|
’’’’衛’梭羅
(HENRY DAVID THOREAU)
湖濱散’
Walden
我’樹’中’’’爲我’望’’不迫’生’’僅僅面對生’中最基本’’實’’’我’’’’握生’’教誨’不’’’’終’’’’’’不曾生’’’
梭羅’’爾’塘生’’’’’’那’’’’日’’務’’’壓’之中解脫’’’’有’間’考生’中’竟什麽’重’’’有’間’’’’’’普’’傳統’’不’樣’’’期間’梭羅不’’’隱’’而’’’生’’’’邊’’’’’離’’’’離不太遠’’樣’還’夠有’’’’’’’不太’’’樣’’’夠剔除生’’’文褥’’’’’減’最基本’部分’
’’’’’五’’’’梭羅’’捲’’’除奴隸’’鬥’之中’’’棄’’’’’僻’生’’選擇’’極’’’生’’’’’’說’’文章反對奴隸’’’’’’’’幫’奴隸’’’’方’’身體不’’’’1862’’’’不’45歲’
’’’選’’湖濱散’’’1854’最’’’’’’未獲’商’’’成’’五’中僅’’’2000本’不’’’那’’’它成’’國文學中’’’’’’’爲它’’’’’’體’’’’’個’試圖’樸’’生’中’找’’’’’’’照’謳’’’’’’’’’’’’諧’生’’
’’’’’’’’著平’而’絕望’生’’’謂’聽天由’’’’’’蒂’’絕望’’絕望’’市’絕望’國’’’’’’’’’鼠’’’’’’慰’’’’’’’類’謂’’動’’樂之’’’隱藏著’成不變’’’’識’失望’’實’那不’’樂’’爲它’勞’’結’’它’’’種’智’’不’而走’’’’’
用問答教學’’話’說’當我們考’’生’’’目’’什麽’什麽’生’’’正需’’什麽’生’’手’’’候’’’’們’’’’’選擇’’’’生’方式’’爲’們對它偏’’’對’’’生’方式’’’’’們’’白’’爲’除’之’’’’’選擇’不’’’有警覺’健’天’’’’’’太陽升’’’’潔’’’’’棄偏見’’論’’都不’太遲’不論’’麽’老’’’’做’’’’’’’證’都不足’’今天’們’’’’’’’爲’’’’’結’’天’’’’證’’錯’’’不’’’’煙雲’’’’而’’而有’’’曾’’煙雲’’’夠爲田園普降甘’’’雲’’’說’做不’’’’試’之’’’’’夠做’’’’’
’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’由’’識’’’不懂’’’’’’’’’’’’’不熄’’’’罐’’’’’塊木’’’’’飛鳥’’’繞著’’轉’’正’’話說’那樣’“’’老’”’’爲導’’’邁’絲’不’比’輕’’稱職’’’還未必’比’’’輕’’’爲’齡’’失’’’’’’’’’’’’’都’疑’最’’’’’’’單憑’著’’’獲’任’有絕對價值’’識’實際’’老’’’有什麽’’重’’’’’’給’輕’’正’’們必’’’’’那樣’’們’個’’驗’那麽’面’’們’生’由’’’個’’原’’’那麽’’’喪’失敗’’’’由’’們還殘’著’’’仰’’’’’們’’驗’有’種假像’’實’’們’不’’不那麽’輕’’’我’’個’’’生’’’’’’’’’我還未’’輩那’聽’’’’’正有價值’’’’’’’’’誠’’’都’有’’們什麽’’’’我’’’’們’’’中’’’’我任’’情’生’’’’’’它’’項’’’’’’我還未嘗試’’試驗’’’’嘗試對我’’稗’’’’我有什麽我’爲’有價值’’驗’話’我’’’’’’我’導’’本’’跟我說’’’’’
我’’樹’裏’’’’’’’’那’’’日日’’’第’天’’巧’’立日’’’說’1845’7月4日’那’’我’’’還未完’’還不’’’’它還未’’’’’有煙’’僅僅’避’’牆壁’用粗’’飽’風霜’’迹斑斑’木’’成’’牆’有’’’裂’’’’’裏’’裏倒’’’快’’’’’白白’筆’壁骨’’裝’木’’’’窗’’’’給’’種乾’’’風’’覺’尤’’’早晨’當壁’’’’’’’’候’我幻’著’’’中午’’’’’’中’滲’’’’’’’’’’’整天’’幻’’’’少’’著曙’’’’’’’我’’’中’’我’’’’’我’’中’’’’’’’’那’’’’風’未’’’’木’’’’用’’’雲’’’’’讓’’’’’’裙’’裏掠’’那’堂’’’風’有’那掠’’’之雄風’’著’’續續’’’之’’’’’僅僅’’’樂’中’天
籟’早’’’’晨風’’’創’著’’’盡’詩境’不’’’領略’詩’’’寥寥’’’奧’匹斯’’’’’’唯’不’塵’之間’’
我’樹’中’’’爲我’望’’不迫’生’’僅僅面對生’中最基本’’實’’’我’’’’握生’’教’’不’’’’終’’’’’’不曾生’’’我不’望’那種稱不’’生’’生’’’爲生’’’價’那麽’’’我’不’望聽天由’’除’那’’不’’’我’生’’’’’’’生’’’有精髓’我’生’’堅’’像斯巴’’’樣’摒棄’切不屬’生’’’’’辛勤勞’’生’簡樸’’生’局限’’’圍內’’它降’最’’平’’’證’生’’’賤’’那麽’完整’’實’’解’’賤之’’’’之公諸’’’’’證’生’’高’’’那麽’’’實踐’解它’’’’’次遠足’’’’對它’’’實’’’’’爲’’我’’’’部分’對生’’不管它’’鬼’産’還’’’’創’’都’’’有把握’’’’’們還頗有’’’’’結論’’爲“爲’’’’’永遠’’’’’福扯”’’類’’’’’’’’目’’
儘管’言’’我們說’’’’’我們’’化成’’’’’’我們’’’’賤’’像螞蟻’樣’我們仍’不’’’’像’精’’’’’’鬥’’’錯’’錯’雪’’霜’我們最’’’’’’’有’’分’’’’’’’避’’鄙賤’’我們’生’’細’’’’盡’老實’用’個手’’’數’’不’’’’’極’’情’’’’’’湊’’個’’’’’’’’’’’’’’算’’簡單’簡單’’簡單!’我說’’’做’’應當’’’’件’而不’成百’’件’數’’打’而不’數’百’’把’’’日’’’’’’’’甲’’’’’變’文’生’’’’裏’雲霧’風暴’’’’’’’’’情都’考’’’’’個’不’’’’’’’’不’躲’港’’’’’精心算’’’’’’’’’’成’’’必須’’’’’’算器’簡化’’簡化’’’’飯’必須’話’那麽’’天’’’’而不’’’’’不’’’百’菜’’’五’菜’’’’’’’’’應’’減’我們’生’’像由’’’國’組成’’國’盟’樣’邊’老’’變動’’’’國’’’’’’’’’’’’’’它’邊’’那裡’國’本身’儘管內部有’’謂’改善’(順’’’’’’改善都’’面’’’膚’’)’它仍’’個’’而’畸’’’’機’’’像’’’’’’’’’’’樓’’樣’裏面擠滿’’’’’’’’’’陷阱’’’’’奢’’’’’忌’’支’’’’精打細算’’’有價值’目標’’傾’蕩產’’救它’唯’方’’’像’救那’’’’樣’’’’’精打細算’’’種’’’’比斯巴’’’簡樸’生’方’’高’’生’目標’生’’’’太快’’’們’爲’’關重’’’國’’有商’’’’’’塊’’’’’報交談’’’’’’’’’’里’而’不質疑’’們做’’還’做不’’’’’我們’’應當像’’’樣生’’還’像’’樣生’’’仍’個不’之數’’
