"Life Without Principle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thoreau Henry David)

1863

LIFE WITHOUT PRINCIPLE

by Henry David Thoreau

AT A LYCEUM, not long since, I felt that the lecturer had chosen a
theme too foreign to himself, and so failed to interest me as much as
he might have done. He described things not in or near to his heart,
but toward his extremities and superficies. There was, in this sense,
no truly central or centralizing thought in the lecture. I would have
had him deal with his privatest experience, as the poet does. The
greatest compliment that was ever paid me was when one asked me what
I thought, and attended to my answer. I am surprised, as well as
delighted, when this happens, it is such a rare use he would make of
me, as if he were acquainted with the tool. Commonly, if men want
anything of me, it is only to know how many acres I make of their
land- since I am a surveyor- or, at most, what trivial news I have
burdened myself with. They never will go to law for my meat; they
prefer the shell. A man once came a considerable distance to ask me to
lecture on Slavery; but on conversing with him, I found that he and
his clique expected seven eighths of the lecture to be theirs, and
only one eighth mine; so I declined. I take it for granted, when I am
invited to lecture anywhere- for I have had a little experience in
that business- that there is a desire to hear what I think on some
subject, though I may be the greatest fool in the country- and not
that I should say pleasant things merely, or such as the audience will
assent to; and I resolve, accordingly, that I will give them a strong
dose of myself. They have sent for me, and engaged to pay for me, and
I am determined that they shall have me, though I bore them beyond all
precedent.

So now I would say something similar to you, my readers. Since you
are my readers, and I have not been much of a traveller, I will not
talk about people a thousand miles off, but come as near home as I
can. As the time is short, I will leave out all the flattery, and
retain all the criticism.

Let us consider the way in which we spend our lives.

This world is a place of business. What an infinite bustle! I am
awaked almost every night by the panting of the locomotive. It
interrupts my dreams. There is no sabbath. It would be glorious to see
mankind at leisure for once. It is nothing but work, work, work. I
cannot easily buy a blank-book to write thoughts in; they are commonly
ruled for dollars and cents. An Irishman, seeing me making a minute in
the fields, took it for granted that I was calculating my wages. If
a man was tossed out of a window when an infant, and so made a cripple
for life, or seared out of his wits by the Indians, it is regretted
chiefly because he was thus incapacitated for business! I think that