Schopenhauer was right: solitude is not for everyone

The paradox of solitude: misery or greatness?

Arthur Schopenhauer wrote that «it is in solitude where the perversos man feels all his misery and the great spirit all its greatness». A sentence that, almost two centuries later, still divides opinion: for some it is lucid realism; for others, a justification for isolation that has been embraced by contemporary existentialist and pessimist currents.

The German philosopher, who lived as a recluse from the age of 45 until his death at 72, was not the only one to take that thesis to the extreme. Friedrich Nietzsche, Albert Camus and Emil Cioran push pessimism to even greater heights, to the point that readers may feel «like committing suicide», according to some. But there are those who argue that this diagnosis is not depression, but lucidity.

The debate between contemporary realism and pessimism

One school of thought argues that what society calls pessimism is nothing more than realism without sweeteners. «The world regards realism as contemporary pessimism», it is argued from this side. Solitude, in this view, is not a problem to be solved but a state that allows the «great spirit» to develop its potential. The other side, however, points out that those who have never suffered involuntary solitude —forced social isolation— speak from a position of privilege. «Any socially isolated person knows a million times more about solitude than all those charlatans», comes the retort from direct experience.

The conspiracy against the human race and other kindred readings

The debate on solitude draws on literary sources as gloomy as The Conspiracy Against the Human Race by Thomas Ligotti, an essay that poses the greatest challenge to «the intellectual blackmail of being eternally grateful for a gift we never asked for: life». Ligotti, heir to Poe and Lovecraft, reinforces the idea that existence is a burden of which solitude is merely a symptom.

Does solitude have intrinsic value?

The question that remains is whether solitude is a space for growth or a sentence. Schopenhauer's experience —27 years of retreat— suggests it can be both. But then, how do you tell the perversos man from the genius? Perhaps the answer lies not in books, but in knowing whether solitude is chosen or imposed.