CONCLUSION
To the sick the doctors
wisely recommend a change of air
and scenery. Thank
Heaven, here is not all the world. The
buckeye does not grow in
New England, and the mockingbird
is rarely heard here.
The wild goose is more of a cosmopolite
than we ; he breaks his
fast in Canada, takes a luncheon in the
Ohio, and plumes himself
for the night in a southern bayou.
Even the bison, to some
extent, keeps pace with the seasons,
cropping the pastures of
the Colorado only till a greener and
sweeter grass awaits him
by the Yellowstone. Yet we think
that if rail fences are
pulled down, and stone walls piled up on
our farms, bounds are
henceforth set to our lives and our fates
decided. If you are
chosen town clerk, forsooth, you cannot
go to Tierra del Fuego
this summer: but you may go to the
land of infernal fire
nevertheless. The universe is wider than
our views of it.
Yet we should oftener
look over the tafferel of our craft, like
curious passengers, and
not make the voyage like stupid sailors
picking oakum. The other
side of the globe is but the home of
our correspondent. Our
voyaging is only great-circle sailing,
and the doctors
prescribe for diseases of the skin merely. One
hastens to southern
Africa to chase the giraffe; but surely that
is not the game he would
be after. How long, pray, would a
man hunt giraffes if he
could? Snipes and woodcocks also
may afford rare sport ;
but I trust it would be nobler game to
shoot one's self.
"Direct your eye
right inward, and you'll find
A thousand regions in your
mind
285
286 THE WRITINGS OF
THOREAU
Yet undiscovered. Travel
them, and be
Expert in
home-cosmography."
What does Africa, what
does the West stand for? Is not oiu
own interior white on
the chart? black though it may prove,
like the coast, when
discovered. Is it the source of the Nile,
or the Niger, or the
Mississippi, or a Northwest Passage
around this continent,
that we would find? Are these the prob-
lems which most concern
mankind? Is Franklin the only
man
who is lost, that his
wife should be so earnest to find him? Does
Mr. Grinnell know where
he himself is? Be rather the Mungo
Park, the Lewis and
Clark and Frobisher, of your own streams
and oceans; explore your
own higher latitudes, with ship-
loads of preserved meats
to support you, if they be necessary;
and pile the empty cans
sky-high for a sign. Were preserved
meats invented to
preserve meat merely? Nay, be a Columbus
to whole new continents
and worlds within you, opening new
channels, not of trade,
but of thought. Every man is the lord
of a realm beside which
the earthly empire of the Czar is but
a petty state, a hummock
left by the ice. Yet some can be pa-
triotic who have no respect,
and sacrifice the greater to the
less. They love the soil which makes their graves, but have no
sympathy with the spirit
which may still animate their clay.
Patriotism is a maggot in
their heads. What was the meaning
of that South-Sea
Exploring Expedition, with all its parade
and expense, but an
indirect recognition of the fact that there
are continents and seas in
the moral world to which every man
is an isthmus or an inlet,
yet unexplored by him, but that it is
easier to sail many
thousand miles through cold and storm and
cannibals, in a government
ship, with five hundred men and
boys to assist one, than it
is to explore the private sea, the
Atlantic and Pacific Ocean
of one's being alone.
"Erret, et extremes
alter scrutetur Iberos.
Plus habet hie vitae,
plus habet ille viae."
WALDEN 287
Let them wander and
scrutinize the outlandish Australians.
I have more of God, they
more of the road.
It is not worthwhile to
go round the world to count the
cats in Zanzibar. Yet do
this even till you can do better, and
you may perhaps find
some "Symmes' Hole' 7 by which to get
at the inside at last.
England and France, Spain and Portugal,
Gold Coast and Slave
Coast, all front on this private sea; but
no bark from them has
ventured out of sight of land, though
it is without doubt the
direct way to India. If you would learn
to speak all tongues and
conform to the customs of all nations,
if you would travel
farther than all travellers, be naturalized
in all climes, and cause
the Sphinx to dash her head against
a stone, even obey the
precept of the old philosopher, and
Explore thyself. Herein
are demanded the eye and the nerve.
Only the defeated and
deserters go to the wars, cowards that
run away and enlist.
Start now on that farthest western way,
which does not pause at
the Mississippi or the Pacific, nor
conduct toward a
worn-out China or Japan, but leads on direct,
a tangent to this
sphere, summer and winter, day and night,
sun down, moon down, and
at last earth down too.
