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• 现代网络小说与中国传统文化的融合，很香！文化自信的具体体现。

  作者：燕飞花 发布时间：2021-08-18 22:52:34

  鲁迅先生在《中国小说史略》中说：“中国本信巫，秦汉以来，神仙之说盛行，汉末又大畅巫风，而鬼道愈炽；会小乘佛教亦入中土，渐见流传。凡此，皆张皇鬼神，称道灵异，故自晋讫隋，特多鬼神之怪之书。”鲁迅先生阐释了中国志怪小说产生的缘由，实为精辟。

  

  尾鱼的《开封志怪》乍一看似乎是山神精怪的故事，但封面上赫然的“奇情悬疑大神作家首部古言巨作”纠正了我的认知，此非真正的志怪小说，而是一本言情小说。就像现在国内的电视剧一样，卿卿我我、情情爱爱是永远的最主要话题。开头引用鲁迅先生那句话似乎显得多余，且放着吧！

  看到文中内容，脑海里响起了小时候《少年包青天》里的展护卫的BGM，那可是一段难忘的美好回忆，家里没电视就厚着脸皮去别人家看，那叫一个过瘾呀！书名叫《开封志怪》，开封有了必然会有怪，顺着作者清秀顺畅的文字，细花流这个组织进入脑海，还有一个漂亮的人儿端木翠。

  此书读来别有一番风味，至于内容和故事，说的人已经多了，我就从书中涉及的传统文化说开来吧！

  

  展昭第一次踏进端木翠的地盘，是一处西郊十里的山脚下，依山傍水的清幽之地，一座木桥之后便是草庐小院。山水在西方的思维里是实实在在的物和景，但在中华文化里，山水观念处处体现在诗文中、绘画中、人生中，甚至在生活的方方面面。《开封志怪》中能将端木翠的家安在这样一个山水家园中，可见女主自带正义的属性。

  在书中写景似乎很少，更多的笔墨放在了人物刻画及故事起伏上，对于一本这样的快消小说来说无可厚非，而能将这些中华文化传统的东西融入到小说中来，也充分说明作者尾鱼的文化底蕴。在如今的世界中，这种文化自信是由内向外散发的，甚幸！

  

  在第十章“细花流新主”中，公孙策特意泡上了御赐的龙凤石乳茶。在《宣和北苑贡茶录》中记载“有一种茶，丛生石崖，枝叶尤茂。至道初（995—997）有诏造之，别号石乳。”宋代进士吴骥写道：“留香石乳出闽山,一代芳名万代传。酒中武夷品最佳,岩骨花香韵味长。”也为石乳茶代言。

  茶文化也是中华传统文化重要组成部分之一，古有茶仙陆羽，有禅茶一味，深深根植于每一个华夏儿女的心中，也影响着世界尤其是东南亚。茶不但是一种生活方式，在封建社会中，更体现着政治。贡品，并不是有天生的名录，而是要靠人去发现，什么样的人呢？主要是主政一方的官员，这也算是一条非常规的升迁之道吧！

  

  在书中似乎多出现蓬莱、方丈、瀛洲，这都是古代中国神话传说中神山，为仙人的居住之地，秦皇、汉武等古代帝王为了能够长生不老，纷纷开展寻仙活动。人类的起源离不开神话传说，而中国作为四大文明古国，也有着丰富多彩的神话文化，以庞大而体系完整的神仙世界为基础展开。

  而在《开封志怪》中也出现了很多神人仙人、鬼怪妖魔，颇有《封神榜》的感觉。有人说中国人是最务实的，缺少某个方面不顺利就造个专门解决某方面问题的神仙。的确，从古到今，我们都在造神，在这本小说中作者也按照故事情节的需要造了不少，充分体现了中国传统文化中下意识的传播与表现。

  

  当然，书中涉及到传统文化的东西还很多，需要我们在读小说的时候细细品味。总体来说，《开封志怪》读来不错，在某个闲暇的午后，泡一杯咖啡，细细咀嚼，随着展护卫和端木翠的感情纠葛咂摸传统文化。

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• 对照英译

  作者：特粉 发布时间：2020-05-17 19:15:13

  因为自己过去就很喜欢阿莱克桑德雷（兴趣甚至超过了其他西语大诗人），所以做了这项对比工作，希望能有更多朋友通过不同视角间的对比爱上这位诗人。英译本与汉译本的篇目除一篇以外完全一致（这一篇是《人声》，出现在《纸上的伊利亚特》之中），因为这些篇目于某种程度上是由阿莱克桑德雷自己选定的。此外，还有《天堂的阴影》与《终结之诗》两部著名诗集的完整英译，但我尚未购得。

  英译与汉译对照阅读后，我都觉得汉译多警句却稍显混乱破碎，而英译则更流畅，容易懂。以下本萌新对二译本间的似有差异之处与值得注意之处草率地做了加黑处理，大佬们自可对照（因为我不懂西语。。。谷歌机翻毕竟不靠谱，故在一些颇疑惑的地方加上了西语原文，但不做判断）

  第一部诗集《轮廓》

  Closed （这是WS默温的译本）

  Bare earth. The defenseless

  night alone. The wind

  insinuates deaf throbbings

  against its draperies.

  The shadow of lead,

  cold, wraps your breast

  in its heavy silk, black,

  closed. So the mass

  is pressed down by the material

  of night, famous, quiet,

  over

  the limpid

  late plain of night.

  There are bankrupt stars.

  Polished hinges. Ice

  drifts along

  in the heights. Slow streams of cold.

  A shadow passing

  over the mute grave contour

  lashes, austere,

  its secret whip.

  Flagellation. C

  orals

  of blood or light or fire

  are divined under the gauze, （颇怀疑“divine”不是“预言”而是“勘探”之意，不知原文如何）

  grow mottled, then give way.

  Either flesh or the light of flesh,

  deep. The wind lives

  because it looks forward to gusts,

  cross-currents, pauses, silences.

  Sea and Sunrise （这首的中译感觉稍乱，阿莱克桑德雷以下二首诗的风格接近汤姆林森的精雕细刻，但力度强得多。）

  Before sunrise, still in darkness,

  the uncovered waves keep watch.

  In the east, the day begins to lift

  its sharp and timid advances.

  Long tongues feel their way

  over the heavy water, the taut

  metallic plate,

  cold and rough to that soft stroking.

  Still emerging from the night,

  the smooth sheet rises up

  and displays its illuminated proofs.

  By day, by flesh, the slow

  feelers push in, taking over

  the shy, passive whitecaps

  beneath their curving progress.

  The whole area is covered, filled

  with lengthening tentacles,

  clear dawn, thin dawn that penetrates

  long spaces, layers of light,

  pushing out the barren shadow,

  an easy prey at this hour.

  Lumps of imminent,

  willing

  foam begin to build up.

  Don't let it come out!

  Let the water raise the round

  possibility, let the day be seen

  below, pushing under the liquid

  mantle, strong enough to rise

  with the sea, that temporary abyss.

  Let the light come from the deep,

  broken into crystals of water,

  flashes of dissolved——no:

  resolved——outcries

  that have no dull jabber.

  Let it gush in on target,

  in order, let it capture

  and disarm the air's

  dark skeleton,

  and let the clean space shine

  in the hands of its captor——

  the slow, elegant, daily

  drinker of the waves.

  Sea and Night （同上，汉译似稍显混乱）

  The bituminous sea crushes shadows

  against itself. Deep blue hollows

  hang in the arch of the waves.

  The wide whorl of steel forged suddenly

  would last, if the next moment

  didn't tear down its tower.

  Tumultuous catastrophic volumes

  crash down into the wide foundation

  that roars as it comes apart,

  swallowing both itself and time

  in a clumsy assault on the wall of air.

  Under a distant, blackened sky

  the deep mouth roars——cries out——

  and begs for night.

  Mouth——sea——all of it pleads for night,

  vast night, pitch black and huge,

  pleads with its horrid throats, baring

  all its white foam teeth.

  A pyramid of tongues,

  cold, grim, massive,

  lifts up and pleads,

  then drowns itself in the concave throat

  and, trembling below, readies itself

  to rise again , hungry for the distant night

  that rolls across the sky

  ——round, pure, dark, remote——

  sweet in the peace of space.

  The helpless forces struggle deep below.

  Torso and limbs, the taut

  contractions reveal

  the emerging muscles, round bulges,

  freezing spray.

  The sea seems bound

  to the deep abyss, crucified, staring

  at the high heavens, about to escape,

  violent, bellowing, nailed to its black bed.

  Meanwhile, the night orbits

  in peace, graceful, lovely,

  having slipped her moorings, leaving the space

  unmarked, able to orbit, to curve firmly,

  until she sinks into the sweet

  clarity now pearling,

  the cushion of grasses where

  she will fall , gleaming from mysterious strokings,

  polished, glittering,

  mistress of surfaces.

  第二部诗集《大地的激情》

  Death or the Waiting Room （仅仅是候诊室？也许亦是候判所）

  They went in one by one and the walls had been drained of blood and were not made of cold marble. Countless numbers were going in, greeting each other with a tip of the hat. Nearsighted demons came to check on their hearts. They watched each other suspiciously. Mops lay on the floor and the wasps didn't notice.

  All of a sudden the taste of dried-out dirt broke over their tongues and they talked about everything with cleverness.

  That woman, that lady there got into an argument with her hat and everybody's breasts began to sink very slowly. Water.

  Shipwreck.

  A balance of glances.

  The sky stayed at its proper level and a smoke from the distance

  saved

  everything. （save，拯救？保存？）The fingers of the oldest man's hand were so sad that the corridor drifted slowly over to him, full of stories to tell. The whole group passed ahead of itself and a curtain of smoke turned completely to blood. Without doing anything about it, the shirts were trembling under their jackets and the shirt labels were embroidered on flesh.

