Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
CHAPTER 11 Higher Laws
As I came home through the woods with my string of fish, trailing my pole, it being
now quite dark, I caught a glimpse of a woodchuck stealing across my path, and felt
a strange thrill of savage delight, and was
strongly tempted to seize and devour him raw; not that I was hungry then, except for
that wildness which he represented.
Once or twice, however, while I lived at the pond, I found myself ranging the woods,
like a half-starved hound, with a strange abandonment, seeking some kind of venison
which I might devour, and no morsel could have been too savage for me.
The wildest scenes had become unaccountably familiar.
I found in myself, and still find, an instinct toward a higher, or, as it is
named, spiritual life, as do most men, and another toward a primitive rank and savage
one, and I reverence them both.
I love the wild not less than the good. The wildness and adventure that are in
fishing still recommended it to me. I like sometimes to take rank hold on life
and spend my day more as the animals do.
Perhaps I have owed to this employment and to hunting, when quite young, my closest
acquaintance with Nature.
They early introduce us to and detain us in scenery with which otherwise, at that age,
we should have little acquaintance.
Fishermen, hunters, woodchoppers, and others, spending their lives in the fields
and woods, in a peculiar sense a part of Nature themselves, are often in a more
favorable mood for observing her, in the
intervals of their pursuits, than philosophers or poets even, who approach
her with expectation. She is not afraid to exhibit herself to
them.
The traveller on the prairie is naturally a hunter, on the head waters of the Missouri
and Columbia a trapper, and at the Falls of St. Mary a fisherman.
He who is only a traveller learns things at second-hand and by the halves, and is poor
authority.
We are most interested when science reports what those men already know practically or
instinctively, for that alone is a true humanity, or account of human experience.
They mistake who assert that the Yankee has few amusements, because he has not so many
public holidays, and men and boys do not play so many games as they do in England,
for here the more primitive but solitary
amusements of hunting, fishing, and the like have not yet given place to the
former.
Almost every New England boy among my contemporaries shouldered a fowling-piece
between the ages of ten and fourteen; and his hunting and fishing grounds were not
limited, like the preserves of an English
nobleman, but were more boundless even than those of a savage.
No wonder, then, that he did not oftener stay to play on the common.
But already a change is taking place, owing, not to an increased humanity, but to
an increased scarcity of game, for perhaps the hunter is the greatest friend of the
animals hunted, not excepting the Humane Society.
Moreover, when at the pond, I wished sometimes to add fish to my fare for
variety.
I have actually fished from the same kind of necessity that the first fishers did.
Whatever humanity I might conjure up against it was all factitious, and
concerned my philosophy more than my feelings.
I speak of fishing only now, for I had long felt differently about fowling, and sold my
gun before I went to the woods.
Not that I am less humane than others, but I did not perceive that my feelings were
much affected. I did not pity the fishes nor the worms.
This was habit.
As for fowling, during the last years that I carried a gun my excuse was that I was
studying ornithology, and sought only new or rare birds.
But I confess that I am now inclined to think that there is a finer way of studying
ornithology than this.
It requires so much closer attention to the habits of the birds, that, if for that
reason only, I have been willing to omit the gun.
Yet notwithstanding the objection on the score of humanity, I am compelled to doubt
if equally valuable sports are ever substituted for these; and when some of my
friends have asked me anxiously about their
boys, whether they should let them hunt, I have answered, yes--remembering that it was
one of the best parts of my education--make them hunters, though sportsmen only at
first, if possible, mighty hunters at last,
so that they shall not find game large enough for them in this or any vegetable
wilderness--hunters as well as fishers of men.
Thus far I am of the opinion of Chaucer's nun, who
"yave not of the text a pulled hen That saith that hunters ben not holy men."
There is a period in the history of the individual, as of the race, when the
hunters are the "best men," as the Algonquins called them.
We cannot but pity the boy who has never fired a gun; he is no more humane, while
his education has been sadly neglected.
This was my answer with respect to those youths who were bent on this pursuit,
trusting that they would soon outgrow it.
No humane being, past the thoughtless age of boyhood, will wantonly *** any
creature which holds its life by the same tenure that he does.
The hare in its extremity cries like a child.
I warn you, mothers, that my sympathies do not always make the usual phil-anthropic
distinctions.
Such is oftenest the young man's introduction to the forest, and the most
original part of himself.
He goes thither at first as a hunter and fisher, until at last, if he has the seeds
of a better life in him, he distinguishes his proper objects, as a poet or naturalist
it may be, and leaves the gun and fish-pole behind.
The mass of men are still and always young in this respect.
