THE ONLY REVOLUTION INDIA PART 14/《唯一的革命》 印度 第十四篇
THE ONLY REVOLUTION INDIA PART 14《唯一的革命》 印度 第十四篇
He was an old monk, revered by many thousands. He had kept his body well, his head was shaven and he wore the usual saffron-coloured sannyasi robe. He carried a big stick which had seen many seasons, and a pair of sand-shoes, rather worn out. We sat on a bench overlooking the river, high up, with the railway bridge to our right and the river winding down round a big curve to our left. The other side of the bank, that morning, was in a heavy mist, and you could just see the tops of the trees. It was as though they were floating on the extended river. There was not a breath of air, and the swallows were flying low near the water's edge. That river was very old and sacred, and people came from very far to die on its banks and to be burnt there. It was worshipped, praised in chants and held most sacred. Every kind of filth was thrown into it; people bathed in it, drank it, washed their clothes in it; you saw people on the banks meditating, their eyes closed, sitting very straight and still. It was a river that gave abundantly, but man was polluting it. In the rainy season it would rise from twenty to thirty feet, carry away all the filth, and cover the land with silt which gave nourishment to the peasants along its bank. It came down in great curves, and sometimes you would see whole trees going by, uprooted by the strong current. You would also see dead animals, on which were perched vultures and crows, fighting with each other, and occasionally an arm or a leg or even the whole body of some human being.
他是一位年迈的僧人，为千万人所景仰。他的身体保养得很好，头发剃光了，身穿僧侣通常穿著的藏红色袍子。他拄着一根年代久远的大手杖，穿着一双相当破旧的沙地鞋。我们坐在一张长椅上高高地眺望着河水，右边是铁路桥，河流蜿蜒而下，转了一个大弯向我们的左边流去。那天早晨，河对岸有浓重的雾霭，我们只能看到树顶，就好像它们漂浮在蔓延开来的水面上。空气中没有一丝拂动，燕子们在水边低低地飞着。那条河非常古老非常神圣，人们远道而来在它的岸边死去并在那里被焚化。它在吟唱中被膜拜、被赞颂，被认为极其神圣。各种污秽之物都被丢进河里；人们在河里沐浴、洗衣，也饮用这河水；你看到岸边有人在冥想，眼睛紧闭，身子坐得笔直，一动不动。这是一条慷慨给予的河流，但是人类在污染它。雨季的时候，河水会从二十英尺深涨到三十英尺，带走所有的污秽，将淤泥覆盖在土地上，这给沿岸的农民们带来了食物。它转着大弯流将下来，有时候你会看到河面上漂过被强劲的激流连根拔起的整棵整棵的树。你也会看到动物的死尸，上面落着秃鹫和乌鸦，互相争抢着，偶尔还会看到某个人的一只胳膊或一条腿，甚至整个身体。
That morning the river was lovely, there was not a ripple on it. The other bank seemed far away. The sun had been up for several hours and the mist had not yet gone, and the river, like some mysterious being, flowed on. The monk was very familiar with that river; he had spent many years on its banks, surrounded by his disciples, and he took it almost for granted that it would be there always, that as long as man lived it would live also. He had got used to it, and therein lay the pity of it. Now he looked at it with eyes that had seen it many thousands of times. One gets used to beauty and to ugliness, and the freshness of the day is gone.
那天早上河水很美，没有一丝波澜。对岸似乎显得很遥远。太阳已经出来了好几个小时，而雾还没有散去，那条河就像某种神秘的存在一样，继续向前流去。这位僧人很熟悉这条河；他在河岸边度过了很多年，身边围绕着他的弟子们，而他几乎想当然地认为那条河永远都会在那里，只要人类还存在，那条河也会存在。他已经习以为常，而这其中就有着一种遗憾。现在他用已经看过数千次的眼睛看着那条河。一个人习惯了美和丑，而日子的新鲜就消失了。
"Why are you," he asked, in a rather authoritative voice, "against morality, against the scriptures which we hold most sacred? Probably you have been spoilt by the West where freedom is licentiousness and where they do not even know, except the few, what real discipline means. Obviously you have not read any of our sacred books. I was here the other morning when you were talking and I was rather aghast at what you were saying about the gods, the priests, the saints and the gurus. How can man live without any of these? If he does, he becomes materialistic, worldly, utterly brutal. You seem to deny all the knowledge that we hold most sacred. Why? I know you are serious. We have followed you from a distance for many years. We have watched you as a brother. We thought you belonged to us. But since you have renounced all these things we have become strangers, and it seems a thousand pities that we are walking on different paths."
