally favorable reviews, and is selling well.
It may seem surprising, at first glance, that such a story could have the appeal that it does in contemporary America. We are an extroverted society as a rule. Our communities and workplaces are designed with extroverts in mind. It is no accident that social media were invented here. Nevertheless, the idea of solitude and silence has had an undeniable appeal. From the writings of Emerson and Thoreau through the poetry of Dickinson and Frost to the reflections of Merton and many others, the solitary life has had a steady stream of advocates. Some of this interest comes from introverts who feel naturally drawn to solitude and silence, and find little support for it in contemporary American life. Some comes from extroverts who see this extroverted society and still ask themselves: “Is that all there is?” They sense something missing in their own lives, which draws them even as it mystifies them.
This particular story, however, is unique. Few there are who find themselves neutral.
On the one hand, there are those folks who find Knight’s sudden decision to live in the woods without any human contact attractive, even romantic. He lives, vicariously, the life that they wish they could live. The increasing stressors of American life make Knight’s choice almost understandable, even appealing. Who hasn’t felt an urge to run away when things feel overwhelming, even hopeless?
Then, there are the people who Knight stole from for those 27 years – the owners of the seasonal camps along North Pond and Little Pond. Knight himself admitted to over a thousand burglaries. Granted that they were mainly minor things – batteries, sweets, canned goods, macaroni & cheese – but occasionally more valuable items, like propane tanks. The cumulative effect was to create fear and mistrust among the seasonal residents of the area. Who was doing these things and why? Was it one of them? It is among them that the legend of the “hermit” arose. He became a kind of bogeyman for them, something frightening and seemingly too bizarre to be real. Yet, no matter what they did, the burglaries continued until Knight’s arrest. Most owners could not believe that Knight had lived in his makeshift camp for so long, summer and winter. They suspected some kind of con job. No doubt, many of them are uneasy at best with the publicity and the interest that Knight’s story has generated.
Finally, there are those who call themselves hermits. Knight never called himself a hermit, and was not comfortable with the word when he heard it applied to him. The name first came from the camp owners and the legend of the mysterious “North Pond Hermit” who became a campfire tale. But what has angered hermits was Finkel’s provocative subtitle: “The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit”. Hermits usually feel that they have a hard enough time explaining their lifestyle to others – even those who share their faith. Many people misunderstand and belittle this choice. Such a title feels, to them, like a slap in the fact from an unexpected direction – from someone who (presumably) had spent some time learning about hermits and was now presenting a book for common consumption. Some hermits also object to the idea that a “true” hermit is someone who steals from others. Indeed, a diocesan hermit I know told me about one day when he went into a Catholic school to talk to the children about his vocation. When he asked a class what a hermit was, one little girl replied, “A hermit steals from other people.”
This is not meant to be a review of Finkel’s book as a whole. What I will do is focus on three specific issues that the book raises for me: 1) What is a hermit? 2) What can we say about Christopher Knight? 3) What is Finkel’s angle?
What is a hermit?
In the book, Finkel discusses – briefly – various kinds of hermits over the centuries, from the Desert Fathers and Mothers of ancient Christianity to the Hindu hermits of contemporary India. None of these, in Finkel’s appraisal, is a “true” hermit. Finkel sees a “true” hermit as someone who lives a life with no interaction with other people. Literally, none. Knight himself stated that he had only two brief encounters with other people from the day he first walked into the Maine woods in 1986 to the day he was arrested in 2013. However, Finkel’s provocative title is self-contradictory. If a “true” hermit is someone who never has contact with others, and if someone successfully lives that life, the rest of us wouldn’t know it. Finkel has no way of knowing if Knight is the first, last, or only “true” hermit. Secondly, by this title, Finkel shows a remarkable lack of sensitivity to other hermits who can claim centuries of tradition to support their lifestyles. Finkel forgets that he can praise Knight, if he wants, without having to denigrate the commitment of other hermits in the meantime. There’s more than enough room in the hermit inn for various styles of hermit life.
History has shown that the hermit life has taken many and varied forms. Some hermits have very little human contact; others, like the Russian startsny, would live near villages and help farmers and others with their work. In the most generic sense, a hermit is someone who chooses to live alone for spiritual reasons. Within the Catholic Church, various forms of hermit life have arisen over the centuries. We can see a new interest in hermit life among Catholics now, and experiments with new ways of being a hermit, such as “urban hermits”. The common thread here is that people respond to a call that they discern to be from the Lord, inviting them to a life of greater solitude on behalf of the Church. For the Christian hermit, being alone is their place in the Church, the Body of Christ. It is how they are connected. However this solitude is rarely absolute. Most people can’t survive literally on their own. Moreover, hermits share the basic Christian call to, in some way, love and serve their neighbor. This loving service can happen in various ways. Yet the people who serve remain hermits. Even the canon law of the Catholic Church does not define hermit life all that strictly. Each hermit in canon law has his or her own Rule that outlines how the hermit will live out this vocation, under the bishop’s supervision.
What about Christopher Knight?
Here, I am making a distinction between Christopher Knight as he sees his life and Michael Finkel and how Finkel sees Knight’s life. This is not unlike the famous (or infamous) distinction between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith! This is actually easy to do in Finkel’s book. Finkel separates his accounts of what Knight told him from his own research into hermits and solitude and trying to place Knight in the company of people like Thoreau, Merton and Lao Tse.