In some countries a hunting parson is no uncommon sight.
Such a one might make a good shepherd's dog, but is far from being the Good
Shepherd.
I have been surprised to consider that the only obvious employment, except wood-
chopping, ice-cutting, or the like business, which ever to my knowledge
detained at Walden Pond for a whole half-
day any of my fellow-citizens, whether fathers or children of the town, with just
one exception, was fishing.
Commonly they did not think that they were lucky, or well paid for their time, unless
they got a long string of fish, though they had the opportunity of seeing the pond all
the while.
They might go there a thousand times before the sediment of fishing would sink to the
bottom and leave their purpose pure; but no doubt such a clarifying process would be
going on all the while.
The Governor and his Council faintly remember the pond, for they went a-fishing
there when they were boys; but now they are too old and dignified to go a-fishing, and
so they know it no more forever.
Yet even they expect to go to heaven at last.
If the legislature regards it, it is chiefly to regulate the number of hooks to
be used there; but they know nothing about the hook of hooks with which to angle for
the pond itself, impaling the legislature for a bait.
Thus, even in civilized communities, the embryo man passes through the hunter stage
of development.
I have found repeatedly, of late years, that I cannot fish without falling a little
in self-respect. I have tried it again and again.
I have skill at it, and, like many of my fellows, a certain instinct for it, which
revives from time to time, but always when I have done I feel that it would have been
better if I had not fished.
I think that I do not mistake. It is a faint intimation, yet so are the
first streaks of morning.
There is unquestionably this instinct in me which belongs to the lower orders of
creation; yet with every year I am less a fisherman, though without more humanity or
even wisdom; at present I am no fisherman at all.
But I see that if I were to live in a wilderness I should again be tempted to
become a fisher and hunter in earnest.
Beside, there is something essentially unclean about this diet and all flesh, and
I began to see where housework commences, and whence the endeavor, which costs so
much, to wear a tidy and respectable
appearance each day, to keep the house sweet and free from all ill odors and
sights.
Having been my own butcher and scullion and cook, as well as the gentleman for whom the
dishes were served up, I can speak from an unusually complete experience.
The practical objection to animal food in my case was its uncleanness; and besides,
when I had caught and cleaned and cooked and eaten my fish, they seemed not to have
fed me essentially.
It was insignificant and unnecessary, and cost more than it came to.
A little bread or a few potatoes would have done as well, with less trouble and filth.
Like many of my contemporaries, I had rarely for many years used animal food, or
tea, or coffee, etc.; not so much because of any ill effects which I had traced to
them, as because they were not agreeable to my imagination.
The repugnance to animal food is not the effect of experience, but is an instinct.
It appeared more beautiful to live low and fare hard in many respects; and though I
never did so, I went far enough to please my imagination.
I believe that every man who has ever been earnest to preserve his higher or poetic
faculties in the best condition has been particularly inclined to abstain from
animal food, and from much food of any kind.
It is a significant fact, stated by entomologists--I find it in Kirby and
Spence--that "some insects in their perfect state, though furnished with organs of
feeding, make no use of them"; and they lay
it down as "a general rule, that almost all insects in this state eat much less than in
that of larvae.
The voracious caterpillar when transformed into a butterfly... and the gluttonous
maggot when become a fly" content themselves with a drop or two of honey or
some other sweet liquid.
The abdomen under the wings of the butterfly still represents the larva.
This is the tidbit which tempts his insectivorous fate.
The gross feeder is a man in the larva state; and there are whole nations in that
condition, nations without fancy or imagination, whose vast abdomens betray
them.
It is hard to provide and cook so simple and clean a diet as will not offend the
imagination; but this, I think, is to be fed when we feed the body; they should both
sit down at the same table.
Yet perhaps this may be done. The fruits eaten temperately need not make
us ashamed of our appetites, nor interrupt the worthiest pursuits.
But put an extra condiment into your dish, and it will poison you.
It is not worth the while to live by rich cookery.
Most men would feel shame if caught preparing with their own hands precisely
such a dinner, whether of animal or vegetable food, as is every day prepared
for them by others.
Yet till this is otherwise we are not civilized, and, if gentlemen and ladies,
are not true men and women. This certainly suggests what change is to
be made.
It may be vain to ask why the imagination will not be reconciled to flesh and fat.
I am satisfied that it is not. Is it not a reproach that man is a
carnivorous animal?
True, he can and does live, in a great measure, by preying on other animals; but
this is a miserable way--as any one who will go to snaring rabbits, or slaughtering
lambs, may learn--and he will be regarded
as a benefactor of his race who shall teach man to confine himself to a more innocent
and wholesome diet.