  "Tell me, do you love me?" The youngest girl smiled, full of advertising.The wind, a little wind from beneath dissolved the mist and she was left naked, made into pure prosody, iridescent with accents. "Yes, I love you"

  ——and the soggy walls nearly turned into steam. "I love you, yes, Oh Shivering One, even though you're melting like an ice cream cone. " He hugged her like music. It made his ears whistle.

  The echoes, the tunes from a dream, were held there, hesitating in their throats like a very sad water.

  "

  Your eyes are so clear that your brains shine righ t through

  ." A tear drop. White flies wandered around without enth usiasm.

  The light was piled up in the corners like cheap percale.

  All the gentlemen,

  sure of themselves

  , yawned as they sat on their innocence.

  Love is Government business.

  （译为“国家利益”是不是不太合适呢？）We fully realize that kisses aren't made of

  baked Alaska

  . But if that door were to open now we'd all kiss each other on the mouth. What a shame that the world doesn't swing on its hinges! I'm going to turn my troubles half way around so the canaries will be able to love me. They, the lovers, didn't do what they should have done and got tired like the birds. The shapes on the chairs aren't made of metal. I kiss you, but your eyelashes . . . The a irborne needles were over the foreheads: I have such a dark mission, loving you. The nickel walls didn't accept the twilight so they sent it back, wounded. The lovers flew about chewing the light. Allow me to tell you. The old ladies counted up the casualties, the casualties and they breathed through their lace. Everyone else's beard grew down toward horror: the final hour will mow them down painlessly.

  The woven fans wavered, toying with their scrupulousness. How touching to see yourself laid out ahead of time.

  Boundaries .

  The great hour was coming closer through the fog. The room bobbed on the sea of orange peels. We could row

  gutlessly if it weren't for the heartbeats in our wrists.

  The sea is bitter. Your kiss gave me an upset stomach. The hour is near.

  The door——the one about to open——

  had turned a mournful yellow because it felt so heavy.

  Where will you be found, oh Meaning of Life, when there isn't any time left. Everybody waited for Jehovah's gleaming white metal voice. The lovers kissed each other's names. The narcotic handkerchiefs sopped up the bloodless flesh. Ten after seven. The door flew up without any feathers and the Angel of the Lord announced Mary. Whoever's first may come in now.

  Silence

  That yellow light the moon sends down to me is a long story that troubles me more severely than a naked arm. Why do you touch me when you know I can't respond? Why do you keep insisting when you know I can do no more against your deep, almost fluid blue than close my eyes, ignore the dead waters, not hear the deaf music of the fish overhead, forget the shape of the sky's squared-off pond? Why do you open your recent mouth so I can feel on my head that the night loves nothing but my hope, the hope it wants to see turned to desire? Why does the blackness of your arms want to touch my chest and ask me for the sound of my handsome hidden box, for that glassy paleness that follows itself whenever a piano drowns, or when one hears the muffled note of a kiss? Something like a sinking harp.

  But you, the most beautiful of all, don 't want to get close to this cold blue I'm dressed in and you kiss the frozen contraction of my strength. I'm as quiet as a taut bow, and all for the sake of ignoring you, oh night of cardinal spaces, of torrential silence and lava . If you could see what strength it takes for me to keep my balance against the pressure of your breast, against the steel hammer ..that hits me here, in the seventh intercostal space, asking me for the contact of two skins! I deny everything. I don't want to know if the color red comes first or last, if it was torn from the forehead of Cod or born from the chest of the first wounded man. I don't want to know if your lips are a long white line.

  It's useless for me to forget how late it is, to have no idea of how cruel the struggle is, of the dawn now being born inside my blood. I'll end up saying a few bright words. I'll end up with your promised death, your marble memory, your knocked-down

  torso

  flashing between my teeth, while I rise with my dream to the shining dawn, to the budding certainty that

  teases my eyes

  , between the eyelids, promising all of you an illuminated world as soon as I wake up.

  I kiss you,

  oh thing of the past

  , while I watch the river where you go by, reflecting for the last time the blue color of my face.

  Flying Fugue on a Horse

  We've lied. Time and again we've always lied. When we fell backwards into an overcharge of light, into a fire of coarse wool slowed down with sleep. When we opened our eyes and asked what kind of a day it was. When we held her by the waist, and kissed that breast and, turning our head, worshipped the lead of the saddest afternoon. When for the first time we didn't remember the redness of her lips.

  Everything's a lie. I myself am a lie,

  mounting the horse on a joker and swearing that my plume, this elegance that floats on my north winds, is a dryness that brightens my teeth, that polishes my gums.

  It's a lie that I love you. It's a lie that I hate you. It's a lie that I'm playing with a full deck and that the opening fan is forced to respect the color of my eyes.

  What hunger for power! What hunger for running off at the mouth and for brute force slapping this afternoon's silent decline, which turns its palest cheek, as if faking the death which is announcing itself, as if it were calling for a bedtime story! I don't want to! I'm not sleepy!

  I'm fed up with deafnesses and lights, with sad second accordions and wooden raptures that wipe out schoolteachers.

  I'm scared of getting stuck with my head hanging on my chest

  like a drop and that the sky's dryness will decapitate me for keeps.

  I'm scared of evaporating like a mattress of clouds, like a sidelong sneer that rips an earlobe.

  I'm in a panic that I might not be, that you'll slap me: " Hey you, Jack!" and I'll answer coughing, singing, pointing with my forefinger, my thumb, my pinkie, to the four horizons that don't touch me (but throw darts at me), that repeat me in the round.

  I'm scared-listen, listen-that a woman, a shadow, a shovel,

  will gather me into her blackness, so velvety, so disarming

  , and will say: "I name you. I name you and I create you. I conquer you and toss you around." And raising her eyes,

  shipping me with her arms and a load of dirt

  , she'll leave me up there, stuck on the point of a smart-ass drill bit,

  which stings as it penetrates and eats away my eyes, loading all the sobs in my throat up on to my shoulders.

  That buzzing dazzling point that pierced the simplest blue so that innocent flesh remains exposed to the hooting of sheepskin hearts, those hardened smokers who don't know that blood drips just like smoke.

  Ah, but it can't be! Horse of cups! Horse of swords! Horse of clubs! Let's get out of here! We'll climb the ladder of rags, that outdoor castle where the slowest caresses are sold at a loss,

  where our feet will be kissed and the tracks of the road rubbed out.

  Take me on your back, swords of the moment, card-bubble, misleading letter on the tabletop! Take me away! Wrap me up in the reddest cloak, in that flight of your tendons, and

  lead me into another kingdom, into the heroic ability to love, into the combination to every safe, into the wild dice you feel in your sad fingers when roses shipwreck next to the bridge of salvation. When there's nothing you can do.

  If I die, leave me alone. Don't sing to me. Bury me wrapped in the deck I leave behind, in that lovely treasure that will know how to strum me like a sure hand. I 'II sound like a fragrance from the depths, very grave. I 'll rise to your ears, and from there, turned into pure vegetation, I 'll debunk myself, untelling my own story, my own plot,

  Rowing back into

  my mouth left ajar, into the Dream that keeps on swallowing and, like a cardboard mask, won't cough me up.

  第三部诗集《如唇之剑》

  The Waltz （该诗为罗伯特·布莱翻译）

  You are beautiful as a stone,

  oh my dead woman !

  Oh my living, living woman

  , you are happy as a ship !

  This orchestra which stirs up （stir up或许也可理解为一种演奏）

  my worries like a thoughtlessness,

  like an elegant witticism

  in a fashionable drawl,

  knows nothing of the down on the secret mound,

  knows nothing of the laugh which rises from the breastbone like an immense baton .

  A few waves made of bran,

  a bit of sawdust in the eyes,

  or perhaps even on the temples

  or perhaps decorating the women's hair.

  Trailing skirts made of alligator tails,

  some tongues or smiles made of the shells of crabs.

  All those things that have been seen so often

  can take no one by surprise.

  The ladies wait for their moment seated upon a tear, （因不懂西语，实在不清楚这on a tear于原文中为合意，但在英文里，此为一句谚语，似乎有不断喝酒——狂欢之意，和眼泪并无关系，不知布莱此处有无意译，还请西语高手解答，此句原文：Las damas aguardan su momenta sentadas sabre una lagrima）

  keeping their dampness hidden with a stubborn fan,

  and the gentlemen, abandoned by their buttocks,

  try to draw all looks toward their moustaches.

  But the waltz is here.

  It is a beach with no waves,

  it is a clashing together of seashells, heels, foam and false teeth.

  It is the churned up things arriving.

  Exultant breasts on the serving tray of arms,

  sweet cakes fallen on the weeping shoulders,

  a languorousness that comes over you again,

  a kiss taken by surprise just as it turns into cotton candy,

  a sweet "yes" of glass painted green .

  Powdered sugar on the foreheads

  gives a simple whiteness to the polished words

  and the hands grow short, and rounder than ever

  and

  wrinkle up the dresses as though they were sweet esparto grass.

  The heads are clouds, the music is a long piece of rubber,

  the tails made of lead almost fly, and the noise

  has turned into waves of blood inside the heart,

  and into a white liqueur that tastes of memories or a rendezvous.

  Goodbye, goodbye, emerald, amethyst, secret,

  goodbye, the instant has arrived like an enormous ball,

  the precise moment of nakedness head down

  when the downy hair begins to penetrate the obscene lips that know.

  It is the instant, the moment of pronouncing the word that explodes,

  the moment in which the dresses will turn into birds,

  the windows into cries,

  the lights into “help! ",

  and the kiss that was over there ( in the corner) between two mouths

  will be changed into a fishbone

  that will distribute death saying:

  I love you.

  With All Due Respect

  Trees, women and children

  are all the same thing:

  Background

  . （底层？或许该是背景或后台）

  Voices, affections, brightness, joy，

  this knowledge that finally here we all are.

  Indeed.

  Me and my ten fingers.

  Now the sun isn't horrendous like a cheek that's ready:

  it isn't a piece of clothing or a speechless flashlight.

