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佐天生万物，护国福烝民，造万世福祉。
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这些诗行好似《诗篇》的文字一样，它们的宗教色彩不亚于任何一段希伯来文字。倘若众人在泰山的拜神被以“迷信”之名反对，那么从古至今任何地方的拜神都应以迷信论之。世上任何国家的宗教信徒都是少数人，我想印度则是个明显的例外。但我无法理解中国的宗教信徒为何少于世上任何一国。中国人对华兹华斯式的宗教有着特别的天赋，那种宗教崇尚的是自然之美和美之后所隐藏之物。人们对泰山和中国其他名山的仰慕、寺院和庙宇的选址、精美的石刻以及建立于秀丽景色中的各种亭台楼阁都印证了这种天赋。在英格兰，我们的山之秀美堪比中国的任何一座，但我们的“圣山”位居何处？在古希腊、意大利、现今的中国等所有国度都有迷人的神话传说，那么人类对自然之爱的外在表现又在何处寻觅呢？
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伟大的神啊， 我宁愿是个， 沉浸于旧教规的异教徒， 站在这令人神怡的草原， 看着那缓解我内心之苦的世界。
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若是生在中国，这位出生于赤裸世界的诗人绝不会发出那样动情的呐喊。
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以上游历便引发了我这最后的反思。当那些热爱中国的人——如今在东方被蔑称为亲华派——宣称中国比现代西方更加文明时，坦率却对真相一知半解的西方人都对这个有失坦诚的谬论提出质疑。然而，这些关于泰山的文字或许有助于澄清这一事实。一个将自然之美视为神圣的民族一定是一个能够很好感知生活核心价值的民族，尽管这个民族可能会是肮脏、混乱、腐败、无能的——即使果真如此也无关宏旨，况且从广义上讲这远非实情。数百年前，他们在尚未高度富足的物质基础上建立了伟大的文化上层建筑。西方人则在重建物质文明的同时毁坏了上层建筑。西方文明所渗透的地方不仅带来了象征着现代文明的水龙头、下水管和警察，还带来了由罗马帝国首开先河的丑陋、虚伪和庸俗。中国的第一次“西潮”顺着铁路、河流和海岸将病态的广告、波纹状的铁屋顶、庸俗而毫无意义的建筑形式卷入中国，此景令人痛惜。如同在许多古老文明中一样，我在中国看到的建筑，都与自然和谐统一，并为自然之景增添色彩。如今，西方所建的一切都是败笔。我知道许多人都真心认为这种对美的破坏无所谓，他们以为在当下对下水道和医院需求量如此之大的世界，只有颓废的艺术家才会着眼于美。我认为此言甚为荒谬。西方世界之丑陋是灵魂痼疾之表征。这暗示着西方人行为的目的已隐藏于手段之后而难见其貌。而在中国，情况恰好相反，尽管达到目的之手段并不富足，但目的本身却明晰可见。试想中国人如何对待泰山，而不久之后当西方游客大量涌入泰山时，西方人又会有何举动？中国人修筑蜿蜒石径，从任何角度看上去都美不胜收，而美国人和欧洲人只会在石径上方架构索道，看上去就像一道永难愈合的显眼的伤疤。中国人用优雅的书法在山岩上作诗，西方人则会在上面写满广告。中国人在山上修建寺庙，每一座都像是为美景锦上添花，而西方人则在山上经营餐馆和旅店，好比自然之美颜上多了许多疥疮。我可以自信地讲，西方人定会如此为之，因为他们已经在任何有机会投资的地方采取了相同的举动。不错，中国人需要我们的科学、组织和医药，但倘若认为中国人必须为此付出极高的代价，或者认为在获取我们物质优势的同时，中国也势必同样丢弃我们几乎丢弃的那种精神生活形式——一种优秀而细腻的文化——那就是我们自以为是了。西方总是大谈启蒙中国，而我愿中国也能启迪西方。
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（罗选民 译）
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9 FRAGMENTS FROM A FLOWER DIARY
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By Nora Waln
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FRAGMENTS FROM A FLOWER DIARY, by Nora Waln, from The Atlantic Monthly magazine, Vol. CLIV, No. 1, July, 1934, pp. 50-53.
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Nora Waln, an American lady who came to China, married an Englishman, lived in Nanking, and who contributes to The Atlantic Monthly on Chinese subjects. Her book The House of Exile , describing her life in a Chinese family, has been very favorably received.
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“Habits and customs differ, but all peoples have the love of flowers in common.”
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—Chinese Proverb .
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I
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It was in northern Hopei. The clouds had failed to gather in their season, and the time of showers has passed without rain. Parched by the midsummer sun, the earth was a dull beige in color. We had traveled three days over plains, valleys, and hills and seen nothing green except in the artificially irrigated plots near hamlets.
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The ancient stone-paved trail led up along a narrow ledge. We waited at the foot for a line of pack coolies to come down. They were heavily laden with inland produce which they were transporting to the coast for foreign export. The containers roped on their backs towered high above their heads. Yet, despite his burden, the foremost man swerved out suddenly to the very edge of the cliff, and, as they came on, each of the nine men behind him did the same.
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When they had passed us, we began our climb. My pack coolie was before me. When I came up to the place round which the others had swerved, he had squatted down and was pouring the last of the contents of his drinking canteen into a crevice in the paving. There, through the dust between the stones, a wild rose had grown—a slender fragile tendril with five pale leaves and an open flower. A perfect flower, beautifully tinted, and sweetly fragrant. “It is from such a one as this,” my coolie said, “that we learn fortitude.”
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II
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It was in the province of Kwangtung. The temple had once been beautifully furnished, but was now dirty and neglected. I chided the abbot concerning the dust on a Buddha’s face. He did not answer me immediately. He led me across two courtyards and along a dark narrow passage.
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At the end of the passage he opened a door and motioned to me to pass him and go through it. Beyond the door, I stood in a tiny garden above a deep ravine. All was neat and tidy there. No weeds grew in the rich, much-worked loam. A low wall of carefully placed rocks kept the garden from sliding down the mountain side.
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In his garden, the abbot spoke to me, saying, “The furniture on an altar is but the symbol of religion … in the face of a flower the heart of God is revealed.”
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I had no answer. At my feet were tall white lilies, each with a golden heart. Over my head a magnolia was in bloom.
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Lifting a clump of pansies with a careful trowel, the abbot planted them in an earthen pot, “Take this home,” he said.“If you are one who sincerely seeks the truth, by living with a flower you will find it.”
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III
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Bald-the-third, my serving matron, was stiff with anger. A filthy beggar had erected a mat shed against the wall of our residence at Nanking, and settled down to live just by the gate which led from our garden to the hill path.
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