我的鐘擺 (My Pendulum)
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我常覺自己的人生仿似一個鐘擺，一頭是「入」，另一頭是「出」。第一頭，從褒義看，可以是進取、樂觀、積極；從貶義看，卻又是貪欲、焦慮、執迷。第二頭，從褒義看，可以是超然、清心、通透；從貶義看，卻又是虛無、悲觀、消極。往往是在「入」的一頭愈走愈遠、愈陷愈深，藉由某些契機忽然自照本心、回到「出」的一頭大作反省——爾後又逐漸忘卻，受著形形色色的吸引，再逐漸走向「入」的一頭。如是兜兜轉轉、循環往復，不曾靜息。這與叔本華所言之「鐘擺理論」似有幾分相似，又不完全相等：「人在各種慾望不得滿足時處於痛苦的一端，得到滿足時便處於無聊的一端。人的一生就像鐘擺一樣不停地在這兩端之間擺動。」若說我之鐘擺與叔本華之鐘擺重合最大之處，便是「慾望」一詞——這便是我近來所自省的核心。
起因乃是，我在世間所獲之成就、所得之機會，有幸日漸高升。雖遠不及各路傑出人物，於我這名不見經傳的小人物而言，卻已可算作頗為重大。我一面享受這世間的奇饋，一面慾念日長、著眼於愈發高遠的目標，在那熱鬧的道路上狂奔。我喜覺功、名、利、祿俱在前方腳下、唾手可得；他人所得之成就，亦如「年晚煎堆」般或可「人有我有」——只需多加努力，往昔只可遠望的高度，今日便可攀登。我之鐘擺「入」的一頭幾乎擺至極限，使我在狂奔之中愈陷愈深，在狂熱與追求中欲罷不能。終於在某日，我在這道路上忽然面臨某項困難，轉覺憂思不斷、焦慮難安，以至於晝夜戚戚、苦惱不堪，頗如太史公所言「意有所鬱結、不得通其道」。如此數日，苦困難堪。
絕望之際，心底忽然升起往昔所聞：「凡心不死、道心不生。」於此一瞬之間我觀見這一切之癥結所在——自己竟已成了慾望的奴隸，在不自覺中為其所裹挾：一路上升時，牠一路滿足，我便也一路受用、高歌猛進；偶受挫阻，那慾念便化作攻心的毒蛇，將我撕咬，令我覺得若牠不得滿足，一切便都毀廢。再具象些，我那鐘擺動到「入」的極限時，我便覺得一切皆可憑自身人力而必然達成，自己必然行於那條永遠上升的道路並享受於此，任何的阻礙或下降都不當發生、不可接受——而當其真實發生時，我便覺萬念俱灰，而又以為須要進一步透支人力，將其填平、越過，便如撲火飛螢般，被那慾念驅使作那幾乎不可能的苦行，將自己壓至絕境。
於是，那一瞬之間我的鐘擺頃刻投向了「出」的一頭——那蒙蔽我向來所習道理、所受教訓、所立本心的貪慾之霾遠去，我再一次見到自己那「本真」的一面、見到那絕境中的一線生機。
首先，乃是我歷來所學之「道理」：古來各家皆講斷貪慾心。如自陷其中，「慾壑難填」，便無有盡頭。佛家三毒「貪」「嗔」「痴」，「貪」字為首——此關最為難過，也最是為害。少不更事時，我嘗發豪言道：名利俱身外物、何必求之。但往昔尚未入世，連「名」與「利」的概念都不曾有，發此風涼話自然輕鬆。惟有當自己真正直面這一切誘惑，慾念作祟時，此言方有重量。同樣，習得諸多道理，惟有真正處於彼境，才知其絕非嘴上功夫，乃是真正的道行。一路以來，遍聽幾許大道理，最感慨的，乃是「知易行難」。
爾後，乃是我數次歷經的「教訓」：早在一秩以前，我便覺天外有天，建功立業並無盡頭——惟有及早行樂、達「盡興」乃至「無憂」之境，才可算是未曾蹉跎歲月、不虚此生現世。但在數年之間，我的鐘擺循環往復，總是在路遠之際便忘卻本義，開始追尋本義之外的事物——隨後又因種種機緣，忽恍然復悟，便如《一生何求》之唱辭所嘆曰：「尋遍了卻偏失去、未盼卻在手。」我雖如此往來多次，卻不曾吸收教訓，總是「已有之事、後必再有；已行之事、後必再行。」恰似呂緯甫所言：「我在少年時，看見蜂子或蠅子停在一個地方，給什麼來一嚇，即刻飛去了，但是飛了一個小圈子，便又回來停在原地點，便以為這實在很可笑，也可憐。」看那飛蟲兜兜轉轉覺得可笑，不覺間自己也是如此一圈一圈地繞。
末後，乃是我斯世出發的「初心」：我為何仍行走於世間，或曰，我憑何答覆加謬之「哲學問題」？某年之後，我的回答向來是：但求一隅清淨行樂處、玩遍世間諸味。但在我被那貪慾寄生時，這回答竟會扭曲而成：力攀世外無盡之高峰、攬遍功名利祿。於是，在那攀登之路上，我永不知足，一面享受已得，一面繼續貪求未得：我分明已立於秀麗群山之間，卻定要緊盯那「天外之天」。而今回望，我所駐足之處，早已足夠我發展初心、適性行樂，夫復何求？《增廣賢文》有言：「命裏有時終須有、命裏無時莫強求。」我雖非命定論之擁躉，卻知曉人力有盡、不可強求，正應東坡詩曰：「腳力盡時山更好、莫將有限趁無窮。」
觀照現實，在如今產業爆炸、技術爆炸、信息爆炸的時代，個人被裹挾與周身的洪流之中，更易忘卻初心、隨波逐流，稀裏糊塗化做大浪中的一滴，不知所求為何物——我身處一大熱行業，感觸尤深；此番鐘擺陷入一極，便是明證。陶子詩雲：「縱浪大化中、不喜亦不懼。」惟有立定本心，時時自照，「不困于形、不役于物」，才可自立自足。行於俗世，雖不免同「物」打交道，但若可「物物而不物於物」，便也得以「在家學得忘家禪」。在那諸多訊息湧入腦海、將我向來所蒙之霾驅除後，我恍覺身心清淨，那壓制我的重擔、驅使我的推手頃刻散卻，取而代之的竟是毫無罣礙的平靜——這久違的自裏而外的平靜，效力遠勝於外在的補品或藥物。
這番鐘擺之轉向，於我幸亦不幸。不幸乃是，它令我白白困厄數日；有幸乃是，我再一次令其轉回「出」一側，再一次看明自身所處。我知曉自己的鐘擺如四季輪轉，將來或仍將於二端之間往復。但如今有此元認知，往後至少不至於茫然。《滕王閣序》有言：「君子見機、達人知命。」但願在那鐘擺百轉千回之中，我亦長可見機知命。
草撰此文，以為自誡，時時警醒。久不為文，筆觸頗疏；言語散亂，但求達義。若有同病相憐者，亦願與君共勉。
丙午暑月
English translation AI translated