  Nor is it the answer heard by our knees，（为何用膝盖倾听？也许暗示一种男女相处姿态）

  nor

  the task of touching the frontiers with the whitest part of our eyes.

  （翻白眼）

  The Sun has already become truth, lucidity, stability.

  You converse with the mountain，

  you trade the mountain for a heart:

  then you can go on, weightless, going away.

  The fish's eye, if we come to the river，

  is precisely the image of happiness God sets up for us，

  the passionate kiss that breaks our bones.

  （鱼眼或许是太阳的水上倒影）

  Indeed. Finally, it's life. Oh, what egg-like beauty

  in this ample gift the Valley spreads before us，

  this limitation we can lean our heads against

  so as to hear the greatest music, that of the distant planets.

  Hurry, let's all

  get close around the bonfire.

  Your hands made of petals and mine of bark，

  these delicious improvisations we show each other，

  are good-for burning, for keeping faith in tomorrow，

  so that our talk can go on ignoring our clothes.

  I don't notice our clothes. Do you?

  Dressed up in three-hundred

  burlap suits，

  wrapped in my roughest heaviest get-up，

  I maintain a dawn-like dignity and brag of how much I know about nakedness.

  If you get close to me I 'll think that a storm is breaking

  and I 'll ask if the thunderbolts have seven colors.

  Or at best I 'll be thinking about the air

  and the light breeze rippling my defenseless skin .

  I'm not laughing with the toe of my shoe;

  instead, I'm preserving my dignity,

  and if I move across the stage I do it like a rare coin, （stage的出现暗示前文background的意思）

  like the craziest little ant.

  And so in the morning or the afternoon

  when the multitudes arrive I greet them with a grimace,

  and I don 't show my heel because that would be rude.

  On the contrary, I smile, I shake hands,

  I let loose a thought, an iridescent butterfly,

  while I register my protest by turning into a turd.

  The Usual

  I'm all alone. The waves; shoreline, listen to me.

  In front of me, the dolphins or the sword.

  The usual certainty, things without limits.

  This tender head that's not yellow,

  this sobbing stone made of flesh.

  Sand, sand,

  your cry's the same as mine.

  You don't live in my shadow like

  a breast

  , （此处或许乳房比胸膛合适）

  you don't pretend that the sails, that the moving air,

  that a wind from the North, an enraged wind

  is going to shove your smile out to sea

  and steal the great ships from the blood.

  Love, love, restrain your sullied foot.

  Mother, Mother

  Sadness, or a hollow in the earth,

  gently

  dug through force of words,

  through force of thoughts about the sea,

  where frail rowboats float at the mercy of the waves.

  Rowboats frail like the birds at mating time,

  like

  digits

  filled with love, （digit作为手指脚趾的义项或更合适）

  like that final longing to kiss the shore goodbye,

  or the painful footprint of a

  hermit

  or a footstep gone astray.

  Sadness like a well in the water,

  a dry well that

  forces the sand's breathing deeper,

  a well. " Mother, are you listening? You're the soft mirror

  where a seagull can feel warmth or feather.

  " Mother, mother, I'm calling you,

  my own quiet mirror,

  sweet opened smile like a piece of cut glass.

  Mother, mother, this hurt, mother, this hand someone touched

  is a well opened in the chest, or confusion ." （此处我偏向中译）

  Sadness doesn't always blossom as a flower,

  nor the flower grow enough to overtake the air,

  to spout. " Mother, are you listening to me? I'm the one

  who wears love's heart here on the outside, like wire. "

  The Bull

  That lie or breed.

  （lie更该是“躺卧”之意，breed亦非血脉，不知西语为何意：Esa men tira o casta ）

  Come here, dogs, quick; fly away, dove; jump, bull,

  bull

  made of

  moon or honey that won't come unstuck. （stuck形容蜂蜜或为“粘稠”）

  Here, quick;

  escape everyone

  , escape; I only want,

  I only want to be at the edge of the struggle.

  Oh you, most beautiful bull, a surprised skin,

  a blind smoothness like an ocean moving toward its center,

  a calm, a stroking, a bull, bull of a hundred powers,

  facing a forest, stopped at the edge with horror.

  Bull or world that doesn't,

  that doesn't bellow.

  Silence;

  this hour's so

  huge

  . A horn or a

  sumptuous

  sky;

  black bull that endures the stroking, the silk, the hand.

  Fragile softness

  over a sea skin,

  hot and lustrous sea , sweet and powerful rump,

  such wonderful abandon, the way this big thing lets

  its almost cosmic powers

  flow down

  like the stars' milk.

  Huge hand that covers up the sky-bull on earth .

  At the Bottom of the Well （我极喜爱的一首诗，或许表现的是一次死亡体验，若结合作者多年卧病在床的经历当更易理解，尤其是诸如“枕头的毒塞在窒息的口中”，“背部是连接处”等诗行）

  (The Buried Man)

  There at the bottom of the well where the little flowers,

  where the pretty daisies do not wave,

  where there is no wind or scent of man,

  where the sea never threatens,

  there, there is that still silence

  like a murmur muffled with a fist.

  If a bee, if a flying bird,

  if that mistake which is never expected

  appears

  ,

  then the cold lasts;

  the dream sank the earth straight down

  and now the air is free.

  Perhaps a voice, a hand now free,

  an upward impulse wants to be moon ,

  or calm, or warmth, or that poison

  of a pillow in the muffled mouth.

  But sleeping is always so serene!

  On the cold, on the ice, on a cheek's shadow,

  on a lifeless word,

  already gone

  ,

  on the very earth, always virgin .

  A board at the bottom, oh unnumbered well ,

  that illustrious smoothness which proves

  that a

  shoulder

  is contact, is dry cold, （中译或更准确，此处所写为卧病不得动弹时背的感受）

  is dream always though the forehead be closed.

  Clouds can now pass. No one knows.

  That

  ringing

  ... Do bells exist?

  I remember that the color white or the forms,

  I remember that the lips, yes, even spoke.

  The weather was hot. ——Light, consume me——.

  It was then when the lightning bolt suddenly

  would freeze in iron.

  Time of sighs or of adore me,

  when never the birds lost feathers.

  Time of softness and permanence;

  hoofbeats didn't pound in my chest,

  the hooves

  didn't stay behind, they weren't wax.

  Tears fell like kisses.

  And in the ear the echo was already

  solid

  .

  And so eternity was the minute.

  Time only a huge hand

  pausing over long hair.

  Yes, in this deep silence or dampness,

  beneath the seven

  layers

  of the blue sky I am blind to

  the music jelled in sudden ice,

  the throat that collapses on the eyes,

  the

  intimate

  wave that is drowned on the lips.

  Asleep like a cloth

  I feel the grass grow, the soft green

  that waits in vain to be curved.

  A hand of steel on the grass,

  a heart, a forgotten toy,

  a coil, a file, a kiss, a piece of glass.

  A metal flower that feels nothing

  and sucks silence or memory from the earth.

  Love Poem

  I love you, dream of the wind .

  You merge with my fingers, are forgotten by the north

  on

  delicate

  mornings of the world upside down

  when it is easy to smile because the rain is soft.

  It is delicious to ride

  in the heart of the river.

  O fish friends, tell me the secret of your open eyes,

  of my gazing that will flow into the sea,

  holding up the keels of distant ships.

  I love you, world voyagers, you who sleep on the water,

  men who go to the Americas after clothing,

  those who leave their aching nakedness on the beach

  and draw a moonray across the shipdecks.

  To journey hoping is a smile, is beautiful,

  silver and gold have not changed their depths,

  they toss over the waves, over the

  fishfins

  ,

  creating music or dream for the blondest hair.

  Along the river bottom my desire departs

  from innumerable villages that I held on my fingertips,

  those darknesses——I was dressed in black-that I left

  far away, etched on shoulders.

  Hope is the earth, a cheek,

  an immense eyelid where I know I exist.

  Do you remember?

  In this world I was born one night

  when adding and subtracting were the key to dreams.

  Fish, trees, stones, hearts, medals,

  over your concentric waves, yes, halted,

  I move and, circling, seek myself, O center, O center,

  road, voyagers of the world, of the future existing

  beyond the seas, in my pulse-beat.

  第四部诗集《毁灭或爱》

  The Jungle and the Sea （此首无疑我更推崇中译）

  Over in the distance

  near the lights or the knives that are still new,

  there are tigers as big as hate

  and lions like a heart covered with hair

  and blood like weary sadness

  and all of them are fighting with the yellow hyena who disguises himself as the greedy, greedy

  sunset

  .

  Such sudden whiteness

  and the dark circles around those

  withered

  eyes,

  when the wild animals draw their swords or teeth

  like blood out of a heart that doesn't know anything

  except love,

  blood that beats so clearly in those jugular veins,

  and you can't tell if the thing that gleams

  on their white teeth is love or hate.

  To run a hand through that surly mane

  while the powerful claw sticks in the ground,

  while the trembling roots of trees

  feel the claws go deeper

  like a love that sinks in the same way.

  To stare into those eyes that only burn at night,

  where a little fawn, eaten a while ago, can still be seen

  glowing-a tiny reflection of the black gold,

  a "good-by" that shines for a tenderness beyond death.

  The tiger, the hunting lion , the elephant that wears some soft

  necklace around its tusks,

  the cobra that looks like a lover's fire,

  the eagle that fondles its rock as if it were a

  hard brain

  ,

  the little scorpion who dreams of oppressing an instant of life with nothing but its claws,

  the foolish presence of a human body that could never be confused with the jungle,

  and that happy level where the wise little vipers nest in the armpit of the moss,

  while the elegant mealy bug

  sneaks down a magnolia leaf that feels like silk. ... （英译的层次更清晰些）

  And when the murmur of the forever virgin forest rises up like two golden wings——

  wing covers, a trumpet or a rounded sounding-shell——

  then the whole jungle shakes with music （中译此句为“万物作响”）

  in front of a sea which will never mix its waves with the small, soft branches.

