Sorry for taking so long to post something new. Most of the books posted recently have been retreads; books I read previously. This is primarily because this book has been slow reading for me. I never did do well with reading quickly the philosophical treatises and the fancy writings of yesteryear.
I figured I would use a $50 Barnes & Noble gift card to improve my collection of classics. B&N republished a decent sized collection of now public domain works from the 1800s and early 1900s. The first of these that I’ve actually gotten to is Walden, by Henry David Thoreau. I took notes as I read, chapter by chapter:
Economy
My first impression on starting Walden is that Thoreau is a dilettante, a dabbler in philosophy. Though he he made a life’s work of it, the over-riding theme of the first chapter suggests someone who plays at returning to simpler times. After all, Thoreau could have returned to a comparative life of luxury at any time. Ralph Waldo Emerson supported his endeavor, and for many of Thoreau’s desires he could simply turn to others. On further reading though, I believe Thoreau was serious, but he still reads like a pampered son who lectures those who have less about saving money and returning to simpler times.
Thoreau makes a good point near the beginning of this chapter. Namely, that many people are mentally trapped by their possessions. As people, we have an attachment to our sunk costs. The thought is, if I discard this
stuff
of mine, I’ve wasted the effort I’ve put in to it. Psychologically, it’s a smart move by our subconscious. It encourages us to consider the opportunity cost of discarding something through a connection to the sunk cost. However, sunk cost and opportunity cost do not often have a close relationship. Thoreau makes the point that we slave away and may not really be coming out ahead for the effort.But in other respects, Thoreau has very little idea of economics. Small wonder, as the field was little studied at that point in time. Throughout his summations of dollar values for the goods he purchased, he neglects to include the value of his own labor. Consequently, he appears to live much more cheaply than his neighbors. Were he to be able to turn his labor to more valuable pursuits, and pay someone else the lesser cost of building his cabin or plowing his field, he would come out ahead. Though I suspect that his labor was worth very little, given his employment history.
The premise that we are better for living more simply is, I think, flawed. Many of us attach a greater worth to creature comforts than we would in hindsight, but I think Thoreau attaches too little to them. His states that wisdom comes primarily from simplicity. While that might inspire the simpleton to write some nice sounding proverbs, they cannot always be universally applied. Wisdom comes in many forms, most of which, I think rely on knowledge and experience of complex living and relationships for their worth.
Thoreau’s view of the poor, while he thought it was noble, was very uncharitable. Upon seeing a man in rags, rather than help the man, he chose instead to think of the man as wise for dressing utilitarian style. In fact, he wrote that he chose not to be a philanthropist because it did not suit his constitution when he tried it. There exist many good and noble reasons for avoiding charitable giving, but selfishness is simply not one of them.
Where I Lived, And What I Lived For
-
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cute a broad swatch and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.
Thoreau’s held good intentions, but I think he missed something very important. To live Spartan-like removes much of what life can offer, and that is not sucking the marrow out of life. To use a cooking analogy, I could cook a steak with little spice. I might savor that meat, cooked in it’s own juices. But so too might I enjoy a sumptuous marinade. I could be living life to it’s fullest in either case, or I could be avoiding life in both. They key is one’s attitude. It means I must be seeking deliberately to pull from all the experiences offered to me. To live simply I might just as easily be living by rote as I might by living luxuriously.
Living simply has something to offer, I think primarily because it is different than we are supposed. It jars us out of routine. But for someone who lives simply as a matter of routine, a continued Spartan lifestyle offers only what that person has already been using it for.
Reading
Thoreau found much more time to read when living in his cabin, except for the beginning when he was still building it and planting his crops. I can’t fault him for reading more. I can’t even fault his elitism with regard to reading. He remonstrates about the lack of attention to the classics and other works which he finds to be valuable. It reads as rather snobby, and at first my hackles bristled. But then I remembered my own antipathy toward authors like David Eddings, Robert Jordan, and John Grisham. I suppose I can’t fault him for it either. He ends this chapter by going on a rant about the value of publicly-funded adult education, of which he sees little in Concord, Massachusetts.