It is said that Mirabeau
took to highway robbery "to ascer-
tain what degree of
resolution was necessary in order to place
one's self in formal
opposition to the most sacred laws of so -
ciety." He declared
that "a soldier who fights in the ranks
does not require half so
much courage as a foot-pad/' "that
honor and religion have
never stood in the way of a well-
considered and a firm
resolve." This was manly, as the world
goes; and yet it was
idle, if not desperate. A saner man would
have found himself often
enough "in formal opposition" to
what are deemed
"the most sacred laws of society," through
obedience to yet more
sacred laws, and so have tested his
resolution without going
out of his way. It is not for a man to
put himself in such an
attitude to society, but to maintain
himself in whatever
attitude he find himself through obedience
288 THE WRITINGS OF THOREAU
to the laws of his being,
which will never be one of opposition
to a just government, if
he should chance to meet with such.
I left the woods for as
good a reason as I went there. Perhaps
it seemed to me that I had
several more lives to live, and could
not spare any more time
for that one. It is remarkable how
easily and insensibly we
fall into a particular route, and
make a beaten track for
ourselves. I had not lived there a
week before my feet wore
a path from my door to the pond-
side; and though it is
five or six years since I trod it, it is
still quite distinct. It
is true, I fear, that others may have
fallen into it, and so
helped to keep it open. The surface of
the earth is soft and
impressible by the feet of men ; and so
with the paths which the
mind travels. How worn and dusty,
then, must be the
highways of the world, how deep the ruts
of tradition and
conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin
passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of
the world, for there I
could best see the moonlight amid the
mountains. I do not wish
to go below now.
I learned this, at least,
by my experiment: that if one
advances confidently in
the direction of his dreams, and en-
deavors to live the life
which he has imagined, he will meet
with a success unexpected
in common hours. He will put some
things behind, will pass
an invisible boundary; new, universal,
and more liberal laws will
begin to establish themselves
around and within him; or
the old laws be expanded, and
interpreted in his favor
in a more liberal sense, and he will
live with the license of a
higher order of beings. In proportion
as he simplifies his life,
the laws of the universe will appear
less complex, and solitude
will not be solitude, nor poverty
poverty, nor weakness
weakness. If you have built castles in
the air, your work need
not be lost; that is where they should
be. Now put the
foundations under them.
It is a ridiculous demand
which England and America
make, that you shall speak
so that they can understand you.
Neither men nor toadstools
grow so. As if that were important,
and there were not enough
to understand you without them.
WALDEN 289
As if Nature could support
but one order of understandings,
could not sustain birds as
well as quadrupeds, flying as well
as creeping things, and
hush and whoa, which Bright can
understand, were the best
English. As if there were safety in
stupidity alone. I fear chiefly lest my
expression may not be
extra-vagant enough, may
not wander far enough beyond the
narrow limits of my daily
experience, so as to be adequate to
the truth of which I have
been convinced. Extra vagance/ it
depends on how you are
yarded. The migrating buffalo^ which
seeks new pastures in
another latitude, is not extravagant like
the cow which kicks over
the pail, leaps the cowyard fence,
and runs after her calf,
in milking time. I desire to speak
somewhere without bounds;
like a man in a waking moment,
to men in their waking
moments; for I am convinced that 1
cannot exaggerate enough
even to lay the foundation of a
true expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared
then lest he should
speak extravagantly any more forever? In
view of the future or
possible, we should live quite laxly and
undefined in front, our
outlines dim and misty on that side ;
as our shadows reveal an
insensible perspiration toward the
sun. The volatile truth
of our words should continually betray
the inadequacy of the
residual statement. Their truth is in-
stantly translated] its
literal monument alone remains. The
words which express our
faith and piety are not definite ; yet
they are significant and
fragrant like frankincense to superior
natures.
Why level downward to
our dullest perception always, and
praise that as common
sense? The commonest sense is
the
sense of men asleep, which
they express by snoring. Some-
times we are inclined to
class those who are once-and-a-half-
witted with the
half-witted, because we appreciate only a
third part of their wit.
Some would find fcult with the morn-
ing red, if they ever
got up early enough, "They pretend,"
as I hear, "that
the verses of Kabir have four different senses;
illusion, spirit,
intellect, and the exoteric doctrine of the
Vedas ; " but in
this part of the world it fa considered a ground
290 THE WRITINGS OF
THOREAU
for complaint if a man's
writings admit of more than one
interpretation. While
England endeavors to cure the potato-
rot, will not any
endeavor to cure the brain-rot, which prevails
r/> much more widely
and fatally?
