What Would Thoreau Say About U.S. Torture Policy?
The U.S. torture
policy has been buzzing around in my head like an angry wasp these last few
days, making it hard for me to enjoy anything else.
I haven’t read the newly-released memos or followed the talking heads or read
Obama’s recent speech at
CIA
headquarters. I’ve only caught hints of this and that in headlines and
blog commentary. I feel like I got the message in its essentials a long time
ago, and the emerging details are starting to become just atrocity porn.
On the other hand, lots of people don’t seem to have gotten the message, or it
doesn’t mean the same thing to them that it means to me. They don’t think it
concerns them, or, at any rate, any further than requiring of them that they
select an opinion to wear on appropriate occasions.
Others, smoking the same pipe Obama’s smoking, dream themselves a fantasy in
which all the nastiness is behind us and we don’t have to much worry ourselves
about it anymore except perhaps on rainy days when a sigh of melancholy
reflection sounds like just the thing to match the weather.
I was reminded of what Thoreau wrote in his journals as he was preparing what he would later deliver as Slavery in Massachusetts:
The effect of a good government is to make life more valuable — of a bad
government, to make it less valuable. We can afford that railroad and all
merely material stock should depreciate, for that only compels us to live
more simply and economically; but suppose the value of life itself should be
depreciated. Every man in New England capable of the sentiment of patriotism
must have lived the last three weeks with the sense of having suffered a
vast, indefinite loss.…
You can also find these excerpts in The Price of Freedom: Political philosophy from Thoreau’s journals.
Thoreau is referring to the
Anthony Burns
fugitive slave case, in which Massachusetts — ostensibly a
“free state” — arrested Burns and returned him as property to his owner, with
the full cooperation of the state government.
…I had never respected this government, but I had foolishly thought that I
might manage to live here, attending to my private affairs, and forget it.
For my part, my old and worthiest pursuits have lost I cannot say how much
of their attraction, and I feel that my investment in life here is worth
many per cent. less since
Massachusetts last deliberately and forcibly restored an
innocent man, Anthony Burns, to slavery. I dwelt before in the illusion that
my life passed somewhere only between heaven and hell, but now I
cannot persuade myself that I do not dwell wholly within hell. The sight of
that political organization called
Massachusetts is to me morally covered with scoriæ and
volcanic cinders, such as Milton imagined. If there is any hell more
unprincipled than our rulers and our people, I feel curious to visit it. Life
itself being worthless, all things with it, that feed it, are worthless.
Suppose you have a small library, with pictures to adorn the walls — a garden
laid out around — and contemplate scientific and literary pursuits,
&c,
&c, and
discover suddenly that your villa, with all its contents, is located in hell,
and that the justice of the peace is one of the devil’s angels, has a cloven
foot and a forked tail — do not these things suddenly lose their value in
your eyes? Are you not disposed to sell at a great sacrifice?
I went out back on an unusually hot afternoon yesterday to do some weeding in
the garden and try to keep my mind from dwelling on waterboarding and sleep
deprivation. It’s Spring and everything is coming up, and the garlic are so
vigorous they look almost like cornstalks, and on two occasions I lifted
border-bricks and found clutches of wriggling baby salamanders, and
Jay Bybee sits on the
9th Circuit Court of Appeals.
I am surprised to see men going about their business as if nothing had
happened, and say to myself, “Unfortunates! they have not
heard the news;” that the man whom I just met on horseback should be so
earnest to overtake his newly bought cows running away — since all property
is insecure, and if they do not run away again, they may be taken away from
him when he gets them. Fool! does he not know that his seed-corn is worth
less this year — that all beneficent harvests fail as he approaches the
empire of hell? No prudent man will build a stone house under these
circumstances, or engage in any peaceful enterprise which it
requires a long time to accomplish. Art is as long as ever, but life is more
interrupted and less available for a man’s proper pursuits. It is time we had
done referring to our ancestors. We have used up all our inherited freedom,
like the young bird the albumen in the egg. It is not an era of repose. If we
would save our lives, we must fight for them.
There is a fine ripple and sparkle on the pond, seen through the mist. But
what signifies the beauty of nature when men are base? We walk to lakes to
see our serenity reflected in them. When we are not serene, we go not to
them. Who can be serene in a country where both rulers and ruled are without
principle? The remembrance of the baseness of politicians
spoils my walks. My thoughts are murder to the State; I endeavor in vain to
observe nature; my thoughts involuntarily go plotting against the State. I
trust that all just men will conspire
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Have things really gotten that bad? →
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U.S. torture policy
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Henry David Thoreau →
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his journals
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Henry David Thoreau →
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Slavery in Massachusetts
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