Whatever my own practice may be, I have no doubt that it is a part of the destiny of
the human race, in its gradual improvement, to leave off eating animals, as surely as
the savage tribes have left off eating each
other when they came in contact with the more civilized.
If one listens to the faintest but constant suggestions of his genius, which are
certainly true, he sees not to what extremes, or even insanity, it may lead
him; and yet that way, as he grows more resolute and faithful, his road lies.
The faintest assured objection which one healthy man feels will at length prevail
over the arguments and customs of mankind.
No man ever followed his genius till it misled him.
Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the
consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher
principles.
If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a
fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more
immortal--that is your success.
All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself.
The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated.
We easily come to doubt if they exist.
We soon forget them. They are the highest reality.
Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man.
The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as
the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment
of the rainbow which I have clutched.
Yet, for my part, I was never unusually squeamish; I could sometimes eat a fried
rat with a good relish, if it were necessary.
I am glad to have drunk water so long, for the same reason that I prefer the natural
sky to an ***-eater's heaven. I would fain keep sober always; and there
are infinite degrees of drunkenness.
I believe that water is the only drink for a wise man; wine is not so noble a liquor;
and think of dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm coffee, or of an evening
with a dish of tea!
Ah, how low I fall when I am tempted by them!
Even music may be intoxicating.
Such apparently slight causes destroyed Greece and Rome, and will destroy England
and America. Of all ebriosity, who does not prefer to be
intoxicated by the air he breathes?
I have found it to be the most serious objection to coarse labors long continued,
that they compelled me to eat and drink coarsely also.
But to tell the truth, I find myself at present somewhat less particular in these
respects.
I carry less religion to the table, ask no blessing; not because I am wiser than I
was, but, I am obliged to confess, because, however much it is to be regretted, with
years I have grown more coarse and indifferent.
Perhaps these questions are entertained only in youth, as most believe of poetry.
My practice is "nowhere," my opinion is here.
Nevertheless I am far from regarding myself as one of those privileged ones to whom the
Ved refers when it says, that "he who has true faith in the Omnipresent Supreme Being
may eat all that exists," that is, is not
bound to inquire what is his food, or who prepares it; and even in their case it is
to be observed, as a Hindoo commentator has remarked, that the Vedant limits this
privilege to "the time of distress."
Who has not sometimes derived an inexpressible satisfaction from his food in
which appetite had no share?
I have been thrilled to think that I owed a mental perception to the commonly gross
sense of taste, that I have been inspired through the palate, that some berries which
I had eaten on a hillside had fed my genius.
"The soul not being mistress of herself," says Thseng-tseu, "one looks, and one does
not see; one listens, and one does not hear; one eats, and one does not know the
savor of food."
He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can never be a glutton; he who does
not cannot be otherwise.
A puritan may go to his brown-bread crust with as gross an appetite as ever an
alderman to his turtle.
Not that food which entereth into the mouth defileth a man, but the appetite with which
it is eaten.
It is neither the quality nor the quantity, but the devotion to sensual savors; when
that which is eaten is not a viand to sustain our animal, or inspire our
spiritual life, but food for the worms that possess us.
If the hunter has a taste for mud-turtles, muskrats, and other such savage tidbits,
the fine lady indulges a taste for jelly made of a calf's foot, or for sardines from
over the sea, and they are even.
He goes to the mill-pond, she to her preserve-pot.
The wonder is how they, how you and I, can live this slimy, beastly life, eating and
drinking.
Our whole life is startlingly moral. There is never an instant's truce between
virtue and vice. Goodness is the only investment that never
fails.
In the music of the harp which trembles round the world it is the insisting on this
which thrills us.
The harp is the travelling patterer for the Universe's Insurance Company, recommending
its laws, and our little goodness is all the assessment that we pay.
Though the youth at last grows indifferent, the laws of the universe are not
indifferent, but are forever on the side of the most sensitive.
Listen to every zephyr for some reproof, for it is surely there, and he is
unfortunate who does not hear it. We cannot touch a string or move a stop but
the charming moral transfixes us.
Many an irksome noise, go a long way off, is heard as music, a proud, sweet satire on
the meanness of our lives.
We are conscious of an animal in us, which awakens in proportion as our higher nature
slumbers.
It is reptile and sensual, and perhaps cannot be wholly expelled; like the worms
which, even in life and health, occupy our bodies.
Possibly we may withdraw from it, but never change its nature.
I fear that it may enjoy a certain health of its own; that we may be well, yet not
pure.
