Higher Laws
--Henry David Thoreau
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American Literature I Home Page)
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 murder 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 philanthropic 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 opium-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 ass 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 recreate 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.