2016年中秋节-母亲节是哪一天

Lesson 1 Who Are you and what are you doing here
Welcome and congratulations: Getting to the first day of college is a major achievement. You’re to be commended, and not
just you, but the parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts who helped get you here.

It’s been said that raising a child effectively takes a village: Well, as you may have noticed, our American village is not in very
good shape. We’ve got guns, drugs, two wars, fanatical religions, a slime-based popular culture, and some politicians who—a
little restraint here—aren’t what they might be. To merely survive in this American village and to win a place in the entering
class has taken a lot of grit on your part. So, yes, congratulations to all.

You now may think that you’ve about got it made. Amidst the impressive college buildings, in company with a high-powered
faculty, surrounded by the best of your generation, all you need is to keep doing what you’ve done before:
Whttp:k hard, get good grades, listen to your teachers, get along
with the people around you, and you’ll emerge in four years as an educated young man or woman. Ready for life.

Do not believe it. It is not true. If you want to get a real education in America you’re going to have to fight—and I don’t mean
just fight against the drugs and the violence and against the slime-based culture that is still going to surround you. I mean
something a little more disturbing. To get an education, you’re probably going to have to fight against the institution that you
find yourself in—no matter how prestigious it may be. (In fact, the more prestigious the school, the more you’ll probably have
to push.) You can get a terrific education in America now—there are astonishing opportunities at almost every college—but
the education will not be presented to you wrapped and bowed. To get it, you’ll need to struggle and strive, to be strong, and
occahttp:onally even to piss off some admirable people.

I came to college with few resources, but one of them was an understanding, however crude, of how I might use my
opportunities there. This I began to develop because of my father, who had never been to college—in fact, he’d barely gotten
out of high school. One night after dinner, he and I were sitting in our kitchen at 58 Clewley Road in Medford, Massachusetts,
hatching plans about the rest of my life. I

was about to go off to college, a feat no one in my family had accomplished in living memory. “I think I might want to be
pre-law,” I told my father. I had no idea what being pre-law was. My father compressed his brow and blew twin streams of
smoke, dragon-like, from his magnificent nose. “Do you want to be a lawyer?” he asked. My father had some experience with
lawyers, and with policemen, too; he was not well-disposed toward either. “I’m not really sure,” I told
hhttp:, “but lawyers make pretty good money, right?”

My father detonated. (That was not uncommon. My father detonated a lot.) He told me that I was going to go to college only
once, and that while I was there I had better study what I wanted. He said that when rich kids went to school, they majored in
the subjects that interested them, and that my younger brother Philip and I were as good as any rich kids. (We were rich kids
minus the money.) Wasn’t I interested in literature? I confessed that I was. Then I had better study literature, unless I had
inside information to the effect that reincarnation wasn’t just hype, and I’d be able to attend college thirty or forty times. If I had
such info, pre-law would be fine, and maybe even a tour through invertebrate biology could also be tossed in. But until I had
the reincarnation stuff from a solid source, I better get to work and pick out some English classes from the course
: “How about the science requirements?”

“Take ’em later,” he said, “you never know.”

My father, Wright Aukenhead Edmundson, Malden High School Class of 1948 (by a hair), knew the score. What he told me
that evening at the Clewley Road kitchen table was true in itself, and it also contains the germ of an idea about what a
university education should be. But apparently almost everyone else—students, teachers, and trustees and parents—sees the
matter much differently. They have it wrong.

Education has one salient enemy in present-day America, and that enemy is education—university education in particular. To
almost everyone, university education is a means to an end. For students, that end is a good job. Students want the
credentials that will help them get ahead. They want the certificate that will give them access to Wall Street, or entrance into
law or medical or business school. And how can we blame them?
http:erica values power and money, big players with big bucks.
When we raise our children, we tell them in multiple ways that what we want most for

them is success—material success. To be poor in America is to be a failure—it’s to be without decent health care, without
basic necessities, often without dignity. Then there are those back-breaking student loans—people leave school as servants,
indentured to pay massive bills, so that first job better be a good one. Students come to college with the goal of a diploma in
mind—what happens in between, especially in classrooms, is often of no deep and determining interest to them.

In college, life is elsewhere. Life is at parties, at clubs, in music, with friends, in sports. Life is what celebrities have. The idea
that the courses you take should be the primary objective of going to college is tacitly considered absurd. In terms of their work,
students live in the future andhttp: not the present; they live with their
prospects for success. If universities stopped issuing credentials, half of the clients would be gone by tomorrow morning, with
the remainder following fast behind.

The faculty, too, is often absent: Their real lives are also elsewhere. Like most of their students, they aim to get on. The work
they are compelled to do to advance—get tenure, promotion, raises, outside offers—is, broadly speaking, scholarly work. No
matter what anyone says this work has precious little to do with the fundamentals of teaching. The proof is that virtually no
undergraduate students can read and understand their professors’ scholarly publications. The public senses this disparity and
so thinks of the professors’ work as being silly or beside the point. Some of it is. But the public also senses that because
professors don’t pay full-bore attention to teaching they don’t have to work very hard—they’ve created
http: massive feather bed for themselves and called it a university.

This is radically false. Ambitious professors, the ones who, like their students, want to get ahead in America, work furiously.
Scholarship, even if pretentious and almost unreadable, is nonetheless labor- intense. One can slave for a year or two on a
single article for publication in this or that refereed journal. These essays are honest: Their footnotes reflect real reading, real
assimilation, and real dedication. Shoddy work—in which the author cheats, cuts corners, copies from others—is quickly
detected. The people who do this work have highly developed intellectual powers, and they push themselves hard to reach a
certain standard: That the results have almost no

practical relevance to the students, the public, or even, frequently, to other scholars is a central element in the tragicomedy
that is often academia.

The students and the profeshttp:rs have made a deal: Neither of
them has to throw himself heart and soul into what happens in the classroom. The students write their abstract,
over-intellectualized essays; the professors grade the students for their capacity to be abstract and over-intellectual—and
often genuinely smart. For their essays can be brilliant, in a chilly way; they can also be clipped off the Internet, and often are.
Whatever the case, no one wants to invest too much in them—for life is elsewhere. The professor saves his energies for the
profession, while the student saves his for friends, social life, volunteer work, making connections, and getting in position to
clasp hands on the true grail, the first job.

No one in this picture is evil; no one is criminally irresponsible. It’s just that smart people are prone to look into matters to see
how they might go about buttering their toast. Then they butter their toast.

As for the adminhttp:trators, their relation to the students often
seems based not on love but fear. Administrators fear bad publicity, scandal, and dissatisfaction on the part of their customers.
More than anything else, though, they fear lawsuits. Throwing a student out of college, for this or that piece of bad behavior, is
very difficult, almost impossible. The student will sue your eyes out. One kid I knew (and rather liked) threatened on his blog to
mince his dear and esteemed professor (me) with a samurai sword for the crime of having taught a boring class. (The class
was a little boring—I had a damned cold—but the punishment seemed a bit severe.) The dean of students laughed lightly
when I suggested that this behavior might be grounds for sending the student on a brief vacation. I was, you might say,
discomfited, and showed up to class for a while with my cellphone jiggered to dial 911 with one touch.

Still, this was small potatoes. Cohttp:eges are even leery of
disciplining guys who have committed sexual assault, or assault plain and simple. Instead of being punished, these guys
frequently stay around, strolling the quad and swilling the libations, an affront (and sometimes a terror) to their victims.

You’ll find that cheating is common as well. As far as I can discern, the student ethos goes like this: If the professor is so lazy
that he gives the same test every year,

it’s okay to go ahead and take advantage—you’ve both got better things to do. The Internet is amok with services selling term
papers and those services exist, capitalism being what it is, because people purchase the papers—lots of them. Fraternity
files bulge with old tests from a variety of courses.

Periodically the public gets exercised about this situation, and there are articles in the national news. But then interest
dwindles and matters go back to normal.

Onhttp: of the reasons professors sometimes look the other way
when they sense cheating is that it sends them into a world of sorrow. A friend of mine had the temerity to detect cheating on
the part of a kid who was the nephew of a well-placed official in an Arab government complexly aligned with the U.S. Black
limousines pulled up in front of his office and disgorged decorously suited negotiators. Did my pal fold? Nope, he’s not the type.
But he did not enjoy the process.

What colleges generally want are well-rounded students, civic leaders, people who know what the system demands, how to
keep matters light, not push too hard for an education or anything else; people who get their credentials and leave the
professors alone to do their brilliant work, so they may rise and enhance the rankings of the university. Such students leave

and become donors and so, in their own turn, contribute immeasurably to the university’s standing.
Thttp:y’ve done a fine job skating on surfaces in high school—the
best way to get an across-the-board outstanding record—and now they’re on campus to cut a few more figure eights.

In a culture where the major and determining values are monetary, what else could you do? How else would you live if not by
getting all you can, succeeding all you can, making all you can?

The idea that a university education really should have no substantial content, should not be about what John Keats was
disposed to call Soul-making, is one that you might think professors and university presidents would be discreet about. Not so.
This view informed an address that Richard Brodhead gave to the senior class at Yale before he departed to become
president of Duke. Brodhead, an impressive, articulate man, seems to take as his educational touchstone the Duke of
Wellington’s precept that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of
Etohttp:. Brodhead suggests that the content of the courses isn’t
really what matters. In five years (or five months,

or minutes), the student is likely to have forgotten how to do the problem sets and will only hazily recollect what happens in the
ninth book of Paradise Lost. The legacy of their college years will be a legacy of difficulties overcome. When they face equally
arduous tasks later in life, students will tap their old resources of determination, and they’ll win.

All right, there’s nothing wrong with this as far as it goes—after all, the student who writes a brilliant forty-page thesis in a hard
week has learned more than a little about her inner resources. Maybe it will give her needed confidence in the future. But
doesn’t the content of the courses matter at all?

On the evidence of this talk, no. Trying to figure out whether the stuff you’re reading is true or false and being open to having
your lifhttp: changed is a fraught, controversial activity. Doing so
requires energy from the professor—which is better spent on other matters. This kind of perspective-altering teaching and
learning can cause the things which administrators fear above all else: trouble, arguments, bad press, etc. After the
kid- samurai episode, the chair of my department not unsympathetically suggested that this was the sort of incident that could
happen when you brought a certain intensity to teaching. At the time I found his remark a tad detached, but maybe he was
right.

So, if you want an education, the odds aren’t with you: The professors are off doing what they call their own work; the other
students, who’ve doped out the way the place runs, are busy leaving the professors alone and getting themselves in position
for bright and shining futures; the student-services people are trying to keep everyone content, offering plenty of entertainment
and buhttp:ding another state-of-the-art workout facility every few
months. The development office is already scanning you for future donations. The primary function of Yale University, it’s
recently been said, is to create prosperous alumni so as to enrich Yale University.

So why make trouble? Why not just go along? Let the profs roam free in the realms of pure thought, let yourselves party in the
realms of impure pleasure, and let the student-services gang assert fewer prohibitions and newer delights for you. You’ll get a
good job, you’ll have plenty of friends, you’ll have a driveway of your own.

You’ll also, if my father and I are right, be truly and righteously screwed. The reason for this is simple. The quest at the center
of a liberal- arts education is not a luxury quest; it’s a necessity quest. If you do not undertake it, you risk leading a life of
desperation—maybe quiet, maybe, in time, very loud—and I http:
not exaggerating. For you risk trying to be someone other than who you are, which, in the long run, is killing.

By the time you come to college, you will have been told who you are numberless times. Your parents and friends, your
teachers, your counselors, your priests and rabbis and ministers and imams have all had their say. They’ve let you know how
they size you up, and they’ve let you know what they think you should value. They’ve given you a sharp and protracted taste of
what they feel is good and bad, right and wrong. Much is on their side. They have confronted you with scriptures—holy books
that, whatever their actual provenance, have given people what they feel to be wisdom for thousands of years. They’ve given
you family traditions—you’ve learned the ways of your tribe and your community. And, too, you’ve been tested, probed, looked
at up and down and through. The coach knows what your athletic prospects are,
thhttp: guidance office has a sheaf of test scores that relegate you to
this or that ability quadrant, and your teachers have got you pegged. You are, as Foucault might say, the intersection of many
evaluative and potentially determining discourses: you boy, you girl, have been made.

And—contra Foucault—that’s not so bad. Embedded in all of the major religions are profound truths. Schopenhauer, who
despised belief in transcendent things, nonetheless thought Christianity to be of inexpressible worth. He couldn’t believe in the
divinity of Jesus, or in the afterlife, but to Schopenhauer, a deep pessimist, a religion that had as its central emblem the figure
of a man being tortured on a cross couldn’t be entirely misleading. To the Christian, Schopenhauer said, pain was at the
center of the understanding of life, and that was just as it should be.

One does not need to be as harsh as Schopenhauer to understand the use of
relhttp:ion, even if one does not believe in an otherworldly god. And
all of those teachers and counselors and friends—and the prognosticating uncles, the dithering aunts, the fathers and mothers
with their hopes for your fulfillment—or their

fulfillment in you—should not necessarily be cast aside or ignored. Families have their wisdom. The question “Who do they
think you are at home?” is never an idle one.

The major conservative thinkers have always been very serious about what goes by the name of common sense. Edmund
Burke saw common sense as a loosely made, but often profound, collective work, in which humanity has deposited its
hard-earned wisdom—the precipitate of joy and tears—over time. You have been raised in proximity to common sense, if
you’ve been raised at all, and common sense is something to respect, though not quite—peace unto the formidable Burke—to
revere.

You may be all that the good people whohttp: raised you say you are;
you may want all they have shown you is worth wanting; you may be someone who is truly your father’s son or your mother’s
daughter. But then again, you may not be.

For the power that is in you, as Emerson suggested, may be new in nature. You may not be the person that your parents take
you to be. And—this thought is both more exciting and more dangerous—you may not be the person that you take yourself to

be, either. You may not have read yourself aright, and college is the place where you can find out whether you have or not.
The reason to read Blake and Dickinson and Freud and Dickens is not to become more cultivated, or more articulate, or to be
someone who, at a cocktail party, is never embarrassed (or who can embarrass others). The best reason to read them is to
see if they may know you better than you know yourself. You may find your own suppressed and rejected thoughts flowing
back to you withhttp: an “alienated majesty.” Reading the great
writers, you may have the experience that Longinus associated with the sublime: You feel that you have actually created the
text yourself. For somehow your predecessors are more yourself than you are.

This was my own experience reading the two writers who have influenced me the most, Sigmund Freud and Ralph Waldo
Emerson. They gave words to thoughts and feelings that I had never been able to render myself. They shone a light onto the
world and what they saw, suddenly I saw, too. From Emerson I learned to trust my own thoughts, to trust them even when
every voice seems to be on the other side. I need the wherewithal, as Emerson did, to say what’s on my mind and to take the

inevitable hits. Much more I learned from the sage—about character, about loss, about joy, about writing and its secret
sources, but Emerson most centrally preaches the gospel of self-reliance and that
ishttp: what I have tried most to take from him. I continue to hold in
mind one of Emerson’s most memorable passages: “Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the
better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is
conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.”

Emerson’s greatness lies not only in showing you how powerful names and customs can be, but also in demonstrating how
exhilarating it is to buck them. When he came to Harvard to talk about religion, he shocked the professors and students by
challenging the divinity of Jesus and the truth of his miracles. He wasn’t invited back for decades.

From Freud I found a great deal to ponder as well. I don’t mean Freud the aspiring scientist, but the Freud who was a
speculative essayist and interpreter of the human chttp:dition like
Emerson. Freud challenges nearly every significant human ideal. He goes after religion. He says that it comes down to the
longing for the father. He goes after love. He calls it “the overestimation of the erotic object.” He attacks our desire for
charismatic popular leaders. We’re drawn to them because we hunger for absolute authority. He declares that dreams don’t
predict the future and that there’s nothing benevolent about them. They’re disguised fulfillments of repressed wishes.

Freud has something challenging and provoking to say about virtually every human aspiration. I learned that if I wanted to
affirm any consequential ideal, I had to talk my way past Freud. He was—and is—a perpetual challenge and goad.

Never has there been a more shrewd and imaginative cartographer of the psyche. His separation of the self into three parts,
and his sense of the fraught, anxious, but often negotiable
relationshttp: among them (negotiable when you come to the game
with a Freudian knowledge), does a great deal to help one navigate experience. (Though sometimes—and this I owe to
Emerson—it seems right to let the psyche fall into civil war, accepting barrages of anxiety and grief for this or that good
reason.)

The battle is to make such writers one’s own, to winnow them out and to find their essential truths. We need to see where they
fall short and where they exceed the mark, and then to develop them a little, as the ideas themselves, one comes to see,

actually developed others. (Both Emerson and Freud live out of Shakespeare—but only a giant can be truly influenced by
Shakespeare.) In reading, I continue to look for one thing—to be influenced, to learn something new, to be thrown off my
course and onto another, better way.

My father knew that he was dissatisfied with life. He knew that none of the descriptions people had for
hhttp: quite fit. He understood that he was always out-of-joint with
life as it was. He had talent: My brother and I each got about half the raw ability he possessed and that’s taken us through life
well enough. But what to do with that talent—there was the rub for my father. He used to stroll through the house intoning his
favorite line from Groucho Marx’s ditty “Whatever it is, I’m against it.” (I recently asked my son, now twenty-one, if he thought
I was mistaken in teaching him this particular song when he was six years old. “No!” he said, filling the air with an invisible
forest of exclamation points.) But what my father never managed to get was a sense of who he might become. He never had a
world of possibilities spread before him, never made sustained contact with the best that had been thought and said. He didn’t
get to revise his understanding of himself, figure out what he’d do best that might give the world some profit.
:My father was a gruff man, but also a generous one, so that night
at the kitchen table at 58 Clewley Road he made an effort to let me have the chance that had been denied to him by both fate
and character. He gave me the chance to see what I was all about, and if it proved to be different from him, proved even to be
something he didn’t like or entirely comprehend, then he’d deal with it.

Right now, if you’re going to get a real education, you may have to be aggressive and assertive.

Your professors will give you some fine books to read, and they’ll probably help you understand them. What they won’t do, for
reasons that perplex me, is to ask you if the books contain truths you could live your lives by. When you read Plato, you’ll
probably learn about his metaphysics and his politics and his way of conceiving the

soul. But no one will ask you if his ideas are good enough to believe in. No one will ask
yohttp:, in the words of Emerson’s disciple William James, what their
“cash value” might be. No one will suggest that you might use Plato as your bible for a week or a year or longer. No one, in
short, will ask you to use Plato to help you change your life.

That will be up to you. You must put the question of Plato to yourself. You must ask whether reason should always rule the
passions, philosophers should always rule the state, and poets should inevitably be banished from a just commonwealth. You
have to ask yourself if wildly expressive music (rock and rap and the rest) deranges the soul in ways that are destructive to its
health. You must inquire of yourself if balanced calm is the most desirable human state.

Occasionally—for you will need some help in fleshing-out the answers—you may have to prod your professors to see if they
take the text at hand—in this case the divine and disturbing Plato—to be true. And you
wilhttp: have to be tough if the professor mocks you for uttering a
sincere question instead of keeping matters easy for all concerned by staying detached and analytical. (Detached analysis
has a place—but, in the end, you’ve got to speak from the heart and pose the question of truth.) You’ll be the one who pesters
his teachers. You’ll ask your history teacher about whether there is a design to our history, whether we’re progressing or
declining, or whether, in the words of a fine recent play, The History Boys, history’s “just one fuckin’ thing after another.” You’ll
be the one who challenges your biology teacher about the intellectual conflict between evolution and creationist thinking.
You’ll not only question the statistics teacher about what numbers can explain but what they can’t.

Because every subject you study is a language and since you may adopt one of these languages as your own, you’ll want to
know how to speak it experhttp:y and also how it fails to deal with
those concerns for which it has no adequate words. You’ll be looking into the reach of every metaphor that every discipline
offers, and you’ll be trying to see around their corners.

The whole business is scary, of course. What if you arrive at college devoted to pre-med, sure that nothing will make you and
your family happier than a life as a physician, only to discover that elementary-school teaching is where your heart is?

You might learn that you’re not meant to be a doctor at all. Of course, given your intellect and discipline, you can still probably
be one. You can pound your round peg through the very square hole of medical school, then go off into the profession. And
society will help you. Society has a cornucopia of resources to encourage you in doing what society needs done but that you
don’t much like doing and are not cut out to do. To ease your grief, society
offerhttp: alcohol, television, drugs, divorce, and buying, buying,
buying what you don’t need. But all those too have their costs.

Education is about finding out what form of work for you is close to being play—work you do so easily that it restores you as
you go. Randall Jarrell once said that if he were a rich man, he would pay money to teach poetry to students. (I would, too, for
what it’s worth.) In saying that, he (like my father) hinted in the direction of a profound and true theory of learning.

Unit3 Good Move. People Move. Ideas Move. And Cultures Change.
Good Move. People Move. Ideas Move. And Cultures Change.
Today we are in the throes of a worldwide reformation of cultures, a tectonic shift of habits and dreams called, in the cur
ious argot of social scientists,
, entertainment.
ew industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants we
find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes.
e this 150 years ago in The Communist Manifesto. Their statement now describes an ordinary fact of life.
How people feel about this depends a great deal on where they live and how much money they have. Yet globalization,
as one report stated,
re the first camel caravan ventured afield. In the 19th century the postal service, newspapers, transcontinental railroads, and
great steam-powered ships wrought fundamental changes. Telegraph, telephone, radio, and television tied tighter and more i
ntricate knots between individuals and the wider world. Now computers, the Internet, cellular phones, cable TV, and cheaper
jet transportation have accelerated and complicated these connections.
Still, the basic dynamic remains the same: Goods move. People move. Ideas move. And cultures change. The differenc
e now is the speed and scope of these changes. It took television 13 years to acquire 50 million users; the Internet took only f
ive.
Not everyone is happy about this. Some Western social scientists and anthropologists, and not a few foreign politicians,
believe that a sort of cultural cloning will result from what they regard as the
ney, Nike, MTV, and the English language itself—more than a fifth of all the people in the world now speak English to some d
egree. Whatever their backgrounds or agendas, these critics are convinced that Western—often equated with American—infl
uences will flatten every cultural crease, producing, as one observer terms it, one big

Popular factions sprout to exploit nationalist anxieties. In China, where xenophobia and economic ambition have often s
truggled for the upper hand, a recent book called China can say no became the best-seller by attacking what it considers the
Chinese willingness to believe blindly in foreign things, advising Chinese travelers to not fly on a Boeing 777 and suggesting t
hat Hollywood be burned.
There are many Westerners among the denouncers of Western cultural influences, but James Watson, a Harvard anthr
opologist, isn't one of them.
ays.
d—I would say globalism is the major force for democracy in China. People want refrigerators, stereos, CD players. I feel it's
a moral obligation not to say: „Those people out there should continue to live in a museum while we will have showers that w
ork.'
Westernization, I discovered over months of study and travel, is a phenomenon shot through with inconsistencies and p
opulated by very strange bedfellows. Critics of Western culture blast Coke and Hollywood but not organ transplants and com
puters. Boosters of Western culture can point to increased efforts to preserve and protect the environment. Yet they make no
mention of some less salubrious aspects of Western culture, such as cigarettes and automobiles, which, even as they are be
ing eagerly adopted in the developing world, are having disastrous effects. Apparently westernization is not a straight road to
hell, or to paradise either.
But I also discovered that cultures are as resourceful, resilient, and unpredictable as the people who compose them. In
Los Angeles, the ostensible fountainhead of world cultural degradation, I saw more diversity than I could ever have supposed
—at Hollywood High School the student body represents 32 different languages. In Shanghai I found that the television show
Sesame Street has been redesigned by Chinese educators to teach Chinese values and traditions.
an box,
trict religions, McDonald's serves mutton instead of beef and offers a vegetarian menu acceptable to even the most orthodox
Hindu.
The critical mass of teenagers—800 million in the world, the most there have ever been—with time and money to spend
is one of the powerful engines of merging global cultures. Kids travel, they hang out, and above all they buy stuff. I'm sorry to
say I failed to discover who was the first teenager to put his baseball cap on backward. Or the first one to copy him. But I do
know that rap music, which sprang from the inner-city ghettos, began making big money only when rebellious white teenager
s started buying it. But how can anyone predict what kids are going to want? Companies urgently need to know, so consultan
ts have sprung up to forecast trends. They're called
plain how it works.
Amanda, who is 22, works for a New York-based company called Youth Intelligence and has come to Los Angeles to c
onduct one of three annual surveys, whose results go to such clients as Sprint and MTV. She has shoulder-length brown hair
and is wearing a knee-length brocade skirt and simple black wrap top. Amanda looks very cool to me, but she says no.
funny thing about my work is that you don't have to be cool to do it,
We go to a smallish „50s-style diner in Los Feliz, a slightly seedy pocket east of Hollywood that has just become trendy.
Then we wander through a few of the thrift shops.
ch on.
What trends does she see forming now?
ow—you go to a place and bring stuff back.
Amanda, who is 22, works for a New York- based company called Youth Intelligence and has come to Los Angeles to c
onduct one of three annual surveys, whose results go to such clients as Sprint and MTV. She has shoulder-length brown hair
and is wearing a knee-length brocade skirt and simple black wrap top. Amanda looks very cool to me, but she says no.
funny thing about my work is that you don't have to be cool to do it,

We go to a smallish „50s-style diner in Los Feliz, a slightly seedy pocket east of Hollywood that has just become trendy.
Then we wander through a few of the thrift shops.
ch on.
What trends does she see forming now?
ow—you go to a place and bring stuff back.

. Fusion is going to be the huge term that everybody's going to use,
Spanish music and punk—things that are so unrelated.
Los Angeles is fusion central, where cultures mix and morph. Take Tom Sloper and mah- jongg. Tom is a computer gee
k who is also a mah-jongg fanatic. This being America, he has found a way to marry these two passions and sell the result. H
e has designed a software program, Shanghai: Dynasty, that enables you to play mah-jongg on the Internet. This ancient Chi
nese game involves both strategy and luck, and it is still played all over Asia in small rooms that are full of smoke and the cea
seless click of the chunky plastic tiles and the fierce concentration of the players. It is also played by rich society women at co
untry clubs in Beverly Hills and in apartments on Manhattan's Upper West Side. But Tom, 50, was playing it at his desk in Lo
s Angeles one evening in the silence of a nearly empty office building.
Actually, he only appeared to be alone. His glowing computer screen showed a game already in progress with several h
abitual partners:
Minnesota. Tom played effortlessly as we talked.

nection is with machines.

I watched the little tiles, like cards, bounce around the screen. As Tom played, he and his partners conversed by typing
short comments to each other.
Does he ever play with real people? “Oh yeah,” Tom replied. “ Once a week at the office in the evening, and Thursday a
t lunch.” A new name appeared on the screen. “There‟s Fred‟s mother. Can‟t be, they‟ re in Vegas. Oh, it must be his sister.
TJ‟s online too, she‟s the one from Wales-a real night owl. She‟s getting married soon, and she lived with her fiance, and so
metimes he gets up and says „ Get off that damn computer!‟”
Tom played on into the night. At least it was night where I was. He , an american playing a Chinese game with people i
n Germany, Wales, Ohio, and Minnesota, was up in the cybersphere far above the level of time zones. It is a realm populated
by individuals he‟s never met who may be more real to him than the people who live next door.
If it seems that life in the West has become a fast- forward blur, consider China. In just 20 years, since market forces we
re unleashed by economic reforms begun in 1978, life for many urban Chinese has changed drastically. A recent survey of 1
2 major cities showed that 97 percent of the respondents had televisions, and 88 percent had refrigerators and washing mac
hines. Another study revealed that farmers

are eating 48 percent more meat each year and 400 percent more fruit. Cosmopolitan magazine, plunging necklines and all, i
s read by 260,000 Chinese women every month.
I went to Shanghai to see how the cultural trends show up in the largest city in the world's most populous nation. It is als
o a city that has long been open to the West. General Motors, for example, set up its first Buick sales outlet in Shanghai in 19
29; today GM has invested 1.5 billion dollars in a new plant there, the biggest Sino-American venture in China.
Once a city of elegant villas and imposing beaux arts office buildings facing the river with shoulders squared, Shanghai i
s currently ripping itself to ribbons. In a decade scores of gleaming new skyscrapers have shot up to crowd and jostle the skyl
ine, cramp the narrow winding streets, and choke the parks and open spaces with their sheer soaring presence (most are 80
percent vacant). Traffic crawls, even on the new multilane overpasses. But on the streets the women are dressed in bright co

lors, and many carry several shopping bags, especially on the Nanjing Road, which is lined with boutiques and malls. In its fir
st two weeks of business the Gucci store took in a surprising $$100,000.

nch fashion magazine Elle.
wearing this blouse.„How long will it last?
' A housewife knew that most of the monthly salary would be spent on food, and now it's just a small part, so she can think ab
out what to wear or where to travel. And now with refrigerators, we don't have to buy food every day.
As for the cultural dislocation this might bring:
inessman. —„It's very different, but it's OK, so, so what?'

Potential: This is largely a Western concept. Set aside the makeup and skyscrapers, and it's clear that the truly great le
ap forward [in Shanghai] is at the level of ideas. To really grasp this, I had only to witness the local performance of Shakespe
are's Macbeth by the Hiu Kok Drama Association from Macau.
There we were at the Shanghai Theatre Academy, some 30 professors and students of literature and drama from all ov
er china and I, on folding chairs around a space ont alike half of a basketball court. “ I‟m not going to be much help,” murmur
ed Zhang Fang, my interpreter. “I don‟t understand the Cantonese language, the most of these people don't either.”
I thought I knew what to watch for, but the only characters I recognized were the three witches. Otherwise the small grou
p spent most of an hour running in circles, leaping, and threatening to beat each other with long sticks. The lighting was heav
y on shadows, with frequent strobelike flashes. Language wasn't a problem, as the actors mainly snarled and shrieked. Then
they turned their backs to the audience and a few shouted something in Cantonese. The lights went out, and for a moment th
e only sound in the darkness was the whirring of an expensive camera on auto-rewind.
This is China? It could have been a college campus anywhere in the West: the anguished students, the dubious adults,
the political exploitation of the massacred classic. Until recently such a performance was unthinkable. It strained imagination t
hat this could be the same country where a generation ago the three most desired luxury items were wristwatches, bicycles,
and sewing machines.
Early on I realized that I was going to need some type of compass to guide me through the wilds of global culture. So w
hen I was in Los Angeles, I sought out Alvin Toffler, whose book Future Shock was published in 1970. In the nearly three dec
ades since, he has developed and refined a number of interesting ideas, explained in The Third Wave, written with his wife,
Heidi.
What do we know about the future now, I asked, that we didn't know before?
os,
ict. Not conflicts between East and West, or North and South, but „wave' conflicts between industrially dominant countries an
d predominantly agrarian countries, or conflicts within countries making a transition from one to the other.
Waves, he explained, are major changes in civilization. The first wave came with the development of agriculture, the se
cond with industry. Today we are in the midst of the third, which is based on information. In 1956 something new began to ha
ppen, which amounts to the emergence of a new civilization. Toffler said.
workers outnumbered blue-collar factory workers. In 1957 Sputnik went up. Then jet aviation became commercial, television
became universal, and computers began to be widely used. And with all these changes came changes in culture.

untries in between, and knowledge-based economies on top.—Brazil, for example—where
all three civilizations coexist and collide.

ur own language.
ups to foster their separate, distinctive cultures and languages.
„Can we become third wave and still remain Chinese?' Yes,
made of your core culture. But you'll be the Chinese of the future, not of the past.
Linking: This is what the spread of global culture ultimately means. Goods will continue to move—from 1987 to 1995 loc
al economies in California exported 200 percent more products, businesses in Idaho 375 percent more. People move: It is ch
eaper for businesses to import talented employees than to train people at home. Ideas move: In Japan a generation of childr
en raised with interactive computer games has sensed, at least at the cyber level, new possibilities.
all this,” wrote in Kenichi Ohmac, “is that it is possible to actively take control of one's situation or circumstances and, thereby
, to change one's fate. For the Japanese, this is an entirely new way of thinking.
Change: It's a reality, not a choice. But what will be its true driving force? Cultures don't become more uniform; instead,
both old and new tend to transform each other. The late philosopher Isaiah Berlin believed that, rather than aspire to some ut
opian ideal, a society should strive for something else:
t we can understand each other.
In Shanghai one October evening I joined a group gathered in a small, sterile hotel meeting room. It was the eve of Yo
m Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, and there were diplomats, teachers, and businessmen from many Western countrie
s. Elegant women with lively children, single men, young fathers. Shalom Greenberg, a young Jew from Israel married to an
American, was presiding over his first High Holy Days as rabbi of the infant congregation.

ocal cultures, but they also kept their own identity.
The solemn liturgy proceeded, unchanged over thousands of years and hundreds of alien cultures:
n heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me,
reign—I felt at home. The penitence may have been Jewish, but the aspiration was universal.
Global culture doesn't mean just more TV sets and Nike shoes. Linking is humanity's natural impulse, its common desti
ny. But the ties that bind people around the world are not merely technological or commercial. They are the powerful cords of
the heart.

