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他们要吸引的，不是民众的思想，而是诉诸他们的恐惧情绪和自卫本能。

在東亞思想史上，「中國」這個極具指標性的概念，雖然形成於古代中國，但其內涵在近世日本與現代台灣，卻經歷轉變。「

比利时艺术家: 法朗士·麦绥莱勒 (Franz Masereel, 1889-1972)

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 

数据显示，在“晋升机会”、“工作报酬”、“工作稳定性”三个方面，中国青年律师的满意度都与美国青年律师有着明显的差距。而在“我的工作对社会的价值”的判断上，中国青年律师的评判还要稍微略高一些。

要避免快速衰败的必然命运，大国须敏感于其地位变化，以一种迅捷和相称的方式来做出反应，减少承诺和收敛抱负，恰当地调整其目标和手段，使收缩的力度与其衰落的速度相适应。做到"体面地衰落"，不仅可以延缓衰落，或许还能重振国力。这对于即将到来的中美权力转移不无启示。

百年多来的中国风光摄影，见证了国人和自然的关系，也折射出政治、经济时代和摄影师们的文化心路历程。由模仿古画，到讴歌权力和生活消费，中国的风光摄影实际上和它的真正对象一直存在着距离，显得过于艺术化。

鲍：你是中国当代艺术非常有代表性的人物，虽然你参与艺术是九十年代初以后，没有参与"八五新潮"和"八九现代大展"，但我仍然认为你是领军人物，一路很顺利。2011年纽约国际摄影中心ICP又给你办了首次中国影像艺术家的个展，在国际上影响很大。所以我特别想听一听你一路走来的历程，一是自己的感受，一是你对当代艺术历史的一种个人角度的观察。     说你顺利，是因为我觉得你有好几个有利的方面：     首先，你应该是最早使用摄影媒介的一拨人；第二，因为你跟栗宪庭的关系，所以深谙圈子内的事情；第三，一开始你就接触了西方的市场，当然这个市场上不全是买卖人，比如你跟Christopher Phillips(菲利普先生，美国纽约国际摄影中心ICP策划人)就是一种非常学术的关系。你相比其他艺术家有很多优势，因为你都在第一线。虽然现在我们很讨厌西方，但是像菲利普这样的人也代表西方一种比较良性的声音。今天这个对谈，我特别想听听你对这些的看法，澄清对许多事情的理解。     这两天我一直在做准备工作，看了很多你的访谈，但是访谈好的还是2000年胡同做的，张朝晖的也可以，还有后来杜曦云的，其它的主要都在谈事儿。     王：杜曦云当时在做一个摄影专辑。     鲍：上海同济大学的林黎估计是书面采访，所以你回答得很系统、很具体，那个蛮有意思的。 菲利普和2004年纽约ICP展览     王：真正的采访不是特别多，很多人来之后问可不可以录音，之后就成为一个文章或者是访谈。其实我跟菲利普聊过很长时间，他为2011年纽约ICP个展在2009年和我曾经聊了三天，没有谈到作品，他就谈我小时候怎么着，怎么回事，怎么认识张芳等等。因为作品他懂，已经很了解。后来个展规模缩小了，文章就没有出来。     鲍：本来应该在展览上一块出来？     王：最早是要出一本大概400页的文献性画册，后来经济危机，经费出问题了，就变成24页的小折页了。菲利普这个人确实比较学术，为了文章他做了十几个小时访谈，只谈小时候一直到北京的事情，讲我到北京之前是什么人，怎样接触到艺术等。到北京之后的状态他能想象，作品中也能体现出来。他2000年第一次到中国，就到了宋庄我的工作室。我们认识太偶然了。     