“你为什么，”他用一种相当权威的口气问道，“反对道德，反对我们认为最为神圣的圣典？或许你已经被自由放荡的西方世界给带坏了，而他们除少数人外，甚至不知道真正的修行意味着什么。显然你没有读过我们的任何一部圣书。那天早上你讲话的时候我来听了，关于神祗、僧侣、圣徒和古鲁，你所说的那些话实在让我惊呆了。人活着怎么可能完全没有这些？如果他这么活着，他就会变得唯物、世俗和极度残忍。你似乎否定我们认为最为神圣的所有知识。为什么？我知道你是认真的。多年来我们远道而来一直追随着你。我们把你当作兄弟来看待。我们认为你属于我们中的一员。但是自从你宣布放弃所有这些东西，我们就变成了陌生人，我们现在走在不同的道路上，这似乎太遗憾了。
What is sacred? Is the image in the temple, the symbol, the word, sacred? Where does sacredness lie? In that tree, or in that peasant-woman carrying that heavy load? You invest sacredness, don't you, in things you consider holy, worthwhile, meaningful? But what value has the image, carved by the hand or by the mind? That woman, that tree, that bird, the living things, seem to have but a passing importance for you. You divide life into that which is sacred and that which is not, that which is immoral and that which is moral. This division begets misery and violence. Either everything is sacred, or nothing is sacred. Either what you say, your words, your thoughts, your chants are serious, or they are there to beguile the mind into some kind of enchantment, which becomes illusion, and therefore not serious at all. There is something sacred, but it is not in the word, not in the statue or in the image that thought has built.
什么是神圣的？庙宇中的神像、标志和语言是神圣的吗？神圣在哪里？在那棵树上，还是身背重负的农妇身上？你把神圣投注于你认为神圣、有价值和有意义的东西上，不是吗？但是由双手或头脑雕刻出来的神像有什么价值呢？那农妇、那棵树、那只鸟，那些活生生的事物对你来说似乎只有微不足道的重要性。你把生命划分成了神圣的和不神圣的，不道德的和道德的。这种划分产生了痛苦和暴力。要么一切都是神圣的，要么没有任何神圣的东西。你说的话、你的语言、你的思想、你的唱诵要么是真诚的，要么它们的存在只是为了欺骗头脑进入某种迷醉状态，而这会变成幻觉，因而根本就不真诚。存在着神圣的东西，但是不在语言中，也不在思想建造的塑像或形象中。
He looked rather puzzled and not at all sure where this was leading, so he interrupted: "We are not actually discussing what is and what is not sacred, but rather, one would like to know why you decry discipline?"
他看起来相当困惑，完全不确定这将引向何方，于是他打断道：“我们实际上并不是要讨论什么是神圣的、什么不是，而是我想知道你为什么公然反对戒律？”
Discipline, as it is generally understood, is conformity to a pattern of silly political, social or religious sanctions. This conformity implies, doesn't it, imitation, suppression, or some form of transcendence of the actual state? In this discipline there is obviously a continuous struggle, a conflict that distorts the quality of the mind. One conforms because of a promised or hoped-for reward. One disciplines oneself in order to get something. In order to achieve something one obeys and submits, and the pattern - whether it be the Communist pattern, the religious pattern or one's own - becomes the authority. In this there is no freedom at all. Discipline means to learn; and learning denies all authority and obedience. To see all this is not an analytical process. To see the implications involved in this whole structure of discipline is itself discipline, which is to learn all about this structure. And the learning is not a matter of gathering information, but of seeing the structure and the nature of it immediately. That is true discipline, because you are learning, and not conforming. To learn there must be freedom.
戒律，通常被理解为对愚蠢的政治、社会或宗教约束模式的遵从。这种遵从意味着模仿、压制或者对实际状态的某种形式的超越，不是吗？在这种戒律中显然有一种会扭曲心灵品质的持续不断的挣扎和冲突。人因为一个被承诺或希望得到的奖赏而遵从。人约束自己是为了得到某样东西。人为了获得什么而遵循和服从，那么模式——不管是共产主义模式、宗教模式还是一个人自己的模式——就变成了权威。其中根本没有自由。纪律意味着学习；而学习否定一切权威和服从。看到这一切不是一个分析的过程。看到戒律的这整个结构中包括的含义就是它自身的纪律，也就是了解这结构的一切。而学习不是一件收集信息的事情，而是即刻看到其结构和本质。这是真正的纪律，因为你在学习，而不是遵从。要学习就必须有自由。
"Does this imply," he asked, "that you do just what you want? That you disregard the authority of the State?"
