Walden

[I should not obtrude my affairs so much on the notice of my readers if very particular inquiries had not been made by my townsmen concerning my mode of life, which some would call impertinent, though they do not appear to me at all impertinent, but, considering the circumstances, very natural and pertinent. Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did not feel lonesome; if I was not afraid and the like. Others have been curious to learn what portion of my income I devoted to charitable purposes; and some, who have large families, how many poor children I maintained.]

I asked ChatGPT to improve this for me. Here’s what I got. What do you think?

“Improved”: I would not impose my personal affairs upon my readers if not for the keen curiosity of my townsmen regarding my way of life. Some might call their inquiries impertinent, yet I do not see them as such; given the circumstances, they seem entirely natural and relevant. Many have asked what I eat, whether I feel lonely, if I ever feel afraid, and similar questions. Others have been eager to know what portion of my income I dedicate to charity, while some, burdened with large families, have inquired how many poor children I support.

[I will therefore ask those of my readers who feel no particular interest in me to pardon me if I undertake to answer some of these questions in this book. In most books, the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were any body else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience.]

I asked ChatGPT to improve this for me. What do you think?

“Improved”: To those readers who have no particular interest in me, I ask for patience as I attempt to answer these questions in this book. In most writings, the first-person perspective is minimized or omitted altogether; in this case, it will be retained. That, in terms of egotism, is the primary distinction. After all, we often forget that it is always the first person speaking in any account.

[The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things.]

ChatGPT told me that this improved version “smooths out the flow, makes the imagery more vivid, and strengthens the contrast between despair and wisdom.” What do you think?

“Improved”: Most men live lives of quiet desperation. What we call resignation is merely desperation confirmed. From the restless city, you retreat to the countryside, only to find the same despair—masked, but no less real—leaving you to take solace in the untroubled existence of minks and muskrats. Even in what are called games and amusements, a hidden, unconscious despair lingers; there is no true play in them, for play belongs to those who are free, and freedom comes only after work. Yet, wisdom has this advantage—it does not act in desperation.

[We might try our lives by a thousand simple tests; as for instance, that the same sun which ripens my beans illumines at once a system of earths like ours. If I had remembered this it would have prevented some mistakes. This was not the light in which I hoed them. The stars are the apexes of what wonderful triangles! What distant and different beings in the various mansions of the universe are contemplating the same one at the same moment! Nature and human life are as various as our several constitutions. Who shall say what prospect life offers to another? Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant? We should live in all the ages of the world in an hour; ay, in all the worlds of the ages. History, Poetry, Mythology!—I know of no reading of another’s experience so startling and informing as this would be.]

ChatGPT tells me that the following offers ” improved flow, clarity, and impact while maintaining its contemplative and poetic tone.” What do you think?

“Improved”: We could test our lives in a thousand simple ways—consider, for instance, that the same sun ripening my beans also illuminates entire systems of worlds like our own. Had I truly remembered this, it might have spared me from certain errors. Yet, this was not the perspective from which I hoed them.

The stars form the apexes of unimaginable triangles! What distant and diverse beings, in far-flung corners of the universe, might be gazing at the very same star at this moment? Nature and human life are as varied as our individual constitutions.

Who can say what vision of life unfolds before another?
What greater miracle could there be than to see through another’s eyes, if only for an instant? In that moment, we would live through all the ages of the world—indeed, through all the worlds of the ages. History, poetry, mythology—what could be more startling and illuminating than truly reading another’s experience in this way?

ChatGPT tells me, “This revision smooths out the phrasing while keeping the passage’s reflective and philosophical tone.” What do you think?

“Improved”: In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have sought to seize the fleeting moment—to mark it, to make it count. I have stood at the threshold of two eternities, past and future, knowing that the only true footing is in the present. To stand firm on that line—this has been my aim. You may forgive any obscurities, for my trade holds more secrets than most, not by design, but by its very nature. Yet, I keep none willingly. If I could, I would share all I know, leaving no gate barred, no sign that reads “No Admittance.”

[No man ever stood the lower in my estimation for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure that there is greater anxiety, commonly, to have fashionable, or at least clean and unpatched clothes, than to have a sound conscience. But even if the rent is not mended, perhaps the worst vice betrayed is improvidence. I sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as this;—who could wear a patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee? Most behave as if they believed that their prospects for life would be ruined if they should do it. It would be easier for them to hobble to town with a broken leg than with a broken pantaloon. Often if an accident happens to a gentleman’s legs, they can be mended; but if a similar accident happens to the legs of his pantaloons, there is no help for it; for he considers, not what is truly respectable, but what is respected. We know but few men, a great many coats and breeches.]