第三课 商品流通、人员流动、观念转变、文化变迁 埃拉•兹温格尔
1．今天我们正经历着一种世 界范围文化巨变的阵痛，一种习俗与追求的结构性变化,用社会学家奇特的词汇来称呼这种变化，
就叫“ 全球化”。对于政治、商贸、保健及娱乐领域的巨大变化，这个词并不贴切。“现代工业已建立了世界市场。已建 立的
所有旧的国民工业被其产品不仅在国内而且在世界各地范围内销售的新兴工业所取代。人们用新的需 求取代原有的需求，用外
地的产品满足自己的需求。”卡尔.马克思和弗雷德里希•恩格斯早在150年 前就在《共产党宣言》中写下了这些。他们那时的
陈述描绘了现在生活中的普遍事实。
2．对此人们有何感受很大程度上取决于他们的生活所在地和所拥有的金钱数。然而，正如某篇报道所述，全球化 “是一种
事实，而不是一种选择”。早在第一批骆驼商队冒险出外经商前至今，人们一直在编织着商贸和 文化相互间的交往。在19世纪，
邮政服务、报纸、横跨大陆的铁路及巨大的蒸汽轮船带来了根本变化。 电报、电话、收音机和电视把个人和外部世界更紧密地
连在一起，这种联系更为复杂、不那么直接也不易 察觉。现在，计算机、互联网、移动电话、有线电视和相对便宜的喷气式飞
机空运加速了这种联系并使这 种联系更加复杂。
3．然而，产生这种变化的动力是一致的：商品流通、人员流动、观念转变 、文化变迁。不同的是这些变化的速度和范围。
电视机拥有5,000万用户用了13年时间，互联网只 用了5年时间。
4．对这种变化并不是人人满意。一些西方社会学家、人类学家和为数不少的 外国政治家认为文化．克隆是他们所认为的麦
当劳、可口可乐、迪斯尼、耐克和MTV“文化轰炸”的结 果，也是英语语言本身的结果，因为现在全球多于五分之一人口都或

多或少地讲英语。不管他们的背景和纲领如何, 这些对全球化持反对态度的人深信西方的影响…往往等同于美国的影响 ...会把
文化上的差异—一压 平。就像一位观察家所说的，最终产生一个麦当劳世界，一个充斥美国货和体现美国价值观的世界。
5．反映公众情绪(或得到公众支持)的派别不断滋生以便利用持此观点的国民的焦虑和不安。在闭关锁国和发展 经济两种政
策并存并争取其主控地位的中国，《中国可以说不》这本新书成为畅销书，这本书对中国人的 盲目崇洋媚外心理进行了，批驳，
建议中国游客不要乘坐波音777飞机，还建议烧掉进口的好莱坞大片 。
6．对西方文化影响持斥责态度的人中有许多西方人．而哈佛人类学家詹姆斯•沃森并不是 其中一员。他说：“我知道现在
中国农村人的生活比30年前的好多了。中国越来越开放，部分原因是出 于中国老百姓的要求。他们想成为世界的一部分---我要
说全球观念在中国是民主的重要动力。人们需 要冰箱、音响和CD机。‘远在中国的那些人应该继续过着落后的生活，而我们
却可以使用淋浴器，过着 舒适的现代生活’。我认为不说这种话是一种道义。”
7．经过几个多月的研究和旅行，我发 现西方化是一种内部充满矛盾的现象，在特别怪异之人中占有一席之地。西方文化批
评家斥责可乐和好莱 坞，却不斥责器官移植和计算机。西方文化支持者指出继续努力保护环境，但他们不提西方文化中不那么
健康的一面，譬如香烟和汽车，就在发展中国家急切地接纳这些东西时，它们已带来很坏的后果。显然，西方化既 不会直达地
狱，也不会直通天堂。
8．不过我也发现文化就如同构成文化的民族一样 ，善于随机应变，富有弹性而且不可预测。在洛杉矶，世界文化堕落明显
的源头，我看到的差异要比我想 像的多——在好莱坞高中学生说32种完全不同的语言。在上海，我发现“芝麻街”这一电视节
目已被中 国教育家重新改组，用以传授中国人的价值观和传统习惯。一位教育家对我说：“我们借用美国盒子，装进去的是 中
国内容。”在有400多种语言和几种纪律严明的宗教的印度，麦当劳供应的是羊肉汉堡而不是牛肉汉 堡，还为那些最正统的印
度人提供素食菜谱。
9．许多既有时间又有钱的青少年 ---全世界共有8亿---是融合全球文化的关键及主要力量之一。孩子们爱旅行、闲逛，重要
的是他 们买东西。很遗憾我没能发现哪个青少年第一个倒戴垒球帽，哪个青少年第一个模仿他，但是我确实知道最先出现 在市
内黑人区的说唱乐就是在有叛逆精神的白人青少年开始买票观看时才开始赚大钱的。然而，人们又会 如何预测孩子们需要什么
呢?许多公司迫切想要了解孩子们的需要，因此出现了顾问，他们预测将来的趋 势，被称之为“猎酷者”。阿曼达•弗里德曼一
天上午向我讲述了其中的奥秘。
10 ．阿曼达22岁，在其基地设在纽约的一家叫作“青年情报”的公司工作，她到洛杉矶进行调查，调查的结果要通 报给公
司很多重要的客户。她留着披肩的棕发，穿着一条长及膝盖的织锦短裙。在我看来，阿曼达打扮得 很酷，但她自己并不这样认
为。她说：“我的工作有趣之处就在于做此工作你不必扮酷，你得有眼光。”
11．我们去了一家小一点的、50年代式样的餐馆，这家餐馆位于好莱坞东面一个比较破落的 区域，这个区域刚刚成为时尚
聚集点。然后我们去逛了几家旧货店。阿曼达说：“如果人们买不起，那它 就不会流行起来。”
12．现在她看到将要形成的流行趋势了吗?“家正在成为一个社交的地 方，眼下旅行正热——人们到某地去，买回来许多东
西。”
13．她最后说：“现今 创新极为困难，因此最容易的办法就是把现存的东西捏在一起，拿出一个新玩意儿来。融合将会成
为人人 都要使用的大词，将来会有越来越多的毫不相关的东西融合在一起，如西班牙乐和蓬克乐。”
14．洛杉矶是融合中心，各种文化在这里交汇并有所改变。以汤姆•斯洛珀和麻将为例：汤姆是个计算机怪才， 同时还是个
麻将迷。由于这是美国，所以他找到了把这两种爱好结合在一起的方式并把自己的成果出售。 他设计了一个人们可以在互联网
上玩麻将的软件程序，这个程序叫做“上海：帝国”。玩这种老式中国麻 将既需要技巧又需要运气。亚洲人仍然在小屋子里玩
麻将，屋子里弥漫着烟雾，到处都能听到麻将牌相互 撞击所发出的不绝于耳的喀哒声。玩家们精神高度集中。居住在比弗利山(美
国加利福尼亚州西南部城市 ，好莱坞影星集居地)和曼哈顿上西城公寓里的有钱女人们也在俱乐部里玩麻将。然而，一天晚上，
在洛 杉矶，50岁的汤姆一个人坐在办公桌旁，在寂静、空旷的办公大楼里玩麻将。
15．事实上，他只是 看上去是一个人。他那亮着的计算机屏幕表明麻将已经玩起来了，其他几个参与者都是老牌友。他们是德
国人“蓝鲸”、俄亥俄州的拉斯和住在明尼苏达州的美籍华人弗雷迪。我们一边谈着话，汤姆一边毫不费力地在玩 麻将。
16．汤姆对我的态度很友好，但那是那种超然的友好，他的兴趣在连线的计算机上。他对我说 ：“我已掌握了11种麻将的玩法。
在美国有几种不同麻将的玩法。我们常打中国式麻将。”
17．我看着小小麻将牌像纸牌一样在屏幕上弹来弹去。汤姆边玩边打字，和牌友简短交流牌局情况。

18．他和真人打过麻将吗?他回答说：“ 打过。一周一次，晚上在办公室，周四中午。”这时，屏幕上出现一个新名字。“是弗
雷迪的母亲。不可 能是，他们在维加斯。噢!一定是他姐姐。TJ也在线，她是威尔士人，一个真正的夜猫子。她快结婚了，现在< br>与她未婚夫一起生活。有时她未婚夫起床对她说：‘离开那讨厌的电脑!’”
19．汤姆继续玩，一直到深夜。至少我所在的地方是深夜。他--- 一个美国人，和德国人、威尔士 人、俄亥俄人还有明尼苏达人
一起玩中国游戏，他在网络世界活动，这种活动超越时区。这是他从未谋面 的那些人的王国，对他来说，那些人要远比他的左
邻右舍更真实。
20．如果说西方的生活太 超前了，已经看不清轮廓了。那么就看看中国。从1978年经济改革搞活市场至今的20年时间，许多
中国城市居民的生活有了极大的改善。最近对12个主要城市进行了，调查，数据显示97％的调查对象拥有电视 机，88％拥有
电冰箱和洗衣机。另一项调查显示农民每年的食肉量增加了48％，水果增加了400％ 。26万中国妇女每个月都在阅读《时尚》
杂志，那些开领袒胸的画页及其他内容。
21．我 到上海去调查在世界人口最多国家的最大城市里文化趋势如何出现。上海也是对西方开放最久的城市，譬如通用汽 车公
司早在1929年就在上海设立。如今，通用汽车投资1.5亿美元在上海建立了中国最大的中美合 资新厂。
22．上海曾是一座建有雅致的别墅和庄严的办公大楼的城市，但现在却是一座带状城市。1 0年中，几十座闪闪发亮的新的高层
建筑拔地而起，挤压空间，使人张目不能远眺，使原本狭窄弯曲的街 道更显压抑。而这些高耸大楼的存在也使公园和空地感到
憋闷。即使是在多车道的高架桥上，车辆也在爬 行。然而，街上的妇女着装色彩艳丽，特别是在街道两边布满精品店和时装店
的南京路上，许多妇女手里 拎着多个购物袋。在刚开业的两周时间里，古奇专卖店的营业额为十万美元，令人惊讶不已。
23．法 国时装杂志Elle中国版的总编吴颖说：“也许现在的年轻女性不了解过去。10年前我决不会想到我会穿这样 的衬衫(那
是一件红白相间的紧身圆点花纹衬衫)。那时人们买衣服时考虑的是它能穿多久，家庭主妇把 每月的工资主要用来买食品。而现
在买食品只需一小部分工资，因此她会考虑着装和旅行。现在有冰箱， 我们也不必天天买食品。”
24．至于由此可能带来的文化错位问题，一位年轻的德国商人说：“上海 人认为这不是问题。中国人是很善于应对多种可能性
的。人们接受了它。‘很难，但还可以。那有什么? ”’
25．潜力：这主要是西方概念。不谈古奇专卖店和摩天大楼，真正的巨大飞跃体现在观念上。我 只有在亲眼目睹了澳门的休考
克戏剧协会在当地上演的莎土比亚戏剧《麦克白》时才真正领会了这一点。
26．在上海戏剧学院，我和来自全中国文学与戏剧专业的大约30名教授和学生一起坐在折叠椅上观看 演出，演出场地大约有半
个垒球场那么大。翻译张芳小声对我说：“我帮不了什么忙；我不懂广东话，这 里许多人都不懂。”
27．我原以为自己能看个八九不离十，结果却只能辨认出三个女巫。这几个人用 了近一个小时的时间转圈、跳来跳去、用长棍
子相互威胁打来打去。灯光集中在鬼影上，常常夹着闪电。 语言不是问题，因为演员主要是在咆哮和尖叫。后来他们背对观众，
一些人用广东话叫喊着。灯光熄灭， 有一阵子，黑暗中惟一的声音就是一部价格昂贵的照相机自动倒卷时所发出的声音。
28．这是中国吗 ?这可以是西方的任何一所大学校园。这样的表演即使是现在也难以想像。令人难以想像的是就是在这个国家，< br>20年前人们最想要的一种奢侈品是手表、自行车和缝纫机。
29．许久以来我认识到我需要某 种指南针来指引我穿越全球文化的荒原。因此在洛杉矶时，我找到阿尔文•托夫勒．1970年他
的《未 来的冲击》一书出版。此后近30年，他提出并完善了一些有趣的想法，他在与夫人海蒂合著的《第三次浪潮》一 书中详
述了这些想法。
30．我问他人们对以前并不知道的将来现在又了解多少呢?他马上就 做出了回答：“人们都知道秩序产生于混乱。没有冲突就不
可能有大的改变。尤其是在俄罗斯或中国这样 的国家。不是东方和西方的冲突，也不是南北之间的冲突。而是以1：业为主和以
农业为主的国家间的冲 突，或处在转型期的国家间的冲突。”
31．他进一步解释说，浪潮就是文明的重大变化。第一次浪 潮指的是农业发展，第二次指_丁业。今天我们正处在第三次浪潮
之中．主要指信息业。1956年开始 产生新事物，就是出现了新文明。托夫勒说：“就是在那一年美国服务业和信息业的工人超
过了蓝领工人 。1957年苏联人造地球卫星升空。随后航空商业化、电视普及、计算机开始被广泛应用，随之而来的就是文化 变
迁。”
32．他继续说到：“现在世界权利正在发生三等分变化。农业国在底层，工业国 在中间，发展知识经济的国家在上面。”在有
些国家，如巴西，三种文明并存，相互冲撞。

33．托大勒说：“我们会看到文化上有很大变化。 你一打开电视，就能收看用母语播放的尼日利亚和斐济电视节日。”一些专
家还预测未来电视有500个 有线频道，少数群体可以用这种电视发展自己独立的、与众不同的文化和语言。
34．托夫勒还说：“人们要问。我们会经历第三次浪潮而继续保持中国特色吗? 会的，会有由自己核心文化构成的独特文化，
但那是未来的中国文化，而不是过去的中国文化。”
35．相互联系：全球文化传播最终就意味着相互联系。商品会继续流动 从1987年剑19 95年，加利福尼哑州经济部¨多
出口了200％的产品，爱达荷商业部多出口了375％。人员流动： 从国外引进商业雇员比在国内培训工人便宜。观念转变：在日
本，玩互动电子游戏长大的一代至少在网络 世界体验到了新的可能性。大前研一在一本书中写道：“玩这种游戏向人们传递着
一个模糊的信息，就是 人们有可能主动操纵自己的处境，因此就会改变自己的命运。对日本人来说．这完全是一种新的思维方
式 。”
36．变化：变化是一个事实，而不是一种选择。那么真正的驱动力是什么呢?各种文化并没有 更加一致；相反。新趋势和旧趋
势相互转变。已故的哲学家以赛亚•柏林认为一个社会应该追求一些别的 东西，而不是某种乌托邦式的理想。他在自传中写道：
“不是我们持一致意见，而是我们相互理解。”
37．10月的某个晚L。在上海，我和一群人在一间又小又闷的宾馆会议室里相聚。那是犹太赎罪日 前夜。参加聚会的有许多西
方国家的外交官、教师和商人，还有携带可爱孩子的漂亮女士、单身男士和年 轻的父亲。夏勒姆•格林伯格是位年轻的以色列犹
太人，娶了个美国太太。他是第一次作为拉比(犹太教 巾负责执行教规、律法并主持宗教仪式的人)主持这种刚刚开始定期举行的
新年宗教集会。
38．格林伯格拉比说：“犹太人遍布世界各地，这是犹太历史的一部分。他们从当地文化吸收了不少东西，但仍 然保持了自己
的本色。”
39．庄严的礼拜仪式在继续，经过几千年和上百种外同文化的影 响都未曾改变。他吟诵：“啊，上帝啊!给我一颗纯净的心，
恢复我健康的心灵!”我既不是犹太人也不 是中国人，但坐在这里我一点都不觉得陌生．感觉就像在家里一样。忏悔可能具有犹
太特色，但是渴望得 到上帝的原谅却是普遍的。
40．全球文化并不仅仅意味着拥有更多的电视机和耐克鞋。相互联系是 人类自然的欲望，是其共同的命运。但是连接全球人类
的纽带并不只是技术或商业，这种连接靠的是强有 力的心灵的纽带。

Unit4 Professions for Women 女人的职业
Born in England, Virginia Woolf was the daughter of Leslie Stephen, a well-known scholar. She was educated primarily at
home and attributed her love of reading to the early and complete access she was given to her father’s library. With her
husband, Leonard Woolf, she founded the Hogarth Press and became known as member of the Bloomsbury group of
intellectuals, which included economist John Maynard Keynes, biographer Lytton Strachey, novelist E. M. Forster, and art
historian Clive Bell. Although she was a central figure in London literary life, Woolf often saw herself as isolated from the
mains stream because she was a woman. Woolf is best known for her experimental, modernist novels, including Mrs.
Dalloway(1925) and To the Lighthouse(1927) which are widely appreciated for her breakthrough into a new mode and
technique--the stream of consciousness. In her diary and critical essays she has much to say about women and fiction. Her
1929 book A Room of One’s Own documents her desire for women to take their rightful place in literary history and as an
essayist she has occupied a high place in 20th century literature. The common Reader (1925 first series; 1932 second series)
has acquired classic status. She also wrote short stories and biographies. “Professions for Women” taken from The collected
Essays Vol 2. is originally a paper Woolf read to the Women’s Service League, an organization for professional women in
London.
When your secretary invited me to come here, she told me that your Society is concerned with the employment of women and
she suggested that I might tell you something about my own professional experiences. It is true that I am a woman; it is true I
am employed; but what professional experiences have I had? It is difficult to say. My profession is literature; and in that
profession there are fewer experiences for women than in any other, with the exception of the stage--fewer, I mean, that are
peculiar to women. For the road was cut many years ago---by Fanny Burney, by Aphra Behn, by Harriet Martineau, by Jane

Austen, by George Eliot —many famous women, and many more unknown and forgotten, have been before me, making the
path smooth, and regulating my steps. Thus, when I came to write, there were very few material obstacles in my way. Writing
was a reputable and harmless occupation. The family peace was not broken by the scratching of a pen. No demand was
made upon the family purse. For ten and sixpence one can buy paper enough to write all the plays of Shakespeare --if one has
a mind that way. Pianos and models, Paris, Vienna, and Berlin, masters and mistresses, are not needed by a writer. The
cheapness of writing paper is, of course, the reason why women have succeeded as writers before they have succeeded in
the other professions.

But to tell you my story--it is a simple one. You have only got to figure to yourselves a girl in a bedroom with a pen in her hand.
She had only to move that pen from left to right--from ten o’clock to one. Then it occurred to her to do what is simple and
cheap enough after all--to slip a few of those pages into an envelope, fix a penny stamp in the corner, and drop the envelope
into the red box at the corner. It was thus that I became a journalist; and my effort was rewarded on the first day of the
following month--a very glorious day it was for me--by a letter from an editor containing a check for one pound ten shillings and
sixpence. But to show you how little I deserve to be called a professional woman, how little I know of the struggles and
difficulties of such lives, I have to admit that instead of spending that sum upon bread and butter, rent, shoes and stockings, or
butcher’s bills, I went out and bought a cat--a beautiful cat, a Persian cat, which very soon involved me in bitter disputes with
my neighbors.

What could be easier than to write articles and to buy Persian cats with the profits? But wait a moment. Articles have to be
about something. Mine, I seem to remember, was about a novel by a famous man. And while I was writing this review, I
discovered that if I were going to review books I should need to do battle with a certain phantom. And the phantom was a
woman, and when I came to know her better I called her after the heroine of a famous poem, The Angel in the House. It was
she who used to come between me an my paper when I was writing reviews. It was she who bothered me and wasted my time
and so tormented me that at last I killed her. You who come off a younger and happier generation may not have heard of
her--you may not know what I mean by The Angel in the House. I will describe her as shortly as I can. She was intensely
sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She
sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draft she sat in it--in short she was so constituted
that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others.
Above all--I need not say it--she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty--her blushes, her great grace. In
those days--the last of Queen Victoria--every house had its Angel. And when I came to write I encountered her with the very
first words. The shadow of her wings fell on my page; I heard the rustling of her skirts in the room. Directly, that is to say, I took
my pen in my hand to review that novel by a famous man, she slipped behind me and whispered:“My dear, you are a young
woman. You are writing about a book that has been written by a man. Be sympathetic; be tender; flatter; deceive; use all the
art and wiles of our sex. Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of our own. Above all, be pure.” And she made as if to
guide my pen. I now record the one act for which I take some credit to myself, though the credit rightly belongs to some
excellent ancestors of mine who left me a certain sum of money--shall we say five hundred pounds a year? --so that it was not
necessary for me to depend solely on charm for my living. I turned upon her and caught her by the throat. I did my best to kill
her. My excuse, If I were to be had up in a court of law, would be that I acted in self-defense. Had I not killed her she would
have killed me. She would have plucked the heart out of my writing. For, as I found, directly I put pen to paper, you cannot
review even a novel without having a mind of your own, without expressing what you think to be the truth about human
relations, morality, sex. And all these questions, according to the Angel of the House, cannot be dealt with freely and openly
by women; they must charm, they must conciliate, they must—to put it bluntly-—tell lies if they are to succeed. Thus,
whenever I felt the shadow of her wing or the radiance of her halo upon my page, I took up the inkpot and flung it at her. She

died hard. Her fictitious nature was of great assistance to her. It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality. She was always
creeping back when I thought I had dispatched her. Though I flatter myself that I killed her in the end, the struggle was severe;
it took much time that had better have been spent upon learning Greek grammar; or in roaming the world in search of
adventures. But it was a real experience; It was an experience that was bound befall all women writers at that time. Killing the
Angel in the House was part of the occupation of a woman writer.

But to continue my story. The Angel was dead; what then remained? You may say that what remained was a simple and
common object--a young woman in a bedroom with an inkpot. In other words, now that she had rid herself of falsehood, that
young woman had only to be herself. Ah, but what is “herself”? I mean, what is a woman? I assure you, I do not know. I do not
believe that you know. I do not believe that anybody can know until she has expressed herself in all the arts and professions
open to human skill. That indeed is one of the reasons why I have come here--out of respect for you, who are in process of
showing us by your experiments what a woman is, who are in process of providing us, by your failures and succeeded, with
that extremely important piece of information.

But to continue the story of my professional experiences. I made one pound ten and six by my first review; and I bought a
Persian cat with the proceeds. Then I grew ambitious. A Persian cat is all very well, I said; but a Persian cat is not enough. I
must have a motorcar. And it was thus that I became a novelist --for it is a very strange thing that people will give you a
motorcar if you will tell them a story. It is a still stranger thing that there is nothing so delightful in the world as telling stories. It
is far pleasanter than writing reviews of famous novels. And yet, if I am to obey your secretary and tell you my professional
experiences as a novelist, I must tell you about a very strange experience that befell me as a novelist. And to understand it
you must try first to imagine a novelist’s state of mind. I hope I am not giving away professional secrets if I say that a novelist’s
chief desire is to be as unconscious as possible. He has to induce in himself a state of perpetual lethargy. He wants life to
proceed with the utmost quiet and regularity. He wants to see the same faces, to read the same books, to do the same things
day after day, month after month, while he is writing, so that nothing may break the illusion in which he is living--so that nothing
may disturb or disquiet the mysterious nosings about, feelings round, darts, dashes, and sudden discoveries of that very shy
and illusive spirit, the imagination. I suspect that this state is the same both for men and women. Be that as it may, I want you
to imagine me writing a novel in a state of trance. I want you to figure to yourselves a girl sitting with a pen in her hand, which
for minutes, and indeed for hours, she never dips into the inkpot. The image that comes to my mind when I think of this girl is
the image of a fisherman lying sunk in dreams on the verge of a deep lake with a rod held out over the water. She was letting
her imagination sweep unchecked round every rock and cranny of the world that lies submerged in the depths of our
unconscious being. Now came the experience that I believe to be far commoner with women writers than with men. The line
raced through the girl’s fingers. Her imagination had rushed away. It had sought the pools, the depths, the dark places where
the largest fish slumber. And then there was a smash. There was an explosion. There was foam and confusion. The
imagination had dashed itself against something hard. The girl was roused from her dream. She was indeed in a state of the
most acute and difficult distress. To speak without figure, she had thought of something, something about the body, about the
passions which it was unfitting for her as a woman to say. Men, her reason told her, would be shocked. The consciousness of
what men will say of a woman who speaks the truth about her passions had roused her from her artist’s state of
unconsciousness. She could write no more. The trace was over. Her imagination could work no longer. This I believe to be a
very common experience with women writers--they are impeded by the extreme conventionality of the other sex. For though
men sensibly allow themselves great freedom in these respects, I doubt that they realize or can control the extreme severity
with which they condemn such freedom in women.

These then were two very genuine experiences of my own. These were two of the adventures of my professional life. The
first--killing the Angel in the House--I think I solved. She died. But the second, telling the truth about my own experiences as a
body, I do not think I solved. I doubt that any woman has solved it yet. The obstacles against her are still immensely
powerful--and yet they are very difficult to define. Outwardly, what is simpler than to write books? Outwardly, what obstacles
are there for a woman rather than for a man? Inwardly, I think, the case is very different; she has still many ghosts to fight,
many prejudices to overcome. Indeed it will be a long time still, I think, before a woman can sit down to write a book without
finding a phantom to be slain, a rock to be dashed against. And if this is so in literature, the freest of all professions for women,
how is it in the new professions which you are now for the first time entering?
四、女性的职业 弗吉尼亚•伍尔夫

l .你们的秘书邀请我时对我说你们妇女服务团关注的是女性就业问题，她提议我讲一讲我就业的亲身体验。我是女 性，这是事实；
我有工作，这也是事实。但我又有什么职业体验呢?这很难讲。我从事的是文学职业，与 其他职业相比，当然不包括戏剧行业，
在文学职业里几乎没有什么女性体验，我的意思是几乎没有女性特 有的体验。多年前，路已开辟出来。许多知名的女性--- 范妮•
伯尼、阿芙拉.贝恩、哈丽雅特•马蒂诺、简•奥斯汀、乔治•艾略特---和许多不知名以及已 被人忘记的女性在我之前铺平了道路并
指导我向前走。因此，在我从事写作时，几乎没有物质障碍。写作 这个职业既受人尊敬又没有危险。写字的沙沙声不会打破家
庭的和平，写作也不需要什么家庭开销。花1 6便士买的纸足够用来写莎士比亚的所有戏剧---要是你有那样的才智的话。作家不
需要钢琴和模特， 不用去巴黎、维也纳和柏林，也不需要家庭教师。当然，廉价的写作用纸是女性作为作家成功而先于其他职
业的原因。
2．我讲讲我的故事，那只是个平常的故事。你们自己设想一个姑娘，手里握着一支笔坐 在卧室里。从十点钟到一点钟她只是不
停地由左向右写，然后她想到做一件既省钱又省力的事---把那 些纸张放进信封，在信封的一角贴上一张一便士的邮票，把信封
投进拐角的一个红色邮筒。我就是这样成 了一名撰稿人。我的努力在下个月的第一天得到了回报---_那是我一生中非常快乐的一
天。我收到了 编辑寄来的一封信，里面装有一张一英镑十先令六便士的支票。为了让你们了解我不值得被称作职业女性，对人< br>生的艰难和奋斗知之甚少，我得承认我没用那笔钱买食物、付房租、买袜子和肉，而是出去买了一只猫，一 只漂亮的波斯猫，
这只猫不久就引起了我和邻居间的激烈争端。
3．什么会比写文章并用赚得 的钱买波斯猫来得更容易?但再想一想，文章得有内容。我好像记得我的文章是评论一部名人写的
小说。 在写那篇评论时，我发现要想写书评我就必须和某个鬼怪做斗争。这个鬼怪是个女子，在我逐渐对她有进一步了解 后，
我用一个有名的诗歌里的女主人公的名字“家里的天使”来称呼她。就是她，在我写评论时，总是在 我和我的写作之间制造麻
烦。就是她总是打扰我，浪费我的时间，如此地折磨我，最终我杀死了她。你们 年轻快乐的这一代人可能没听说过她---你们可
能不知道我说的“家里的天使”是什么意思。我要简单 地讲一讲。她有极强的同情心，非常有魅力，一点都不自私，做高难度
的家务非常出色，天天作自我牺牲 。如果有只鸡，她就吃鸡腿，如果屋里通风，她就坐在风口。总之，她就是这样的人，没有
自己的想法和 期望，总是准备为他人的想法和期望作出牺牲。首要的是---我不需要这么说--- 她纯洁。纯洁被认为是她的最美之
处---她爱脸红，典雅大方。在那时，维多利亚时代后期，每个家庭 都有天使。我刚一提笔写字就会遇见她。她那翅膀的影子映
在纸上，在屋子里我能听到她裙子沙沙作响。 也就是说，我一拿起笔写那位名人的书评，她就会悄悄地溜到我身后悄声对我说：
“亲爱的，你是个年轻 姑娘，你在给男人写的书写评论。要有同情心，要温柔，要奉承，要说假话，要使用女性全部的小伎俩。
不要让任何人看出你有自己的见解。首要的是要纯洁。”她就这样引导我的写作。下面我要说说多少是我自己决定 做的一件事
情，当然做此事的功劳主要还应归功于我那了不起的祖先，是他们给我留下了一笔财产--- 比如说每年500英镑吧---这样我就不
必完全靠女人的魅力去谋生了。我对她发起突然进攻，扼住她 的喉咙。我尽最大努力杀死她。要是因此被带上法庭的话，我的
辩护词就是我是自卫，如果我不杀死她， 她就会杀死我，她会拔掉我进行写作的心。因为我发现在写作时，要是没有自己的见
解，不能真实表达人 与人之间的关系、道德和性的话，你一本小说的评论都写不出来。依照“家里的天使”，所有这些问题女
性都不能公开和自由地讨论。她们必须使用魅力，必须作出让步，更直接地说，她们想要成功就必须说假话。因此 ，无论何时
在纸上感到有她的翅膀或光晕的影子，我就会拿起墨水瓶，向她砸去。她不容易死去，她那非 真实的特性对她是极大的帮助。
杀死鬼怪要比杀死真实的人艰难多了。在我认为我已杀死她时，她就会悄 悄地溜回来。尽管我自己确信我最终杀死了她，但搏
斗得很激烈，消耗的时间要比学希腊语语法或周游世 界体验冒险经历的时间多多了。但是，这是真实的体验，这种经历在那时
会降临到所有女作家的头上。杀 死“家里的天使”是女作家职业中的一部分。

4．继续讲我的故事。天使死后，还有什么东西留下来了呢?你们会说留下的是一个简单又普通的物体--- 一个年轻姑娘坐在有墨
水瓶的卧室里。换句话说，既然她已经摆脱掉说假话的错误观念，那么这个年轻姑 娘可以做回自己了。噢，什么是“她自己”
呢?我的意思是什么是妇女。我向你们保证我不知道，我相信 你们也不知道。我相信，只有妇女在人类知识所涉及的全部文艺艺
术和专业领域中用创造形式表达自己的 情感后，她们才知道什么是妇女。这就是我来这里的原因之一，出于对你们的敬重。你
们通过实验在向我 们展示什么是妇女；你们通过自己的成功与失败在为我们提供重要的信息。
5．下面接着讲我的职业体 验。我的第一篇评论赚了一英镑十先令六便土，我用那笔钱买了一只波斯猫。接下来我雄心勃勃，我
说， 波斯猫不错，但还不够，我一定要有一辆汽车。我就这样成为一名小说家---要是你给人们讲故事他们就会给你 一辆汽车，
这可是很奇怪的事情。更奇怪的事情是世界上没有比讲故事更令人快乐的事情了，讲故事远比 写评论有趣。然而，如果听从秘
书的建议，讲述我作为小说家的职业体验的话，我必须告诉你们我的一个 很奇怪的经历。要想明白这一点，你们必须想像小说
家的意识状态。如果我说小说家的重要愿望是尽量处 于无意识状态，我希望我没有泄露行业秘密。他得使自己处于持久的昏睡
状态，他想要过一种最安静、最 有规律的生活。他希望在他写作时，每天见的人、读的书、做的事都是相同的，这样任何事物
都不会打破 他生活的幻想，也不会扰乱他的四处探求以及对那令人难以捉摸的东西即想像力的突然发现。我认为这种状态对于
男人和女人是一样的。尽管如此，我请你们想像我在迷睡的状态中写小说。请你们想像一个女孩坐在桌旁 ，手里握着笔，几分
钟甚至几小时都未曾动过墨水瓶。当我想到这女孩时，脑海里浮现出一个形象：一个 深深的湖边有一位钓鱼者，他手握鱼竿，
沉浸在梦境中。她在让想像力自由自在地在位于无意识的最深层 的世界的各个角落畅游。现在这种体验来了，我认为这种体验
发生在女人身上要比发生在男人身上平常得 多。鱼竿在女孩的手指间快速地转动，她的想像力被冲跑了。想像力搜寻了池塘、
池塘的最深处以及最大 的鱼生活的暗处。就在这时传来了猛烈撞击声、爆炸声，出现了水花，一片混乱。想像力撞到了坚硬的
东 西。那个女孩从睡梦中惊醒，她陷入了一种最深刻、最艰难的痛苦状态。不用修辞手段、直截了当地说，她想到了 一件事情，
一件不适合女人讲的有关身体和激情的事情。她的理智告诉她，男人会感到震惊的。她意识到 男人们会如何议论一个敢讲有关
激情真话的女人，这使她从艺术家的无意识状态中惊醒了。她再也写不下 去了，迷睡结束了，想像力也不再起作用。我认为这
是女作家非常普遍的切身体验---另一性别非常传 统的观念阻碍着她们。尽管男人们理智上在这些方面给自己极大的自由，我认
为他们未必会认识或控制他 们谴责女人这种自由时的猛烈程度。
6．这些就是我自己的两种真实体验，我职业生涯中的两个异乎寻常的经历。第一个--- 杀死“家里的天使”，我认为我已经解决
了，她死了。但第二个---真实地讲述我的身体和激情，我认 为还没有解决。我认为任何女性都还没有解决这个问题。不利于她
的那些障碍还有很强大的力量，也很难 给它们下定义。从外表看，什么比写书更容易呢?从外表看，有什么障碍会阻碍女人而不
是男人呢?从内 心精神方面看，情况颇为不同。妇女还要与许多鬼怪展开斗争。还有许多偏见需要克服。当然，我认为，女人不< br>用杀死鬼怪，不用击碎岩石就能够坐下来专心写书还需要很长时间。如果在文学领域--- 女性最自由的职业里情况如此的话，那
么在你们第一次从事的新职业里情况又会如何呢?
7． 如果有时间，这些就是我要问你们的问题。当然，如果我重点强调我的职业体验的话，那是因为我相信，尽管方式 不同，它
们也是你们的体验。即使道路名义上是宽阔的--- 没有任何事情可以阻碍妇女成为医生、律 师和公务员，但我相信前面仍有许多
鬼怪和障碍若隐若现。讨论和界定这些障碍是十分重要的。因为只有 如此我们才能共同努力克服困难。除此之外。还有必要讨
论我们为之奋斗，为之与难以克服的障碍作斗争 的目的。那些目的是什么，对这个问题我们不能想当然，而要不断地提出疑问
和进行审视。在我看来，在 这里，在这个被有史以来第一次从事这么多种不同职业的妇女所包围的大厅里，整个状况都非常耐
人寻味 ，而且还有重要意义。在这个迄今为止专门由男人控制的房子里，你们已经赢得了自己的房间。尽管不可能不付出 很大
的劳动和努力，你们能够自己付房租了，能够每年挣自己的500英镑。但是，这种自由才刚刚开始 ，房间是你的，但里面空无
一物。房间还需要置办家具，需要装饰物，需要有人与你分享。你准备置办什 么样的家具，准备进行什么样的装修，准备和谁
一起合用这个房间，有什么条件?我认为这些问题非常重 要，非常耐人寻味，因为有史以来你们第一次提出这些问题，第一次自
己能够决定这些问题的答案。我非 常愿意留下来和你们一起讨论这些问题并找到答案。但今晚不行，我的时间到了，就讲到这
里吧。
(国永荣译．边娜审校)

is a Fallacy
Max Shulman

1 Charles Lamb, as merry and enterprising a fellow as you will meet in a month of Sundays, unfettered the informal essay
with his memorable Old China and Dream's Children. There follows an informal essay that ventures even beyond Lamb's
frontier, indeed,
perhaps more appropriate.
2 Vague though its category, it is without doubt an essay. It develops an argument; it cites instances; it reaches a
conclusion. Could Carlyle do more? Could Ruskin ?
3 Read, then, the following essay which undertakes to demonstrate that logic, far from being a dry, pedantic discipline, is
a living, breathing thing, full of beauty, passion, and trauma --Author's Note
4 Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious , acute and astute--I was all of these. My brain was as powerful
as a dynamo, as precise as a chemist's scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And --think of it! --I was only eighteen.
5 It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Butch, my roommate at the
University of Minnesota. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough young fellow, you understand, but
nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of
reason. To be swept up in every new craze that come, s along, to, surrender y, , , , , , ourself to idiocy just because everybody
else is doing it--this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.
6 One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately
diagnosed appendicitis.
7
8
9
10 I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental.
11
Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can't get a raccoon coat.
12
13
14
15 He leaped from the bed and paced the room,
16
They're unsightly. They--
17
18
19
20 My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear.
21
22 I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to set my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had
one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I
wanted. He didn't have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.
23 I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature.
She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a
shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.
24 I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right
kind of wife in furthering a lawyer's career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to
beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

25 Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions but I felt sure that time would supply the lack She already had
the makings.
26 Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise
that clearly indicated the best of breeding, At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner
eating the specialty of the house--a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of
sauerkraut--without even getting her fingers moist.
27 Intelligent she was not. in fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would
smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart
girl beautiful.
28
29
30
31
32
33
34 I nodded with satisfaction.
35
36
37
38
39
could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?
40
41
object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.
42
repeated fifteen or twenty times.
43
44
45
46
47
48 He flung the coat from him.
49 I shrugged.
50 I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a
torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw
resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much
resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning . Finally he didn't turn away at all; he
just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.
51
52
53
54

55
56
57 He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a
mound of dead raccoons.
58 I rose from my chair.
59 He swallowed.
60 I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how
much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner.
（=delicious） dinner,
movie,
she bade me good night.
61 I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl's lack of
information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information First she had to be taught to think.
This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking
about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I
decided to make an effort.
62 I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was
taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my finger tips.
date,
63
“s
64 We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly.

65
66 She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it.
67
recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.
68
69 I winced, but went bravely on.
70
71,
Therefore everybody should exercise.
72
73
have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the
generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a
Dicto Simplioiter. Do you see?
74
75
fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can't speak French. I can't speak French. Petey Burch can't speak
French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.
76

77 I hid my exasperation.
support such a conclusion.
78
79 I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not
persistent. I continued.
80
81
time we take her on a picnic--
82
guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.
83
84 I sighed deeply.
85
86
87
88 I frowned, but plunged ahead.
stone so heavy that He won't be able to lift it?
89
90
91
92
93 She scratched her pretty, empty head.
94
there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible
force. Get it?
95
96 I cousulted my watch.
learned. We'll have another session tomorrow night.
97 I deposited her at the girls' dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went
glumly to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I
considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure.
The girl simply had a logic-proof head.
98 But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening: I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in
the extinct crater of her mind, a few embers still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not
a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.
99 Seated under the oak the next evening I said,
100 She quivered with delight.
101
he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no
shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.
102 A tear rolled down each of Polly's pink cheeks.

