We should use our literary works to convey some basic truths to outdoor enthusiasts: for instance, gear is meant to be used, not shown off; if you buy gear and never use it, then it’s not really gear.
We need to remind people that before GPS became common, people didn’t die from getting lost in the outdoors any more than they do now. Before trekking poles were invented, fewer people suffered knee or back injuries from hiking. Before gas stoves and cookware sets existed, people still enjoyed rich outdoor meals. With the internet, people haven’t stored any more useful information in their heads than before; before online guides, there seemed to be fewer clueless adventurers.
Through literature, we must make people understand that the convenience of gear has robbed us of the joy of trying, exploring, and innovating; fast communication has diminished our desire for collective action; the flood of outdoor enthusiasts has stripped nature of its original charm; and the ease of rescue has weakened our ability to protect ourselves and handle emergencies.
Through literature, we must tell people that there’s no need to rush through trails or to grow one’s outdoor résumé too quickly—because rapid growth leads to insecurity, lack of knowledge accumulation, and breeds vanity and impatience.
Through literature, we must tell people that the unhealthy development of outdoor activities, driven by capital, greed, vanity, and narrow-mindedness, has robbed outdoor adventures of much of their charm and filled them with danger.
Through literature, we must tell people to take it easy, slow down, use only half of your full capacity, and save the other half for the unexpected.
We must use literature to tell people that the most fundamental factors for outdoor safety are knowledge, skills, adaptability, and mindset—the rest are luxuries. Of course, gear and equipment are also necessary.
The original version (excerpt) by Mo Yan
We should use our literary works to convey some basic truths to people: for instance, houses are built to live in, not to speculate on; if a house is built but not lived in, then it’s not really a house.
We need to remind people that before air conditioning was invented, fewer people died from heat than now. Before electric lights, fewer people had myopia. Before TVs, people still had rich leisure time. With the internet, people haven’t stored any more useful information in their heads than before; before the internet, there seemed to be fewer clueless people.
Through literature, we must make people understand that convenient transportation has robbed us of the joy of travel, fast communication has taken away the happiness of letter-writing, food abundance has dulled our taste for eating, and easy access to sex has eroded our ability to love.
Through literature, we must tell people that there’s no need to develop so quickly, or to make plants and animals grow so fast—because when they grow too fast, they don’t taste as good, have less nutrition, and contain hormones and other toxins.
Through literature, we must tell people that the unhealthy development of science, driven by capital, greed, and power, has robbed human life of much of its charm and filled it with danger.
Through literature, we must tell people to take it easy, slow down, use only half of your intelligence, and save the other half for future generations.
Through literature, we must tell people that the most basic necessities for human life are air, sunlight, food, and water—the rest are luxuries. Of course, clothes and shelter are also necessary.
Through our literature, we must tell people that the good days for humanity are numbered. When people are in the desert, they’ll realize that water and food are more precious than gold and diamonds; when earthquakes and tsunamis strike, people will see that no matter how luxurious a villa or mansion is, it’s just a lump of mud in the hands of nature; when humans ruin the Earth to the point of uninhabitability, nothing will matter—not even literature.
Can our literature really curb human greed? The conclusion is pessimistic. But even if the conclusion is pessimistic, we mustn’t give up trying—because this is not just about saving others, but also about saving ourselves.
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