ChatGPT tells me,”This version refines the humor and sharpens the critique while maintaining the passage’s original meaning and style.” What do you think?

 
No man has ever fallen in my esteem for wearing a patch on his clothes. Yet it seems there is far greater concern for having fashionable—or at least clean and unpatched—attire than for possessing a sound conscience. And even if a tear goes unmended, the worst fault it reveals is likely only a lack of foresight.
I sometimes test my acquaintances with a simple question: Who among them could wear a patch—or even a few extra seams—over the knee without embarrassment? Most behave as if such a thing would ruin their prospects in life. They would sooner limp into town with a broken leg than with torn trousers.
Indeed, if a gentleman injures his legs, they can be mended without disgrace. But if his trousers suffer the same fate, there is no remedy—at least, not in his mind. He is less concerned with what is truly respectable than with what is merely respected. In truth, we know few men—only a great many coats and breeches.
 

[I thus found that the student who wishes for a shelter can obtain one for a lifetime at an expense not greater than the rent which he now pays annually. If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse is that I brag for humanity rather than for myself; and my shortcomings and inconsistencies do not affect the truth of my statement. Notwithstanding much cant and hypocrisy,—chaff which I find it difficult to separate from my wheat, but for which I am as sorry as any man,—I will breathe freely and stretch myself in this respect, it is such a relief to both the moral and physical system; and I am resolved that I will not through humility become the devil’s attorney. I will endeavor to speak a good word for the truth.]

ChatGPT tells me the below is an “improved version with enhanced clarity, rhythm, and impact while preserving the original sentiment.” What do you think?

Revised: I found, then, that a student seeking shelter could secure one for a lifetime at no greater cost than what he now pays in rent each year. If I seem to boast more than is proper, let it be understood that I do so not for myself, but for humanity. My own shortcomings and inconsistencies do not diminish the truth of my statement. Despite the prevailing cant and hypocrisy—the chaff that clings stubbornly to my wheat, and which I regret as much as any man—I choose to breathe freely and stretch myself in this regard. It is a relief, both moral and physical. And I am resolved that I will not, in the name of humility, become the devil’s attorney. Instead, I will endeavor to speak a good word for the truth.

[As with our colleges, so with a hundred “modern improvements”; there is an illusion about them; there is not always a positive advance. The devil goes on exacting compound interest to the last for his early share and numerous succeeding investments in them. Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which it was already too easy to arrive at; as railroads lead to Boston or New York]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version sharpens the critique while maintaining the reflective and metaphorical strength of the original.” What do you think?

Revised:  As with our colleges, so it is with countless “modern improvements”—they carry an illusion of progress, but not always true advancement. The devil continues to collect compound interest on his early stake and on every subsequent investment in them. Our inventions too often become mere distractions—clever toys that pull our attention away from what truly matters. They are nothing more than improved means to unimproved ends, leading us no farther than we could already go—just as railroads, no matter how advanced, still bring us only to Boston or New York.

[Such is the universal law, which no man can ever outwit, and with regard to the railroad even we may say it is as broad as it is long. To make a railroad round the world available to all mankind is equivalent to grading the whole surface of the planet. Men have an indistinct notion that if they keep up this activity of joint stocks and spades long enough all will at length ride somewhere, in next to no time, and for nothing; but though a crowd rushes to the depot, and the conductor shouts “All aboard!” when the smoke is blown away and the vapor condensed, it will be perceived that a few are riding, but the rest are run over,— and it will be called, and will be, “A melancholy accident.”]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version strengthens the imagery and refines the flow while preserving the passage’s sharp irony and deeper meaning.”

Revised:  Such is the universal law, which no man can outwit. Even with the railroad, we may say it is as broad as it is long. To make a railway around the world accessible to all would be no less than leveling the entire surface of the planet. Men harbor a vague belief that if they persist long enough in their frenzy of joint stocks and shovels, all will one day ride swiftly and freely to some grand destination. But when the rush to the depot is over, the conductor has called, “All aboard!” and the smoke has cleared, it will become evident: a few are riding, while the rest lie beneath the wheels. And it will be called—rightly so—”a melancholy accident.”

