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港台文化的胜利究竟是文化的优越还是工业的成功？文化的传播是不是一定遵循从经济发达地区向不发达地区灌输的水流定律？大众是谁？有没有各自单独的名字还是一个集体意志？还是几个集体意志？可以概括吗？人民性指什么？越是发行量大的等于越是有人民性也就等于越伟大——这一等式成立吗？在什么条件下成立？是放之四海面皆准还是因人而异？权威是谁？是书读得最多那个人吗？还是书写得最多的那个人？还是所有人？我们需要权威吗？什么事一定要有个说法吗？没有理想能不能过日子？年轻人就一定是进步的吗？凡是存在的就一定是合理的吗？我们的文化根基在哪儿？我们的学术根基在哪儿？我是“吃狼奶”长大的一代，现在的小孩是不是“听鸟语”长大的一代？中国人是都没有“人文精神”还是各阶层有各阶层一向既有的？如果有，都是些什么？下一次文艺复兴在什么时候到来，还是从来没有到来过？

6月29日至7月4日，汕头大学与中国文化论坛合作举办第二届通识教育核心课程讲习班，由钱致榕、朱鸿林、朱苏力、刘小枫、王绍光等著名学者任教。讲习班闭幕式上，中央美术学院院长潘公凯专程前往演讲，香港大学亚洲研究中心研究员甘阳做总结演讲。

本文选自康德《历史理性批判文集》，何兆武译，北京商务印书馆1991。  简介：康德是18世纪启蒙运动集之大成者，其“批判哲学”奠定了现代哲学的基础，划定科学、道德与美学的界限。本文尝试回答何谓启蒙，并说明启蒙与“公开使用自由”（即言论自由、学术自由）的关联。  启蒙就是人从他自己造成的未成年状态中走出。未成年状态就是没有他人的指导就不能使用自己的知性。要有勇气运用你自己的理智！这就是启蒙运动的口号。  启蒙运动就是人类脱离自己所加之于自己的不成熟状态，不成熟状态就是不经别人的引导，就对运用自己的理智无能为力。当其原因不在于缺乏理智，而在于不经别人的引导就缺乏勇气与决心去加以运用时，那么这种不成熟状态就是自己所加之于自己的了。Sapere aude！①要有勇气运用你自己的理智！这就是启蒙运动②的口号。  懒惰和怯懦乃是何以有如此大量的人，当大自然早己把他们从外界的引导之下释放出来以后（naturaliter maiorennes）③时，却仍然愿意终身处于不成熟状态之中，以及别人何以那么轻而易举地就俨然以他们的保护人自居的原因所在。处于不成熟状态是那么安逸。如果我有一部书能替我有理解，有一位牧师能替我有良心，有一位医生能替我规定食谱，等等；那么我自己就用不着操心了。只要能对我合算，我就无需去思想：自有别人会替我去做这类伤脑筋的事。  绝大部分的人（其中包括全部的女性）都把步入成熟状态认为除了是非常之艰辛而外并且还是非常之危险的；这一点老早就被每一个一片好心在从事监护他们的保护人关注到了。保护人首先是使他们的牲口愚蠢，并且小心提防着这些温驯的畜牲不要竟敢冒险从锁着他们的摇车里面迈出一步；然后就向他们指出他们企图单独行走时会威胁他们的那种危险。可是这种危险实际上并不那么大，因为他们跌过几交之后就终于能学会走路的；然而只要有过一次这类事例，就会使人心惊胆战并且往往吓得完全不敢再去尝试了。  任何一个个人要从几乎已经成为自己天性的那种不成熟状态之中奋斗出来，都是很艰难的。他甚至于已经爱好它了，并且确实暂时还不能运用他自己的理智，因为人们从来都不允许他去做这种尝试。条例和公式这类他那天分的合理运用、或者不如说误用的机械产物，就是对终古长存的不成熟状态的一副脚梏。谁要是抛开它，也就不过是在极狭窄的沟渠上做了一次不可靠的跳跃而己，因为他并不习惯于这类自由的运动。因此就只有很少数的人才能通过自己精神的奋斗而摆脱不成熟的状态，并且从而迈出切实的步伐来。  然而公众要启蒙自己，却是很可能的；只要允许他们自由，这还确实几乎是无可避免的。因为哪怕是在为广大人群所设立的保护者们中间，也总会发见一些有独立思想的人；他们自己在抛却了不成熟状态的羁绊之后，就会传播合理地估计自己的价值以及每个人的本分就在于思想其自身的那种精神。这里面特别值得注意的是：公众本来是被他们套上了这种羁绊的，但当他们的保护者（其本身是不可能有任何启蒙的）中竟有一些人鼓动他们的时候，此后却强迫保护者们自身也处于其中了；种下偏见是那么有害，因为他们终于报复了本来是他们的教唆者或者是他们教唆者的先行者的那些人。因而公众只能是很缓慢地获得启蒙。通过一场革命或许很可以实现推翻个人专制以及贪婪心和权势欲的压迫，但却绝不能实现思想方式的真正改革；而新的偏见也正如旧的一样，将会成为驾驭缺少思想的广大人群的圈套。  然而，这一启蒙运动除了自由而外并不需要任何别的东西，而且还确乎是一切可以称之为自由的东西之中最无害的东西，那就是在一切事情上都有公开运用自己理性的自由。④可是我却听到从四面八方都发出这样的叫喊：不许争辩！军官说：不许争辩，只许操练！税吏说：不许争辩，只许纳税。神甫说：不许争辩，只许信仰。（举世只有一位君主⑤说：可以争辩，随便争多少，随便争什么，但是要听话！君主指普鲁士腓德烈大王）到处都有对自由的限制。  然则，哪些限制是有碍启蒙的，哪些不是，反而是足以促进它的呢？--我回答说：必须永远有公开运用自己理性的自由，并且唯有它才能带来人类的启蒙。私下运用自己的理性往往会被限制得很狭隘，虽则不致因此而特别妨碍启蒙运动的进步。而我所理解的对自己理性的公开运用，则是指任何人作为学者在全部听众面前所能做的那种运用。一个人在其所受任的一定公职岗位或者职务上所能运用的自己的理性，我就称之为私下的运用。  就涉及共同体利益的许多事物而言，则我们必须有一定的机器，共同体的一些成员必须靠它来保持纯粹的消极态度，以便他们由于一种人为的一致性而由政府引向公共的目的，或者至少也是防止破坏这一目的。在这上面确实是不容许有争辩的；而是人们必须服从。但是就该机器的这一部分同时也作为整个共同体的，乃至于作为世界公民社会的成员而论，从而也就是以一个学者的资格通过写作面向严格意义上的公众时，则他是绝对可以争辩的，而不致因此就有损于他作为一个消极的成员所从事的那种事业。因此，一个服役的军官在接受他的上级交下某项命令肘，竟抗声争辩这项命令的合目的性或者有用性，那就会非常坏事；他必须服从。但是他作为学者而对军事业务上的错误进行评论并把它提交给公众来作判断时，就不能公开地加以禁止了。公民不能拒绝缴纳规定于他的税额；对所加给他的这类赋税惹事生非地擅行责难，甚至可以当作诽谤（这可能引起普遍的反抗）而加以惩处。然而这同一个人作为一个学者公开发表自己的见解，抗议这种课税的不适宜与不正当不一样，他的行动并没有违背公民的义务。同样地，一个牧师也有义务按照他所服务的那个教会的教义向他的教义问答班上的学生们和他的会众们作报告，因为他是根据这一条件才被批准的。但是作为一个学者，他却有充分自由、甚至于有责任，把他经过深思熟虑有关那种教义的缺点的全部善意的意见以及关于更好地组织宗教团体和教会团体的建议传达给公众。这里面并没有任何可以给他的良心增添负担的东西。因为他把作为一个教会工作者由于自己职务的关系而讲授的东西，当作是某种他自己并没有自由的权力可以按照自己的心意进行讲授的东西；他是受命根据别人的指示并以别人的名义选行讲述的。他将要说：我们的教会教导这些或那些；这里就是他们所引用的论据。于是，他就从他自己不会以完全的信服而赞同、虽则他很可以使自己负责进行宣讲的那些条文中--因为并非是完全不可能其中也隐藏着真理，而且无论如何至少其中不会发见有任何与内心宗教相违背的东西，--为他的听众引绎出全部的实用价值来。因为如果他相信其中可以发见任何与内心宗教相违背的东西，那么他就不能根据良心而尽自己的职务了，他就必须辞职。一个就任的宣教师之向他的会众运用自己的理性，纯粹是一种私下的运用；因为那往往只是一种家庭式的聚会，不管是多大的聚会；而在这方面他作为一个牧师是并不自由的，而且也不能是自由的，因为他是在传达别人的委托。反之，作为一个学者通过自己的著作而向真正的公众亦即向全世界讲话时，则牧师在公开运用他的理性上便享有无限的自由可以使用他自己的理性，并以他自己本人的名义发言。因为人民（在精神事务上）的保护者而其本身居然也不成熟，那便可以归结为一种荒谬性，一种永世长存的荒谬性了。  然则一种牧师团体、一种教会会议或者一种可敬的教门法院（就象他们在荷兰人中间所自称的那样），是不是有权宣誓他们自己之间对某种不变的教义负有义务，以便对其每一个成员并且由此也就是对全体人民进行永不中辍的监护，甚至于使之永恒化呢？我要说：这是完全不可能的。这样一项向人类永远封锁住了任何进一步启蒙的契约乃是绝对无效的，哪怕它被最高权力、被国会和最庄严的和平条约所确认。一个时代决不能使自己负有义务并从而发誓，要把后来的时代置于一种决没有可能扩大自己的（尤其是十分迫切的）认识、清除错误以及一般地在启蒙中继续进步的状态之中。这会是一种违反人性的犯罪行为，人性本来的天职恰好就在于这种进步；因此后世就完全有权拒绝这种以毫无根据而且是犯罪的方式所采取的规定。  凡是一个民族可以总结为法律的任何东西，其试金石都在于这样一个问题：一个民族是不是可以把这样一种法律加之于其自身？它可能在一个有限的短时期之内就好像是在期待着另一种更好的似的，为的是好实行一种制度，使得每一个公民而尤其是牧师都能有自由以学者的身份公开地，也就是通过著作，对现行组织的缺点发表自己的言论。这种新实行的制度将要一直延续下去，直到对这类事情性质的洞见已经是那么公开地到来并且得到了证实，以致于通过他们联合（即使是并不一致）的呼声而可以向王位提出建议，以便对这一依据他们更好的洞见的概念而结合成另一种已经改变了的宗教组织加以保护，而又不致于妨碍那些仍愿保留在旧组织之中的人们。但是统一成一个固定不变的、没有人能够（哪怕在一个人的整个一生中）公开加以怀疑的宗教体制，从而也就犹如消灭了人类朝着改善前进的整整一个时代那样，并由此给后代造成损害，使得他们毫无收获，--这却是绝对不能容许的。一个人确实可以为了他本人并且也只是在一段时间之内，推迟对自己有义务加以认识的事物的启蒙；然而径行放弃它，那就无论是对他本人，而更其是对于后代，都可以说是违反而且践踏人类的神圣权利⑥了。  而人民对于他们本身都不能规定的事，一个君主就更加不可以对他的人民规定了；因为他的立法威望全靠他把全体人民的意志结合为他自己的意志。只要他注意使一切真正的或号称的改善都与公民秩序结合在一起，那么此外他就可以把他的臣民发觉对自己灵魂得教所必须做的事情留给他们自己去做；这与他无关，虽则他必须防范任何人以强力妨碍别人根据自己的全部才能去做出这种决定并促进这种得救。如果他干预这种事，要以政府的监督来评判他的臣民借以亮明他们自己的见识的那些作品；以及如他凭自己的最高观点来这样做，而使自己受到"Caesar non estt supra grammaticos"⑦（凯撒并不高于文法学家）的这种责难；那就会有损于他的威严。如果他把自己的最高权力降低到竟至去支持自己国内的一些暴君对他其余的臣民实行精神专制主义的时候，那就更加每况愈下了。  如果现在有人问："我们目前是不是生活在一个启蒙了的时代？"那么回答就是："并不是，但确实是在一个启蒙运动的时代"。⑧目前的情形是，要说人类总的说来已经处于，或者是仅仅说已经被置于，一种不需别人引导就能够在宗教的事情上确切地而又很好地使用自己的理智的状态了，则那里面还缺乏许多东西。可是现在领域已经对他们开放了，他们可以自由地在这上面工作了，而且对普遍启蒙的、或者说对摆脱自己所加给自己的不成熟状态的障碍也逐渐地减少了；关于这些我们都有着明确的信号。就这方面考虑，这个时代乃是启蒙的时代，或者说乃是腓德烈⑨的世纪。  一个不以如下说法为与自己不相称的国君：他认为自己的义务就是要在宗教事务方面决不对人们加以任何规定，而是让他们有充分的自由，但他又甚至谢绝宽容这个高傲的名称；这位国君本人就是启蒙了的⑩，并且配得上被天下后世满怀感激之情尊之为率先使得人类，至少从政权方面而言，脱离了不成熟状态，并使每个人在任何有关良心的事务上都能自由地运用自身所固有的理性。在他的治下，可敬的牧师们可以以学者的身份自由地并且公开地把自己在这里或那里偏离了既定教义的各种判断和见解都提供给全世界来检验，而又无损于自己的职责：至于另外那些不受任何职责约束的人，那就更加是如此了。这种自由精神也要向外扩展，甚至于扩展到必然会和误解了其自身的那种政权这一外部阻碍发生冲突的地步。因为它对这种政权树立了一个范例，即自由并不是一点也不关怀公共的安宁和共同体的团结一致的。只有当人们不再有意地想方设法要把人类保持在野蛮状态的时候，人类才会由于自己的努力而使自己从其中慢慢地走出来。  我把启蒙运动的重点，亦即人类摆脱他们所加之于其自身的不成熟状态，主要是放在宗教事务方面，因为我们的统治者在艺术和科学方面并没有向他们的臣民尽监护之责的兴趣；何况这一不成熟状态既是一切之中最有害的而又是最可耻的一种。但是，一个庇护艺术与科学的国家首领，他的思想方式就要更进一步了，他洞察到：即使是在他的立法方面，容许他的臣民公开运用他们自身的理性，公开向世上提出他们对于更好地编篡法律、甚至于是直言无讳地批评现行法律的各种见解，那也不会有危险的。在这方面，我们有着一个光辉的典范，我们所尊敬的这位君主（指普鲁士腓德烈大王）⑾就是没有别的君主能够超越的。  但是只有那位其本身是启蒙了的、不怕幽灵的而同时手中又掌握着训练精良的大量军队可以保障公共安宁的君主，才能够说出一个自由国家所不敢说的这种话：可以争辩，随便争多少，随便争什么；但是必须听话。这就标志着人间事务的一种可惊异的、不能意料的进程；正犹如当我们对它从整体上加以观察时，其中就几乎一切都是悖论那样。程度更大的公民自由仿佛是有利于人民精神的自由似的，然而它却设下了不可逾越的限度；反之，程度较小的公民自由却为每个人发挥自己的才能开辟了余地。因为当大自然在这种坚硬的外壳之下打开了为她所极为精心照料着的幼芽时，也就是要求思想自由的倾向与任务时，它也就要逐步地反作用于人民的心灵面貌（从而他们慢慢地就能掌握自由）；并且终于还会反作用于政权原则，使之发见按照人的尊严--人并不仅仅是机器而已⑿--去看待人，也是有利于政权本身的。⒀  1784年9月30日，于普鲁士哥尼斯堡  本文选自康德《历史理性批判文集》，何兆武译，商务印书馆，1996年  注：  ①[要敢于认识!]语出罗马诗人贺拉斯(公元前65-8)《诗论》。——译注  ②按启蒙运动(Aufklarung)亦称“启蒙时代”或“理性时代”；这篇为当时的启蒙运动进行辩护的文章，发表在当时德国启蒙运动的主要刊物《柏林月刊》上。——译注  ③[由于自然方式而成熟]。——译注  ④ 此处“公开运用自己理性的自由”即指言论自由。康德在这个问题上曾和当时普鲁士官方的检查制度发生冲突。——译注  ⑤指普鲁士腓德烈大王(FrederickⅡ，der Grosse，1740-1786)。——译注  ⑥按“权利”一词原文为Recht；此词相当于法文的droit，英文的right，中文的“权利”、“权”、“法律”、“法”或“正义”。一般或译作“法”，下同。——译注  ⑦[凯撒并不高于文法学家]按，此处这句话可能是针对传说中普鲁士的腓德烈大王回答伏尔泰(Voltaire， 1718-1778)的一句话：“凯撒高于文法学家。”又，传说神圣罗马帝国皇帝西吉斯蒙(Sigismund，1411-1437)在 1414年的康斯坦司会议上说过：“我是罗马皇帝并且高于文法学家。”——译注  ⑧康德《纯粹理性批判》第1版序言：“我们的时代特别是一个批判的时代，一切事物都必须接受批判。”——译注  ⑨指普鲁士腓德烈大王。——译注  ⑩“启蒙了的”即“开明的”。——译注  ⑾指普鲁士腓德烈大王。——译注  ⑿“人并不仅仅是机器而已”这一命题为针对拉梅特利(Julien Offray de La Mettrie，1709-1751)《人是机器》 (1748年)的反题。——译注  ⒀今天我在9月13日的《布兴每周通讯》(布兴，Anton Friedrich Buching，1724-1793，地理学家，格廷根大学教授，当时主编《地图、地理、统计与历史新书每周通讯》。——译注)上读到本月30日《柏林月刊》的预告，其中介绍了门德尔松先生(Moses Mendelsohn，1726-1786，德国启蒙运动哲学家，《论“什么叫作启蒙运动”这一问题》一文刊载于《柏林月刊》1784年第4卷第9期，康德本文刊载于该刊同年同卷第12期。康德撰写本文时尚未读到门德尔松的文章，所以只在本文末尾附加了这条注释。——译注)对于本问题的答复。我手头尚未收到该刊，否则就会扣发本文了。现在本文就只在于检验一下偶然性究竟在多大程度上能带来两个人的思想一致。 