鲍：菲利普去你宋庄很小的房子里，开始没当回事，只当在宋庄见到的无穷无尽小艺术家中的一个。     王：对，当时屋里只有一个在废品收购站30块钱买的小沙发，白天是沙发，晚上我们就睡上面。家里边也没有其它东西，墙上贴了一堆A4纸打印的小样片。他当时就转了转，也不知道聊什么，发现了墙上《老栗夜宴图》的小样片，就坐下来谈了。其实那时他就想做中国摄影展览。     鲍：他想做展览，信心是从你这儿开始的？     王：他只是初步了解，对我的作品有兴趣。是邢丹文把他带来的，邢丹文是他在美国的学生，肯定知道他在摄影界的地位。我当时觉得这位老师比较文静、弱不禁风。后来没过多久就说准备做一个十人左右的中国展览，再后来决定做一个稍微大一点的。当时巫鸿也要做，两人在一起一聊，决定扩大到60个人，规模已经远远超过他们原来的设想。（《过去和未来之间：中国新影像展》（Between Past and Future: New Photography and Video from China, 2004年）     鲍：。那个展览当时影响极大，但今天看来还是需要梳理评价的，比如它对中国当代艺术的影响是什么？     王：这个展览的贡献在于它把中国的摄影市场推动了起来，很多艺术家原来作品没有什么市场，后来变成了很有市场。美国人挺怪的，接受中国当代艺术很晚。早期喜欢中国当代艺术大部分是在西方看似强大，其实是大国里受排挤的一拨人。澳大利亚1993年就办中国当代艺术展，还有法国、德国，这些人比较失落，看到了中国的希望，也是他们心中理想的状态。欧洲的中国摄影展影响不大，规模也很小。等欧洲全部做遍了，美国才做，但直接搞60个人的巡回展。2004年纽约ICP开幕后，又在芝加哥、西雅图和洛杉矶等地巡回了好几个美术馆，其中也去英国、德国巡回。这个巡回对市场的影响非常大。一到欧洲，所有的画廊眼睛都盯着，拿着名单收藏。当时只要是展览的作品就被画廊买了，60个人的作品基本上都买了。收藏摄影和绘画不同，绘画有时候这个系列中有画得好的，有画得坏的，看不透就不敢买。摄影就没这个问题，完全是同样的作品，只是编号不一样。     鲍：画廊从来是跟着美术馆走的。60人展时，中国当代艺术在整个国际艺术品市场上获得了独立地位。现在你怎么看？     王：现在西方有一定压力了，整个价格上去了。最初他们觉得买中国货便宜，就像在北京买东北、新疆的土特产、新鲜粗粮一样。最早买"廉价"货，打一个牌子。后来觉得没那么简单。中国原来没有画廊体制，中国艺术家也没什么游戏规则，跟八国联军谁都合作，英国画廊行，美国画廊也行，德国画廊也行，只要你有钱，就跟你合作，最后发现作品不够分了，所以后来才出现请助手批量生产。     鲍：控制不了。     王：有人害怕就撤了，但是撤的时候发现这个东西真的涨价了，因为八国联军买东西的人多，买回去可能也没有卖掉，但是画廊不断涨价，人们就发现确实涨了，这时抛一部分就挣到钱了。最早的那批人，可能没有真正挣钱，但是他挣了一大批作品。我去英国，看许多画廊虽然倒闭了，短短的十年时间储存了一大批东西，但是存货按照现在的市值，在英国或在美国做生意一辈子也挣不出来。现在反过来人们才发现，中国是没有道义地乱来，影响市场稳定。     鲍：那个展览今天看来，我觉得两个方面应该分析。一个是确实直接地启动、撬动了西方艺术商人对中国影像艺术的重视。一个是说明美国在当代西方文化中的主流话语位置。上世纪五十年代以后，欧洲和美国一直存在争夺谁是文化中心的问题。美国是现代财富中心，凭借国家实力一下子就发展起来，战后的艺术中心就从欧洲挪到美国了。