[A simple and independent mind does not toil at the bidding of any prince. Genius is not a retainer to any emperor, nor is its material silver, or gold, or marble, except to a trifling extent. To what end, pray, is so much stone hammered? In Arcadia, when I was there, I did not see any hammering stone. Nations are possessed with an insane ambition to perpetuate the memory of themselves by the amount of hammered stone they leave. What if equal pains were taken to smooth and polish their manners? One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version smooths out the phrasing and strengthens the contrast between material legacy and moral refinement.” What do you think?

Revised: A simple and independent mind does not labor at the command of a prince. Genius serves no emperor, nor does it concern itself much with silver, gold, or marble—at least, not beyond trifles. To what end, then, is so much stone hammered? When I was in Arcadia, I saw no one hammering stone. Yet nations, gripped by a mad ambition, seek to immortalize themselves by the sheer volume of carved rock they leave behind. But what if equal effort were spent on refining their character instead? A single act of true wisdom would outshine even a monument that reached the moon.

[One day, when my axe had come off and I had cut a green hickory for a wedge, driving it with a stone, and had placed the whole to soak in a pond hole in order to swell the wood, I saw a striped snake run into the water, and he lay on the bottom, apparently without inconvenience, as long as I staid there, or more than a quarter of an hour; perhaps because he had not yet fairly come out of the torpid state. It appeared to me that for a like reason men remain in their present low and primitive condition; but if they should feel the influence of the spring of springs arousing them, they would of necessity rise to a higher and more ethereal life. I had previously seen the snakes in frosty mornings in my path with portions of their bodies still numb and inflexible, waiting for the sun to thaw them. On the 1st of April it rained and melted the ice, and in the early part of the day, which was very foggy, I heard a stray goose groping about over the pond and cackling as if lost, or like the spirit of the fog.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version refines the imagery and flow, making the scene more vivid while strengthening the philosophical connection.” What do you think?

“Improved”: One day, after my axe head had come loose, I cut a green hickory wedge, drove it in with a stone, and set the whole to soak in a pond-hole to swell the wood. As I stood there, I watched a striped snake slip into the water and settle motionless at the bottom, seemingly undisturbed, for more than a quarter of an hour—perhaps because it had not yet fully emerged from its torpid state. It struck me that men, too, remain in their present low and primitive condition for a similar reason. If ever they felt the stirring of a deeper awakening—the spring of springs—they would be compelled to rise to a higher, more ethereal existence. I had often seen snakes on frosty mornings, lying stiff and numb in my path, waiting for the sun to restore their motion. On the first of April, a warm rain melted the ice, and as the morning fog thickened over the pond, I heard a lone goose wandering through the mist, cackling as if lost—like the very spirit of the fog itself.

[At length, in the beginning of May, with the help of some of my acquaintances, rather to improve so good an occasion for neighborliness than from any necessity, I set up the frame of my house. No man was ever more honored in the character of his raisers than I.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This revision smooths out the phrasing while keeping the sentiment intact.” What do you think?

“Improved”: At last, in early May, with the help of a few acquaintances—more to embrace the spirit of neighborliness than out of necessity—I raised the frame of my house. No man was ever more honored by those who lent their hands to the task.

[There is some of the same fitness in a man’s building his own house that there is in a bird’s building its own nest. Who knows but if men constructed their dwellings with their own hands, and provided food for themselves and families simply and honestly enough, the poetic faculty would be universally developed, as birds universally sing when they are so engaged? But alas! we do like cowbirds and cuckoos, which lay their eggs in nests which other birds have built, and cheer no traveller with their chattering and unmusical notes. Shall we forever resign the pleasure of construction to the carpenter? ]

ChatGPT tells me the revision below has “enhanced clarity, rhythm, and imagery while preserving the original thoughtfulness.” What do you think?

Revised: There is a natural fitness in a man building his own house, just as there is in a bird building its nest. Who can say? If men were to construct their own dwellings with their own hands and provide for their families simply and honestly, perhaps the poetic spirit would flourish in all, just as birds burst into song while engaged in their labors. But alas! We follow the ways of cowbirds and cuckoos, laying our eggs in nests built by others, offering no melody to cheer the passing traveler—only idle chatter and discordant notes. Must we forever surrender the joy of creation to the carpenter alone?