I often feel that my life resembles a pendulum. At one end is engagement; at the other, withdrawal. At its best, the first can mean initiative, optimism, and resolve; at its worst, greed, anxiety, and fixation. The second, at its best, can mean detachment, clarity, and serenity; at its worst, nihilism, pessimism, and passivity. More often than not, I move too far toward engagement, sinking ever deeper, until some chance event turns me inward and brings me back into withdrawal, where I take a searching look at myself. Then, little by little, I forget again. Drawn by things of every kind, I make my way once more toward engagement. Round and round I go, in cycles that never quite come to rest. This resembles Schopenhauer’s theory of the pendulum, though it is not quite the same: life swings like a pendulum back and forth between pain and boredom. The point at which my own pendulum most closely resembles his lies in one word: desire. That has been at the center of my recent reflection.
The occasion is this: my achievements have grown, and the opportunities I have been fortunate enough to receive have multiplied. They are far from comparable to those of truly exceptional people, yet for someone as obscure as I am, they have been considerable. As I enjoy these unexpected gifts, my ambitions and desires grow with them. My eyes turn toward loftier goals, and I run wildly down the crowded road. Reputation, accomplishment, wealth, and position all seem to lie before my feet, close enough to seize. What others have attained begins to feel as though it too might be mine, as the saying goes: “What others have, I shall have as well.” With enough effort, heights once visible only from afar now seem climbable. My pendulum swung almost to the farthest end of engagement. In the rush, I sank deeper, unable to stop amid the fervor of striving. Then one day, I encountered an obstacle on that road. Worry became unceasing, and the anxiety was difficult to shake; day and night I was troubled and exhausted. For several days, it was nearly unbearable.
At the edge of despair, something I had heard long ago rose from the depths of my mind: “Until the worldly mind dies, the Dao-heart cannot be born.” In that moment, I saw the knot of it all. I had become a slave to desire, carried along by it without realizing. As I advanced, my desires were met, and I too enjoyed the ascent, pressing forward at full stride. At even the slightest setback, that desire became a venomous snake striking at my heart, tearing at me until I felt that, unless it were fulfilled, everything would be ruined. More concretely, when my pendulum reached the extreme of engagement, I came to believe that everything could and must be achieved through my own efforts. I would surely remain on an endlessly rising road and delight in it; no obstacle or downturn ought to occur, nor could it be accepted. When either did occur, I fell into utter desolation, yet still thought I had to push myself even harder to fill the gap and force my way across it. Like a moth to a flame, driven by desire, I took on a near-impossible ordeal of self-denial and pressed myself to the brink.
