And Thoreau
wanted geniality; he had not enough of the superficial, even
at command; he could not swoop into a parlour and, in the
naval phrase, "cut out" a human being from that dreary port;
nor had he inclination for the task. I suspect he loved
books and nature as well and near as warmly as he loved his
fellow-creatures, - a melancholy, lean degeneration of the
human character.
"As for the dispute about solitude and society," he thus sums
up: "Any comparison is impertinent. It is an idling down on
the plain at the base of the mountain instead of climbing
steadily to its top. Of course you will be glad of all the
society you can get to go up with? Will you go to glory with
me? is the burden of the song. It is not that we love to be
alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do soar the
company grows thinner and thinner till there is none at all.
It is either the tribune on the plain, a sermon on the mount,
or a very private ecstasy still higher up. Use all the
society that will abet you." But surely it is no very
extravagant opinion that it is better to give than to
receive, to serve than to use our companions; and above all,
where there is no question of service upon either side, that
it is good to enjoy their company like a natural man. It is
curious and in some ways dispiriting that a writer may be
always best corrected out of his own mouth; and so, to
conclude, here is another passage from Thoreau which seems
aimed directly at himself: "Do not be too moral; you may
cheat yourself out of much life so.
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