On Life by Zhu Guangqian - A Collection of Masterpieces by National Studies Masters

Author: Zhu Guangqian / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: It has been twenty years since this incident. I still remember it clearly because it was a profound impression in my life. One summer, I traveled to a place called Ayeshia on the northwest coast of Scotland, intending to visit the cottage of the farmer poet Robert Burns. The scenery in that area resembled the inner sea of Japan but was more winding and varied. Bays extended into the mountains, forming countless lakes with green waters reflecting blue mountains. The lakes and mountains were always tranquil, leisurely, and desolate, with villages scarce for miles, surrounded by mountains, valleys, forests, and meadows.
As I walked along a lakeshore, I suddenly saw a sea of people—men and women, young and old, dressed in deep blue and red clothes, ragged and stumbling, moving like a swarm of ants, making a great noise: it was a famous spa. It was Sunday, and people who had worked as beasts for six days in the city came here to enjoy a happy day. They were showing off their clothes, their hobbies, their flesh, their love, their refinement, and their rusticity. Like the surging waves of the lake, they threw themselves into the whirlpool of life, indulging in a day of joy.
In such a setting, a pastor who looked like a shoemaker set up a pulpit in a nearby meadow to preach to the revelers. He also attracted a large crowd. He shouted, the crowd shouted, and the lake shouted—his words were indistinct, but occasionally the familiar words "heaven," "God," "repentance," and "sin" could be discerned. The crowd was constantly moving, sometimes emerging from the lake to look at the pastor, and sometimes walking into the lake from the pastor. Some swam, some listened to the sermon—essentially, they were all part of the commotion.
Facing this scene, I stood still, lost in thought, and suddenly felt a sense of emptiness and loneliness. I reflected on the meaning of life. Before us was clearly life itself. What I first felt was that life was too discordant. In such a tranquil lake and mountain landscape, there was such a noisy crowd laughing and having fun—it was already inappropriate, like ants fighting over dead insects in a Buddhist hall. Adding to this, two pastors were preaching about "heaven" and "repentance" to men and women drinking, smoking, and flirting in swimsuits, exposing their arms and thighs—was this not a strong satire on life? John the Baptist, crying out in the desert about the coming of the savior, had his voice cast into the void. What could be compared to John in that Scottish pastor? He made preaching his profession, yet he had little understanding of the truth. He merely tossed empty religious phrases into the ears of empty-minded people—wasn’t that emptiness piled upon emptiness? Extending this to everything in the world, isn’t it all the same? For example, those swimmers, though they were enjoying themselves fervently, were also blind. They were merely driven by the mechanical demands of life. When the sun set, they went home, and the beach returned to its original tranquility, like a song ending and a banquet dispersing. That was where I felt emptiness and loneliness.
But like the crowd, I was also glad to have joined the commotion, and that day was not wasted. Even now, when I recall it, it still seems interesting. Life, as shown by the beach, has the contrast of light and shadow that painters speak of. Whether you dive in and play a role or stand by and watch, it can all bring you joy. In that moment, life surged among those people, and they accepted life with satisfaction. Who has the right to despise them, let alone pity them? Those who are weary of the world are often arrogant in their self-importance, and I am ashamed that I sometimes failed to escape this trap.
Confucius, watching the flowing water, expressed a profound and lasting reflection. He said, "The past flows like this, day and night without stopping!" Life is inherently flowing. From the perspective of "passing," it inevitably brings to mind destruction and emptiness. But this is not an endless departure; if it does not depart, it cannot arrive. Continuous life and renewal can keep everything fresh and meaningful. Shakespeare described life as "a story told by a fool, full of noise and fury, signifying nothing," though it is a sweeping statement, it is not a profound insight. Life is a storyteller, though he may always circle around the same "themes," each moment’s story is fresh and meaningful. When we have a fresh and meaningful story in this moment, we are content, and this moment of life is not empty. Life is realized moment by moment, and thankfully, it "does not stop day or night." When you add up the layers of reality, the total will never be zero.
If people do not grasp the life being realized in each moment and instead pursue the causes of the past and the consequences of the future, it is like seeking the sum of an addition beyond the sum itself. Pursuing the "initial cause" and the "ultimate consequence" leads to "reductio ad infinitum." Philosophers should know this principle, yet those who insist on pursuing the "initial cause" and the "ultimate consequence" are often philosophers themselves. This is not just arrogance but also a lack of understanding. When something is realized, its image exists, and so do its causes and purposes. The seed contains the fruit, and the fruit contains the seed—without a plant, there is no seed or fruit, and without seed or fruit, there is no plant (as explained by my friend Mr. Fei Ming in his "Theory of Alaya Consciousness").
For example, what causes and purposes does a painting have! It presents a fresh and perfect image—isn’t that its life, its cause, its purpose? P2-4