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16 - Walden - Henry David Thoreau · Logic Library

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  Chapter eleven Higher Laws. As I came home through the woods with my string
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  of fish trailing my pole, it being now quite dark, I caught a
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  glimpse of a woodchuck stealing across my path, and felt a strange thrill of
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  savage delight, and was strongly tempted to seize and devour him raw. Not
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  that I was hungry then, except for that wildness which he represented once or
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  twice. However, while I lived at the pond, I found myself ranging
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  the woods like a half starved hound with a strange abandonment, seeking some kind
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  of venison which I might devour. And no morsel could have been too savage
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  for me. The wildest scenes had become unaccountably familiar. I found in myself,
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  and still find an instinct towards a hire or as it is named,
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  spiritual life, as do most men, and another toward a primitive rank and
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  savage one, and I reverence them both. I love the wild, not
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  less than the good. The wildness and adventure that are in fishing still recommend
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  it to me. I like sometimes to take rank hold on life and spend
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  my day more as the animals do. Perhaps I have owed to this employment
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  and to hunting. When quite young my close acquaintance with nature, They early
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  introduce us to and detain us in scenery with which otherwise at that age we
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  should have little acquaintance. Fishermen, hunters, wood choppers, and others spending
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  their lives in the fields, woods, in a peculiar sense a part of
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  nature themselves, are often in a more favorable mood for observing her in the
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  intervals of their pursuits than the philosophers or poets, Even who approach her with
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  expectation, she is not afraid to exhibit herself to them. The traveler on
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  the prairie is naturally a hunter, on the head waters of the Missouri and
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  Columbia a trapper, and at the falls of Saint Mary a fisherman. He
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  who is only a traveler, learns things at second hand and by the halves,
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  and is poor authority. We are most interested when science reports that those
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  men already know practically or instinctively, for that alone is a true humanity or
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  account of human experience. They mistake who assert that the Yankee has few immune
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  usemans because he has not so many public holidays, and men and boys do
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  not play so many games as they do in England. For here the more
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  primitive but solitary amusements of hunting, fishing, and the like have not yet
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  given place to the former. Almost every New England boy among my contemporaries shouldered
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  a fowling piece between the ages of ten and fourteen, and his hunting and
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  fishing grounds were not limited like the preserves of an English nobleman, but were
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  more boundless even than those of a savage. No wonder then that he did
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  not oftener stay to play on the common. But already a change is taking
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  place, owing not to an increased humanity, but to an increased scarcity of
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  game. For perhaps the hunter is the greatest friend of the animals hunted,
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  not accepting the humane society. Moreover, when at the pond I wished sometimes
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  to add fish to my fare for variety, I have actually fished for the
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  same kind of necessity that the first fishers did. Whatever humanity I might conjure
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  up against, it was all factitious and concerned my philosophy more than my feelings.
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  I speak of fishing only now, for I had long felt differently about
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  fowling, and sold my gun before I went to the woods. Not that
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  I am less humane than others. But I did not perceive that my feelings
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  were much affected. I did not pity the fishes nor the worms. This
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  was habit. As for fowling. During the last years that I carried a
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  gun, my excuse was that I was studying ornithology and sought only new or
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  rare birds. But I confess that I I am now inclined to think that
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  there is a finer way of studying ornithology than this. It requires so much
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  closer attention to the habits of the birds that if for that reason only,
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  I have been willing to omit the gun. Yet, notwithstanding the objection on
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  the score of humanity, I am compelled to doubt if equally valuable sports are
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  ever substituted for these. And when some of my friends have asked me anxiously
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  about their boys whether they should let them hunt, I have answered yes,
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  remembering that it was one of the best parts of my education. Make them
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  hunters, though sportsmen only at first, if possible, mighty hunters at last,
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  so that they shall not find game large enough for them in this or
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  any vegetable wilderness. Hunters as well as fishers of men. Thus far I
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  am of the opinion of Chaucer's nun, who yave not of the text a
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  pulled hen that saith that hunters ben not holy men. There is a period
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  in the history of the individual as of the race, when the hunters are
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  the best men, as the Algonquins called them. We cannot but pity the
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  boy who has never fired a gun. He is no more humane, while
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  his education has been sadly neglected. This was my answer with respect to those
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  youths who were bent on this pursuit, trusting that they would soon outgrow it.
