雙語(yǔ)·當(dāng)呼吸化為空氣 她掃完地 我們就到里面去了

她掃完地，我們就到里面去了。艾比蓋爾走到收銀機(jī)那兒，拿起一本她放在那兒的平裝書。“拿著，”她朝我扔過(guò)來(lái)，“這本書你該看看的。你一直在讀那些特別有文化的破書，怎么就不可以看看低級(jí)趣味的東西？”那是一本五百頁(yè)的小說(shuō)，《撒旦：不幸的卡斯勒醫(yī)生的心理療法與治愈》，作者杰里米·萊文。我把書拿回家，一天就看完了。這書沒(méi)什么內(nèi)涵，本應(yīng)該很有趣的，但真的沒(méi)什么意思。不過(guò)里面倒是漫不經(jīng)心地提出了一個(gè)假設(shè)：思想不過(guò)就是大腦運(yùn)轉(zhuǎn)的產(chǎn)物。我被這個(gè)想法震撼了，甚至動(dòng)搖了我對(duì)這個(gè)世界幼稚的理解。當(dāng)然這個(gè)假說(shuō)一定是正確的，否則要我們的大腦干什么用呢？盡管我們擁有自由的意志，但仍然是有機(jī)生物體，大腦是我們的器官，也遵循一切物理定律！文學(xué)是人類的一大財(cái)富和意義，而通過(guò)某種方式實(shí)現(xiàn)文學(xué)價(jià)值的，就是大腦這個(gè)機(jī)器。這真是神奇的魔法。那天晚上，在自己房間里，我打開已經(jīng)翻來(lái)覆去看過(guò)好幾十遍的紅色斯坦福課程總目錄，手里拿著一支熒光筆。之前我已經(jīng)標(biāo)記了很多文學(xué)課程。現(xiàn)在，我開始尋找生物和神經(jīng)系統(tǒng)科學(xué)的相關(guān)課程了。
The floors swept, we went inside. Abigail walked to the cash register and picked up a paperback she’d stashed there. “Here,” she said, tossing it at me. “You should read this. You’re always reading such high-culture crap— why don’t you try something lowbrow for once?”It was a five-hundred-page novel called Satan: His Psychotherapy and Cure by the Unfortunate Dr. Kassler, J.S.P.S., by Jeremy Leven. I took it home and read it in a day. It wasn’t high culture. It should have been funny, but it wasn’t. However, it did make the throwaway assumption that the mind was simply the operation of the brain, an idea that struck me with force; it startled my naive understanding of the world. Of course, it must be true—what were our brains doing, otherwise? Though we had free will, we were also biological organisms—the brain was an organ, subject to all the laws of physics, too! Literature provided a rich account of human meaning; the brain, then, was the machinery that somehow enabled it. It seemed like magic. That night, in my room, I opened up my red Stanford course catalog, which I had read through dozens of times, and grabbed a highlighter. In addition to all the literature classes I had marked, I began looking in biology and neuroscience as well.