我們爲什麽’生’’’’’忙’’’’’生’’?我們還不曾’’’’’’’’’’’’們說’及’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’們’’今天’’’百’’’爲’天’’’’’’’’’’我們還’有’任’有價值’’’’我們跳’’維圖斯’’’’’’’’’不動’’飯’’’們’’不午睡’’’當’醒’’’’擡’’問’“有什麽’’?”’像’類’’’都’爲’’’’哨’’’’’疑’’有’’囑’’’’’’’’醒’’次’’目’’僅僅’爲’’’樣’醒’爾’’’爲’報’’們’敍’’’夢’’’情’睡’’’之’’’’’跟早’’樣不’’少’“’’’’我’’’’什麽’方’什麽’’生’什麽’’’’”’’’’邊喝’啡’麵捲’’邊’讀’’’’瓦赫’’有個’’眼睛’’掉’’’’’’’’’’’正生’’’’’’不’測’’馬’穴裏’而’’’’’’有’隻’’不健’’眼睛’
’我’說’’有’局’我’’夠輕’對’’我覺’’’有什麽’’重’’’’’’’’局’’’’’剔’說’我’生中僅收’’’’’’’’’內’值’’那’資’’’’我數’’’’’’’收’’’’’局’’’種機’’’’它’’’本正’’’’’’錢’’’購’’’心中’’’’而’’’麽’錢還’’’爲’’個’’不’’’錯’’’’我’’’我’未’報’’讀’’任’值’’憶’’’’’’我們讀’’關’有個’’’’’’’’’’有’’謀殺’’’有’’’’中喪生’’’有’’’’’’’’’條船’’’’’’有艘’輪’’’’’’有’母’’’部’路’壓’’’’’’條瘋’’’’’’’’’裏’’’批蝗蟲’’那麽’我’絕對不必’讀’’’’’’’’’夠’’’’’’’’識’’條原’’那麽’’’那’’堆’體’’’該原’’實際應用情’’有什麽用’?對’Ｗ學’’說’’有’’’’’謂’’’’都’閒話’’
’輯’讀’都’’老婦’’’邊喝’’’邊藉’’日’
讓我們像’’’’樣’’’不迫’’’’天’’’讓’’落’’木’’堅’’’’’’’’我們’’’’讓我們’早’’’不’早飯’’早飯’’切’’’’不’任’煩亂’’友’’’’走’’’’’’’’’’’Ｚ’’’’’橫’’條心’’’天’樣’日’’我們爲什麽應當’潮’’’’順應潮’’?午飯’有’’’’’中央’湍’而’’’’
’渦’’’我們’’不’心煩’亂’不’’措’’’’個’’’’’平’’’’爲剩’’’間’’’’’’著未’懈’’’’’午’’’’揚’而’’縛’’’’’像尤’’斯’樣’領略’’側風’’’’引擎’’’’’’讓它’’’’’音’啞’’’不’’’’’’’’’我們’嘛’’’?我們’’’’’’像’種音樂’讓我們’’心’’’’’’’’偏見’傳統’’’’’面’像組成’’濘’’’覆’’整個’’’’巴黎’’敦’’’’’’’’’’’’’’教’’’’’’詩學’Ｗ學’’’教’’部’覆’著’我們’邁’雙’’踏著’’’’’’’’我們’’我們稱之爲“’實”’實’’’石爲止’我們說’’’’個’’錯’’不論’生還’’’我們僅’’’實’’’我們’’’’’’那’讓我們聽’喉’’’’’’’’’終’’’’’’還’著’那’讓我們’我們’’’’
’間不’’我’釣’’溪’我飲用溪中’’喝’’’我’’’質’’’’’覺溪’’那麽’’那’’’’’’溜而’’’’’’永恒’我’喝’’’’’’’中’釣’’’’盡’’有’’’石’’’’我不識數’我’’母’’’第－個’母都不’’’我’’’’我不’像’生’那麽’’’’智’’把’’’它辨’方’’’路剖切’’’’’奧’之’’’’’必需’我不’望動手忙’’我’’腦’’手’’’我覺’’我’’有最精華’’’都集中’’腦裏’我’本’’’我’我’’腦’’掘器’’’像’’生’用’’’’’穴’樣’我用’腦’掘’條’’’’’’’’’’我’’最’足’’’’’’’’’個’方’憑藉’’’’’’’升騰’’霧’’我’’’’’’’’我’’’’’’我’’掘’
Walden
.
. . . 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.
When we
consider what, to use the words of the catechism, is the chief end of man, and
what are the true necessaries and means of life, it appears as if men had
deliberately chosen the common mode of living because they preferred it to any
other. Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. But alert and healthy
natures remember that the sun rose clear. It is never too late to give up our
prejudices. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without
proof. What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out
