Walking by Henry David Thoreau

Thoreau’s essay Walking is both a celebration of the simple act of walking in nature and a philosophical meditation on humanity’s relationship with the natural world. First published in 1862, though given as a lecture earlier, Walking was one of the last essays Thoreau prepared for publication before his death. It captures his lifelong philosophy of nature, freedom, and the necessity of wildness for human well-being, acting as a call to live more freely, more deliberately, and more deeply in relationship with the wildness that sustains us.

Thoreau argues that true walking is not just exercise or transportation, but a form of spiritual practice as a way to connect with wildness, freedom, and the deeper rhythms of life. He values the wild over the cultivated, claiming that wilderness is essential for the health of both individuals and society. Civilization, in contrast, often pulls people away from their truer, freer selves.

Among the many key points that Thoreau makes, he encourages 1) seeing wild places as necessary to human vitality, 2) leaving behind your schedule to properly walk without errands, and 3) seeking nature as a teacher for insight and renewal.

Freely available through the Gutenberg Project and read aloud on Youtube, this short essay was easily accessible for club members. Because it was written in the late 1800s, the language and style was difficult for some members to read, and a large portion of our group did not finish it. We also paired this book discussion with Six Walks in the Footsteps of Henry David Thoreau, by Ben Shattuck, providing a more modern interpretation.

Regardless of the difficulty of getting through the writing, this book offered us the chance to discuss some recurring themes that we come across regularly in our club, beginning with: What is wildness? How has wildness changed over time? Do we seek out the wild regularly?

Thoreau's major focus on walking being a spiritual practice that needs done without purpose, guided only by curiosity, is a stance that, today, comes from a place of privilege. He claimed that he was able to walk out his door and have 10-20 miles without seeing another house, a rarity for much of the global population today. So, how do folks living in cities and suburbs achieve a similar sense of spiritual connect with nature in present day?

Some questions discussed in our group:

• When was the last time you took a walk without a purpose?

  • Is it truly possible to walk without purpose?

• He dismisses walking for “exercise” or “errands,” saying walking should be purely for the soul. Is this realistic or elitist?

• What drives people to walk? Is it temperament, age, spirituality?

• Is it true that civilization is the taming/cheapening of the landscape?

• Can a place be wild if humans go there? 

• What do you think he means by “wildness,” and do you agree?

  • Is “wildness” even possible anymore in a world shaped almost entirely by humans?

• Have you ever experienced walking as a spiritual or creative act, the way Thoreau describes?

• Does Thoreau’s vision of “wildness” include or exclude people who lived closely with nature before European settlement (e.g., Indigenous peoples)?

As our club exists for the appreciation of nature, outdoor spaces, and recreation, all of us connect with the environment at some baseline level. While we could appreciate his perspective and understand that he was of a different time with endless nature accessibility, we also believe that we are able to connect with nature in a spiritual way today, even with "civilization" at our front steps.

Ithaca group rating: 5.7/10

Give me a wildness whose glance no civilization can endure

The weapons with which we have gained our most important victories, which should be handed down as heirlooms from father to son, are not the sword and the lance, but the bushwhack, the turf-cutter, the spade, and the bog hoe, rusted with the blood of many a meadow, and begrimed with the dust of many a hard-fought field.

If it were proposed to me to dwell in the neighborhood of the most beautiful garden that ever human art contrived, or else of a dismal swamp, I should certainly decide for the swamp.

Give me for my friends and neighbors wild men, not tame ones.