The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.
(See Important Quotations Explained)
Summary
Thoreau begins by matter-of-factly outlining his two-year
project at Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts (on land owned
by his spiritual mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson, although Thoreau does
not mention this detail). He says he lived there for two years and
two months, and then moved back to “civilized society”—thus acknowledging
right away, and quite honestly, that this was not a permanent lifestyle
choice, but only an experiment in living. He describes the reactions
of people to news of his project, noting their concern for his well-being
out in the wilderness, their worry about his health in the winter,
their shock that anyone would willingly forsake human companionship,
and occasionally their envy. Thoreau moves quickly to the moral
of his experiment: to illustrate the benefits of a simplified lifestyle.
He tells us he is recounting the rudimentary existence he led there
so that others might see the virtue of it. He argues that excess
possessions not only require excess labor to purchase them, but
also oppress us spiritually with worry and constraint. As people
suppose they need to own things, this need forces them to devote
all their time to labor, and the result is the loss of inner freedom.
Thoreau asserts that, in their own way, farmers are chained to their
farms just as much as prisoners are chained in jails. Working more
than is necessary for subsistence shackles people. Faced with a
choice between increasing one’s means to acquire alleged necessities
and decreasing one’s needs, Thoreau believes minimizing one’s needs
is preferable by far. Thoreau identifies only four necessities:
food, shelter, clothing, and fuel. Since nature itself does much
to provide these, a person willing to accept the basic gifts of
nature can live off the land with minimal toil. Any attempt at luxury
is likely to prove more a hindrance than a help to an individual’s improvement.
Thoreau describes the construction of his small house
as an application of his faith in simplicity and self-reliance.
Starting with nothing, Thoreau must even borrow the axe he needs
to fell trees, an axe that he later returns (eager never to appear
indebted to anyone) sharper than when he got it. He receives gifts
of some supplies, purchasing others, and sets to work slowly but
steadily through the spring months. Thoreau is ready to move in
on July 4, 1845, the
day of his own independence from social norms and conventions. Throughout
the construction process and the agricultural endeavors that follow,
Thoreau keeps meticulous books that he shares with us, accounting
for all his debits and credits literally down to the last penny.
He explains that in farming, after an investment of roughly fifteen
dollars, he is able to turn a profit of almost nine dollars. He describes
the diet of beans, corn, peas, and potatoes that sustains him, giving
us the market value for all these foodstuffs as well. Overall, Thoreau’s
review of his own accounts reveals approximately sixty-two dollars
of expenses during his first eight months at Walden, offset by a
gain of almost thirty-seven dollars. Thus, at a total cost of just
over twenty-five dollars, Thoreau acquires a home and the freedom
to do as he pleases—a handsome bargain, in his opinion.
House, $28 12 1/2
Farm one year, 14 72 1/2
Food eight months, 8 74
Clothing &c., eight months, 8
40 3/4
Oil, &c., eight months, 2 00
In all, $61 99 3/4
(See Important Quotations Explained)
Analysis
The first chapter of Walden offers an
introduction to the oddball hodgepodge of styles, allusions, and
subject matter that the work as a whole offers us. Thoreau moves
from moral gravity to the style of a how-to manual, and then to
a lyrical flight of fancy, and then to a diary entry. In a prophetic
vein he tells us that his Walden experiment was intended to instruct
his fellow men, who “labor under a mistake” about life, work, and
leisure. But soon afterward, he tells us we may expect to spend
$3.14 on nails if
we build a shack of our own. And then, just as unexpectedly, he
quotes the poet Chapman telling us how “for earthly greatness /
All heavenly comforts rarefies to air.” He can speak like a philosopher,
using grand polysyllabic words, or he can talk quite simply about
sitting on a pumpkin. It is never obvious whether this is the diary
of a private experience, a sermon delivered to his compatriots,
an extended fantasy about life in the woods, or a piece of nature
writing. The common denominator of all this patchwork is the distinctive
voice of Thoreau himself, who is the true subject of this work.
Rather than a handbook for good living, Walden might
best be read as a subjective extravaganza on the subject of Henry
David Thoreau.
Reading the work as a personal fantasia rather than as
a manual or sermon allows us to brush aside a lot of the criticism
that has been aimed at Walden from its first publication
until now. Some readers enjoy pointing out the failure of his project,
how contradictory it is to claim self-reliance when he builds a
shack on another man’s property with borrowed tools and gifts of
lumber, and how self-centered Thoreau seems throughout the work.
Yet Thoreau himself never denies any of these accusations. He tells
us in the first paragraph of “Economy” that his Walden project was
only a temporary experiment, not a lifelong commitment to an ideal.
He never claims to be a model socialist or a pioneer hero; he never
even claims to be a very successful farmer or house-builder. Nor
does he ever claim to eschew society altogether; on the contrary,
he tells us that he never had more company than when he went to
live in the woods, and that he goes to the village every day. As
for self-reliance, he is content merely to have acquired a house
for little money, relying more or less on his own labor, and is
not an extremist about never seeking help from others (though he
always aims to return favors). Self-reliance for Thoreau is more
than paying one’s own bills without debt; it is the spiritual pleasure
of fully claiming ownership over the world in which one lives. Finally,
Thoreau would happily admit the charge of self-centeredness: he
exults in his vision and in the depths of his mind and soul. The
vitality of this first chapter makes us ponder whether a lively
sense of being centered in one’s world is such a bad thing after
all.