大学教育基金会的资金运作一方面需要体现公益支出与运行成本，另一方面也要实现投资增值。在这看似矛盾的价值取向面前，大学教育基金会的资金运作存在一定的模糊性与外界的误读，比如资金支出规模与结构问题突出、资金分配规则的空置、资金结构单一化、资金投资风险化、管理费意义曲解化以及基金会低成本运作等，需要在社会互构的基础上重构良好的运作机制。

大卫·哈维在《艺术论坛》（artforum）2009年11月的专题中就《大同世界》（2009年出版）与哈特和奈格里进行了争论。原文见：https://libcom.org/library/commonwealth-exchange. 译者：王行坤

3月11日，为纪念五四运动90周年，《国家历史》大讲堂联合首都师范大学学生会，邀请北京大学钱理群教授在首都师范大学小礼堂做了题为“五四新文化运动中的鲁迅”的讲座。钱理群是我国著名学者、文学理论家，鲁迅、周作人研究专家。

概述选文要点。《忧郁的文化政治》2010年3月19日出版，多篇选自Loss: the politics of mourning, David L. Eng,David Kazanjian eds.

　宽恕这个词在法语中是来源于拉丁文的，它的来源非常的复杂，以至于我们今天不能正式的涉及这个词。

今天很荣幸请到了日本著名文艺理论批评家小森阳一先生做客搜狐。今天我们要谈论的话题是小森阳一先生的新书《村上春树论——精读》。请小森阳一先生跟搜狐的网友打声招呼。　　小森阳一：各位网友大家好，很高兴能够通过网络和大家交流。　　主持人：村上春树的《海边的卡夫卡》是一本畅销世界的文学作品，在日本、中国和美国的发行量都极大，被《纽约时报》评为"2005年十佳图书"，村上本人也因该书获捷克2006年卡夫卡奖。您2006年出版的著作《村上春树论--精读〈海边的卡夫卡〉》，对《海边的卡夫卡》进行了精细的文本分析，所持的立场是批判性的。在村上热潮中进行这样犀利的批判，有点浇凉水的味道，在日本的阅读界和评论界引起的反响如何呢？　　小森阳一：关于我的这本《村上春树论——精读》，在日本得到的公开的书评其实很少。据出版社的编辑说，主要的原因是拜托别人写书评时一般都被拒绝了。也就是说，如果正面评价我这本书的话，将会与非常多的村上春树迷为敌，很多人在避免这种尴尬的局面。但是，有很多读者和村上春树迷通过网络、信件等方式，表达了对我这本书的认识和评价，并且他们还把这本书介绍给其他人阅读，这令我感到高兴。　　主持人：最初促使您写这样一本专门针对村上春树，针对他的这本畅销世界的《海边的卡夫卡》的文学批评著作的原因是什么呢？　　小森阳一：首先，在我看来很多读者对于这本《海边的卡夫卡》的接受方式存在某种问题，而且这种现象不仅局限于日本，在某种意义上是世界共通的。这是最初的主要原因。简单地说，在9.11事件之后，一些特别易于被读者简单接受的东西，隐含在这本小说里。　　主持人：在《村上春树论》中，曾多次提到一个关键词，即"疗愈"，据说该词在日本颇为流行，而《海边的卡夫卡》正满足了读者的"疗愈"渴求。如何理解这一现象呢？　　小森阳一：进入20世纪以后，在日本大众文化各个领域，“疗愈”都成为特别重要的关键词，这种现象一直持续到2006年。对“疗愈”的渴求和得到“疗愈”满足这种感受，在我看来不是基于人的大脑皮质的感受，而是基于一种动物性的本能感受。因为动物世界，基本上是一个弱肉强食的世界，当遇到其它动物的时候，要么是攻击对方，要么是从对方的攻击中逃走，只有这两个选择。如果感到对方比自己强大的话，那么就会抱有恐惧心理转身逃走。反之，如果遇到比自己弱的动物，就会产生出愤怒的感情，怒气会演变成对对方的攻击。无论是这种恐惧心理还是愤怒心理，都是一种高度紧张的感情状态。这种恐怖或者发怒的感情消失之后的状态，实际上就是所谓的“疗愈”状态。　　村上春树的《海边的卡夫卡》能给读者提供这种动物层次上的安心感，这种现象在日本特别明显。《海边的卡夫卡》这本书，作为能将紧张状态化为安心感的小说被阅读。也就是说不是用头脑去对紧张状态进行分析、思索和应对，而完全是通过动物的本能，让人得到松弛或安心感。在日本，包括玩具、音乐、影视明星甚至都被用“疗愈”来分类，这反之也能够证明，日本社会是处于高度紧张状态下的“攻击型”社会。这也正是9.11事件之后整个日本社会的现实。　　主持人：那现在的日本这种状况有所改善吗？　　小森阳一：安倍晋三首相辞职之后，状况得到了明显的改善。更多的国民开始懂得需要通过对事物因果关系进行合理化思考的方式，来消解这种紧张状态。主持人：有评论者认为这本著作挑战了大众心理需求和出版商业合谋运作下的一种单一化的阅读方式，指的就是这种寻求“疗愈”和救赎式的阅读吧？　　小森阳一：完全是这样的，这也正是我写这本书的一个初衷。如果我这本书能够起到打破迄今为止的单一化的阅读方式、一元化的阅读模式的作用，那么，对我来说是特别荣幸的事情。　　主持人：从20世纪90年代之后，中国陆续引进了村上的作品，在中国有很多村上春树小说的爱好者。那么《村上春树论》作为一本关于村上文学批判性的论著在中国出版，您希望读者能从中得到什么样的启示？　　小森阳一：村上春树在日本流行是20世纪80年代，当时日本社会正在向消费型社会转变，这样的社会环境是村上春树文学之所以流行的非常重要的原因。当人类由生产主体向消费主体转化的时候，会发生什么样的现象呢？人的生存方式本来是通过劳动创造价值为主的，但是社会一旦变成消费社会以后，人就变成纯粹消费的人。变成消费型的人，也意味着失去通过使用语言去获得成长的机会。在生产型社会中，儿童总是能通过自己和大人的对比看到自己的不足，所以将会按照大人的方式努力成长。　　而在消费型社会，人一旦变成消费主体，不论是孩子还是成人，只要拿着货币都能在市场上买到相应的商品，谁都可以成为消费者。只要持有货币，就可以简单完成向一个成熟消费主体的过渡。也就是说只要是有钱的话，谁都可以变成消费者。这会使人抱有这样的错觉，只要有钱自己就是万能的。但是这种自以为万能的幻想，在与现实的接触和碰撞中特别容易被摧毁，也容易受到挫折。　　在村上春树的小说中，那些生活在都市里的所谓很酷的人物是通过什么表现的呢？比如喝过多少瓶啤酒，抽过多少支烟，或者用欣赏的音乐、饮用的名酒等等这些能够用货币交换来的东西，去表现人物的日常生活。在这样的生活方式中，内心脆弱的人，去寻找自己内心脆弱的理由，这也一直是村上春树小说的主题。在这个意义上，村上春树的小说在90年代之后的中国流行是很自然的。因为90年代之后的中国，也开始迅速向一个消费型社会过渡，一个不通过劳动、甚至不经过劳动阶段就可以持有货币消费的人群和阶层开始出现，这是村上小说在中国流行的主要原因。　　村上春树小说在中国非常受欢迎，但是如果村上的读者能够去思考一下生产型的人和消费型的人之间到底有什么不同，反省一下什么才意味着人的真正的成长，我相信他们对村上春树的小说就会有完全不同的看法。我也希望这些读者能够意识到，用货币实现的东西，并不意味着你个人的能力。　　主持人：您在书中将《海边的卡夫卡》细读为一本"处刑小说"，如何理解这一说法呢？　　小森阳一：最主要的理由是，这本小说的题目中出现了弗兰兹・卡夫卡的名字，而且弗兰兹・卡夫卡的小说《在流放地》在村上春树小说里被引用。《在流放地》这本小说描述的是一种特殊的行刑机器。这部特殊的机器，是把本来使用语言的法律判决，不是通过纸面文字的方式，而是把罪状用针刺到受刑者身上的方式，对受刑人实施处刑。　　人类长期以来，通过语言来建构和维护的法变成通过暴力的方式实现，卡夫卡这本小说所描写的就是这样的过程和结果。在人类历史中，具有将人判决死刑权利人，都是一些特权者。在消费社会，因为所有的人都有一种自己是万能的错觉，所有的人都有将别人处刑的欲望。在9.11之后，整个世界发生了以暴制暴的连锁反应，在这种形势下，村上春树小说的读者通过村上小说的阅读，获得了一种俨然把最邪恶的象征杀死一样的错觉。所以《海边的卡夫卡》这篇小说有一种将潜在于人的意识中的暴力欲望煽动起来的结构。　　主持人：你认为他的小说不积极，不健康？　　小森阳一：简单地说这是一部病态的小说，是在一种病态的社会环境下产生的病态小说。　　主持人：那就相当于激发人性中最暴力的一面。　　小森阳一：虽然不是直接的煽动，但通过潜在的方式暗示或诱导，这点才是最危险的。主持人：在《村上春树论》一书中，透过文本分析，您的批判所指包括日本的历史认识问题、象天皇制、靖国神社参拜、历史教科书问题等等，好像涉及了大部分您一直以来思考和研究的政治、意识形态问题，如此多的问题都能和《海边的卡夫卡》的小说结构、意图等联系起来？　　小森阳一：我认为是这样的。在《海边的卡夫卡》的这本小说中，是将上述的历史问题、象征天皇制等等问题作为细微的素材编织在小说中，并且对这些题材的涉及还是相当明显的。比如说在小说中有一块入口石，这块入口石在小说中被保存在神社，后来又被从神社搬了出来。主人公卡夫卡少年最后走进了死者的世界。在这个世界里主人公遇到了从日本军队里逃亡出来的士兵。这里明显提示的是，昭和天皇作为最高统帅者发动战争期间，为天皇而死的士兵作为英灵被祭祀在靖国神社，而从战争中逃亡出来的士兵就不会被视为英灵，所以只能在死者世界徘徊。可见关于战争、天皇制等等一系列问题，在小说里都有所暗示。　　《海边的卡夫卡》在日本发表时，关于历史教科书问题以及随军慰安妇问题，在日本刚刚发生了意见分化的激烈论争。比如说《海边的卡夫卡》中出现了男性强奸女性的故事主题，这一点和当时的随军慰安妇问题是密切相关的。在小说里，把男性对女性的强奸归结为无奈之举，无形中也就等于将随军慰安妇问题归为无奈之举，这迎合了当时一部分日本人的心理。关于这个问题还可以回答的内容有很多，暂且到这里打住。　　主持人：您说曾对村上春树在关注社会现实和历史语境方面抱有过很高的期待，但《海边的卡夫卡》却让您的期待落空了，而且从中看出了村上一个具有危险性的文学转向，这怎么解释呢？对于您的批判性的文本分析和论说，村上有过回应吗？　　小森阳一：首先从第二个问题开始回答，就是关于我这本书，还没有得到村上春树本人的任何回应。　　在90年代之所以我曾对村上春树抱有一定的期待，是因为他针对奥姆真理教徒制造的“地铁沙林事件”，写出了一部客观记述事件事实的《地下铁事件》。“地铁沙林事件”象征性展示出的，是对战争事实和历史问题没有彻底清算的日本，暴力通过一种怎样的方式沿承了下来。对日本军人在战争中的残暴行为没有通过语言的方式进行清算。这种结果才使暴力结构和倾向残留在日本社会之中，这也是我对“地铁沙林事件”的基本看法。　　村上春树曾经在小说《奇鸟行状录》中，把当时在中国东北发生的诺门罕战役作为题材，写进小说。在我看来，如果能将《奇鸟行状录》与《地下铁事件》的创作意识和方法结合在一起，村上春树有可能对过去日本的战争采取正确的姿态来描述。但是七年之后，他在《海边的卡夫卡》中将人为制造和发动的暴力，特别在国家名义下发动的暴力作为人类世界无可奈何的事情加以描述，正是这种反差让我看到了他的文学转向。　　主持人：将政治批判内化于学术著作中是您的一个重要研究方式，如在中国有译本发行的《日本近代国语批判》（吉林人民出版社，2003年）和《天皇的玉音放送》（三联书店，2004年），这本《村上春树论》也应该是这一方式的延伸吧？　　小森阳一：完全是这样的。其实文学与政治并不是两回事，在我看来，使用语言来应对眼前暴力的主要方式就是文学。在某种意义上，文学也是体现政治的主要方式。举一个非常简单的例子，比如对布什使用的“反恐战争”这个口号，我认为特别有必要从文学的角度去解读。其实向布什建议使用“反恐战争”这个表达方式的，是一个商业市场的策划者。在这个说法之中，就隐藏着很多策略性修辞和概念的偷换。“反恐战争”中的“恐”指的是什么呢？其实指的是“恐怖分子”。但是对于“恐怖分子”采取正当的方法不是发动战争，而是将其逮捕。　　主持人：既然谈到文学和政治，您觉得强势政治操纵国民的手段主要是语言的方式，《海边的卡夫卡》是不是也暗合了这种方式？　　小森阳一：尤其是在美国的9.11事件之后，美国和日本都开始通过强势媒体沿着一个既定的方向去诱导国民。在这个意义上，正是那些受到了布什总统的欺骗人，再从村上春树的小说中得到所谓的“疗愈”。所以我希望从《海边的卡夫卡》中得到“疗愈”的读者去反省一下，自己是不是受到了布什的欺骗。　　主持人：在刚刚结束的诺贝尔文学奖上，村上被提名，也是最大热门的人选，您觉得村上离诺贝尔文学奖有多远，有没有机会获得？　　小森阳一：实际上村上春树获奖呼声最高的是在去年，当然今年也有很多报社和媒体准备在村上春树获得诺贝尔文学奖之后，希望我做出一些评论，但是结果他没有获奖，我觉得这个结果非常好。如果村上春树获得诺贝尔文学奖的话，批判村上春树的我可能就会成为所有文学爱好者的敌人。正是在村上春树没有获得诺贝尔文学奖的结果中，我看到了对于文学的良知和正常的感受性依然是存在的。　　主持人：您有几重身份，您不仅是一位著名的文艺批评家，也是日本和东亚一位影响重大的公共知识分子，本着知识分子的良知和正以积极参与政治，抵制日本右翼政治。在中国读者和中国学界的心目中，您的"左翼知识分子"的形象是很鲜明的。作为批判者，在日本国内的处境应该是比较艰难的吧，现在情况是否有改善？　　小森阳一：作为维护和平宪法的日本"九条会"的成员，我一直以各种方式从事社会活动，并且通过面向普通市民举行演讲，来积极宣传自己的主张。通过切实的努力，在近三年以来，情况有非常明显的改变。7月29号结束的日本国会参议院选举中自民党大败，这个政治结果也体现了日本国民对小泉政权以及安倍内阁的态度。在安倍执政时期，日本文部省的教科书审定中，曾经要求从教科书中删去第二次世界大战冲绳战役期间，日本军人命令岛民集体自杀的记述，但是在安倍下台之后的9月30日，冲绳11万市民集会游行，抗议从教科书上删去这样的记载。面对国民的声音，自民党政府也不得不采取具体措施来回应这种声音。可见，日本国内的政治环境也在发生变化，我希望通过自己的努力，在相当程度上阻止住日本社会右翼化的风潮。　　主持人：您和中国学界的互动和沟通应该是比较频繁的，这次中国之行的主要任务，或者说主题是什么呢?　　小森阳一：这次来主要是两个目的，一个是参加中国社科院举办的针对亚洲当前所面临的共通课题的学术讨论会，另外准备在清华大学做一次关于村上春树的演讲。当然今天来到聊天室，也与我这次来北京的目的相符，让更多的中国读者了解我对村上春树的认识，让更多的中国读者阅读这本书。明天在清华大学做演讲的时候，我将为读者签名，感兴趣的读者希望明天见。　　主持人：您最喜欢的中国作家是哪一位？　　小森阳一：当然是鲁迅。我最喜欢的日本作家大江健三郎同样也喜欢鲁迅。　　主持人：最后一个问题，您的下一步学术研究计划是什么？　　小森阳一：今年作为我最新的一本书，是一本合著的《难民》，这本书已经出来了。《难民》指得是那些处于法律保障之外的人群，由于各种各样的原因，没有受到法律的保护和保障。难民形成的主要原因当然是由于战争或民族纷争，但这两种原因之外，难民现象也是存在的。在竞争原理和市场原理的冲击下，由法来保证人存在的社会结构，在日本发生巨大的变化。比如在今年4月份就发生了这样事情，一名男子由于被取消了他的生活保障金而饿死，这位男性身患四种以上的疾病，但是仅仅是由于他持有汽车驾照，北九州市政府认为他具备生活能力，所以停发了对他生活保障金。日本国家或地区政府为了削减福利开支，单方面剥夺了一些弱者的生存权利。通过某种原因，人变成难民，这种现象是一种世界共通的问题。对于人与法的关系，今后将成为研究的一个主要课题。　　主持人：谢谢小森阳一先生来到搜狐聊天室跟我们畅聊《村上春树论——精读》，让网友更加深刻的了解村上春树的作品。最后，我们希望您的《难民》早日在中国与读者见面。谢谢！　　小森阳一：谢谢！