从老的摄影上看也很清楚，原来是以法国为中心，后来美国有钱了，美国人就要自己走自己的路，慢慢地把摄影的话语权拿过去了，比如绝大部分的摄影史写作都是美国人完成的。对当代艺术来说，从安迪·沃霍尔这些人开始，再早之前应该是从波洛克和格林伯格的一唱一和，就把当代艺术的重心从欧洲挪到美国去了。这些年，美国在资本方面的强势更是占尽了先机，商人最"鸡贼"，最终的话语权在谁那儿，他们就往谁那儿去。     另外一方面，纽约ICP是从传统摄影走出来的，但是他们也要与时俱进，突然发觉到了九十年代，摄影和数字这两个媒介开始强烈地向整个大视觉艺术渗透，觉得这是必须关注的。正好又赶上巫鸿要做这件事，巫鸿是一位华人教授，作为华人的资源只有自己本族的文化，于是他与菲利普一下把这个事给做起来了。因为这件事，巫鸿在西方获得了很大影响，所以圈里一直说他是中国当代艺术的"摘桃派"。     王：原来这方面在西方最有发言权的是高名潞。     鲍：实际上与中国当代艺术关系最深的是栗宪庭。我觉得这个60人的展览当时挺仓促的，有些急于求成。现在看来，菲利普他们当时还不是特别了解中国的文化状态。     王：他不太知道。我可以感觉到中间变数很大。刚开始一直是20～30人左右，最后慢慢增加，从菲利普来信中可以感觉到，差不多半年之内，从20～30人就到了60人。     鲍：对菲利普来说就是怎么样做一个像样的展览，他是策展人，他把他的事做完就好了。但今天看来这个展览还是有很多问题，对中国当代艺术、收藏市场还有后面的很多艺术家都产生了深远的影响，大家就奔这个标准来了，能卖就行。     王：原来是在ICP展，后来把亚洲协会的展厅都用了，同时开幕。那时Melissa Chiu（招颖思）刚到亚洲协会没多久，她希望把开幕的整个学术论坛放在那儿。亚洲协会当时在纽约位置比较重要，没有正规的展览空间，但它是一个综合性的文化空间，有很多亚洲传统文明的收藏。去那看古董的人都是西方的老绅士，很有钱，他们在董事会占据着非常重要的位置。1998年高名潞做展览就是借用的这个展厅。那次摄影展览，美国有一部分上层文化人士也来参观，同时有很多展览广告，媒体报道非常踊跃，先是《纽约时报》，随后《纽约时报》周刊，然后其它杂志就开始跟进报道这个中国大型的影像展览，不只有照片，还有电视专访，这个对美国人是很有吸引力的，几方面把展览规格提升了。     鲍：一个时尚的事件出来了。     王：开幕式人山人海，乌泱乌泱的很多人在外面，进不去。总共参观展览的大概有20到30万人，在中国这不算什么，在美国是很了不得的。ICP收藏了一部分展览作品，董事会主席自己也买了一大批，可能有上百张作品。今年他还想2012年在德国自己建的私人美术馆做一个中国摄影展，他有很多大师的作品，我可以感到他对摄影收藏的浓厚兴趣。     鲍：你说所有的传媒都蜂拥而至，他们对中国这个展览是一种什么样的态度？是一种跟所有的时尚事件一样，蜂拥而至纷纷报道，也不太去分析？还是说他们有一个比较深入的报道？     王：有很多，光是《纽约时报》一个星期之内就报道过我两次，其中一个是采访式的，另一个是简单介绍。     鲍：只有你一个人是两次吗？     王：可能就我一个人是两次。     鲍：其它还关注谁呢？     王：邱志杰（中国美术学院教师、当代影像艺术家）是作为研讨会的参与者被请去的。林天苗、邢丹文、邱志杰都会说英语，可能是便于交流，都被请来参加研讨会。只有我不懂英语。对邱志杰也有比较大的宣传。画册封面选了盛奇的那个"手"，其实那是因为女朋友割掉的，但他说是因为"六·四"剁掉的，这对宣传是很厉害的。媒体宣传就是从他那个开始，后来宣传的是身上画山水的黄岩。