  The branches at the top

  are formed by

  quiet waiting,

  by that hope which stays green forever,

  bird, paradise, elegance of untouched feathers.

  The jaws of music,

  the powerful claws, the love that digs itself in,

  the burning blood that spatters out of a wound,

  will never reach those branches. No matter how far up it spurts,

  no matter how much this earth's hearts try to open

  and throw their pain or their greed up into the blue sky.

  Bird of happiness,

  blue bird or feather,

  above the deafening sound of the savage, lonesome animals,

  （二译本意思相反）

  the sound of love-making or the whipping of sterile tree trunks,

  looking out toward the distant sea that recedes like the light.

  Wholeness Within Her

  Joyous flesh that flows between my hands，

  lover's face where I can look upon the world.

  where delicate birds copy themselves and disappear，

  flying off to where nothing is forgotten.

  The surface of your body, diamond or hard ruby，

  sunlight that shines from between my hands，

  volcano's mouth that gathers me in with its intimate music.

  and your teeth calling a call no one understands.

  I throw myself in and die, because I want to die.

  because I want to Iive in fire, because this air outside

  is not mine, it's the hot breath from below

  that turns my lips gold and firey when I come close.

  Let me, let me, let me look——stained with love，

  my face flushed red by your purple life——

  let me watch the Iow cries in your belly

  where I'm dying and throwing off this life, forever.

  I want love or death, I want to be totally dead,

  I want to turn into you, your blood,

  that roaring lava

  that sends our fingertips flying out, like water,

  so it can feel the beautiful edges of life.

  This kiss on your lips like a sleepy thorn,

  like an ocean that flew up, made into a mirror,

  like the shine on a wing,

  this kiss is still a pair of hands, a review of your rustling hair,

  a crackling noise from the

  grudge-bearing light,

  （汉译为复仇之光）

  light or fatal sword that threatens my neck,

  though it could never break up the wholeness of this world.

  Lightless （颇有性暗示的意味）

  The swordfish, whose weariness arises first of all from its inability to pierce the shadow,

  to feel in its flesh the cold unloving blackness of the sea bottom,

  where there are no fresh gold seaweeds

  illuminated by the sun in the first waters.

  The moaning sadness of this motionless swordfish whose eye doesn't revolve,

  whose unmoving stillness hurts its pupil,

  whose tear slides through the water

  without its yellow sorrow being seen.

  The bottom of that ocean where the still fish breathes mud through its gills,

  that water like an air,

  that fine dust,

  disturbed, which assumes the form of a dream-fantasy,

  monotonously calm as it covers the still bed

  where the highest mountain rests its weight, whose summits flutter

  like the plumes of the same dark dream.

  Above, the foam, diffuse long hair,

  ignores the feet set deep in the ooze,

  the impossibility of tearing free from the depth,

  of rising with green wings over the abysmal drought

  and flying off lightly, fearless, to the hot sun .

  The long white hair, the youthful happiness,

  struggles and boils, peopled with fish

  ——with the growing life just now beginning——

  raising its voice in the young air,

  where the flashing sunlight

  turns love silver and embraces, gold，

  the conjugated skin，

  that union of chests like

  forces

  calmed in fusion.

  But the depth still pulses like a lone abandoned fish.

  It's no use for a smiling face

  to be inlaid in the blue like a given sun，

  like love that visits human creatures.

  It's no use for a whole huge ocean

  to feel its fish dart in the foam like birds.

  The heat that's stolen by the still dark depth，

  the immovable base of the ancient column

  that crushes

  the wing of a drowned nightingale，

  a beak that sang of love's elusiveness，

  joyous among feathers tuned to a new sun . （此三行所言似皆为被碾碎之物）

  That profound darkness where weeping doesn't exist，

  where an eye doesn't roll in its dry basket，

  swordfish that can't pierce the shadow，

  where calm slime doesn 't imitate exhausted dreams.

  Come Always, Come

  Don't come doser. Your face, your burning face, your ignited face,

  the tracks of kisses,

  that radiance I feel, even by day light, when you approach,

  that contagious radiance that stays on my hands,

  that luminous river where I sink my arms,

  from which I almost don't dare drink, for fear of

  a hard life of brilliance later

  .

  I don't want you to live in me like light,

  with the loneliness of a star already made one with its light,

  whom love denies across the hard blue space

  which separates and never joins,

  where each unreachable brilliance

  is a solitude that moans, beaming its sadness.

  Solitude flashes in the loveless world.

  Life is a bright crust,

  a rugged fixed skin

  where man can find no rest,

  however much he applies his sleep to a darkened star.

  But don't come any closer. Your glowing face, live coal that stirs my consciousness,

  the shining pain where all of a sudden I'm tempted to die,

  to burn my lips on your indelible friction,

  to feel my flesh melting, embraced in your burning diamond.

  Don't come closer, because your kiss goes on and on like the impossible collision of the stars,

  like space tha t suddenly catches fire,

  fertile ether where the destruction of worlds

  is a single heart that burns itself out with love.

  Come, come, come like the cold dark coal that holds a death;

  come like the blind night moving its face toward me;

  come like two lips branded red

  on that long line that fuses metals.

  Come, come, my love; come, hermetic face, roundness almost rolling,

  shining like an orbit that will die in my arms; （orbit可指眼窝）

  come like two eyes or two profound solitudes,

  two urgent calls from a depth I don 't yet know.

  Come, come, death , love; come quickly, I 'll destroy you;

  come, I want to kill or love or die or give you everything;

  come, come rolling like a weightless stone,

  confused like a moon that begs me for my light!

  Life （罗伯特·布莱译本）

  A paper bird I have in my chest

  tells me the time for kisses has not yet come.

  To live! To live! ... no one sees the sun crackle,

  kisses or birds,

  late, or on time or never.

  A tiny noise is enough to kill you,

  the noise of some other heart falling silent,

  or

  that far-off lap which on this earth

  is a gold ship where the blond hair sails!

  Head full of pain, gold temples, sun dying,

  I keep dreaming of a river in this darkness,

  reeds full of green blood just being born,

  and I dream

  leaning on you, warmth or life

  .

  Song to a Dead Girl （该诗有祝庆英的汉译本）

  Tell me, tell me the secret of your virgin heart,

  tell me the secret your body is keeping under the ground.

  I want to know why you've turned into water now,

  those cool beaches where bare feet wash with surf.

  Tell me why a sun falls and glides

  over your loosened hair, over your sweet

  smoothed grass. Why does it

  caress you and leave, that burning or resting sun,

  touching you like a wind that carries just a bird or a hand?

  Tell me why your heart waits, like a tiny

  underground forest, for the birds that won't come,

  for

  that song our dreams will finish singing

  as they pass noiselessly over our eyes.

  Oh you, song that sings for a body, alive or dead,

  for a beautiful person who sleeps under the ground,

  you sing the color of stone, color of kiss or lip,

  sing as if the seashell's lustre were breathing or asleep.

  That belly, the frail curve of a sad breast,

  your twining hair that can't feel the wind,

  those eyes where nothing but silence sets sail,

  those teeth of sheltered ivory,

  the air that doesn't shake any ungreen leaves ....

  You,

  laughing sky that sails like a cloud!

  Joyful bird that laughs on a shoulder!

  Fountain, clear spring that entangles with the moon !

  Soft grass, where someone' s feet walk with love!

  I Am Destiny

  Yes, I 've wanted you as never before.

  Why kiss your lips, knowing death is near,

  knowing that loving is only forgetting life,

  closing our eyes against the present darkness

  to open them on the shining limits of a body.

  I don't want to read a truth in books that rises a little at a time like water,

  I reject that mirror the mountains offer everywhere I look,

  bald rock where my forehead is reflected

  crossed by birds whose meaning escapes me.

  I don't want to look into rivers

  where fishes ruddy with the flush of living

  attack the banks that limit their desire,

  rivers where certain unspeakable voices are lifted,

  signs I fail to understand, thrown here among the rushes.

  No, I don't; I refuse to swallow that dust, that aching earth, that bitten sand,

  that certainty of living which my flesh accepts

  when it learns that the world and this body

  turn like a sign the celestial eye can't read.

  I don't want, no, to whine and lift my tongue,

  to sling it like a stone that shatters a face,

  that smashes the glass of those vast skies

  beyond which no one hears the sounds of life.

  I want to live, to live like the strong grass,

  like the north wind or the snow, like the vigilant coal,

  like the future of a child yet to be born ,

  like the contact of lovers when the moon ignores them.

  I am the music

  the world makes in its mysterious flight

  underneath all those heads of long hair,

  the innocent bird with blood on its wings

  that's going to die in a burdened heart.

  I am the destiny summoning those who love,

  the only sea where all the loving spokes

  will come in search of their center, flowing on the ripples

  that circulate like rumors of the absolute rose.

  I am the horse that sets fire to its hair in the bald wind,

  I am the lion tormented by its own mane,

  the gazelle afraid of the indifferent river,

  the

  slave-driving

  tiger that plunders the jungle,

  the tiny beetle that also shines by daylight.

  No one can ignore the presence of him who lives,

  who walks upright in the crossfire

  exposing his naked chest which is transparent,

  which never will be glass despite its clarity,

  because if your hands come near it you can feel the blood.

  The Eagles

  The earth locks up the truth about life

  even though the blood tells moody lies

  when, like the smooth afternoon sea,

  it feels the eagles flapping freely overhead.

  Their metal feathers,

  their crushing claws,

  that taste they have for love or death，

  a longing to drink from the eyes with an iron beak,

  to kiss the outside of this world once and for all，

  it flies up like desire,

  like the clouds that never block the way,

  like the glowing blue, a heart already out there

  opening for all the world in its freedom.

  The serene eagles

  will never be boats,

  they won't be dream or bird,

  they won't be a box where sad memories lie forgotten,

  where opals or emeralds are put away.