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  No humane, being past the thoughtless age of boyhood, will wantonly murder
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  any creature which holds its life by the same tenure that he does. The
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  hair, in its extremity, cries like a child. I warn you,
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  mothers, that my sympathies do not always make the usual philanthropic distinctions. Such
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  is oftenest the young man's introduction to the forest and the most original part of
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  himself. He goes thither at first as a hunter and fisher, until at
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  last, if he has the seeds of a better life in him, he
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  distinguishes his proper objects as a poet or naturalist, it may be, and
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  leaves the gun and fish pole behind the mass of men are still and always
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  young. In this respect. In some countries a hunting parson is no uncommon
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  sight. Such a one might make a good shepherd's dog, but as far
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  from being the good shepherd. I have been surprised to consider that the only
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  obvious employment except wood chopping, ice cutting, or the like business whichever,
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  to my knowledge, detained at Walden Pond for a whole half day any of
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  my fellow citizens, whether fathers or children, of the town, with just
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  one exception, was fishing. Commonly, they did not think that they were
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  lucky or well paid for their time unless they got a long string of fish.
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  Though they had the opportunity of seeing the pond all the while, they
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  might go there a thousand times before the sediment of fishing would sink to the
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  bottom and leave their purpose pure. But no doubt such a clarifying process would
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  be going on all the while. The governor and his council faintly remember the
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  pond pond, for they went a fishing there when they were boys. But
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  now they are too old and dignified to go a fishing, and so they
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  know it no more. Forever Yet even they expect to go to heaven at
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  last. If the legislature regards it, it is chiefly to regulate the number
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  of hooks to be used there, But they know nothing about the hook of
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  hooks with which to angle for the pond itself, impaling the legislature for a
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  bait. Thus, even in civilized communities, the embryo man passes through the
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  hunter stage of development. I have found repeatedly of late years that I cannot
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  fish without falling a little in self respect. I have tried it again and
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  again. I have skill at it, and, like many of my fellows,
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  a certain instant which revives from time to time. But always when I
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  have done, I feel that it would have been better if I had not
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  fished. I think that I do not mistake. It is a faint intimation,
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  yet so are the first streaks of mourning. There is unquestionably this instinct
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  in me, which belongs to the lower orders of creation. Yet with every
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  year I am less a fisherman, though without more humanity or even wisdom.
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  At present I am no fisherman at all. But I see that if I
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  were to live in a wilderness, I should again be tempted to become a
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  fisher and hunter in earnest beside, there is something essentially unclean about this diet
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  and all flesh, and I begin to see where housework commences, and whence
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  the endeavor which costs so much to wear a tidy and respectable appearance each day,
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  to keep the house sweet and free from all ill odors and sights.
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  Having been my own butcher and scullion and cook, as well as the gentleman
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  for whom the dishes were served up, I can speak from an unusually complete
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  experience. The practical objection to animal food in my case was its uncleanness.
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  And besides, when I had caught and cleaned, and cooked and eaten my
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  fish, they seemed not to have fed me. Essentially, it was insignificant
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  and unnecessary, and cost more than it came to a little bread or a
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  few potatoes would have done as well with less trouble and filth. Like many
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  of my contemporaries, I had rarely for many years used animal fels food,
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  or tea or coffee, et cetera, not so much because of any ill
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  effects which I had traced to them, as because they were not agreeable to
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  my imagination. The repugnance to animal food is not the effect of experience,
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  but is an instinct. It appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard
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  in many respects, and though I never did so, I went far enough
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  to please my imagination. I believe that every man who has ever been earnest
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  to preserve his higher or poetic faculties in the best condition, has been particularly
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  inclined to abstain from animal food, and from much food of any kind.