I do not suppose that I
have attained to obscurity, but I
should be proud if no
more fatal fault were found with my
pages on this score than
was found with the Walden ice.
Southern customers
objected to its blue color, which is the
evidence of its purity,
as if it were muddy, and preferred the
Cambridge ice, which is
white, but tastes of weeds. The purity
men love is like the
mists which envelop the earth, and not
like the azure ether
beyond.
Some are dinning in our
ears that we Americans, and
moderns generally, are
intellectual dwarfs compared with the
ancients, or even the
Elizabethan men. But what is that to
the purpose? A living dog is better than a dead lion. Shall a
man go and hang himself
because he belongs to the race of
pygmies, and not be the
biggest pygmy that he can? Let every
one mind his own business,
and endeavor to be what he was
made.
Why s.hould we be in
such desperate haste to succeed and
in such desperate
enterprises? If a man does not keep
pace
with his companions,
perhaps it is because he hears a differ-
ent drummer. Let him step
to the music which he hears, how-
ever measured or far away. It is not important that he should
mature as soon as an
apple tree or an oak. Shall he turn his
spring into summer? If
the condition of things which we were
made for is not yet,
what were any reality which we can sub-
stitute? We will not be
shipwrecked on a vain reality. Shall
we with pains erect a
heaven of blue glass over ourselves,
though when it is done
we shall be sure to gaze still at the
true ethereal heaven far
above, as if the former were not?
There was an artist in
the city of Kouroo who was disposed
to strive after
perfection. One day it came into his mind to
make a staff. Having
considered that is an imperfect work
time is an ingredient,
but into a perfect work time does not
WALDEN 291
enter, he said to
himself, It shall be perfect in all respects,
though I should do
nothing else in my life. He proceeded
instantly to the forest
for wood, being resolved that it should
not be made of
unsuitable material ; and as he searched for
and rejected stick after
stick, his friends gradually deserted
him, for they grew old
in their works and died, but he grevtf
not older by a moment.
His singleness of purpose and resohp
tion, and his elevated
piety, endowed him, without his knowl-
edge, with perennial
youth. As he made no compromise with
Time, Time kept out of
his way, and only sighed at a distance
because he could not
overcome him. Before he had found a
stick in all respects
suitable the city of Kouroo was a hoary
ruin, and he sat on one
of its mounds to peel the stick. Before
he had given it the
proper shape the dynasty of the Candahar3
was at an end, and with
the point of the stick he wrote the
name of the last of that
race in the sand, and then resumed his
work. By the time he had
smoothed and polished the staff
Kalpa was no longer the
pole-star ; and ere he had put on the
ferule and the head
adorned with precious stones, Brahma
had awoke and slumbered
many times. But why do I stay to
mention these things?
When the finishing stroke was put to
his work, it suddenly
expanded before the eyes of the as-
tonished artist into the
fairest of all the creations of Brahma.
He had made a new system
in making a staff, a world with
full and fair
proportions; in which, though the old cities and
dynasties had passed
away, fairer and more glorious ones had
taken their places. And
now he saw by the heap of shavings
still fresh at his feet,
that, for him and his work, the former
lapse of time had been
an illusion, and that no more time had
elapsed than is required
for a single scintillation from the
brain of Brahma to fall
on and inflame the tinder of a mortal
brain. The material was
pure, and his art was pure ; how could
the result be other than
wonderful?
No face which we can give
to a matter will stead us so well
at last as the truth. This
alone wears well. For the most part,
we are not where we are,
but in a false position. Through an
292 THE WRITINGS OF
THOREAU
infirmity of our natures,
we suppose a case, and put ourselves
into it, and hence are in
two cases at the same time, and it
is doubly difficult to get
out. In sane moments we regard only
the facts, the case that
is. Say what you have to say, not what
you ought. Any truth is
better than make-believe. Tom Hyde,
the tinker, standing on
the gallows, was asked if he had any-
thing to say. "Tell
the tailors," said he, "to remember to make
a knot in their thread
before they take the first stitch." His
companion's prayer is
forgotten.
However mean your life is,
meet it and live it; do not shun
it and call it hard names.
It is not so bad as you are. It looks
poorest when you are
richest. The faultfinder will find faults
even in paradise. Love
your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps
have some pleasant,
thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-
house. The setting sun is
reflected from the windows of the
almshouse as brightly as
from the rich man's abode; the snow
melts before its door as
early in the spring. I do not see but
a quiet mind may live as
contentedly there, and have as
cheering thoughts, as in a
palace. The town's poor seem to me
often to live the most
independent lives of any. Maybe they
are simply great enough to
receive without misgiving. Most
think that they are above
being supported by the town ; but
it oftener happens that
they are not above supporting them-
selves by dishonest means,
which should be more disreputable.
