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    Walking: An Essay
    Walking: An Essay
    Walking: An Essay
    Ebook46 pages1 hour

    Walking: An Essay

    By Henry David Thoreau

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    About this ebook

    In his classic essay on walking, Henry David Thoreau, the famous naturalist and philosopher, extols the virtues of immersing ourselves daily in nature. Thoreau treats the act of walking as a vehicle that transports us to the sacred space that is nature. The wildness of nature becomes a retreat from the noise of contemporary society and civilization-a place to rest our thoughts and regain balance between these two worlds.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDiamond Book Publishing
    Release dateNov 24, 2019
    ISBN9788835336464
    Walking: An Essay
    Author

    Henry David Thoreau

    Henry David Thoreau, 1817 in Concord, Mass. geboren, studierte von 1833 bis 1837 an der Harvard University. 1838 gründete er mit seinem Bruder eine Privatschule. 28-jährig zog er sich für zwei Jahre in eine Hütte am Walden Pond zurück und schrieb sein berühmtestes Buch. Als er 1846 verhaftet wurde, verfasste er den Essay Über die Pflicht zum Ungehorsam gegen den Staat. Ab 1849 verdingte er sich als Tagelöhner, Anstreicher, Tischler, Landvermesser und Vortragsreisender. Bereits seit 1835 litt er unter Tuberkulose, der er 1862 erlag.

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      Book preview

      Walking - Henry David Thoreau

      WALKING

      I wish to speak a word for Nature, for absolute freedom and wildness, as contrasted with a freedom and culture merely civil ¬to regard man as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member of society. I wish to make an extreme statement, if so I may make an emphatic one, for there are enough champions of civilization: the minister and the school committee and every one of you will take care of that.

      I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks ¬who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, There goes a Sainte-Terrer, a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the first, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.

      It is true, we are but faint-hearted crusaders, even the walkers, nowadays, who undertake no persevering, never-ending enterprises. Our expeditions are but tours, and come round again at evening to the old hearth-side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our steps. We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return ¬prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again ¬if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man ¬then you are ready for a walk.

      To come down to my own experience, my companion and I, for I sometimes have a companion, take pleasure in fancying ourselves knights of a new, or rather an old, order -not Equestrians or Chevaliers, not Ritters or Riders, but Walkers, a still more ancient and honorable class, I trust. The Chivalric and heroic spirit which once belonged to the Rider seems now to reside in, or perchance to have subsided into, the Walker ¬not the Knight, but Walker, Errant. He is a sort of fourth estate, outside of Church and State and People.

      We have felt that we almost alone hereabouts practiced this noble art; though, to tell the truth, at least if their own assertions are to be received, most of my townsmen would fain walk sometimes, as I do, but they cannot. No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and independence which are the capital in this profession. It comes only by the grace of God. It requires

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