中国神话学百年文论要目

中国有关部门前不久公开表示中国社会群体性事件已经成为影响社会稳定最为突出的问题，指出了群体性事件的四个主要特点。第一，重大群体性事件连接发生，涉及面越来越广。第二，经济问题政治化。第三，暴力对抗程度明显增强。第四，境外政治力量涉足中国国内群体事件。　　这个描述比较客观，反映了中国目前群体性事件的大趋势。群体事件，在西方和其他国家称“社会运动”。在毛泽东时代，中国是个典型的“运动社会”，各种自上而下的社会运动如“反右”、“大跃进”和“文化大革命”等绵延不绝。　　改革开放以来，社会运动形式有了很大的变化，大多社会运动是自下而上自发形成和发生的。或许是因为人们不再喜欢“社会运动”，就用“群体性事件”的概念来替代。　　但不管用什么样的词汇，社会运动已经成为当代中国社会不可忽视的重大政治问题。　　后工业化的社会运动　　社会运动并非中国社会所特有的，很多国家尤其是发达国家，在社会发展的一定阶段都经历过很长一段历史时期的自下而上的社会运动。但与发达国家相比，今天中国的社会运动有其自身的特点，主要是传统社会运动和后现代社会运动相互交叉，范围广。　　在发达国家，作为工业化产物的大规模农民运动和工人阶级运动已经成为过去，现在所经历的社会运动被称之为后工业化社会运动或者“新社会运动”，如环保运动和消费者权益运动。但在中国，传统和后现代两种社会运动同时存在，社会运动往往是复合型的。　　工业化和城市化快速改变着人们的生存状态，为各种传统社会运动提供了很多机会。在这个层面，社会运动的参与者的主要目标是物质利益、“温饱”和基本生存环境。同时，中国也存在着后工业化社会的运动，参与者的主要目标是各种各样的政治社会权益和更好的生活品质。　　与改革开放前和初期的社会运动相比较，今天的社会运动也表现出两个鲜明的不同点。其一是社会运动越来越具有政治性。　　政治性的含义很广。一些群体事件因为参与者追求经济利益所引发，但最终演变成为对政治利益的追求；另外一些事件表现为参与者对政治利益的直接追求；也有一些事件则表现为参与者通过政治方法或者事件的政治化来达到经济利益。　　群体事件的复合性是中国复杂社会转型的客观反映。各社会阶层如工人、农民、流动人口、城市居民、中产阶级和新兴企业家阶层，追求的利益不同，这些不同的利益追求直接表现在各种群体事件中。　　担心外部搞“颜色革命”　　第二个主要不同点就是当代的群体事件越来越超越于政府的控制之外。这里至少有两层含义。首先是内部动力。今天的群体事件大多是工业化和城市化的产物。　　尽管中国的改革是渐进式的，也就是说政府努力控制改革的步伐，但这并不是说政府总是可以预见改革的各种结果的，也不是说政府有能力控制由改革引发的社会经济的发展。所以，如果说工业化和城市化是由政府的改革政策引发的，目前的工业化和城市化已经不是政府所能控制的。　　方方面面的发展从早先的政府驱动早已经转变成为各种利益驱动。换句话说，政府和很多方面的发展变得越来越不相关。这也就是政府这些年来努力调控经济社会的发展但成效不大的根本因素。可以理解，因各种互相冲突的利益引发的群体性事件也往往超越于政府控制之外。　　其次是外部动力。外部动力主要指的是中国和外部世界的高度相互依赖性。因为开放政策和全球化，中国社会日渐开放，和外在世界的互相依赖性日渐提高。　　这种相互依赖性使得外在世界能够通过各种途径影响中国内部的利益分配，也影响中国内部的变革。这就是为什么近年来中国有关部门非常担忧西方世界在中国搞“颜色革命”的原因。不管西方世界是否在中国搞“颜色革命”，随着中国经济对外在世界的高度依赖，外部世界对内部发展的影响也在与日俱增。　　“非直接利益者”的卷入　　各种内外因素驱动着当代中国的群体事件或者社会运动。在很大程度上，运动发展已经进入了一个快速增长期。最显著的是表现在群体事件中“非直接利益者”的卷入。　　一般说来，社会成员可以分成三个不同的部分，即运动的“参与者”，运动的“反对者”和“旁观者”（也就是“非直接利益者”）。运动的参与者当然是为了争取他们各自的利益。　　更多的社会成员是运动的旁观者，他们没有任何利益动机来参与运动。任何运动包含着风险，在中国尤其如此。　　旁观者为什么愿意承担风险成为直接参与者？旁观者参与运动或许是因为同情参与者，或许是为了运动中所包含的道德意义，或许是为了某种理想。不管是哪种情形，“非直接利益者”成为了直接的参与者表明运动的性质在发生很大的变化。　　社会运动是社会发展的客观产物，也并不可怕。在发达国家，社会运动一直是经济社会政治各方面进步的推动力。从早期的原始资本主义到福利社会，从权威到民主，从专制到民权，都和各种形式的社会运动密切相关。　　但是另外一方面，如果社会运动处理不好，消化不了，就会造成社会乱象，不但不能成为进步的动力，反而导致社会的倒退。　　在中国也如此。在目前的生态下，如果不能有效消化各种群体事件，很容易演变成为大规模的运动甚至恶性革命。中国领导层对此是有比较清醒的认识的。　　近年来，有关部门一直在讨论人均国民产值和社会稳定之间的关系。在中共六中全会上，如何预防和处理群体性事件写进了执政党的文件。但也应当看到，因为各种内外因素，越来越多的群体事件或者社会运动实际上已经超越于政府的控制之外。　　也就是说，各种控制机制的发展可能能够在短时期内遏制这样的事件的发生，但并不是最有效的解决之道。发达国家的经验表明，最有效的办法是社会政治改革，通过新制度的建设来容纳和消化社会运动。在这方面，中国是可以学到一些有用的经验的。

