Krakauer brings up his own life to demonstrate that many young men are driven into some sort of wild place, whether that’s a mountain, a desert, or even the middle of a huge city. Much of Krakauer’s drive was related to his father. “Like McCandless, figures of male authority aroused in me a confusing medley of corked fury and hunger to please” (p. 134).

The older Krakauer was a doctor who put loads of pressure on his children to succeed, particularly in the field of medicine. “I had been granted unusual freedom and responsibility at an early age, for which I should have been grateful in the extreme, but I wasn’t. Instead, I felt oppressed by the old man’s expectations” (p. 148).

“He had built a bridge of privilege for me, a hand-paved trestle to the good life, and I repaid him by chopping it down and crapping on the wreckage” (p. 149).

His father eventually suffered a mental collapse and, after a failed suicide attempt, was placed in a psychiatric hospital. This forced Krakauer to evaluate what that father/son relationship really meant. “The old walrus in fact managed to instill in me a great and burning ambition; it had simply found expression in an unintended pursuit” (p. 150). (That pursuit, if you’re not familiar with him, is renowned journalist and nonfiction book author.)

Krakauer has a deep understanding of the way people try to run from their problems, only to find that path to progress and healing lies within. “I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing” (p. 155).

The author isn’t trying to discredit McCandless’ travels. There is value in travel, especially the full-fledged, total-immersion type of travel. But when you wander, all you really find is yourself. This concept echoes true through American literature, from Emerson to Henry Miller. As a result, I keep thinking of that random saying, “Wherever you go, there you are.” McCandless did come to similar realizations, if only too late. I won’t give away that part. You have to read or watch for yourself.

However, one thing keeps stopping me. I read Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer a few weeks ago (the basis for the recent film). In the book, the author is very careful to attribute Chris McCandless’ action to his literary inspirations, namely Tolstoy, Jack London, and Thoreau. Krakauer also clearly points out the paradox of basing your moral code on the writings of people who didn’t follow their own advice, so to speak. According to Krakauer, London was a terrible drunk who only visited Alaska once or twice before killing himself. Tolstoy preached celibacy, but fathered something like 13 children.

Thoreau, on the other hand, died a virgin (a real-life, 44-year-old virgin, to be exact). Reading this tainted all my thoughts. I did a sort of double take. I couldn’t believe that anyone who hadn’t devoted their life to priesthood, a convent, or a monastery would ever maintain a strict code of sexual abstinence. It’s not that I’m pushing promiscuity, but I am at the core a scientist, and Darwin’s work is always at the back of my mind. In other words, humans reproduce through sexual intercourse, so a lifetime spent without a single sexually intimate relationship is slightly bizarre.

In McCandless’ case, he was in denial because of family history (read the book or watch the movie to learn more about this), and ultimately he was holding himself, friends, and family to unreasonable moral standards. I don’t know Thoreau’s story as well, but I can’t take him very seriously anymore. From now on, I can’t think of his philosophy as complete or worthwhile, since it was based on a lifestyle that lacked an extremely vital portion of human nature.

Still, there are some interesting statements in Walden, like this: “In the long run men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, though they should fail immediately, they had better aim at something high” (p. 22). I guess in retrospect it’s a pretty general quote, but in the context of the book, it sounded very inspirational. I think I interpreted it as applying to mankind as well as individuals. I connected it with my recent thoughts about how most attempts to improve or “fix” the world are futile. We may never find a solution to all the grandest problems. But that doesn’t disqualify the need to search. It surely doesn’t mean we should cause any less of a stir in telling the world that it is a fucked up, wretched placed. In fact, it gives us greater reason to do so.

Thoreau’s quote is an anchor for this line of thought, if taken with a dose of skepticism. After all, people reach some great places and accomplishments that they never expected or imagined. That doesn’t mean that we should not shoot for a goal. It does mean that our plans are usually shattered or diverted. But we keep striving for progress, for justice, for truth. We can’t rid ourselves of hope.

And I can’t escape the nagging feeling that I should finish reading Walden.