103
qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss's sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you
understand?
104
105 I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes.
controlled tone,
during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them
during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn't students be
allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?
106
107
much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can't make an analogy between
them.
108
109
110
111
沥青油矿), the world today would not know about radium .
112
is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.
113
Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it.
Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can't start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any
supportable conclusions from it.
114
115 One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear.
called Poisoning the Well.
116
117 ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can't believe a
word that he is going to say. '... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What's wrong?
118 I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly, a g1immer of intelligence—the first I
had seen--came into her eyes.
if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?
119
anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start. … Polly, I’m proud of you.
120
121 —evaluate. Come
now, let's review everything we have learned.”
122
123 Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin , I began a long, patient review of all I had told her.
Over and over and over again I cited instances pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without let-up. It was like digging a
tunnel. At first everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I

persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger
and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.
124 Five grueling nights this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job
was done. She was worthy of me at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother
for my well-heeled children.
125 It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary, Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect
woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I determined to acquaint her with my feeling at our very next meeting. The time had
come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.
126
127
128 “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along
splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”
129 “Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.
130 “I beg your pardon,” said I.
131 “Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”
132 I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well.
tolerant manner,
133 ”, said Polly promptly. ”
134 I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to
change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my
massive brain chose the proper words. Then I began:
135
Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish (vi.憔悴). I will
refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling (摇摇晃晃地走), hollow-eyed hulk.
136 There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.
137 ” Said Polly.
138 I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I
fought back the tide of panic surging through me. At all costs I had to keep cool.
139
140 ’re darn right,
141
142
143
about fallacies.
144
145 I dashed perspiration from my brow.
classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don't have anything to do with life.
146
147 That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull.
148
149
150

151 I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand!
rat! I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf .
152
153 With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice.
logically. How could you choose Petey Burch over me? Look at me--a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with
an assured future. Look at Petey--a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who'll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can
you give me one logical reason why you should go stead with Petey Burch?
154 ”
(from Rhetoric in a Modern Modeby James K. Bell and Adrian A. Cohn)

课文5译文 爱情就是谬误 马克斯•舒尔曼
1．查尔斯.兰姆是个世所罕见的性 情欢快、富有进取心的人，他笔下的散文《古瓷器》和《梦中的孩子》无拘无束、自由
奔放，实在令人难 忘。下面这篇文章比兰姆的作品更加自由奔放。事实上，用“自由奔放”的字眼来形容这篇文章并不十分贴
切，或许用“柔软”、“轻松”或“轻软而富有弹性”更为恰当。
2．尽管很难说清这篇文 章属于哪一类，但可以肯定它是一篇散文小品文。它提出了论点，引用了许多例证，并得出了结论。
卡里 尔能写得更好吗?拉斯金呢?
3．这篇文章意在论证逻辑学非但不枯燥乏味，而且活泼、清新 ，富于美感和激情，并给人以启迪。诸位不妨一读。
---作者注
4．我这个人头脑冷静，逻辑思维能力强。敏锐、慎重、深刻、机智 ----这些就是我的特点。我的大脑像发电机一样发达，
像化学家的天平一样精确，像手术刀一样锋利 。---你知道吗?我才18岁。
5．年纪这么轻而智力又如此非凡的人并不常有。就拿在明 尼苏达大学和我同住一个房间的皮蒂.伯奇来说吧，他和我年龄相
仿，经历一样，可他笨得像头驴。小伙 子长得年轻漂亮，可惜脑子里却空空如也。他易于激动，情绪反复无常，容易受别人的
影响。最糟糕的是 他爱赶时髦。在我看来，赶时髦就是最缺乏理智的表现。见到一种新鲜的东西就跟着学，以为别人都在这么
干，自己也就卷进去傻干---我认为这简直是愚蠢至极，但皮蒂却不以为然。
6．一天下 午，我看见皮蒂躺在床上，脸上露出一副痛苦不堪的表情，我立刻断定他是得了阑尾炎。“别动，”我说，“别< br>吃泻药，我就请医生来。”
7．“浣熊．”他咕哝着。
8．“浣熊?”我停下来问道。
9．“我要一件浣熊皮大衣，”他痛苦地哭叫着。
10．我明白了，他不是身体不舒服，而是精神上的问题。“你为什么要浣熊皮大衣?”
11 ．“我早该知道，”他哭叫着，用拳头捶打着太阳穴，“我早该知道查尔斯登舞再度流行时．浣熊皮大衣也会时兴 起来
的。我真傻，钱都买了课本，弄得现在不能买浣熊皮大衣了。”
12．我带着怀疑的眼神问道：“你是说人们真的又要穿浣熊皮大衣了吗?”
13．“校园里有身份的人哪个不穿?你刚从哪儿来?”
14．“图书馆，”我说了一个有身份的人不常去的地方。
15．他从床上一跃而起，在房间 里踱来踱去。“我一定要弄到一件浣熊皮大衣，”他激动地说，“非弄到不可!”
16．“皮蒂，你怎么啦?冷静地想一想吧。浣熊皮大衣不卫生、掉毛、味道难闻、既笨重又不好看，而且……”
17．“你不懂，”他不耐烦地打断我的话，“这就叫时髦。难道你不想赶时髦吗?”
18．“不想，”我坦率地回答。
19．“好啦，我可想着呢!”他肯定地说，“弄到浣熊皮大衣让我干什么都行。”
20．我的大脑---这件精密的仪器 ---立刻运转起来。我紧盯着他，问道：“什么都行?”
21．“什么都行!”他斩钉截铁地说。

22．我若有所思地抚着下巴。好极了，我知道哪儿能弄到浣熊皮大衣。我父亲在大学读书期间就穿过一件，现在 还放在家
里顶楼的箱子里。恰好皮蒂也有我需要的东两。尽管他还没有弄到手，但至少他有优先权。我说 的是他的女朋友波莉.埃斯皮。
23．我早已钟情于波莉•埃斯皮了。我要特别说明的是我想 得到这妙龄少女并不是由于感情的驱使。她的确是个易于使人动
情的姑娘。可我不是那种让感情统治理智 的人，我想得到波莉是经过慎重考虑的，完全是出于理智上的原因。
24．我是法学院一年级 的学生，过不了几年就要挂牌当律师了。我很清楚，一个合适的妻子对于一个律师来说是非常重要
的。我 发现大凡有成就的律师几乎都是和美丽、文雅、聪明的女子结婚的。波莉只差一条就完全符合这些条件了。
25．她漂亮。尽管她的身材还没有挂在墙上的照片上的美女那么苗条，但我相信时间会弥补这 个不足。她已经大致不差了。
26．她温文尔稚 ---我这里是指她很有风度。她亭亭玉立 、落落大方、举手投足都尽显她出身高贵。她进餐时，动作是那样
的优美。我曾看见过她在“舒适的校园 一角”吃名点---一块夹有几片带汁的炖肉和碎核桃仁的三明治，还有一小杯泡菜 ---手指
居然一点儿也没有沾湿。
27．她不聪明，实际上恰恰相反。但我相信在我的指导 下，她会变聪明的。无论如何可以试一试，使一个漂亮的笨姑娘变得聪
明比使一个聪明的丑姑娘变得漂亮 毕竟要容易些。
28．“波莉,”我说．“你在跟波莉•埃斯皮谈恋爱吧?”
29．“我觉 得她是一个讨人喜欢的姑娘，”他回答说，“但我不知道这是不是就叫做爱情。你问这个干什么?”
30．“你和她有什么正式的安排吗?我是说你们是不是经常约会，或者有诸如此类的事情?，我问。
31．“没有，我们常常见面。但我们俩各自有别的约会。你问这个干什么?”
32．“还有没有别人令她特别喜欢呢?”我问道。
33．“那我可不知道。怎么了?”
34．我满意地点点头说：“这就是说，如果你不在，场地就是空着的。你说是吧?”
35．“我想是这样的。你这话是什么意思?”
36．“没什么，没什么，”我若无其事地说，接着把手提皮箱从壁橱里拿了出来。
37．“你去哪儿?”皮蒂问。
38．“回家过周末。”我把几件衣服扔进了皮箱。
39．“听着，”他焦急地抓住我的胳膊说，“你回家后，从你父亲那儿弄点钱来借给我买一件浣熊皮大衣，好 吗?”
40．“也许还不只是这样呢，”我神秘地眨着眼睛说，随后关上皮箱就走了。
41 ．星期一上午我回到学校时对皮蒂说：“你瞧!”我猛地打开皮箱，那件肥大、毛茸茸、散发着怪味的东西露了出 来，这就是
我父亲1925年在施图茨比尔凯特汽车里穿过的那一件浣熊皮大衣。
42．“太 好了!”皮蒂恭敬地说。他把两只手插进那件皮大衣，然后把头也埋了进去。“太好了!”他不断地重复了一二十 遍。
43．“你喜欢吗?”我问道。
44.“哦，喜欢!”他高声叫着，把那满是油腻的毛 皮紧紧地搂在怀里。接着他眼里露出机警的神色，说，“你要换什么?”
45．“你的女朋友，”我毫不讳言地说。
46．“波莉?”他吃惊了，结结巴巴地说，“你要波莉?”
47．“是的。”
48．他把皮大衣往旁边一扔，毫不妥协地说：“那可不行。”
49．我耸了耸肩膀说：“那好吧，如果你不想赶时髦，那就随你的便吧。，，
50.我在一 把椅子上坐了下来，假装看书，暗暗地瞟着皮蒂。他神情不安，用面包店窗前的流浪儿那种馋涎欲滴的神情望着那 件
皮大衣，接着扭过头去，坚定地咬紧牙关。过了一会儿，他又回过头来把目光投向那件皮大衣，脸上露 出更加渴望的神情。等
他再扭过头去，已经不那么坚决了。他看了又看，越看越喜欢，慢慢决心也就减弱 了。最后他再也不扭过头去，只是站在那里，
贪婪地盯着那件皮大衣。
51．“我和波莉好像 不是在谈恋爱，”他含含糊糊地说，“也说不上经常约会或有诸如此类的事情。
52．“好的，”我低声 说。
53．“波莉对我算得了什么?我对波莉又算得了什么?”
54．“根本算不了什么，”我说。

55．“只不过是一时高兴 ---不过是说说笑笑罢了，仅此而已。”
56．“试试大衣吧。”我说。
57．他照办了。衣领蒙住了他的耳朵，下摆一直拖到脚跟。 他看起来活像一具浣熊尸体。他高兴地说：“挺合身的。”
58．我从椅子上站了起来。“成交了吗?”我说着，把手伸向他。
59.他轻易地接受了。“算数，”他说，并跟我握了握手。
60．第二天晚上，我 与波莉第一次约会了。这一次实际上是我对她的考查。我想弄清要做多大的努力才能使她的头脑达到
我的 要求。我首先请她去吃饭。“哈，这顿饭真够意思，”离开餐馆时她说。然后我请她去看电影。“嘿，这片子真好 看。”
走出电影院时她说。最后我送她回家。和我告别时她说：“嘿，今晚玩得真痛快。”
61．我怀着不大痛快的心情回到了房间。我对这任务的艰巨性估计得太低了。这姑娘的知识少得令人吃惊。光教 给她知识
还不够。首先得教她学会思考。这可不是一件容易的事，当时我真想把她还给皮蒂算了。但我一 想到她那充满魅力的身材、她
进屋时的模样、她那拿刀叉的姿势，我还是决定再做一番努力。
62．就像做其他事情一样，我开始有计划地干了起来。我开始给她上逻辑课。幸好我是一个学法律的学生，我自 己也在学
逻辑学，所以对要教的内容我都很熟悉。当我接她赴第二次约会的时候，我对她说：“今晚咱们 去‘小山’谈谈吧。”
63．“啊，好极了，”她回答道。对这姑娘我要补充一句，像她这么好商量的人是不多见的。
64．我们去了“小山”，这是校园里人们幽会的地方。我们坐在一棵老橡树下，她用期待的目光看着我。“我们 谈些什么
呢?”她问。
65．“逻辑。”
66．她想了一会儿，觉得不错，便说：“好极了。”
67．“逻辑学，”我清了清嗓子，“ 就是思维的科学。在我们能正确地思维之前，首先必须学会判别逻辑方面的常见谬误。
我们今晚就要来谈 谈这些。”
68．“哇!”她叫了起来，高兴地拍着手。
69．我打了个寒噤，但还是鼓足勇气讲下去：“首先我们来考究一下被称为绝对判断的谬误。”
70．“好呀!”她眨了眨眼，催促着。
71．“绝对判断指的是根据一种无条件的前提推出的论断。比如说，运动是有益的，因此人人都要运动。”
72．“不错，”波莉认真地说，“运动是非常有益的。它能增强体质，好处太多了!”
73．“波莉，”我温和地说，“这种论点是谬误。运动有益是一种无条件的前提。比方说，假 如你得了心脏病，运动不但
无益，反而有害，有不少人医生就不准他们运动。你必须给这种前提加以限制 。你应该说，一般来说运动是有益的。或者说，
对大多数人是有益的。否则就是犯了绝对判断的错误，懂 吗?”
74．“不懂，”她坦率地说，“这可太有意思了，讲吧，往下讲吧。”
75．“你最好别拉我的袖子了，”我对她说。等她松了手，我继续讲，“下面我们讲一种被称为草率结论的谬误 。你仔细
听：你不会讲法语，我不会讲法语，皮蒂•伯奇也不会讲法语。因此我就会断定在明尼苏达大学 谁也不会讲法语。”
76．“真的?”波莉好奇地问道．“谁都不会吗?”
77．我压住火气。“波莉，这是一种谬误，这是一种草率的结论。能使这种结论成立的例证太少了。”
78．“你还知道其他的谬误吗?”她气喘吁吁地说：“这比跳舞还有意思啦!”
79．我极力地使自己不灰心。我真拿这姑娘没办法，确实是毫无办法。可是，如果我不坚持下去，我就太没用了 。因此，
我继续讲下去。
80．“现在听我讲讲被称为牵强附会的谬误。听着：我们不要带比尔出去野餐。每次带他一起去，天就下雨。”
81．“我就见过这样的人，”她感叹地说，“我们家乡有个女孩，名叫尤拉•蓓克尔。从没有例外，每 次我们带她去野餐……”
82．“波莉，”我严厉地说，”这是一种谬误。下雨并不是尤拉• 蓓克尔造成的，下雨与她没有任何关系。如果你责怿尤拉
•蓓克尔，你就是犯了牵强附会的错误。”
83．“我再也不这样了．”她懊悔地保证说，“你生我的气了吗?”
84．我深深地叹了一口气：“不，波莉，我没生气。”
85．“那么，给我再讲些谬误吧!”

86．“好，让我们来看看矛盾前提吧。”
87．“行。行，”她叽叽喳喳地叫着，两眼闪现出快乐的光芒。
88．我皱了皱眉头，但还 是接着讲下去。“这里有一个矛盾前提的例子：如果上帝是万能的，他能造出一块连他自己也搬
不动的大 石头吗?”
89．“当然能，”她毫不犹豫地回答。
90．“但是如果他是万能的，他就能搬动那块石头呀。”我提醒她说。
91．“是嘛!”她若有所思地说，“嗯，我想他造不出那样的石头。”
92．“但他是万能的啊，”我进一步提醒她。
93．她用手抓了抓她那漂亮而义空虚的脑袋。“我全搞糊涂了，”她承认说。
94．“你确 实糊涂了。因为如果一种论点的各个前提相互间是矛盾的，这种论点就不能成立，假如有一种不可抗拒的力量，< br>就不可能有一种不可移动的物体；假如有一种不可移动的物体，就不可能有一种不可抗拒的力量。懂了吗? ”
95．“再给我讲些这类新奇的玩意儿吧，”她恳切地说。
96．我看 了看表，说，“我想今晚就谈到这里。现在我该送你回去了。你把所学的东西复习一遍．我们明晚再上一课吧。”
97．我把她送到了女生宿舍，在那里她向我保证说这个晚上她过得非常愉快。我闷闷不乐地回 到了我的房间，皮带正鼾声
如雷地睡在床上。那件浣熊皮大衣像一头多毛的野兽趴在他的脚边。当时我真 想把他叫醒，告诉他可以把他的女朋友要回去。
看来我的计划要落空了。这姑娘对逻辑简直是一点儿部不 开窍。
98．但是我回过头一想，既然已经浪费了一个晚上，不妨还是再花一个晚上看看。天 知道，说不定她头脑里的死火山口中
的什么地方，还有些火星会喷射出来呢。也许我会有办法能把这些火 星扇成熊熊烈焰。当然，成功的希望是不大的，但我还是
决定再试一次。
99．第二天晚上我们义坐在那棵橡树下，我说，“今晚我们要谈的第一种谬误叫做文不对题。”
100．她高兴得都发抖了。
101．“注意听，”我说，“有个人申请T作，当老饭问他所 具备的条件时，他回答说他家有妻子和六个孩子。妻子完全残
废了，孩子们没吃的没穿的，睡觉没有床， 生火没有煤，眼看冬天就要到了。”
102．两滴眼泪顺着波莉那粉红的面颊往下滚。“啊，这太可怕了!太可怕了!”她抽泣着说。
103．“是的，是太可怕了，”我赞同地说，“但这可不成其为申请工作的理由。那人根本没有回答老板提出的 关于他所具
备的条件的问题。反而乞求老板的同情。他犯了文不对题的错误。你懂吗?”
104．“你带手帕了没有?”她哭着说。 、
105．我把手帕递给她。当她擦眼泪 时，我极力控制自己的火气。“下面，”我小心地压低声音说，“我们要讨论错误类比。
这里有一个例子 ：应该允许学生考试时看课本。既然外科医生在做手术时可以看x光片，律师在审查案件时可以看案情摘要，木匠在盖房子时可以看图纸，为什么学生在考试时不能看课本呢?”
106．“这个．”她满怀激情地说，“可是我多少年来听到的最好的主意。”
107．“波 莉，”我生气地说，“这个论点全错了。医生、律师和木匠并不是以参加考试的方式去测验他们所学的东西。学< br>生们才是这样。情况完全不同，你不能在不同的情况之间进行类比。”
108．“我还是觉得这是个好主意，”波莉说。
109．“咳!”我嘀咕着，但我还是执意地往下讲，“接下去我们试试与事实相反的假设吧。”
110．波莉的反应是：“听起来不错。”
111．“你听着：如果居里夫人不是碰巧把一张 照片底片放在装有一块沥青铀矿石的抽屉里，那么世人今天就不会知道镭。”
112．“对， 对，”波莉点、头称是。“你看过那部影片吗?哦，真好看。沃尔特•皮金演得太好了，我是说他让我着迷了。”
113．“如果你能暂时忘记皮金先生，”我冷冷地说，“我会愿意指出这种说法是错误的。也 许居里夫人以后会发现镭的，
也许由别人去发现，也许还会发生其他的事情。你不能从一个不实际的假设 出发，从中得出任何可以站得住脚的结论。”
114．“人们真应该让沃尔特•皮金多拍些照片，”波莉说，“我几乎再也看不到他了。”
115．我决定冉试一次，但只能一次。一个人的忍耐毕竟是有限度的。我说，“下一一个谬误叫做井里投毒。”
116．“多有趣啊!”她咯咯地笑了起来。

117．“有两个人在进行一场辩论。第一个人站起来说：‘我的论敌是个劣迹昭彰 的骗子，他所说的每一句话都不可信。’……
波莉，现在你想想，好好想一想，这句话错在哪里?”
118．她眉头紧锁，我凝视着她。突然，一道智慧的光芒 ---这是我从未看到过的 -- -闪现在她的眼中。“这不公平，”她气
愤地说，“一点都不公平。如果第一个人不等第二个人开口就说 他是骗子，那么第二个人还有什么可说的呢?”
119．“对!”我高兴地叫了起来，“百分 之百对，是不公平。第一个人不等别人喝到井水，就在井里投毒了。他还不等他
的对手开口就已经伤害了 他。……波莉，我真为你感到骄傲。”
120．她轻轻地“哼”了一声，高兴得脸都发红了。
121．“你看，亲爱的，这些问题并不深奥，只要精力集中，就能对付。思考 分析 判断。来，让我们把所学过的东西再
复习一遍。”
122．“来吧，”她说着，把手往上一晃。
123．看来波莉并不很傻，我的劲头上来了。 于是，我便开始把对她讲过的一切．长时间耐心地复习了一遍。我给她一个一
个地举例子，指出其中的错 误．不停地讲下去。就好比挖掘一条隧道，开始只有劳累、汗水和黑暗，不知道什么时候能见到光
亮，甚 至还不知道能否见到光亮。然而，我坚持着，凿啊，挖啊，刮啊．终于得到了回报。我见到了一线光亮，这光亮越 来越
大，终于阳光洒进来了，一切都豁然开朗了。
124．我辛辛苦苦地花了五个晚 上，但总算还是没有白费。我使波莉变成一个逻辑学家了，我教她学会了思考。我的任务完
成了，她最终 还是配得上我的。她会成为我贤惠的妻子。我那些豪华公馆里出色的女主人，我那些有良好教养的孩子们的合格< br>母亲。
125．不要以为我不爱这个姑娘了，恰恰相反。正如皮格马利翁珍爱他自己塑 造的完美的少女像一样，我也非常爱我的波莉。
我决定下次会面时把自己的感情向她倾吐。该是把我们师 生关系转化为爱情的时候了。
126．“波莉，”当我们又坐在我们那棵橡树下时，我说，“今晚我们不再讨论渗误了。”
127．“怎么啦?”她失望地问道。
128．“亲爱的，”我友好地对她笑了笑，“我们已经一起度 过了五个晚上，我们相处得很好。显然我们俩是很相配的。”
129．“草率结论，”波莉伶俐地说。
130．“你是说 ---?”我问道。
131．“草率结论，”她重复了一遍。“你怎么能凭我们仅有的五次约会就说我们俩很相配呢?”
132．我咯咯一笑，觉得挺有意思。这可爱的小家伙功课学得可真不错。“亲爱的，”我耐心地拍打着她的手说 ，“五次约
会就不少了，毕竟你不必把整个蛋糕吃下去才知道蛋糕的甜味。”
133．“错误类比，”波莉敏捷地说。“我可不是蛋糕，我是个女孩子。”
134．我微微 一笑，但这次不感到那么有意思了。这可爱的孩子功课或许是学得太好了。我决定改变策略。显然，最好的办法就是态度明朗，直截了当地向她示爱。我沉默了一会儿，用我特别发达的脑袋挑选着合适的词语。然后我便 开始：
135．“波莉，我爱你。对我来说，你就是整个世界，是月亮，是星星，是整个宇宙 。亲爱的，请说你爱我吧。如果你不这
样，我的生活就失去了意义。我将会萎靡不振，茶不饮，饭不思， 到处游荡，成为一个步履蹒跚、双眼凹陷的躯壳。”
136．我双手交叉站在那里，心想这下子可打动她了。
137．“文不对题，”波莉说。
138．我咬咬牙。我不是皮格马利翁，我是弗兰肯斯坦，我的喉咙似乎一下子让魔鬼卡住了。 我极力控制涌上心头的阵阵痛
楚。无论如何，我也要保持冷静。
139．“好了，波莉，”我强装着笑脸说，“这些谬误你的确已学到家了。”
140．“这可说得很对，”她使劲地点了点头说道。
14l_“可是波莉，这一切是谁教给你的?”
142．“你教的呀!”
143．“是的，那你得感谢我。是吧，亲爱的?要是我不和你在一起，你永远也不会学到这些谬误的。”
144．“与事实相反的假设，”波莉不假思索地说着。

145．我甩掉r前额的汗珠。“波莉，”我用嘶哑的声音说 道，“你不要死板地接受这些东两。我是说那只是课堂上讲的东西。
你知道学校学的东西与现实生活毫不 相干。”
146．“绝对判断，”她说道，嬉戏地向我摇摇指头。
147．这一下可使我恼火了。我猛地跳了起来，向公牛似的吼叫着，“你到底想不想和我谈恋爱?”
148．“我不想，”她答道。
149．“为什么不想?”我追问着。
150．“因为今天下午我答应了皮蒂•伯奇，我愿意和他相爱。”
151．我被皮蒂这一无 耻的行径气得一阵眩晕，情不自禁地向后退去。皮蒂答应了我，跟我成了交，还跟我握了手呢!“这
个可 耻的家伙!”我尖声大叫，把一块块草皮踢了起来。“你不能跟他在一起，波莉。他是一个说谎的人、一个骗子、 一个可耻
的家伙!”
152．“井里投毒，”波莉说，“别叫嚷了，我想大声地叫嚷就是一种谬误。”
153．我 以极大的意志力把语气缓和下来。“好吧，”我说个反复无常的人，一个吃了上顿不知下顿的家伙。你能给我一个
合乎逻辑的理由来说明你为什么要跟皮蒂好吗?”
154．“当然能，”波莉肯定地 说，“他有一件浣熊皮大衣，“你是一个逻辑学家。那就让我们从逻辑上来分析这件事吧。
你怎么会看得 上皮蒂•伯奇，而看不起我呢?你看我--- 一个才华横溢的学生，一个了不起的知识分子，一个前途无量的人；而皮
蒂---一个笨蛋，一
。”
(崔林译，李丙奎审校)
Unit9 The Way to Rainy Mountain ——by N. Scott Momaday


A single knoll rises out of the plain in Oklahoma, north and west of the Wichita Range. For my people, the Kiowas, it is an old
landmark, and they gave it the name Rainy Mountain. The hardest weather in the world is there. Winter brings blizzards, hot
tornadic winds arise in the spring, and in summer the prairie is an anvil's edge. The grass turns brittle and brown, and it cracks
beneath your feet. There are green belts along the rivers and creeks, linear groves of hickory and pecan, willow and witch
hazel. At a distance in July or August the steaming foliage seems almost to writhe in fire. Great green and yellow
grasshoppers are everywhere in the tall grass, popping up like corn to sting the flesh, and tortoises crawl about on the red
earth, going nowhere in the plenty of time. Loneliness is an aspect of the land. All things in the plain are isolate; there is no
confusion of objects in the eye, but one hill or one tree or one man. To look upon that landscape in the early morning, with the
sun at your back, is to lose the sense of proportion. Your imagination comes to life, and this, you think, is where Creation was
begun.
I returned to Rainy Mountain in July. My grandmother had died in the spring, and I wanted to be at her grave. She had lived to
be very old and at last infirm. Her only living daughter was with her when she died, and I was told that in death her face was
that of a child.
I like to think of her as a child. When she was born, the Kiowas were living the last great moment of their history. For more than
a hundred years they had controlled the open range from the Smoky Hill River to the Red, from the headwaters of the
Canadian to the fork of the Arkansas and Cimarron. In alliance with the Comanches, they had ruled the whole of the southern
Plains. War was their sacred business, and they were among the finest horsemen the world has ever known. But warfare for
the Kiowas was preeminently a matter of disposition rather than of survival, and they never understood the grim, unrelenting
advance of the U.S. Cavalry. When at last, divided and illprovisioned, they were driven onto the Staked Plains in the cold rains
of autumn, they fell into panic. In Palo Duro Canyon they abandoned their crucial stores to pillage and had nothing then but
their lives. In order to save themselves, they surrendered to the soldiers at Fort Sill and were imprisoned in the old stone corral
that now stands as a military museum. My grandmother was spared the humiliation of those high gray walls by eight or ten
years, but she must have known from birth the affliction of defeat, the dark brooding of old warriors.

Her name was Aho, and she belonged to the last culture to evolve in North America. Her forebears came down from the high
country in western Montana nearly three centuries ago. They were a mountain people, a mysterious tribe of hunters whose
language has never been positively classified in any major group. In the late seventeenth century they began a long migration
to the south and east. It was a journey toward the dawn, and it led to a golden age. Along the way the Kiowas were befriended
by the Crows, who gave them the culture and religion of the Plains. They acquired horses, and their ancient nomadic spirit
was suddenly free of the ground. They acquired Tai-me, the sacred Sun Dance doll, from that moment the object and symbol
of their worship, and so shared in the divinity of the sun. Not least, they acquired the sense of destiny, therefore courage and
pride. When they entered upon the southern Plains they had been transformed. No longer were they slaves to the simple
necessity of survival; they were a lordly and dangerous society of fighters and thieves, hunters and priests of the sun.
According to their origin myth, they entered the world through a hollow log. From one point of view, their migration was the fruit
of an old prophecy, for indeed they emerged from a sunless world.
Although my grandmother lived out her long life in the shadow of Rainy Mountain, the immense landscape of the continental
interior lay like memory in her blood. She could tell of the Crows, whom she had never seen, and of the Black Hills, where she
had never been. I wanted to see in reality what she had seen more perfectly in the mind's eye, and traveled fifteen hundred
miles to begin my pilgrimage.
Yellowstone, it seemed to me, was the top of the world, a region of deep lakes and dark timber, canyons and waterfalls. But,
beautiful as it is, one might have the sense of confinement there. The skyline in all directions is close at hand, the high wall of
the woods and deep cleavages of shade. There is a perfect freedom in the mountains, but it belongs to the eagle and the elk,
the badger and the bear. The Kiowas reckoned their stature by the distance they could see, and they were bent and blind in
the wilderness.
Descending eastward, the highland meadows are a stairway to the plain. In July the inland slope of the Rockies is luxuriant
with flax and buckwheat, stonecrop and larkspur. The earth unfolds and the limit of the land recedes. Clusters of trees, and
animals grazing far in the distance, cause the vision to reach away and wonder to build upon the mind. The sun follows a
longer course in the day, and the sky is immense beyond all comparison. The great billowing clouds that sail upon it are
shadows that move upon the grain like water, dividing light. Farther down, in the land of the Crows and Blackfeet, the plain is
yellow. Sweet clover takes hold of the hills and bends upon itself to cover and seal the soil. There the Kiowas paused on their
way; they had come to the place where they must change their lives. The sun is at home on the plains. Precisely there does it
have the certain character of a god. When the Kiowas came to the land of the Crows, they could see the darklees of the hills at
dawn across the Bighorn River, the profusion of light on the grain shelves, the oldest deity ranging after the solstices. Not yet
would they veer southward to the caldron of the land that lay below; they must wean their blood from the northern winter and
hold the mountains a while longer in their view. They bore Tai-me in procession to the east.
A dark mist lay over the Black Hills, and the land was like iron. At the top of a ridge I caught sight of Devil's Tower upthrust
against the gray sky as if in the birth of time the core of the earth had broken through its crust and the motion of the world was
begun. There are things in nature that engender an awful quiet in the heart of man; Devil's Tower is one of them. Two
centuries ago, because they could not do otherwise, the Kiowas made a legend at the base of the rock. My grandmother said:
Eight children were there at play, seven sisters and their brother. Suddenly the boy was struck dumb; he trembled and began
to run upon his hands and feet. His fingers became claws, and his body was covered with fur. Directly there was a bear where
the boy had been. The sisters were terrified; they ran, and the bear after them. They came to the stump of a great tree, and the
tree spoke to them. It bade them climb upon it, and as they did so it began to rise into the air. The bear came to kill them, but
they were just beyond its reach. It reared against the tree and scored the bark all around with its claws. The seven sisters were
borne into the sky, and they became the stars of the Big Dipper.

From that moment, and so long as the legend lives, the Kiowas have kinsmen in the night sky. Whatever they were in the
mountains, they could be no more. However tenuous their well-being, however much they had suffered and would suffer again,
they had found a way out of the wilderness.
My grandmother had a reverence for the sun, a holy regard that now is all but gone out of mankind. There was a wariness in
her, and an ancient awe. She was a Christian in her later years, but she had come a long way about, and she never forgot her
birthright. As a child she had been to the Sun Dances; she had taken part in those annual rites, and by them she had learned
the restoration of her people in the presence of Tai- me. She was about seven when the last Kiowa Sun Dance was held in
1887 on the Washita River above Rainy Mountain Creek. The buffalo were gone. In order to consummate the ancient
sacrifice-- to impale the head of a buffalo bull upon the medicine tree--a delegation of old men journeyed into Texas, there to
beg and barter for an animal from the Goodnight herd. She was ten when the Kiowas came together for the last time as a
living Sun Dance culture. They could find no buffalo; they had to hang an old hide from the sacred tree. Before the dance
could begin, a company of soldiers rode out from Fort Sill under orders to disperse the tribe. Forbidden without cause the
essential act of their faith, having seen the wild herds slaughtered and left to rot upon the ground, the Kiowas backed away
forever from the medicine tree. That was July 20, 1890, at the great bend of the Washita. My grandmother was there. Without
bitterness, and for as long as she lived, she bore a vision of deicide.
Now that I can have her only in memory, I see my grandmother in the several postures that were peculiar to her: standing at
the wood stove on a winter morning and turning meat in a great iron skillet; sitting at the south window, bent above her
beadwork, and afterwards, when her vision failed, looking down for a long time into the fold of her hands; going out upon a
cane, very slowly as she did when the weight of age came upon her; praying. I remember her most often at prayer. She made
long, rambling prayers out of suffering and hope, having seen many things. I was never sure that I had the right to hear, so
exclusive were they of all mere custom and company. The last time I saw her she prayed standing by the side of her bed at
night, naked to the waist, the light of a kerosene lamp moving upon her dark skin. Her long, black hair, always drawn and
braided in the day, lay upon her shoulders and against her breasts like a shawl. I do not speak Kiowa, and I never understood
her prayers, but there was something inherently sad in the sound, some merest hesitation upon the syllables of sorrow. She
began in a high and descending pitch, exhausting her breath to silence; then again and again--and always the same intensity
of effort, of something that is, and is not, like urgency in the human voice. Transported so in the dancing light among the
shadows of her room, she seemed beyond the reach of time. But that was illusion; I think I knew then that I should not see her
again.
Houses are like sentinels in the plain, old keepers of the weather watch. There, in a very little while, wood takes on the
appearance of great age. All colors wear soon away in the wind and rain, and then the wood is burned gray and the grain
appears and the nails turn red with rust. The windowpanes are black and opaque; you imagine there is nothing within, and
indeed there are many ghosts, bones given up to the land. They stand here and there against the sky, and you approach them
for a longer time than you expect. They belong in the distance; it is their domain.
Once there was a lot of sound in my grandmother's house, a lot of coming and going, feasting and talk. The summers there
were full of excitement and reunion. The Kiowas are a summer people; they abide the cold and keep to themselves, but when
the season turns and the land becomes warm and vital they cannot hold still; an old love of going returns upon them. The aged
visitors who came to my grandmother's house when I was a child were made of lean and leather, and they bore themselves
upright. They wore great black hats and bright ample shirts that shook in the wind. They rubbed fat upon their hair and wound
their braids with strips of colored cloth. Some of them painted their faces and carried the scars of old and cherished enmities.
They were an old council of warlords, come to remind and be reminded of who they were. Their wives and daughters served
them well. The women might indulge themselves; gossip was at once the mark and compensation of their servitude. They
made loud and elaborate talk among themselves, full of jest and gesture, fright and false alarm. They went abroad in fringed

and flowered shawls, bright beadwork and German silver. They were at home in the kitchen, and they prepared meals that
were banquets.
There were frequent prayer meetings, and great nocturnal feasts. When I was a child I played with my cousins outside, where
the lamplight fell upon the ground and the singing of the old people rose up around us and carried away into the darkness.
There were a lot of good things to eat, a lot of laughter and surprise. And afterwards, when the quiet returned, I lay down with
my grandmother and could hear the frogs away by the river and feel the motion of the air.
Now there is a funeral silence in the rooms, the endless wake of some final word. The walls have closed in upon my
grandmother's house. When I returned to it in mourning, I saw for the first time in my life how small it was. It was late at night,
and there was a white moon, nearly full. I sat for a long time on the stone steps by the kitchen door. From there I could see out
across the land; I could see the long row of trees by the creek, the low light upon the rolling plains, and the stars of the Big
Dipper. Once I looked at the moon and caught sight of a strange thing. A cricket had perched upon the handrail, only a few
inches away from me. My line of vision was such that the creature filled the moon like a fossil. It had gone there, I thought, to
live and die, for there, of all places, was its small definition made whole and eternal. A warm wind rose up and purled like the
longing within me.
The next morning I awoke at dawn and went out on the dirt road to Rainy Mountain. It was already hot, and the grasshoppers
began to fill the air. Still, it was early in the morning, and the birds sang out of the shadows. The long yellow grass on the
mountain shone in the bright light, and a scissortail hied above the land. There, where it ought to be, at the end of a long and
legendary way, was my grandmother's grave. Here and there on the dark stones were ancestral names. Looking back once, I
saw the mountain and came away.
第9课 通往雨山的路 N•斯科特•莫米蒂
1 ．一座孤零零的小山在俄克拉荷马的草原上拔地而起，它的西面和北面是维奇塔山脉。对于我们克尔瓦人来说，它 是个古
老的界标，我们给它取名叫雨山。这里有世界上最恶劣的天气。冬季有大暴风雪，春季就刮起了飓 风，到了夏季，草原热得就
像铁砧一样。草变得又脆又黄。沿着河流和小溪，是长长的绿带，有一排排的 山核桃树、柳树和金缕梅。从远望去，七八月里
的树叶热得冒烟，犹如在火中挣扎。高高的草地上到处都 是大个儿的黄绿色的蚱蜢．像玉米花一样爆裂开，刺得人痛。乌龟在
红土地上爬行，不知要去何处。寂寞 荒凉是这里的一大特点。草原上的一切都是疏离开来的，所见之物不会混杂在一起让人看
不清楚。要么只 是一山，要么只是一树、一人。清晨，太阳在你的背后冉冉升起，此时观看大地，你会失去平时的比例感。你会张开想像的翅膀，并认定这就是上帝造设宇宙的起始点。
2．我七月回到了雨山。我祖 母于春季去世，我是想去她的墓地。她活得很老，最后因虚弱而死。她死的时候，是她现在惟
一活着的女 儿陪伴着她。听说她死时的脸像张孩子的脸。
3．我喜欢把她看作孩子。她出生时，俄克拉荷马人正生 活在其所史上鼎盛时期的最后阶段。一个多世纪以来，他们掌控着从斯
莫克山河到红河那片空旷的山脉， 掌控着从加拿大河流的源头到阿肯色河和西马隆河交汇处的地域。他们与科曼斯人一道，统
治着整个南部 平原。发动战争是他们神圣的职责．他们是世人所知的最优秀的骑手。然而，对于克尔瓦人来说，作战更多是因< br>为这是他们的习惯，而非为了生存。他们从来都不理解美国骑兵残酷的进攻。当最后四分五裂、弹尽粮绝时 ，他们便冒着冰凉
的秋雨来到斯代克特平原，陷入了恐慌。在帕罗多罗坎，他们的弹粮被抢劫一空，只剩 下了性命。为了拯救自己，他们在福特
西尔投降，被监禁在一个石头堆砌的牛马棚。现在，这里已经是个 军事博物馆了。我的祖母得以豁免那高高的灰墙里的羞辱，
因为她是在此事件8年或10年后出生的。但 自出生起，她就已经懂得失败给人带来的苦难．这使那些老战士们百思不得其解。
4．她的名 字叫阿荷，属_丁北美最后的文化。差不多一个世纪前，她的祖先从蒙大拿两部来到这里。他们是一群山民，一< br>个神秘的猎手部落．其语言从未分明地划归任何一个主要语种。17世纪晚期，他们开始了漫长的向南和向 东移民。这个通向黎
明的漫长的旅行，使他们达到其黄金时期。一路上，克尔瓦人被克罗人当作朋友，并 给了他们平原上的文化和宗教。他们有了
马，于是他们那古老的游牧精神使他们重新脱离了地面。他们拥 有了太米，那神圣的太阳舞木偶，自那时起太米就成了他们的
崇拜物和象征物。太米也是所有崇拜太阳的 部落的崇拜物。同样重要的是，他们有着命运感，也有着勇气和荣誉感。当他们开
始享受南部大平原时， 他们已经被改变了。他们不再是为了简单的生活必需品的奴隶，而是一群傲慢危险的斗士和小偷、猎人

