今日行动
1、打开您常用的语音转文本工具,开始朗读吧!
2、一次读完一整个语音转文本的限制时间,或者最多三十分钟。
3、然后让自己去休息吧!
PS:今天可以尝试,遇到某个触动你的地方,就多表达一些自己的感受,想到了之前的什么事情,多表达一些「你自己」的想法。哪怕不够时间读完所有内容,也没有关系。
因为你得到了自己想出来的宝贵的思考。
一生之敌
史蒂文·普雷斯菲尔德 · 2002年
为什么选这篇
虽然这本书讲的是创作的内阻力,但我觉得它可以映射到我们生活的方方面面。我们想做的任何事情,面临的第一件事情就是内心的阻力。
这本书是我见过的,第一次把“内阻力”定义得非常清晰,且提供了非常多案例和形象比喻的一本书。每次我创作有内心的阻力的时候,都会打开随便翻几页。这就是为什么我推荐这本书的原因。
这本书的核心词是 Resistance——我把它译为「内心的阻力」。
它不是外部的障碍,而是我们每次想要创作、成长、改变时,从内部升起的那股力量。
我们大多数人都有两种生活:一种是现实中所过的生活,另一种则是内心深处未曾展现出来的生活。而在这两者之间,存在着一种“内心的阻力”。
史蒂文·普雷斯菲尔德为我撰写了《一生之敌》。他无疑也是为你而写这本书的,但我知道他是专门为我而写的——因为我拥有“拖延症奥运纪录”。我可以一直拖延着不去思考自己的拖延问题,也可以继续拖延解决这个关于拖延问题的思考本身。所以普雷斯菲尔德这个老谋深算的人,给我定了个截止日期让我写这篇序言,因为他知道无论我如何拖延,最终都得动手完成。我在最后时刻完成了任务。翻阅第一册《定义敌人》时,仿佛每一页上都有我内疚的目光在注视着我。但第二册给了我作战计划,第三册则展现了胜利的景象。合上《一生之敌》时,我感受到一种积极的平静感。现在我知道自己能够赢得这场“战争”。如果我能做到,你也能。
在《一生之敌》的第一章开篇,普雷斯菲尔德将创造力的敌人称为「内心的阻力」。这一术语涵盖了弗洛伊德所说的“死亡冲动”——那种存在于人性中的破坏力,每当我们面临需要长期坚持、可能为自己或他人带来益处的艰难抉择时,它就会显现出来。接着,他列举了各种「内心的阻力」的表现形式。你一定能认出它们,因为这种力量存在于我们每个人心中:自我破坏、自我欺骗、自我堕落。我们写作者将其称为“写作障碍”,这种状态会使人陷入瘫痪,进而引发种种糟糕的行为。
几年前,我的写作陷入了僵局,简直像加尔各答的污水管道一样堵塞。那该怎么办呢?我决定把所有衣服都试穿一遍。为了展现自己有多固执,我把每件衬衫、每条裤子、每件毛衣、每件夹克和每双袜子都拿了出来,按季节分类:春季装、夏季装、秋季装、冬季装……然后又重新试穿,这次按场合细分:春季休闲装、春季正装、夏季休闲装……这样持续了两天后,我简直觉得自己要疯了。想知道如何克服写作障碍吗?千万别去找心理医生。正如普雷斯菲尔德所指出的,寻求“帮助”正是最具诱惑力的抗拒行为。真正的解决办法就在第二本书《成为专业人士》中。
史蒂文·普雷斯菲尔德堪称真正的行家。我之所以这么认为,是因为我无数次打电话给《巴格·万斯的传奇》的作者,邀请他一起打高尔夫球,但他总是婉拒。为什么呢?因为他正在工作。而任何经历过写作过程的人都知道,打高尔夫其实是一种极其隐蔽的拖延方式——换句话说,这就是“内心的阻力”。史蒂夫拥有着由“坚如钢铁的材料”锻造而成的自律力。
我在欧洲旅行时连读了两本史蒂夫所著的《火之门》和《战争的浪潮》。我向来不是个容易落泪的人,自从读过《红马》后就再没为任何书流泪过,但这两部小说深深打动了我的心。我常常坐在咖啡馆里,为那些塑造并拯救了西方文明的希腊人的无私勇气而强忍泪水。透过他行云流水的文笔,我能感受到他对人性和社会的深刻洞察力,以及他对细节生动的描绘能力。我惊叹于这一切——正是这些努力奠定了他精彩作品的基石。而且,不止我一个人有这样的感受。在伦敦购买这些书时,有人告诉我,牛津大学的史学教授们现在会推荐学生阅读史蒂夫的小说,他们说如果想了解古希腊的真实生活,那就去读普雷斯菲尔德的作品吧。
艺术家是如何获得这种力量的呢?在第二本书中,史蒂夫详细阐述了专业人士的日常行动准则:做好准备、保持秩序、拥有耐心与毅力,在恐惧和失败面前依然坚持行动——不找借口,不敷衍了事。最妙的是,史蒂夫指出,专业人士始终要把精力集中在对技艺的精通上。
第三部《更高境界》探讨了“灵感”这一奇妙现象——它诞生于那些全身心投入艺术创作的人们的努力之中。用普雷斯菲尔德的话来说:“当我们每天坐下来工作时,能量会聚集在我们周围……我们就像一根被磁化的铁棒,吸引着铁屑。灵感涌现,洞见不断积累。”在这一点上,我和史蒂夫完全赞同。的确,那些惊人的意象和想法仿佛凭空出现。这些看似自然而然的灵光闪现如此不可思议,让人难以相信它们竟出自我们这般平庸之人之手。那么,我们最出色的作品究竟从何而来呢?