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  It is a significant fact stated by entomologists. I find it in Kirby and
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  Spets that some insects in their perfect state, though furnished with organs of feeding,
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  make no use of them, and they lay it down as a general
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  rule that almost all insects in this state eat much less than that of larvae.
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  The voracious caterpillar when transformed into a butterfly, and the gluttonous maggot when
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  become a fly, content themselves with a drop or two of honey or some
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  other sweet liquid. The abdomen under the wings of the butterfly still represents the
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  larvae. This is the tidbit which tempts his insectivorous fate. The gross feeder
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  is a man in the lar of a state, and there are whole nations
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  in that condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast abdomens betray them.
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  It is hard to provide and cook so simple and clean a diet as
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  will not offend the imagination. But this, I think, is to be
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  fed. When we feed the body, they should both sit down at the
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  same table. Yet perhaps this may be done. The fruits eaten temperately need
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  not make us ashamed of our appetites, nor interrupt the worthiest pursuits. But
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  put an extra condiment into your dish and it will poison you. It is
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  not worth the while to live by rich cookery. Most men would feel shame
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  if caught preparing with their own hands precisely such a dinner, whether of animal
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  or vegetable food, as is every day prepared for them by others. Yet
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  till this is otherwise, we are not civilized. And if gentlemen and ladies
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  are not true men and women, this certainly suggests what change is to be
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  made. It may be vain to ask why the imagination will not be reconciled
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  to flesh and fat. I am satisfied that it is not. Is it
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  not a reproach that man is a carnivorous animal. True, he can and
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  does live in a great measure by preying on other animals. But this is
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  a miserable way, as anyone who will go to snaring rabbits or slaughtering lambs
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  may learn, and he will be regarded as a benefactor of his race.
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  Who shall teach man to confine himself to a more innocent and wholesome diet.
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  Whatever my own practice may be, I have no doubt that it is a
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  part of the destiny of the human race, in its gradual improvement, to
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  leave off eating animals, as surely as the savage tribes have left off eating
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  each other when they came in contact with the more civilized. If one listens
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  to the faintest but constant suggestions of his genius, which are certainly true,
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  he sees not to what extremes or even insanity it may lead him. And
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  yet that way, as he grows more resolute and faithful his road lies the
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  faintest, assured objection, which one healthy man feels, will at length prevail
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  over the arguments and customs of mankind. No man ever followed his genius till
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  it misled him, though the result were bodily weakness. Yet perhaps no one
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  can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life
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  in conformity to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that
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  you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet
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  scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal. That is
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  your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to
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  bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We
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  easily come to doubt. If they exist, we soon forget them. They
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  are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts, most astounding and most real,
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  are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life
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  is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It
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  is a little star dust caught a segment of the rainbow, which I have
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  clutched. Yet for my part, I was never unusually squeamish. I could
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  sometimes eat a fried rat with a good relish if it were necessary. I
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  am glad to have drunk water so long, for the same reason that I
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  prefer the natural sky to an opium eater's heaven, I would fain keep sober
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  always, And there are infinite degrees of drunkenness. I believe that water is
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  the only drink for a wise man. Wine is not so noble a liquor.
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  And think of dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm
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  coffee, or of an evening with a dish of tea. Ah, how
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  low I fall when I am tempted by them. Even music may be intoxicating.
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  Such apparently slight causes destroyed Greece and Rome, and will destroy England and
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  America. Of all ebriosity. Who does not prefer to be intoxicated by the
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  air he breathes? I have found it to be the most serious objection to
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  coarse labors long continued that they compelled me to eat and drink coarsely also,
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  But to tell the truth, I find myself at present somewhat less particular in
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  these respects. I carry less religion to the table, ask no blessing,
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  not because I am wiser than I was, but I am obliged to confess,
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  because, however much it is to be regretted. With years I have
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  grown more coarse and indifferent. Perhaps these questions are entertained only in youth,
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  as most believe of poetry. My practice is nowhere, my opinion is here.