As you read Finkel’s article or book, you’ll learn a good deal about Christopher Knight. I will focus on three aspects of his life that seem important in any effort to see where he’s coming from.
First of all, Knight is a native New Englander. His family seems to be classic rural Maine Yankees. Not even a Maine humorist like Tim Sample would have created such characters; no one would have believed them if they were merely fictional. The classic Maine Yankee is very taciturn, self-contained, stoic and independent. Such people mistrust outsiders, and especially dislike curious outsiders who keep “poking” and asking personal questions. I see this reaction very often in the book – not only from Christopher Knight but from his siblings, mother, and other relatives. Because of this, one can never be too sure when Knight is answering Finkel “straight up” or when he’s putting Finkel on. You need to know rural Maine culture to appreciate this and be sensitive to it. Maine Yankees are often ingenious in practical ways. It was once said that a Mainer could fix anything with either duct tape or WD-40. If neither can fix it, it isn’t worth fixing. Knight surely showed remarkable practical ingenuity in setting up his camp and living his chosen life.
Secondly, Finkel (and others) raise the question of whether or not Knight has some kind of psychological condition which may have been at the heart of his choice of such solitude. Two possibilities raised in the book are Asperger’s Syndrome (which caught my eye) and schizoid personality disorder. It is impossible even for a psychologist to accurately assess someone from a distance; there needs to be personal presence and interviews. However, Knight certainly showed some Aspie traits. He had developed a special interest – solitude itself – and organized his whole life around it. He showed ingenuity in making this life happen. Yet, he quickly locked himself into a pattern of theft to support his life, and could come up with no other option to do so. A blend of ingenuity and the occasional lack of it. Knight showed some rhythmic body movements. Again, this isn’t enough to prove anything. But I believe there is a good chance that Knight is an Aspie.
Thirdly, Knight, by his own admission, is a very conflicted person. Finkel reports that Knight could be almost self-loathing at times, and then show a rather proud, almost arrogant, side. Knight believed that he had to steal to sustain his life, and yet felt guilty and very anxious every time he did so. It is worth noting that these conflicts were brought out by anything that touched on other people – Knight’s assessment of them, his stealing from them. Anything that smelled of ‘people’ seemed to make him feel conflicted; his more peaceful moments were times when he didn’t need to steal that day or to deal with or even think of other people at all. One wonders if we are getting closer to Knight’s motivation for escaping society here.
And Finkel’s angle?
Finkel tells us that Knight’s story fascinated him from the first time he heard of it. Finkel wrote to Knight while Knight was in jail and, when Knight responded, began a correspondence with him. He flew to Maine to meet Knight without telling Knight that he was coming. Finkel occasionally asked Knight for some insight or word of wisdom – something Knight never wanted to give. Finkel idealized Knight, even in the face of Knight’s resistance to what he was doing. Finkel wanted Knight to be a contemporary Thoreau or Emerson. But Knight didn’t play along. He even made a joke occasionally about uttering “one of those koan thingies”. Finkel, with all his good intentions (in his own mind), ended up doing to Knight what we often do to one another, especially one who stands out in some way: we do our best to push that square peg into some round hole of our choosing – not a hole of the person’s choosing. Finkel is offering us his fantasy; Knight shoots the fantasy down whenever he can. It’s almost funny to watch.
So… is Knight a hermit after all?
I’ll conclude this post with a few thoughts on this question. I differ with Finkel in his calling Knight a “true hermit”, of course. Hermit life, as I said before, admits of varied forms within a basic orientation. However, Knight never calls himself a hermit, except when he is almost teasing Finkel or making light of something. We need to respect that. To say that Knight is not a hermit is not to insult him; it’s to honor his own self-understanding.
Knight chose solitude – literal, utter solitude – and tried to reorient his life around this central pole. Solitude, defined as total separateness from others, was Knight’s “pearl of great price”, so to speak. He was willing to sacrifice a great deal, and to endure a great deal, to achieve it. Yet, part of his inner conflict was due to the fact that he could not achieve it totally, literally. He could not survive utterly on his own. He needed people – at least people’s camps, to steal from. He set up his camp near a pond that had many summer camps around it, as well as the Pine Tree Camp for disabled children. He routinely broke into camps to steal what he needed, and only what he needed. In one sense, we could call Knight a true squirrel just as easily as a true hermit! Anyone who has a seasonal camp will know what I mean.
Knight showed no obvious interest in religion as such. Though he stole many books and magazines, he never stole a Bible, Finkel tells us. Finkel himself shows some obvious disdain for religion in general and Christianity in particular. Yet Knight, almost in spite of his reticence, reveals a spiritual side. He speaks of how, though he cannot believe in one God or one supreme god, he is quite willing to accept gods of various aspects of life. Finkel doesn’t follow up on that. Again, spirituality of any kind isn’t his thing. But I wish he had.
Bottom line? Because Knight either can’t or won’t tell Finkel why he chose solitude in the first place, we can’t say whether or not he did so for spiritual reasons. The Maine Yankee is most reticent in discussing anything of faith or of the heart, especially with folks “from away”. So, we can’t say with any confidence if Knight was a hermit as we understand hermits. He didn’t see himself that way. He just saw himself as an individual who made a very unusual choice and followed through with it. In the end, that may be all we can know for certain about Christopher Knight.