从阅读方法、理论学习、读书报告、研究写作4个方面谈如何阅读学术著作和做读书笔记。

BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER.A STORY OF WALL-STREET.I am a rather elderly man. The nature of my avocations for the last thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom as yet nothing that I know of has ever been written:—I mean the law-copyists or scriveners. I have known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I pleased, could relate divers histories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, and sentimental souls might weep. But I waive the biographies of all other scriveners for a few passages in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener of the strangest I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I might write the complete life, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done. I believe that no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biography of this man. It is an irreparable loss to literature. Bartleby was one of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from the original sources, and in his case those are very small. What my own astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I know of him, except, indeed, one vague report which will appear in the sequel.Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit I make some mention of myself, my employees, my business, my chambers, and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensable to an adequate understanding of the chief character about to be presented.Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with a profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence, though I belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to invade my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in the cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men's bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All who know me, consider me an eminently safe man. The late John Jacob Astor, a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in pronouncing my first grand point to be prudence; my next, method. I do not speak it in vanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in my profession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I love to repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and rings like unto bullion. I will freely add, that I was not insensible to the late John Jacob Astor's good opinion.Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my avocations had been largely increased. The good old office, now extinct in the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferred upon me. It was not a very arduous office, but very pleasantly remunerative. I seldom lose my temper; much more seldom indulge in dangerous indignation at wrongs and outrages; but I must be permitted to be rash here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violent abrogation of the office of Master in Chancery, by the new Constitution, as a—premature act; inasmuch as I had counted upon a life-lease of the profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. But this is by the way.My chambers were up stairs at No.—Wall-street. At one end they looked upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetrating the building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters call "life." But if so, the view from the other end of my chambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more. In that direction my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brick wall, black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required no spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window panes. Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my chambers being on the second floor, the interval between this wall and mine not a little resembled a huge square cistern.At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons as copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy. First, Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut. These may seem names, the like of which are not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were nicknames, mutually conferred upon each other by my three clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective persons or characters. Turkey was a short, pursy Englishman of about my own age, that is, somewhere not far from sixty. In the morning, one might say, his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o'clock, meridian—his dinner hour—it blazed like a grate full of Christmas coals; and continued blazing—but, as it were, with a gradual wane—till 6 o'clock, P.M. or thereabouts, after which I saw no more of the proprietor of the face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemed to set with it, to rise, culminate, and decline the following day, with the like regularity and undiminished glory. There are many singular coincidences I have known in the course of my life, not the least among which was the fact, that exactly when Turkey displayed his fullest beams from his red and radiant countenance, just then, too, at that critical moment, began the daily period when I considered his business capacities as seriously disturbed for the remainder of the twenty-four hours. Not that he was absolutely idle, or averse to business then; far from it. The difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether too energetic. There was a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty recklessness of activity about him. He would be incautious in dipping his pen into his inkstand. All his blots upon my documents, were dropped there after twelve o'clock, meridian. Indeed, not only would he be reckless and sadly given to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further, and was rather noisy. At such times, too, his face flamed with augmented blazonry, as if cannel coal had been heaped on anthracite. He made an unpleasant racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; in mending his pens, impatiently split them all to pieces, and threw them on the floor in a sudden passion; stood up and leaned over his table, boxing his papers about in a most indecorous manner, very sad to behold in an elderly man like him. Nevertheless, as he was in many ways a most valuable person to me, and all the time before twelve o'clock, meridian, was the quickest, steadiest creature too, accomplishing a great deal of work in a style not easy to be matched—for these reasons, I was willing to overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, occasionally, I remonstrated with him. I did this very gently, however, because, though the civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in the morning, yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to be slightly rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. Now, valuing his morning services as I did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at the same time made uncomfortable by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock; and being a man of peace, unwilling by my admonitions to call forth unseemly retorts from him; I took upon me, one Saturday noon (he was always worse on Saturdays), to hint to him, very kindly, that perhaps now that he was growing old, it might be well to abridge his labors; in short, he need not come to my chambers after twelve o'clock, but, dinner over, had best go home to his lodgings and rest himself till teatime. But no; he insisted upon his afternoon devotions. His countenance became intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured me—gesticulating with a long ruler at the other end of the room—that if his services in the morning were useful, how indispensable, then, in the afternoon?"With submission, sir," said Turkey on this occasion, "I consider myself your right-hand man. In the morning I but marshal and deploy my columns; but in the afternoon I put myself at their head, and gallantly charge the foe, thus!"—and he made a violent thrust with the ruler."But the blots, Turkey," intimated I."True,—but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting old. Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not to be severely urged against gray hairs. Old age—even if it blot the page—is honorable. With submission, sir, we both are getting old."This appeal to my fellow-feeling was hardly to be resisted. At all events, I saw that go he would not. So I made up my mind to let him stay, resolving, nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoon he had to do with my less important papers.Nippers, the second on my list, was a whiskered, sallow, and, upon the whole, rather piratical-looking young man of about five and twenty. I always deemed him the victim of two evil powers—ambition and indigestion. The ambition was evinced by a certain impatience of the duties of a mere copyist, an unwarrantable usurpation of strictly professional affairs, such as the original drawing up of legal documents. The indigestion seemed betokened in an occasional nervous testiness and grinning irritability, causing the teeth to audibly grind together over mistakes committed in copying; unnecessary maledictions, hissed, rather than spoken, in the heat of business; and especially by a continual discontent with the height of the table where he worked. Though of a very ingenious mechanical turn, Nippers could never get this table to suit him. He put chips under it, blocks of various sorts, bits of pasteboard, and at last went so far as to attempt an exquisite adjustment by final pieces of folded blotting paper. But no invention would answer. If, for the sake of easing his back, he brought the table lid at a sharp angle well up towards his chin, and wrote there like a man using the steep roof of a Dutch house for his desk:—then he declared that it stopped the circulation in his arms. If now he lowered the table to his waistbands, and stooped over it in writing, then there was a sore aching in his back. In short, the truth of the matter was, Nippers knew not what he wanted. Or, if he wanted any thing, it was to be rid of a scrivener's table altogether. Among the manifestations of his diseased ambition was a fondness he had for receiving visits from certain ambiguous-looking fellows in seedy coats, whom he called his clients. Indeed I was aware that not only was he, at times, considerable of a ward-politician, but he occasionally did a little business at the Justices' courts, and was not unknown on the steps of the Tombs. I have good reason to believe, however, that one individual who called upon him at my chambers, and who, with a grand air, he insisted was his client, was no other than a dun, and the alleged title-deed, a bill. But with all his failings, and the annoyances he caused me, Nippers, like his compatriot Turkey, was a very useful man to me; wrote a neat, swift hand; and, when he chose, was not deficient in a gentlemanly sort of deportment. Added to this, he always dressed in a gentlemanly sort of way; and so, incidentally, reflected credit upon my chambers. Whereas with respect to Turkey, I had much ado to keep him from being a reproach to me. His clothes were apt to look oily and smell of eating-houses. He wore his pantaloons very loose and baggy in summer. His coats were execrable; his hat not to be handled. But while the hat was a thing of indifference to me, inasmuch as his natural civility and deference, as a dependent Englishman, always led him to doff it the moment he entered the room, yet his coat was another matter. Concerning his coats, I reasoned with him; but with no effect. The truth was, I suppose, that a man of so small an income, could not afford to sport such a lustrous face and a lustrous coat at one and the same time. As Nippers once observed, Turkey's money went chiefly for red ink. One winter day I presented Turkey with a highly-respectable looking coat of my own, a padded gray coat, of a most comfortable warmth, and which buttoned straight up from the knee to the neck. I thought Turkey would appreciate the favor, and abate his rashness and obstreperousness of afternoons. But no. I verily believe that buttoning himself up in so downy and blanket-like a coat had a pernicious effect upon him; upon the same principle that too much oats are bad for horses. In fact, precisely as a rash, restive horse is said to feel his oats, so Turkey felt his coat. It made him insolent. He was a man whom prosperity harmed.Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might by his faults in other respects, he was, at least, a temperate young man. But indeed, nature herself seemed to have been his vintner, and at his birth charged him so thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like disposition, that all subsequent potations were needless. When I consider how, amid the stillness of my chambers, Nippers would sometimes impatiently rise from his seat, and stooping over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seize the whole desk, and move it, and jerk it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor, as if the table were a perverse voluntary agent, intent on thwarting and vexing him; I plainly perceive that for Nippers, brandy and water were altogether superfluous.It was fortunate for me that, owing to its peculiar cause—indigestion—the irritability and consequent nervousness of Nippers, were mainly observable in the morning, while in the afternoon he was comparatively mild. So that Turkey's paroxysms only coming on about twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities at one time. Their fits relieved each other like guards. When Nippers' was on, Turkey's was off; and vice versa. This was a good natural arrangement under the circumstances.Ginger Nut, the third on my list, was a lad some twelve years old. His father was a carman, ambitious of seeing his son on the bench instead of a cart, before he died. So he sent him to my office as student at law, errand boy, and cleaner and sweeper, at the rate of one dollar a week. He had a little desk to himself, but he did not use it much. Upon inspection, the drawer exhibited a great array of the shells of various sorts of nuts. Indeed, to this quick-witted youth the whole noble science of the law was contained in a nut-shell. Not the least among the employments of Ginger Nut, as well as one which he discharged with the most alacrity, was his duty as cake and apple purveyor for Turkey and Nippers. Copying law papers being proverbially dry, husky sort of business, my two scriveners were fain to moisten their mouths very often with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls nigh the Custom House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very frequently for that peculiar cake—small, flat, round, and very spicy—after which he had been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but dull, Turkey would gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere wafers—indeed they sell them at the rate of six or eight for a penny—the scrape of his pen blending with the crunching of the crisp particles in his mouth. Of all the fiery afternoon blunders and flurried rashnesses of Turkey, was his once moistening a ginger-cake between his lips, and clapping it on to a mortgage for a seal. I came within an ace of dismissing him then. But he mollified me by making an oriental bow, and saying—"With submission, sir, it was generous of me to find you in stationery on my own account."Now my original business—that of a conveyancer and title hunter, and drawer-up of recondite documents of all sorts—was considerably increased by receiving the master's office. There was now great work for scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks already with me, but I must have additional help. In answer to my advertisement, a motionless young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the door being open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now—pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to have among my corps of copyists a man of so singularly sedate an aspect, which I thought might operate beneficially upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers.I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my premises into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the other by myself. According to my humor I threw open these doors, or closed them. I resolved to assign Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of them, so as to have this quiet man within easy call, in case any trifling thing was to be done. I placed his desk close up to a small side-window in that part of the room, a window which originally had afforded a lateral view of certain grimy back-yards and bricks, but which, owing to subsequent erections, commanded at present no view at all, though it gave some light. Within three feet of the panes was a wall, and the light came down from far above, between two lofty buildings, as from a very small opening in a dome. Still further to a satisfactory arrangement, I procured a high green folding screen, which might entirely isolate Bartleby from my sight, though not remove him from my voice. And thus, in a manner, privacy and society were conjoined.At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long famishing for something to copy, he seemed to gorge himself on my documents. There was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night line, copying by sun-light and by candle-light. I should have been quite delighted with his application, had he been cheerfully industrious. But he wrote on silently, palely, mechanically.It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener's business to verify the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or more scriveners in an office, they assist each other in this examination, one reading from the copy, the other holding the original. It is a very dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair. I can readily imagine that to some sanguine temperaments it would be altogether intolerable. For example, I cannot credit that the mettlesome poet Byron would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby to examine a law document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in a crimpy hand.Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist in comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for this purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me behind the screen, was to avail myself of his services on such trivial occasions. It was on the third day, I think, of his being with me, and before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing examined, that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and natural expectancy of instant compliance, I sat with my head bent over the original on my desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat nervously extended with the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from his retreat, Bartleby might snatch it and proceed to business without the least delay.In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating what it was I wanted him to do—namely, to examine a small paper with me. Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his privacy, Bartleby in a singularly mild, firm voice, replied, "I would prefer not to."I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the clearest tone I could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, "I would prefer not to.""Prefer not to," echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing the room with a stride. "What do you mean? Are you moon-struck? I want you to help me compare this sheet here—take it," and I thrust it towards him."I would prefer not to," said he.I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye dimly calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the least uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in other words, had there been any thing ordinarily human about him, doubtless I should have violently dismissed him from the premises. But as it was, I should have as soon thought of turning my pale plaster-of-paris bust of Cicero out of doors. I stood gazing at him awhile, as he went on with his own writing, and then reseated myself at my desk. This is very strange, thought I. What had one best do? But my business hurried me. I concluded to forget the matter for the present, reserving it for my future leisure. So calling Nippers from the other room, the paper was speedily examined.A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important suit, and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I called Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to place the four copies in the hands of my four clerks, while I should read from the original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats in a row, each with his document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to join this interesting group."Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."I heard a slow scrape of his chair legs on the uncarpeted floor, and soon he appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage."What is wanted?" said he mildly."The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them. There"—and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate."I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.For a few moments I was turned into a pillar of salt, standing at the head of my seated column of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced towards the screen, and demanded the reason for such extraordinary conduct."Why do you refuse?""I would prefer not to."With any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion, scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him."These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. It is common usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his copy. Is it not so? Will you not speak? Answer!""I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me that while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every statement that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible conclusions; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed with him to reply as he did."You are decided, then, not to comply with my request—a request made according to common usage and common sense?"He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my judgment was sound. Yes: his decision was irreversible.It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some unprecedented and violently unreasonable way, he begins to stagger in his own plainest faith. He begins, as it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the justice and all the reason is on the other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own faltering mind."Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?""With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think that you are.""Nippers," said I, "what do you think of it?""I think I should kick him out of the office."(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning, Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but Nippers replies in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nippers' ugly mood was on duty and Turkey's off.)"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf, "what do you think of it?""I think, sir, he's a little luny," replied Ginger Nut with a grin."You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth and do your duty."But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But once more business hurried me. I determined again to postpone the consideration of this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey deferentially dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of the common; while Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness, ground out between his set teeth occasional hissing maledictions against the stubborn oaf behind the screen. And for his (Nippers') part, this was the first and the last time he would do another man's business without pay.Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but his own peculiar business there.Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work. His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his ways narrowly. I observed that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office. He was a perpetual sentry in the corner. At about eleven o'clock though, in the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance toward the opening in Bartleby's screen, as if silently beckoned thither by a gesture invisible to me where I sat. The boy would then leave the office jingling a few pence, and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in the hermitage, receiving two of the cakes for his trouble.He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a dinner, properly speaking; he must be a vegetarian then; but no; he never eats even vegetables, he eats nothing but ginger-nuts. My mind then ran on in reveries concerning the probable effects upon the human constitution of living entirely on ginger-nuts. Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as one of their peculiar constituents, and the final flavoring one. Now what was ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all. Ginger, then, had no effect upon Bartleby. Probably he preferred it should have none.Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance. If the individual so resisted be of a not inhumane temper, and the resisting one perfectly harmless in his passivity; then, in the better moods of the former, he will endeavor charitably to construe to his imagination what proves impossible to be solved by his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded Bartleby and his ways. Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is plain he intends no insolence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his eccentricities are involuntary. He is useful to me. I can get along with him. If I turn him away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent employer, and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth miserably to starve. Yes. Here I can cheaply purchase a delicious self-approval. To befriend Bartleby; to humor him in his strange willfulness, will cost me little or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually prove a sweet morsel for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable with me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely goaded on to encounter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark from him answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed to strike fire with my knuckles against a bit of Windsor soap. But one afternoon the evil impulse in me mastered me, and the following little scene ensued:"Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare them with you.""I would prefer not to.""How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary?"No answer.I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey andNippers, exclaimed in an excited manner—"He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think of it, Turkey?"It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler, his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers."Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step behind his screen, and black his eyes for him!"So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a pugilistic position. He was hurrying away to make good his promise, when I detained him, alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey's combativeness after dinner."Sit down, Turkey," said I, "and hear what Nippers has to say. What do you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately dismissing Bartleby?""Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct quite unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only be a passing whim.""Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then—you speak very gently of him now.""All beer," cried Turkey; "gentleness is effects of beer—Nippers and I dined together to-day. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall I go and black his eyes?""You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied; "pray, put up your fists."I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional incentives tempting me to my fate. I burned to be rebelled against again. I remembered that Bartleby never left the office."Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the Post Office, won't you? (it was but a three minute walk,) and see if there is any thing for me.""I would prefer not to.""You will not?""I prefer not."I staggered to my desk, and sat there in a deep study. My blind inveteracy returned. Was there any other thing in which I could procure myself to be ignominiously repulsed by this lean, penniless wight?—my hired clerk? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable, that he will be sure to refuse to do?"Bartleby!"No answer."Bartleby," in a louder tone.No answer."Bartleby," I roared.Like a very ghost, agreeably to the laws of magical invocation, at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage."Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me.""I prefer not to," he respectfully and slowly said, and mildly disappeared."Very good, Bartleby," said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe self-possessed tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some terrible retribution very close at hand. At the moment I half intended something of the kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my dinner-hour, I thought it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day, suffering much from perplexity and distress of mind.Shall I acknowledge it? The conclusion of this whole business was, that it soon became a fixed fact of my chambers, that a pale young scrivener, by the name of Bartleby, and a desk there; that he copied for me at the usual rate of four cents a folio (one hundred words); but he was permanently exempt from examining the work done by him, that duty being transferred to Turkey and Nippers, one of compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness; moreover, said Bartleby was never on any account to be dispatched on the most trivial errand of any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon him such a matter, it was generally understood that he would prefer not to—in other words, that he would refuse pointblank.As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen), his great, stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances, made him a valuable acquisition. One prime thing was this,—he was always there;—first in the morning, continually through the day, and the last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could not, for the very soul of me, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic passions with him. For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the time those strange peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions, forming the tacit stipulations on Bartleby's part under which he remained in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business, I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual answer, "I prefer not to," was sure to come; and then, how could a human creature with the common infirmities of our nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness—such unreasonableness. However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only tended to lessen the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.Here it must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. Another was kept by Turkey for convenience sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own pocket. The fourth I knew not who had.Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to hear a celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early on the ground, I thought I would walk around to my chambers for a while. Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found it resisted by something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, the apparition of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and—preferred not admitting me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time he would probably have concluded his affairs.Now, the utterly unsurmised appearance of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers of a Sunday morning, with his cadaverously gentlemanly nonchalance, yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me, that incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but unmanned me, as it were. For I consider that one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits his hired clerk to dictate to him, and order him away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question. It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person. But what could he be doing there?—copying? Nay again, whatever might be his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity. Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade the supposition that he would by any secular occupation violate the proprieties of the day.Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity, at last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened it, and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously, peeped behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon more closely examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period Bartleby must have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without plate, mirror, or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one corner bore the faint impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under his desk, I found a blanket; under the empty grate, a blacking box and brush; on a chair, a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper a few crumbs of ginger-nuts and a morsel of cheese. Yes, thought I, it is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping bachelor's hall all by himself. Immediately then the thought came sweeping across me, What miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed! His poverty is great; but his solitude, how horrible! Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall-street is deserted as Petra; and every night of every day it is an emptiness. This building too, which of week-days hums with industry and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude which he has seen all populous—a sort of innocent and transformed Marius brooding among the ruins of Carthage!For the first time in my life a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness. The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were sons of Adam. I remembered the bright silks and sparkling faces I had seen that day, in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the Mississippi of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid copyist, and thought to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the world is gay; but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. These sad fancyings—chimeras, doubtless, of a sick and silly brain—led on to other and more special thoughts, concerning the eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered round me. The scrivener's pale form appeared to me laid out, among uncaring strangers, in its shivering winding sheet.Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight left in the lock.I mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too, so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged, the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings' bank.I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading—no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid—how shall I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his.Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential feeling began to steal over me. My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the soul rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not reach.I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning. Somehow, the things I had seen disqualified me for the time from church-going. I walked homeward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I resolved upon this;—I would put certain calm questions to him the next morning, touching his history, etc., and if he declined to answer them openly and unreservedly (and I supposed he would prefer not), then to give him a twenty dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him, and tell him his services were no longer required; but that if in any other way I could assist him, I would be happy to do so, especially if he desired to return to his native place, wherever that might be, I would willingly help to defray the expenses. Moreover, if, after reaching home, he found himself at any time in want of aid, a letter from him would be sure of a reply.The next morning came."Bartleby," said I, gently calling to him behind his screen.No reply."Bartleby," said I, in a still gentler tone, "come here; I am not going to ask you to do any thing you would prefer not to do—I simply wish to speak to you."Upon this he noiselessly slid into view."Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born?""I would prefer not to.""Will you tell me any thing about yourself?""I would prefer not to.""But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards you."He did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my bust of Cicero, which as I then sat, was directly behind me, some six inches above my head."What is your answer, Bartleby?" said I, after waiting a considerable time for a reply, during which his countenance remained immovable, only there was the faintest conceivable tremor of the white attenuated mouth."At present I prefer to give no answer," he said, and retired into his hermitage.It was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner on this occasion nettled me. Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain calm disdain, but his perverseness seemed ungrateful, considering the undeniable good usage and indulgence he had received from me.Again I sat ruminating what I should do. Mortified as I was at his behavior, and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my offices, nevertheless I strangely felt something superstitious knocking at my heart, and forbidding me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing me for a villain if I dared to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind. At last, familiarly drawing my chair behind his screen, I sat down and said: "Bartleby, never mind then about revealing your history; but let me entreat you, as a friend, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this office. Say now you will help to examine papers to-morrow or next day: in short, say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:—say so, Bartleby.""At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable," was his mildly cadaverous reply.Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed suffering from an unusually bad night's rest, induced by severer indigestion then common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby."Prefer not, eh?" gritted Nippers—"I'd prefer him, if I were you, sir," addressing me—"I'd prefer him; I'd give him preferences, the stubborn mule! What is it, sir, pray, that he prefers not to do now?"Bartleby moved not a limb."Mr. Nippers," said I, "I'd prefer that you would withdraw for the present."Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntarily using this word "prefer" upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I trembled to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously affected me in a mental way. And what further and deeper aberration might it not yet produce? This apprehension had not been without efficacy in determining me to summary means.As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly and deferentially approached."With submission, sir," said he, "yesterday I was thinking about Bartleby here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart of good ale every day, it would do much towards mending him, and enabling him to assist in examining his papers.""So you have got the word too," said I, slightly excited."With submission, what word, sir," asked Turkey, respectfully crowding himself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing, making me jostle the scrivener. "What word, sir?""I would prefer to be left alone here," said Bartleby, as if offended at being mobbed in his privacy."That's the word, Turkey," said I—"that's it.""Oh, prefer? oh yes—queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir, asI was saying, if he would but prefer—""Turkey," interrupted I, "you will please withdraw.""Oh certainly, sir, if you prefer that I should."As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught a glimpse of me, and asked whether I would prefer to have a certain paper copied on blue paper or white. He did not in the least roguishly accent the word prefer. It was plain that it involuntarily rolled form his tongue. I thought to myself, surely I must get rid of a demented man, who already has in some degree turned the tongues, if not the heads of myself and clerks. But I thought it prudent not to break the dismission at once.The next day I noticed that Bartleby did nothing but stand at his window in his dead-wall revery. Upon asking him why he did not write, he said that he had decided upon doing no more writing."Why, how now? what next?" exclaimed I, "do no more writing?""No more.""And what is the reason?""Do you not see the reason for yourself," he indifferently replied.I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have temporarily impaired his vision.I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that of course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and urged him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in the open air. This, however, he did not do. A few days after this, my other clerks being absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatch certain letters by the mail, I thought that, having nothing else earthly to do, Bartleby would surely be less inflexible than usual, and carry these letters to the post-office. But he blankly declined. So, much to my inconvenience, I went myself.Still added days went by. Whether Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked him if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had permanently given up copying."What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well—better than ever before—would you not copy then?""I have given up copying," he answered, and slid aside.He remained as ever, a fixture in my chamber. Nay—if that were possible—he became still more of a fixture than before. What was to be done? He would do nothing in the office: why should he stay there? In plain fact, he had now become a millstone to me, not only useless as a necklace, but afflictive to bear. Yet I was sorry for him. I speak less than truth when I say that, on his own account, he occasioned me uneasiness. If he would but have named a single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, and urged their taking the poor fellow away to some convenient retreat. But he seemed alone, absolutely alone in the universe. A bit of wreck in the mid Atlantic. At length, necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all other considerations. Decently as I could, I told Bartleby that in six days' time he must unconditionally leave the office. I warned him to take measures, in the interval, for procuring some other abode. I offered to assist him in this endeavor, if he himself would but take the first step towards a removal. "And when you finally quit me, Bartleby," added I, "I shall see that you go not away entirely unprovided. Six days from this hour, remember."At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and lo!Bartleby was there.I buttoned up my coat, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him, touched his shoulder, and said, "The time has come; you must quit this place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go.""I would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me."You must."He remained silent.Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. He had frequently restored to me sixpences and shillings carelessly dropped upon the floor, for I am apt to be very reckless in such shirt-button affairs. The proceeding then which followed will not be deemed extraordinary."Bartleby," said I, "I owe you twelve dollars on account; here are thirty-two; the odd twenty are yours.—Will you take it?" and I handed the bills towards him.But he made no motion."I will leave them here then," putting them under a weight on the table. Then taking my hat and cane and going to the door I tranquilly turned and added—"After you have removed your things from these offices, Bartleby, you will of course lock the door—since every one is now gone for the day but you—and if you please, slip your key underneath the mat, so that I may have it in the morning. I shall not see you again; so good-bye to you. If hereafter in your new place of abode I can be of any service to you, do not fail to advise me by letter. Good-bye, Bartleby, and fare you well."But he answered not a word; like the last column of some ruined temple, he remained standing mute and solitary in the middle of the otherwise deserted room.As I walked home in a pensive mood, my vanity got the better of my pity. I could not but highly plume myself on my masterly management in getting rid of Bartleby. Masterly I call it, and such it must appear to any dispassionate thinker. The beauty of my procedure seemed to consist in its perfect quietness. There was no vulgar bullying, no bravado of any sort, no choleric hectoring, and striding to and fro across the apartment, jerking out vehement commands for Bartleby to bundle himself off with his beggarly traps. Nothing of the kind. Without loudly bidding Bartleby depart—as an inferior genius might have done—I assumed the ground that depart he must; and upon that assumption built all I had to say. The more I thought over my procedure, the more I was charmed with it. Nevertheless, next morning, upon awakening, I had my doubts,—I had somehow slept off the fumes of vanity. One of the coolest and wisest hours a man has, is just after he awakes in the morning. My procedure seemed as sagacious as ever.—but only in theory. How it would prove in practice—there was the rub. It was truly a beautiful thought to have assumed Bartleby's departure; but, after all, that assumption was simply my own, and none of Bartleby's. The great point was, not whether I had assumed that he would quit me, but whether he would prefer so to do. He was more a man of preferences than assumptions.After breakfast, I walked down town, arguing the probabilities pro and con. One moment I thought it would prove a miserable failure, and Bartleby would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next moment it seemed certain that I should see his chair empty. And so I kept veering about. At the corner of Broadway and Canal-street, I saw quite an excited group of people standing in earnest conversation."I'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as I passed."Doesn't go?—done!" said I, "put up your money."I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, when I remembered that this was an election day. The words I had overheard bore no reference to Bartleby, but to the success or non-success of some candidate for the mayoralty. In my intent frame of mind, I had, as it were, imagined that all Broadway shared in my excitement, and were debating the same question with me. I passed on, very thankful that the uproar of the street screened my momentary absent-mindedness.As I had intended, I was earlier than usual at my office door. I stood listening for a moment. All was still. He must be gone. I tried the knob. The door was locked. Yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; he indeed must be vanished. Yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: I was almost sorry for my brilliant success. I was fumbling under the door mat for the key, which Bartleby was to have left there for me, when accidentally my knee knocked against a panel, producing a summoning sound, and in response a voice came to me from within—"Not yet; I am occupied."It was Bartleby.I was thunderstruck. For an instant I stood like the man who, pipe in mouth, was killed one cloudless afternoon long ago in Virginia, by a summer lightning; at his own warm open window he was killed, and remained leaning out there upon the dreamy afternoon, till some one touched him, when he fell."Not gone!" I murmured at last. But again obeying that wondrous ascendancy which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and from which ascendancy, for all my chafing, I could not completely escape, I slowly went down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round the block, considered what I should next do in this unheard-of perplexity. Turn the man out by an actual thrusting I could not; to drive him away by calling him hard names would not do; calling in the police was an unpleasant idea; and yet, permit him to enjoy his cadaverous triumph over me,—this too I could not think of. What was to be done? or, if nothing could be done, was there any thing further that I could assume in the matter? Yes, as before I had prospectively assumed that Bartleby would depart, so now I might retrospectively assume that departed he was. In the legitimate carrying out of this assumption, I might enter my office in a great hurry, and pretending not to see Bartleby at all, walk straight against him as if he were air. Such a proceeding would in a singular degree have the appearance of a home-thrust. It was hardly possible that Bartleby could withstand such an application of the doctrine of assumptions. But upon second thoughts the success of the plan seemed rather dubious. I resolved to argue the matter over with him again."Bartleby," said I, entering the office, with a quietly severe expression, "I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had thought better of you. I had imagined you of such a gentlemanly organization, that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint would have suffice—in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why," I added, unaffectedly starting, "you have not even touched that money yet," pointing to it, just where I had left it the evening previous.He answered nothing."Will you, or will you not, quit me?" I now demanded in a sudden passion, advancing close to him."I would prefer not to quit you," he replied, gently emphasizing the not."What earthly right have you to stay here? Do you pay any rent? Do you pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?"He answered nothing."Are you ready to go on and write now? Are your eyes recovered? Could you copy a small paper for me this morning? or help examine a few lines? or step round to the post-office? In a word, will you do any thing at all, to give a coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?"He silently retired into his hermitage.I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but prudent to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby and I were alone. I remembered the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into his fatal act—an act which certainly no man could possibly deplore more than the actor himself. Often it had occurred to me in my ponderings upon the subject, that had that altercation taken place in the public street, or at a private residence, it would not have terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being alone in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed by humanizing domestic associations—an uncarpeted office, doubtless, of a dusty, haggard sort of appearance;—this it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation of the hapless Colt.But when this old Adam of resentment rose in me and tempted me concerning Bartleby, I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the divine injunction: "A new commandment give I unto you, that ye love one another." Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from higher considerations, charity often operates as a vastly wise and prudent principle—a great safeguard to its possessor. Men have committed murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake, and hatred's sake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but no man that ever I heard of, ever committed a diabolical murder for sweet charity's sake. Mere self-interest, then, if no better motive can be enlisted, should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charity and philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question, I strove to drown my exasperated feelings towards the scrivener by benevolently construing his conduct. Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don't mean any thing; and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to be indulged.I endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time to comfort my despondency. I tried to fancy that in the course of the morning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him. Bartleby, of his own free accord, would emerge from his hermitage, and take up some decided line of march in the direction of the door. But no. Half-past twelve o'clock came; Turkey began to glow in the face, overturn his inkstand, and become generally obstreperous; Nippers abated down into quietude and courtesy; Ginger Nut munched his noon apple; and Bartleby remained standing at his window in one of his profoundest dead-wall reveries. Will it be credited? Ought I to acknowledge it? That afternoon I left the office without saying one further word to him.Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little into "Edwards on the Will," and "Priestly on Necessity." Under the circumstances, those books induced a salutary feeling. Gradually I slid into the persuasion that these troubles of mine touching the scrivener, had been all predestinated from eternity, and Bartleby was billeted upon me for some mysterious purpose of an all-wise Providence, which it was not for a mere mortal like me to fathom. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen, thought I; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless as any of these old chairs; in short, I never feel so private as when I know you are here. At last I see it, I feel it; I penetrate to the predestinated purpose of my life. I am content. Others may have loftier parts to enact; but my mission in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room for such period as you may see fit to remain.I believe that this wise and blessed frame of mind would have continued with me, had it not been for the unsolicited and uncharitable remarks obtruded upon me by my professional friends who visited the rooms. But thus it often is, that the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the best resolves of the more generous. Though to be sure, when I reflected upon it, it was not strange that people entering my office should be struck by the peculiar aspect of the unaccountable Bartleby, and so be tempted to throw out some sinister observations concerning him. Sometimes an attorney having business with me, and calling at my office and finding no one but the scrivener there, would undertake to obtain some sort of precise information from him touching my whereabouts; but without heeding his idle talk, Bartleby would remain standing immovable in the middle of the room. So after contemplating him in that position for a time, the attorney would depart, no wiser than he came.Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and witnesses and business was driving fast; some deeply occupied legal gentleman present, seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him to run round to his (the legal gentleman's) office and fetch some papers for him. Thereupon, Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and yet remain idle as before. Then the lawyer would give a great stare, and turn to me. And what could I say? At last I was made aware that all through the circle of my professional acquaintance, a whisper of wonder was running round, having reference to the strange creature I kept at my office. This worried me very much. And as the idea came upon me of his possibly turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and denying my authority; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing my professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the premises; keeping soul and body together to the last upon his savings (for doubtless he spent but half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps outlive me, and claim possession of my office by right of his perpetual occupancy: as all these dark anticipations crowded upon me more and more, and my friends continually intruded their relentless remarks upon the apparition in my room; a great change was wrought in me. I resolved to gather all my faculties together, and for ever rid me of this intolerable incubus.Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I first simply suggested to Bartleby the propriety of his permanent departure. In a calm and serious tone, I commended the idea to his careful and mature consideration. But having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised me that his original determination remained the same in short, that he still preferred to abide with me.What shall I do? I now said to myself, buttoning up my coat to the last button. What shall I do? what ought I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or rather ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But how? You will not thrust him, the poor, pale, passive mortal,—you will not thrust such a helpless creature out of your door? you will not dishonor yourself by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot do that. Rather would I let him live and die here, and then mason up his remains in the wall. What then will you do? For all your coaxing, he will not budge. Bribes he leaves under your own paperweight on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers to cling to you.Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing to be done?—a vagrant, is he? What! he a vagrant, a wanderer, who refuses to budge? It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you seek to count him as a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of support: there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he does support himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show of his possessing the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit me, I must quit him. I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then proceed against him as a common trespasser.Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him: "I find these chambers too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose to remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services. I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place."He made no reply, and nothing more was said.On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers, and having but little furniture, every thing was removed in a few hours. Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind the screen, which I directed to be removed the last thing. It was withdrawn; and being folded up like a huge folio, left him the motionless occupant of a naked room. I stood in the entry watching him a moment, while something from within me upbraided me.I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—and—and my heart in my mouth."Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going—good-bye, and God some way bless you; and take that," slipping something in his hand. But it dropped upon the floor, and then,—strange to say—I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be rid of.Established in my new quarters, for a day or two I kept the door locked, and started at every footfall in the passages. When I returned to my rooms after any little absence, I would pause at the threshold for an instant, and attentively listen, ere applying my key. But these fears were needless. Bartleby never came nigh me.I thought all was going well, when a perturbed looking stranger visited me, inquiring whether I was the person who had recently occupied rooms at No.—Wall-street.Full of forebodings, I replied that I was."Then sir," said the stranger, who proved a lawyer, "you are responsible for the man you left there. He refuses to do any copying; he refuses to do any thing; he says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the premises.""I am very sorry, sir," said I, with assumed tranquility, but an inward tremor, "but, really, the man you allude to is nothing to me—he is no relation or apprentice of mine, that you should hold me responsible for him.""In mercy's name, who is he?""I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I employed him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time past.""I shall settle him then,—good morning, sir."Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt a charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet a certain squeamishness of I know not what withheld me.All is over with him, by this time, thought I at last, when through another week no further intelligence reached me. But coming to my room the day after, I found several persons waiting at my door in a high state of nervous excitement."That's the man—here he comes," cried the foremost one, whom I recognized as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone."You must take him away, sir, at once," cried a portly person among them, advancing upon me, and whom I knew to be the landlord of No.—Wall-street. "These gentlemen, my tenants, cannot stand it any longer; Mr. B—" pointing to the lawyer, "has turned him out of his room, and he now persists in haunting the building generally, sitting upon the banisters of the stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night. Every body is concerned; clients are leaving the offices; some fears are entertained of a mob; something you must do, and that without delay."Aghast at this torrent, I fell back before it, and would fain have locked myself in my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby was nothing to me—no more than to any one else. In vain:—I was the last person known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the terrible account. Fearful then of being exposed in the papers (as one person present obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener, in his (the lawyer's) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to rid them of the nuisance they complained of.Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon the banister at the landing."What are you doing here, Bartleby?" said I."Sitting upon the banister," he mildly replied.I motioned him into the lawyer's room, who then left us."Bartleby," said I, "are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being dismissed from the office?"No answer."Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something, or something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?""No; I would prefer not to make any change.""Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?""There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship; but I am not particular.""Too much confinement," I cried, "why you keep yourself confined all the time!""I would prefer not to take a clerkship," he rejoined, as if to settle that little item at once."How would a bar-tender's business suit you? There is no trying of the eyesight in that.""I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular."His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge."Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.""No, I would prefer to be doing something else.""How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young gentleman with your conversation,—how would that suit you?""Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.""Stationary you shall be then," I cried, now losing all patience, and for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying into a passion. "If you do not go away from these premises before night, I shall feel bound—indeed I am bound—to—to—to quit the premises myself!" I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance. Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly unindulged before."Bartleby," said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such exciting circumstances, "will you go home with me now—not to my office, but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right away.""No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."I answered nothing; but effectually dodging every one by the suddenness and rapidity of my flight, rushed from the building, ran up Wall-street towards Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus was soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquility returned I distinctly perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could, both in respect to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and with regard to my own desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby, and shield him from rude persecution. I now strove to be entirely care-free and quiescent; and my conscience justified me in the attempt; though indeed it was not so successful as I could have wished. So fearful was I of being again hunted out by the incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business to Nippers, for a few days I drove about the upper part of the town and through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken, and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact I almost lived in my rockaway for the time.When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon the desk. I opened it with trembling hands. It informed me that the writer had sent to the police, and had Bartleby removed to the Tombs as a vagrant. Moreover, since I knew more about him than any one else, he wished me to appear at that place, and make a suitable statement of the facts. These tidings had a conflicting effect upon me. At first I was indignant; but at last almost approved. The landlord's energetic, summary disposition had led him to adopt a procedure which I do not think I would have decided upon myself; and yet as a last resort, under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan.As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his pale unmoving way, silently acquiesced.Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and headed by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, the silent procession filed its way through all the noise, and heat, and joy of the roaring thoroughfares at noon.The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the purpose of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was indeed within. I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly honest man, and greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric. I narrated all I knew, and closed by suggesting the idea of letting him remain in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less harsh might be done—though indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if nothing else could be decided upon, the alms-house must receive him. I then begged to have an interview.Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and especially in the inclosed grass-platted yard thereof. And so I found him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face towards a high wall, while all around, from the narrow slits of the jail windows, I thought I saw peering out upon him the eyes of murderers and thieves."Bartleby!""I know you," he said, without looking round,—"and I want nothing to say to you.""It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby," said I, keenly pained at his implied suspicion. "And to you, this should not be so vile a place. Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here. And see, it is not so sad a place as one might think. Look, there is the sky, and here is the grass.""I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I left him.As I entered the corridor again, a broad meat-like man, in an apron, accosted me, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder said—"Is that your friend?""Yes.""Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare, that's all.""Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an unofficially speaking person in such a place."I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to provide them with something good to eat.""Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.He said it was."Well then," said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man's hands (for so they called him). "I want you to give particular attention to my friend there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be as polite to him as possible.""Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an expression which seem to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a specimen of his breeding.Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and asking the grub-man his name, went up with him to Bartleby."Bartleby, this is Mr. Cutlets; you will find him very useful to you.""Your sarvant, sir, your sarvant," said the grub-man, making a low salutation behind his apron. "Hope you find it pleasant here, sir;—spacious grounds—cool apartments, sir—hope you'll stay with us some time—try to make it agreeable. May Mrs. Cutlets and I have the pleasure of your company to dinner, sir, in Mrs. Cutlets' private room?""I prefer not to dine to-day," said Bartleby, turning away. "It would disagree with me; I am unused to dinners." So saying he slowly moved to the other side of the inclosure, and took up a position fronting the dead-wall."How's this?" said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare of astonishment. "He's odd, aint he?""I think he is a little deranged," said I, sadly."Deranged? deranged is it? Well now, upon my word, I thought that friend of yourn was a gentleman forger; they are always pale and genteel-like, them forgers. I can't pity'em—can't help it, sir. Did you know Monroe Edwards?" he added touchingly, and paused. Then, laying his hand pityingly on my shoulder, sighed, "he died of consumption at Sing-Sing. So you weren't acquainted with Monroe?""No, I was never socially acquainted with any forgers. But I cannot stop longer. Look to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will see you again."Some few days after this, I again obtained admission to the Tombs, and went through the corridors in quest of Bartleby; but without finding him."I saw him coming from his cell not long ago," said a turnkey, "may be he's gone to loiter in the yards."So I went in that direction."Are you looking for the silent man?" said another turnkey passing me. "Yonder he lies—sleeping in the yard there. 'Tis not twenty minutes since I saw him lie down."The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners. The surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, kept off all sounds behind them. The Egyptian character of the masonry weighed upon me with its gloom. But a soft imprisoned turf grew under foot. The heart of the eternal pyramids, it seemed, wherein, by some strange magic, through the clefts, grass-seed, dropped by birds, had sprung.Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, his knees drawn up, and lying on his side, his head touching the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing stirred. I paused; then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his dim eyes were open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. Something prompted me to touch him. I felt his hand, when a tingling shiver ran up my arm and down my spine to my feet.The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. "His dinner is ready. Won't he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?""Lives without dining," said I, and closed his eyes."Eh!—He's asleep, aint he?""With kings and counselors," murmured I.* * * * * * * *There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. Imagination will readily supply the meager recital of poor Bartleby's interment. But ere parting with the reader, let me say, that if this little narrative has sufficiently interested him, to awaken curiosity as to who Bartleby was, and what manner of life he led prior to the present narrator's making his acquaintance, I can only reply, that in such curiosity I fully share, but am wholly unable to gratify it. Yet here I hardly know whether I should divulge one little item of rumor, which came to my ear a few months after the scrivener's decease. Upon what basis it rested, I could never ascertain; and hence, how true it is I cannot now tell. But inasmuch as this vague report has not been without certain strange suggestive interest to me, however sad, it may prove the same with some others; and so I will briefly mention it. The report was this: that Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington, from which he had been suddenly removed by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead letters! does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters, and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring:—the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity:—he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to death.Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! End of Project Gutenberg's Bartleby, The Scrivener, by Herman Melville*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER ***This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net 