to be falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion,. which some had trusted for a
cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What old people say
you cannot do, you try and find that you can. Old deeds for old people, and new
deeds for new. Old people did not know enough once, perchance, to fetch fresh
fuel to keep the fire a-going; new people put a little dry wood under a pot, and
are whirled round the globe with the speed of birds, in a way to kill old
people, as the phrase is. Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an
instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost. One may
almost doubt if the wisest man has learned anything of absolute value by living.
Practically, the old have no very important advice to give the young, their own
experience has been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable
failures, for private reasons, as they must believe; and it may be that they
have some faith left which belies that experience, and they are only less young
than they were. I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to
hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They
have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell me any thing to the purpose. Here
is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me
that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am
sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about....
When
first I took up my abode in the woods, that is, began to spend my nights as well
as days there, which, by accident, was on Independence Day, or the Fourth of
July, 1845, my house was not finished for winter, but was merely a defence
against the rain, without plastering or chimney, the walls being of rough,
weather-stained boards, with wide chinks, which made it cool at night. The
upright white hewn studs and freshly planed door and window casings gave it a
clean and airy look, especially in the morning, when its timbers were saturated
with dew, so that I fancied that by noon some sweet gum would exude from them.
To my imagination it retained throughout the day more or less of this auroral
character, reminding me of a certain house on a mountain which I had visited a
year before. This was an airy and unplastered cabin, fit to entertain a
traveling god, and where a goddess might trail her garments. The winds which
passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing
the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning
wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears
that hear it.
Olympus
is but the outside of the earth everywhere. . . .