和虔诚的太阳舞宗教徒。有关他们起源的神话告诉我们 ，他们是通过一根空心圆木来到了世上。从某种程度上说，他们的迁移
是一个古老预言的结果，因为他们 的确来自于一个没有太阳的世界。
5．虽然我的祖母在漫长的生活中从未离开过雨山，但大平 原那广袤的景色却留在她的记忆中，仿佛她本人曾经在那里生活
过。她能谈一些关于克罗人的事情，尽管 她从未见过他们；她还知道黑山，虽然她从未去过那里。我想见识她想像当中的完美
世界，于是走了15 00英里，开始了我的朝圣。
6．对于我来说，黄石是世界上最好的地方。一个有许多深湖、 黑木材、深峡谷和瀑布的地区。虽然黄石地区很美．但人们
可能有受束缚、被禁锢的感觉。放眼望去，四 周天际线近在咫尺，伸手可及。这天际线是一道树的高墙和一条条幽深的裂缝。
山里有完全的自由，但这 只属于老鹰、美洲赤鹿、獾和熊。克尔瓦人根据他们所能看清的距离来判断他们的位置；在荒野中他
们时 常弯着腰或者双眼迷茫。
7．由于位居落基山脉的坡上，向东看上去高高的草地就像通往平原 的台阶。七月，落基山脉面向平原的内坡上长满了亚麻、
荞麦、景天和翠雀等各种植物。当大地在我们面 前展开时，陆地的边缘渐渐退去。远处的树木和吃着草的动物开阔了我们的视
野，使人张开想像的翅膀。 白天日照时间很长，天空宽阔无比。宛如波浪的大片云彩在天空中游动，就像一片片船帆。在庄稼
地里投 下了影子。再往下，在科洛任何黑足印第安人的领地，平原是黄色的。苜蓿长满了山丘，她低垂的叶子盖到地上， 密密
地封住土壤。克罗人在这里停下了脚步，他们来到了必须改变他们生活的地方。在大平原，太阳感到 很舒坦。毫无疑问．这里
有上帝的灵性。克尔瓦人来到克罗人的土地上，他们在黎明时，隔着比格好恩河 可以看到山的背阴处，明媚的阳光照在层层的
庄稼地上。然而，他们并不情愿改变方向，向南到脚下这块 大锅似的土地。因为他们必须给身体充分的时间适应大平原。他们
也不愿这么快就看不见雨山。他们把太 米也带到了东方。
8．一层暗淡的雾霭笼罩着黑山，这里的土地贫瘠得像铁。在一座山脊顶上 ，我看到魔鬼塔高高插入灰蒙蒙的天空，似乎在
时间诞生之时，地核开裂，地壳破裂，宇宙的运动从此开 始。实际上有一些事情能使人们叹为观止。魔鬼塔就是其中之一。两
个世纪以前，由于克尔瓦人无法用科 学解释魔鬼塔的形式，冈此他们惟一能做的就是根据岩石，通过自己的想像编造故事。我
祖母说，“八个 孩子在玩耍，七个姐姐和一个弟弟。突然间男孩子变得哑巴了。他颤抖着，并用手脚爬行。他的手脚趾变成了爪子，身体也长上了毛。他一下子就变成了一只熊。姐姐们非常害怕，于是她们就跑，熊就跟着她们跑。她们 来到了一棵大树
桩下，树开始跟她们说话，命令她们爬上树。当她们爬上树时，树便开始上升。熊赶过来 要吃她们．但够不着。于是熊站了起
来，用它那尖锐的爪子胡乱抓着树皮。七个姐姐被运上了天，变成了 大熊座内的北斗七星。”从那时起，只要这一传说还存在，
克尔瓦人就跟夜空有一种亲缘关系。在山里， 除了山民以外，他们不会再是别的什么了。无论他们的福分有多浅，无论他们的
生活有多艰难，他们已经 从荒原上找到了生存之路。
9．我的祖母对太阳怀有崇敬之情。然而，现在人们的这种感情已 经没有了。在她身上有一种细致和古老的敬畏。她晚年时
开始信基督教，但在成为基督教徒之前她改变了 许多，她从未忘记自己与生俱来的权利。孩提时，她跳过太阳舞，也参加过那
些一年一度的仪式，从中她 懂得了她的同胞在太米面前的复原。1887年,当最后一次克尔瓦太阳舞会召开时。她大约七岁。水牛
都没有了。为了完成那古老的祭祀----把公水牛的头穿在驱魔架上----一个老人代表团旅行到了德克萨斯 ，去乞讨并从古德奈特牧
民那里换取水牛。作为太阳舞文化，克尔瓦人最后一次聚会那年她十岁。他们没 有找到水牛；于是他们就不得不挂上一张旧兽
皮。在舞会开始以前，福特希尔有人命令一群战士前来驱散 这群部落。毫无理由地，关于他们信仰的基本行为被禁止了。看到
野蛮人杀戮他们的同胞，然后把他们的 尸体扔在地上慢慢腐烂，克尔瓦人从此永远地远离了驱麾架。这事发生在1890年7月
20日，维吉塔 河拐弯处。我祖母在那。没有感到痛苦，因为只要她活着，她就能忍受目睹上帝惨遭杀害。
1 0．虽然我只能把祖母留在我的记忆中．我却能够看到她一些特有的姿势：冬季的清晨站在木炉边翻烤着铁锅里的 肉片；
坐在南面窗前，手里捻着念珠，随后，当她看不见的时候，她就低下头，久久地注视着自己合在一 起的双手；拄着拐杖出门，
随着年事增高，走得越来越慢；她时常祈祷。我记忆最深刻的当数她的祈祷了 。出于痛苦、希望，再加上经历了许多事情，她
总是做长时间的祷告。我从来都不能肯定我有权利听她的 祷告，她的祈祷并不遵循任何祷告形式的习俗。最后一次见到她时，
是在夜间她站在床边祷告，身体裸到 腰部，煤油灯光在她黑黑的皮肤上移动。她那白天里总是打成辫子的又长又黑的头发，散
落在肩膀上，垂 在胸前，宛如披肩。我不会说克尔瓦语，而且从来都听不懂她的祈祷，那声音里充满了悲伤，她起调很高，用尽全身力气，直到再也喊不出声音来；然后反复这样----总是用同样的气力，而有时像，有时又不像人类 的声音。她对房屋里的
影子间跳跃的光很着迷，这让人觉得她会永远活在世上。然而，这都是幻觉。那时 我已经知道，不久我就不会再见到她了。

11．平原上的房屋就像哨兵。它们是古老的天气守卫者。在那里，用不了多久，树木就会看起来很老。所有的颜 色都会在
风吹雨打中褪去，然后树木变灰，长出纹理，钉子生锈变红。窗户玻璃黑且透明，你可以想像里 面什么都没有，然而确实有许
多鬼魂和尸骨。他们站在不同的地方挡住天空，你会觉得走近他们所花费的 时间比想像的还长。它们属于远方，那是它们的领
地。
12.在我祖母的房间里，曾 经有过许多声音，许多人来来往往，举行盛会，谈笑风生。夏日里充满了兴奋与团聚。克尔瓦人
夏季很活 跃，他们忍受冬日的寒冷，不与外人接触；但当季节变幻，大地变暖，充满生机时，他们就会按捺不住；对活动的 那
种古老的热爱又回到了他们身边。我小的时候，来我祖母家的那些年长者都精瘦，但腰板硬朗。他们头 戴大黑帽子，肥大的衬
衫不断被风吹起。他们头抹头油，辫子上系着彩带。一些人把脸涂上色，身上带着 旧时征战时落下的伤疤。他们是一群旧军阀，
来这里是为了让自己和别人都记住他们是谁。他们的妻子和 女儿把他们伺候得很好。而在这种场合，那些通常在家里伺候男人
的女人们，则可以做她们想做的，或者 做她们通常不能做的，比如，闲聊、大声喊叫、开玩笑、讲鬼故事等等。走出家门时，
她们披着印花披肩 ，带着鲜亮的珍珠或者镍黄铜首饰。而在家里，她们却忙着下厨房，准备着丰盛的宴席。
13 .经常有祷告性的集会和大型晚餐。小时候，我经常和表兄妹们在户外玩耍，灯总是放在地上，老人们的歌声在我 们的周
围响起，并传到黑暗处。不但有许多好吃的东西，也有许多笑声和惊喜。后来，当寂静重新回到我 们身边时，我和祖母一起躺
下，听着远处河边的蛙鸣，感受着空气的流动。
14．现 在，房间里有一种葬礼般的寂静，那是对克尔瓦文化永远的守灵。祖母家的墙封了。当回去奔丧时，我一生中第一
次感到这房子很小。那已是深夜，皎洁的月亮，几乎是满月。我在厨房门边的石阶上坐了很久。从那儿我 能看到对面的大地；
我能看到溪边那长长的树排，那起伏的草原上低低的光，还有那北斗七星。我曾望着 月亮，看到一个怪物。一只蟋蟀歇在栏杆
上，近在咫尺。我当时的视线正好能看到那只蟋蟀像块化石镶在 满月之中。我猜想，那蟋蟀到那里去生活和死亡，是因为只有
在那里它小小的价值才能变得完整和永恒。 一阵暖风吹起，仿佛一种渴望在我的心中涌动。
15.次日清晨，我在黎明时分醒来，踏上了 那满是尘土的雨山之路。天气已经很热，蚱蜢已开始四处活动。依然是清晨，鸟
儿在树荫下歌唱着。山上 ，那长长的黄草地在阳光中闪亮，一只叉尾霸翁鸫从田过。在那里，在那长长的充满传奇色彩的路上，
有 我祖母的坟墓。四周深颜色的石头上刻着祖先们的名字。在回首，望着雨山，(带着开始新生活的意念)我离开了 。
(崔林译，李丙奎审校)

Unit 10 “9. 11”事件前后
泰•摩西
As the ruins of the World Trade Towers smoldered at the southern end of Manhattan and the breeze stirred the ashes of
thousands of human beings, a new age of anxiety was born. If someone had slept through September 11 and awakened, Rip
Van Winkle-like today, he would open his eyes on an astonishing new landscape.
1．世贸大厦双塔的 废墟还在曼哈顿区南端闷燃，微风将几千人的身躯化成的灰烬吹起，一个新的焦虑时代由此开始。如果
有 人在9月11日那天像瑞普•凡•温克尔那样恰好睡去，一觉醒来，眼前的这一派景象定让他瞠日结舌。
Guardsmen toting M-16s are stationed at our airports. The president of the United States attends a World Series game and
the airspace over Yankee Stadium is closed, a line of snipers positioned on the stadium rooftop. The vice- president's
safekeepers whisk him from place to place, just as his arch-nemesis Osama bin Laden is presumably moved from cave to
cave halfway across the world. Anthrax panic sends Congress running from its chambers.
2．机场里驻进了背着V-16自 动步枪的国民警卫队员。纽约扬基体育场上空的空域因美国总统亲临美国两大职业棒球联赛
的决赛而关闭 ，禁止飞机通过。体育场的屋顶之上还部署了一排狙击手。副总统的保卫员们忙不迭地将他不断转移，正如他那< br>难以对付的仇敌奥萨马?本?拉丹一样，据推测他此刻也在世界另一头从一个山洞转移到另一个山洞。议员 们在炭疽病的恐慌中
弃岗而逃。
The events of September 11 divided our world into two radically different eras. We watch wistfully as the pre-911 world drifts
away on its raft of memory, cast in Technicolor shades of nostalgia. We will remember that assassinated world as idyllic,
secure (never mind that it was neither), we will speak of it in the reverent tones reserved for the dead.

3．“9?11”事件将我们的世 界划为截然不同的两个时代。我们带着惆怅，目送“9?11”之前的世界在怀旧的暗淡色彩中
随记忆的 小筏渐渐漂走远去。在我们的记忆中，这个突遭袭击的世界永远如诗如面，牢不可破(虽然实际并非如此)。谈到 它时，
我们总是像在谈论亡灵，语气异常恭敬。
Meanwhile, the post 911 era looms like an unmapped wilderness. As with other unclaimed territories throughout history, a
fierce battle is being waged for its psychic, political and material capital. Former president Bill Clinton has called this conflict

Leading the charge are the warriors of the Bush Administration, a battalion of securitycrats and generals who are attempting to
colonize the future with their own repressive agenda.
4．与此同时，“9?11”之后的日子就像没有标志的荒地呈现在人们面前。与历史上前几次拓荒一样，这场激 烈的精神、政
治和物质的资本战正在打响。前总统比尔?克林顿称这次较量是“争夺21世纪灵魂的战争 ”，最后的战利品还包括我们最珍视
的价值观和自由。在这场战争中，布什政府的将士们首当其冲，这些 视国家安全重于民众自由的官员们准备把他们一贯实行的
镇压政策带入未来。
But there is a brighter side, a growing chorus of dissenting voices who reject paranoia and hubris and question the rush
toward becoming a security state. There is a dialectic afoot in the country, a stirring of peaceful purpose that has been largely
ignored by the mainstream media, which assumes the public is thinking in red, white and blue, when actually the spectrum of
emotions, ideas and opinions is, like America itself, multihued.
5．不过，光明的一面仍旧存在：越来越多的人开始反对这种 多疑和自大，并对这种视安全为国家最高目标的做法提出质疑。人
们开始辩证地思考，对基本上得不到主 流媒体重视的和平这一主题热烈讨论。主流媒体一直以为公众的想法只有红、白、蓝三
种颜色，殊不知人 们的情感、思想和观点正如美国本身，是多姿多彩的。
Just before his death in November 2001, Ken Kesey described the state of the union in succinctly Keseyian terms:
in suits are telling us what the men in uniforms are going to do to the men in turbans if they don't turn over the men in hiding.”
With the prescience of a dying man, Kesey ventured that this was really a war between the brutal, aggressively male way
things had always been and
Kesey nurtured great hopes for a future constructed on a model of mutual cooperation, trust and rational thinking.
6．在2001年11月肯•凯西去世 前夕，他以独有的简洁对美国做了这样的描写：“穿西装的人(美国官员)告诉我们穿军装的人(美
国军 队)怎样对付一味窝藏他人(本•拉登及“基地”组织成员)的人(塔利班)。”即将离开人世的人具有的先知使 凯西大胆地将这
场战争称做仍是历史上一直存在的野蛮的雄性侵略性方式和“或许刚刚处于萌芽阶段的胆 怯和脆弱的处理方式”的角逐。和许
多仍旧持这种观点的美国人一样，凯西渴望未来的世界能够建立在互 相合作、信任和理智的思考之上。

No Longer Invulnerable（不再坚不可摧）

7 The attacks in New York and Washington shattered the sense of invulnerability that is a hallmark of the American psyche.
After 911, we looked at each other with new eyes, asked new questions. If you found yourself trapped in a doomed airplane
with a cell phone in hand, who would you call? Pundits wrote that the country had lost its innocence, overlooking the fact that
innocence is not a desirable quality in a superpower nation.
7．纽约和华盛顿遭受的恐怖袭击使美国人不再相信无所不胜这一美国精神的主要特征。“9?11”事件之后， 我们用新眼光
对视，并提出新的问题。如果你乘坐的飞机就要失事，你会用手中的移动电话与谁通话?学 者们认为这个国家已经不再纯真，却
没有认识到纯真对一个超级大国并不可取。
Overnight, the United States perceived a sword of Damocles suspended over its head and the ensuing waves of paranoia
initiated surreal episodes: a nationwide run on gas masks; a demand from the Postal Service that all mail be irradiated against
biological threats; and, most appalling of all, Op-Eds that declared using nuclear weapons against Muslim countries would be
justified if terrorists killed so much as one more American.

8．一夜之间，美国感觉到达摩克利斯剑正悬挂在头上，一个接一个以多疑为主调的超现实的插曲出现了：全国抢 购防毒面
具，邮局辐照所有邮件，严防生物袭击，更让人感到可怕的是专栏上发表的文章，有人扬言，如 果再有一名美国人因恐怖分子
死亡，美国政府将有理由对穆斯林国家动用核武器。
Among the unavoidable truths to emerge from 911 is that being on U. S. soil does not render us immune from harm. The
American people now have much more in common with millions of the planet's citizens who spend their lives in regions where
armed conflict or terrorism take innocent lives daily. We too are mired near the bottom of Maslow's pyramid, struggling to
regain our lost sense of safety and security.
9．“9•11”事件让我们认识到许多 无可争辩的事实，其中有一点就是即使在美国本土也无法保证我们免受伤害。美国人现
在和世界上千百万 生活在武装冲突和恐怖活动每天都夺走生命的地区的人们有了更多共同之处。我们也陷在马斯洛金字塔的底
层，为重获安全感而挣扎。
The new Zeitgeist even has Ally McBeal registering concern about world events. Relationships, laments Ally McBeal, were
easier
only one affected by what happened at the World Trade Center
10．这种新的时代精神竟然会让艾丽 ?麦克比尔这位从不关心政治的人对世界大事也开始担心起来。艾丽?麦克比尔认为人
与人之间的关系“ 在9月世界变化之前”并非如此困难，对此他感到十分痛惜。《纽约重案组》中，一个侦探指责另一侦探，
说他并不是“世贸大厦事件惟一的受害者”。
The most visible symptom of our profound psychological trauma is a zealous new patriotism. Seeking solace, the country
drapes itself in the American flag like a child in a superhero cape who plays at being invincible. From homes, vehicles and
clothing to department store windows, billboards and television commercials, there are few places in the country where the
Stars and Stripes has not found a purchase. People who never gave the flag much thought except on the Fourth of July have
become suddenly, passionately, patriotic. For some of us, patriotism is a complicated matter, linked with a dedication to the
Constitution. But the now inescapable presence of the flag, supposedly a symbol of American pride and unity, sometime looks:
suspiciously like overcompensation for a wounded ego. The flag is an icon,a brand that offers no more protection than the
Nike swoosh.
11．我们这种巨大的心理创伤最明显的症状就是一种新的狂热的爱国主义。为了寻求 安慰，全国上下都裹进了国旗，就像一个
披着超人斗篷扮无敌英雄的小孩子。家里、各种交通工具上、衣 服上、商店的橱窗里、广告牌上、电视广告里……星条旗处处
可见。以前除了在7月4日之外不会想到国 旗的人现在一下子都充满激情地成了爱国者。对我们某些人来说，爱国主义是个复
杂的东西，与是否忠于 宪法有关。可是现在，无处不在的国旗可能象征着美国的自豪和统一，有时看上去未免像是对受伤的自
我 的过度补偿。国旗不过是个象征，它能够给人提供的保护不会与带有耐克品牌标志的商品有多大差异。

A Hardening of Outlook (观点的硬化)

12 It has not been fashionable for some time to assign oracular qualities to Orwell's novel, 1984. Yet the book has much to
say to our fractured, post 911 era. In Orwell's dystopia, “'practices which has been long abandoned, in some cases for
hundreds of years—imprisonment without trial.. public executions, torture to extract confessions, not only became common
again, but were tolerated and even defended by people who considered themselves enlightened and progressive.” These
paroxysmal social changes, Orwell wrote, began with a of outlook”.

12．人们曾一度不再认为奥韦尔的小说《1984》是一部预言，不过小说巾的描写与 我们“9?1l”事件之后这不再完整的时代
的确大有相似之处。他描写反面乌托邦时说，“一些长期以 来已经放弃不用的做法，有些甚至几百年来都已废除的做法，例如
未经审讯即监禁……公开处决、严刑拷 打逼供……不仅又普遍实行起来，而且也为那些自认为开明进步的人所容忍，甚至辩护。”
奥韦尔认为这 种突发的社会变化起源于“普遍硬化的观点”。
13 In the U. S. today, this hardening of outlook is called the war against terrorism.

13．如今的美国将这种观点的硬化称为反恐战。
14 At its forefront, the new defenders of the Homeland are defining its motives, methods and mentality, But many of us
define our personal safely and our national character by the very civil liberties that are being compromised in the name of state
security. What we are in the process of giving up may prove to be far more precious than what was taken from us on
September 11.
14．在最前线 ，国家的新护卫们正制定作战目标、作战方法并进行心理准备。不过，我们许多人是用公民的自由来定义个
人安全和民族性的，而这些自由现在在国家安全的名义下不得不做出让步。我们现在正在放弃的可能会远远超过 “9?1l”事件
从我们身边带走的。
In the weeks after the attacks, for example, the Justice Department arrested scores of young Arab and Muslim men and held
them without charge, in undisclosed locations. Their names were not released, nor were they permuted to send word to their
families , They simply vanished. Georgetown University law professor David Cole calls this” the practice of disappearance ,
and it is something we associate with repressive regimes, not with participatory democracies. Not only do such activities
compromise the nation's integrity at home but they are sure to undermine American credibility abroad. If we cannot adhere lo
our own ideals and values, to the standards we've called on other nations to adhere to in the past, then we call into question
some of our fundamental assumptions about who we are.
15． 比如，在恐怖事件后的几周内，司法部未经审判便秘密逮捕了许多年轻的阿拉伯人和穆斯林教徒。不公布他们的名 字，也
不允许他们通知其家人。他们就此消失。乔治城大学法学教授戴维?科尔将其称为“失踪惯例”。 我们往往认为这种惯例会出现
在实行镇压政策的国家，不会出现在分享民主制的国家。这不仅会减少国人 对我国的公正的信心而且一定会在国际上影响美国
的可信度。如果我们无法再坚持我们的理想和价值观， 无法坚持我们在过去一直号召其他国家遵守的准则，那么我们就会对自
己的身份这一基本的假定产生怀疑 。

Must We Shop ‘til We Drop? （我们一定要买到底?）

16 An Orthodox rabbi once told me that when you are in control, you prepare for those times when you are out of control.
The rabbi was speaking of interpersonal relationships, but his dictum could easily be applied to the current geopolitical
situation. To wit: Take an oil- dependent nation that consumes 20 million barrels of oil every day, The nation is in receasion
and has just gone to war in the region that supplies most of the oil. Would it not be wise, patriotic even, for said nation to cut
back on its oil consumption?
16．一位正统派犹太教教士曾经和我说过要未 雨绸缪。这位教士谈的虽是人际关系，但这句名言也非常适合当今的地缘政
治情况。也就是说，让我们看 看这个日耗油达2000万桶的离不开石油的国家。这个国家正在走入萧条，刚刚对给他提供大部分
油料 的地区宣战。难道减少对石油的消耗不是明智又爱国的举动吗?
Yet sales of sport utility vehicles, those infamous gas- guzzlers, are up, expected to surpass, for the first time ever, sales of
passenger cars. Automakers rejoice in this as a patriotic act.
our nation's confidence and to keep the economy moving forward,
sales figures of 3. 5 million SUVs.
17．可是，运动型多用途车和耗油量大得惊人的油老虎的销量 却一直在上升，预计将首次超过小客车的销量。汽车制造商
对这一爱国行为异常兴奋。“商家和消费者应 该携手为树立全国人民的信心、保持经济发展做出努力，”通用公司副总裁比尔?
洛夫乔伊对运动型多用 途车的预计销量将达到350万辆充满信心。
Just after the attacks, a renewed sense of community was visible across the nation as Americans saw their own grief, fear
and concern reflected by friends and neighbors. There was a relaxing of the rampant materialism, along with its ugly
stepsisters isolation and compulsion, that has been the undoing of community in this country. Community cannot compete
with shopping malls or 200 satellite television channels, with Gameboys or the 70-hour workweek. Community requires people
gathering with others and talking, singing, questioning and arguing, a rialto where ideas and creativity are the currency.

18．恐怖袭击刚刚过去，美国人在朋友和邻居身上看到了他们自己的痛苦、恐惧和 忧虑，人们将目光又重新投向了社区。
一度泛滥的物质主义和随之而来的可怕的孤独感和强迫症曾经让社 区从这个国家的人们心中消失。社区比不上大购物中心，比
不上200多个卫星电视频道，比不了电子游 戏，也比不了70小时的工作周。社区需要人们走出家门，欢聚畅谈，放声高歌，互
问互答，辩论输赢。 它是一个市场，而思想和创新就是用来完成交换的中介。
Since our economy is dependent upon mass consumerism, however, it wasn't long before government and big business
invented the concept of
extols the nepenthean powers of the dollar and in effect, discourages national introspection at a time when it would be most
valuable. Presidential exhortations to get back to normal assumed we would want to restore the world we had as quickly as
possible. But not everyone is content to shut up and shop. The pre-911 world cannot be restored, not with a credit card, not
with a new car. Many of us want to build on that nascent community. Many citizens concerned about the deteriorating
economy are resisting the consumption orgy and are exploring alternatives that would make our country more self-sufficient
and prepare us for the tough times that may lie ahead.
19．可是，既然我们的经济的存在取决于大众消费，很快，政府和大工商企业 就杜撰出了一个“经济爱国主义”的概念。这个
弗兰肯斯坦式的概念主张消费是美国价值观，认为美元会 让人忘掉一切忧愁。实际上，这是在阻碍人们进行理性的反思，而在
此时这种反思又是十分重要的。布什 总统号召人们将工作和生活恢复正常，他认为我们希望尽快地重建以前的世界。不过，不
是人人都乐于保 持沉默．买个不停。“9.11”之前的世界一去不复返，不管是信用卡还是新汽车都换不回。我们当中有好多人
希望加入到这个刚刚显示出生命力的社区中来。许多担心经济恶化的公民都拒绝无节制的消费，而且正在 寻找措施，以便使我
国更加自给自足，并且随时准备应付今后会出现的艰难时刻。

History's Lessons （历史的教训）

20 An anonymous rescuer, digging in the rubble of WTC, spoke of his struggle to express to his family what Ground Zero
was like. But every time he tried to speak he found himself mute. There exists no suitable analogy for those murdered
buildings, for the thousands of lives snuffed out by suicidal terrorists armed with box cutters. September 11 is not like anything
but itself.
20．一个未留下姓名的救援人员，在世贸大厦的废墟中救援时，说他无法向家人描述爆炸中心 地带的情况。每次要开口时，
他都发现自己无话可说。一群自杀性的恐怖分子用几把开箱刀。就可以让高 楼倒塌，几千人的生命一下子消失，这样的事情没
有先例，无法类比。“9•11”就是“9•11”。
21. True, 911 is the crisis of our time, our national flashpoint, but it is only one of many such flashpoints in history. This is far
from the first time that powerful external forces have impinged upon human beings in a modem society, and it is not the first
time those forces have been called evil. Each time it seems the crisis must generate a new paradigm in which such an atrocity
will never be allowed to happen again—and yet it does happen again. In 1941, in a span of two days, 34, 000 innocents who
also happened to be Jewish were murdered at Babi Yar. Hiroshima: 130, 000 dead in a single day, Nagasaki, three days later,
another 75, 000.
21．的确可以说，“9•11”事件是我们时代的危机，也是我们国家的爆发点，但它在历史 上并非绝无仅有。这不是现代社
会中强大的外部力量对人类的第一次打击，这种力量也不是第一次被定义 为邪恶。每一次危机似乎都产生了一种新模式，使这
种暴行不会重演----可是暴行再一次出现。19 41年，两天之内共有34,000无辜的犹太人在巴比谷惨遭杀害。在广岛，仅一天就
有13万人丧生 。仅隔三天，在长崎．又有75,000人失去生命。
22. Let's face it, history is a gallery of unspeakable crimes. A mushroom cloud blooming over a seaport city. a human being
with her shin burned off, a skeletal corpse embracing a childsize skeletal corpse. A jet slicing through a skyscraper, a
skyscraper collapsing upon itself. The nameless man and woman who plummeted, hand in hand, to their deaths from an
upper floor of World Trade are caught in the mind’s eye of history as eternally as the lovers solidified in ash after the eruption
of Pompeii. We tend these images like poisonous flowers in a nightmare garden, we return to them obsessively, hoping to

excavate their meaning. What messages do Hiroshima and Babi Yar, or Dresden and Antietam, have for us? What will
September 11 tell us?
22．对这一切，我们要正视。历史 就像一个画廊，让人们看到了罄竹难书的各种恶行。在这里，人们看到在一座海滨城市
上空升起的蘑菇云 ，一个皮肤被烧焦的女人，一副骨架紧紧拥抱着一个小孩子大小的骨架，一架斜插过摩天大楼的飞机以及正
在倒塌的摩天大楼。不知姓名的男男女女手拉手从世贸大厦的顶层坠下，奔向死亡。历史会像记住庞贝古城废墟 中的恋人一样
记住他们。我们把这些看作是梦魇花园中的毒花，常着魔似的想起它们，冥思苦想其中的含 义。广岛、巴比谷、德累斯顿和安
提坦留给我们什么启示?“9?11”事件又告诉我们什么?
23. Perhaps just this: that our suffering is not unique; that we haven’t yet got it right; and that the pursuit of peace continues to
be the noblest of vocations.
23．答案可能就是：我们的痛苦不是惟一的痛苦；我们还没有完全摆脱痛苦；追求和平仍是我们最高尚的事业。

True Courage（真正的勇气）
24
James Baldwin wrote.
24．“组成一个国家的人民有多强大，这个国家就有多强大，人民希 望周家如何发展，国家就会如何发展，”詹姆斯?鲍德温写
道。“我们让我们现在居住的世界成了这个样 子，我们有必要重建这个世界。”
25. How do we move from anxiety to action? From insecurity to confidence, from national paranoia to collective poise? Is our
democracy so fragile that four airplane bombs can erode 225 years of liberty?' It has never been more clear that we will only
have true and lasting security when the rest of the world has true and lasting security, That is the challenge of this particular
conflict, the struggle for the soul of the 21st century.
25．我们怎样才能不再焦 虑，行动起来?怎样才能不冉恐慌，充满自信?全国上下怎样才能不再多疑．人人都安定下来?我们
的民 主果真如此不堪一击，225年的自由就这样被四个飞机炸弹毁掉?再明显不过．只有世界其他人民真正拥有永久 和平时我们
才会拥有和平。这就是这次冲突带给人们的挑战，也是一场保卫21世纪灵魂的斗争。
26. On the beautiful, glass-bright morning of September 11, a man—an ordinary, unremarkable American—called his wife on
his cell phone.
countryside, but some of us are going to do something about it.”' All we know of the rest of Tom Burnett's narrative is that his
life ended horribly. He and his fellow passengers did not let what must have been abject fear prevent them from acting---- that
is the true definition of courage.
26．9月11日的早晨是个美丽的早晨，阳光明媚。一个人---- 普通的美国人----用移动电话拨通了妻子的电话。“我们都不
会活下来，”当联合航空公司93号航 班在宾夕法尼亚郊外上空倾斜时托马斯?伯内特说，“但是我们当中会有人还击的。”我
们只知道托马斯 •伯内特后来死得很恐怖。他和同机的乘客没有因绝望的恐惧止步不前----这才是真正的勇气。
27. What happened aboard Flight 93 was the country’s first real victory against terrorism, and it came out of the tradition of
democracy. The passengers came up with a plan and they voted on it. Some of the men would rush the hijackers and force
the airliner to crash, rather than allow it to be used in another suicide attack on Washington D. C., where it was surely headed.
27．93号航班上发生的一切成为这个国家反对恐怖主义的第一个真正胜利，民主传统功不可没。机上乘客想出 一个办法，
并且投票决定。有的乘客要冲向劫匪，让飞机就地坠毁，使劫匪让华盛顿特区成为自杀性袭击 目标的计划没有得逞。
It's a terrible irony that for a short time, while the condemned jet was aloft, the ideal of American democracy also reached its
apex. The rest of us can only strive to do as well. Fortunately, Tom Burnett's last communication to the world was an
unintentional gift to us all, a battle cry for the age of anxiety. We are all going to die sooner or later. Let that consciousness not
prevent us from acting in each other's best interests, from trying to create a better, safer world.
28．这架注定要坠毁的飞机还在高空飞翔，恰恰在这短暂的时间里．美国的民主思想升华到了顶峰。两者的结合 真是一种
可怕的讽刺。我们其他人也会努力和他们一样。令人欣慰的是，托马斯•伯内特和这个世界最后 的通话无意间成了我们共同的礼

物，成了焦 虑时代的战斗口号。的确，我们迟早都会死去，但这并不应该阻碍我们为彼此的最大利益挺身而出，全力建设一个
更加美好、安全的世界。
你












本可以用那些和他们一起抱怨人生的时间，来读一篇有趣的小说，或者玩一个你喜欢的游戏。
渐渐的，你不再像以往那样开心快乐，曾经的梦想湮灭在每日回荡在耳边的抱怨中。你也会发现，尽管你很努力了 ，可就是无法让你的朋友或是闺蜜变得更开心一些。

这就不可避免地产生一个问题：你会怀疑自己的能力，怀疑自己一贯坚持的信念。
我们要有所警惕和分辨，不要让身边的人消耗了你，让你不能前进。
这些人正在消耗你。
01. 不守承诺的人
承诺了的事，就应该努力地去做到。
倘若做不 到，就别轻易许诺。这类人的特点就是时常许诺，然而做到的事却是很少。于是，他的人生信用便会大大降低，到 最后，也许还会成为一种欺诈。如果发现身边有这样的人，应
该警惕，否则到最后吃苦的还是自己。
02. 不守时间的人
俗话说浪费别人的时间就等于谋财害命，所以不守时间也就意 味着是浪费别人的时间。与这种人交往的话，不仅把自己的时间花掉了，还会带来意想不到的麻烦。
03. 时常抱怨的人
生活之事十有八九是不如意的，这些都是正常的。
我们应该 看到生活前进的方向，努力前进。而
不是在自怨自艾，同时还把消极的思想传递给别人。这样的人呢，一 遇到困难便停滞不前，巴不得别人来帮他一把。本来你是积极向上的，可是如果受到这种人的影响，那么你也很有 可能会
变成这样的人，所以应该警惕。
04. 斤斤计较的人
凡事都斤斤 计较的人，看不到远方的大前途，一味把精力放在小事上。比如两个人去吃饭，前提是AA制。然后饭吃好后他多 付了5毛，最后他说我多付了5毛，你抽空给我吧。如此计
较的人，失去了知己，也不会有很大的前途。
05. 不会感恩的人
你善心地帮助了他，可是他却不以为然，而且还想当然的认为 这是应当的。多次地帮助，换来的没有一句感谢的话语，更有甚者，还在背后说别人的坏话，真是吃力不讨好。

06. 自私自利的人
以自我为中心，不会考虑别人的感受，想怎样就是怎样，也不会考虑大局，只为自己的感受。这种人，为了达到自 己的私利会不择手段。
如果看完以上的描述，你的脑海里冒出一张张熟悉的脸，显然，你正在被人 日复一日地消耗着。这种消耗绝对可以毁你于无形之中。
这些方法带来阳光
那么， 如何给自己搭建一个严严实实的保护网，让自己始终正能量爆棚，每一分钟都是恣意的阳光呢？跟着我们下面这五 步做吧！





他们继续往前走。走到了沃野，他们决定停下。
被打巴掌的那位差点淹死，幸好被朋友救过来了。
被救起后，他拿了一把小剑在石头上刻了：“今天我的好朋友救了我一命。”
一旁好奇的朋友问到：
“为什么我打了你以后你要写在沙子上，而现在要刻在石头上
呢？”
另一个笑笑回答说：“当被一个朋友伤害时，要写在易忘的地方，风会负责抹去它；
相反的如果被帮助，我们要把它刻在心灵的深处，任何风都抹不去的。”
朋友之间相处，伤害往往是无心的，帮助却是真心的。
在日常生活中，就算最要好的朋友也会有摩擦，也会因为这些摩擦产生误会，以至于成为陌路。
友情的深浅，不仅在于朋友对你的才能钦佩到什么程度，更在于他对你的弱点容忍到什么程度。
学会将伤害丢在风里，将感动铭记心底，才可以让我们的友谊历久弥新！
友谊是我们哀伤时的缓和剂，激情时的舒解剂；

是我们压力时的流泻口，是我们灾难时的庇护所；
是我们犹豫时的商议者，是我们脑子的清新剂。
但最重要的一点是，我们大家都要牢记的：
“切不可苛求朋友给你同样的回报，宽容一点，对自己也是对朋友。”
爱因斯坦说：“世间最美好的东西，莫过于有几个头脑和心地都很正直的朋友。”

Lesson 1 Who Are you and what are you doing here
Welcome and congratulations: Getting to the first day of college is a major achievement. You’re to be commended, and not
just you, but the parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts who helped get you here.