“这是不是意味着，”他问道，“你只是做你想做的事？意味着你无视国家的权威？”
Of course not, sir. Naturally you have to accept the law of the State or of the policeman, until such law undergoes a change. You have to drive on one side of the road, not all over the road, for there are other cars too, so one has to follow the rule of the road. If one did exactly what one liked - which we surreptitiously do anyway - there would be utter chaos; and that is exactly what there is. The businessman, the politician and almost every human being is pursuing, under cover of respectability, his own secret desires and appetites, and this is producing chaos in the world. We want to cover this up by passing laws, sanctions, and so on. This is not freedom. Throughout the world there are people who have sacred books, modern or ancient. They repeat from them, put them into song, and quote them endlessly, but in their hearts they are violent, greedy, searching for power. Do these so-called sacred books matter at all? They have no actual meaning. What matters is man's utter selfishness, his constant violence, hate and enmity - not the books, the temples, the churches, the mosques.
当然不是，先生。当然你得接受国家或者警察的法律，直到这种法律发生改变。你必须在马路的一边开车，而不是在整条马路上，因为还有别的车，所以人得遵守道路的规则。如果一个人任意为所欲为——而我们偷偷摸摸地都在这么做——就会极度混乱；而这正是现在的实际情况。商人、政客和几乎每个人都在高尚的外表下追求着他自己隐蔽的渴望和欲望，而这在世界上制造了混乱。我们想通过立法、制裁等等方式来掩盖这一点。这不是自由。全世界的人们都有现代的或古代的圣典。他们重复里面的词句，谱成歌曲，没完没了地引用它们，但是他们的内心暴力、贪婪、追求权力。这些所谓的圣书有任何重要性吗？它们没有实际意义。重要的是人类的极度自私、他无尽的暴力、仇恨和敌意——而不是书本、庙宇、教堂和清真寺。
Under the robe the monk is frightened. He has his own appetites, he is burning with desire, and the robe is merely an escape from this fact.
僧袍之下这个僧人内心恐惧。他有着自己的欲望，他备受欲望的煎熬，而僧袍只是对这事实的一种逃避。
In transcending these agonies of man we spend our time quarrelling about which books are more sacred than others, and this is so utterly immature.
在试图超越这些人类痛楚时，我们争论着哪些书要比其他书更神圣，而这真是太幼稚了。
"Then you must also deny tradition.... Do you?"
“那么你必然也否定传统……是吗？”
To carry the past over to the present, to translate the movement of the present in terms of the past, destroys the living beauty of the present. This land, and almost every land, is burdened with tradition, entrenched in high places and in the village hut. There is nothing sacred about tradition, however ancient or modern. The brain carries the memory of yesterday, which is tradition, and is frightened to let go, because it cannot face something new. Tradition becomes our security, and when the mind is secure it is in decay. One must take the journey unburdened, sweetly, without any effort, never stopping at any shrine, at any monument, or for any hero, social or religious - alone with beauty and love.
把过去带到现在，用过去来诠释现在的活动，会破坏现在那活生生的美。这片土地以及几乎所有土地，都背着传统的重负，不管是在奢华之地还是在乡村茅舍，传统都根深蒂固。传统没有任何神圣之处，不管它多么古老或者现代。头脑背负着昨天的记忆，也就是传统，害怕失去它，因为头脑无法面对崭新的东西。传统变成了我们的安全感，当心智安全时，它就开始腐朽了。人必须毫无负担地、愉快地踏上旅程，没有一丝努力，永远不在任何圣坛、任何时候或为任何社会或宗教英雄而停留——独自与美和爱共处。
"But we monks are always alone, aren't we?" he asked. "I have renounced the world and taken a vow of poverty and chastity."
“但我们僧人总是独处的，不是吗？”他问道。“我摒弃了世界，宣誓安贫守贞。”
You are not alone, sir, because the very vow binds you - as it does the man who takes the vow when he gets married. If we may point out, you are not alone because you are a Hindu, just as you would not be alone if you were a Buddhist, or a Muslim, or a Christian or a Communist. You are committed, and how can a man be alone when he is committed, when he has given himself over to some form of ideation, which brings its own activity? The word itself, "alone," means what it says - uninfluenced, innocent, free and whole, not broken up. When you are alone you may live in this world but you will always be an outsider. Only in aloneness can there be complete action and co-operation; for love is always whole.
你并非独自一人，先生，因为那些誓言本身就束缚了你——就像人在结婚的时候宣誓一样。如果我们可以指出的话，你并不是独自一人，因为你是个印度教徒，就像如果你是个佛教徒、穆斯林、基督徒或共产主义者一样，都不是独自一人。你有坚定的信仰，而当一个人坚信时，当他把自己献身于某种形式的思想时，而这思想会产生它自己的行为，那么他怎么可能是独自一人？“独自”这个词说的就是它本身的意思——未被影响、纯真、自由而完整，没有支离破碎。当你独自一人时，你也许还活在这个世界上，但你会始终是个局外人。只有在独自中，才能有完整的行动与合作；因为爱始终是完整的。
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