然而,正是在这一点上——即灵感的起源问题上,我们的看法有所不同。在第一部《更高境界》中,史蒂夫将内心的阻力的根源追溯到基因层面。我同意这种观点:其成因确实在于基因。那种对创造力的消极抵制、那种与创造力相对立的黑暗力量,深植于我们人类的本性之中。但在第三部《更高境界》中,他转变了视角,不再从人性角度探讨灵感的来源,而是将其置于“更高的境界”之中。随后,他用富有诗意的语言阐述了自己对缪斯与天使的信仰。他认为,创造力的最终源泉是神圣的。许多读者,或许甚至是大多数读者,都会觉得第三部《更高境界》令人深受触动。
而我则认为,创造力的源泉与「内心的阻力」存在于同一现实层面。它同样源于基因,被称为“天赋”——一种与生俱来的能力,能发现他人未曾察觉的事物之间的隐秘联系,将它们结合起来,为世界创造出独一无二的作品。就像智商一样,天赋也是祖先赐予我们的礼物。如果我们足够幸运,就能继承它。在那些天资出众的人身上,天性中消极的一面起初会抗拒创造力所要求的努力,但一旦他们全身心投入,天赋便会发挥作用,让他们创造出令人惊叹的成果。这些创意的闪光点看似突如其来,原因很简单:它们源自潜意识。简而言之,如果缪斯真的存在,她也不会向没有天赋的人低语。
因此,尽管史蒂夫与我在根源问题上存在分歧,但在结果上我们看法一致:当灵感与天赋相遇时,便会孕育出真理与美。而史蒂文·普雷斯菲尔德在创作《一生之敌》时,正是灵感指引着他完成这部作品。
我的工作内容
我起床后洗个澡、吃早饭。接着阅读报纸、刷牙。如果有电话要打,我就打过去。现在咖啡已经准备好了。我穿上幸运工作靴,系上侄女梅雷迪思送给我的幸运鞋带。然后回到办公室,打开电脑。我的幸运连帽衫搭在椅子上,上面还有我在圣玛丽德拉梅尔从吉普赛人那里花8法郎买来的幸运护身符,以及那个源于我梦境的幸运名牌“LARGO”。我把它戴上。在我的词典架上,还有朋友鲍勃·维兰迪从古巴莫罗城堡送给我的幸运“大炮”模型。我把它指向椅子,希望它能为我带来灵感。我会诵读祷文——那是T·E·劳伦斯翻译的《荷马史诗·奥德赛》中的“缪斯颂”,这份祷文是挚友保罗·林克送给我的。它与父亲留下的袖扣、以及我在特莫皮莱战场捡到的幸运橡果一起放在书架旁。现在大概是十点半左右。我坐下来开始工作。一旦开始犯错,就知道自己累了。通常工作四小时左右后,效率就会下降。于是我便结束一天的工作。将我所做的一切复制到磁盘上,然后把磁盘放在卡车的手套箱里,以备发生火灾时急需逃离用。关闭电脑。现在时间是三点半,办公室已经关门了。我写了多少页呢?不在乎。这些内容有用吗?也不去想。重要的是,我已经投入了全部时间,竭尽全力完成了工作。最重要的是,在这一天、这一次写作中,我战胜了内心的阻力。
我所知晓的一切
真正的作家知道一个初学者所不知道的秘密:艰难的不是写作本身,而是坐下来开始写这件事。
阻碍我们坐下来写作的是抗拒心理。
未曾经历的人生
我们大多数人都有两种生活:一种是现实中所过的生活,另一种则是内心深处未曾展现出来的生活。而在这两者之间,存在着一种“内心的阻力”。
你是否曾把跑步机带回家后任其积灰在阁楼里?是否曾放弃过节食计划、瑜伽课程或冥想练习?是否曾因外界干扰而中断灵修之旅,不再投身于人道主义事业,也不再为服务他人奉献一生?你是否曾渴望成为母亲、医生,或是弱者的捍卫者;是否曾想过参选公职、为地球环保而奋斗、推动世界和平或保护生态环境?深夜时分,你是否曾幻想过自己可能成为的样子、能够完成的事业,以及命中注定的完美形象?如果你是个不写作的人、不绘画的画家、从未创业的企业家,那么你就明白什么是「内心的阻力」了。
有天晚上,我躺在那里,
我听到爸爸在和妈妈说话。
我听到爸爸说:“让那个男孩跳布吉伍吉舞吧。”
“因为那东西在他心里,总得释放出来。”
内心的阻力是地球上最有害的力量。它带来的不幸远超贫穷、疾病和阳痿等问题。屈服于内心的阻力会扭曲我们的精神,阻碍我们成长,让我们无法成为与生俱来的真正自我。如果你相信上帝(我信),就必须将内心的阻力视为邪恶,因为它阻碍了我们实现上帝的旨意——上帝赋予我们每个人独特的天赋之时,便是为我们规划了人生道路之时。“天才”一词源自拉丁语,罗马人用它来指代那种神圣不可侵犯的内在力量,它指引着我们走向自己的使命。作家凭借天赋写作,艺术家依靠天赋绘画,所有创造者都源于这一神圣的力量。那是灵魂的居所,承载着我们潜在的自我,是我们生命的灯塔与北极星。
每颗太阳都会投下阴影,而天才的阴影便是“内心的阻力”。我们灵魂追求实现的渴望无比强烈,但与之对抗的“内心的阻力”力量同样强大。它比高速子弹更快,比火车头更强劲,比可卡因还难戒除。如果我们被“内心的阻力”击倒,也并不孤单——数以百万计的好人先我们而倒。最糟糕的是:我们甚至不知道是什么击中了我们。我从来都不知道。从24岁到32岁, “内心的阻力”把我从东海岸打到西海岸再折返,共十三次,而我却浑然不知它的存在。我到处寻找敌人,却没发现它就就在眼前。