And so, in that instant, my pendulum swung abruptly toward withdrawal. The haze of greed that had obscured the principles I had learned, the lessons I had received, and the purpose that had guided me began to disperse. Once again, I could see the more authentic side of myself, and a glimmer of a way out of what had seemed an impasse.
First came the teachings I have studied over the years. Every tradition has spoken of renouncing greed and desire. Once one is caught in their grip, there is no end to wanting. In Buddhism, greed, anger, and delusion are the three poisons, with greed foremost among them. It is the hardest barrier to overcome and one of the most harmful. When I was young and knew little of the world, I once made grand declarations that fame and gain were merely external things, not worth pursuing. But at that time I had scarcely entered the world; I had not even formed a real understanding of fame or gain. Such cool detachment was easy to profess. Only when one truly confronts these temptations and desire takes hold do those words acquire weight. The same is true of all the principles one learns: only by finding oneself in such circumstances does one know that they are not merely a matter of speech, but of genuine practice. Of the many great truths I have heard, the one that moves me most is this: knowing is easy; doing is hard.
Then came the lessons I have had to learn more than once. A full decade ago, I already understood that there are always greater heights beyond any I had yet reached, and no end to what one might achieve. I had come to believe that only by enjoying life while there was still time, and by reaching a state of fullness or even freedom from care, could I avoid having squandered my years or lived this life in vain. Yet over the years my pendulum has repeated its circuit. As the journey lengthens, I forget the point of it all and begin to chase what lies beyond it. Then some event brings a sudden awakening, as the lyric puts it: “I searched everywhere, only to lose it; what I never hoped for was already in my hands.” Though I have gone back and forth in this way many times, I have never fully absorbed the lesson. What has happened will happen again; what has been done will be done again. It is like Lyu Weifu’s observation: as a boy, he saw a bee or fly startled from a spot, only to make a small circle and return to the very same place, and found it both laughable and pitiable. Watching those insects circle about, I fail to notice that I, too, am circling.
Finally came the purpose with which I set out in life. Why do I continue to live in this world? Or, put differently, how would I answer Camus’s question of the absurd? For years now, my answer has been simple: to find a quiet place in which to enjoy life, and to experience all that the world has to offer. Yet when greed takes up residence in me, that answer becomes distorted. I try to scale ever-higher peaks and gather every form of achievement, fame, wealth, and status. As I climb, I am never satisfied: enjoying what I have gained while greedily pursuing what I have not. I am plainly standing among beautiful mountains, yet insist on fixing my eyes on the sky beyond the sky. Looking back now, where I stand has long been enough for me to fulfill my original purpose and live according to my nature. What more could I ask? Social Wisdom says, “What is meant to be yours will in time be yours; what is not, do not force.” I am no adherent of determinism, yet I know that human effort has limits; one cannot force matters indefinitely. As Su Shi wrote: “When your strength is spent, the mountains grow lovelier still; do not spend the finite chasing the infinite.”
Looking at the present, ours is an age of rapid industrial, technological, and informational expansion. Individuals are swept along in the currents of the world around them, more apt to forget their original purpose and drift with the tide, becoming a single drop amid the great waves without knowing what they seek. I work in a particularly fast-moving field, and I feel this keenly; this latest swing to the extreme of engagement is proof enough. Tao Yuanming wrote, “Ride the waves of the great transformation, without joy or fear.” Only by remaining rooted in one’s original purpose and looking inward again and again, neither trapped by form nor enslaved by things, can one be self-possessed and self-sufficient. Living in the ordinary world, one cannot avoid dealing with things. But if we can master things without being mastered by them, we may still “learn the Zen of forgetting home while remaining at home”. As these reflections settled in my mind and cleared away the haze that had long shrouded me, I felt a sudden sense of clarity in body and mind. The burden pressing upon me and the unseen hand driving me forward dissolved in an instant, replaced by an unencumbered calm. That long-missed peace from within has an effect far greater than any external tonic or medicine.
This turn of the pendulum has been both fortunate and unfortunate. Unfortunate, because it trapped me in needless distress for several days. Fortunate, because once again it brought me back toward withdrawal, and once again let me see where I stand. I know that my pendulum, like the turning seasons, may continue to move between these two poles. But with this awareness of the pattern, I may at least avoid being wholly lost in the future. The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng says: “The gentleman discerns the moment; the wise understand destiny.” May I too, through the pendulum’s countless turns, learn to discern the moment and understand my destiny.
I have written these words as an admonition to myself, a reminder to which I can return. I have not written for a long time; my writing is rusty and my thoughts are scattered on the page. I ask only that the meaning come through. To anyone who recognizes this struggle, I hope we can take heart from one another.