西方人更多是从一种可识别性和符号化出发，这些在广告宣传里是比较多的。     鲍：我前些日子去纽约MOMA，黄岩的东西还在那儿挂着呢。西方人对东方的了解相对来说是非常简单化的，对东方的理解主要是神秘、专制等非常概念化的东西，比如共产国家、铁幕、集权、性变态等。我在德国的时候，特别神的是德国人觉得中国人的性能力特强，后来我发现是从哪儿来的了，原来《金瓶梅》、《肉蒲团》这些东西在西方小知识分子中影响非常大，几乎每家书店都在卖，再有就是文革图式。好多西方画廊、商人在选择中国作品的时候代表西方最一般、最大众的趣味。比如现西方特别有钱的这一代成功人士，都在六、七十来岁之间，基本上都是上世纪六、七十年代反越战和巴黎红五月那一茬儿人。他们现在是主流人士，他们的青春记忆其实都跟毛时代、毛泽东主义有很大的关系，像王广义他们这类作品，他们一眼就能识别，甚至还很亲切，因为跟他们自己的青春有关。他们也曾举着毛泽东画像牌子上马路游行。这些因素都构成今天西方对中国的市场走向的兴趣，甚至也有学术兴趣。     王：那个时期的汉学家，包括画廊的经营者和写文章的很多人，都是"毛"分子。他们年轻的时候都曾经欢呼过"毛"，甚至有好多人说见过"毛"。他们作为西方的大学生代表，真见过"毛"，也有很多见过周恩来的，到现在他们都还是很兴奋的。     鲍：毛、周都是他们的青春偶像。     王：他们早期也收藏了很多"毛"像章什么的。他们把这个传播出去，像马可·波罗一样，既是到中国的旅游者，也是中国文化的传播者。像法国总统都是毛派。菲利普他们后来这拨人对毛没有太多的感觉。很多人认为中国当代艺术的开始就是"政治波普"、"玩世现实主义"等，然后对整个后面的中国艺术产生了影响。他们是从这个脉络下来的，一条线拉下来的。     鲍：你的作品不太涉及政治波普、政治遗产的问题，特别棒的就是你关注中国当下的现实问题。这次在ICP的个展就说明西方的学术界最终还是只选择你、认可你。但最早是什么人对你的作品感兴趣，是记者，还是什么人？     王：最早我跟影像有关的展览是日本策划人南条史生策划的台北双年展，他觉得中国的商业化倾向越来越浓，处处充满欲望，对金钱、名利的渴望等，当时是从艳俗角度开始关注我的。     鲍：哪一年？     王：1998年，好像也是台湾首次比较重要的国际双年展，主题是"欲望都市"。     鲍：你刚才说的那个脉络和一条线能再详细讲讲吗？     王：西方人总认为中国是创造潮流的，从最早79年的"星星美展"开始。"星星画会"不一定是作品形式的潮流，而是表达人的心境、民族的心境，但思想也是一种潮流，虽然某些作品是自相矛盾的。"政治波普"、"玩世"之后的潮流，比如"乡土"是一种形式化的，"艳俗"也是借力打力，注重表面模仿农民趣味等比较形式化的喜庆内容。西方人后来发现了影像，认为摄影的潮流可能将会发生，而且还会独立。果然，之后摄影参与到当代艺术中，共同搅在一起。西方的艺术展览不会再称什么"油画展览"、"版画展览"之类，一般是统称当代艺术展。摄影最早都是跟当代艺术在一起，后来影像慢慢地独立出来，跟绘画没有关系了，反而绘画不能进摄影展了。再后来纯影像展览有很多。西方人觉得这是一个很大的潮流。再加上当时的行为艺术影像记录和一般摄影之间也搅和不清楚，觉得摄影也包括行为图片。所以在2004年ICP展览里最少有1/3作品是行为表演的摄影记录作品。     鲍：马六明（1990年代初北京东村行为艺术家）他们这些。     王：有很多，包括朱冥（1990年代初北京东村行为艺术家）。     鲍：当时在美国的评论没有提出这个问题吗？     王：没有提，他们不会关心具体问题的。美国人只关心什么是新的。