你听过这个故事吗:一位女性被告知患了癌症,只有六个月的生命。几天内,她辞去了工作,重新拾起为了抚养家庭而放弃的创作德州-墨西哥风格歌曲的梦想(或者开始学习古典希腊语,又或者搬进市中心社区,专门照顾患有艾滋病的婴儿)。她的朋友们都认为她疯了;而她自己却从未如此快乐过。还有个后续:她的癌症竟然进入了缓解期。
难道非得如此吗?我们是否必须直面死亡才能奋起对抗“内心的阻力”?“内心的阻力”是否必须毁掉我们的生活、让我们面目全非,我们才会意识到它的存在?有多少人因为没有去做内心深处、天赋所指引的事情,而变成了酒鬼或毒瘾者,患上肿瘤或神经症,沉溺于止痛药、闲言碎语和手机依赖之中?“内心的阻力”打败了我们。如果明天早上,所有迷惘的人都能突然获得实现梦想的第一步力量,那么电话簿上的心理医生都将失业。监狱会空无一人,酒精和烟草产业会崩溃,垃圾食品、整容手术和娱乐产业也会随之瓦解,制药公司、医院以及整个医疗行业都将陷入困境。家庭暴力、成瘾、肥胖、偏头痛、路怒症和头屑等问题也将不复存在。
审视你自己的内心吧。除非我疯了,否则此刻一定有个微弱而清晰的声音在响起,如同万千次之前那样,告诉你那属于你、只属于你的使命。你心知肚明,无需他人提醒。而除非我疯了,否则你现在仍未采取行动,和昨天、明天一样。你觉得“内心的阻力”不存在吗?但“内心的阻力”终会将你吞噬。
你知道吗,希特勒曾想成为艺术家。18岁时,他带着700克朗的遗产前往维也纳生活和学习。他先后向美术学院和建筑学院提交了申请。见过他的画作吗?我也没见过。是“内心的阻力”击败了他。虽然这有点夸张,但我还是要说:对希特勒来说,发动第二次世界大战比面对一张空白的画布要容易得多。
英文原文
FOREWORD
Steven Pressfield wrote The War of Art for me. He undoubtedly wrote it for you too, but I know he did it expressly for me because I hold Olympic records for procrastination. I can procrastinate thinking about my procrastination problem. I can procrastinate dealing with my problem of procrastinating thinking about my procrastination problem. So Pressfield, that devil, asked me to write this foreword against a deadline, knowing that no matter how much I stalled, eventually I’d have to knuckle down and do the work. At the last possible hour I did, and as I leafed through Book One, “Defining the Enemy,” I saw myself staring back guilty-eyed from every page. But then Book Two gave me a battle plan; Book Three, a vision of victory; and as I closed The War of Art, I felt a surge of positive calm. I now know I can win this war. And if I can, so can you.
To begin Book One, Pressfield labels the enemy of creativity Resistance, his all-encompassing term for what Freud called the Death Wish—that destructive force inside human nature that rises whenever we consider a tough, long-term course of action that might do for us or others something that’s actually good. He then presents a rogue’s gallery of the many manifestations of Resistance. You will recognize each and every one, for this force lives within us all—self-sabotage, self-deception, self-corruption. We writers know it as “block,” a paralysis whose symptoms can bring on appalling behavior.
