On “Walking” by Thoreau

I think that Thoreau’s idea s concerning “walking” or “sauntering” are very much like the ideas many have developed concerning the good of an action simply on account of the action itself. There is no goal except the pure enjoyment of being: being both as phenomenal and noumenal existence. Of course, there are incidental pleasures to be had, but these joys seem more superficial and circumstantial than the excitement of simply sauntering.

It’s strange to think that an action can be a noun, a thing, not just a series of moments of change in matter in time. Or maybe it’s not.

I mean, if we think and agree with Thoreau that sauntering presents benefits simply on account of sauntering, what does that say about the innate nature of sauntering?

To go back to the ideas of natura naturata and natura naturans, the noumenal aspect of existence is called natura naturans. In Latin, the word naturans is a participle, or a verbal adjective. This means (and participles function in the same in English, as well) that the word functions both as an adjective (a descriptor, used to say something more specific about a noun) and as a verb (an action, which is to say, change over time).

Similarly, sauntering is a combination of an action and a different part of speech, although this time, it is a gerund. Whereas a participle takes the form of an adjective while retaining traits of a verb, sauntering tales the form of a noun while retaining traits of a verb. Thus, it functions both as a noun (concrete thing or somewhat tangible idea) and as a verb (an action, which again, is a change over time).

But what can we learn from this? We’ve learned that natura naturans is the noumenal, deeper aspect of nature, and we’ve also agreed that Thoreau had somehow experienced a similar noumenal aspect of nature. Can we conclude that there is something about both of these concepts that results in a deeper understanding of nature?

Well, obviously, I think so. If we look at the fact that both share in their nature a changing, verbal aspect even in their use as words, I think the lesson is pretty clear.

From this, we can learn that it is in change and from observing change that we gain our insights into the world. And perhaps it is so because the world itself is change, and most people would agree that no true knowledge may ever be derived from improper places. Thus, our knowledge of nature cannot be had from anything other than progression.

But this leads to some tricky philosophic questions: if all is change, and all knowledge is derived from observing change, is anything absolute? We could say that truth is (considering the fact that we would usually define truth as “that which is real, in existence,” and if existence is not absolute…well, what we couldn’t be here if existence weren’t existing, right?). But, if truth is based in phenomenal and noumenal reality, that is to say, it is based on our observations and feelings towards reality, is truth subject to change, as well? How can truth be changing, but consistent?

I think that nature, and I think some would agree with me (and have probably said this before I have, as well), is more a set of changing patterns than a meaningless spree of clashing pieces. It’s a patterned chaos, that, in a way, reminds me of a kaleidescope. There are set pieces in the kaleidescope (the beads, bits of plastic, etc.) but these pieces are mutated, changed, rearranged, and interact in such myriad ways that the rational, logical mind is utterly overwhelmed with the seemingly infinite possibilities of those interactions.

For another example, look at mathematics. y = sin x. The curve we see is created by that equation (or function, I suppose), or rather, the curve is described by the equation. But the nature of the curve itself is so complex we cannot imagine knowing even a small part of it. Calculus attempts to describe it by portioning it off into pieces, but it ultimately fails, because it would require an infinite number of calculations to describe. The infinite space of that curve renders it mysterious. There is always something more to be known about that curve. And yet, that boundless curve is described in a simple truth: y = sin x.

Similarly with nature. Let us look at evolution. A simple statement or idea, but the complexities of its realitiesare utterly knowable. Perhaps this is why many still cannot come to terms with it: how can so simple an idea describe such immense complexity?

Perhaps this change that we see in natura naturans and in Thoreau’s description of sauntering is best expressed by Gerald Manley Hopkins when he writes:

“…nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness, deep down things;

and though the last lights off the black West went

oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs –

because the Holy Ghost over the bent

world broods with warm breast and with ah!, bright wings.”

Well, this entry is getting long enough, and I think it’s just about time I go out and take a walk.

Bryson Nitta