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  Nevertheless, I am far from regarding myself as one of those privileged ones
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  to whom the ved refers when it says that he who has true faith in
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  the omnipresent supreme Being may eat all that exists. That is, is not
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  bound to inquire what is his food or who prepares it, And even in
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  their case it is to be observed as a Hindu commentator has remarked that the
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  Vedant limits this privilege to the time of distress, who has not sometimes derived
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  an inexpressible satisfaction from his food in which appetite had no share. I have
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  been thrilled to think that I owed a mental reception to the commonly gross sense
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  of taste, that I have been inspired through the palate, that some berries
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  which I had eaten on a hillside had fed my genius. The soul not
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  being mistress of herself, says cheng Tsu. One looks and one does not
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  see, one listens and one does not hear. One eats and one does
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  not know the savor of food. He who distinguishes the true savor of his
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  food can never be a glutton. He who does not cannot be Otherwise,
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  a puritan may go to his brown bread crust with as gross an appetite as
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  ever an alderman to his turtle. Not that food which entereth into the mouth
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  defileth a man, but the appetite with which it is eaten. It is
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  neither the quality nor the quantity, but the devotion to the sensual savors.
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  When that which is eaten is not a veand to sustain our animal or inspire
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  our spiritual life, but food for the worms that possess us. If the
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  hunter has a taste for mud turtles, muskrats, and other such savage tidbits,
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  the fine lady indulges a taste for jelly made of a calve's foot,
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  or for sardines from over the sea, and they are even he goes to
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  the mill pond, she to her preserve pot. The wonder is how they
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  how you and I can live this slimy, beastly life. Eating and drinking
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  our whole life is startlingly moral. There is never an instant's truce between virtue
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  and vice. Goodness is the only investment that never fails in the music of
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  the harp, which trembles round the world. It is the insisting on this
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  which thrills us. The harp is the traveling patterer for the universe's insurance company,
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  recommending its laws, and our little goodness is all the assessment that we
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  pay. Though the youth at last grows indifferent, the laws laws of the
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  universe are not indifferent, but are forever on the side of the most sensitive.
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  Listen to every zephyr for some reproof, for it is surely there,
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  and he is unfortunate who does not hear it. We cannot touch a string
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  or move a stop, but the charming moral transfixes us many. An irksome
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  noise go a long way Off is heard as music, a proud, sweet
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  satire on the meanness of our lives. We are conscious of an animal in
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  us which awakens in proportion as our higher nature slumbers. It is reptile in
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  sensual, and perhaps cannot be wholly expelled, like the worms, which,
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  even in life and health, occupy our bodies. Possibly we may withdraw from
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  it, but never change its nature. I fear that it may enjoy a
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  certain health of its own, that we may be well yet not pure.
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  The other day I picked up the lower jaw of a hog with white and
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  sound teeth and tusks, which suggested that there was an animal health and vigor
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  distinct from the spiritual. This creature succeeded by other means than temperance and purity.
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  That in which men differ from brute beasts, says Mensius, is a
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  thing very inconsiderable. The common herd lose it very soon. Superior men preserve
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  it carefully. Who knows what sort of life would result if we had attained
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  to purity. If I knew so wise a man as could teach me purity,
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  I would go to seek him forthwith a command over our passions and over
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  the external senses of the body. And good acts are declared by the ved
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  to be indispensable in the mind's approximation to God. Yet the spirit can for
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  the time pervade and control every member and function of the body, and transmute
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  what in form is the grossest sensuality into purity and devotion. The generative energy,
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  which when we are loose dissipates and makes us unclean, when we are
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  continent, invigorates and inspires us. Chastity is the flowering of man, and
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  what are called genius, heroism, holiness, and the like are but various
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  fruits which succeed it. Man flows at once to God. When the channel
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  of purity is open, by turns our purity inspires, and our impurity casts
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  us down. He is blessed who is assured that the animal is dying out
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  in him day by day, and the divine being established. Perhaps there is
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  none, but has cause for shame on account of the inferior and brutish nature
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  to which he is allied. I fear that we are such gods or demigods,
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  only as fawns and satires, the divine allied to beasts, the creatures
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  of appetite, and that to some extent our very life is our disgrace.