The other day I picked up the lower jaw of a hog, with white and sound teeth and
tusks, which suggested that there was an animal health and vigor distinct from the
spiritual.
This creature succeeded by other means than temperance and purity.
"That in which men differ from brute beasts," says Mencius, "is a thing very
inconsiderable; the common herd lose it very soon; superior men preserve it
carefully."
Who knows what sort of life would result if we had attained to purity?
If I knew so wise a man as could teach me purity I would go to seek him forthwith.
"A command over our passions, and over the external senses of the body, and good acts,
are declared by the Ved to be indispensable in the mind's approximation to God."
Yet the spirit can for the time pervade and control every member and function of the
body, and transmute what in form is the grossest sensuality into purity and
devotion.
The generative energy, which, when we are loose, dissipates and makes us unclean,
when we are continent invigorates and inspires us.
Chastity is the flowering of man; and what are called Genius, Heroism, Holiness, and
the like, are but various fruits which succeed it.
Man flows at once to God when the channel of purity is open.
By turns our purity inspires and our impurity casts us down.
He is blessed who is assured that the animal is dying out in him day by day, and
the divine being established.
Perhaps there is none but has cause for shame on account of the inferior and
brutish nature to which he is allied.
I fear that we are such gods or demigods only as fauns and satyrs, the divine allied
to beasts, the creatures of appetite, and that, to some extent, our very life is our
disgrace.--
"How happy's he who hath due place assigned To his beasts and disafforested his mind!
Can use this horse, goat, wolf, and ev'ry beast,
And is not *** himself to all the rest!
Else man not only is the herd of swine, But he's those devils too which did
incline Them to a headlong rage, and made them
worse."
All sensuality is one, though it takes many forms; all purity is one.
It is the same whether a man eat, or drink, or cohabit, or sleep sensually.
They are but one appetite, and we only need to see a person do any one of these things
to know how great a sensualist he is. The impure can neither stand nor sit with
purity.
When the reptile is attacked at one mouth of his burrow, he shows himself at another.
If you would be chaste, you must be temperate.
What is chastity?
How shall a man know if he is chaste? He shall not know it.
We have heard of this virtue, but we know not what it is.
We speak conformably to the rumor which we have heard.
From exertion come wisdom and purity; from sloth ignorance and sensuality.
In the student sensuality is a sluggish habit of mind.
An unclean person is universally a slothful one, one who sits by a stove, whom the sun
shines on prostrate, who reposes without being fatigued.
If you would avoid uncleanness, and all the sins, work earnestly, though it be at
cleaning a stable. Nature is hard to be overcome, but she must
be overcome.
What avails it that you are Christian, if you are not purer than the heathen, if you
deny yourself no more, if you are not more religious?
I know of many systems of religion esteemed heathenish whose precepts fill the reader
with shame, and provoke him to new endeavors, though it be to the performance
of rites merely.
I hesitate to say these things, but it is not because of the subject--I care not how
obscene my words are--but because I cannot speak of them without betraying my
impurity.
We discourse freely without shame of one form of sensuality, and are silent about
another.
We are so degraded that we cannot speak simply of the necessary functions of human
nature.
In earlier ages, in some countries, every function was reverently spoken of and
regulated by law.
Nothing was too trivial for the Hindoo lawgiver, however offensive it may be to
modern taste.
He teaches how to eat, drink, cohabit, void excrement and urine, and the like,
elevating what is mean, and does not falsely excuse himself by calling these
things trifles.
Every man is the builder of a temple, called his body, to the god he worships,
after a style purely his own, nor can he get off by hammering marble instead.
We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and
bones.
Any nobleness begins at once to refine a man's features, any meanness or sensuality
to imbrute them.
John Farmer sat at his door one September evening, after a hard day's work, his mind
still running on his labor more or less. Having bathed, he sat down to re-create his
intellectual man.
It was a rather cool evening, and some of his neighbors were apprehending a frost.
He had not attended to the train of his thoughts long when he heard some one
playing on a flute, and that sound harmonized with his mood.
Still he thought of his work; but the burden of his thought was, that though this
kept running in his head, and he found himself planning and contriving it against
his will, yet it concerned him very little.
It was no more than the scurf of his skin, which was constantly shuffled off.
But the notes of the flute came home to his ears out of a different sphere from that he
worked in, and suggested work for certain faculties which slumbered in him.
They gently did away with the street, and the village, and the state in which he
lived.
A voice said to him--Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a
glorious existence is possible for you?
Those same stars twinkle over other fields than these.--But how to come out of this
condition and actually migrate thither?
All that he could think of was to practise some new austerity, to let his mind descend
into his body and redeem it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect.