My life has indeed fallen in pleasant places. Not a hundred men in a million have been so lucky as I. Yet, with all this vast good fortune, am I sad. And I am sad because John Barleycorn is with me. And John Barleycorn is with me because I was born in what future ages will call the dark ages before the ages of rational civilisation10. John Barleycorn is with me because in all the unwitting days of my youth John Barleycorn was accessible, calling to me and inviting11 me on every corner and on every street between the corners. The pseudo-civilisation into which I was born permitted everywhere licensed12 shops for the sale of soul-poison. The system of life was so organised that I (and millions like me) was lured13 and drawn14 and driven to the poison shops.
Wander with me through one mood of the myriad15 moods of sadness into which one is plunged16 by John Barleycorn. I ride out over my beautiful ranch. Between my legs is a beautiful horse. The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame. Across Sonoma Mountain wisps of sea fog are stealing. The afternoon sun smoulders in the drowsy17 sky. I have everything to make me glad I am alive. I am filled with dreams and mysteries. I am all sun and air and sparkle. I am vitalised, organic. I move, I have the power of movement, I command movement of the live thing I bestride. I am possessed18 with the pomps of being, and know proud passions and inspirations. I have ten thousand august connotations. I am a king in the kingdom of sense, and trample19 the face of the uncomplaining dust....
And yet, with jaundiced eye I gaze upon all the beauty and wonder about me, and with jaundiced brain consider the pitiful figure I cut in this world that endured so long without me and that will again endure without me. I remember the men who broke their hearts and their backs over this stubborn soil that now belongs to me. As if anything imperishable could belong to the perishable20! These men passed. I, too, shall pass. These men toiled22, and cleared, and planted, gazed with aching eyes, while they rested their labour-stiffened bodies on these same sunrises and sunsets, at the autumn glory of the grape, and at the fog-wisps stealing across the mountain. And they are gone. And I know that I, too, shall some day, and soon, be gone.
Gone? I am going now. In my jaw23 are cunning artifices24 of the dentists which replace the parts of me already gone. Never again will I have the thumbs of my youth. Old fights and wrestlings have injured them irreparably. That punch on the head of a man whose very name is forgotten settled this thumb finally and for ever. A slip-grip at catch-as-catch-can did for the other. My lean runner's stomach has passed into the limbo26 of memory. The joints27 of the legs that bear me up are not so adequate as they once were, when, in wild nights and days of toil21 and frolic, I strained and snapped and ruptured28 them. Never again can I swing dizzily aloft and trust all the proud quick that is I to a single rope-clutch in the driving blackness of storm. Never again can I run with the sled-dogs along the endless miles of Arctic trail.
I am aware that within this disintegrating29 body which has been dying since I was born I carry a skeleton, that under the rind of flesh which is called my face is a bony, noseless death's head. All of which does not shudder30 me. To be afraid is to be healthy. Fear of death makes for life. But the curse of the White Logic is that it does not make one afraid. The world-sickness of the White Logic makes one grin jocosely31 into the face of the Noseless One and to sneer32 at all the phantasmagoria of living.
I look about me as I ride and on every hand I see the merciless and infinite waste of natural selection. The White Logic insists upon opening the long-closed books, and by paragraph and chapter states the beauty and wonder I behold33 in terms of futility34 and dust. About me is murmur35 and hum, and I know it for the gnat-swarm of the living, piping for a little space its thin plaint of troubled air.
I return across the ranch. Twilight36 is on, and the hunting animals are out. I watch the piteous tragic37 play of life feeding on life. Here is no morality. Only in man is morality, and man created it—a code of action that makes toward living and that is of the lesser38 order of truth. Yet all this I knew before, in the weary days of my long sickness. These were the greater truths that I so successfully schooled myself to forget; the truths that were so serious that I refused to take them seriously, and played with gently, oh! so gently, as sleeping dogs at the back of consciousness which I did not care to waken. I did but stir them, and let them lie. I was too wise, too wicked wise, to wake them. But now White Logic willy-nilly wakes them for me, for White Logic, most valiant7, is unafraid of all the monsters of the earthly dream.
"Let the doctors of all the schools condemn40 me," White Logic whispers as I ride along. "What of it? I am truth. You know it. You cannot combat me. They say I make for death. What of it? It is truth. Life lies in order to live. Life is a perpetual lie-telling process. Life is a mad dance in the domain41 of flux42, wherein appearances in mighty43 tides ebb44 and flow, chained to the wheels of moons beyond our ken39. Appearances are ghosts. Life is ghost land, where appearances change, transfuse45, permeate46 each the other and all the others, that are, that are not, that always flicker47, fade, and pass, only to come again as new appearances, as other appearances. You are such an appearance, composed of countless48 appearances out of the past. All an appearance can know is mirage49. You know mirages50 of desire. These very mirages are the unthinkable and incalculable congeries of appearances that crowd in upon you and form you out of the past, and that sweep you on into dissemination51 into other unthinkable and incalculable congeries of appearances to people the ghost land of the future. Life is apparitional52, and passes. You are an apparition53. Through all the apparitions54 that preceded you and that compose the parts of you, you rose gibbering from the evolutionary55 mire56, and gibbering you will pass on, interfusing, permeating57 the procession of apparitions that will succeed you."
And of course it is all unanswerable, and as I ride along through the evening shadows I sneer at that Great Fetish which Comte called the world. And I remember what another pessimist58 of sentiency has uttered: "Transient are all. They, being born, must die, and, being dead, are glad to be at rest."
