The Lesson of a Tree

[美]沃尔特·惠特曼/Walter Whitman

我不会选那棵最大或最独特的树来描绘。在我面前，有我最喜欢的一棵树，那是一棵美丽的黄杨树，它很直，可能有九十英尺高，最粗的地方直径达四英尺。它是如此强壮！如此富有生命力！如此挺立在风雨中！又是如此无言而善喻！它所启示的泰然自若和生存的本质，与人生浮华的表象形成了如此鲜明的对比。可以说，一棵树也是有情感的，富有生动的艺术性质，也是英勇无畏的。它是如此天真，不会伤害任何东西，它又是那么原始粗野；它无言地存在着，用自己的坚强、平和，宁静有力地斥责了风雨雷电以及人类——这个一碰到风吹草动就躲进房子里的没用的小东西。科学（或者更准确地说，是不彻底的科学）对有关树精、树仙和会说话的树等想象嗤之以鼻。然而，即使树木不会说话，它们也与大多数语言、文字、诗歌与训诫一样善喻，甚至比它们有过之而无不及。我敢断定，那些古老的有关树精的联想是非常真实的，甚至比我们大多数联想都更为深刻。（“把它砍下来”，骗人的游医这么说，然后留在你身边）请到树丛中或林地间坐下来，与无言的树木做伴，然后再把前面的那些话读一读、想一想。

人们从一棵树那里得到的启示——或者说大地、岩石以及动物赋予人们的最大道德教义，就是它们对于生存的内在本质的提示与观望者（或批评者）的推测和述说完全无关，与他的喜好与憎恶完全无关。一种疾患在我们每个人和我们大家的心间充斥着，渗透于我们的文学、教育以及彼此对待（甚至自我对待）的态度中，这便是对表面现象的喋喋不休，而对于人物、书籍、友谊、婚姻之合理的、逐渐增强的、经常存在的真实，亦即人类无形的本质和基础，不予过问或几乎不加过问。还有什么疾患比这更糟糕、更普遍吗？

I should not take either the biggest or the most picturesque tree to illustrate it. Here is one of my favorites now before me， a fine yellow poplar， quite straight， perhaps 90 feet high， and four feet thick at the butt. How strong， vital enduring！ How dumbly eloquent！ What suggestions of imperturbability and being， as against the human trait of mere seeming. Then the qualities， almost emotional， palpably artistic， heroic， of a tree； so innocent and harmless， yet so savage. It is， yet says nothing. How it rebukes by its tough and equable serenity as weathers， this gusty-temper's little whiffet， man that runs indoors at a mite of rain or snow. Science (or rather half-way science) scoffs at reminiscence of dryad and hamadryad， and of trees speaking. But， if they don't， they do as well as most speaking， writing， poetry， sermons or rather they do a great deal better. I should say indeed that those old dryad—reminiscences are quit as true as any， and profounder than most reminiscences we get. ("Cut this out，" as the quack mediciners say， and keep by you.) Go and sit in a grove or woods， with one or more of those voiceless companions， and read the fore going， and think.

One lesson from affiliating a tree—perhaps the greatest moral lesson anyhow from earth， rock， animals， is that same lesson of inherency， of what is， without the least regard to what the looker or (the critic) supposes or says， or whether he likes or dislikes. What worse—what more general malady pervades each and all of us， our literature， education， attitude toward each other， (even toward ourselves，) than a morbid trouble about seems， and no trouble at all， or hardly any， about the sane， slow-growing perennial， real parts of character， books， friendship， marriage—humanity's invisible foundations and hold together.