“如果我们选择了最能为人类福利而劳动的职业，那么重担就不能把我们压倒，因为这是为大家而献身；那时我们所感到的就不再是可怜的、有限的、自私的乐趣，我们的幸福将属于千百万人，我们的事业将默默地、但是将永恒地发挥作用地存在下去。面对我们的骨灰，高尚的人们将洒下热泪。”

只要谈到现代中国的父亲问题，人们往往难以绕过鲁迅和弗洛伊德两个名字。

本文为1999年汪晖先生应佩里·安德森教授的邀请访问洛杉矶并进行讨论的记录，而前半篇中着重探讨的所谓“新左派”与“新自由主义”之分歧仍在影响当下社会思想。

我对纯粹的"好古"没有兴趣。我相信，当年王国维研究殷周制度也不是为了纯粹的"好古"，而是为了现代中国面临的改制问题而"好古"。如今好些研究中国古代政制史的学人其实也是为了"今"而"好古"，与王国维不同的是，他们用现代西方的启蒙观念来重写中国古代史，以便符合一个结论：凡没有自由民主的古代政制都是坏的。可是，当他们面对古希腊的雅典民主政制时，就非常尴尬，因为，雅典民主政制晚期的经典作家几乎无不尖锐批判自由民主

于约旦杰拉什与伊尔比德的巴勒斯坦难民营数次讲演

六十年前在上海的那些日子, 附：罗青评论.

得知丹尼尔·贝尔去世的消息，我感到非常难过。我和贝老的第一次接触是在1993年，在随后的几年里我们经常通信。我与贝老最后一次通讯是在一年前，想征询他是否允许把我们之间的来往书信用在我与他人合著的书中。这本《城市的精神》是把对一个城市的心态的理论化与个人历史结合起来的书（2011年将由普林斯顿大学出版社出版）。以下选段就是出自该书论证移民对纽约的成功的重要性的章节。 新加坡，1993年11月。丹尼尔收到纽约著名知识分子丹尼尔·贝尔的传真。开头写到“我认为任何一个名叫约翰·斯密斯的人看到他的名字在很多地方出现甚至作为作者出现在不同的书上都会习以为常，但看到《泰晤士报文学副刊》上的新书广告，说牛津大学出版社出了一本丹尼尔·贝尔著的《社群主义及其批评家》，那个丹尼尔·贝尔除了名字，并没有其他身份特征，我还是感到非常吃惊。”贝尔接着解释说他也撰写关于社群主义的内容，在信的末尾他写到“无论如何，纯粹出于好奇，我希望更多了解你的背景和思想。” 丹尼尔用传真回复，解释了他的家庭背景。“为了逃离俄国对犹太人的屠杀，我的曾祖父丹尼尔·别列斯基（Daniel Belitsky）身上只穿了一件短袖衫，和数千其他犹太人移民一起在1905年在埃利斯岛（Ellis Island）下船来到新大陆。”丹尼尔解释说他的祖父把名字缩短为贝尔，以便更符合非犹太人主流社会的习惯，他希望他的其中一个儿子起名“丹尼尔”以纪念他的父亲。这就是丹尼尔名字的由来。 几个小时内，丹尼尔收到丹尼尔·贝尔的另一份传真：“你的描述中与我的家世有很多不同寻常的相似之处。我的祖父阿拉姆·波罗茨基（Avram Bolotsky）是从立陶宛-波兰-俄罗斯三角地带在1905年来到埃利斯岛的。我的叔叔萨缪尔·波罗茨基（Samuel Bolotsky我的法律监护人）是牙科医生，在我1929年10岁的时候给我起名贝尔。所以，从1929年起，我成了丹尼尔·贝尔。” 这两个丹尼尔·贝尔几乎每天都传真交流。年轻的贝尔说他的有关社群主义的书已经被国会图书馆归类为社会学而不是归类为政治理论。老贝尔回答说“别管它。这里有两个原因，第一，如果你在“民主”中国求职，可以列举一长串的著作目录（我正在增补缩略的个人简历）[1]另外一个原因是你的著述时间将很长，将来的中国学者会吃惊地发现一个名叫丹尼尔·贝尔的人寿命长的惊人，他的著述时间超过90年。” 年轻的贝尔回答说“谢谢您的个人简历。如果我在民主中国求职的话，我肯定用这个名字，不过，即使我未来的雇主相信我可能写了这么多书，我们还面临一个更大的问题，或许我们需要等上几百年才能在中国看到民主制度。” 两个丹尼尔·贝尔最后决定年轻的丹尼尔·贝尔在未来的出版物作者介绍中加上字母A以便区分，免得两者混淆。但是计划赶不上变化，丹尼尔·A·贝尔在非民主的中国找到了工作，他有时候应邀在中国大学讲学时仍然会被错误地当作真正的丹尼尔·贝尔。 去年二月，我给丹·贝尔寄去了包含上述选段的有关纽约一章的初稿，他在第二天回信说： 亲爱的丹， 我假设这是“另一个”丹尼尔·贝尔，他有一个在北京的妻子宋冰，据说在北京拥有两家餐馆，还有一个儿子朱利安将与我的孙女伊兰娜（Elana）订婚。 这是解释我收到的信的唯一方式。 关于“城市”，你的课题听起来与理查德·塞尼特（Richard Senett）的妻子萨斯基娅·萨森（Saskia Sassen）的著作非常相似。所有这一切都说得通么？请告诉我。 祝好！ 老丹尼尔·贝尔 附：我认为“另一个”丹尼尔·贝尔已经同意给自己签名丹尼尔·A·贝尔来与最初的丹尼尔·贝尔区别开来，可是现在可能被下面这个事实所混淆，我的儿子大卫·A·贝尔（David A. Bell）如今在他所有的著作中都写上大卫·A·贝尔, 其中A代表阿拉姆（Avrom）用来作为中间名。我儿子大卫·A·贝尔是约翰霍普金斯大学的一个院长，即将到普林斯顿大学工作，如果我的记忆不错的话，你曾经作为洛克菲勒研究员在那里工作过。或许所有这些混淆都是命中注定的。 下面是我的回信： 亲爱的丹， 是的，是我，我期待这桩婚姻。 请多保重。 丹（丹尼尔·A·贝尔） 今天早上，我在《纽约时报》上看到丹尼尔·贝尔的讣告（我第一次看到这个名字，我担心它是不是我自己，但后来我想起来了我的名气还没有那么大足以在《纽约时报》上发布讣告）。这则讣告提到丹尼尔·贝尔的“自我嘲讽和谦逊”。我承认这不是我在想到丹尼尔·贝尔时首先想到的品质。从个人角度看，我对他的机智和热情印象最为深刻。他的传真给我在新加坡的日子带来最美好的时光。丹，祝愿你平安。我保证继续完成你为我设定的使命（但我还没有告诉我儿子他的使命呢）。 丹尼尔·A·贝尔(贝淡宁)  （北京，2011年1月23日）  吴万伟 译译者注： 丹尼尔·贝尔是我敬仰的著名学者和社会学家，很早就听说过他的《意识形态的终结》、《资本主义的文化矛盾》等著作。感谢贝淡宁教授第一时间把纪念丹尼尔·贝尔的文章发给我。记得第一次翻译贝淡宁教授的文章“老外在北京讲政治理论”时就曾把作者翻译成了丹尼尔·贝尔，文章在网络上发表后，曾有读者纳闷难道这个大名鼎鼎的学者到中国当老师了。后来再翻译他的著作时，我就用其中文名字贝淡宁了，不过一不小心，我仍然会搞错。前些天，我曾经给贝淡宁教授去信询问2010年秋《异议者》杂志上的一篇书评“重新思考人文学科：新世纪的建议”，但他告诉我该书评不是他写的，而是大卫·A·贝尔写的。我只专注于作者名字后半部分的A. Bell，却忽略了David 和Daniel 的区别。他还告诉我这个贝尔是著名学者丹尼尔·贝尔的儿子。世界真的很奇妙，相信读者也会对这个故事感兴趣的。 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [1] 老贝尔实际上给我传真了长达四页的个人简历，“提到了我出版的书籍，但略去了我写的很多很多文章。有些文章有点靠不住，因为年轻时担任社会民主派周刊《新领袖》（The New Leader）的执行编辑，未成熟的我在五年中写了250多篇文章(按照一个研究生的统计)，你可以算出来，一周一篇。”小贝尔认识到自己根本无法与他正面竞争，所以计算了需要多少年才可以赶上老贝尔的著作总数量。老贝尔回答说不仅仅是数量问题，他的两本书都入选《泰晤士报文学副刊》认定的自二战以来最有影响力的一百本著作。