It’s been said that raising a child effectively takes a village: Well, as you may have noticed, our American village is not in very
good shape. We’ve got guns, drugs, two wars, fanatical religions, a slime-based popular culture, and some politicians who—a
little restraint here—aren’t what they might be. To merely survive in this American village and to win a place in the entering
class has taken a lot of grit on your part. So, yes, congratulations to all.

You now may think that you’ve about got it made. Amidst the impressive college buildings, in company with a high-powered
faculty, surrounded by the best of your generation, all you need is to keep doing what you’ve done before:
Whttp:k hard, get good grades, listen to your teachers, get along
with the people around you, and you’ll emerge in four years as an educated young man or woman. Ready for life.

Do not believe it. It is not true. If you want to get a real education in America you’re going to have to fight—and I don’t mean
just fight against the drugs and the violence and against the slime-based culture that is still going to surround you. I mean
something a little more disturbing. To get an education, you’re probably going to have to fight against the institution that you
find yourself in—no matter how prestigious it may be. (In fact, the more prestigious the school, the more you’ll probably have
to push.) You can get a terrific education in America now—there are astonishing opportunities at almost every college—but
the education will not be presented to you wrapped and bowed. To get it, you’ll need to struggle and strive, to be strong, and
occahttp:onally even to piss off some admirable people.

I came to college with few resources, but one of them was an understanding, however crude, of how I might use my
opportunities there. This I began to develop because of my father, who had never been to college—in fact, he’d barely gotten
out of high school. One night after dinner, he and I were sitting in our kitchen at 58 Clewley Road in Medford, Massachusetts,
hatching plans about the rest of my life. I

was about to go off to college, a feat no one in my family had accomplished in living memory. “I think I might want to be
pre-law,” I told my father. I had no idea what being pre-law was. My father compressed his brow and blew twin streams of
smoke, dragon-like, from his magnificent nose. “Do you want to be a lawyer?” he asked. My father had some experience with
lawyers, and with policemen, too; he was not well-disposed toward either. “I’m not really sure,” I told
hhttp:, “but lawyers make pretty good money, right?”

My father detonated. (That was not uncommon. My father detonated a lot.) He told me that I was going to go to college only
once, and that while I was there I had better study what I wanted. He said that when rich kids went to school, they majored in
the subjects that interested them, and that my younger brother Philip and I were as good as any rich kids. (We were rich kids
minus the money.) Wasn’t I interested in literature? I confessed that I was. Then I had better study literature, unless I had
inside information to the effect that reincarnation wasn’t just hype, and I’d be able to attend college thirty or forty times. If I had
such info, pre-law would be fine, and maybe even a tour through invertebrate biology could also be tossed in. But until I had
the reincarnation stuff from a solid source, I better get to work and pick out some English classes from the course
: “How about the science requirements?”

“Take ’em later,” he said, “you never know.”

My father, Wright Aukenhead Edmundson, Malden High School Class of 1948 (by a hair), knew the score. What he told me
that evening at the Clewley Road kitchen table was true in itself, and it also contains the germ of an idea about what a
university education should be. But apparently almost everyone else—students, teachers, and trustees and parents—sees the
matter much differently. They have it wrong.

Education has one salient enemy in present-day America, and that enemy is education—university education in particular. To
almost everyone, university education is a means to an end. For students, that end is a good job. Students want the
credentials that will help them get ahead. They want the certificate that will give them access to Wall Street, or entrance into
law or medical or business school. And how can we blame them?
http:erica values power and money, big players with big bucks.
When we raise our children, we tell them in multiple ways that what we want most for

them is success—material success. To be poor in America is to be a failure—it’s to be without decent health care, without
basic necessities, often without dignity. Then there are those back-breaking student loans—people leave school as servants,
indentured to pay massive bills, so that first job better be a good one. Students come to college with the goal of a diploma in
mind—what happens in between, especially in classrooms, is often of no deep and determining interest to them.

In college, life is elsewhere. Life is at parties, at clubs, in music, with friends, in sports. Life is what celebrities have. The idea
that the courses you take should be the primary objective of going to college is tacitly considered absurd. In terms of their work,
students live in the future andhttp: not the present; they live with their
prospects for success. If universities stopped issuing credentials, half of the clients would be gone by tomorrow morning, with
the remainder following fast behind.

The faculty, too, is often absent: Their real lives are also elsewhere. Like most of their students, they aim to get on. The work
they are compelled to do to advance—get tenure, promotion, raises, outside offers—is, broadly speaking, scholarly work. No
matter what anyone says this work has precious little to do with the fundamentals of teaching. The proof is that virtually no
undergraduate students can read and understand their professors’ scholarly publications. The public senses this disparity and
so thinks of the professors’ work as being silly or beside the point. Some of it is. But the public also senses that because
professors don’t pay full-bore attention to teaching they don’t have to work very hard—they’ve created
http: massive feather bed for themselves and called it a university.

This is radically false. Ambitious professors, the ones who, like their students, want to get ahead in America, work furiously.
Scholarship, even if pretentious and almost unreadable, is nonetheless labor- intense. One can slave for a year or two on a
single article for publication in this or that refereed journal. These essays are honest: Their footnotes reflect real reading, real
assimilation, and real dedication. Shoddy work—in which the author cheats, cuts corners, copies from others—is quickly
detected. The people who do this work have highly developed intellectual powers, and they push themselves hard to reach a
certain standard: That the results have almost no

practical relevance to the students, the public, or even, frequently, to other scholars is a central element in the tragicomedy
that is often academia.

The students and the profeshttp:rs have made a deal: Neither of
them has to throw himself heart and soul into what happens in the classroom. The students write their abstract,
over-intellectualized essays; the professors grade the students for their capacity to be abstract and over-intellectual—and
often genuinely smart. For their essays can be brilliant, in a chilly way; they can also be clipped off the Internet, and often are.
Whatever the case, no one wants to invest too much in them—for life is elsewhere. The professor saves his energies for the
profession, while the student saves his for friends, social life, volunteer work, making connections, and getting in position to
clasp hands on the true grail, the first job.

No one in this picture is evil; no one is criminally irresponsible. It’s just that smart people are prone to look into matters to see
how they might go about buttering their toast. Then they butter their toast.

As for the adminhttp:trators, their relation to the students often
seems based not on love but fear. Administrators fear bad publicity, scandal, and dissatisfaction on the part of their customers.
More than anything else, though, they fear lawsuits. Throwing a student out of college, for this or that piece of bad behavior, is
very difficult, almost impossible. The student will sue your eyes out. One kid I knew (and rather liked) threatened on his blog to
mince his dear and esteemed professor (me) with a samurai sword for the crime of having taught a boring class. (The class
was a little boring—I had a damned cold—but the punishment seemed a bit severe.) The dean of students laughed lightly
when I suggested that this behavior might be grounds for sending the student on a brief vacation. I was, you might say,
discomfited, and showed up to class for a while with my cellphone jiggered to dial 911 with one touch.

Still, this was small potatoes. Cohttp:eges are even leery of
disciplining guys who have committed sexual assault, or assault plain and simple. Instead of being punished, these guys
frequently stay around, strolling the quad and swilling the libations, an affront (and sometimes a terror) to their victims.

You’ll find that cheating is common as well. As far as I can discern, the student ethos goes like this: If the professor is so lazy
that he gives the same test every year,

it’s okay to go ahead and take advantage—you’ve both got better things to do. The Internet is amok with services selling term
papers and those services exist, capitalism being what it is, because people purchase the papers—lots of them. Fraternity
files bulge with old tests from a variety of courses.

Periodically the public gets exercised about this situation, and there are articles in the national news. But then interest
dwindles and matters go back to normal.

Onhttp: of the reasons professors sometimes look the other way
when they sense cheating is that it sends them into a world of sorrow. A friend of mine had the temerity to detect cheating on
the part of a kid who was the nephew of a well-placed official in an Arab government complexly aligned with the U.S. Black
limousines pulled up in front of his office and disgorged decorously suited negotiators. Did my pal fold? Nope, he’s not the type.
But he did not enjoy the process.

What colleges generally want are well-rounded students, civic leaders, people who know what the system demands, how to
keep matters light, not push too hard for an education or anything else; people who get their credentials and leave the
professors alone to do their brilliant work, so they may rise and enhance the rankings of the university. Such students leave

and become donors and so, in their own turn, contribute immeasurably to the university’s standing.
Thttp:y’ve done a fine job skating on surfaces in high school—the
best way to get an across-the-board outstanding record—and now they’re on campus to cut a few more figure eights.

In a culture where the major and determining values are monetary, what else could you do? How else would you live if not by
getting all you can, succeeding all you can, making all you can?

The idea that a university education really should have no substantial content, should not be about what John Keats was
disposed to call Soul-making, is one that you might think professors and university presidents would be discreet about. Not so.
This view informed an address that Richard Brodhead gave to the senior class at Yale before he departed to become
president of Duke. Brodhead, an impressive, articulate man, seems to take as his educational touchstone the Duke of
Wellington’s precept that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of
Etohttp:. Brodhead suggests that the content of the courses isn’t
really what matters. In five years (or five months,

or minutes), the student is likely to have forgotten how to do the problem sets and will only hazily recollect what happens in the
ninth book of Paradise Lost. The legacy of their college years will be a legacy of difficulties overcome. When they face equally
arduous tasks later in life, students will tap their old resources of determination, and they’ll win.

All right, there’s nothing wrong with this as far as it goes—after all, the student who writes a brilliant forty-page thesis in a hard
week has learned more than a little about her inner resources. Maybe it will give her needed confidence in the future. But
doesn’t the content of the courses matter at all?

On the evidence of this talk, no. Trying to figure out whether the stuff you’re reading is true or false and being open to having
your lifhttp: changed is a fraught, controversial activity. Doing so
requires energy from the professor—which is better spent on other matters. This kind of perspective-altering teaching and
learning can cause the things which administrators fear above all else: trouble, arguments, bad press, etc. After the
kid- samurai episode, the chair of my department not unsympathetically suggested that this was the sort of incident that could
happen when you brought a certain intensity to teaching. At the time I found his remark a tad detached, but maybe he was
right.

So, if you want an education, the odds aren’t with you: The professors are off doing what they call their own work; the other
students, who’ve doped out the way the place runs, are busy leaving the professors alone and getting themselves in position
for bright and shining futures; the student-services people are trying to keep everyone content, offering plenty of entertainment
and buhttp:ding another state-of-the-art workout facility every few
months. The development office is already scanning you for future donations. The primary function of Yale University, it’s
recently been said, is to create prosperous alumni so as to enrich Yale University.

So why make trouble? Why not just go along? Let the profs roam free in the realms of pure thought, let yourselves party in the
realms of impure pleasure, and let the student-services gang assert fewer prohibitions and newer delights for you. You’ll get a
good job, you’ll have plenty of friends, you’ll have a driveway of your own.

You’ll also, if my father and I are right, be truly and righteously screwed. The reason for this is simple. The quest at the center
of a liberal- arts education is not a luxury quest; it’s a necessity quest. If you do not undertake it, you risk leading a life of
desperation—maybe quiet, maybe, in time, very loud—and I http:
not exaggerating. For you risk trying to be someone other than who you are, which, in the long run, is killing.

By the time you come to college, you will have been told who you are numberless times. Your parents and friends, your
teachers, your counselors, your priests and rabbis and ministers and imams have all had their say. They’ve let you know how
they size you up, and they’ve let you know what they think you should value. They’ve given you a sharp and protracted taste of
what they feel is good and bad, right and wrong. Much is on their side. They have confronted you with scriptures—holy books
that, whatever their actual provenance, have given people what they feel to be wisdom for thousands of years. They’ve given
you family traditions—you’ve learned the ways of your tribe and your community. And, too, you’ve been tested, probed, looked
at up and down and through. The coach knows what your athletic prospects are,
thhttp: guidance office has a sheaf of test scores that relegate you to
this or that ability quadrant, and your teachers have got you pegged. You are, as Foucault might say, the intersection of many
evaluative and potentially determining discourses: you boy, you girl, have been made.

And—contra Foucault—that’s not so bad. Embedded in all of the major religions are profound truths. Schopenhauer, who
despised belief in transcendent things, nonetheless thought Christianity to be of inexpressible worth. He couldn’t believe in the
divinity of Jesus, or in the afterlife, but to Schopenhauer, a deep pessimist, a religion that had as its central emblem the figure
of a man being tortured on a cross couldn’t be entirely misleading. To the Christian, Schopenhauer said, pain was at the
center of the understanding of life, and that was just as it should be.

One does not need to be as harsh as Schopenhauer to understand the use of
relhttp:ion, even if one does not believe in an otherworldly god. And
all of those teachers and counselors and friends—and the prognosticating uncles, the dithering aunts, the fathers and mothers
with their hopes for your fulfillment—or their

fulfillment in you—should not necessarily be cast aside or ignored. Families have their wisdom. The question “Who do they
think you are at home?” is never an idle one.

The major conservative thinkers have always been very serious about what goes by the name of common sense. Edmund
Burke saw common sense as a loosely made, but often profound, collective work, in which humanity has deposited its
hard-earned wisdom—the precipitate of joy and tears—over time. You have been raised in proximity to common sense, if
you’ve been raised at all, and common sense is something to respect, though not quite—peace unto the formidable Burke—to
revere.

You may be all that the good people whohttp: raised you say you are;
you may want all they have shown you is worth wanting; you may be someone who is truly your father’s son or your mother’s
daughter. But then again, you may not be.

For the power that is in you, as Emerson suggested, may be new in nature. You may not be the person that your parents take
you to be. And—this thought is both more exciting and more dangerous—you may not be the person that you take yourself to

be, either. You may not have read yourself aright, and college is the place where you can find out whether you have or not.
The reason to read Blake and Dickinson and Freud and Dickens is not to become more cultivated, or more articulate, or to be
someone who, at a cocktail party, is never embarrassed (or who can embarrass others). The best reason to read them is to
see if they may know you better than you know yourself. You may find your own suppressed and rejected thoughts flowing
back to you withhttp: an “alienated majesty.” Reading the great
writers, you may have the experience that Longinus associated with the sublime: You feel that you have actually created the
text yourself. For somehow your predecessors are more yourself than you are.

This was my own experience reading the two writers who have influenced me the most, Sigmund Freud and Ralph Waldo
Emerson. They gave words to thoughts and feelings that I had never been able to render myself. They shone a light onto the
world and what they saw, suddenly I saw, too. From Emerson I learned to trust my own thoughts, to trust them even when
every voice seems to be on the other side. I need the wherewithal, as Emerson did, to say what’s on my mind and to take the

inevitable hits. Much more I learned from the sage—about character, about loss, about joy, about writing and its secret
sources, but Emerson most centrally preaches the gospel of self-reliance and that
ishttp: what I have tried most to take from him. I continue to hold in
mind one of Emerson’s most memorable passages: “Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the
better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is
conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.”

Emerson’s greatness lies not only in showing you how powerful names and customs can be, but also in demonstrating how
exhilarating it is to buck them. When he came to Harvard to talk about religion, he shocked the professors and students by
challenging the divinity of Jesus and the truth of his miracles. He wasn’t invited back for decades.

From Freud I found a great deal to ponder as well. I don’t mean Freud the aspiring scientist, but the Freud who was a
speculative essayist and interpreter of the human chttp:dition like
Emerson. Freud challenges nearly every significant human ideal. He goes after religion. He says that it comes down to the
longing for the father. He goes after love. He calls it “the overestimation of the erotic object.” He attacks our desire for
charismatic popular leaders. We’re drawn to them because we hunger for absolute authority. He declares that dreams don’t
predict the future and that there’s nothing benevolent about them. They’re disguised fulfillments of repressed wishes.

Freud has something challenging and provoking to say about virtually every human aspiration. I learned that if I wanted to
affirm any consequential ideal, I had to talk my way past Freud. He was—and is—a perpetual challenge and goad.

Never has there been a more shrewd and imaginative cartographer of the psyche. His separation of the self into three parts,
and his sense of the fraught, anxious, but often negotiable
relationshttp: among them (negotiable when you come to the game
with a Freudian knowledge), does a great deal to help one navigate experience. (Though sometimes—and this I owe to
Emerson—it seems right to let the psyche fall into civil war, accepting barrages of anxiety and grief for this or that good
reason.)

The battle is to make such writers one’s own, to winnow them out and to find their essential truths. We need to see where they
fall short and where they exceed the mark, and then to develop them a little, as the ideas themselves, one comes to see,

actually developed others. (Both Emerson and Freud live out of Shakespeare—but only a giant can be truly influenced by
Shakespeare.) In reading, I continue to look for one thing—to be influenced, to learn something new, to be thrown off my
course and onto another, better way.

My father knew that he was dissatisfied with life. He knew that none of the descriptions people had for
hhttp: quite fit. He understood that he was always out-of-joint with
life as it was. He had talent: My brother and I each got about half the raw ability he possessed and that’s taken us through life
well enough. But what to do with that talent—there was the rub for my father. He used to stroll through the house intoning his
favorite line from Groucho Marx’s ditty “Whatever it is, I’m against it.” (I recently asked my son, now twenty-one, if he thought
I was mistaken in teaching him this particular song when he was six years old. “No!” he said, filling the air with an invisible
forest of exclamation points.) But what my father never managed to get was a sense of who he might become. He never had a
world of possibilities spread before him, never made sustained contact with the best that had been thought and said. He didn’t
get to revise his understanding of himself, figure out what he’d do best that might give the world some profit.
:My father was a gruff man, but also a generous one, so that night
at the kitchen table at 58 Clewley Road he made an effort to let me have the chance that had been denied to him by both fate
and character. He gave me the chance to see what I was all about, and if it proved to be different from him, proved even to be
something he didn’t like or entirely comprehend, then he’d deal with it.

Right now, if you’re going to get a real education, you may have to be aggressive and assertive.

Your professors will give you some fine books to read, and they’ll probably help you understand them. What they won’t do, for
reasons that perplex me, is to ask you if the books contain truths you could live your lives by. When you read Plato, you’ll
probably learn about his metaphysics and his politics and his way of conceiving the

soul. But no one will ask you if his ideas are good enough to believe in. No one will ask
yohttp:, in the words of Emerson’s disciple William James, what their
“cash value” might be. No one will suggest that you might use Plato as your bible for a week or a year or longer. No one, in
short, will ask you to use Plato to help you change your life.

That will be up to you. You must put the question of Plato to yourself. You must ask whether reason should always rule the
passions, philosophers should always rule the state, and poets should inevitably be banished from a just commonwealth. You
have to ask yourself if wildly expressive music (rock and rap and the rest) deranges the soul in ways that are destructive to its
health. You must inquire of yourself if balanced calm is the most desirable human state.

Occasionally—for you will need some help in fleshing-out the answers—you may have to prod your professors to see if they
take the text at hand—in this case the divine and disturbing Plato—to be true. And you
wilhttp: have to be tough if the professor mocks you for uttering a
sincere question instead of keeping matters easy for all concerned by staying detached and analytical. (Detached analysis
has a place—but, in the end, you’ve got to speak from the heart and pose the question of truth.) You’ll be the one who pesters
his teachers. You’ll ask your history teacher about whether there is a design to our history, whether we’re progressing or
declining, or whether, in the words of a fine recent play, The History Boys, history’s “just one fuckin’ thing after another.” You’ll
be the one who challenges your biology teacher about the intellectual conflict between evolution and creationist thinking.
You’ll not only question the statistics teacher about what numbers can explain but what they can’t.

Because every subject you study is a language and since you may adopt one of these languages as your own, you’ll want to
know how to speak it experhttp:y and also how it fails to deal with
those concerns for which it has no adequate words. You’ll be looking into the reach of every metaphor that every discipline
offers, and you’ll be trying to see around their corners.

The whole business is scary, of course. What if you arrive at college devoted to pre-med, sure that nothing will make you and
your family happier than a life as a physician, only to discover that elementary-school teaching is where your heart is?

You might learn that you’re not meant to be a doctor at all. Of course, given your intellect and discipline, you can still probably
be one. You can pound your round peg through the very square hole of medical school, then go off into the profession. And
society will help you. Society has a cornucopia of resources to encourage you in doing what society needs done but that you
don’t much like doing and are not cut out to do. To ease your grief, society
offerhttp: alcohol, television, drugs, divorce, and buying, buying,
buying what you don’t need. But all those too have their costs.

Education is about finding out what form of work for you is close to being play—work you do so easily that it restores you as
you go. Randall Jarrell once said that if he were a rich man, he would pay money to teach poetry to students. (I would, too, for
what it’s worth.) In saying that, he (like my father) hinted in the direction of a profound and true theory of learning.

Unit3 Good Move. People Move. Ideas Move. And Cultures Change.
Good Move. People Move. Ideas Move. And Cultures Change.
Today we are in the throes of a worldwide reformation of cultures, a tectonic shift of habits and dreams called, in the cur
ious argot of social scientists,
, entertainment.
ew industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants we
find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes.
e this 150 years ago in The Communist Manifesto. Their statement now describes an ordinary fact of life.
How people feel about this depends a great deal on where they live and how much money they have. Yet globalization,
as one report stated,
re the first camel caravan ventured afield. In the 19th century the postal service, newspapers, transcontinental railroads, and
great steam-powered ships wrought fundamental changes. Telegraph, telephone, radio, and television tied tighter and more i
ntricate knots between individuals and the wider world. Now computers, the Internet, cellular phones, cable TV, and cheaper
jet transportation have accelerated and complicated these connections.
Still, the basic dynamic remains the same: Goods move. People move. Ideas move. And cultures change. The differenc
e now is the speed and scope of these changes. It took television 13 years to acquire 50 million users; the Internet took only f
ive.
Not everyone is happy about this. Some Western social scientists and anthropologists, and not a few foreign politicians,
believe that a sort of cultural cloning will result from what they regard as the
ney, Nike, MTV, and the English language itself—more than a fifth of all the people in the world now speak English to some d
egree. Whatever their backgrounds or agendas, these critics are convinced that Western—often equated with American—infl
uences will flatten every cultural crease, producing, as one observer terms it, one big

Popular factions sprout to exploit nationalist anxieties. In China, where xenophobia and economic ambition have often s
truggled for the upper hand, a recent book called China can say no became the best-seller by attacking what it considers the
Chinese willingness to believe blindly in foreign things, advising Chinese travelers to not fly on a Boeing 777 and suggesting t
hat Hollywood be burned.
There are many Westerners among the denouncers of Western cultural influences, but James Watson, a Harvard anthr
opologist, isn't one of them.
ays.
d—I would say globalism is the major force for democracy in China. People want refrigerators, stereos, CD players. I feel it's
a moral obligation not to say: „Those people out there should continue to live in a museum while we will have showers that w
ork.'
Westernization, I discovered over months of study and travel, is a phenomenon shot through with inconsistencies and p
opulated by very strange bedfellows. Critics of Western culture blast Coke and Hollywood but not organ transplants and com
puters. Boosters of Western culture can point to increased efforts to preserve and protect the environment. Yet they make no
mention of some less salubrious aspects of Western culture, such as cigarettes and automobiles, which, even as they are be
ing eagerly adopted in the developing world, are having disastrous effects. Apparently westernization is not a straight road to
hell, or to paradise either.
But I also discovered that cultures are as resourceful, resilient, and unpredictable as the people who compose them. In
Los Angeles, the ostensible fountainhead of world cultural degradation, I saw more diversity than I could ever have supposed
—at Hollywood High School the student body represents 32 different languages. In Shanghai I found that the television show
Sesame Street has been redesigned by Chinese educators to teach Chinese values and traditions.
an box,
trict religions, McDonald's serves mutton instead of beef and offers a vegetarian menu acceptable to even the most orthodox
Hindu.
The critical mass of teenagers—800 million in the world, the most there have ever been—with time and money to spend
is one of the powerful engines of merging global cultures. Kids travel, they hang out, and above all they buy stuff. I'm sorry to
say I failed to discover who was the first teenager to put his baseball cap on backward. Or the first one to copy him. But I do
know that rap music, which sprang from the inner-city ghettos, began making big money only when rebellious white teenager
s started buying it. But how can anyone predict what kids are going to want? Companies urgently need to know, so consultan
ts have sprung up to forecast trends. They're called
plain how it works.
Amanda, who is 22, works for a New York-based company called Youth Intelligence and has come to Los Angeles to c
onduct one of three annual surveys, whose results go to such clients as Sprint and MTV. She has shoulder-length brown hair
and is wearing a knee-length brocade skirt and simple black wrap top. Amanda looks very cool to me, but she says no.
funny thing about my work is that you don't have to be cool to do it,
We go to a smallish „50s-style diner in Los Feliz, a slightly seedy pocket east of Hollywood that has just become trendy.
Then we wander through a few of the thrift shops.
ch on.
What trends does she see forming now?
ow—you go to a place and bring stuff back.
Amanda, who is 22, works for a New York- based company called Youth Intelligence and has come to Los Angeles to c
onduct one of three annual surveys, whose results go to such clients as Sprint and MTV. She has shoulder-length brown hair
and is wearing a knee-length brocade skirt and simple black wrap top. Amanda looks very cool to me, but she says no.
funny thing about my work is that you don't have to be cool to do it,

We go to a smallish „50s-style diner in Los Feliz, a slightly seedy pocket east of Hollywood that has just become trendy.
Then we wander through a few of the thrift shops.
ch on.
What trends does she see forming now?
ow—you go to a place and bring stuff back.

. Fusion is going to be the huge term that everybody's going to use,
Spanish music and punk—things that are so unrelated.
Los Angeles is fusion central, where cultures mix and morph. Take Tom Sloper and mah- jongg. Tom is a computer gee
k who is also a mah-jongg fanatic. This being America, he has found a way to marry these two passions and sell the result. H
e has designed a software program, Shanghai: Dynasty, that enables you to play mah-jongg on the Internet. This ancient Chi
nese game involves both strategy and luck, and it is still played all over Asia in small rooms that are full of smoke and the cea
seless click of the chunky plastic tiles and the fierce concentration of the players. It is also played by rich society women at co
untry clubs in Beverly Hills and in apartments on Manhattan's Upper West Side. But Tom, 50, was playing it at his desk in Lo
s Angeles one evening in the silence of a nearly empty office building.
Actually, he only appeared to be alone. His glowing computer screen showed a game already in progress with several h
abitual partners:
Minnesota. Tom played effortlessly as we talked.

nection is with machines.

I watched the little tiles, like cards, bounce around the screen. As Tom played, he and his partners conversed by typing
short comments to each other.
Does he ever play with real people? “Oh yeah,” Tom replied. “ Once a week at the office in the evening, and Thursday a
t lunch.” A new name appeared on the screen. “There‟s Fred‟s mother. Can‟t be, they‟ re in Vegas. Oh, it must be his sister.
TJ‟s online too, she‟s the one from Wales-a real night owl. She‟s getting married soon, and she lived with her fiance, and so
metimes he gets up and says „ Get off that damn computer!‟”
Tom played on into the night. At least it was night where I was. He , an american playing a Chinese game with people i
n Germany, Wales, Ohio, and Minnesota, was up in the cybersphere far above the level of time zones. It is a realm populated
by individuals he‟s never met who may be more real to him than the people who live next door.
If it seems that life in the West has become a fast- forward blur, consider China. In just 20 years, since market forces we
re unleashed by economic reforms begun in 1978, life for many urban Chinese has changed drastically. A recent survey of 1
2 major cities showed that 97 percent of the respondents had televisions, and 88 percent had refrigerators and washing mac
hines. Another study revealed that farmers

are eating 48 percent more meat each year and 400 percent more fruit. Cosmopolitan magazine, plunging necklines and all, i
s read by 260,000 Chinese women every month.
I went to Shanghai to see how the cultural trends show up in the largest city in the world's most populous nation. It is als
o a city that has long been open to the West. General Motors, for example, set up its first Buick sales outlet in Shanghai in 19
29; today GM has invested 1.5 billion dollars in a new plant there, the biggest Sino-American venture in China.
Once a city of elegant villas and imposing beaux arts office buildings facing the river with shoulders squared, Shanghai i
s currently ripping itself to ribbons. In a decade scores of gleaming new skyscrapers have shot up to crowd and jostle the skyl
ine, cramp the narrow winding streets, and choke the parks and open spaces with their sheer soaring presence (most are 80
percent vacant). Traffic crawls, even on the new multilane overpasses. But on the streets the women are dressed in bright co

lors, and many carry several shopping bags, especially on the Nanjing Road, which is lined with boutiques and malls. In its fir
st two weeks of business the Gucci store took in a surprising $$100,000.

nch fashion magazine Elle.
wearing this blouse.„How long will it last?
' A housewife knew that most of the monthly salary would be spent on food, and now it's just a small part, so she can think ab
out what to wear or where to travel. And now with refrigerators, we don't have to buy food every day.
As for the cultural dislocation this might bring:
inessman. —„It's very different, but it's OK, so, so what?'

Potential: This is largely a Western concept. Set aside the makeup and skyscrapers, and it's clear that the truly great le
ap forward [in Shanghai] is at the level of ideas. To really grasp this, I had only to witness the local performance of Shakespe
are's Macbeth by the Hiu Kok Drama Association from Macau.
There we were at the Shanghai Theatre Academy, some 30 professors and students of literature and drama from all ov
er china and I, on folding chairs around a space ont alike half of a basketball court. “ I‟m not going to be much help,” murmur
ed Zhang Fang, my interpreter. “I don‟t understand the Cantonese language, the most of these people don't either.”
I thought I knew what to watch for, but the only characters I recognized were the three witches. Otherwise the small grou
p spent most of an hour running in circles, leaping, and threatening to beat each other with long sticks. The lighting was heav
y on shadows, with frequent strobelike flashes. Language wasn't a problem, as the actors mainly snarled and shrieked. Then
they turned their backs to the audience and a few shouted something in Cantonese. The lights went out, and for a moment th
e only sound in the darkness was the whirring of an expensive camera on auto-rewind.
This is China? It could have been a college campus anywhere in the West: the anguished students, the dubious adults,
the political exploitation of the massacred classic. Until recently such a performance was unthinkable. It strained imagination t
hat this could be the same country where a generation ago the three most desired luxury items were wristwatches, bicycles,
and sewing machines.
Early on I realized that I was going to need some type of compass to guide me through the wilds of global culture. So w
hen I was in Los Angeles, I sought out Alvin Toffler, whose book Future Shock was published in 1970. In the nearly three dec
ades since, he has developed and refined a number of interesting ideas, explained in The Third Wave, written with his wife,
Heidi.
What do we know about the future now, I asked, that we didn't know before?
os,
ict. Not conflicts between East and West, or North and South, but „wave' conflicts between industrially dominant countries an
d predominantly agrarian countries, or conflicts within countries making a transition from one to the other.
Waves, he explained, are major changes in civilization. The first wave came with the development of agriculture, the se
cond with industry. Today we are in the midst of the third, which is based on information. In 1956 something new began to ha
ppen, which amounts to the emergence of a new civilization. Toffler said.
workers outnumbered blue-collar factory workers. In 1957 Sputnik went up. Then jet aviation became commercial, television
became universal, and computers began to be widely used. And with all these changes came changes in culture.

untries in between, and knowledge-based economies on top.—Brazil, for example—where
all three civilizations coexist and collide.

ur own language.
ups to foster their separate, distinctive cultures and languages.
„Can we become third wave and still remain Chinese?' Yes,
made of your core culture. But you'll be the Chinese of the future, not of the past.
Linking: This is what the spread of global culture ultimately means. Goods will continue to move—from 1987 to 1995 loc
al economies in California exported 200 percent more products, businesses in Idaho 375 percent more. People move: It is ch
eaper for businesses to import talented employees than to train people at home. Ideas move: In Japan a generation of childr
en raised with interactive computer games has sensed, at least at the cyber level, new possibilities.
all this,” wrote in Kenichi Ohmac, “is that it is possible to actively take control of one's situation or circumstances and, thereby
, to change one's fate. For the Japanese, this is an entirely new way of thinking.
Change: It's a reality, not a choice. But what will be its true driving force? Cultures don't become more uniform; instead,
both old and new tend to transform each other. The late philosopher Isaiah Berlin believed that, rather than aspire to some ut
opian ideal, a society should strive for something else:
t we can understand each other.
In Shanghai one October evening I joined a group gathered in a small, sterile hotel meeting room. It was the eve of Yo
m Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, and there were diplomats, teachers, and businessmen from many Western countrie
s. Elegant women with lively children, single men, young fathers. Shalom Greenberg, a young Jew from Israel married to an
American, was presiding over his first High Holy Days as rabbi of the infant congregation.

ocal cultures, but they also kept their own identity.
The solemn liturgy proceeded, unchanged over thousands of years and hundreds of alien cultures:
n heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me,
reign—I felt at home. The penitence may have been Jewish, but the aspiration was universal.
Global culture doesn't mean just more TV sets and Nike shoes. Linking is humanity's natural impulse, its common desti
ny. But the ties that bind people around the world are not merely technological or commercial. They are the powerful cords of
the heart.