Sounds
Thoreau describes the sounds he hears at his cabin, where he likes to sit mornings and drink in the music of the forest. He describes birds, cows, and bullfrogs. But then he writes about the train, and digresses into a soliloquy on commerce and trade. Which seems a bit at odds with his placing on a pedestal all things simple.
Solitude
In this chapter, Thoreau opines as to how he prefers to be alone, because proximity to people has never brought minds together. Personally, I love being alone much of the time. I’ve never been one to like people much. I have a social need to connect, perhaps once or twice a week. Still, I am in contact with many people at work, so it’s not as if I sit alone in a cabin. Perhaps that would drive me batty. But for short periods I have done so. I’ve stayed alone at my grandparents’ cabin, spent a week in Tofino, British Columbia, talking to maybe five people the entire time. I enjoyed it. It’s quiet. And like Thoreau notes,
to be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating.
Visitors
Thoreau describes a few of his visitors. He mostly dwells on one man, a wood-chopper & French-Canadian. A simple man. Again, Thoreau’s elitism shows its face. Repeatedly he notes the dimwittedness of many of his visitors. Fine and jolly men, but beneath his station, at least according to the tone in which he write.
The Bean-Field
Thoreau decided to plant potatoes and beans. But for some reason this was a bean-field, not a potato-field. Despite the fact that Thoreau did not like beans and that the ground was supposedly not very good for beans. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the hell out of hoeing his beans for hours every morning. And also took issue with the increasing size of farms. He thought it a shame that farmers should want to have crops and not a ceremonial farming role.
The Village
Upon reading this, I find out that Thoreau was not so simple and deliberate as he made himself out to be. He travelled to the village (I assume Concord) every other day or so, partially so that he could hear the latest gossip. Following that he relates that the countryside is quote dark at night and that he often had to feel his way home. These days, nearly everywhere I’ve been is affected somewhat by light pollution, so it’s hard to imagine that little light. Except for the experiment a guide pulled on Erin and I during a cave tour on the west coast of New Zealand’s South Island. There, some tens or hundreds of feet below ground, our guide instructed all of us to turn off our headlamps. Being far underground, we had no inkling of light. I think that is my only experience with a lack of light similar to what Thoreau describes. At the end of the chapter, Thoreau reveals his socialist leanings with a statement that thievery would happens on in communities where some have more than is sufficient and others have not enough. It’s a conclusion he draws from the fact that he kept no locks on his self-built cabin. We know better though. Thievery is not really tied to whether one has enough or not. It’s tied to whether or not one respects the property rights of others. Many who are quite wealthy have no respect for others.
The Ponds
Most of this chapter consists of Thoreau describing the physical characteristics of Walden and nearby ponds. Thoreau is quite taken with the tranquility and beauty of these ponds. The chapter gets more interesting, though also more irritating, when he digresses into his opinion on the naming of Flint’s Pond, attributed to a farmer in previous days. Thoreau doesn’t respect the farmer who raises crops not for beauty but for money. In his world, only poor farmers are respectable farmers.
Baker Farm
Thoreau visits old Baker farm, now being tilled by the Irishman, John Field, and attempts to convince the proprietor that living simply as Thoreau does will be quite the improvement. He was unsuccessful, but Thoreau attributes this to deficient Irish character.
Higher Laws
The first chapter in the book in which I found myself engaged by Thoreau’s reasoning. He begins by debating vegetarianism. On the one hand, he thinks that as mankind evolves, it will give up meat-eating. On the other hand, he writes that in simplifying his life on Walden pond, he occasionally found himself chasing animals with carnivorous desire. In the end, his experience led him to realize that meat-eating is dirty business. In particular, fish stunk up his cottage. But still he praises the practice of hunting in New England youth.
After his discourse on meat, he dives into the topic of purity. He draws his inspiration heavily from traditions that espouse asceticism. Sloth causes ignorance and sensualism, which should be avoided. Exertion causes wisdom and purity. However, sensuality of the natural variety, such as the beauty of Walden pond, seems to be just fine. Thoreau’s asceticism isn’t universal. Understandable. A true ascetic lives a hard life, and I don’t personally believe that it’s necessarily noble.