  The sun that thickens in our eyes,

  that gazes freely down at our eyes,

  the sun is an undying bird, bully of hearts,

  sinking its rage into them against a trapped body.

  The violent wings

  that beat faces as if they were eclipses,

  that split open veins of dead sapphire,

  that section up the clotted blood,

  these wings break the wind into a thousand pieces，

  marble or impervious space——

  where the clarity that flashes at night

  is a dead hand, held back.

  Eagles like deep valleys,

  like high, high mountains,

  they overthrow all royal things, dusty tree trunks,

  the green ivy along our thighs

  that pretends it's a vegetable tongue, almost alive.

  The momenf's coming

  when happiness will be a matter

  of stripping the skin from human bodies,

  when the gloating eye of the sky

  will see the earth as nothing but blood turning in gyres.

  Eagles of metal so incredibly resonant,

  enraged harps with voices almost human

  who sing the anger of being in love with hearts,

  loving them, squeezing death out of them with their claws.

  第五部诗集《独处的世界》

  Man Doesn't Exist

  Only the moon suspects the truth .

  And it's that man doesn't exist.

  The moon feels its way over the fields and crosses the rivers,

  it probes into the woods.

  It gives a shape to the still warm mountains.

  It runs into the heat from built-up cities.

  It forms a shadow and kills a dark corner,

  and its flashing roses flood

  the mystery of the caves where there is no odor.

  The moon chants a tune and understands and moves and goes on and on without stopping.

  An ocean isn't a bed where a man's body can stretch out all alone.

  An ocean isn't a shroud to cover

  a shining death

  .

  The moon keeps going, it scratches and soaks and sinks into the packed sand.

  It gives the calm green murmurs an incredible motion .

  A corpse stands up and sways for a moment,

  he wavers and then goes on . He stops, green and still.

  The moon alters his broken arms,

  his stern gaze where some fish are nestling.

  The moon sets fire to the sunken cities where you can still hear

  (how pleasing! ) the clear bells;

  where the last ripples still echo over the neuter breasts, （疑为中性的乳房，而非中立的胸）

  over the soft breasts that some octopus has worshipped.

  But the moon is always pure and dry.

  It comes from an ocean that's always a container,

  that's a block of stone whose limits no one, no one can

  cut down

  ,

  an ocean that isn't a rock glowing on top of a mountain.

  The moon comes out and chases what used to be a man's bones,

  what used to be his blood vessels,

  what used to be his sonorous blood, his prison full of songs,

  his visible waist that divides life,

  or his light head going east on the wind.

  But man doesn't exist.

  He has never existed, never.

  But man doesn't live, as the day doesn't live.

  But the moon

  invents his furious metals

  .（这里的his兴许指人）

  The Tree

  The tree never sleeps.

  Strong leg of oak, sometimes so naked, it wants a sun that's very dark.

  It's a thigh that stamps the ground and then pauses for a moment

  while the whole horizon retreats in fear.

  A tree is a thigh that grows on the earth like life standing up.

  It doesn't want to be white or pink

  and it's green, always green like hard eyes.

  Immense knee where kisses will never try to act like false ants.

  Where the moon won't pretend to be a piece of fine lace.

  Because the white foam that might even dare graze it one night

  is stone in the morning, hard stone without moss.

  Where sometimes the lips that kiss the blood vessels

  can feel the shine of the weapon that does its duty,

  and feel

  the heat given off by the brilliant blood

  as it slips away, squeezed between the wise muscles.

  Yes. Sometimes a flower wants to be a mighty arm.

  But you'll never see a tree that wants to be anything else.

  Sometimes a man's heart pounds with sound.

  But a tree is wise and rules where it's rooted.

  The whole sky or a blush rests on its branches.

  The baskets of baby birds are afraid to hang from its buds.

  And the earth is all still before our eyes.

  But I know

  she could swell up like a sea and touch it.

  At the top, gigantic, feeling all the stars curled without wind,

  making a mysterious music with no golden wind,

  a tree is alive and it can cry out but never does,

  and it never throws its shadow down for men, who must die.

  Under the Ground

  No. No. No more. Never.

  My heart doesn't exist.

  It would be useless for all of you to pass by,

  one by one, like leafless trees, while the earth turns.

  Useless for the light to hum in the leaves like a wind we love

  and sweetly pretend to be a heart that calls out.

  No, I am the dark shadow coiled among tree roots

  like a serpent sending out music.

  A fleshy snake who, like a tree trunk under the ground,

  breathes and never suspects there's grass up above.

  I know the sky exists. Maybe a God who dreams.

  I know that the radiant blue you carry in your eyes

  is a small sky with gold sleeping in it.

  We live underground. The moisture is blood.

  There are tiny earthworms like unborn children.

  There are tubers that blossom inward like flowers.

  They don't know that

  up above the petals are free to be

  pinks, yellows, carmines, or harmless.

  There are stones that will never be eyes; grasses that are sad saliva .

  And teeth in the earth that stir during dreams

  and chew something that's never a kiss.

  Under the ground there is, still deeper, the rock,

  the bare, most pure rock where only human beings could live,

  where warmth is possible for naked bodies

  which, placed there, would be proud, clear flowers.

  There is water under the ground. Dark water, see?

  Water with no sky.

  Water that silently waits m illenniums for the face,

  the pure or crystalline face that is reflected,

  or the feather that rips through an open sky.

  Deeper, much deeper, the fire purifies.

  It is the wilderness fire to which no one descends.

  An exile forbidden to souls, forbidden to shadows.

  Bowels that burn with an unholy solitude.

  It won't be you, all of you who live in the world,

  you who walk or sleep among white chains,

  you who fly perhaps with the name of the west,

  or of the dawn or of glory,

  it won't be you who'll come to know the fate of a man .

  The Victorious Sun

  Don't speak my name, pretending

  you're those trees that shake

  their sad, hairy heads,

  drenched with moonlight on August nights

  under a purple sky where no one has lived.

  Don't call me

  the way the wind calls to the earth without touching it,

  the sad wind or gold that grazes it and goes on,

  thinking of the coal that's carefully confined.

  Never tell me that your shadow is

  as hard

  as a cut slab of stone resting in the shade,

  a slab that stands out against a still sky,

  on the edge of a windless lake, under an empty moon.

  The sun, the strong, hard and rough sun that dries up swamps,

  that tightens lips, that rustles like dry leaves between those same lips,

  that smooths barren rocks like heaps of flesh,

  like smooth flesh which sluggishly carries the huge caress,

  the powerful hand that crushes great masses,

  that clasps the hips of those huge bodies

  which rivers squeeze

  as if they were fallen forests.

  The sun always clears away the long-mooned nights,

  unending nights where green blades,

  green eyes,

  green hands,

  are nothing but green robes, wet green fabrics,

  nothing but green breasts,

  green kisses among already green flies.

  The sun or the rough hand,

  or red hand, or fury, or rising anger.

  The sun that makes the earth

  a piece of slag that won't die

  .

  No, don't say my name as if it were an imprisoned moon,

  a moon that flaps about inside the bars of a night cage

  like birds, maybe like angels,

  like those green angels who have lived in water.

  Get away, get away like the swamp that a man has seen forming on his chest,

  swelling over his chest,

  a man who's seen his blood sprout like a white water lily,

  while his heart boils like a hidden bubble.

  The damp roots

  that a man feels in his chest, beneath the extinguished night,

  are neither life nor death, but peace or mud

  or the heavy shapes of snakes made of water

  that live in the flesh where there is no moss full of holes.

  No, don't say my name,

  hideous night in August or January that cannot be;

  no, don't say my name,

  but kill me, oh sun, with your impartial blade.

  展开

• 谁破解了宇宙的奥秘？

  作者：盛世未眠客 发布时间：2020-10-14 00:26:53

  本文是《宇宙的奥秘：开普勒、伽利略与度量天空》的译者序，欢迎批评指正。

  1

  你可曾记得，上次仰望天空是什么时候？当时是万里无云，还是电闪雷鸣？是月光皎洁，还是星河璀璨？

  亘古以来，无论海陆如何变迁，物种如何演进，日月出没、斗转星移这些天象似乎从未改变。在认知革命的过程中，智人面对博大和永恒的天空，抛出了一系列问题：天地为什么分开？太阳为什么发光？月亮为什么盈亏？星辰为什么如此排布？它们为什么运动不休？

  为了解答这一切，智人发展出五花八门的神话传说。原始信仰要求敬畏上苍、崇拜日月，多神论视星辰为神祇，一神论认为天堂是造物主的居所。天不仅是存在的完美形式，也隐含着存在的终极目的。探究天空是最神圣的事业，假如它没有因为过于神圣而被禁止的话。

  初看上去，天空的变化似乎很有规律。古人不但根据星辰的运动规定了时间单位和空间方位，而且掌握了用数学推算天象的方法。但在进一步观察和计算之后，人们发现天象并不简单：太阳日不等于恒星日，太阳年不等于恒星年，月相周期和它们不能约分……更奇怪的是，当绝大多数星辰——“恒星”几乎固定地绕着天极旋转，太阳、月亮和五颗“行星”却一直飘忽不定，特别是行星的亮度、速度甚至运动方向都会发生变化。

  为了记录、解释和预测天上的事件，使令人困惑的现象自圆其说，星相学和天文学这对双胞胎应运而生。前者借助经验，重在定性描述，强调天与地的超自然关联；后者依靠数学，重在定量分析，试图发掘天象不规律背后的规律性，进而揭示天的真实结构以及天与地的自然关联。如果说，天文学犹如一场解谜游戏，天文学史就好比一部侦探小说。本书讲述的故事便是其中一个精彩的核心章节。

  2

  “天似穹庐，笼盖四野。”从日常经验来看，中国古代的宇宙观“天圆地方”似乎颇为形象，但它既不严谨，也没有形成体系。之后，历代哲学家和天文学家又提出了“宣夜说”、“盖天说”和“浑天说”。其中，宣夜说缺乏数学基础，无法加以发展；盖天说与浑天说进行了千余年的辩论，最终浑天说凭借较准确的预测占据了上风。