第三课 商品流通、人员流动、观念转变、文化变迁 埃拉•兹温格尔
1．今天我们正经历着一种世 界范围文化巨变的阵痛，一种习俗与追求的结构性变化,用社会学家奇特的词汇来称呼这种变化，
就叫“ 全球化”。对于政治、商贸、保健及娱乐领域的巨大变化，这个词并不贴切。“现代工业已建立了世界市场。已建 立的
所有旧的国民工业被其产品不仅在国内而且在世界各地范围内销售的新兴工业所取代。人们用新的需 求取代原有的需求，用外
地的产品满足自己的需求。”卡尔.马克思和弗雷德里希•恩格斯早在150年 前就在《共产党宣言》中写下了这些。他们那时的
陈述描绘了现在生活中的普遍事实。
2．对此人们有何感受很大程度上取决于他们的生活所在地和所拥有的金钱数。然而，正如某篇报道所述，全球化 “是一种
事实，而不是一种选择”。早在第一批骆驼商队冒险出外经商前至今，人们一直在编织着商贸和 文化相互间的交往。在19世纪，
邮政服务、报纸、横跨大陆的铁路及巨大的蒸汽轮船带来了根本变化。 电报、电话、收音机和电视把个人和外部世界更紧密地
连在一起，这种联系更为复杂、不那么直接也不易 察觉。现在，计算机、互联网、移动电话、有线电视和相对便宜的喷气式飞
机空运加速了这种联系并使这 种联系更加复杂。
3．然而，产生这种变化的动力是一致的：商品流通、人员流动、观念转变 、文化变迁。不同的是这些变化的速度和范围。
电视机拥有5,000万用户用了13年时间，互联网只 用了5年时间。
4．对这种变化并不是人人满意。一些西方社会学家、人类学家和为数不少的 外国政治家认为文化．克隆是他们所认为的麦
当劳、可口可乐、迪斯尼、耐克和MTV“文化轰炸”的结 果，也是英语语言本身的结果，因为现在全球多于五分之一人口都或

多或少地讲英语。不管他们的背景和纲领如何, 这些对全球化持反对态度的人深信西方的影响…往往等同于美国的影响 ...会把
文化上的差异—一压 平。就像一位观察家所说的，最终产生一个麦当劳世界，一个充斥美国货和体现美国价值观的世界。
5．反映公众情绪(或得到公众支持)的派别不断滋生以便利用持此观点的国民的焦虑和不安。在闭关锁国和发展 经济两种政
策并存并争取其主控地位的中国，《中国可以说不》这本新书成为畅销书，这本书对中国人的 盲目崇洋媚外心理进行了，批驳，
建议中国游客不要乘坐波音777飞机，还建议烧掉进口的好莱坞大片 。
6．对西方文化影响持斥责态度的人中有许多西方人．而哈佛人类学家詹姆斯•沃森并不是 其中一员。他说：“我知道现在
中国农村人的生活比30年前的好多了。中国越来越开放，部分原因是出 于中国老百姓的要求。他们想成为世界的一部分---我要
说全球观念在中国是民主的重要动力。人们需 要冰箱、音响和CD机。‘远在中国的那些人应该继续过着落后的生活，而我们
却可以使用淋浴器，过着 舒适的现代生活’。我认为不说这种话是一种道义。”
7．经过几个多月的研究和旅行，我发 现西方化是一种内部充满矛盾的现象，在特别怪异之人中占有一席之地。西方文化批
评家斥责可乐和好莱 坞，却不斥责器官移植和计算机。西方文化支持者指出继续努力保护环境，但他们不提西方文化中不那么
健康的一面，譬如香烟和汽车，就在发展中国家急切地接纳这些东西时，它们已带来很坏的后果。显然，西方化既 不会直达地
狱，也不会直通天堂。
8．不过我也发现文化就如同构成文化的民族一样 ，善于随机应变，富有弹性而且不可预测。在洛杉矶，世界文化堕落明显
的源头，我看到的差异要比我想 像的多——在好莱坞高中学生说32种完全不同的语言。在上海，我发现“芝麻街”这一电视节
目已被中 国教育家重新改组，用以传授中国人的价值观和传统习惯。一位教育家对我说：“我们借用美国盒子，装进去的是 中
国内容。”在有400多种语言和几种纪律严明的宗教的印度，麦当劳供应的是羊肉汉堡而不是牛肉汉 堡，还为那些最正统的印
度人提供素食菜谱。
9．许多既有时间又有钱的青少年 ---全世界共有8亿---是融合全球文化的关键及主要力量之一。孩子们爱旅行、闲逛，重要
的是他 们买东西。很遗憾我没能发现哪个青少年第一个倒戴垒球帽，哪个青少年第一个模仿他，但是我确实知道最先出现 在市
内黑人区的说唱乐就是在有叛逆精神的白人青少年开始买票观看时才开始赚大钱的。然而，人们又会 如何预测孩子们需要什么
呢?许多公司迫切想要了解孩子们的需要，因此出现了顾问，他们预测将来的趋 势，被称之为“猎酷者”。阿曼达•弗里德曼一
天上午向我讲述了其中的奥秘。
10 ．阿曼达22岁，在其基地设在纽约的一家叫作“青年情报”的公司工作，她到洛杉矶进行调查，调查的结果要通 报给公
司很多重要的客户。她留着披肩的棕发，穿着一条长及膝盖的织锦短裙。在我看来，阿曼达打扮得 很酷，但她自己并不这样认
为。她说：“我的工作有趣之处就在于做此工作你不必扮酷，你得有眼光。”
11．我们去了一家小一点的、50年代式样的餐馆，这家餐馆位于好莱坞东面一个比较破落的 区域，这个区域刚刚成为时尚
聚集点。然后我们去逛了几家旧货店。阿曼达说：“如果人们买不起，那它 就不会流行起来。”
12．现在她看到将要形成的流行趋势了吗?“家正在成为一个社交的地 方，眼下旅行正热——人们到某地去，买回来许多东
西。”
13．她最后说：“现今 创新极为困难，因此最容易的办法就是把现存的东西捏在一起，拿出一个新玩意儿来。融合将会成
为人人 都要使用的大词，将来会有越来越多的毫不相关的东西融合在一起，如西班牙乐和蓬克乐。”
14．洛杉矶是融合中心，各种文化在这里交汇并有所改变。以汤姆•斯洛珀和麻将为例：汤姆是个计算机怪才， 同时还是个
麻将迷。由于这是美国，所以他找到了把这两种爱好结合在一起的方式并把自己的成果出售。 他设计了一个人们可以在互联网
上玩麻将的软件程序，这个程序叫做“上海：帝国”。玩这种老式中国麻 将既需要技巧又需要运气。亚洲人仍然在小屋子里玩
麻将，屋子里弥漫着烟雾，到处都能听到麻将牌相互 撞击所发出的不绝于耳的喀哒声。玩家们精神高度集中。居住在比弗利山(美
国加利福尼亚州西南部城市 ，好莱坞影星集居地)和曼哈顿上西城公寓里的有钱女人们也在俱乐部里玩麻将。然而，一天晚上，
在洛 杉矶，50岁的汤姆一个人坐在办公桌旁，在寂静、空旷的办公大楼里玩麻将。
15．事实上，他只是 看上去是一个人。他那亮着的计算机屏幕表明麻将已经玩起来了，其他几个参与者都是老牌友。他们是德
国人“蓝鲸”、俄亥俄州的拉斯和住在明尼苏达州的美籍华人弗雷迪。我们一边谈着话，汤姆一边毫不费力地在玩 麻将。
16．汤姆对我的态度很友好，但那是那种超然的友好，他的兴趣在连线的计算机上。他对我说 ：“我已掌握了11种麻将的玩法。
在美国有几种不同麻将的玩法。我们常打中国式麻将。”
17．我看着小小麻将牌像纸牌一样在屏幕上弹来弹去。汤姆边玩边打字，和牌友简短交流牌局情况。

18．他和真人打过麻将吗?他回答说：“ 打过。一周一次，晚上在办公室，周四中午。”这时，屏幕上出现一个新名字。“是弗
雷迪的母亲。不可 能是，他们在维加斯。噢!一定是他姐姐。TJ也在线，她是威尔士人，一个真正的夜猫子。她快结婚了，现在< br>与她未婚夫一起生活。有时她未婚夫起床对她说：‘离开那讨厌的电脑!’”
19．汤姆继续玩，一直到深夜。至少我所在的地方是深夜。他--- 一个美国人，和德国人、威尔士 人、俄亥俄人还有明尼苏达人
一起玩中国游戏，他在网络世界活动，这种活动超越时区。这是他从未谋面 的那些人的王国，对他来说，那些人要远比他的左
邻右舍更真实。
20．如果说西方的生活太 超前了，已经看不清轮廓了。那么就看看中国。从1978年经济改革搞活市场至今的20年时间，许多
中国城市居民的生活有了极大的改善。最近对12个主要城市进行了，调查，数据显示97％的调查对象拥有电视 机，88％拥有
电冰箱和洗衣机。另一项调查显示农民每年的食肉量增加了48％，水果增加了400％ 。26万中国妇女每个月都在阅读《时尚》
杂志，那些开领袒胸的画页及其他内容。
21．我 到上海去调查在世界人口最多国家的最大城市里文化趋势如何出现。上海也是对西方开放最久的城市，譬如通用汽 车公
司早在1929年就在上海设立。如今，通用汽车投资1.5亿美元在上海建立了中国最大的中美合 资新厂。
22．上海曾是一座建有雅致的别墅和庄严的办公大楼的城市，但现在却是一座带状城市。1 0年中，几十座闪闪发亮的新的高层
建筑拔地而起，挤压空间，使人张目不能远眺，使原本狭窄弯曲的街 道更显压抑。而这些高耸大楼的存在也使公园和空地感到
憋闷。即使是在多车道的高架桥上，车辆也在爬 行。然而，街上的妇女着装色彩艳丽，特别是在街道两边布满精品店和时装店
的南京路上，许多妇女手里 拎着多个购物袋。在刚开业的两周时间里，古奇专卖店的营业额为十万美元，令人惊讶不已。
23．法 国时装杂志Elle中国版的总编吴颖说：“也许现在的年轻女性不了解过去。10年前我决不会想到我会穿这样 的衬衫(那
是一件红白相间的紧身圆点花纹衬衫)。那时人们买衣服时考虑的是它能穿多久，家庭主妇把 每月的工资主要用来买食品。而现
在买食品只需一小部分工资，因此她会考虑着装和旅行。现在有冰箱， 我们也不必天天买食品。”
24．至于由此可能带来的文化错位问题，一位年轻的德国商人说：“上海 人认为这不是问题。中国人是很善于应对多种可能性
的。人们接受了它。‘很难，但还可以。那有什么? ”’
25．潜力：这主要是西方概念。不谈古奇专卖店和摩天大楼，真正的巨大飞跃体现在观念上。我 只有在亲眼目睹了澳门的休考
克戏剧协会在当地上演的莎土比亚戏剧《麦克白》时才真正领会了这一点。
26．在上海戏剧学院，我和来自全中国文学与戏剧专业的大约30名教授和学生一起坐在折叠椅上观看 演出，演出场地大约有半
个垒球场那么大。翻译张芳小声对我说：“我帮不了什么忙；我不懂广东话，这 里许多人都不懂。”
27．我原以为自己能看个八九不离十，结果却只能辨认出三个女巫。这几个人用 了近一个小时的时间转圈、跳来跳去、用长棍
子相互威胁打来打去。灯光集中在鬼影上，常常夹着闪电。 语言不是问题，因为演员主要是在咆哮和尖叫。后来他们背对观众，
一些人用广东话叫喊着。灯光熄灭， 有一阵子，黑暗中惟一的声音就是一部价格昂贵的照相机自动倒卷时所发出的声音。
28．这是中国吗 ?这可以是西方的任何一所大学校园。这样的表演即使是现在也难以想像。令人难以想像的是就是在这个国家，< br>20年前人们最想要的一种奢侈品是手表、自行车和缝纫机。
29．许久以来我认识到我需要某 种指南针来指引我穿越全球文化的荒原。因此在洛杉矶时，我找到阿尔文•托夫勒．1970年他
的《未 来的冲击》一书出版。此后近30年，他提出并完善了一些有趣的想法，他在与夫人海蒂合著的《第三次浪潮》一 书中详
述了这些想法。
30．我问他人们对以前并不知道的将来现在又了解多少呢?他马上就 做出了回答：“人们都知道秩序产生于混乱。没有冲突就不
可能有大的改变。尤其是在俄罗斯或中国这样 的国家。不是东方和西方的冲突，也不是南北之间的冲突。而是以1：业为主和以
农业为主的国家间的冲 突，或处在转型期的国家间的冲突。”
31．他进一步解释说，浪潮就是文明的重大变化。第一次浪 潮指的是农业发展，第二次指_丁业。今天我们正处在第三次浪潮
之中．主要指信息业。1956年开始 产生新事物，就是出现了新文明。托夫勒说：“就是在那一年美国服务业和信息业的工人超
过了蓝领工人 。1957年苏联人造地球卫星升空。随后航空商业化、电视普及、计算机开始被广泛应用，随之而来的就是文化 变
迁。”
32．他继续说到：“现在世界权利正在发生三等分变化。农业国在底层，工业国 在中间，发展知识经济的国家在上面。”在有
些国家，如巴西，三种文明并存，相互冲撞。

33．托大勒说：“我们会看到文化上有很大变化。 你一打开电视，就能收看用母语播放的尼日利亚和斐济电视节日。”一些专
家还预测未来电视有500个 有线频道，少数群体可以用这种电视发展自己独立的、与众不同的文化和语言。
34．托夫勒还说：“人们要问。我们会经历第三次浪潮而继续保持中国特色吗? 会的，会有由自己核心文化构成的独特文化，
但那是未来的中国文化，而不是过去的中国文化。”
35．相互联系：全球文化传播最终就意味着相互联系。商品会继续流动 从1987年剑19 95年，加利福尼哑州经济部¨多
出口了200％的产品，爱达荷商业部多出口了375％。人员流动： 从国外引进商业雇员比在国内培训工人便宜。观念转变：在日
本，玩互动电子游戏长大的一代至少在网络 世界体验到了新的可能性。大前研一在一本书中写道：“玩这种游戏向人们传递着
一个模糊的信息，就是 人们有可能主动操纵自己的处境，因此就会改变自己的命运。对日本人来说．这完全是一种新的思维方
式 。”
36．变化：变化是一个事实，而不是一种选择。那么真正的驱动力是什么呢?各种文化并没有 更加一致；相反。新趋势和旧趋
势相互转变。已故的哲学家以赛亚•柏林认为一个社会应该追求一些别的 东西，而不是某种乌托邦式的理想。他在自传中写道：
“不是我们持一致意见，而是我们相互理解。”
37．10月的某个晚L。在上海，我和一群人在一间又小又闷的宾馆会议室里相聚。那是犹太赎罪日 前夜。参加聚会的有许多西
方国家的外交官、教师和商人，还有携带可爱孩子的漂亮女士、单身男士和年 轻的父亲。夏勒姆•格林伯格是位年轻的以色列犹
太人，娶了个美国太太。他是第一次作为拉比(犹太教 巾负责执行教规、律法并主持宗教仪式的人)主持这种刚刚开始定期举行的
新年宗教集会。
38．格林伯格拉比说：“犹太人遍布世界各地，这是犹太历史的一部分。他们从当地文化吸收了不少东西，但仍 然保持了自己
的本色。”
39．庄严的礼拜仪式在继续，经过几千年和上百种外同文化的影 响都未曾改变。他吟诵：“啊，上帝啊!给我一颗纯净的心，
恢复我健康的心灵!”我既不是犹太人也不 是中国人，但坐在这里我一点都不觉得陌生．感觉就像在家里一样。忏悔可能具有犹
太特色，但是渴望得 到上帝的原谅却是普遍的。
40．全球文化并不仅仅意味着拥有更多的电视机和耐克鞋。相互联系是 人类自然的欲望，是其共同的命运。但是连接全球人类
的纽带并不只是技术或商业，这种连接靠的是强有 力的心灵的纽带。

Unit4 Professions for Women 女人的职业
Born in England, Virginia Woolf was the daughter of Leslie Stephen, a well-known scholar. She was educated primarily at
home and attributed her love of reading to the early and complete access she was given to her father’s library. With her
husband, Leonard Woolf, she founded the Hogarth Press and became known as member of the Bloomsbury group of
intellectuals, which included economist John Maynard Keynes, biographer Lytton Strachey, novelist E. M. Forster, and art
historian Clive Bell. Although she was a central figure in London literary life, Woolf often saw herself as isolated from the
mains stream because she was a woman. Woolf is best known for her experimental, modernist novels, including Mrs.
Dalloway(1925) and To the Lighthouse(1927) which are widely appreciated for her breakthrough into a new mode and
technique--the stream of consciousness. In her diary and critical essays she has much to say about women and fiction. Her
1929 book A Room of One’s Own documents her desire for women to take their rightful place in literary history and as an
essayist she has occupied a high place in 20th century literature. The common Reader (1925 first series; 1932 second series)
has acquired classic status. She also wrote short stories and biographies. “Professions for Women” taken from The collected
Essays Vol 2. is originally a paper Woolf read to the Women’s Service League, an organization for professional women in
London.
When your secretary invited me to come here, she told me that your Society is concerned with the employment of women and
she suggested that I might tell you something about my own professional experiences. It is true that I am a woman; it is true I
am employed; but what professional experiences have I had? It is difficult to say. My profession is literature; and in that
profession there are fewer experiences for women than in any other, with the exception of the stage--fewer, I mean, that are
peculiar to women. For the road was cut many years ago---by Fanny Burney, by Aphra Behn, by Harriet Martineau, by Jane

Austen, by George Eliot —many famous women, and many more unknown and forgotten, have been before me, making the
path smooth, and regulating my steps. Thus, when I came to write, there were very few material obstacles in my way. Writing
was a reputable and harmless occupation. The family peace was not broken by the scratching of a pen. No demand was
made upon the family purse. For ten and sixpence one can buy paper enough to write all the plays of Shakespeare --if one has
a mind that way. Pianos and models, Paris, Vienna, and Berlin, masters and mistresses, are not needed by a writer. The
cheapness of writing paper is, of course, the reason why women have succeeded as writers before they have succeeded in
the other professions.

But to tell you my story--it is a simple one. You have only got to figure to yourselves a girl in a bedroom with a pen in her hand.
She had only to move that pen from left to right--from ten o’clock to one. Then it occurred to her to do what is simple and
cheap enough after all--to slip a few of those pages into an envelope, fix a penny stamp in the corner, and drop the envelope
into the red box at the corner. It was thus that I became a journalist; and my effort was rewarded on the first day of the
following month--a very glorious day it was for me--by a letter from an editor containing a check for one pound ten shillings and
sixpence. But to show you how little I deserve to be called a professional woman, how little I know of the struggles and
difficulties of such lives, I have to admit that instead of spending that sum upon bread and butter, rent, shoes and stockings, or
butcher’s bills, I went out and bought a cat--a beautiful cat, a Persian cat, which very soon involved me in bitter disputes with
my neighbors.

What could be easier than to write articles and to buy Persian cats with the profits? But wait a moment. Articles have to be
about something. Mine, I seem to remember, was about a novel by a famous man. And while I was writing this review, I
discovered that if I were going to review books I should need to do battle with a certain phantom. And the phantom was a
woman, and when I came to know her better I called her after the heroine of a famous poem, The Angel in the House. It was
she who used to come between me an my paper when I was writing reviews. It was she who bothered me and wasted my time
and so tormented me that at last I killed her. You who come off a younger and happier generation may not have heard of
her--you may not know what I mean by The Angel in the House. I will describe her as shortly as I can. She was intensely
sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She
sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draft she sat in it--in short she was so constituted
that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others.
Above all--I need not say it--she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty--her blushes, her great grace. In
those days--the last of Queen Victoria--every house had its Angel. And when I came to write I encountered her with the very
first words. The shadow of her wings fell on my page; I heard the rustling of her skirts in the room. Directly, that is to say, I took
my pen in my hand to review that novel by a famous man, she slipped behind me and whispered:“My dear, you are a young
woman. You are writing about a book that has been written by a man. Be sympathetic; be tender; flatter; deceive; use all the
art and wiles of our sex. Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of our own. Above all, be pure.” And she made as if to
guide my pen. I now record the one act for which I take some credit to myself, though the credit rightly belongs to some
excellent ancestors of mine who left me a certain sum of money--shall we say five hundred pounds a year? --so that it was not
necessary for me to depend solely on charm for my living. I turned upon her and caught her by the throat. I did my best to kill
her. My excuse, If I were to be had up in a court of law, would be that I acted in self-defense. Had I not killed her she would
have killed me. She would have plucked the heart out of my writing. For, as I found, directly I put pen to paper, you cannot
review even a novel without having a mind of your own, without expressing what you think to be the truth about human
relations, morality, sex. And all these questions, according to the Angel of the House, cannot be dealt with freely and openly
by women; they must charm, they must conciliate, they must—to put it bluntly-—tell lies if they are to succeed. Thus,
whenever I felt the shadow of her wing or the radiance of her halo upon my page, I took up the inkpot and flung it at her. She

died hard. Her fictitious nature was of great assistance to her. It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality. She was always
creeping back when I thought I had dispatched her. Though I flatter myself that I killed her in the end, the struggle was severe;
it took much time that had better have been spent upon learning Greek grammar; or in roaming the world in search of
adventures. But it was a real experience; It was an experience that was bound befall all women writers at that time. Killing the
Angel in the House was part of the occupation of a woman writer.

But to continue my story. The Angel was dead; what then remained? You may say that what remained was a simple and
common object--a young woman in a bedroom with an inkpot. In other words, now that she had rid herself of falsehood, that
young woman had only to be herself. Ah, but what is “herself”? I mean, what is a woman? I assure you, I do not know. I do not
believe that you know. I do not believe that anybody can know until she has expressed herself in all the arts and professions
open to human skill. That indeed is one of the reasons why I have come here--out of respect for you, who are in process of
showing us by your experiments what a woman is, who are in process of providing us, by your failures and succeeded, with
that extremely important piece of information.

But to continue the story of my professional experiences. I made one pound ten and six by my first review; and I bought a
Persian cat with the proceeds. Then I grew ambitious. A Persian cat is all very well, I said; but a Persian cat is not enough. I
must have a motorcar. And it was thus that I became a novelist --for it is a very strange thing that people will give you a
motorcar if you will tell them a story. It is a still stranger thing that there is nothing so delightful in the world as telling stories. It
is far pleasanter than writing reviews of famous novels. And yet, if I am to obey your secretary and tell you my professional
experiences as a novelist, I must tell you about a very strange experience that befell me as a novelist. And to understand it
you must try first to imagine a novelist’s state of mind. I hope I am not giving away professional secrets if I say that a novelist’s
chief desire is to be as unconscious as possible. He has to induce in himself a state of perpetual lethargy. He wants life to
proceed with the utmost quiet and regularity. He wants to see the same faces, to read the same books, to do the same things
day after day, month after month, while he is writing, so that nothing may break the illusion in which he is living--so that nothing
may disturb or disquiet the mysterious nosings about, feelings round, darts, dashes, and sudden discoveries of that very shy
and illusive spirit, the imagination. I suspect that this state is the same both for men and women. Be that as it may, I want you
to imagine me writing a novel in a state of trance. I want you to figure to yourselves a girl sitting with a pen in her hand, which
for minutes, and indeed for hours, she never dips into the inkpot. The image that comes to my mind when I think of this girl is
the image of a fisherman lying sunk in dreams on the verge of a deep lake with a rod held out over the water. She was letting
her imagination sweep unchecked round every rock and cranny of the world that lies submerged in the depths of our
unconscious being. Now came the experience that I believe to be far commoner with women writers than with men. The line
raced through the girl’s fingers. Her imagination had rushed away. It had sought the pools, the depths, the dark places where
the largest fish slumber. And then there was a smash. There was an explosion. There was foam and confusion. The
imagination had dashed itself against something hard. The girl was roused from her dream. She was indeed in a state of the
most acute and difficult distress. To speak without figure, she had thought of something, something about the body, about the
passions which it was unfitting for her as a woman to say. Men, her reason told her, would be shocked. The consciousness of
what men will say of a woman who speaks the truth about her passions had roused her from her artist’s state of
unconsciousness. She could write no more. The trace was over. Her imagination could work no longer. This I believe to be a
very common experience with women writers--they are impeded by the extreme conventionality of the other sex. For though
men sensibly allow themselves great freedom in these respects, I doubt that they realize or can control the extreme severity
with which they condemn such freedom in women.

These then were two very genuine experiences of my own. These were two of the adventures of my professional life. The
first--killing the Angel in the House--I think I solved. She died. But the second, telling the truth about my own experiences as a
body, I do not think I solved. I doubt that any woman has solved it yet. The obstacles against her are still immensely
powerful--and yet they are very difficult to define. Outwardly, what is simpler than to write books? Outwardly, what obstacles
are there for a woman rather than for a man? Inwardly, I think, the case is very different; she has still many ghosts to fight,
many prejudices to overcome. Indeed it will be a long time still, I think, before a woman can sit down to write a book without
finding a phantom to be slain, a rock to be dashed against. And if this is so in literature, the freest of all professions for women,
how is it in the new professions which you are now for the first time entering?
四、女性的职业 弗吉尼亚•伍尔夫

l .你们的秘书邀请我时对我说你们妇女服务团关注的是女性就业问题，她提议我讲一讲我就业的亲身体验。我是女 性，这是事实；
我有工作，这也是事实。但我又有什么职业体验呢?这很难讲。我从事的是文学职业，与 其他职业相比，当然不包括戏剧行业，
在文学职业里几乎没有什么女性体验，我的意思是几乎没有女性特 有的体验。多年前，路已开辟出来。许多知名的女性--- 范妮•
伯尼、阿芙拉.贝恩、哈丽雅特•马蒂诺、简•奥斯汀、乔治•艾略特---和许多不知名以及已 被人忘记的女性在我之前铺平了道路并
指导我向前走。因此，在我从事写作时，几乎没有物质障碍。写作 这个职业既受人尊敬又没有危险。写字的沙沙声不会打破家
庭的和平，写作也不需要什么家庭开销。花1 6便士买的纸足够用来写莎士比亚的所有戏剧---要是你有那样的才智的话。作家不
需要钢琴和模特， 不用去巴黎、维也纳和柏林，也不需要家庭教师。当然，廉价的写作用纸是女性作为作家成功而先于其他职
业的原因。
2．我讲讲我的故事，那只是个平常的故事。你们自己设想一个姑娘，手里握着一支笔坐 在卧室里。从十点钟到一点钟她只是不
停地由左向右写，然后她想到做一件既省钱又省力的事---把那 些纸张放进信封，在信封的一角贴上一张一便士的邮票，把信封
投进拐角的一个红色邮筒。我就是这样成 了一名撰稿人。我的努力在下个月的第一天得到了回报---_那是我一生中非常快乐的一
天。我收到了 编辑寄来的一封信，里面装有一张一英镑十先令六便士的支票。为了让你们了解我不值得被称作职业女性，对人< br>生的艰难和奋斗知之甚少，我得承认我没用那笔钱买食物、付房租、买袜子和肉，而是出去买了一只猫，一 只漂亮的波斯猫，
这只猫不久就引起了我和邻居间的激烈争端。
3．什么会比写文章并用赚得 的钱买波斯猫来得更容易?但再想一想，文章得有内容。我好像记得我的文章是评论一部名人写的
小说。 在写那篇评论时，我发现要想写书评我就必须和某个鬼怪做斗争。这个鬼怪是个女子，在我逐渐对她有进一步了解 后，
我用一个有名的诗歌里的女主人公的名字“家里的天使”来称呼她。就是她，在我写评论时，总是在 我和我的写作之间制造麻
烦。就是她总是打扰我，浪费我的时间，如此地折磨我，最终我杀死了她。你们 年轻快乐的这一代人可能没听说过她---你们可
能不知道我说的“家里的天使”是什么意思。我要简单 地讲一讲。她有极强的同情心，非常有魅力，一点都不自私，做高难度
的家务非常出色，天天作自我牺牲 。如果有只鸡，她就吃鸡腿，如果屋里通风，她就坐在风口。总之，她就是这样的人，没有
自己的想法和 期望，总是准备为他人的想法和期望作出牺牲。首要的是---我不需要这么说--- 她纯洁。纯洁被认为是她的最美之
处---她爱脸红，典雅大方。在那时，维多利亚时代后期，每个家庭 都有天使。我刚一提笔写字就会遇见她。她那翅膀的影子映
在纸上，在屋子里我能听到她裙子沙沙作响。 也就是说，我一拿起笔写那位名人的书评，她就会悄悄地溜到我身后悄声对我说：
“亲爱的，你是个年轻 姑娘，你在给男人写的书写评论。要有同情心，要温柔，要奉承，要说假话，要使用女性全部的小伎俩。
不要让任何人看出你有自己的见解。首要的是要纯洁。”她就这样引导我的写作。下面我要说说多少是我自己决定 做的一件事
情，当然做此事的功劳主要还应归功于我那了不起的祖先，是他们给我留下了一笔财产--- 比如说每年500英镑吧---这样我就不
必完全靠女人的魅力去谋生了。我对她发起突然进攻，扼住她 的喉咙。我尽最大努力杀死她。要是因此被带上法庭的话，我的
辩护词就是我是自卫，如果我不杀死她， 她就会杀死我，她会拔掉我进行写作的心。因为我发现在写作时，要是没有自己的见
解，不能真实表达人 与人之间的关系、道德和性的话，你一本小说的评论都写不出来。依照“家里的天使”，所有这些问题女
性都不能公开和自由地讨论。她们必须使用魅力，必须作出让步，更直接地说，她们想要成功就必须说假话。因此 ，无论何时
在纸上感到有她的翅膀或光晕的影子，我就会拿起墨水瓶，向她砸去。她不容易死去，她那非 真实的特性对她是极大的帮助。
杀死鬼怪要比杀死真实的人艰难多了。在我认为我已杀死她时，她就会悄 悄地溜回来。尽管我自己确信我最终杀死了她，但搏
斗得很激烈，消耗的时间要比学希腊语语法或周游世 界体验冒险经历的时间多多了。但是，这是真实的体验，这种经历在那时
会降临到所有女作家的头上。杀 死“家里的天使”是女作家职业中的一部分。

4．继续讲我的故事。天使死后，还有什么东西留下来了呢?你们会说留下的是一个简单又普通的物体--- 一个年轻姑娘坐在有墨
水瓶的卧室里。换句话说，既然她已经摆脱掉说假话的错误观念，那么这个年轻姑 娘可以做回自己了。噢，什么是“她自己”
呢?我的意思是什么是妇女。我向你们保证我不知道，我相信 你们也不知道。我相信，只有妇女在人类知识所涉及的全部文艺艺
术和专业领域中用创造形式表达自己的 情感后，她们才知道什么是妇女。这就是我来这里的原因之一，出于对你们的敬重。你
们通过实验在向我 们展示什么是妇女；你们通过自己的成功与失败在为我们提供重要的信息。
5．下面接着讲我的职业体 验。我的第一篇评论赚了一英镑十先令六便土，我用那笔钱买了一只波斯猫。接下来我雄心勃勃，我
说， 波斯猫不错，但还不够，我一定要有一辆汽车。我就这样成为一名小说家---要是你给人们讲故事他们就会给你 一辆汽车，
这可是很奇怪的事情。更奇怪的事情是世界上没有比讲故事更令人快乐的事情了，讲故事远比 写评论有趣。然而，如果听从秘
书的建议，讲述我作为小说家的职业体验的话，我必须告诉你们我的一个 很奇怪的经历。要想明白这一点，你们必须想像小说
家的意识状态。如果我说小说家的重要愿望是尽量处 于无意识状态，我希望我没有泄露行业秘密。他得使自己处于持久的昏睡
状态，他想要过一种最安静、最 有规律的生活。他希望在他写作时，每天见的人、读的书、做的事都是相同的，这样任何事物
都不会打破 他生活的幻想，也不会扰乱他的四处探求以及对那令人难以捉摸的东西即想像力的突然发现。我认为这种状态对于
男人和女人是一样的。尽管如此，我请你们想像我在迷睡的状态中写小说。请你们想像一个女孩坐在桌旁 ，手里握着笔，几分
钟甚至几小时都未曾动过墨水瓶。当我想到这女孩时，脑海里浮现出一个形象：一个 深深的湖边有一位钓鱼者，他手握鱼竿，
沉浸在梦境中。她在让想像力自由自在地在位于无意识的最深层 的世界的各个角落畅游。现在这种体验来了，我认为这种体验
发生在女人身上要比发生在男人身上平常得 多。鱼竿在女孩的手指间快速地转动，她的想像力被冲跑了。想像力搜寻了池塘、
池塘的最深处以及最大 的鱼生活的暗处。就在这时传来了猛烈撞击声、爆炸声，出现了水花，一片混乱。想像力撞到了坚硬的
东 西。那个女孩从睡梦中惊醒，她陷入了一种最深刻、最艰难的痛苦状态。不用修辞手段、直截了当地说，她想到了 一件事情，
一件不适合女人讲的有关身体和激情的事情。她的理智告诉她，男人会感到震惊的。她意识到 男人们会如何议论一个敢讲有关
激情真话的女人，这使她从艺术家的无意识状态中惊醒了。她再也写不下 去了，迷睡结束了，想像力也不再起作用。我认为这
是女作家非常普遍的切身体验---另一性别非常传 统的观念阻碍着她们。尽管男人们理智上在这些方面给自己极大的自由，我认
为他们未必会认识或控制他 们谴责女人这种自由时的猛烈程度。
6．这些就是我自己的两种真实体验，我职业生涯中的两个异乎寻常的经历。第一个--- 杀死“家里的天使”，我认为我已经解决
了，她死了。但第二个---真实地讲述我的身体和激情，我认 为还没有解决。我认为任何女性都还没有解决这个问题。不利于她
的那些障碍还有很强大的力量，也很难 给它们下定义。从外表看，什么比写书更容易呢?从外表看，有什么障碍会阻碍女人而不
是男人呢?从内 心精神方面看，情况颇为不同。妇女还要与许多鬼怪展开斗争。还有许多偏见需要克服。当然，我认为，女人不< br>用杀死鬼怪，不用击碎岩石就能够坐下来专心写书还需要很长时间。如果在文学领域--- 女性最自由的职业里情况如此的话，那
么在你们第一次从事的新职业里情况又会如何呢?
7． 如果有时间，这些就是我要问你们的问题。当然，如果我重点强调我的职业体验的话，那是因为我相信，尽管方式 不同，它
们也是你们的体验。即使道路名义上是宽阔的--- 没有任何事情可以阻碍妇女成为医生、律 师和公务员，但我相信前面仍有许多
鬼怪和障碍若隐若现。讨论和界定这些障碍是十分重要的。因为只有 如此我们才能共同努力克服困难。除此之外。还有必要讨
论我们为之奋斗，为之与难以克服的障碍作斗争 的目的。那些目的是什么，对这个问题我们不能想当然，而要不断地提出疑问
和进行审视。在我看来，在 这里，在这个被有史以来第一次从事这么多种不同职业的妇女所包围的大厅里，整个状况都非常耐
人寻味 ，而且还有重要意义。在这个迄今为止专门由男人控制的房子里，你们已经赢得了自己的房间。尽管不可能不付出 很大
的劳动和努力，你们能够自己付房租了，能够每年挣自己的500英镑。但是，这种自由才刚刚开始 ，房间是你的，但里面空无
一物。房间还需要置办家具，需要装饰物，需要有人与你分享。你准备置办什 么样的家具，准备进行什么样的装修，准备和谁
一起合用这个房间，有什么条件?我认为这些问题非常重 要，非常耐人寻味，因为有史以来你们第一次提出这些问题，第一次自
己能够决定这些问题的答案。我非 常愿意留下来和你们一起讨论这些问题并找到答案。但今晚不行，我的时间到了，就讲到这
里吧。
(国永荣译．边娜审校)

is a Fallacy
Max Shulman

1 Charles Lamb, as merry and enterprising a fellow as you will meet in a month of Sundays, unfettered the informal essay
with his memorable Old China and Dream's Children. There follows an informal essay that ventures even beyond Lamb's
frontier, indeed,
perhaps more appropriate.
2 Vague though its category, it is without doubt an essay. It develops an argument; it cites instances; it reaches a
conclusion. Could Carlyle do more? Could Ruskin ?
3 Read, then, the following essay which undertakes to demonstrate that logic, far from being a dry, pedantic discipline, is
a living, breathing thing, full of beauty, passion, and trauma --Author's Note
4 Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious , acute and astute--I was all of these. My brain was as powerful
as a dynamo, as precise as a chemist's scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And --think of it! --I was only eighteen.
5 It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Butch, my roommate at the
University of Minnesota. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough young fellow, you understand, but
nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of
reason. To be swept up in every new craze that come, s along, to, surrender y, , , , , , ourself to idiocy just because everybody
else is doing it--this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.
6 One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately
diagnosed appendicitis.
7
8
9
10 I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental.
11
Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can't get a raccoon coat.
12
13
14
15 He leaped from the bed and paced the room,
16
They're unsightly. They--
17
18
19
20 My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear.
21
22 I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to set my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had
one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I
wanted. He didn't have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.
23 I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature.
She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a
shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.
24 I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right
kind of wife in furthering a lawyer's career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to
beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

25 Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions but I felt sure that time would supply the lack She already had
the makings.
26 Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise
that clearly indicated the best of breeding, At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner
eating the specialty of the house--a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of
sauerkraut--without even getting her fingers moist.
27 Intelligent she was not. in fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would
smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart
girl beautiful.
28
29
30
31
32
33
34 I nodded with satisfaction.
35
36
37
38
39
could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?
40
41
object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.
42
repeated fifteen or twenty times.
43
44
45
46
47
48 He flung the coat from him.
49 I shrugged.
50 I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a
torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw
resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much
resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning . Finally he didn't turn away at all; he
just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.
51
52
53
54

55
56
57 He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a
mound of dead raccoons.
58 I rose from my chair.
59 He swallowed.
60 I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how
much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner.
（=delicious） dinner,
movie,
she bade me good night.
61 I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl's lack of
information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information First she had to be taught to think.
This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking
about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I
decided to make an effort.
62 I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was
taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my finger tips.
date,
63
“s
64 We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly.

65
66 She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it.
67
recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.
68
69 I winced, but went bravely on.
70
71,
Therefore everybody should exercise.
72
73
have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the
generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a
Dicto Simplioiter. Do you see?
74
75
fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can't speak French. I can't speak French. Petey Burch can't speak
French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.
76

77 I hid my exasperation.
support such a conclusion.
78
79 I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not
persistent. I continued.
80
81
time we take her on a picnic--
82
guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.
83
84 I sighed deeply.
85
86
87
88 I frowned, but plunged ahead.
stone so heavy that He won't be able to lift it?
89
90
91
92
93 She scratched her pretty, empty head.
94
there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible
force. Get it?
95
96 I cousulted my watch.
learned. We'll have another session tomorrow night.
97 I deposited her at the girls' dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went
glumly to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I
considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure.
The girl simply had a logic-proof head.
98 But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening: I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in
the extinct crater of her mind, a few embers still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not
a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.
99 Seated under the oak the next evening I said,
100 She quivered with delight.
101
he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no
shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.
102 A tear rolled down each of Polly's pink cheeks.