Cultiyate poverty like a
garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble
yourself much to get new
things, whether clothes or friends.
Turn the old; return to
them. Things do not change; we
change. Sell your clothes
and keep your thoughts. God will
see that you do not want
society. If I were confined to a
corner of a garret all my
days, like a spider, the world would
be just as large to me
while I had my thoughts about me. The
philosopher said:
"From an army of three divisions one can
take away its general, and
put it in disorder; from the man
the most abject and vulgar
one cannot take away his thought."
Do not seek so anxiously
to be developed, to subject yourself
to many influences to be
played on ; it is all dissipation. Humil*
WALDEN 293
ity like darkness reveals the
heavenly lights. The shadows of
poverty and meanness
gather around us, "and lol creation
widens to our view."
We are often reminded that if there
were bestowed on us the
wealth of Croesus, our aim? must
still be the same, and our
means essentially the same. More-
over, if you are
restricted in your range by poverty, if you
cannot buy books and
newspapers, for instance, you are but
confined to the most
significant and vital experiences; you
are compelled to deal with
the material which yields the most
sugar and the most starch.
It is life near the bone where it is
sweetest. You are defended
from being a trifler. No man loses
ever on a lower level by
magnanimity on a higher. Superfluous
wealth can buy
superfluities only. Money is not required to
buy one necessary of the
soul.
I live in the angle of a
leaden wall, into whose composition
was poured a little alloy
of bell-metal. Often, in the repose of
my mid-day, there reaches
my ears a confused tintinnabulum
from without. It is the
noise of my contemporaries. My neigh-
bors tell me of their
adventures with famous gentlemen and
ladies, what notabilities
they met at the dinner-table; but I
am no more interested in
such things than in the contents of
the Daily Times. The
interest and the conversation are about
costume and manners
chiefly; but a goose is a goose still,
dress it as you will. They
tell me of California and Texas, of
England and the Indies,
of the Hon. Mr. of Georgia or
of Massachusetts, all
transient and fleeting phenomena, till I
am ready to leap from
their court-yard like the Mameluke
bey. I delight to come
to my bearings, not walk in procession
with pomp and parade, in
a conspicuous place, but to walk
even with the Builder of
the universe, if I may, not to live
in this restless,
nervous, bustling, trivial Nineteenth Century,
but stand or sit
thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men
celebrating? They are all on a committee of arrangements,
and hourly expect a speech
from somebody. God is only the
president of the day, and
Webster is his orator. I love to weigh,
to settle, to gravitate
toward that which most strongly and
294 THE WRITINGS OF
THOREAU
rightfully attracts me;
not hang by the beam of the scale
and try to weigh less,
not suppose a case, but take the case
that is; to travel the
only path I can, and that on which no
power can resist me. It affords me no satisfaction to commence
to spring an arch before I
have got a solid foundation. Let us
not play at
kittly-benders. There is a solid bottom every-
where. We read that the
traveller asked the boy if the swamp
before him had a hard
bottom. The boy replied that it had.
But presently the
traveller's horse sank in up to the girths,
and he observed to the
boy, "I thought you said that this bog
had a hard bottom."
"So it has," answered the latter, "but
you have not got half way
to it yet." So it is with the bogs and
quicksands of society ;
but he is an old boy that knows it. Only
what is thought, said,
or done at a certain rare coincidence is
good. I would not be one
of those who will foolishly drive a
nail into mere lath and
plastering; such a deed would keep
me awake nights. Give me
a hammer, and let me feel for the
furring. Do not depend
on the putty. Drive a nail home and
clinch it so faithfully
that you can wake up in the night and
think of your work with
satisfaction, a work at which you
would not be ashamed to
invoke the Muse. So will help you
God, and so only. Every
nail driven should be as another
rivet in the machine of
the universe, you carrying on the work.
Rather than love, than
money, than fame, give me truth. I
sat at a table where
were rich food and wine in abundance,
and obsequious;
attendance, but sincerity and truth were not ;
and I went away hungry
from the inhospitable board. The
hospitality was as cold
as the ices. I thought that there was no
need of ice to freeze
them. They talked to me of the age of
the wine and the fame of
the vintage; but I thought of an
older, a newer, and
purer wine, of a more glorious vintage,
which they had not got,
and could not buy. The style, the
house and grounds and
"entertainment" pass for nothing with
me. I called on the
king, but he made me wait in his hall, and
Conducted like a man
incapacitated for hospitality. There
Was a roan in my
neighborhood who lived in a hollow tree.