  遗憾的是，无论是盖天说还是浑天说，都是比较朴素和粗糙的。中国古代天文学的任务不在于探究宇宙的结构，而在于为权力和礼教服务。因此，它留下了精巧的观象仪器和丰富的观测记录，却长期在基本问题上止步不前。直到利玛窦来华，天朝的学者仍无法想象大地是一个球体。

  相比之下，古希腊人在汲取了巴比伦和古埃及的天文学知识之后，很早就知道地球是球体。公元前6世纪，米利都的阿那克西曼德认识到天球是一个完整的球面，并根据星辰在不同纬度时的高度变化确定地表是曲面。他将大地描绘成悬浮在空中的圆柱体。不久，毕达哥拉斯明确提出了球形大地，既因为球体被视为最完美的形体，又因为它符合月食的圆弧状影子。

  柏拉图接受了毕达哥拉斯学派的观点，相信宇宙在几何学上是完美的，只能由球体和圆周运动组成。为了解释行星的不规则运动，他的弟子欧多克斯提出了一个由27个同心球嵌套而成的系统。他赋予恒星1个水晶球壳，太阳和月亮各3个，五颗行星各4个，它们围绕位居中心的地球运动。为了使这个模型更加符合实际的天象，他的学生卡里普斯又增补了7个球壳。

  稍后，亚里士多德将前人的思想整合为一个宏大而自洽的体系。他将世界分为月上和月下，它们适用截然不同的规律。月上世界由第五元素（以太）组成，是完美而永恒的。简单运动只有两种——上下方向的直线运动（地球保持静止，土和水朝向地心即宇宙中心，火和气远离地心）和圆周运动，而圆周运动正是以太及由其构成的天体的本质属性。最后，他为了避免不同球壳相互影响，又增加了22个同心球壳，使之达到56个。

  不过，在同心球模型中，太阳、月亮和行星到地球的距离是固定的，这与观测情况不符。公元前3世纪，阿波罗尼乌斯在坚持匀速圆周运动的基础上，提出了两个改进方案：一是偏心圆模型，即行星（包括太阳和月亮）的运动轨道不是以地球为圆心的同心圆，而是一组偏心圆；二是本轮-均轮模型，即行星在“本轮”上做匀速运动，而本轮的中心在以地球为圆心的“均轮”上做匀速运动。100年后，喜帕恰斯又对本轮-均轮模型做了修改，使之更好地解释行星的运动。

  到了2世纪，托勒密经过数十年的观测和推算，在《至大论》中融合了上述两种模型，并提出了“偏心匀速点”，即地球相对于均轮的圆心的对称点，使得各个本轮的中心不是围绕均轮的圆心做匀速运动，而是围绕该点做角速度不变的运动。虽然托勒密继续坚持“地心说”或“地静说”，但他的模型从数学角度来看已经相当完善，其解释和预报天象的能力达到了古典时代的巅峰。在接下来的1000多年间，托勒密体系将盛行于拜占庭和阿拉伯，最后在中世纪晚期重返西欧。

  3

  在基督教看来，古典时代的思想家原本都是异端。不过，为了描述世界，教会也需要既符合生活经验又符合《圣经》教义的理论。13世纪，托马斯·阿奎纳改造了亚里士多德的学说，使以上帝为动因、以人类为中心的地心说成为经院哲学的标准宇宙模型。文艺复兴时期，毕达哥拉斯、柏拉图和托勒密重新获得关注，天文学家便纷纷采用了更加精确的托勒密体系。他们根据观测结果不断进行修正，在本轮上再添加小本轮，导致该体系的圆周数量逐渐增至80个，变得愈发臃肿和不便。

  渐渐地，越来越多的学者对传统世界观感到不满，却不敢也无力撼动它的整个根基。就在此时，西欧出现了活字印刷术，又发生了地理大发现和宗教改革。视野的拓展和思想的激荡带来了新事物和新观点，开启了一个充满冲突和变化的时代。

  1500年前后，正在意大利求学的尼古拉·哥白尼接触到了天文学。他受到毕达哥拉斯和柏拉图的影响，相信天体的运动是简单和完美的，但是托勒密体系显然不够简洁。他还发现，早已有人提出过不同于亚里士多德和托勒密的宇宙观，比如毕达哥拉斯学派认为宇宙绕着一团“中心火”转动，公元前3世纪的阿里斯塔克提出太阳是宇宙的中心。因此，当哥白尼在波兰弗龙堡担任教士期间，他思考如果以太阳为中心，是否就能更合理地描述宇宙的结构。1530年前后，他的新理论开始在学者之间流传，但碍于不符合教义而迟迟没有发表。直到1543年他去世前夕，《天球运行论》才得以问世。

  《天球运行论》提出了被称为“日心说”或“地动说”的哥白尼体系。据此，太阳居于中央，水星、金星、地球（带着月球自转）、火星、木星和土星从内到外绕日转动，恒星位于最外侧。就认识论而言，“哥白尼的变革”——摆脱自我中心主义的视角当然是划时代的创举，但在天文学史上，“地动说”取代“地静说”并非如后人所想象的那般轻巧。哥白尼没有能力也没有意愿推翻旧秩序，他只是迈出了第一步。

  从很多方面来看，哥白尼更像是托勒密的继承者，而非颠覆者。他既延续了亚里士多德物理学，坚持球体和匀速圆周运动，又沿用了托勒密的天文概念、数学方法和几何表述，包括本轮、均轮和偏心圆，唯独省去了偏心匀速点。尽管他的模型能更好地解释行星的逆行运动和亮度变化，却仍旧以34个彼此啮合的圆周为基础，其复杂程度和预报能力较托勒密体系并无优势。“哥白尼的思想飞跃是如此伟大，但他其余的观念和想象却仍然那么传统。”

  由于观测不到恒星的周年视差，且无法解释地球运动可能带来的混乱，哥白尼体系尽管受到了学界的广泛关注，却只是被当作一种便于使用的数学假说，而不是宇宙真实情况的反映。取代托勒密体系的新理论首先来自丹麦天文学家第谷·布拉赫。

  与哥白尼不同，第谷是职业天文学家。他发现过去的星表预报天象已经有很大误差，于是立志加以改进。1572年，仙后座爆发了一颗超新星，第谷的计算结果是它位于恒星天球，挑战了月上世界永恒不变的观点。1576年，丹麦国王克里斯蒂安四世把汶岛赐给第谷做研究，他便在岛上筑起了当时规模最大、设备最齐全的观象台——天堡，在那里一直观测至1597年。

  经过20年的坚守，第谷将裸眼观测技术推向极致，积累了有史以来最精确、最完整的持续观测记录。依靠强大的数据支撑，他提出了非常符合观测结果的宇宙结构，即地球静止在宇宙中央，太阳和月亮围绕地球转动，其他行星围绕太阳转动。第谷体系是托勒密和哥白尼体系之间的折中方案，兼顾了两者的优势，也顺应了传统的神学和物理学观点。它取代了托勒密体系，成为主流学界和天主教会一度认可的宇宙模型。

  可惜，第谷体系尽管是最完善的地心说模型，最终还是难免落伍的命运。但是，第谷的功绩不可磨灭，特别是他给后世留下了前无古人的观测数据库。同样重要的是，他选择了一位卓越的继承人——约翰内斯·开普勒。

  4

  1577年，当一颗彗星出现，第谷认为其位于月上世界，从而能够打破想象的水晶天球之时，开普勒年仅6岁。他出生在德意志南部的符腾堡公国，那里的经济生活不算太发达，还没有摆脱宗教改革带来的信仰冲突。开普勒的祖父和外祖父都是商人，在各自的城镇当过市长，但他的父亲不务正业，后来参加雇佣军而客死他乡，给他的家庭带来了不小的负担。

  开普勒是早产儿，从小体弱多病，高度近视，幸亏他天资聪颖，被图宾根神学院录取，在那里树立了成为新教牧师的志向。没想到，就在毕业前夕，他被派往施泰尔马克公国的格拉茨担任数学教师。

  在图宾根期间，开普勒开始对数学和天文学感兴趣，并在老师迈斯特林的引导下接受了哥白尼的观点。他在格拉茨继续坚持这项研究。之所以如此执着，主要是因为他受到毕达哥拉斯和柏拉图的影响，相信“上帝参照几何模型创造了世界，以及人的理性有能力认识这一模型”。他决心用一生寻找和证明宇宙神圣而完美的秩序。

  开普勒发现，正多面体只有5种，它们的内切球和外接球的比例与6颗行星的轨道大致吻合。他于是认为，上帝就是按照几何学原理创造宇宙的，太阳则通过“灵”的作用把行星束缚在轨道上。据此，他在1596年发表了以哥白尼体系为基础的处女作《宇宙的奥秘》。

  他把作品寄给专家同行，引起了已经成为神圣罗马帝国皇帝御用数学家的第谷的注意。后者邀请由于信仰原因被逐出格拉茨的开普勒来到布拉格，最终让他接过了御用数学家的衣钵。据说，第谷生前叮嘱开普勒必须按照第谷体系，而不得按照哥白尼体系构建新的行星理论。

  1597年夏天，比开普勒年长8岁的帕多瓦大学教授伽利略·伽利雷也收到了《宇宙的奥秘》。伽利略回信致谢，他透露了自己赞成哥白尼的秘密立场，称开普勒是“探索真理的伙伴”。开普勒对觅得知音激动不已，提议共同支持哥白尼体系，甚至准备公开伽利略的来信。可是，他的热情似乎吓退了伽利略，两人的初次通信就这样戛然而止了。

