The gospel of Henry David

By Mike VanBuren
From the early May edition of The North Woods Call

   One of the first books that many student conservationists read is “Walden” by 19th Century American writer Henry David Thoreau.
   Published in 1854 and often coupled with the author’s essay “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience,” the book details Thoreau’s experiences over a period of two years in a tiny cabin he built on the shore of Walden Pond outside Concord, Massachusetts.  It is simultaneously a personal declaration of independence, social experiment, satire, voyage of spiritual discovery and manual for self-reliance.
     By immersing himself in nature, Thoreau hoped to gain a more objective understanding of society through personal introspection, simple living and self-sufficiency.
     “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,” he wrote, “to front only the essential facts of life and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
     Thoreau, who once visited Mackinac Island, emphasized  the  importance of solitude, contemplation and closeness to nature in transcending what he saw as the often “desperate” existence that most people live.
     I,  too,  was  captivated  as  a young man by Thoreau’s advice to “simplify, simplify, simplify”  and have tried to exercise that philosophy during much of my life—sometimes successfully and ofttimes not.  I have even supplemented Thoreau’s thoughts with teachings from “Freedom of Simplicity,” a fine book by Christian writer Richard Foster.
     Generally, I have preferred walking, camping, bicycling and canoeing to other more costly and less environmentally friendly activities.  And I have typically tried to live below my means, stay out of debt and resist the temptation of too many possessions.
     Again, I haven’t always succeeded in this effort.  But neither did Thoreau.  During his time in the woods he reportedly often walked back into town for dinners with friends and certain other luxuries that society had to offer.
     Still, I can say without hesitation that I have felt the least desperate and the most joyful during those times when my life has had the fewest trappings.  Even today I am fascinated by the so-called “minimalist” movement toward simple living and smaller houses, though I don’t know if I’ll ever become that Spartan in my own existence.  Maybe so.
    It seems to me that simplicity should always be a central tenant of the conservation movement.  It already is, of course, for some who recognize the environmental, social and spiritual benefits of such a lifestyle.  But many who call themselves “conservationists” and “environmentalists,” seem to want to cling to the high life while complaining about corporate excess, environmental degradation, the ravages of fossil fuels and other things that go along with conspicuous consumption.
     How many people do we know in this modern age, for example, who have willfully given up family road trips, airline travel, large houses, heated swimming pools, computers, televisions, electric appliances and the plethora of other energy eating technologies that define modern life?
     Not many, it seems.  We desire all the conveniences without the often Faustian consequences.  But everything involves some kind of trade-off.
     Over the years, I have had the opportunity to visit Walden Pond on at least two occasions and contemplate Thoreau’s experiment in simple living.  The world has changed dramatically since those days and the sprawl of the Greater Boston area is quickly enveloping the once-pristine rural area.
     The pond itself remains preserved and managed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, but the surrounding area would be largely unrecognizable to 19th Century Concordites.
     Most people today mock the notion of simplicity, and the overwhelming trend is toward greater complexity in our lives, our laws and our aspirations.
     Maybe it’s time that we revisit “Walden” and reconsider the voracious monster of a culture that we have created over the last 159 years since it was written.
     What we are today and what we will become tomorrow depend on wise individual and collective decision making.  Will we continue on the wide path that leads the mass of men toward quiet desperation, or choose to take the narrow path to better living—one simple step at a time?