Deliberately Reading Walden; or, Life in the Woods

But is it any good?

Despite what you may hear from his critics, Thoreau’s Walden; or, Life in the Woods is not some sepia-toned memoir, nor is it a scientific exploration of the natural world. Instead, Thoreau describes, in page after page, a vivid exploration of the mind and its reflection upon the natural world. At one end of his personal journey he fought to bend his will, control his animal tendencies and live out an ascetic life. At the other end, he gave in to nature’s primal beck and call. Pulled between the two extremes of the natural order, Thoreau was able to explore his inner limits, or in his own words, out in the wilds he was able to experience ‘earth’s eye[s]; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.’

For those who choose not to gaze into the natural world (for every one of us who is not a Thoreau), spending time looking at one’s place in the grand scheme of it all might seem a bit self-indulgent, but to see one’s life situated, possibly centered, maybe even purposeful is to understand an important aspect of being human; and if nature has the power to show us glimpses of our inner selves, then its substance as a wellspring of human knowledge leaves no doubt as to why Henry David Thoreau was not only one of the preeminent outdoorsmen of his age, but also one who saw his life become more curious at his country home.

Yet despite holding up nature to bare his soul and lay out his vulnerabilities, it has been fashionable to discount Thoreau’s account of living in the woods ever since it was first published. Whether he truly had an intrinsic desire to explore the limits of his solitude, or whether he might have been in the words of the honorably ornery naturalist Edward Abbey ‘what we today might call a put-on artist’ out to ‘shock and exasperate’ has concerned nearly every nature writer since 1854. Abbey, for one, has claimed that Thoreau’s most compelling desires lay not in some spiritual awakening but rather in a need to put one over his peers in the ancient sport of one-upmanship. And in Abbey’s eyes this may have led ‘many of [Thoreau’s] friends, neighbors, relatives, and relative friends [to] have sighed in relief when Henry finally croaked.’

Even now Thoreau’s words are twisted and his reliability questioned as his work remains under siege by academics intent on overturning the literary canon. Yet, such criticisms of Walden tend to focus on the author’s life more than on the book he wrote. Common complaints decry Thoreau for visiting nearby farms and taking meals with townsfolk. His kindest critics merely incriminate him on the grounds that he did not live up the exalted example set forth in his book. They view this apparent dissonance between the life of the character and the life of the author as proof of humbuggery; but his meanest critics claim that Thoreau’s privilege as a literati leaves little of value for the impoverished classes to gain from his account of an upper crust youth slumming it in the forest. In other words, they read his text and in response they throw out the baby, the bathwater and the tub.

The problem with these kinds of critiques is that they overlook the elements of Walden that make it worth reading. His critics discount the prose, undervalue the lessons to be learned and eviscerate the fact that humans of all manner, even men like Thoreau, may from time to time exaggerate, circumvent the truth or even lie when it suits their needs; but the fact that this behavior can be viewed as either a moral failure or as proof that he was at best a human and at worst an author should not lead us to conclusions about the motives of the man. Literary criticisms that treat primary and secondary sources as prosecutorial evidence rather than as simple miscellania do a disservice to all notions of authorial intent that place the primacy of text itself at the center of meaning. And far from creating an accumulative understanding, such historical criticisms look so far past the original text as to ignore it altogether.

A case in point is the common contention concerning the fact that Thoreau took meals at a neighbor’s cottage and failed to repent. However, such complaints ignore the author’s purposeful selection of an orderly, straightforward tale that suits the needs of the story that needs to be told. Historical criticism that finds fault in Thoreau’s character simply silts the flow of genuine ideas with superfluous paraphernalia and detritus of the mind in an attempt to ruin an otherwise coherent text. Critics of this sort are so much like the people who Thoreau described as not listening to anything but the ‘suggestion of [their own] genius’ that there arguments become laden with the irony that they read between the lines without reading the words themselves, i.e., they read without attempting to listen in the manner demonstrated by Thoreau.

As recently as 2015, Kathryn Schulz’s wonderfully scathing article, “Pond Scum,” set off a litany of new critiques both in defense of and against Walden, the book, as well as Thoreau, the man. In fact, since the October 19th publication of Schulz’s article in the New Yorker, over thirty pages of reviews have been added to Walden’s Amazon listing despite the common wisdom that no one reads anything of substance anymore. Although some reviews were surely written by disgruntled students undoubtedly forced to endure Thoreau’s ramblings, most seem to have read the book willingly and of their own volition. And if the overall 4.3 star Amazon rating given to the book has any value, then the book would seem to certainly be worth the time it takes to read.

If you are still unsure of whether to read Walden this year, you need merely refer to Kathryn Schulz’s article and the hubbub that it created. After all, her critique of the book amounted to 5,666 well-placed words. Even though she had few good things to say about the book, if it were truly unworthy of attention, it would not have managed to cause such an avalanche of ideas 161 years after its publication. Nor would it have excited author Jedediah Purdy whose defense, appropriately titled “In Defense of Thoreau,” and comically subtitled “He May Be a Jerk, But He Still Matters,” to so clearly respond to each and every one of Schulz’s criticisms to the tune of 3,063 carefully placed words of his own.

Books that cause such strong reactions are certainly of immense value. Whether you count yourself as a pessimist like Abbey, a critic like Schulz or a fan such as Purdy it seems that responding to Thoreau is a valuable endeavor. Each writer, despite their differences, took the time to not only read but respond in kind to Thoreau’s insights. If he were alive today, I am sure that even his most ardent critics would have been among his ‘relative friends.’ Schulz and Abbey alike would certainly be keen to fraternize with Thoreau, coaxing him not just to give him a ribbing, but because they truly hang on each and every one of Henry David Thoreau’s written words.

Furthermore, Walden is worth reading because Thoreau is worth emulating. He found that the natural world offers up moments of life at its most intrigued—life which is immeasurably Waldenesque—which is to say a life thoroughly and intentionally examined.

So, what did Thoreau mean in his call to live deliberately? If we are to believe the man himself, it means to accept life’s contradictions, but rectify its failings. It means to look for inspiration, but try to be admired. And most of all, it means to improve the one life under our control—our own. His book demonstrates that nature, like the human spirit, is boundless. In small doses it can be domesticated, but it can never be completely owned. And yet there is as much value in exploring the most remote and wild corners of existence as there is in attempting to understand the seemingly mundane. If these lessons seem unworthy of consideration, then for all intents and purposes please read something else, but if transcendentalism interests you, then there is no better place to start than with Thoreau’s story of life on a pond.