An American Diogenes
From 1850s
[edit] An American Diogenes
[edit] Anonymous – from Chamber’s Journal, VIII (November 21, 1857), p. 330 -32
When Philip of Macedon announced his intention to invade Corinth, the inhabitants of that city, overlooking, or feigning not to perceive, their utter incapability of resistance, affected to make great preparations of defence; while Diogenes, who, like many of us, even at the present time, delighted to ridicule the follies he did not himself commit, rolled about his tub in an excited, bustling manner, by way of deriding the fussy, fruitless show of opposition made by the feeble Corinthians. The transatlantic Diogenes, however, when he observed the foolish, aimless bustle made by the modern Corinthians of the world, in pursuit of the sacred dollar and its glittering accessories, instead of rolling about his tub, quietly sat down in it, and wrote an interesting book, replete with pithy, original observations, but strongly tinctured with the inevitable dogmatism that ever attends the one soi-disant wise man who assumes to be the teacher of all the rest of his race. Henry D. Thoreau, the American Diogenes, if we may presume to term him so – assuredly we mean no offence – is a graduate of Harvard university, a ripe scholar, and a transcendentalist of the Emersonian school, though he goes much further than his master; his object, apparently, being the exaltation of mankind by the utter extinction of civilization...
...The natural sights and sounds of the woods, as described by Mr. Thoreau, form much pleasanter reading than his vague and scarcely comprehensible social theories...
...Who is it, we have more than once mentally inquired, when penning the preceding sketch, that Mr. Thoreau reminds us of? Surely it cannot be – yes, it is – no other than his renowned compatriot Barnum. As homespun, beans, and water differ from fine linen, turtle, and champagne, so do the two men differ in tastes, habits, disposition, and culture; yet we cannot think of the one without an ideal association of the other. In one respect only do they seem to agree – both have an antipathy to hard work; but while one prefers diminishing his wants, the other, increasing them, invents extraordinary schemes for their gratification. If Barnum’s autobiography be a bane, Thoreau’s woodland experiences may be received as its antidote; but, unfortunately, the former musters its readers by tens of thousands, the latter probably in hundreds only. It is to be hoped, however – though all of us have a reasonable predilection for beef, pudding, and the society of our fellow-creatures – that there are few readers of this Journal who would not prefer eating beans in the woods with Thoreau to living on the fat of the earth, in the best show in all Vanity Fair, with Barnum.