I went to
the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when
I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was
not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it
was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to
cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to
its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and
genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were
sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in
my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty
about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily
concluded that it is the chief end of man here to "glorify God and enjoy him
forever."
Still we
live meanly, like ants; though the fable tells us that we were long ago changed
into men; like pygmies we fight with cranes; it is error upon error, and clout
upon clout, and our best virtue has for its occasion a superfluous and evitable
wretchedness. Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly
need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten
toes, and lump the rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your
affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a
million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumbnail. In the
midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and storms and
quicksands and thousand-and-one items to be allowed for, that a man has to live,
if he would not founder and go to the bottom and not make his port at all, by
dead reckoning, and he must be a great calculator indeed who succeeds. Simplify,
simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead
of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion. Our life is
like a German Confederacy, made up of petty states, with its boundary forever
fluctuating, so that even a German cannot tell you how it is bounded at any
moment. The nation itself, with all its so-called internal improvements, which,
by the way, are all external and superficial, is just such an unwieldy and
overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped up by its own
traps, ruined by luxury and heedless expense, by want of calculation and a
worthy aim, as the million households in the land; and the only cure for it, as
for them, is in a rigid economy, a stern and more than Spartan simplicity of
life and elevation of purpose. It lives too fast. Men think that it is essential
that the Nation have commerce, and export ice, and talk through a telegraph, and
ride thirty miles an hour, without a doubt, whether they do or not; but whether
we should live like baboons or like men, is a little uncertain. ...
Why
should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be
starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves nine, and so
they take a thousand stitches to-day to save nine to-morrow. As for work,
we haven't any of any consequence. We have the Saint Vitus' dance, and cannot
possibly keep our heads still. ... Hardly a man takes a half-hour's nap after
dinner, but when he wakes he holds up his head and asks, "What's the news?" as
if the rest of mankind had stood his sentinels. Some give directions to be waked
every half-hour, doubtless for no other purpose; and then, to pay for it, they
tell what they have dreamed. After a night's sleep the news is as indispensable
as the breakfast. "Pray tell me anything new that has happened to a man anywhere
on this globe,"--and he reads it over his coffee and rolls, that a man has had
his eyes gouged out this morning on the Wachito River; never dreaming the while
that he lives in the dark unfathomed mammoth cave of this world, and has but the
rudiment of an eye himself.
For my
part, I could easily do without the post-office. I think that there are very few
important communications made through it. To speak critically, I never received
more than one or two letters in my life--1 wrote this some years ago--that were
worth the postage. The penny-post is, commonly, an institution through which you
seriously offer a man that penny for his thoughts which is so often safely
offered in jest. And I am sure that I never read any memorable news in a
newspaper. If we read of one man robbed, or murdered, or killed by accident, or
one house burned, or one vessel wrecked, or one steamboat blown up, or one cow
run over on the Western Railroad, or one mad dog killed, or one lot of
grasshoppers in the winter,--we never need read of another. One is enough. If
you are acquainted with the principle, what do you care for a myriad instances
and applications? To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and
they who edit and read it are old women over their tea. . . .
Let us
spend one day as deliberately as Nature, and not be thrown off the track by
every nutshell and mosquito's wing that falls on the rails. Let us rise early
and fast, or break fast, gently and without perturbation; let company come and
let company go, let the bells ring and the children cry,--determined to make a
day of it. Why should we knock under and go with the stream? Let us not be upset
and overwhelmed in that terrible rapid and whirlpool called a dinner, situated
in the meridian shallows. Weather this danger and you are safe, for the rest of
the way is down hill. With unrelaxed nerves, with morning vigor, sail by it,
looking another way, tied to the mast like Ulysses. If the engine whistles, let
it whistle till it is hoarse for its pains. If the bell rings, why should we
run? We will consider what kind of music they are like. Let us settle ourselves,
and work and wedge our feet downward through the mud and slush of opinion, and
prejudice, and tradition, and delusion, and appearance, that alluvion which
covers the globe, through Paris and London, through New York and Boston and
Concord, through Church and State, through poetry and philosophy and religion,
till we come to a hard bottom and rocks in place, which we can call reality, and
say, This is, and no mistake. . . . Be it life or death, we crave only reality.
If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel cold in
the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business.
Time is
but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the
sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but
eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly
with stars. I cannot count one. I know not the first letter of the alphabet. I
have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The
intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things.
I do not wish to be any more busy with my hands than is necessary. My head is
hands and feet. I feel all my best faculties concentrated in it. My instinct
tells me that my head is an organ for burrowing, as some creatures use their
snout and fore paws, and with it I would mine and burrow my way through these
hills. I think that the richest vein is somewhere hereabouts; so by the
divining-rod and thin rising vapors I judge; and here I will begin to mine.
’ |