  伽利略生于比萨一个没落的城市贵族家庭，父亲文琴佐是琉特琴师和音乐理论家。作为文艺复兴的摇篮，此时的北意大利虽然受到新航路开辟带来的冲击，但依然是欧洲商业最发达、文化最繁荣的地区。伽利略年少时曾在修道院学习，差点做了教士，后来又想成为画家。家里则希望他成为一名医生，但他由于经济原因未能完成学业。不过，在父亲的影响下，伽利略不仅熟悉了贵族社会的生活方式，也掌握了实证主义的研究方法。他展现出数学和物理学方面的非凡天赋，19岁就发现了摆的等时性，又发明了流体静力学天平，在知识界崭露头角。

  1589年，伽利略成为比萨大学的数学教师，1592年又前往帕多瓦大学任教。威尼斯共和国提供了宽松的学术氛围和发达的工商业网络，使他迎来了一段在理论和实践方面都非常高产的时期。他在自建的工坊里发明了比例规、水泵、测温仪和军用罗盘，并将科学成果转化成商业利益和政治资源。正当他在物理学和工程学道路上迈进的时候，一件新事物彻底改变了他的人生轨迹。

  5

  1608年，尼德兰眼镜匠利普希用两枚透镜制作出能够放大远处物体的仪器。次年，消息传到意大利，伽利略立刻意识到这项发明的军事和商业价值，于是利用威尼斯的便利条件，很快就在工匠的配合下制作出倍数更高、成像更清晰的望远镜，并向威尼斯及各国权贵进行了推销。不过，伽利略没有料到望远镜的真正潜力，直到秋冬之交的某个夜晚，他有意无意地将放大20倍的镜筒对准星空，才发现了一片未知的天地。

  伽利略不是天文学家，但新仪器为他带来了无与伦比的优势。几个月间，他通宵达旦地守在望远镜前，先后发现了月球表面的凹凸不平和木星的四颗卫星，颠覆了人们对宇宙的认知。为了保住发现权，他迫不及待地出版了《星际信使》，一开始却遭到同行的质疑和嘲讽；为了实现回归宫廷、跻身上流社会的抱负，他又将木星的卫星献给美第奇大公，但还缺少一位专家的鉴定。关键时刻，开普勒伸出了援手。

  此前，开普勒利用第谷留下的观测记录，不断完善自己关于宇宙秩序的构想，其间还研究了一颗以他的名字命名的超新星。在计算火星轨道的过程中，他意识到托勒密、哥白尼和第谷体系都存在缺陷，于是毅然摒弃了长期被奉为真理的匀速运动和圆周运动。虽然他仍离不开亚里士多德的物理学，但他通过大胆推论，误打误撞地获得了正确的结果。同时，在吉尔伯特《论磁》的启发下，开普勒将行星运动的原因从“灵”修改为太阳的吸引力，尽管他无法解释力的来源。

  1609年，就在伽利略赶制望远镜的时候，开普勒发表了《新天文学》。他提出了行星运动第一定律（行星沿椭圆轨道绕太阳运动，太阳位于椭圆的一个焦点上）和第二定律（太阳和行星的连线在相等时间内扫过相等的面积），用一种圆锥曲线——椭圆就取消了所有的本轮、均轮和偏心圆，使天空一下子变得不那么完美，却极为简洁与合理。然而，开普勒体系如此具有颠覆性，使得它在接下来的动荡年代未能引起足够的反响。

  1610年4月，开普勒收到了期盼已久的伽利略的消息。在无法用望远镜验证的情况下，他果断为阔别13年的伽利略出具了鉴定，甚至公开发表了赞扬后者的评论。开普勒之所以甘冒风险做出担保，既是基于他自己的天文学和光学素养，也是出于对伽利略作为志同道合者的高度信任。

  得益于开普勒的力挺，伽利略如愿成为托斯卡纳大公的数学家和哲学家，两人开始了一段频繁通信的时期。伽利略遮遮掩掩地通报了他对金星相位、土星的“跟班”和太阳黑子的观测情况，时刻不忘保护自己的发现权，也没有对开普勒的工作给予足够的重视。更可惜的是，这番互动是如此短暂。随着开普勒1612年离开布拉格，两人的联系很快又中断了。

  6

  此时，欧洲已经处在三十年战争的前夜，各地的政治和宗教冲突愈演愈烈。哈布斯堡家族内部矛盾激化，战火一直烧到了布拉格。由于遭遇长期欠薪，开普勒本不宽裕的生活更加艰难，正考虑赴林茨担任数学教师。谁料，在这兵荒马乱之际，他的家庭也横遭打击。到了林茨，他被排除在信仰活动之外，还得设法解救被指控为女巫的母亲。然而，在这远离学术圈的孤独之境，他也没有放弃单枪匹马式的研究。

  1619年，开普勒写出了《世界的和谐》，把宇宙的结构解读为一曲气势恢宏的永恒交响，并在书中提出了行星运动第三定律（行星公转周期的平方与轨道半长径的立方成正比）。1627年，开普勒又以违背第谷遗愿的方式完成了第谷的遗志，《鲁道夫星表》最终将确立开普勒体系的主流地位。此时，他已被逐出林茨，之后短暂地为瓦伦斯坦效力。1631年，开普勒在讨薪途中病故，结束了颠沛流离的一生。

  相比之下，伽利略要幸运得多。他的观测成果很快获得了包括教会学术权威克拉维乌斯在内的广泛承认，他的声望也在1612年春季的罗马之行中达到顶点。但是，望远镜尚不能判定日心说和地心说孰是孰非，而哥白尼的学说不再被视作假说的风险却引起了天主教会的警觉。1616年和1619年，《天球运行论》和开普勒的著作相继被列入了禁书目录，伽利略也受到了警告。

  1623年，随着友人当选为教宗（乌尔班八世），伽利略认为主张哥白尼观点的时机已经到来。他忘记了自己身处教会的势力范围，其咄咄逼人的态度也为自己树敌甚多。在1632年出版的《关于托勒密和哥白尼两大世界体系的对话》中，他没有按要求将哥白尼体系表述为假说。不巧的是，教宗正由于权威受损而变得敏感，他对伽利略的新作大发雷霆。结果，年届七旬的伽利略被召至罗马受审。他没有为科学殉道，而是在发誓放弃日心说之后被判处终身软禁。

  因祸得福的是，伽利略渐渐从打击中恢复过来，重新拾起了搁置已久的力学研究。1638年，已经双目失明的他发表了《关于两门新科学的对谈》，依靠几何学和实证方法阐述了惯性定律、落体运动和抛体运动，彻底摧毁了亚里士多德物理学的大厦。这是他为后世留下的最重要的遗产。

  四年后，伽利略和开普勒一样在孤独中离世。不同的是，伽利略生前和身后始终备受景仰，他被迁葬至有“意大利先贤祠”之称的佛罗伦萨圣十字教堂，1992年终获天主教会平反。反观开普勒，他生前穷困潦倒，死后就连坟墓也在战乱中不知所终。

  7

  伽利略和开普勒——这两个熠熠生辉的名字常常被当作日心说的共同推动者相提并论。他们都怀着解读“自然之书”的崇高理想，都拥有十年一日、百折不挠的强大意志，也都属于支持哥白尼的少数派——后人有理由想象，假如两人能够携起手来，日心说的胜利是否就能更早到来？

  令人遗憾的是，伽利略和开普勒尽管有许多共同的朋友，后者也希望两人直接对话，但他们终究未曾谋面，更没有并肩作战。托马斯·德·帕多瓦的故事显示，他们的风格截然不同，他们的关系也要比乍看起来微妙得多。通过分析两人的通信，作者得出结论说，他们代表着两种至今可见的学者类型，“他们的交往之所以不成功，是因为他们不同的性格、各自的抱负和提问的方法”。

  从性格上看，开普勒诚实而内敛，耿直而冲动，但他不善于表达，处理问题也不够周全。伽利略则精明、谨慎、虚荣和自负，他能言善辩，懂得包装自己。面对对手，他常常表现得刻薄和无情，不容他人染指自己的利益。结果是，开普勒未能享有与其成就相称的荣誉，伽利略则因为过于高调而栽了一个大跟头。

  从抱负上看，伽利略始终怀着出人头地的世俗理想。对他来说，科学既是事业，也是获取声望和财富的手段。他视科研工作为“零和博弈”，甚至不惜挪用或贬低他人的成果。相反，开普勒将科学视为揭示上帝创世密码的神圣使命，众人应当齐心协力，而不是争名夺利。无论是在庙堂还是在江湖，他都坚定不移地践行着自己的道路。

  从方法上看，伽利略继承了他父亲的实证主义和经验主义，反对过度抽象和假设。他将基于实验的科学方法发扬光大，尽管他有时仍将直觉或理论置于实验之上。开普勒的方法比较传统，但他的想象力丰富，判断力敏锐，勇于突破固有的思维范式。伽利略是现实主义者，总是从解决具体问题入手；开普勒则是理想主义者，他的目标直指宇宙的终极奥秘。

  后世虽然将两人并称为天文学家，但严格来说，伽利略主要是物理学家。相比之下，他在天文学领域的成就大多是可复制的。在那个“平行发现的时代”，他既不是望远镜的发明者，也不是用望远镜观察星空的首创者。他不追求用观测数据佐证他的观点，也不重视开普勒的椭圆和《鲁道夫星表》。他的不凡之处在于，通过与手工匠和艺术家密切合作，将研究结果精确和系统地呈现出来，使人耳目一新。

  开普勒主要是数学家。他依靠深厚的算术和几何功底，先后就宇宙的构造提出了20多条具有独创性的定律。它们大多艰涩难懂，远不如望远镜观测那样直观和动人。可是，就算其中只有三条是正确的，也足以推翻不容置疑的匀速圆周运动。它们不仅否定了托勒密体系和第谷体系，实际上也重构了哥白尼体系。考虑到他的发现历程太不寻常，“如果没有开普勒的发现，天文学的后续发展也许会延迟整整一个世纪”。