103
qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss's sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you
understand?
104
105 I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes.
controlled tone,
during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them
during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn't students be
allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?
106
107
much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can't make an analogy between
them.
108
109
110
111
沥青油矿), the world today would not know about radium .
112
is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.
113
Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it.
Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can't start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any
supportable conclusions from it.
114
115 One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear.
called Poisoning the Well.
116
117 ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can't believe a
word that he is going to say. '... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What's wrong?
118 I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly, a g1immer of intelligence—the first I
had seen--came into her eyes.
if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?
119
anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start. … Polly, I’m proud of you.
120
121 —evaluate. Come
now, let's review everything we have learned.”
122
123 Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin , I began a long, patient review of all I had told her.
Over and over and over again I cited instances pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without let-up. It was like digging a
tunnel. At first everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I

persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger
and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.
124 Five grueling nights this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job
was done. She was worthy of me at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother
for my well-heeled children.
125 It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary, Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect
woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I determined to acquaint her with my feeling at our very next meeting. The time had
come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.
126
127
128 “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along
splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”
129 “Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.
130 “I beg your pardon,” said I.
131 “Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”
132 I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well.
tolerant manner,
133 ”, said Polly promptly. ”
134 I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to
change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my
massive brain chose the proper words. Then I began:
135
Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish (vi.憔悴). I will
refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling (摇摇晃晃地走), hollow-eyed hulk.
136 There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.
137 ” Said Polly.
138 I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I
fought back the tide of panic surging through me. At all costs I had to keep cool.
139
140 ’re darn right,
141
142
143
about fallacies.
144
145 I dashed perspiration from my brow.
classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don't have anything to do with life.
146
147 That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull.
148
149
150

151 I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand!
rat! I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf .
152
153 With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice.
logically. How could you choose Petey Burch over me? Look at me--a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with
an assured future. Look at Petey--a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who'll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can
you give me one logical reason why you should go stead with Petey Burch?
154 ”
(from Rhetoric in a Modern Modeby James K. Bell and Adrian A. Cohn)

课文5译文 爱情就是谬误 马克斯•舒尔曼
1．查尔斯.兰姆是个世所罕见的性 情欢快、富有进取心的人，他笔下的散文《古瓷器》和《梦中的孩子》无拘无束、自由
奔放，实在令人难 忘。下面这篇文章比兰姆的作品更加自由奔放。事实上，用“自由奔放”的字眼来形容这篇文章并不十分贴
切，或许用“柔软”、“轻松”或“轻软而富有弹性”更为恰当。
2．尽管很难说清这篇文 章属于哪一类，但可以肯定它是一篇散文小品文。它提出了论点，引用了许多例证，并得出了结论。
卡里 尔能写得更好吗?拉斯金呢?
3．这篇文章意在论证逻辑学非但不枯燥乏味，而且活泼、清新 ，富于美感和激情，并给人以启迪。诸位不妨一读。
---作者注
4．我这个人头脑冷静，逻辑思维能力强。敏锐、慎重、深刻、机智 ----这些就是我的特点。我的大脑像发电机一样发达，
像化学家的天平一样精确，像手术刀一样锋利 。---你知道吗?我才18岁。
5．年纪这么轻而智力又如此非凡的人并不常有。就拿在明 尼苏达大学和我同住一个房间的皮蒂.伯奇来说吧，他和我年龄相
仿，经历一样，可他笨得像头驴。小伙 子长得年轻漂亮，可惜脑子里却空空如也。他易于激动，情绪反复无常，容易受别人的
影响。最糟糕的是 他爱赶时髦。在我看来，赶时髦就是最缺乏理智的表现。见到一种新鲜的东西就跟着学，以为别人都在这么
干，自己也就卷进去傻干---我认为这简直是愚蠢至极，但皮蒂却不以为然。
6．一天下 午，我看见皮蒂躺在床上，脸上露出一副痛苦不堪的表情，我立刻断定他是得了阑尾炎。“别动，”我说，“别< br>吃泻药，我就请医生来。”
7．“浣熊．”他咕哝着。
8．“浣熊?”我停下来问道。
9．“我要一件浣熊皮大衣，”他痛苦地哭叫着。
10．我明白了，他不是身体不舒服，而是精神上的问题。“你为什么要浣熊皮大衣?”
11 ．“我早该知道，”他哭叫着，用拳头捶打着太阳穴，“我早该知道查尔斯登舞再度流行时．浣熊皮大衣也会时兴 起来
的。我真傻，钱都买了课本，弄得现在不能买浣熊皮大衣了。”
12．我带着怀疑的眼神问道：“你是说人们真的又要穿浣熊皮大衣了吗?”
13．“校园里有身份的人哪个不穿?你刚从哪儿来?”
14．“图书馆，”我说了一个有身份的人不常去的地方。
15．他从床上一跃而起，在房间 里踱来踱去。“我一定要弄到一件浣熊皮大衣，”他激动地说，“非弄到不可!”
16．“皮蒂，你怎么啦?冷静地想一想吧。浣熊皮大衣不卫生、掉毛、味道难闻、既笨重又不好看，而且……”
17．“你不懂，”他不耐烦地打断我的话，“这就叫时髦。难道你不想赶时髦吗?”
18．“不想，”我坦率地回答。
19．“好啦，我可想着呢!”他肯定地说，“弄到浣熊皮大衣让我干什么都行。”
20．我的大脑---这件精密的仪器 ---立刻运转起来。我紧盯着他，问道：“什么都行?”
21．“什么都行!”他斩钉截铁地说。

22．我若有所思地抚着下巴。好极了，我知道哪儿能弄到浣熊皮大衣。我父亲在大学读书期间就穿过一件，现在 还放在家
里顶楼的箱子里。恰好皮蒂也有我需要的东两。尽管他还没有弄到手，但至少他有优先权。我说 的是他的女朋友波莉.埃斯皮。
23．我早已钟情于波莉•埃斯皮了。我要特别说明的是我想 得到这妙龄少女并不是由于感情的驱使。她的确是个易于使人动
情的姑娘。可我不是那种让感情统治理智 的人，我想得到波莉是经过慎重考虑的，完全是出于理智上的原因。
24．我是法学院一年级 的学生，过不了几年就要挂牌当律师了。我很清楚，一个合适的妻子对于一个律师来说是非常重要
的。我 发现大凡有成就的律师几乎都是和美丽、文雅、聪明的女子结婚的。波莉只差一条就完全符合这些条件了。
25．她漂亮。尽管她的身材还没有挂在墙上的照片上的美女那么苗条，但我相信时间会弥补这 个不足。她已经大致不差了。
26．她温文尔稚 ---我这里是指她很有风度。她亭亭玉立 、落落大方、举手投足都尽显她出身高贵。她进餐时，动作是那样
的优美。我曾看见过她在“舒适的校园 一角”吃名点---一块夹有几片带汁的炖肉和碎核桃仁的三明治，还有一小杯泡菜 ---手指
居然一点儿也没有沾湿。
27．她不聪明，实际上恰恰相反。但我相信在我的指导 下，她会变聪明的。无论如何可以试一试，使一个漂亮的笨姑娘变得聪
明比使一个聪明的丑姑娘变得漂亮 毕竟要容易些。
28．“波莉,”我说．“你在跟波莉•埃斯皮谈恋爱吧?”
29．“我觉 得她是一个讨人喜欢的姑娘，”他回答说，“但我不知道这是不是就叫做爱情。你问这个干什么?”
30．“你和她有什么正式的安排吗?我是说你们是不是经常约会，或者有诸如此类的事情?，我问。
31．“没有，我们常常见面。但我们俩各自有别的约会。你问这个干什么?”
32．“还有没有别人令她特别喜欢呢?”我问道。
33．“那我可不知道。怎么了?”
34．我满意地点点头说：“这就是说，如果你不在，场地就是空着的。你说是吧?”
35．“我想是这样的。你这话是什么意思?”
36．“没什么，没什么，”我若无其事地说，接着把手提皮箱从壁橱里拿了出来。
37．“你去哪儿?”皮蒂问。
38．“回家过周末。”我把几件衣服扔进了皮箱。
39．“听着，”他焦急地抓住我的胳膊说，“你回家后，从你父亲那儿弄点钱来借给我买一件浣熊皮大衣，好 吗?”
40．“也许还不只是这样呢，”我神秘地眨着眼睛说，随后关上皮箱就走了。
41 ．星期一上午我回到学校时对皮蒂说：“你瞧!”我猛地打开皮箱，那件肥大、毛茸茸、散发着怪味的东西露了出 来，这就是
我父亲1925年在施图茨比尔凯特汽车里穿过的那一件浣熊皮大衣。
42．“太 好了!”皮蒂恭敬地说。他把两只手插进那件皮大衣，然后把头也埋了进去。“太好了!”他不断地重复了一二十 遍。
43．“你喜欢吗?”我问道。
44.“哦，喜欢!”他高声叫着，把那满是油腻的毛 皮紧紧地搂在怀里。接着他眼里露出机警的神色，说，“你要换什么?”
45．“你的女朋友，”我毫不讳言地说。
46．“波莉?”他吃惊了，结结巴巴地说，“你要波莉?”
47．“是的。”
48．他把皮大衣往旁边一扔，毫不妥协地说：“那可不行。”
49．我耸了耸肩膀说：“那好吧，如果你不想赶时髦，那就随你的便吧。，，
50.我在一 把椅子上坐了下来，假装看书，暗暗地瞟着皮蒂。他神情不安，用面包店窗前的流浪儿那种馋涎欲滴的神情望着那 件
皮大衣，接着扭过头去，坚定地咬紧牙关。过了一会儿，他又回过头来把目光投向那件皮大衣，脸上露 出更加渴望的神情。等
他再扭过头去，已经不那么坚决了。他看了又看，越看越喜欢，慢慢决心也就减弱 了。最后他再也不扭过头去，只是站在那里，
贪婪地盯着那件皮大衣。
51．“我和波莉好像 不是在谈恋爱，”他含含糊糊地说，“也说不上经常约会或有诸如此类的事情。
52．“好的，”我低声 说。
53．“波莉对我算得了什么?我对波莉又算得了什么?”
54．“根本算不了什么，”我说。

55．“只不过是一时高兴 ---不过是说说笑笑罢了，仅此而已。”
56．“试试大衣吧。”我说。
57．他照办了。衣领蒙住了他的耳朵，下摆一直拖到脚跟。 他看起来活像一具浣熊尸体。他高兴地说：“挺合身的。”
58．我从椅子上站了起来。“成交了吗?”我说着，把手伸向他。
59.他轻易地接受了。“算数，”他说，并跟我握了握手。
60．第二天晚上，我 与波莉第一次约会了。这一次实际上是我对她的考查。我想弄清要做多大的努力才能使她的头脑达到
我的 要求。我首先请她去吃饭。“哈，这顿饭真够意思，”离开餐馆时她说。然后我请她去看电影。“嘿，这片子真好 看。”
走出电影院时她说。最后我送她回家。和我告别时她说：“嘿，今晚玩得真痛快。”
61．我怀着不大痛快的心情回到了房间。我对这任务的艰巨性估计得太低了。这姑娘的知识少得令人吃惊。光教 给她知识
还不够。首先得教她学会思考。这可不是一件容易的事，当时我真想把她还给皮蒂算了。但我一 想到她那充满魅力的身材、她
进屋时的模样、她那拿刀叉的姿势，我还是决定再做一番努力。
62．就像做其他事情一样，我开始有计划地干了起来。我开始给她上逻辑课。幸好我是一个学法律的学生，我自 己也在学
逻辑学，所以对要教的内容我都很熟悉。当我接她赴第二次约会的时候，我对她说：“今晚咱们 去‘小山’谈谈吧。”
63．“啊，好极了，”她回答道。对这姑娘我要补充一句，像她这么好商量的人是不多见的。
64．我们去了“小山”，这是校园里人们幽会的地方。我们坐在一棵老橡树下，她用期待的目光看着我。“我们 谈些什么
呢?”她问。
65．“逻辑。”
66．她想了一会儿，觉得不错，便说：“好极了。”
67．“逻辑学，”我清了清嗓子，“ 就是思维的科学。在我们能正确地思维之前，首先必须学会判别逻辑方面的常见谬误。
我们今晚就要来谈 谈这些。”
68．“哇!”她叫了起来，高兴地拍着手。
69．我打了个寒噤，但还是鼓足勇气讲下去：“首先我们来考究一下被称为绝对判断的谬误。”
70．“好呀!”她眨了眨眼，催促着。
71．“绝对判断指的是根据一种无条件的前提推出的论断。比如说，运动是有益的，因此人人都要运动。”
72．“不错，”波莉认真地说，“运动是非常有益的。它能增强体质，好处太多了!”
73．“波莉，”我温和地说，“这种论点是谬误。运动有益是一种无条件的前提。比方说，假 如你得了心脏病，运动不但
无益，反而有害，有不少人医生就不准他们运动。你必须给这种前提加以限制 。你应该说，一般来说运动是有益的。或者说，
对大多数人是有益的。否则就是犯了绝对判断的错误，懂 吗?”
74．“不懂，”她坦率地说，“这可太有意思了，讲吧，往下讲吧。”
75．“你最好别拉我的袖子了，”我对她说。等她松了手，我继续讲，“下面我们讲一种被称为草率结论的谬误 。你仔细
听：你不会讲法语，我不会讲法语，皮蒂•伯奇也不会讲法语。因此我就会断定在明尼苏达大学 谁也不会讲法语。”
76．“真的?”波莉好奇地问道．“谁都不会吗?”
77．我压住火气。“波莉，这是一种谬误，这是一种草率的结论。能使这种结论成立的例证太少了。”
78．“你还知道其他的谬误吗?”她气喘吁吁地说：“这比跳舞还有意思啦!”
79．我极力地使自己不灰心。我真拿这姑娘没办法，确实是毫无办法。可是，如果我不坚持下去，我就太没用了 。因此，
我继续讲下去。
80．“现在听我讲讲被称为牵强附会的谬误。听着：我们不要带比尔出去野餐。每次带他一起去，天就下雨。”
81．“我就见过这样的人，”她感叹地说，“我们家乡有个女孩，名叫尤拉•蓓克尔。从没有例外，每 次我们带她去野餐……”
82．“波莉，”我严厉地说，”这是一种谬误。下雨并不是尤拉• 蓓克尔造成的，下雨与她没有任何关系。如果你责怿尤拉
•蓓克尔，你就是犯了牵强附会的错误。”
83．“我再也不这样了．”她懊悔地保证说，“你生我的气了吗?”
84．我深深地叹了一口气：“不，波莉，我没生气。”
85．“那么，给我再讲些谬误吧!”

86．“好，让我们来看看矛盾前提吧。”
87．“行。行，”她叽叽喳喳地叫着，两眼闪现出快乐的光芒。
88．我皱了皱眉头，但还 是接着讲下去。“这里有一个矛盾前提的例子：如果上帝是万能的，他能造出一块连他自己也搬
不动的大 石头吗?”
89．“当然能，”她毫不犹豫地回答。
90．“但是如果他是万能的，他就能搬动那块石头呀。”我提醒她说。
91．“是嘛!”她若有所思地说，“嗯，我想他造不出那样的石头。”
92．“但他是万能的啊，”我进一步提醒她。
93．她用手抓了抓她那漂亮而义空虚的脑袋。“我全搞糊涂了，”她承认说。
94．“你确 实糊涂了。因为如果一种论点的各个前提相互间是矛盾的，这种论点就不能成立，假如有一种不可抗拒的力量，< br>就不可能有一种不可移动的物体；假如有一种不可移动的物体，就不可能有一种不可抗拒的力量。懂了吗? ”
95．“再给我讲些这类新奇的玩意儿吧，”她恳切地说。
96．我看 了看表，说，“我想今晚就谈到这里。现在我该送你回去了。你把所学的东西复习一遍．我们明晚再上一课吧。”
97．我把她送到了女生宿舍，在那里她向我保证说这个晚上她过得非常愉快。我闷闷不乐地回 到了我的房间，皮带正鼾声
如雷地睡在床上。那件浣熊皮大衣像一头多毛的野兽趴在他的脚边。当时我真 想把他叫醒，告诉他可以把他的女朋友要回去。
看来我的计划要落空了。这姑娘对逻辑简直是一点儿部不 开窍。
98．但是我回过头一想，既然已经浪费了一个晚上，不妨还是再花一个晚上看看。天 知道，说不定她头脑里的死火山口中
的什么地方，还有些火星会喷射出来呢。也许我会有办法能把这些火 星扇成熊熊烈焰。当然，成功的希望是不大的，但我还是
决定再试一次。
99．第二天晚上我们义坐在那棵橡树下，我说，“今晚我们要谈的第一种谬误叫做文不对题。”
100．她高兴得都发抖了。
101．“注意听，”我说，“有个人申请T作，当老饭问他所 具备的条件时，他回答说他家有妻子和六个孩子。妻子完全残
废了，孩子们没吃的没穿的，睡觉没有床， 生火没有煤，眼看冬天就要到了。”
102．两滴眼泪顺着波莉那粉红的面颊往下滚。“啊，这太可怕了!太可怕了!”她抽泣着说。
103．“是的，是太可怕了，”我赞同地说，“但这可不成其为申请工作的理由。那人根本没有回答老板提出的 关于他所具
备的条件的问题。反而乞求老板的同情。他犯了文不对题的错误。你懂吗?”
104．“你带手帕了没有?”她哭着说。 、
105．我把手帕递给她。当她擦眼泪 时，我极力控制自己的火气。“下面，”我小心地压低声音说，“我们要讨论错误类比。
这里有一个例子 ：应该允许学生考试时看课本。既然外科医生在做手术时可以看x光片，律师在审查案件时可以看案情摘要，木匠在盖房子时可以看图纸，为什么学生在考试时不能看课本呢?”
106．“这个．”她满怀激情地说，“可是我多少年来听到的最好的主意。”
107．“波 莉，”我生气地说，“这个论点全错了。医生、律师和木匠并不是以参加考试的方式去测验他们所学的东西。学< br>生们才是这样。情况完全不同，你不能在不同的情况之间进行类比。”
108．“我还是觉得这是个好主意，”波莉说。
109．“咳!”我嘀咕着，但我还是执意地往下讲，“接下去我们试试与事实相反的假设吧。”
110．波莉的反应是：“听起来不错。”
111．“你听着：如果居里夫人不是碰巧把一张 照片底片放在装有一块沥青铀矿石的抽屉里，那么世人今天就不会知道镭。”
112．“对， 对，”波莉点、头称是。“你看过那部影片吗?哦，真好看。沃尔特•皮金演得太好了，我是说他让我着迷了。”
113．“如果你能暂时忘记皮金先生，”我冷冷地说，“我会愿意指出这种说法是错误的。也 许居里夫人以后会发现镭的，
也许由别人去发现，也许还会发生其他的事情。你不能从一个不实际的假设 出发，从中得出任何可以站得住脚的结论。”
114．“人们真应该让沃尔特•皮金多拍些照片，”波莉说，“我几乎再也看不到他了。”
115．我决定冉试一次，但只能一次。一个人的忍耐毕竟是有限度的。我说，“下一一个谬误叫做井里投毒。”
116．“多有趣啊!”她咯咯地笑了起来。

117．“有两个人在进行一场辩论。第一个人站起来说：‘我的论敌是个劣迹昭彰 的骗子，他所说的每一句话都不可信。’……
波莉，现在你想想，好好想一想，这句话错在哪里?”
118．她眉头紧锁，我凝视着她。突然，一道智慧的光芒 ---这是我从未看到过的 -- -闪现在她的眼中。“这不公平，”她气
愤地说，“一点都不公平。如果第一个人不等第二个人开口就说 他是骗子，那么第二个人还有什么可说的呢?”
119．“对!”我高兴地叫了起来，“百分 之百对，是不公平。第一个人不等别人喝到井水，就在井里投毒了。他还不等他
的对手开口就已经伤害了 他。……波莉，我真为你感到骄傲。”
120．她轻轻地“哼”了一声，高兴得脸都发红了。
121．“你看，亲爱的，这些问题并不深奥，只要精力集中，就能对付。思考 分析 判断。来，让我们把所学过的东西再
复习一遍。”
122．“来吧，”她说着，把手往上一晃。
123．看来波莉并不很傻，我的劲头上来了。 于是，我便开始把对她讲过的一切．长时间耐心地复习了一遍。我给她一个一
个地举例子，指出其中的错 误．不停地讲下去。就好比挖掘一条隧道，开始只有劳累、汗水和黑暗，不知道什么时候能见到光
亮，甚 至还不知道能否见到光亮。然而，我坚持着，凿啊，挖啊，刮啊．终于得到了回报。我见到了一线光亮，这光亮越 来越
大，终于阳光洒进来了，一切都豁然开朗了。
124．我辛辛苦苦地花了五个晚 上，但总算还是没有白费。我使波莉变成一个逻辑学家了，我教她学会了思考。我的任务完
成了，她最终 还是配得上我的。她会成为我贤惠的妻子。我那些豪华公馆里出色的女主人，我那些有良好教养的孩子们的合格< br>母亲。
125．不要以为我不爱这个姑娘了，恰恰相反。正如皮格马利翁珍爱他自己塑 造的完美的少女像一样，我也非常爱我的波莉。
我决定下次会面时把自己的感情向她倾吐。该是把我们师 生关系转化为爱情的时候了。
126．“波莉，”当我们又坐在我们那棵橡树下时，我说，“今晚我们不再讨论渗误了。”
127．“怎么啦?”她失望地问道。
128．“亲爱的，”我友好地对她笑了笑，“我们已经一起度 过了五个晚上，我们相处得很好。显然我们俩是很相配的。”
129．“草率结论，”波莉伶俐地说。
130．“你是说 ---?”我问道。
131．“草率结论，”她重复了一遍。“你怎么能凭我们仅有的五次约会就说我们俩很相配呢?”
132．我咯咯一笑，觉得挺有意思。这可爱的小家伙功课学得可真不错。“亲爱的，”我耐心地拍打着她的手说 ，“五次约
会就不少了，毕竟你不必把整个蛋糕吃下去才知道蛋糕的甜味。”
133．“错误类比，”波莉敏捷地说。“我可不是蛋糕，我是个女孩子。”
134．我微微 一笑，但这次不感到那么有意思了。这可爱的孩子功课或许是学得太好了。我决定改变策略。显然，最好的办法就是态度明朗，直截了当地向她示爱。我沉默了一会儿，用我特别发达的脑袋挑选着合适的词语。然后我便 开始：
135．“波莉，我爱你。对我来说，你就是整个世界，是月亮，是星星，是整个宇宙 。亲爱的，请说你爱我吧。如果你不这
样，我的生活就失去了意义。我将会萎靡不振，茶不饮，饭不思， 到处游荡，成为一个步履蹒跚、双眼凹陷的躯壳。”
136．我双手交叉站在那里，心想这下子可打动她了。
137．“文不对题，”波莉说。
138．我咬咬牙。我不是皮格马利翁，我是弗兰肯斯坦，我的喉咙似乎一下子让魔鬼卡住了。 我极力控制涌上心头的阵阵痛
楚。无论如何，我也要保持冷静。
139．“好了，波莉，”我强装着笑脸说，“这些谬误你的确已学到家了。”
140．“这可说得很对，”她使劲地点了点头说道。
14l_“可是波莉，这一切是谁教给你的?”
142．“你教的呀!”
143．“是的，那你得感谢我。是吧，亲爱的?要是我不和你在一起，你永远也不会学到这些谬误的。”
144．“与事实相反的假设，”波莉不假思索地说着。

145．我甩掉r前额的汗珠。“波莉，”我用嘶哑的声音说 道，“你不要死板地接受这些东两。我是说那只是课堂上讲的东西。
你知道学校学的东西与现实生活毫不 相干。”
146．“绝对判断，”她说道，嬉戏地向我摇摇指头。
147．这一下可使我恼火了。我猛地跳了起来，向公牛似的吼叫着，“你到底想不想和我谈恋爱?”
148．“我不想，”她答道。
149．“为什么不想?”我追问着。
150．“因为今天下午我答应了皮蒂•伯奇，我愿意和他相爱。”
151．我被皮蒂这一无 耻的行径气得一阵眩晕，情不自禁地向后退去。皮蒂答应了我，跟我成了交，还跟我握了手呢!“这
个可 耻的家伙!”我尖声大叫，把一块块草皮踢了起来。“你不能跟他在一起，波莉。他是一个说谎的人、一个骗子、 一个可耻
的家伙!”
152．“井里投毒，”波莉说，“别叫嚷了，我想大声地叫嚷就是一种谬误。”
153．我 以极大的意志力把语气缓和下来。“好吧，”我说个反复无常的人，一个吃了上顿不知下顿的家伙。你能给我一个
合乎逻辑的理由来说明你为什么要跟皮蒂好吗?”
154．“当然能，”波莉肯定地 说，“他有一件浣熊皮大衣，“你是一个逻辑学家。那就让我们从逻辑上来分析这件事吧。
你怎么会看得 上皮蒂•伯奇，而看不起我呢?你看我--- 一个才华横溢的学生，一个了不起的知识分子，一个前途无量的人；而皮
蒂---一个笨蛋，一
。”
(崔林译，李丙奎审校)
Unit9 The Way to Rainy Mountain ——by N. Scott Momaday


A single knoll rises out of the plain in Oklahoma, north and west of the Wichita Range. For my people, the Kiowas, it is an old
landmark, and they gave it the name Rainy Mountain. The hardest weather in the world is there. Winter brings blizzards, hot
tornadic winds arise in the spring, and in summer the prairie is an anvil's edge. The grass turns brittle and brown, and it cracks
beneath your feet. There are green belts along the rivers and creeks, linear groves of hickory and pecan, willow and witch
hazel. At a distance in July or August the steaming foliage seems almost to writhe in fire. Great green and yellow
grasshoppers are everywhere in the tall grass, popping up like corn to sting the flesh, and tortoises crawl about on the red
earth, going nowhere in the plenty of time. Loneliness is an aspect of the land. All things in the plain are isolate; there is no
confusion of objects in the eye, but one hill or one tree or one man. To look upon that landscape in the early morning, with the
sun at your back, is to lose the sense of proportion. Your imagination comes to life, and this, you think, is where Creation was
begun.
I returned to Rainy Mountain in July. My grandmother had died in the spring, and I wanted to be at her grave. She had lived to
be very old and at last infirm. Her only living daughter was with her when she died, and I was told that in death her face was
that of a child.
I like to think of her as a child. When she was born, the Kiowas were living the last great moment of their history. For more than
a hundred years they had controlled the open range from the Smoky Hill River to the Red, from the headwaters of the
Canadian to the fork of the Arkansas and Cimarron. In alliance with the Comanches, they had ruled the whole of the southern
Plains. War was their sacred business, and they were among the finest horsemen the world has ever known. But warfare for
the Kiowas was preeminently a matter of disposition rather than of survival, and they never understood the grim, unrelenting
advance of the U.S. Cavalry. When at last, divided and illprovisioned, they were driven onto the Staked Plains in the cold rains
of autumn, they fell into panic. In Palo Duro Canyon they abandoned their crucial stores to pillage and had nothing then but
their lives. In order to save themselves, they surrendered to the soldiers at Fort Sill and were imprisoned in the old stone corral
that now stands as a military museum. My grandmother was spared the humiliation of those high gray walls by eight or ten
years, but she must have known from birth the affliction of defeat, the dark brooding of old warriors.

Her name was Aho, and she belonged to the last culture to evolve in North America. Her forebears came down from the high
country in western Montana nearly three centuries ago. They were a mountain people, a mysterious tribe of hunters whose
language has never been positively classified in any major group. In the late seventeenth century they began a long migration
to the south and east. It was a journey toward the dawn, and it led to a golden age. Along the way the Kiowas were befriended
by the Crows, who gave them the culture and religion of the Plains. They acquired horses, and their ancient nomadic spirit
was suddenly free of the ground. They acquired Tai-me, the sacred Sun Dance doll, from that moment the object and symbol
of their worship, and so shared in the divinity of the sun. Not least, they acquired the sense of destiny, therefore courage and
pride. When they entered upon the southern Plains they had been transformed. No longer were they slaves to the simple
necessity of survival; they were a lordly and dangerous society of fighters and thieves, hunters and priests of the sun.
According to their origin myth, they entered the world through a hollow log. From one point of view, their migration was the fruit
of an old prophecy, for indeed they emerged from a sunless world.
Although my grandmother lived out her long life in the shadow of Rainy Mountain, the immense landscape of the continental
interior lay like memory in her blood. She could tell of the Crows, whom she had never seen, and of the Black Hills, where she
had never been. I wanted to see in reality what she had seen more perfectly in the mind's eye, and traveled fifteen hundred
miles to begin my pilgrimage.
Yellowstone, it seemed to me, was the top of the world, a region of deep lakes and dark timber, canyons and waterfalls. But,
beautiful as it is, one might have the sense of confinement there. The skyline in all directions is close at hand, the high wall of
the woods and deep cleavages of shade. There is a perfect freedom in the mountains, but it belongs to the eagle and the elk,
the badger and the bear. The Kiowas reckoned their stature by the distance they could see, and they were bent and blind in
the wilderness.
Descending eastward, the highland meadows are a stairway to the plain. In July the inland slope of the Rockies is luxuriant
with flax and buckwheat, stonecrop and larkspur. The earth unfolds and the limit of the land recedes. Clusters of trees, and
animals grazing far in the distance, cause the vision to reach away and wonder to build upon the mind. The sun follows a
longer course in the day, and the sky is immense beyond all comparison. The great billowing clouds that sail upon it are
shadows that move upon the grain like water, dividing light. Farther down, in the land of the Crows and Blackfeet, the plain is
yellow. Sweet clover takes hold of the hills and bends upon itself to cover and seal the soil. There the Kiowas paused on their
way; they had come to the place where they must change their lives. The sun is at home on the plains. Precisely there does it
have the certain character of a god. When the Kiowas came to the land of the Crows, they could see the darklees of the hills at
dawn across the Bighorn River, the profusion of light on the grain shelves, the oldest deity ranging after the solstices. Not yet
would they veer southward to the caldron of the land that lay below; they must wean their blood from the northern winter and
hold the mountains a while longer in their view. They bore Tai-me in procession to the east.
A dark mist lay over the Black Hills, and the land was like iron. At the top of a ridge I caught sight of Devil's Tower upthrust
against the gray sky as if in the birth of time the core of the earth had broken through its crust and the motion of the world was
begun. There are things in nature that engender an awful quiet in the heart of man; Devil's Tower is one of them. Two
centuries ago, because they could not do otherwise, the Kiowas made a legend at the base of the rock. My grandmother said:
Eight children were there at play, seven sisters and their brother. Suddenly the boy was struck dumb; he trembled and began
to run upon his hands and feet. His fingers became claws, and his body was covered with fur. Directly there was a bear where
the boy had been. The sisters were terrified; they ran, and the bear after them. They came to the stump of a great tree, and the
tree spoke to them. It bade them climb upon it, and as they did so it began to rise into the air. The bear came to kill them, but
they were just beyond its reach. It reared against the tree and scored the bark all around with its claws. The seven sisters were
borne into the sky, and they became the stars of the Big Dipper.

From that moment, and so long as the legend lives, the Kiowas have kinsmen in the night sky. Whatever they were in the
mountains, they could be no more. However tenuous their well-being, however much they had suffered and would suffer again,
they had found a way out of the wilderness.
My grandmother had a reverence for the sun, a holy regard that now is all but gone out of mankind. There was a wariness in
her, and an ancient awe. She was a Christian in her later years, but she had come a long way about, and she never forgot her
birthright. As a child she had been to the Sun Dances; she had taken part in those annual rites, and by them she had learned
the restoration of her people in the presence of Tai- me. She was about seven when the last Kiowa Sun Dance was held in
1887 on the Washita River above Rainy Mountain Creek. The buffalo were gone. In order to consummate the ancient
sacrifice-- to impale the head of a buffalo bull upon the medicine tree--a delegation of old men journeyed into Texas, there to
beg and barter for an animal from the Goodnight herd. She was ten when the Kiowas came together for the last time as a
living Sun Dance culture. They could find no buffalo; they had to hang an old hide from the sacred tree. Before the dance
could begin, a company of soldiers rode out from Fort Sill under orders to disperse the tribe. Forbidden without cause the
essential act of their faith, having seen the wild herds slaughtered and left to rot upon the ground, the Kiowas backed away
forever from the medicine tree. That was July 20, 1890, at the great bend of the Washita. My grandmother was there. Without
bitterness, and for as long as she lived, she bore a vision of deicide.
Now that I can have her only in memory, I see my grandmother in the several postures that were peculiar to her: standing at
the wood stove on a winter morning and turning meat in a great iron skillet; sitting at the south window, bent above her
beadwork, and afterwards, when her vision failed, looking down for a long time into the fold of her hands; going out upon a
cane, very slowly as she did when the weight of age came upon her; praying. I remember her most often at prayer. She made
long, rambling prayers out of suffering and hope, having seen many things. I was never sure that I had the right to hear, so
exclusive were they of all mere custom and company. The last time I saw her she prayed standing by the side of her bed at
night, naked to the waist, the light of a kerosene lamp moving upon her dark skin. Her long, black hair, always drawn and
braided in the day, lay upon her shoulders and against her breasts like a shawl. I do not speak Kiowa, and I never understood
her prayers, but there was something inherently sad in the sound, some merest hesitation upon the syllables of sorrow. She
began in a high and descending pitch, exhausting her breath to silence; then again and again--and always the same intensity
of effort, of something that is, and is not, like urgency in the human voice. Transported so in the dancing light among the
shadows of her room, she seemed beyond the reach of time. But that was illusion; I think I knew then that I should not see her
again.
Houses are like sentinels in the plain, old keepers of the weather watch. There, in a very little while, wood takes on the
appearance of great age. All colors wear soon away in the wind and rain, and then the wood is burned gray and the grain
appears and the nails turn red with rust. The windowpanes are black and opaque; you imagine there is nothing within, and
indeed there are many ghosts, bones given up to the land. They stand here and there against the sky, and you approach them
for a longer time than you expect. They belong in the distance; it is their domain.
Once there was a lot of sound in my grandmother's house, a lot of coming and going, feasting and talk. The summers there
were full of excitement and reunion. The Kiowas are a summer people; they abide the cold and keep to themselves, but when
the season turns and the land becomes warm and vital they cannot hold still; an old love of going returns upon them. The aged
visitors who came to my grandmother's house when I was a child were made of lean and leather, and they bore themselves
upright. They wore great black hats and bright ample shirts that shook in the wind. They rubbed fat upon their hair and wound
their braids with strips of colored cloth. Some of them painted their faces and carried the scars of old and cherished enmities.
They were an old council of warlords, come to remind and be reminded of who they were. Their wives and daughters served
them well. The women might indulge themselves; gossip was at once the mark and compensation of their servitude. They
made loud and elaborate talk among themselves, full of jest and gesture, fright and false alarm. They went abroad in fringed

and flowered shawls, bright beadwork and German silver. They were at home in the kitchen, and they prepared meals that
were banquets.
There were frequent prayer meetings, and great nocturnal feasts. When I was a child I played with my cousins outside, where
the lamplight fell upon the ground and the singing of the old people rose up around us and carried away into the darkness.
There were a lot of good things to eat, a lot of laughter and surprise. And afterwards, when the quiet returned, I lay down with
my grandmother and could hear the frogs away by the river and feel the motion of the air.
Now there is a funeral silence in the rooms, the endless wake of some final word. The walls have closed in upon my
grandmother's house. When I returned to it in mourning, I saw for the first time in my life how small it was. It was late at night,
and there was a white moon, nearly full. I sat for a long time on the stone steps by the kitchen door. From there I could see out
across the land; I could see the long row of trees by the creek, the low light upon the rolling plains, and the stars of the Big
Dipper. Once I looked at the moon and caught sight of a strange thing. A cricket had perched upon the handrail, only a few
inches away from me. My line of vision was such that the creature filled the moon like a fossil. It had gone there, I thought, to
live and die, for there, of all places, was its small definition made whole and eternal. A warm wind rose up and purled like the
longing within me.
The next morning I awoke at dawn and went out on the dirt road to Rainy Mountain. It was already hot, and the grasshoppers
began to fill the air. Still, it was early in the morning, and the birds sang out of the shadows. The long yellow grass on the
mountain shone in the bright light, and a scissortail hied above the land. There, where it ought to be, at the end of a long and
legendary way, was my grandmother's grave. Here and there on the dark stones were ancestral names. Looking back once, I
saw the mountain and came away.
第9课 通往雨山的路 N•斯科特•莫米蒂
1 ．一座孤零零的小山在俄克拉荷马的草原上拔地而起，它的西面和北面是维奇塔山脉。对于我们克尔瓦人来说，它 是个古
老的界标，我们给它取名叫雨山。这里有世界上最恶劣的天气。冬季有大暴风雪，春季就刮起了飓 风，到了夏季，草原热得就
像铁砧一样。草变得又脆又黄。沿着河流和小溪，是长长的绿带，有一排排的 山核桃树、柳树和金缕梅。从远望去，七八月里
的树叶热得冒烟，犹如在火中挣扎。高高的草地上到处都 是大个儿的黄绿色的蚱蜢．像玉米花一样爆裂开，刺得人痛。乌龟在
红土地上爬行，不知要去何处。寂寞 荒凉是这里的一大特点。草原上的一切都是疏离开来的，所见之物不会混杂在一起让人看
不清楚。要么只 是一山，要么只是一树、一人。清晨，太阳在你的背后冉冉升起，此时观看大地，你会失去平时的比例感。你会张开想像的翅膀，并认定这就是上帝造设宇宙的起始点。
2．我七月回到了雨山。我祖 母于春季去世，我是想去她的墓地。她活得很老，最后因虚弱而死。她死的时候，是她现在惟
一活着的女 儿陪伴着她。听说她死时的脸像张孩子的脸。
3．我喜欢把她看作孩子。她出生时，俄克拉荷马人正生 活在其所史上鼎盛时期的最后阶段。一个多世纪以来，他们掌控着从斯
莫克山河到红河那片空旷的山脉， 掌控着从加拿大河流的源头到阿肯色河和西马隆河交汇处的地域。他们与科曼斯人一道，统
治着整个南部 平原。发动战争是他们神圣的职责．他们是世人所知的最优秀的骑手。然而，对于克尔瓦人来说，作战更多是因< br>为这是他们的习惯，而非为了生存。他们从来都不理解美国骑兵残酷的进攻。当最后四分五裂、弹尽粮绝时 ，他们便冒着冰凉
的秋雨来到斯代克特平原，陷入了恐慌。在帕罗多罗坎，他们的弹粮被抢劫一空，只剩 下了性命。为了拯救自己，他们在福特
西尔投降，被监禁在一个石头堆砌的牛马棚。现在，这里已经是个 军事博物馆了。我的祖母得以豁免那高高的灰墙里的羞辱，
因为她是在此事件8年或10年后出生的。但 自出生起，她就已经懂得失败给人带来的苦难．这使那些老战士们百思不得其解。
4．她的名 字叫阿荷，属_丁北美最后的文化。差不多一个世纪前，她的祖先从蒙大拿两部来到这里。他们是一群山民，一< br>个神秘的猎手部落．其语言从未分明地划归任何一个主要语种。17世纪晚期，他们开始了漫长的向南和向 东移民。这个通向黎
明的漫长的旅行，使他们达到其黄金时期。一路上，克尔瓦人被克罗人当作朋友，并 给了他们平原上的文化和宗教。他们有了
马，于是他们那古老的游牧精神使他们重新脱离了地面。他们拥 有了太米，那神圣的太阳舞木偶，自那时起太米就成了他们的
崇拜物和象征物。太米也是所有崇拜太阳的 部落的崇拜物。同样重要的是，他们有着命运感，也有着勇气和荣誉感。当他们开
始享受南部大平原时， 他们已经被改变了。他们不再是为了简单的生活必需品的奴隶，而是一群傲慢危险的斗士和小偷、猎人

