Irene's Recommendation - Walden by Henry David Thoreau

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." 

- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

The last time I remember Grandma giving me a book recommendation was in 1999. I was a freshman in college and the book was Into the Wild by John Krakauer. I don't remember if she gave it to me because she had read it and thought I would like it, or because that summer she had noticed me reading Into Thin Air and thought I'd like another book by the same author. Either way, I loved that book. It ranks in the top five most influential of my life. It's the true story of a young man named Chris McCandless, who grew up in suburban Virginia in the 70s and 80s. Upon finishing college he suddenly and unexpectedly severed all ties with his family and embarked on an adventure across the United States. Along the way he kept a journal in the margins of his favorite books, and shared with friends his personal philosophy: that a life of simplicity and adventure is the only kind worth living. After two years of wandering, he hitchhiked to Alaska and walked into the Denali wilderness with plans to live off the land. Chris perished about 100 days later. A hunter who discovered Chris's body in the woods also found a small collection of books including Dr. Zhivago, Call of the Wild, and - naturally - Walden, by Henry David Thoreau.

Chris McCandless, 1992, shortly before his death.

It is striking how much Thoreau and McCandless had in common. They both believed that most people miss the beauty of life because they are addicted to the security offered by material possessions. Both relished solitude and at times actively despised the company of others. Both were addicted to the intoxicating allure of the wilderness. But there are striking differences as well. Thoreau was committed to living simply and as part of nature, but did so in a well constructed cabin just a few miles from Concord. Even in the much less developed world of the 1840s he could hear the whistle of the train and nearby church bells while sitting inside his little cabin. Chris on the other hand was only satisfied when the safety net was completely removed. 

Not to say that Thoreau had it easy. His tiny cabin couldn't have been much. After all Henry built it himself over a period a few weeks. For furniture there was a bed, a desk, and a chair. He had next to nothing, but that was the point. Thoreau believed that most men wasted their lives toiling at work unnecessarily. "I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools. How many a poor immortal soul have I met will nigh crushed and smothered under its load" Thoreau insisted that "he who does not eat need not work" and that "by working about six weeks in a year, I could meet all the expenses of living." At Walden this meant occasionally foraging for berries ("going a-berrying" as he called it), fishing on the pond ("a-fishing"), and farming on the on land around his cabin ("a-hoeing") which he described as "making the earth say 'beans' instead of 'grass.'"

What to do with all your spare time then? Henry passed his watching nature from his front porch. He spent days watching, and hundreds of pages describing, squirrels eating his leftover beans, birds pecking at what the squirrels didn't want, and ducks ("loons") paddling around the pond. I had to skim a lot of the endless nature descriptions, which reminded me of John Galt's interminable 80 page radio speech in Atlas Shrugged, only instead of a masterful political treatise it was just a story about a small red ant engaged in an hours long duel with a much larger black ant. At other times though I was completely drawn into Henry's world and felt like I was sitting on the porch with him in 1845 watching a storm roll in, or seeing a hawk soar and dive above the trees, listening to an owl in twilight, or watching the winter ice creep inch by inch over the pond. 

But let's be honest: the man is insufferable. Everyone but Henry is a greedy money grubbing misguided fool. Everyone but Henry is miserable. Everyone but Henry is living a life of "quiet desperation." The world is so full of loathsome boring old creatures that "to be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude." Oh yeah, Henry? Maybe it's us who don't want to hang out with you. Did you ever think about that? 

At certain points I was so annoyed with Henry's sanctimoniousness (Grandma's word, not mine), that I found myself wishing he hadn't written the book in the first place. In those moments I felt the same way about Thoreau as I do about those ubiquitous Instagram feeds owned by a hipsters with a Volkswagen, an SLR, a Gingham photo-filter and way too much time on their hands. Much to Martha's annoyance, I've said many times over the years that excessive photo snapping and social-media sharing sucks the joy out of otherwise magical moments. You can experience a perfect moment, or take a picture of it, but not both. (I've lightened up a lot in this area but I still think it's mostly true.) In that sense, wouldn't Thoreau's experience on the pond have been that much sweeter if he'd kept it to himself? We wouldn't have been able to share it with him of course, and one of the master works on Transcendentalism would have gone unwritten, but at least we'd have been spared his inexhaustible stream of self-gratifying humble brags. 

But I'm just as bad, am I not? Isn't it true that the character flaws we see most clearly in others are the same ones we possess ourselves? Just like Henry, I feel the same need to go on and on about the way I see the world. What is this blog, after all, if not a sad attempt at broadcasting my thoughts as I work through my own little social experiment? Thoreau had a nice little quip when people accused him of being self-centered: "I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I shared just my views but left the ideas of others out of it. But, like Thoreau, I can't stop myself from criticizing just about every philosophy or lifestyle that is different than my own. This disease has a name, "Dontopedalitis," the main symptom being the reflexive opening of one's mouth followed by the insertion of one's foot. It is an ailment that has afflicted me for years, and though not well known in Thoreau's time, circumstantial evidence points to his having contracted it as well.

My best moments reading Walden came when I managed to look past the style of Thoreau's delivery, and instead focus on the core message. "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand." The man once threw out a centerpiece for his table because he couldn't be bothered to dust it off once in a while. He advises us all to eat just once daily because everything that goes into a meal is so burdensome. Why spend your life toiling away so that you can have pork and butter at every meal, when instead you could eat bread for practically nothing and spend your time enjoying nature? This concept came up in in another book I read lately, Homodeus by Yuval Harari, who observed that today's unskilled laborers could work just 10 hours per week if they would be satisfied with the average consumption levels of 100 years ago. But they would not, would they?

When I asked Grandma why she liked Walden, she said it was the message of simplicity that resonated with her. The example she gave was people always insisting that she buy camping gear, but that this never made sense to her. Why should she own and store a bunch of stuff that is only used once or twice per year? I like camping, but that's not the point. The point is so many of us are nearly buried alive under the weight of our lifestyle, and we don't even see it. What if you could cut your expenses in half today? Would the freedom that comes with security outweigh the stress that comes with less living space or a crummier car? Thoreau believed that for many people the answer is yes.

But Thoreau's philosophy was more than just minimalism and simplicity. He was obsessed with truth. He never described what truth is, only that the absence of it is the primary cause of unhappiness. "Shams and delusions are esteemed for soundest truths... If men would steadily observe realities only, and not allow themselves to be deluded, life... would be like a fairy tale." In the realm of observable science, truth can be described in terms of facts and falsehoods. But in the realm of philosophy and lifestyle, truth is subjective and relative. That's why we can all criticize Thoreau's message of simplicity with such vigor, because who can prove us wrong? I like his insistence that he's right even in the face of so much criticism. I have a soft spot in my heart for anyone who can listen to the whole world calling them a fool and still have the courage to think otherwise. Thoreau said "The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?" Amen, brother.

I underlined a quote towards the end of the book which Chris McCandless, much more famously, also underlined in the copy of Walden found next to his body: "Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." If there's one message in Walden that spoke to me it was this one. In the end, I can look past all of Thoreau's heavy-handedness and self-righteousness, because he is a truth seeker. In that sense I want to be just like him. 

Thanks, Grandma for a great recommendation. 

Next up: Natalie's book, Crime and Punishment.