Brute Neighbors
Thoreau describes some of his interactions with animals. I loved this chapter. For once there’s no Jack Handey reading. Given the most ink, are three interactions. First is with field mice, one of whom would fearlessly come to eat cheese from Thoreau’s hand. Another is a description of an ant war which he encountered. Smaller red ants were fighting larger black ants. Soldiers would remove feelers, legs, and pierce their opponents exoskeletons. The third interaction was with a diving loon. Thoreau would chase it around Walden pond. It would dive underwater, and Thoreau would have to guess its direction and give chase. Many times he’d go the wrong direction in his boat. But always the bird would laugh upon surfacing, giving away its position.
House-Warming
Winter begins, and Thoreau needs to keep warm. This is Thoreau’s description of building a chimney for his shack. Then the ice starts to cover Walden pond. Luckily, he’s got lots of wood collected from various fallen trees and leftover stumps. And yet again, Thoreau bemoans any kind of progress. This time, the advent of stoves, which hide away the fire and provide no benefit, at least as far as his experiment in the woods near Walden determined.
Former Inhabitants, and Winter Visitors
Thoreau tells of a small town near his cottage, had the town survived. By his time even, only the outlines of shacks and gardens could be found. Still, Thoreau became well-versed in the area’s history. He also describes visits by three friends: Ellery Channing (poet), Amos Bronson Alcott (Transcendentalist), and Ralph Waldo Emerson (poet). Ah, the mirth they had and the conversations they enjoyed. They must have solved all the worlds problems sitting in front of Thoreau’s fire.
Winter Animals
Birds and rodents and foxes. And the occasional hound or hunter.
The Pond in Winter
Thoreau the scientist makes an appearance. To test the rumors that Walden Pond was bottomless, he set out to sound its depths. His measurements put the pond at 102 feet deep at its deepest point. He noticed the odd thing though that the deepest point in Walden Pond was at the intersection of two lines crossing the surface at its greatest length and breadth. He tested his theory on White Pond as well. I’m glad scientific method has progressed since Thoreau’s day.
Spring
Yet again Thoreau concerns himself more with describing his life and his surroundings than in making philosophical pronouncements, and it’s welcome. Springtime appears to Thoreau as a time for renewal. The ice on the ponds cracks and melts, yielding a cornucopia of observations. Plants green. Animals dormant re-appear. In one philosophical statement, Thoreau refers to spring as a time for new beginnings for men as well. A time to forget past transgressions.
Conclusion
I think the final chapter can be best summed up by quoting a sentence Thoreau wrote:
I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.
Despite all the misguided pablum that Thoreau spouted, I think he got it essentially right in the end.
One thing that kept on running through my mind throughout my reading: Barton Fink. In that movie, Barton Fink is an intellectual who presumes to want to write about the common man, but cannot conceive of the common man, and condescends to him. Thoreau strikes me much the same way, especially with his frequent literary and historical references that only intellectuals would think are meaningful.
And lastly, Civil Disobedience I find to be good reading. Thoreau makes a great case for resisting or at least disassociating one’s self from an unjust government. The original title for the work was On the duty of resistance to civil government
, which was designed to put it in opposition to Paley’s On the duty of submission to civil government
. Thoreau makes his case that the individual conscience is meant to be used, and not subverted to the majority. The majority, he opines, is not wiser than the individual. Still, he leaves a hole big as a canyon by not addressing when the individual or minority conscience is wrong. One of his other many fine points in this piece is that most people who nominally oppose a policy are not willing to pay a price for it. In his mind, and I agree, being unwilling to pay a price for something for which you believe is tantamount to not being in opposition at all.
Title: Walden and civil disobedience
Author: Henry David Thoreau
Publisher: Barnes & Noble Books
Format: Paperback
Length: 315 p.
Publication date: 2003
ISBN-10: 1-59308-208-8
LC classification: PS3048 .A1 1862