当时有人跟我开玩笑，虽然是玩笑话，但也代表美国大部分的人，她说，"以前我根本不相信中国有当代艺术。现在我才知道中国不是文化沙漠"。还碰到过有人问我中国有冰箱吗？他不知道我们用空调比他们还狠呢。随便一个中国人可以说出美国二十个城市的名字，美国人都不可能。只有美国比较专业的人才非常了解中国，这些人从国家战略角度了解中国，比我们中国人自己了解的都多。很多西方人说中国话跟广播员似的，有时觉得怎么有一帮人天天在琢磨中国。     鲍：碰到一帮间谍了，哈哈！     王：这些人很厉害。很多汉学家都给他们政府提供中国未来可能性的报告。     鲍：他们政府的智库。     王：对，这一点很厉害。所以我们想了解真的西方还是很难，要想了解他们怎么看待我们就更难。他们有时候说话不会给你特别多的东西，总是在开玩笑。     鲍：你刚才提到的ICP董事会主席，开始只是想关注一下当代影像这个媒介。可他没有想到展览得到这么多美国人的关注。但他反应很快，既然有这么多人关注，那就意味着是一个商业机会，干嘛不买？一下买了100多幅作品。对任何一个经过一百多年资本主义市场经济历史的美国人来说，他们太明白这是一个机会了。别人见他买100个，我就也买10个，一股风就出来了。一下子，一个从市场出发的所谓中国当代影像艺术忽地就起来了。     王：我知道买得最多的一个美国人大概买了2000、3000幅。他并没有那么多钱，融资买的。他大概筹了300万美金就全部通吃掉，全部买空。     鲍：这次展览之前，尤伦斯（比利时收藏中国艺术的藏家）、希克（瑞士收藏中国当代艺术的藏家）这帮人买你们的东西吗？     王：这个展览反而没有影响到他们，因为他们相对了解中国，那个展览是吸引了新进来的人，老的相对要理智一些，他们按照自己的步骤一直买。早在2004年展览之前，尤伦斯已经买了我很多的东西。     鲍：他买过很多？希克买吗？     王：希克大概买了两张，2002年最早策划威尼斯双年展的Harald Szeeman(泽曼)要做《金钱和价值》的展览，他出面，希克买了《过去、现在和将来》。希克一般不从画廊买，他去拜访艺术家工作室，从艺术家手上买。尤伦斯之前从法国画廊大概买了20张左右，现在好像放出来一张。     鲍：在香港苏富比？     王：不是，在保利。     鲍：怎么认识尤伦斯的呢？     王：2002年，他在故宫举办聚会。尤伦斯刚好和我坐一个桌子，他说，"你是王庆松吗？"我说"是"。他说，"我买了你20多张照片。"我当时听了非常吃惊。他说全是从画廊买的。     鲍：你觉得最近整个的状态不是太好？     王：开始反流，开始返回中国一大批了，所以尤伦斯很多藏品往中国卖。接盘的中国人多，因为现在中国地产弄不了了，钱没有地方放。同时西方大的收藏家也进来了，大的收藏家只认人，只认有名的作品，认有名同时又是好的作品。     鲍：他们的鉴赏力，你觉得提高了吗？     王：不用鉴赏力，只看影响力。为什么《跟我学》当时价格那么高，就是因为在世界各个媒体上发表过两百多次。那个作品当时对我来说不是代表作，也不是我主要拍摄的东西，我只是想用最便宜的方法拍一个作品，希望控制在200块钱之内拍一件最简单的作品。     鲍：《跟我学》成本才200块钱，不可能吧？     王：非常简单，就是用6到8块钱一张的石膏板搭了一面墙，涂上墨汁，写上字。我一个哥们老说庆松拍大制作，我说我可以拍小制作。我拍大制作，是因为当时劳动力廉价，原来20块钱一个人一天，现在120元都没人干。西方人认为我花十几、二十万美金，其实我就花了两、三万块钱。