和虔诚的太阳舞宗教徒。有关他们起源的神话告诉我们 ，他们是通过一根空心圆木来到了世上。从某种程度上说，他们的迁移
是一个古老预言的结果，因为他们 的确来自于一个没有太阳的世界。
5．虽然我的祖母在漫长的生活中从未离开过雨山，但大平 原那广袤的景色却留在她的记忆中，仿佛她本人曾经在那里生活
过。她能谈一些关于克罗人的事情，尽管 她从未见过他们；她还知道黑山，虽然她从未去过那里。我想见识她想像当中的完美
世界，于是走了15 00英里，开始了我的朝圣。
6．对于我来说，黄石是世界上最好的地方。一个有许多深湖、 黑木材、深峡谷和瀑布的地区。虽然黄石地区很美．但人们
可能有受束缚、被禁锢的感觉。放眼望去，四 周天际线近在咫尺，伸手可及。这天际线是一道树的高墙和一条条幽深的裂缝。
山里有完全的自由，但这 只属于老鹰、美洲赤鹿、獾和熊。克尔瓦人根据他们所能看清的距离来判断他们的位置；在荒野中他
们时 常弯着腰或者双眼迷茫。
7．由于位居落基山脉的坡上，向东看上去高高的草地就像通往平原 的台阶。七月，落基山脉面向平原的内坡上长满了亚麻、
荞麦、景天和翠雀等各种植物。当大地在我们面 前展开时，陆地的边缘渐渐退去。远处的树木和吃着草的动物开阔了我们的视
野，使人张开想像的翅膀。 白天日照时间很长，天空宽阔无比。宛如波浪的大片云彩在天空中游动，就像一片片船帆。在庄稼
地里投 下了影子。再往下，在科洛任何黑足印第安人的领地，平原是黄色的。苜蓿长满了山丘，她低垂的叶子盖到地上， 密密
地封住土壤。克罗人在这里停下了脚步，他们来到了必须改变他们生活的地方。在大平原，太阳感到 很舒坦。毫无疑问．这里
有上帝的灵性。克尔瓦人来到克罗人的土地上，他们在黎明时，隔着比格好恩河 可以看到山的背阴处，明媚的阳光照在层层的
庄稼地上。然而，他们并不情愿改变方向，向南到脚下这块 大锅似的土地。因为他们必须给身体充分的时间适应大平原。他们
也不愿这么快就看不见雨山。他们把太 米也带到了东方。
8．一层暗淡的雾霭笼罩着黑山，这里的土地贫瘠得像铁。在一座山脊顶上 ，我看到魔鬼塔高高插入灰蒙蒙的天空，似乎在
时间诞生之时，地核开裂，地壳破裂，宇宙的运动从此开 始。实际上有一些事情能使人们叹为观止。魔鬼塔就是其中之一。两
个世纪以前，由于克尔瓦人无法用科 学解释魔鬼塔的形式，冈此他们惟一能做的就是根据岩石，通过自己的想像编造故事。我
祖母说，“八个 孩子在玩耍，七个姐姐和一个弟弟。突然间男孩子变得哑巴了。他颤抖着，并用手脚爬行。他的手脚趾变成了爪子，身体也长上了毛。他一下子就变成了一只熊。姐姐们非常害怕，于是她们就跑，熊就跟着她们跑。她们 来到了一棵大树
桩下，树开始跟她们说话，命令她们爬上树。当她们爬上树时，树便开始上升。熊赶过来 要吃她们．但够不着。于是熊站了起
来，用它那尖锐的爪子胡乱抓着树皮。七个姐姐被运上了天，变成了 大熊座内的北斗七星。”从那时起，只要这一传说还存在，
克尔瓦人就跟夜空有一种亲缘关系。在山里， 除了山民以外，他们不会再是别的什么了。无论他们的福分有多浅，无论他们的
生活有多艰难，他们已经 从荒原上找到了生存之路。
9．我的祖母对太阳怀有崇敬之情。然而，现在人们的这种感情已 经没有了。在她身上有一种细致和古老的敬畏。她晚年时
开始信基督教，但在成为基督教徒之前她改变了 许多，她从未忘记自己与生俱来的权利。孩提时，她跳过太阳舞，也参加过那
些一年一度的仪式，从中她 懂得了她的同胞在太米面前的复原。1887年,当最后一次克尔瓦太阳舞会召开时。她大约七岁。水牛
都没有了。为了完成那古老的祭祀----把公水牛的头穿在驱魔架上----一个老人代表团旅行到了德克萨斯 ，去乞讨并从古德奈特牧
民那里换取水牛。作为太阳舞文化，克尔瓦人最后一次聚会那年她十岁。他们没 有找到水牛；于是他们就不得不挂上一张旧兽
皮。在舞会开始以前，福特希尔有人命令一群战士前来驱散 这群部落。毫无理由地，关于他们信仰的基本行为被禁止了。看到
野蛮人杀戮他们的同胞，然后把他们的 尸体扔在地上慢慢腐烂，克尔瓦人从此永远地远离了驱麾架。这事发生在1890年7月
20日，维吉塔 河拐弯处。我祖母在那。没有感到痛苦，因为只要她活着，她就能忍受目睹上帝惨遭杀害。
1 0．虽然我只能把祖母留在我的记忆中．我却能够看到她一些特有的姿势：冬季的清晨站在木炉边翻烤着铁锅里的 肉片；
坐在南面窗前，手里捻着念珠，随后，当她看不见的时候，她就低下头，久久地注视着自己合在一 起的双手；拄着拐杖出门，
随着年事增高，走得越来越慢；她时常祈祷。我记忆最深刻的当数她的祈祷了 。出于痛苦、希望，再加上经历了许多事情，她
总是做长时间的祷告。我从来都不能肯定我有权利听她的 祷告，她的祈祷并不遵循任何祷告形式的习俗。最后一次见到她时，
是在夜间她站在床边祷告，身体裸到 腰部，煤油灯光在她黑黑的皮肤上移动。她那白天里总是打成辫子的又长又黑的头发，散
落在肩膀上，垂 在胸前，宛如披肩。我不会说克尔瓦语，而且从来都听不懂她的祈祷，那声音里充满了悲伤，她起调很高，用尽全身力气，直到再也喊不出声音来；然后反复这样----总是用同样的气力，而有时像，有时又不像人类 的声音。她对房屋里的
影子间跳跃的光很着迷，这让人觉得她会永远活在世上。然而，这都是幻觉。那时 我已经知道，不久我就不会再见到她了。

11．平原上的房屋就像哨兵。它们是古老的天气守卫者。在那里，用不了多久，树木就会看起来很老。所有的颜 色都会在
风吹雨打中褪去，然后树木变灰，长出纹理，钉子生锈变红。窗户玻璃黑且透明，你可以想像里 面什么都没有，然而确实有许
多鬼魂和尸骨。他们站在不同的地方挡住天空，你会觉得走近他们所花费的 时间比想像的还长。它们属于远方，那是它们的领
地。
12.在我祖母的房间里，曾 经有过许多声音，许多人来来往往，举行盛会，谈笑风生。夏日里充满了兴奋与团聚。克尔瓦人
夏季很活 跃，他们忍受冬日的寒冷，不与外人接触；但当季节变幻，大地变暖，充满生机时，他们就会按捺不住；对活动的 那
种古老的热爱又回到了他们身边。我小的时候，来我祖母家的那些年长者都精瘦，但腰板硬朗。他们头 戴大黑帽子，肥大的衬
衫不断被风吹起。他们头抹头油，辫子上系着彩带。一些人把脸涂上色，身上带着 旧时征战时落下的伤疤。他们是一群旧军阀，
来这里是为了让自己和别人都记住他们是谁。他们的妻子和 女儿把他们伺候得很好。而在这种场合，那些通常在家里伺候男人
的女人们，则可以做她们想做的，或者 做她们通常不能做的，比如，闲聊、大声喊叫、开玩笑、讲鬼故事等等。走出家门时，
她们披着印花披肩 ，带着鲜亮的珍珠或者镍黄铜首饰。而在家里，她们却忙着下厨房，准备着丰盛的宴席。
13 .经常有祷告性的集会和大型晚餐。小时候，我经常和表兄妹们在户外玩耍，灯总是放在地上，老人们的歌声在我 们的周
围响起，并传到黑暗处。不但有许多好吃的东西，也有许多笑声和惊喜。后来，当寂静重新回到我 们身边时，我和祖母一起躺
下，听着远处河边的蛙鸣，感受着空气的流动。
14．现 在，房间里有一种葬礼般的寂静，那是对克尔瓦文化永远的守灵。祖母家的墙封了。当回去奔丧时，我一生中第一
次感到这房子很小。那已是深夜，皎洁的月亮，几乎是满月。我在厨房门边的石阶上坐了很久。从那儿我 能看到对面的大地；
我能看到溪边那长长的树排，那起伏的草原上低低的光，还有那北斗七星。我曾望着 月亮，看到一个怪物。一只蟋蟀歇在栏杆
上，近在咫尺。我当时的视线正好能看到那只蟋蟀像块化石镶在 满月之中。我猜想，那蟋蟀到那里去生活和死亡，是因为只有
在那里它小小的价值才能变得完整和永恒。 一阵暖风吹起，仿佛一种渴望在我的心中涌动。
15.次日清晨，我在黎明时分醒来，踏上了 那满是尘土的雨山之路。天气已经很热，蚱蜢已开始四处活动。依然是清晨，鸟
儿在树荫下歌唱着。山上 ，那长长的黄草地在阳光中闪亮，一只叉尾霸翁鸫从田过。在那里，在那长长的充满传奇色彩的路上，
有 我祖母的坟墓。四周深颜色的石头上刻着祖先们的名字。在回首，望着雨山，(带着开始新生活的意念)我离开了 。
(崔林译，李丙奎审校)

Unit 10 “9. 11”事件前后
泰•摩西
As the ruins of the World Trade Towers smoldered at the southern end of Manhattan and the breeze stirred the ashes of
thousands of human beings, a new age of anxiety was born. If someone had slept through September 11 and awakened, Rip
Van Winkle-like today, he would open his eyes on an astonishing new landscape.
1．世贸大厦双塔的 废墟还在曼哈顿区南端闷燃，微风将几千人的身躯化成的灰烬吹起，一个新的焦虑时代由此开始。如果
有 人在9月11日那天像瑞普•凡•温克尔那样恰好睡去，一觉醒来，眼前的这一派景象定让他瞠日结舌。
Guardsmen toting M-16s are stationed at our airports. The president of the United States attends a World Series game and
the airspace over Yankee Stadium is closed, a line of snipers positioned on the stadium rooftop. The vice- president's
safekeepers whisk him from place to place, just as his arch-nemesis Osama bin Laden is presumably moved from cave to
cave halfway across the world. Anthrax panic sends Congress running from its chambers.
2．机场里驻进了背着V-16自 动步枪的国民警卫队员。纽约扬基体育场上空的空域因美国总统亲临美国两大职业棒球联赛
的决赛而关闭 ，禁止飞机通过。体育场的屋顶之上还部署了一排狙击手。副总统的保卫员们忙不迭地将他不断转移，正如他那< br>难以对付的仇敌奥萨马?本?拉丹一样，据推测他此刻也在世界另一头从一个山洞转移到另一个山洞。议员 们在炭疽病的恐慌中
弃岗而逃。
The events of September 11 divided our world into two radically different eras. We watch wistfully as the pre-911 world drifts
away on its raft of memory, cast in Technicolor shades of nostalgia. We will remember that assassinated world as idyllic,
secure (never mind that it was neither), we will speak of it in the reverent tones reserved for the dead.

3．“9?11”事件将我们的世 界划为截然不同的两个时代。我们带着惆怅，目送“9?11”之前的世界在怀旧的暗淡色彩中
随记忆的 小筏渐渐漂走远去。在我们的记忆中，这个突遭袭击的世界永远如诗如面，牢不可破(虽然实际并非如此)。谈到 它时，
我们总是像在谈论亡灵，语气异常恭敬。
Meanwhile, the post 911 era looms like an unmapped wilderness. As with other unclaimed territories throughout history, a
fierce battle is being waged for its psychic, political and material capital. Former president Bill Clinton has called this conflict

Leading the charge are the warriors of the Bush Administration, a battalion of securitycrats and generals who are attempting to
colonize the future with their own repressive agenda.
4．与此同时，“9?11”之后的日子就像没有标志的荒地呈现在人们面前。与历史上前几次拓荒一样，这场激 烈的精神、政
治和物质的资本战正在打响。前总统比尔?克林顿称这次较量是“争夺21世纪灵魂的战争 ”，最后的战利品还包括我们最珍视
的价值观和自由。在这场战争中，布什政府的将士们首当其冲，这些 视国家安全重于民众自由的官员们准备把他们一贯实行的
镇压政策带入未来。
But there is a brighter side, a growing chorus of dissenting voices who reject paranoia and hubris and question the rush
toward becoming a security state. There is a dialectic afoot in the country, a stirring of peaceful purpose that has been largely
ignored by the mainstream media, which assumes the public is thinking in red, white and blue, when actually the spectrum of
emotions, ideas and opinions is, like America itself, multihued.
5．不过，光明的一面仍旧存在：越来越多的人开始反对这种 多疑和自大，并对这种视安全为国家最高目标的做法提出质疑。人
们开始辩证地思考，对基本上得不到主 流媒体重视的和平这一主题热烈讨论。主流媒体一直以为公众的想法只有红、白、蓝三
种颜色，殊不知人 们的情感、思想和观点正如美国本身，是多姿多彩的。
Just before his death in November 2001, Ken Kesey described the state of the union in succinctly Keseyian terms:
in suits are telling us what the men in uniforms are going to do to the men in turbans if they don't turn over the men in hiding.”
With the prescience of a dying man, Kesey ventured that this was really a war between the brutal, aggressively male way
things had always been and
Kesey nurtured great hopes for a future constructed on a model of mutual cooperation, trust and rational thinking.
6．在2001年11月肯•凯西去世 前夕，他以独有的简洁对美国做了这样的描写：“穿西装的人(美国官员)告诉我们穿军装的人(美
国军 队)怎样对付一味窝藏他人(本•拉登及“基地”组织成员)的人(塔利班)。”即将离开人世的人具有的先知使 凯西大胆地将这
场战争称做仍是历史上一直存在的野蛮的雄性侵略性方式和“或许刚刚处于萌芽阶段的胆 怯和脆弱的处理方式”的角逐。和许
多仍旧持这种观点的美国人一样，凯西渴望未来的世界能够建立在互 相合作、信任和理智的思考之上。

No Longer Invulnerable（不再坚不可摧）

7 The attacks in New York and Washington shattered the sense of invulnerability that is a hallmark of the American psyche.
After 911, we looked at each other with new eyes, asked new questions. If you found yourself trapped in a doomed airplane
with a cell phone in hand, who would you call? Pundits wrote that the country had lost its innocence, overlooking the fact that
innocence is not a desirable quality in a superpower nation.
7．纽约和华盛顿遭受的恐怖袭击使美国人不再相信无所不胜这一美国精神的主要特征。“9?11”事件之后， 我们用新眼光
对视，并提出新的问题。如果你乘坐的飞机就要失事，你会用手中的移动电话与谁通话?学 者们认为这个国家已经不再纯真，却
没有认识到纯真对一个超级大国并不可取。
Overnight, the United States perceived a sword of Damocles suspended over its head and the ensuing waves of paranoia
initiated surreal episodes: a nationwide run on gas masks; a demand from the Postal Service that all mail be irradiated against
biological threats; and, most appalling of all, Op-Eds that declared using nuclear weapons against Muslim countries would be
justified if terrorists killed so much as one more American.

8．一夜之间，美国感觉到达摩克利斯剑正悬挂在头上，一个接一个以多疑为主调的超现实的插曲出现了：全国抢 购防毒面
具，邮局辐照所有邮件，严防生物袭击，更让人感到可怕的是专栏上发表的文章，有人扬言，如 果再有一名美国人因恐怖分子
死亡，美国政府将有理由对穆斯林国家动用核武器。
Among the unavoidable truths to emerge from 911 is that being on U. S. soil does not render us immune from harm. The
American people now have much more in common with millions of the planet's citizens who spend their lives in regions where
armed conflict or terrorism take innocent lives daily. We too are mired near the bottom of Maslow's pyramid, struggling to
regain our lost sense of safety and security.
9．“9•11”事件让我们认识到许多 无可争辩的事实，其中有一点就是即使在美国本土也无法保证我们免受伤害。美国人现
在和世界上千百万 生活在武装冲突和恐怖活动每天都夺走生命的地区的人们有了更多共同之处。我们也陷在马斯洛金字塔的底
层，为重获安全感而挣扎。
The new Zeitgeist even has Ally McBeal registering concern about world events. Relationships, laments Ally McBeal, were
easier
only one affected by what happened at the World Trade Center
10．这种新的时代精神竟然会让艾丽 ?麦克比尔这位从不关心政治的人对世界大事也开始担心起来。艾丽?麦克比尔认为人
与人之间的关系“ 在9月世界变化之前”并非如此困难，对此他感到十分痛惜。《纽约重案组》中，一个侦探指责另一侦探，
说他并不是“世贸大厦事件惟一的受害者”。
The most visible symptom of our profound psychological trauma is a zealous new patriotism. Seeking solace, the country
drapes itself in the American flag like a child in a superhero cape who plays at being invincible. From homes, vehicles and
clothing to department store windows, billboards and television commercials, there are few places in the country where the
Stars and Stripes has not found a purchase. People who never gave the flag much thought except on the Fourth of July have
become suddenly, passionately, patriotic. For some of us, patriotism is a complicated matter, linked with a dedication to the
Constitution. But the now inescapable presence of the flag, supposedly a symbol of American pride and unity, sometime looks:
suspiciously like overcompensation for a wounded ego. The flag is an icon,a brand that offers no more protection than the
Nike swoosh.
11．我们这种巨大的心理创伤最明显的症状就是一种新的狂热的爱国主义。为了寻求 安慰，全国上下都裹进了国旗，就像一个
披着超人斗篷扮无敌英雄的小孩子。家里、各种交通工具上、衣 服上、商店的橱窗里、广告牌上、电视广告里……星条旗处处
可见。以前除了在7月4日之外不会想到国 旗的人现在一下子都充满激情地成了爱国者。对我们某些人来说，爱国主义是个复
杂的东西，与是否忠于 宪法有关。可是现在，无处不在的国旗可能象征着美国的自豪和统一，有时看上去未免像是对受伤的自
我 的过度补偿。国旗不过是个象征，它能够给人提供的保护不会与带有耐克品牌标志的商品有多大差异。

A Hardening of Outlook (观点的硬化)

12 It has not been fashionable for some time to assign oracular qualities to Orwell's novel, 1984. Yet the book has much to
say to our fractured, post 911 era. In Orwell's dystopia, “'practices which has been long abandoned, in some cases for
hundreds of years—imprisonment without trial.. public executions, torture to extract confessions, not only became common
again, but were tolerated and even defended by people who considered themselves enlightened and progressive.” These
paroxysmal social changes, Orwell wrote, began with a of outlook”.

12．人们曾一度不再认为奥韦尔的小说《1984》是一部预言，不过小说巾的描写与 我们“9?1l”事件之后这不再完整的时代
的确大有相似之处。他描写反面乌托邦时说，“一些长期以 来已经放弃不用的做法，有些甚至几百年来都已废除的做法，例如
未经审讯即监禁……公开处决、严刑拷 打逼供……不仅又普遍实行起来，而且也为那些自认为开明进步的人所容忍，甚至辩护。”
奥韦尔认为这 种突发的社会变化起源于“普遍硬化的观点”。
13 In the U. S. today, this hardening of outlook is called the war against terrorism.

13．如今的美国将这种观点的硬化称为反恐战。
14 At its forefront, the new defenders of the Homeland are defining its motives, methods and mentality, But many of us
define our personal safely and our national character by the very civil liberties that are being compromised in the name of state
security. What we are in the process of giving up may prove to be far more precious than what was taken from us on
September 11.
14．在最前线 ，国家的新护卫们正制定作战目标、作战方法并进行心理准备。不过，我们许多人是用公民的自由来定义个
人安全和民族性的，而这些自由现在在国家安全的名义下不得不做出让步。我们现在正在放弃的可能会远远超过 “9?1l”事件
从我们身边带走的。
In the weeks after the attacks, for example, the Justice Department arrested scores of young Arab and Muslim men and held
them without charge, in undisclosed locations. Their names were not released, nor were they permuted to send word to their
families , They simply vanished. Georgetown University law professor David Cole calls this” the practice of disappearance ,
and it is something we associate with repressive regimes, not with participatory democracies. Not only do such activities
compromise the nation's integrity at home but they are sure to undermine American credibility abroad. If we cannot adhere lo
our own ideals and values, to the standards we've called on other nations to adhere to in the past, then we call into question
some of our fundamental assumptions about who we are.
15． 比如，在恐怖事件后的几周内，司法部未经审判便秘密逮捕了许多年轻的阿拉伯人和穆斯林教徒。不公布他们的名 字，也
不允许他们通知其家人。他们就此消失。乔治城大学法学教授戴维?科尔将其称为“失踪惯例”。 我们往往认为这种惯例会出现
在实行镇压政策的国家，不会出现在分享民主制的国家。这不仅会减少国人 对我国的公正的信心而且一定会在国际上影响美国
的可信度。如果我们无法再坚持我们的理想和价值观， 无法坚持我们在过去一直号召其他国家遵守的准则，那么我们就会对自
己的身份这一基本的假定产生怀疑 。

Must We Shop ‘til We Drop? （我们一定要买到底?）

16 An Orthodox rabbi once told me that when you are in control, you prepare for those times when you are out of control.
The rabbi was speaking of interpersonal relationships, but his dictum could easily be applied to the current geopolitical
situation. To wit: Take an oil- dependent nation that consumes 20 million barrels of oil every day, The nation is in receasion
and has just gone to war in the region that supplies most of the oil. Would it not be wise, patriotic even, for said nation to cut
back on its oil consumption?
16．一位正统派犹太教教士曾经和我说过要未 雨绸缪。这位教士谈的虽是人际关系，但这句名言也非常适合当今的地缘政
治情况。也就是说，让我们看 看这个日耗油达2000万桶的离不开石油的国家。这个国家正在走入萧条，刚刚对给他提供大部分
油料 的地区宣战。难道减少对石油的消耗不是明智又爱国的举动吗?
Yet sales of sport utility vehicles, those infamous gas- guzzlers, are up, expected to surpass, for the first time ever, sales of
passenger cars. Automakers rejoice in this as a patriotic act.
our nation's confidence and to keep the economy moving forward,
sales figures of 3. 5 million SUVs.
17．可是，运动型多用途车和耗油量大得惊人的油老虎的销量 却一直在上升，预计将首次超过小客车的销量。汽车制造商
对这一爱国行为异常兴奋。“商家和消费者应 该携手为树立全国人民的信心、保持经济发展做出努力，”通用公司副总裁比尔?
洛夫乔伊对运动型多用 途车的预计销量将达到350万辆充满信心。
Just after the attacks, a renewed sense of community was visible across the nation as Americans saw their own grief, fear
and concern reflected by friends and neighbors. There was a relaxing of the rampant materialism, along with its ugly
stepsisters isolation and compulsion, that has been the undoing of community in this country. Community cannot compete
with shopping malls or 200 satellite television channels, with Gameboys or the 70-hour workweek. Community requires people
gathering with others and talking, singing, questioning and arguing, a rialto where ideas and creativity are the currency.

18．恐怖袭击刚刚过去，美国人在朋友和邻居身上看到了他们自己的痛苦、恐惧和 忧虑，人们将目光又重新投向了社区。
一度泛滥的物质主义和随之而来的可怕的孤独感和强迫症曾经让社 区从这个国家的人们心中消失。社区比不上大购物中心，比
不上200多个卫星电视频道，比不了电子游 戏，也比不了70小时的工作周。社区需要人们走出家门，欢聚畅谈，放声高歌，互
问互答，辩论输赢。 它是一个市场，而思想和创新就是用来完成交换的中介。
Since our economy is dependent upon mass consumerism, however, it wasn't long before government and big business
invented the concept of
extols the nepenthean powers of the dollar and in effect, discourages national introspection at a time when it would be most
valuable. Presidential exhortations to get back to normal assumed we would want to restore the world we had as quickly as
possible. But not everyone is content to shut up and shop. The pre-911 world cannot be restored, not with a credit card, not
with a new car. Many of us want to build on that nascent community. Many citizens concerned about the deteriorating
economy are resisting the consumption orgy and are exploring alternatives that would make our country more self-sufficient
and prepare us for the tough times that may lie ahead.
19．可是，既然我们的经济的存在取决于大众消费，很快，政府和大工商企业 就杜撰出了一个“经济爱国主义”的概念。这个
弗兰肯斯坦式的概念主张消费是美国价值观，认为美元会 让人忘掉一切忧愁。实际上，这是在阻碍人们进行理性的反思，而在
此时这种反思又是十分重要的。布什 总统号召人们将工作和生活恢复正常，他认为我们希望尽快地重建以前的世界。不过，不
是人人都乐于保 持沉默．买个不停。“9.11”之前的世界一去不复返，不管是信用卡还是新汽车都换不回。我们当中有好多人
希望加入到这个刚刚显示出生命力的社区中来。许多担心经济恶化的公民都拒绝无节制的消费，而且正在 寻找措施，以便使我
国更加自给自足，并且随时准备应付今后会出现的艰难时刻。

History's Lessons （历史的教训）

20 An anonymous rescuer, digging in the rubble of WTC, spoke of his struggle to express to his family what Ground Zero
was like. But every time he tried to speak he found himself mute. There exists no suitable analogy for those murdered
buildings, for the thousands of lives snuffed out by suicidal terrorists armed with box cutters. September 11 is not like anything
but itself.
20．一个未留下姓名的救援人员，在世贸大厦的废墟中救援时，说他无法向家人描述爆炸中心 地带的情况。每次要开口时，
他都发现自己无话可说。一群自杀性的恐怖分子用几把开箱刀。就可以让高 楼倒塌，几千人的生命一下子消失，这样的事情没
有先例，无法类比。“9•11”就是“9•11”。
21. True, 911 is the crisis of our time, our national flashpoint, but it is only one of many such flashpoints in history. This is far
from the first time that powerful external forces have impinged upon human beings in a modem society, and it is not the first
time those forces have been called evil. Each time it seems the crisis must generate a new paradigm in which such an atrocity
will never be allowed to happen again—and yet it does happen again. In 1941, in a span of two days, 34, 000 innocents who
also happened to be Jewish were murdered at Babi Yar. Hiroshima: 130, 000 dead in a single day, Nagasaki, three days later,
another 75, 000.
21．的确可以说，“9•11”事件是我们时代的危机，也是我们国家的爆发点，但它在历史 上并非绝无仅有。这不是现代社
会中强大的外部力量对人类的第一次打击，这种力量也不是第一次被定义 为邪恶。每一次危机似乎都产生了一种新模式，使这
种暴行不会重演----可是暴行再一次出现。19 41年，两天之内共有34,000无辜的犹太人在巴比谷惨遭杀害。在广岛，仅一天就
有13万人丧生 。仅隔三天，在长崎．又有75,000人失去生命。
22. Let's face it, history is a gallery of unspeakable crimes. A mushroom cloud blooming over a seaport city. a human being
with her shin burned off, a skeletal corpse embracing a childsize skeletal corpse. A jet slicing through a skyscraper, a
skyscraper collapsing upon itself. The nameless man and woman who plummeted, hand in hand, to their deaths from an
upper floor of World Trade are caught in the mind’s eye of history as eternally as the lovers solidified in ash after the eruption
of Pompeii. We tend these images like poisonous flowers in a nightmare garden, we return to them obsessively, hoping to

excavate their meaning. What messages do Hiroshima and Babi Yar, or Dresden and Antietam, have for us? What will
September 11 tell us?
22．对这一切，我们要正视。历史 就像一个画廊，让人们看到了罄竹难书的各种恶行。在这里，人们看到在一座海滨城市
上空升起的蘑菇云 ，一个皮肤被烧焦的女人，一副骨架紧紧拥抱着一个小孩子大小的骨架，一架斜插过摩天大楼的飞机以及正
在倒塌的摩天大楼。不知姓名的男男女女手拉手从世贸大厦的顶层坠下，奔向死亡。历史会像记住庞贝古城废墟 中的恋人一样
记住他们。我们把这些看作是梦魇花园中的毒花，常着魔似的想起它们，冥思苦想其中的含 义。广岛、巴比谷、德累斯顿和安
提坦留给我们什么启示?“9?11”事件又告诉我们什么?
23. Perhaps just this: that our suffering is not unique; that we haven’t yet got it right; and that the pursuit of peace continues to
be the noblest of vocations.
23．答案可能就是：我们的痛苦不是惟一的痛苦；我们还没有完全摆脱痛苦；追求和平仍是我们最高尚的事业。

True Courage（真正的勇气）
24
James Baldwin wrote.
24．“组成一个国家的人民有多强大，这个国家就有多强大，人民希 望周家如何发展，国家就会如何发展，”詹姆斯?鲍德温写
道。“我们让我们现在居住的世界成了这个样 子，我们有必要重建这个世界。”
25. How do we move from anxiety to action? From insecurity to confidence, from national paranoia to collective poise? Is our
democracy so fragile that four airplane bombs can erode 225 years of liberty?' It has never been more clear that we will only
have true and lasting security when the rest of the world has true and lasting security, That is the challenge of this particular
conflict, the struggle for the soul of the 21st century.
25．我们怎样才能不再焦 虑，行动起来?怎样才能不冉恐慌，充满自信?全国上下怎样才能不再多疑．人人都安定下来?我们
的民 主果真如此不堪一击，225年的自由就这样被四个飞机炸弹毁掉?再明显不过．只有世界其他人民真正拥有永久 和平时我们
才会拥有和平。这就是这次冲突带给人们的挑战，也是一场保卫21世纪灵魂的斗争。
26. On the beautiful, glass-bright morning of September 11, a man—an ordinary, unremarkable American—called his wife on
his cell phone.
countryside, but some of us are going to do something about it.”' All we know of the rest of Tom Burnett's narrative is that his
life ended horribly. He and his fellow passengers did not let what must have been abject fear prevent them from acting---- that
is the true definition of courage.
26．9月11日的早晨是个美丽的早晨，阳光明媚。一个人---- 普通的美国人----用移动电话拨通了妻子的电话。“我们都不
会活下来，”当联合航空公司93号航 班在宾夕法尼亚郊外上空倾斜时托马斯?伯内特说，“但是我们当中会有人还击的。”我
们只知道托马斯 •伯内特后来死得很恐怖。他和同机的乘客没有因绝望的恐惧止步不前----这才是真正的勇气。
27. What happened aboard Flight 93 was the country’s first real victory against terrorism, and it came out of the tradition of
democracy. The passengers came up with a plan and they voted on it. Some of the men would rush the hijackers and force
the airliner to crash, rather than allow it to be used in another suicide attack on Washington D. C., where it was surely headed.
27．93号航班上发生的一切成为这个国家反对恐怖主义的第一个真正胜利，民主传统功不可没。机上乘客想出 一个办法，
并且投票决定。有的乘客要冲向劫匪，让飞机就地坠毁，使劫匪让华盛顿特区成为自杀性袭击 目标的计划没有得逞。
It's a terrible irony that for a short time, while the condemned jet was aloft, the ideal of American democracy also reached its
apex. The rest of us can only strive to do as well. Fortunately, Tom Burnett's last communication to the world was an
unintentional gift to us all, a battle cry for the age of anxiety. We are all going to die sooner or later. Let that consciousness not
prevent us from acting in each other's best interests, from trying to create a better, safer world.
28．这架注定要坠毁的飞机还在高空飞翔，恰恰在这短暂的时间里．美国的民主思想升华到了顶峰。两者的结合 真是一种
可怕的讽刺。我们其他人也会努力和他们一样。令人欣慰的是，托马斯•伯内特和这个世界最后 的通话无意间成了我们共同的礼

物，成了焦 虑时代的战斗口号。的确，我们迟早都会死去，但这并不应该阻碍我们为彼此的最大利益挺身而出，全力建设一个
更加美好、安全的世界。
你












本可以用那些和他们一起抱怨人生的时间，来读一篇有趣的小说，或者玩一个你喜欢的游戏。
渐渐的，你不再像以往那样开心快乐，曾经的梦想湮灭在每日回荡在耳边的抱怨中。你也会发现，尽管你很努力了 ，可就是无法让你的朋友或是闺蜜变得更开心一些。

这就不可避免地产生一个问题：你会怀疑自己的能力，怀疑自己一贯坚持的信念。
我们要有所警惕和分辨，不要让身边的人消耗了你，让你不能前进。
这些人正在消耗你。
01. 不守承诺的人
承诺了的事，就应该努力地去做到。
倘若做不 到，就别轻易许诺。这类人的特点就是时常许诺，然而做到的事却是很少。于是，他的人生信用便会大大降低，到 最后，也许还会成为一种欺诈。如果发现身边有这样的人，应
该警惕，否则到最后吃苦的还是自己。
02. 不守时间的人
俗话说浪费别人的时间就等于谋财害命，所以不守时间也就意 味着是浪费别人的时间。与这种人交往的话，不仅把自己的时间花掉了，还会带来意想不到的麻烦。
03. 时常抱怨的人
生活之事十有八九是不如意的，这些都是正常的。
我们应该 看到生活前进的方向，努力前进。而
不是在自怨自艾，同时还把消极的思想传递给别人。这样的人呢，一 遇到困难便停滞不前，巴不得别人来帮他一把。本来你是积极向上的，可是如果受到这种人的影响，那么你也很有 可能会
变成这样的人，所以应该警惕。
04. 斤斤计较的人
凡事都斤斤 计较的人，看不到远方的大前途，一味把精力放在小事上。比如两个人去吃饭，前提是AA制。然后饭吃好后他多 付了5毛，最后他说我多付了5毛，你抽空给我吧。如此计
较的人，失去了知己，也不会有很大的前途。
05. 不会感恩的人
你善心地帮助了他，可是他却不以为然，而且还想当然的认为 这是应当的。多次地帮助，换来的没有一句感谢的话语，更有甚者，还在背后说别人的坏话，真是吃力不讨好。

06. 自私自利的人
以自我为中心，不会考虑别人的感受，想怎样就是怎样，也不会考虑大局，只为自己的感受。这种人，为了达到自 己的私利会不择手段。
如果看完以上的描述，你的脑海里冒出一张张熟悉的脸，显然，你正在被人 日复一日地消耗着。这种消耗绝对可以毁你于无形之中。
这些方法带来阳光
那么， 如何给自己搭建一个严严实实的保护网，让自己始终正能量爆棚，每一分钟都是恣意的阳光呢？跟着我们下面这五 步做吧！





他们继续往前走。走到了沃野，他们决定停下。
被打巴掌的那位差点淹死，幸好被朋友救过来了。
被救起后，他拿了一把小剑在石头上刻了：“今天我的好朋友救了我一命。”
一旁好奇的朋友问到：
“为什么我打了你以后你要写在沙子上，而现在要刻在石头上
呢？”
另一个笑笑回答说：“当被一个朋友伤害时，要写在易忘的地方，风会负责抹去它；
相反的如果被帮助，我们要把它刻在心灵的深处，任何风都抹不去的。”
朋友之间相处，伤害往往是无心的，帮助却是真心的。
在日常生活中，就算最要好的朋友也会有摩擦，也会因为这些摩擦产生误会，以至于成为陌路。
友情的深浅，不仅在于朋友对你的才能钦佩到什么程度，更在于他对你的弱点容忍到什么程度。
学会将伤害丢在风里，将感动铭记心底，才可以让我们的友谊历久弥新！
友谊是我们哀伤时的缓和剂，激情时的舒解剂；

是我们压力时的流泻口，是我们灾难时的庇护所；
是我们犹豫时的商议者，是我们脑子的清新剂。
但最重要的一点是，我们大家都要牢记的：
“切不可苛求朋友给你同样的回报，宽容一点，对自己也是对朋友。”
爱因斯坦说：“世间最美好的东西，莫过于有几个头脑和心地都很正直的朋友。”