Some years ago I was as blocked as a Calcutta sewer, so what did I do? I decided to try on all my clothes. To show just how anal I can get, I put on every shirt, pair of pants, sweater, jacket, and sock, sorting them into piles: spring, summer, fall, winter, Salvation Army. Then I tried them on all over again, this time parsing them into spring casual, spring formal, summer casual . . . Two days of this and I thought I was going mad. Want to know how to cure writer’s block? It’s not a trip to your psychiatrist. For as Pressfield wisely points out, seeking “support” is Resistance at its most seductive. No, the cure is found in Book Two: “Turning Pro.”
Steven Pressfield is the very definition of a pro. I know this because I can’t count the times I called the author of The Legend of Bagger Vance to invite him for a round of golf, and although tempted, he declined. Why? Because he was working, and as any writer who has ever taken a backswing knows, golf is a beautifully virulent form of procrastination. In other words, Resistance. Steve packs a discipline forged of Bethlehem steel.
I read Steve’s Gates of Fire and Tides of War back-to- back while traveling in Europe. Now, I’m not a lachrymose guy; I hadn’t cried over a book since The Red Pony, but these novels got to me. I found myself sitting in cafés, choking back tears over the selfless courage of those Greeks who shaped and saved Western civilization. As I looked beneath his seamless prose and sensed his depth of research, of knowledge of human nature and society, of vividly imagined telling details, I was in awe of the work, the work, all the work that built the foundation of his riveting creations. And I’m not alone in this appreciation. When I bought the books in London, I was told that Steve’s novels are now assigned by Oxford history dons who tell their students that if they wish to rub shoulders with life in classical Greece, read Pressfield.