[It was fit that I should live on rice, mainly, who loved so well the philosophy of India. To meet the objections of some inveterate cavillers, I may as well state, that if I dined out occasionally, as I always had done, and I trust shall have opportunities to do again, it was frequently to the detriment of my domestic arrangements. But the dining out, being, as I have stated, a constant element, does not in the least affect a comparative statement like this.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This revision enhances readability, refines the humor, and strengthens the rhythm.” What do you think?

Revised:  It was only fitting that I should live primarily on rice, given my deep admiration for the philosophy of India. To preempt the objections of relentless critics, I may as well admit that I occasionally dined out, as I always had—and, I hope, always will. Yet such occasions often disrupted my domestic routine rather than improving it. But since dining out was a constant factor, it does not in the least alter a comparison such as this.

[Leaven, which some deem the soul of bread, the spiritus which fills its cellular tissue, which is religiously preserved like the vestal fire,—some precious bottle-full, I suppose, first brought over in the Mayflower, did the business for America, and its influence is still rising, swelling, spreading, in cerealian billows over the land,—this seed I regularly and faithfully procured from the village, till at length one morning I forgot the rules, and scalded my yeast; by which accident I discovered that even this was not indispensable,—for my discoveries were not by the synthetic but analytic process,—and I have gladly omitted it since, though most housewives earnestly assured me that safe and wholesome bread without yeast might not be, and elderly people prophesied a speedy decay of the vital forces.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version enhances the imagery, strengthens the flow, and sharpens the contrast between tradition and discovery.” What do you think?

Revised: Leaven—deemed by some the very soul of bread, the spiritus that fills its porous tissue—has been as reverently preserved as the vestal fire. No doubt, a precious bottleful was first ferried over on the Mayflower, setting to work on America, its influence still rising, swelling, and spreading in waves of grain across the land. I, too, faithfully procured this sacred seed from the village—until one morning, by accident, I scalded my yeast and broke the unspoken rule. In doing so, I discovered that even this was not indispensable—for my lessons were learned not by synthesis, but by analysis. And so, I have gladly omitted it ever since, despite the warnings of housewives who swore that bread without yeast was neither safe nor wholesome, and the dire prophecies of the elderly, who foretold the swift decline of my vital forces.

[Finally, as for salt, that grossest of groceries, to obtain this might be a fit occasion for a visit to the seashore, or, if I did without it altogether, I should probably drink the less water. I do not learn that the Indians ever troubled themselves to go after it.]

ChatGPT tells me, “This revision tightens the phrasing and brings a sharper edge to the commentary.” What do you think?

Revised: Finally, as for salt—perhaps the coarsest of groceries—acquiring it might provide a good excuse for a trip to the seashore. Or, if I were to do without it altogether, I’d likely end up drinking less water. I’ve never heard that the Indians ever went out of their way to seek it.

[There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who bestows the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing the most by his mode of life to produce that misery which he strives in vain to relieve. It is the pious slave-breeder devoting the proceeds of every tenth slave to buy a Sunday’s liberty for the rest. Some show their kindness to the poor by employing them in their kitchens. Would they not be kinder if they employed themselves there? ]

ChatGPT tells me, “This version tightens the phrasing and sharpens the focus on the paradox of well-intentioned actions.” What do you think?

Revised:  There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil for every one who strikes at its root. It may be that the person who devotes the most time and money to helping the needy is, by the very way he lives, perpetuating the misery he tries in vain to alleviate. It is like the pious slave-breeder who spends every tenth slave’s proceeds to buy a day of liberty for the rest. Some show their kindness to the poor by employing them in their kitchens. Would they not be kinder if they employed themselves there instead?

ChatGPT tells me, “This version sharpens the critique and enhances the language while keeping the focus on the deeper call for simplicity and health.” What do you think?

Revised: Our manners have been corrupted through too much communication with the saints. Our hymn-books ring with a melodious cursing of God, enduring Him forever. One might think that even the prophets and redeemers were more intent on easing humanity’s fears than on affirming its hopes. Nowhere is there a record of a simple, uncontainable joy in the gift of life, nor any memorable praise of God. All health and success, even when distant and seemingly removed, do me good; all disease and failure, regardless of the sympathy it evokes, makes me sad and harms me. If we truly seek to restore mankind through genuinely Indian, botanical, magnetic, or natural means, we must first be simple and whole in ourselves. We must dispel the clouds that hover over our own brows and draw life into our very pores. Do not linger to be an overseer of the poor—strive instead to become one of the worthies of the world.