WALDEN 295
His manners were truly
regal. I should have done better had
I called on him.
How long shall we sit in
our porticoes practising idle and
musty virtues, which any
work would make impertinent? As
if one were to begin the
day with long-suffering, and hire a
man to iioe his
potatoes; and in the afternoon go forth
to practise Christian
meekness and charity with goodness
aforethought! Consider
the China pride and stagnant self-
complacency of mankind.
This generation inclines a little to
congratulate itself on
being the last of an illustrious line; and
in Boston and London and
Paris and Rome, thinking of its
long descent, it speaks
of its progress in art and science and
literature with
satisfaction. There are the Records of the
Philosophical Societies,
and the public Eulogies of Great Menl
It is the good Adam
contemplating his own virtue. "Yes, we
have done great deeds,
and sung divine songs, which shall
never die," that
is, as long as we can remember them. The
learned societies and
great men of Assyria, where are they?
What youthful
philosophers and experimentalists we are!
There is not one of my
readers who has yet lived a whole
human life. These may be
but the spring months in the life
of the race. K we have
had the seven-years 7 itch, we have not
seen the seventeen-year
locust yet in Concord. We are ac-
quainted with a mere
pellicle of the globe on which we live.
Most have not delved six
feet beneath the surface, nor leaped
as many above it. We
know not where we are. Beside, we are
sound asleep nearly half
our time. Yet we esteem ourselves
wise, and have an
established order on the surface. Truly, we
are deep thinkers, we
are ambitious spirits! As I stand over
the insect crawling amid
the pine needles on the forest floor,
and endeavoring to
conceal itself from my sight, and ask my-
self why it will cherish
those humble thoughts, and hide its
head from me who might,
perhaps, be its benefactor, and
impart to its race some
cheering information, I am reminded
of the greater
Benefactor and Intelligence that stands over
me the human insect.
296 THE WRITINGS OF
THOREAU
There is an incessant
influx of novelty into the world and
yet we tolerate incredible
dulness. I need only suggest what
kind of sermons are still
listened to in the most enlightened
countries. There are such
words as joy and sorrow, but they
are only the burden of a
psalm, sung with a nasal twang,
while we believe in the
ordinary and mean. We think that we
can change our clothes
only. It is said that the British Empire
is very large and
respectable, and that the United States are
a first-rate power. We do
not believe that a tide rises and falls
behind every man which can
float the British Empire like a
chip, if he should ever
harbor it in his mind. Who knows what
sort of seventeen-year
locust will next come out of the ground?
The government of the
world I live in was not framed, like
that of Britain, in
after-dinner conversations over the wine.
The life in us is like the
water in the river. It may rise this
year higher than man has
ever known it, and flood the parched
uplands; even this may be
the eventful year, which will
drown out all our
muskrats. It was not always dry land where
we dwell. I see far inland
the banks which the stream anciently
washed, before science
began to record its freshets. Every one
has heard the story which
has gone the rounds of New Eng-
land, of a strong and
beautiful bug which came out of the
dry leaf of an old table
of apple-tree wood, which had stood
in a farmer's kitchen for
sixty years, first in Connecticut, and
afterward in
Massachusetts, from an egg deposited in the
living tree many years
earlier still, as appeared by counting
the annual layers beyond
it; which was heard gnawing out for
several weeks, hatched
perchance by the heat of an urn. Who
does not feel his faith in
a resurrection and immortality
strengthened by hearing of
this? Who knows what beautiful
and winged life, whose egg
has been buried for ages under
many concentric layers of
woodenness in the dead dry life of
society, deposited at
first in the alburnum of the green and
living tree, which has
been gradually converted into the
semblance of its
well-seasoned tomb, heard perchance gnaw-
ing out now for years by
the astonished family of man, as they
WALDEN 297
sat round the festive
board, may unexpectedly come forth
from amidst society's most
trivial and handselled furniture,
to enjoy its perfect
summer life at last!
I do not say that John or
Jonathan will realize all this ; but
such is the character of
that morrow which mere lapse of
time can never make to
dawn. The light which puts out our
eyes is darkness to us.
Only that day dawns to which we are
awake. There is more day
to dawn. The sun is but a morning
star.
ምንም አስተያየቶች የሉም:
አስተያየት ይለጥፉ