But here through the dusk comes one who is not glad to be at rest. He is a workman on the ranch, an old man, an immigrant Italian. He takes his hat off to me in all servility, because, forsooth, I am to him a lord of life. I am food to him, and shelter, and existence. He has toiled like a beast all his days, and lived less comfortably than my horses in their deep-strawed stalls. He is labour-crippled. He shambles59 as he walks. One shoulder is twisted higher than the other. His hands are gnarled claws, repulsive60, horrible. As an apparition he is a pretty miserable61 specimen62. His brain is as stupid as his body is ugly.
"His brain is so stupid that he does not know he is an apparition," the White Logic chuckles63 to me. "He is sense-drunk. He is the slave of the dream of life. His brain is filled with superrational sanctions and obsessions64. He believes in a transcendent over-world. He has listened to the vagaries65 of the prophets, who have given to him the sumptuous66 bubble of Paradise. He feels inarticulate self-affinities, with self-conjured non-realities. He sees penumbral67 visions of himself titubating fantastically through days and nights of space and stars. Beyond the shadow of any doubt he is convinced that the universe was made for him, and that it is his destiny to live for ever in the immaterial and supersensuous realms he and his kind have builded of the stuff of semblance68 and deception69.
"But you, who have opened the books and who share my awful confidence—you know him for what he is, brother to you and the dust, a cosmic joke, a sport of chemistry, a garmented beast that arose out of the ruck of screaming beastliness by virtue70 and accident of two opposable great toes. He is brother as well to the gorilla71 and the chimpanzee. He thumps72 his chest in anger, and roars and quivers with cataleptic ferocity. He knows monstrous73, atavistic promptings, and he is composed of all manner of shreds74 of abysmal75 and forgotten instincts."
"Yet he dreams he is immortal," I argue feebly. "It is vastly wonderful for so stupid a clod to bestride the shoulders of time and ride the eternities."
"Pah!" is the retort. "Would you then shut the books and exchange places with this thing that is only an appetite and a desire, a marionette76 of the belly77 and the loins?"
"To be stupid is to be happy," I contend.
"Then your ideal of happiness is a jelly-like organism floating in a tideless, tepid78 twilight sea, eh?"
Oh, the victim cannot combat John Barleycorn!
"One step removed from the annihilating79 bliss80 of Buddha's Nirvana," the White Logic adds. "Oh well, here's the house. Cheer up and take a drink. We know, we illuminated81, you and I, all the folly82 and the farce83."
And in my book-walled den25, the mausoleum of the thoughts of men, I take my drink, and other drinks, and roust out the sleeping dogs from the recesses84 of my brain and hallo them on over the walls of prejudice and law and through all the cunning labyrinths85 of superstition86 and belief.
"Drink," says the White Logic. "The Greeks believed that the gods gave them wine so that they might forget the miserableness87 of existence. And remember what Heine said."
Well do I remember that flaming Jew's "With the last breath all is done: joy, love, sorrow, macaroni, the theatre, lime-trees, raspberry drops, the power of human relations, gossip, the barking of dogs, champagne89."
"Your clear white light is sickness," I tell the White Logic. "You lie."
"By telling too strong a truth," he quips back.
"Ah, well, Liu Ling was wiser than you," the White Logic girds. "You remember him?"
I nod my head—Liu Ling, a hard drinker, one of the group of bibulous91 poets who called themselves the Seven Sages92 of the Bamboo Grove93 and who lived in China many an ancient century ago.
"It was Liu Ling," prompts the White Logic, "who declared that to a drunken man the affairs of this world appear but as so much duckweed on a river. Very well. Have another Scotch94, and let semblance and deception become duck-weed on a river."
And while I pour and sip88 my Scotch, I remember another Chinese philosopher, Chuang Tzu, who, four centuries before Christ, challenged this dreamland of the world, saying: "How then do I know but that the dead repent95 of having previously96 clung to life? Those who dream of the banquet, wake to lamentation97 and sorrow. Those who dream of lamentation and sorrow, wake to join the hunt. While they dream, they do not know that they dream. Some will even interpret the very dream they are dreaming; and only when they awake do they know it was a dream.... Fools think they are awake now, and flatter themselves they know if they are really princes or peasants. Confucius and you are both dreams; and I who say you are dreams—I am but a dream myself.
"Once upon a time, I, Chuang Tzu, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither98, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man."
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1
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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28
ruptured
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| v.（使）破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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29
disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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30
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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38
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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transfuse
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| v.渗入；灌输；输血 | |
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permeate
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| v.弥漫，遍布，散布；渗入，渗透 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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49
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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mirages
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景( mirage的名词复数 ) | |
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51
dissemination
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| 传播,宣传,传染(病毒) | |
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52
apparitional
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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evolutionary
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| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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57
permeating
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| 弥漫( permeate的现在分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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obsessions
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| n.使人痴迷的人（或物）( obsession的名词复数 )；着魔；困扰 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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penumbral
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| adj.日月半影的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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72
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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marionette
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| n.木偶 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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annihilating
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的现在分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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80
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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82
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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83
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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84
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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85
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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86
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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87
miserableness
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| 痛苦，悲惨，可怜 | |
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88
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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89
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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90
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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91
bibulous
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| adj.高度吸收的，酗酒的 | |
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92
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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93
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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94
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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95
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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96
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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97
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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98
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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