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  How happy is he who hath due place assigned to his beasts and disaphorested his
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  mind, can use this horse, goat, wolf, and every beast,
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  and is not ass himself to all the rest else Man. Not only is
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  the herd of swine, those devils too, which did incline them to the
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  headlong rage and made them worse. All sensuality is one, though it takes
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  many forms. All purity is one, It is the same whether a man
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  eat or drink, or cohabit or sleep sensually. They are but one appetite.
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  And we only need to see a person do any one of these things
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  to know how great a sensualist he is. The impure can neither stand nor
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  sit with purity. When the reptile is attacked at one mouth of his burrow,
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  he shows himself at another. How shall a man know if he is
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  chaste? He shall not know it. We have heard of this virtue,
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  but we know not what it is. We speak conformably to the rumor which
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  we have heard. From exertion come wisdom and purity. From sloth and ignorance
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  and sensuality. In the student, sensuality is a sluggish habit of mind.
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  An unclean person is universally a slothful one, one who sits by a stove,
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  whom the sun shines on, prostrate, who reposes without being fatigued.
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  If you would avoid uncleanness and all the sins, work earnestly, though it
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  be at cleaning. A stable nature is hard to be overcome, but she
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  must be overcome. What avails it that you are Christian? If you are
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  not purer than the heathen if you deny yourself no more if you are not
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  more religious. I know of many systems of religion esteemed heathenish, whose precepts
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  fill the reader with shame and provoke him to new endeavors, though it be
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  to the performance of rites. Merely I hesitate to say these things. But
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  it is not because of the subject. I care not how obscene my words
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  are, but because I cannot speak of them without betraying my impurity. We
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  discourse freely without shame of one form of sensuality, and are silent about another.
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  We are so degraded that we cannot speak simply of the necessary functions of
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  human nature. In earlier ages, in some countries, every function was reverently
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  spoken of and regulated by law. Nothing was too trivial for the Hindu lawgiver,
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  however offensive it may be to modern taste. He teaches how to eat,
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  drink, cohabit, void excrement and urine, and the like, elevating
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  what is mean, and does not falsely excuse himself by calling these things trifles.
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  Every man is the builder of a temple called his body to the God.
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  He worships after a style purely his own. Nor can he get off
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  by hammering marble. Instead, we are all sculptors and painters, and our
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  material is our own flesh and blood and bones. Any nobleness begins at once
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  to refine a man's features, any meanness or sensuality, to imbrute them.
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  John Farmer sat at his door one September evening after a hard day's work,
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  his mind still running on his labor. More or less having bathed, he
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  sat down to recreate his intellectual man. It was a rather cool evening,
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  and some of his neighbors were apprehending a frost. He had not attended to
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  the train of his thoughts long when he heard some one playing on a flute,
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  and that sound harmonized with his mood. Still he thought of his work.
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  But the burden of his thought was that, though this kept running in
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  his head, and he found himself planning and contriving it against his will,
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  yet it concerned him very little. It was no more than the scurf of
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  his skin, which was constantly shuffled off. But the notes of the flute
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  came home to his ears out of a different sphere from that which he worked
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  in, and suggested work for certain faculties which slumbered in him. They gently
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  did away with the street and the village, and the state in which he
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  lived. A voice said to him, why do you stay here and live
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  this mean, moiling life when a glorious existence is possible for you. Those
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  same stars twinkle over other fields than these. But how to come out of
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  this condition and actually migrate thither? All that he could think of was to
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  practice some new austerity, to let his mind descend into his body and redeem
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  it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect. End of Chapter eleven.