How does an artist achieve that power? In the second book Pressfield lays out the day-by-day, step-by-step campaign of the professional: preparation, order, patience, endurance, acting in the face of fear and failure—no excuses, no bullshit. And best of all, Steve’s brilliant insight that first, last, and always, the professional focuses on mastery of the craft.
Book Three, “The Higher Realm,” looks at Inspiration, that sublime result that blossoms in the furrows of the professional who straps on the harness and plows the fields of his or her art. In Pressfield’s words: “When we sit down each day and do our work, power concentrates around us . . . we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings. Ideas come. Insights accrete.” On this, the effect of Inspiration, Steve and I absolutely agree. Indeed, stunning images and ideas arrive as if from nowhere. In fact, these seemingly spontaneous flashes are so amazing, it’s hard to believe that our unworthy selves created them. From where, therefore, does our best stuff come?
It’s on this point, however, the cause of Inspiration, that we see things differently. In Book One Steve traces Resistance down its evolutionary roots to the genes. I agree. The cause is genetic. That negative force, that dark antagonism to creativity, is embedded deep in our humanity. But in Book Three he shifts gears and looks for the cause of Inspiration not in human nature, but on a “higher realm.” Then with a poetic fire he lays out his belief in muses and angels. The ultimate source of creativity, he argues, is divine. Many, perhaps most readers, will find Book Three profoundly moving.
I, on the other hand, believe that the source of creativity is found on the same plane of reality as Resistance. It, too, is genetic. It’s called talent: the innate power to discover the hidden connection between two things—images, ideas, words—that no one else has ever seen before, link them, and create for the world a third, utterly unique work. Like our IQ, talent is a gift from our ancestors. If we’re lucky, we inherit it. In the fortunate talented few, the dark dimension of their natures will first resist the labor that creativity demands, but once they commit to the task, their talented side stirs to action and rewards them with astonishing feats. These flashes of creative genius seem to arrive from out of the blue for the obvious reason: They come from the unconscious mind. In short, if the Muse exists, she does not whisper to the untalented.
So although Steve and I may differ on the cause, we agree on the effect: When inspiration touches talent, she gives birth to truth and beauty. And when Steven Pressfield was writing The War of Art, she had her hands all over him.
WHAT I DO
I get up, take a shower, have breakfast. I read the paper, brush my teeth. If I have phone calls to make, I make them. I’ve got my coffee now. I put on my lucky work boots and stitch up the lucky laces that my niece Meredith gave me. I head back to my office, crank up the computer. My lucky hooded sweatshirt is draped over the chair, with the lucky charm I got from a gypsy in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer for only eight bucks in francs, and my lucky LARGO name tag that came from a dream I once had. I put it on. On my thesaurus is my lucky cannon that my friend Bob Versandi gave me from Morro Castle, Cuba. I point it toward my chair, so it can fire inspiration into me. I say my prayer, which is the Invocation of the Muse from Homer’s Odyssey, translation by T. E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia, which my dear mate Paul Rink gave me and which sits near my shelf with the cuff links that belonged to my father and my lucky acorn from the battlefield at Thermopylae. It’s about ten-thirty now. I sit down and plunge in. When I start making typos, I know I’m getting tired. That’s four hours or so. I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns. I wrap for the day. Copy whatever I’ve done to disk and stash the disk in the glove compartment of my truck in case there’s a fire and I have to run for it. I power down. It’s three, three-thirty. The office is closed. How many pages have I produced? I don’t care. Are they any good? I don’t even think about it. All that matters is I’ve put in my time and hit it with all I’ve got. All that counts is that, for this day, for this session, I have overcome Resistance.
WHAT I KNOW
There’s a secret that real writers know that wannabe writers don’t, and the secret is this: It’s not the writing part that’s hard. What’s hard is sitting down to write.
What keeps us from sitting down is Resistance.
THE UNLIVED LIFE
Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.