幾年后，我仍然沒(méi)怎么去想工作和事業(yè)，但已經(jīng)快要拿到英語(yǔ)文學(xué)和人體生物學(xué)的學(xué)位了。我學(xué)習(xí)的最大動(dòng)力，不是成就感，而是一種求知欲，我非常認(rèn)真地想要探究，是什么讓人類的生命充滿意義？我仍然認(rèn)為，文學(xué)是精神生活的最高境界，而神經(jīng)系統(tǒng)科學(xué)則探索大腦最為優(yōu)雅的規(guī)律?！耙饬x”這個(gè)概念，很是讓人捉摸不定，但也難以和人與人之間的關(guān)系以及道德價(jià)值觀割裂開來(lái)。T.S.艾略特的《荒原》中就有令人難忘的詩(shī)句，深刻地表明了孤獨(dú)隔絕的生活沒(méi)有意義，以及對(duì)人情紐帶的強(qiáng)烈渴望。艾略特那些比喻也滲透進(jìn)我自己的寫作語(yǔ)言。其他作家也讓我產(chǎn)生共鳴。比如納博科夫，他清醒地意識(shí)到，自己遭遇世事變遷之后，會(huì)對(duì)別人的遭遇麻木無(wú)情?？道?，他堅(jiān)定地認(rèn)為人與人之間錯(cuò)誤的交流溝通會(huì)對(duì)他們的生活產(chǎn)生深刻的影響。在我眼里，文學(xué)不僅描寫了別人的生活，還為我們提供了道德反思最豐富的資料。我?guī)状卧噲D涉足分析哲學(xué)，但非?？菰?，沒(méi)有那種亂糟糟的興奮感，也沒(méi)有真實(shí)生活的分量。
A few years later, I hadn’t thought much more about a career but had nearly completed degrees in English literature and human biology. I was driven less by achievement than by trying to understand, in earnest: What makes human life meaningful? I still felt literature provided the best account of the life of the mind, while neuroscience laid down the most elegant rules of the brain. Meaning, while a slippery concept, seemed inextricable from human relationships and moral values. T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land resonated profoundly, relating meaning-lessness and isolation, and the desperate quest for human connection. I found Eliot’s metaphors leaking into my own language. Other authors resonated as well. Nabokov, for his awareness of how our suffering can make us callous to the obvious suffering of another. Conrad, for his hypertuned sense of how miscommunication between people can so profoundly impact their lives. Literature not only illuminated another’s experience, it provided, I believed, the richest material for moral reflection. My brief forays into the formal ethics of analytic philosophy felt dry as a bone, missing the messiness and weight of real human life.

大學(xué)生涯中，我對(duì)人生意義進(jìn)行的研究，一直非常學(xué)術(shù)，如同僧侶修道。而形成這種意義的，恰恰是人與人之間的關(guān)系，我想要去建立和加強(qiáng)這種關(guān)系，就和我的研究方式發(fā)生了沖突。如果說(shuō)沒(méi)有自省的人生不值得過(guò)，那么沒(méi)有真正活過(guò)的人生還值得自省嗎？大二的暑假快到了，我申請(qǐng)了兩份工作：一個(gè)是在科學(xué)氛圍濃厚的亞特蘭大國(guó)家靈長(zhǎng)類研究中心做實(shí)習(xí)研究員；一個(gè)是在塞拉高山營(yíng)廚房打下手。塞拉高山營(yíng)是一個(gè)斯坦福校友的家庭度假營(yíng)地，在原始高山湖落葉湖的岸邊，緊臨埃爾多拉多國(guó)家森林公園的荒蕪原野保護(hù)區(qū)，可以飽覽荒涼空曠之美。關(guān)于這個(gè)營(yíng)地，有很多文學(xué)描寫，看上去我會(huì)度過(guò)一生中最棒的暑假。說(shuō)實(shí)話，申請(qǐng)成功的時(shí)候，我真是受寵若驚。不過(guò)，我又了解到，獼猴已經(jīng)有了初級(jí)的文化形式，這讓我十分想去靈長(zhǎng)類研究中心一探生命意義的自然起源。換句話說(shuō)，我要么去研究生命的意義，要么就去親自經(jīng)歷和體驗(yàn)生命的意義。
Throughout college, my monastic, scholarly study of human meaning would conflict with my urge to forge and strengthen the human relationships that formed that meaning. If the unexamined life was not worth living, was the unlived life worth examining? Heading into my sophomore summer, I applied for two jobs: as an intern at the highly scientific Yerkes Primate Research Center, in Atlanta, and as a prep chef at Sierra Camp, a family vacation spot for Stanford alumni on the pristine shores of Fallen Leaf Lake, abutting the stark beauty of Desolation Wilderness in Eldorado National Forest. The camp’s literature promised, simply, the best summer of your life. I was surprised and flattered to be accepted. Yet I had just learned that macaques had a rudimentary form of culture, and I was eager to go to Yerkes and see what could be the natural origin of meaning itself. In other words, I could either study meaning or I could experience it.