  除了两人的诸多差异，当时的社会环境也阻碍了他们的深入交往，以至于虽然只隔着一条阿尔卑斯山脉，他们却从未到访过彼此的国度。他们经历了反宗教改革运动高歌猛进、宗教迫害和猎巫运动此起彼伏的时期，又分属于不同的信仰阵营；他们遭遇了一场旷日持久、杀人如麻的欧陆混战，炮火、饥荒和瘟疫不仅破坏了原本脆弱的通信网络，也牵累着个体的命运。在历史大潮之中，弄潮儿有时也只能随波逐流。

  8

  400年前，当伽利略端着望远镜寻寻觅觅，而开普勒在烛光下埋头计算的时候，天文学和星相学还没有分家，“自然哲学”还没有摆脱神学的影响。在这场被称为“科学革命”的宏大变革之中，伽利略和开普勒都犯过许多错误。前者将彗星当作大气中的发光现象，把潮汐作为证明地球运动的王牌，而后者倾力打造的和谐宇宙看似玄妙莫测，实则十分牵强。他们虽然都拥护日心说，但各自保留着一些旧观念，导致彼此的观点无法调和。开普勒把力引到了天上，却依然相信运动需要力的作用；伽利略发现了力与加速度的关系，却坚持天体的圆周运动。还要再经过两代人，艾萨克·牛顿才将“站在巨人的肩膀上”发现万有引力，实现物理学和天文学的统一，也就是天与地的统一。

  “近代科学既不是通过一次激进的决裂，也不是通过一次突然的启蒙开始的。”不同于教科书中脉络清晰、因果注定的盖棺定论，科学史的叙事是复杂和曲折的。科学的发展是一个渐进和扬弃的过程，就像一艘在航行中不断改造的“忒修斯之船”，其核心部件的更换——比如从托勒密体系到哥白尼体系和第谷体系，再到开普勒体系——几乎总是伴随着竞争和反复。知识领域的每一次重大进步都不是个人的朝夕之功，而是许多人乃至许多代人思考和实验的结晶。

  科学是一个追求真理的动态体系，但它既不等于真理，恐怕也不能获得绝对真理。它只是一种建立在不确定性之上的方法，依赖于独立思考和价值引导。伽利略和开普勒能提出许多反驳地心说的论据，却无法证明日心说的绝对正确。他们之所以认定地球围绕太阳运动，是因为他们受到新柏拉图主义哲学的影响，笃信上帝的至善、宇宙的秩序和太阳的特殊。卡尔·波普尔说：“每一个科学发现都包含‘非理性因素’，或者在柏格森意义上的‘创造性直觉’。”

  所以，科学革命不是经验取代超验或者理性战胜迷信的简单过程。众所周知，1600年的火刑和1633年的审判塑造了科学史上的最大反派。但事实上，宗教不是科学的反义词，天主教会也不是科学的死敌。它一度保护和推动了科学的发展，此时却在宗教改革与反宗教改革的背景下陷入了教条主义和保护主义，对异端的打击波及了整个思想界。不应忘记，早期的科学家——哥白尼、伽利略和开普勒都是虔诚的基督徒，耶稣会士甚至将不少最新成果带到了东方。

  早在1615年，葡萄牙传教士阳玛诺就在北京印制了《天问略》，书中已经提到了用望远镜观测天象的情况。不久，两位德意志人——伽利略之友邓玉函带来了望远镜，汤若望以第谷体系编纂了《崇祯历书》。随后，波兰人穆尼阁甚至在《天步真原》中介绍了哥白尼体系。但是，没有合适的土壤，再好的种子也无法生根发芽。反观西欧，依靠世俗权力的庇护和市场机制的助推，科学长成了一株参天大树。

  9

  今天，人类已经登上了月球，发射了太空望远镜，不断将已知的宇宙边界向外扩展。除了少数宗教保守分子以外，几乎所有人都已将地球围绕太阳运动视为不言自明之事。我们已经知道，使地球公转的既不是某种自然状态，也不是磁力，而是万有引力；我们还知道，地球和太阳都不是宇宙的中心，太阳系只是银河系一条旋臂上的普通家族，而宇宙中的银河系多得不可胜计。我们不仅观察到恒星的视差，还测出了它们的距离；不仅接收到微波背景辐射，还发现了系外行星、黑洞和反物质；不仅抛弃了亚里士多德的世界观，还推翻了牛顿的世界观——这肯定会让伽利略和开普勒大跌眼镜。

  与他们相比，人类已经走出了很远。然而，在真理的海洋面前，我们和他们一样无知，甚至更加迷茫。我们仍在思考他们思考过的问题：时空有没有边界？是否存在多重宇宙？有没有地外生命？上帝是否存在及其存在的方式是什么？今人或许可以提出越来越多的论据，但始终无法给出令我们自己信服的答案。

  如今，我们似乎仍处在第二次科学革命的进程之中。100年来，相对论、量子论和许多其他主张试图揭示世界的深层本质，但万有理论的曙光还没有出现。或许，当下热门的“弦理论”和“圈量子理论”就像托勒密、哥白尼、第谷和开普勒体系，可能部分是正确的，也可能都是错误的，抑或像伽利略和开普勒那样，分别只参透了真相的某一个方面。

  此刻，我望着北京的夜空——由于高楼大厦的遮挡、雾霾和光污染，天上看不到几颗星星——自觉与宇宙空前的接近，又空前的疏离。古人对星宿如数家珍，而它们现在只是科学家和少数爱好者的专属。现代社会打破了世界的整体感，使个人前所未有地了解自然，又孤立于自然——对照科学事业的初衷，真是莫大的讽刺。

  几天前，就在这个世界深陷于新冠肺炎疫情的时候，美国太空探索技术公司（SpaceX）完成了首次商业载人航天任务，令世人距离实现太空梦又近了一步。不过，在我们出征星辰大海之前，应该先看看四周——那些比疫情更加危险的“灰犀牛”正在缩小包围圈：气候变化问题、环境污染问题、生物多样性问题、人口问题、粮食安全问题……科学不是万能的，人类以它的名义制造的麻烦，仅依靠它恐已无法解决。

  曾几何时，日心说打破了人的自我中心观念，望远镜使人认识到自身的渺小和局限，椭圆定律则展现了宇宙的意外之美。面对重重危机，托马斯·德·帕多瓦的故事或许有助于读者反思：我们是谁？我们从哪里来，到哪里去？我们与自然的关系如何？我们该怎么做，才能既不辜负400年前的先人，也无愧于400年后的来者？

  译者，2020年6月于北京

  展开

• 时间维度的循环

  作者：也未必 苏先森 发布时间：2020-09-01 16:05:59

  《家庭疗法》

  控制论并非把各个事件看成一个线性序列，而是认为因果关系是一个在时间维度上连续的循环过程。

  家庭可能需要孩子生病或者行为反常，以此来继续分散大家的注意力，或者使得大家偏离对于父母间冲突的关注。孩子的症状最终也会给孩子带来一定的特权。

  如果两个人之间的矛盾发展到了越过某一临界点的程度，那么第三方就会介入，从而使系统恢复到稳定状态。

  当人们有了情绪投入，而且将之表达了出来，而不是压抑了他们的感受的时候，他们就更容易做出改变，这种看法是结构化技术的一个基本假定前提。

  为了打破循环往复的态势，治疗师可以故意站到伴侣中的一方一边而去反对另一方。非平衡化是一种长期运用的方法，这样治疗师就既可以表明他认同每个人对于交互模式都有影响，也可以为了引发改变而在任何一个时刻站在某位家庭成员一边。

  每位伴侣拥有的权力，源于他们所拥有的并且能被用于影响伴侣或家庭中其他成员的资源，此类资源越大，权力越大。（收入，教育程度，体格健康，生理吸引，爱，情感，幽默，情感依赖。）

  从精神病至少有90％是由指责所致，或者说是由被感受为指责的因果解释所致这一点看，精神病的确是精神性的。

  对于那些在以往关系以及各自的家庭中体验过自相矛盾和模凌两可的情况的人来说，这种不确定性会延续到更高层次中去，以至于他们关系中的问题可能会意味着这个世界也不是可信的。这很可能提供了另一种解释所谓的“不安全型”人格和“不安全型”关系。

  如果没有其他人来进行互动，我们就无法拥有一个自我。

  年幼的猴子为了获得同一个使其感到舒适的毛绒代理“母亲”进行身体接触的机会，会放弃一个由金属丝制成的“代理”母亲提供的食物。

  母亲与孩子分开：

  第一阶段，涉及抗议，其中会有不断的哭闹、主动的探索，以及拒绝其他人来安抚他们。

  第二阶段，绝望，被动且悲伤。

  第三阶段，冷漠，愤怒拒绝接受母亲的关心。这是一种防御形式，维克减少由于母亲离开而受到更大伤害的可能性。

  但是那些一直都能得到母亲或者照料者的关注并且形成一种安全型依恋的孩子，则变得更能容忍他们母亲的离去。同时，他们也有能力离开母亲这一安全的港湾而去探索他们的环境，并同其他人建立关系。

  如果孩子绝大多数经历都是负面经历，或者孩子曾遭受过虐待，那么他们就会感到，要记住或者思考这些过往的声音，或者推测这些人看待这一世界的可能方式，是一件痛苦的事情。因此，这种反思能力，这种思考其自身以及其他人看法的能力就可能受到损伤。有些非安全型依恋关系的儿童确实在反思他们以及其他人的想法方面能力较弱。

  在对关系满意的伴侣中，一方对另一方负面情绪唤醒状态和负面行为，可能会给予正面的回应和肯定，而这常常会起到阻止出现任何可能的激化状况的功效。

  情绪被视作是一种人际交往过程的产物，而不是一种带有一定程度的根本性的内心状态。

  没有想法阶段：否认。

  有想法阶段：意识到问题，但不认为能够做些事来改变现状，而感到悲观和抑郁。

  准备阶段

  行动阶段

  维持阶段

  酗酒是既往习得的疗伤方式。

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• 【书评】大脑，没有你想的那么聪明

  作者：大雪独酌 发布时间：2014-10-22 15:31:12

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