Have you ever brought home a treadmill and let it gather dust in the attic? Ever quit a diet, a course of yoga, a meditation practice? Have you ever bailed out on a call to embark upon a spiritual practice, dedicate yourself to a humanitarian calling, commit your life to the service of others? Have you ever wanted to be a mother, a doctor, an advocate for the weak and helpless; to run for office, crusade for the planet, campaign for world peace, or to preserve the environment? Late at night have you experienced a vision of the person you might become, the work you could accomplish, the realized being you were meant to be? Are you a writer who doesn’t write, a painter who doesn’t paint, an entrepreneur who never starts a venture? Then you know what Resistance is.
One night I was layin' down,
I heard Papa talkin' to Mama.
I heard Papa say, to let that boy boogie-woogie.
‘Cause it's in him and it's got to come out.
—John Lee Hooker, “Boogie Chillen”
——约翰·李·胡克,《Boogie Chillen》
Resistance is the most toxic force on the planet. It is the root of more unhappiness than poverty, disease, and erectile dysfunction. To yield to Resistance deforms our spirit. It stunts us and makes us less than we are and were born to be. If you believe in God (and I do) you must declare Resistance evil, for it prevents us from achieving the life God intended when He endowed each of us with our own unique genius. Genius is a Latin word; the Romans used it to denote an inner spirit, holy and inviolable, which watches over us, guiding us to our calling. A writer writes with his genius; an artist paints with hers; everyone who creates operates from this sacramental center. It is our soul’s seat, the vessel that holds our being-in-potential, our star’s beacon and Polaris.
Every sun casts a shadow, and genius’s shadow is Resistance. As powerful as is our soul’s call to realization, so potent are the forces of Resistance arrayed against it. Resistance is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, harder to kick than crack cocaine. We’re not alone if we’ve been mowed down by Resistance; millions of good men and women have bitten the dust before us. And here’s the biggest bitch: We don’t even know what hit us. I never did. From age twenty-four to thirty-two, Resistance kicked my ass from East Coast to West and back again thirteen times and I never even knew it existed. I looked everywhere for the enemy and failed to see it right in front of my face.
Have you heard this story: Woman learns she has cancer, six months to live. Within days she quits her job, resumes the dream of writing Tex-Mex songs she gave up to raise a family (or starts studying classical Greek, or moves to the inner city and devotes herself to tending babies with AIDS). Woman’s friends think she’s crazy; she herself has never been happier. There’s a postscript. Woman’s cancer goes into remission.
Is that what it takes? Do we have to stare death in the face to make us stand up and confront Resistance? Does Resistance have to cripple and disfigure our lives before we wake up to its existence? How many of us have become drunks and drug addicts, developed tumors and neuroses, succumbed to painkillers, gossip, and compulsive cell-phone use, simply because we don’t do that thing that our hearts, our inner genius, is calling us to? Resistance defeats us. If tomorrow morning by some stroke of magic every dazed and benighted soul woke up with the power to take the first step toward pursuing his or her dreams, every shrink in the directory would be out of business. Prisons would stand empty. The alcohol and tobacco industries would collapse, along with the junk food, cosmetic surgery, and infotainment businesses, not to mention pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and the medical profession from top to bottom. Domestic abuse would become extinct, as would addiction, obesity, migraine headaches, road rage, and dandruff.
Look in your own heart. Unless I’m crazy, right now a still, small voice is piping up, telling you as it has ten thousand times before, the calling that is yours and yours alone. You know it. No one has to tell you. And unless I’m crazy, you’re no closer to taking action on it than you were yesterday or will be tomorrow. You think Resistance isn’t real? Resistance will bury you.
You know, Hitler wanted to be an artist. At eighteen he took his inheritance, seven hundred kronen, and moved to Vienna to live and study. He applied to the Academy of Fine Arts and later to the School of Architecture. Ever see one of his paintings? Neither have I. Resistance beat him. Call it overstatement but I’ll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square of canvas.
史蒂文·普雷斯菲尔德(Steven Pressfield),美国作家,代表作《一生之敌》《巴格·万斯的传奇》。本文为《一生之敌》前言及第一部分节选,2002年出版。