the soul of the far east(远东的灵魂)-第3章
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alike depend ultimately for the right to be upon the truth or the falsity of
the sense of self。
For if there be no such actual thing as individuality； if the feeling we
call by that name be naught but the transient illusion the Buddhists would
have us believe it； any faith founded upon it as basis vanishes as does the
picture in a revolving kaleidoscope； less enduring even than the flitting
phantasmagoria of a dream。 If the ego be but the passing shadow of the
material brain； at the disintegration of the gray matter what will become of
us？ Shall we simply lapse into an indistinguishable part of the vast
universe that compasses us round？ At the thought we seem to stand
straining our gaze； on the shore of the great sea of knowledge； only to
watch the fog roll in； and hide from our view even those headlands of
hope that； like beseeching hands； stretch out into the deep。
So more materially。 If individuality be a delusion of the mind； what
motive potent enough to excite endeavor in the breast of an ordinary
mortal remains？ Philosophers； indeed； might still work for the
advancement of mankind； but mankind itself would not continue long to
labor energetically for what should profit only the common weal。 Take
away the stimulus of individuality； and action is paralyzed at once。 For
with most men the promptings of personal advantage only afford sufficient
incentive to effort。 Destroy this force； then any consideration due it
lapses； and socialism is not only justified； it is raised instantly into an
axiom of life。 The community； in that case； becomes itself the unit； the
indivisible atom of existence。 Socialism； then communism； then nihilism；
follow in inevitable sequence。 That even the Far Oriental； with all his
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numbing impersonality； has not touched this goal may at least suggest that
individuality is a fact。
But first； what do we know about its existence ourselves？
Very early in the course of every thoughtful childhood an event takes
place； by the side of which； to the child himself； all other events sink into
insignificance。 It is not one that is recognized and chronicled by the
world； for it is wholly unconnected with action。 No one but the child is
aware of its occurrence； and he never speaks of it to others。 Yet to that
child it marks an epoch。 So intensely individual does it seem that the boy
is afraid to avow it； while in reality so universal is it that probably no
human being has escaped its influence。 Though subjective purely； it has
more vividness than any external event； and though strictly intrinsic to life；
it is more startling than any accident of fate or fortune。 This experience of
the boy's； at once so singular and yet so general； is nothing less than the
sudden revelation to him one day of the fact of his own personality。
Somewhere about the time when sensation is giving place to
sensitiveness as the great self…educator； and the knowledge gained by the
five bodily senses is being fused into the wisdom of that mental one we
call common sense； the boy makes a discovery akin to the act of waking
up。 All at once he becomes conscious of himself； and the consciousness
has about it a touch of the uncanny。 Hitherto he has been aware only of
matter； he now first realizes mind。 Unwarned； unprepared； he is
suddenly ushered before being； and stands awe…struck in the presence of
himself。
If the introduction to his own identity was startling； there is nothing
reassuring in the feeling that this strange acquaintanceship must last。 For
continue it does。 It becomes an unsought intimacy he cannot shake off。
Like to his own shadow he cannot escape it。 To himself a man cannot but
be at home。 For years this alter ego haunts him； for he imagines it an
idiosyncrasy of his own； a morbid peculiarity he dare not confide to any
one； for fear of being thought a fool。 Not till long afterwards； when he
has learned to live as a matter of course with his ever…present ghost； does
he discover that others have had like familiars themselves。
Sometimes this dawn of consciousness is preceded by a long twilight
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of soul…awakening； but sometimes； upon more sensitive and subtler
natures； the light breaks with all the suddenness of a sunrise at the equator；
revealing to the mind's eye an unsuspected world of self within。 But in
whatever way we may awake to it； the sense of personality； when first
realized； appears already； like the fabled Goddess of Wisdom； full grown
in the brain。 From the moment when we first remember ourselves we
seem to be as old as we ever seem to others afterwards to become。 We
grow； indeed； in knowledge； in wisdom； in experience； as our years
increase； but deep down in our heart of hearts we are still essentially the
same。 To be sure； people pay us more deference than they did； which
suggests a doubt at times whether we may not have changed； small boys
of a succeeding generation treat us with a respect that causes us inwardly
to smile； as we think how little we differ from them； if they but knew it。
For at bottom we are not conscious of change from that morning； long ago；
when first we realized ourselves。 We feel just as young now as we felt
old then。 We are but amused at the world's discrimination where we can
detect no difference。
Every human being has been thus 〃twice born〃： once as matter； once
as mind。 Nor is this second birth the birthright only of mankind。 All the
higher animals probably； possibly even the lower too； have experienced
some such realization of individual identity。 However that may be；
certainly to all races of men has come this revelation； only the degree in
which they have felt its force has differed immensely。 It is one thing to
the apathetic； fatalistic Turk； and quite another matter to an energetic；
nervous American。 Facts； fancies； faiths； all show how wide is the
variance in feelings。 With them no introspective ＇greek＇cnzhi seauton
overexcites the consciousness of self。 But with us； as with those of old
possessed of devils； it comes to startle and stays to distress。 Too apt is it
to prove an ever…present； undesirable double。 Too often does it play the
part of uninvited spectre at the feast； whose presence no one save its
unfortunate victim suspects。 The haunting horror of his own identity is
to natures far less eccentric than Kenelm Chillingly's only too common a
curse。 To this companionship； paradoxical though it sound； is principally
due the peculiar loneliness of childhood。 For nothing is so isolating as a
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persistent idea which one dares not confide。
And yet；stranger paradox still；was there ever any one willing to
exchange his personality for another's？ Who can imagine foregoing his
own self？ Nay； do we not cling even to its outward appearance？ Is
there a man so poor in all that man holds dear that he does not keenly
resent being accidentally mistaken for his neighbor？ Surely there must
be something more than mirage in this deep…implanted； widespread
instinct of human race。
But however strong the conviction now of one's individuality； is there
aught to assure him of its continuance beyond the confines of its present
life？ Will it awake on death's morrow and know itself； or will it； like the
body that gave it lodgment； disintegrate again into indistinguishable spirit
dust？ Close upon the heels of the existing consciousness of self treads
the shadow…like doubt of its hereafter。 Will analogy help to answer the
grewsome riddle of the Sphinx？ Are the laws we have learned to be true
for matter true also for mind？ Matter we now know is indestructible； yet
the form of it with which we once were so fondly familiar vanishes never
to return。 Is a like fate to be the lot of the soul？ That mind should be
capable of annihilation is as inconceivable as that matter should cease to
be。 Surely the spirit we feel existing round about us on every side now
has been from ever； and will be for ever to come。 But that portion of it
which we each know as self； is it not like to a drop of rain seen in its
falling through the air？ Indistinguishable the particle was in the cloud
whence it came； indistinguishable it will become again in the ocean
whither it is bound。 Its personality is but its passing phase from a vast
impersonal on the one hand to an equally vast impersonal on the other。
Thus seers preached in the past； so modem science is hinting to…day。
With us the idea seems the bitter fruit of material philosophy； by them it
was looked upon as the fairest flower of their faith。 What is dreaded now
as the impious suggestion of the godless four thousand years ago was
reverenced as a sacred tenet of religion。
Shorter even than his short threescore years and ten is that soul's life of
which man is directly cognizant。 Bounded by two seemingly impersonal
states is the personal consciousness of which he is made aware： the one
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the infantile existence