《跟我学》第一次拍卖30多万块钱，是尤伦斯先生从拍卖场上买的，后来听说乌克兰那个世界前五位大收藏家，也是从拍卖行买的《跟我学》，花了几十万美金。     鲍：送拍跟你没关吧？     王：没有关系，都是画廊送的。一个年轻人在我四合院个展时一次买了七幅，我都不知道。早期画廊也不告诉我是一个人买的。当时我再傻，也不愿意让一个人买七件，那个人接着又批发给别人。     鲍：西方人还是中国人？     王：西方的一个年轻人。为什么《跟我学》市场这么好，因为人人都想要，我觉得重要的是大家都能看懂，上边有中英文。     鲍：这个很关键。     王：像《老栗夜宴图》也还能看懂。     鲍：西方人看着应该挺奇怪的，但仍然还是很感兴趣的。     王：他们感兴趣是中国散点构图、卷轴画的影像叙述方式，他们觉得这个东西跟他们不太一样，至于这里边的内容，西方一般普通人看不懂。     鲍：《向上看》是什么时候拍的呢？     王：那是2000年后来拍的，《老栗夜宴图》是2000年第一张作品。   首次摄影个展       鲍：什么时候你被画廊代理的？     王：2001年在法国巴黎LOFT画廊做摄影个展。在这以前，油画有英国画廊代理，摄影没有画廊代理。2000年，我在北京的云峰画廊做个展，是因为1996年《艳妆生活》展览在那儿，比较熟悉。画廊经理老问我能不能做一个展，最后答应了。云峰是个很传统的画廊，做当代一般要求交场地费，我说我交不起。他说你不用出场地费，送我们签字无编号的照片就行。我送了两张，要求他给我印一个小折页，他说没有问题，就给我印了三折页。     鲍：这是你第一个个展？     王：第一个摄影个展，那天特别尴尬，第一次曝光，我没钱请朋友过来吃饭，所以基本上没通知任何人。开幕半个小时没有一个人来，我傻了，我才知道云峰根本没有发请柬，他们希望我叫一些当代艺术家过来。好在那天是周末，有很多展览，有人说庆松在云峰那边有个展览，就陆陆续续来了上百人。当时只准备了一些饮料，后来饭局差不多花了800元，手上的钱全花光了。     鲍：那个时候还不富裕。     王：根本没有钱，把底儿都掏出来了。办展览要出照片、装裱，花了7000多块钱。装裱是用最廉价的很细的小框子，作品全是1米左右。后来卖了8000多，本钱回来，还富余大概1000多块钱。这个展览免费赠送一个小折页，大家特别高兴。     鲍：那个时候正是朱其（艺术批评家、策展人）在弄先锋、前卫的时候，没有找你吗？     王：那时候朱其名声已经很大了，但对我的宣传已经没意义了。     鲍：那个时候，像洪磊（中国江苏艺术家）都已经出来了吧？     王：洪磊那一拨，包括吴晓军等都是差不多的时间。那个时候海波也才参加展览,大家都比他做得早。但早期谈摄影的文章并没有我，因为那时别人对我的认识是从"艳俗"了解的，不会从影像来认识我。老栗写我也是从"艳俗"艺术角度来提的。那时我的名声可能比他们大，但并不是摄影。摄影并不提我，提摄影是我自己提的。     鲍：最早做摄影的还有高氏兄弟（中国当代艺术家）。     王：高氏兄弟要晚。     鲍：他们1997年就开始了吧？     王：那时他们是行为艺术。     鲍：岛子（清华美院教授、批评家、策展人）1997年做那个观念摄影展览你参与了吗？     王：没有，那时所有的摄影展我都没有参与。后来就想摄影为什么没有我呢？我也是摄影的。所以在2000年，我决定把自己放进摄影里，就是云峰画廊那一天。我自己原来写了王庆松作品展，但是差不多明天就要开幕了，我说改成摄影，所以小册子是"王庆松作品展"，招贴改成了"王庆松摄影作品展"。     鲍：你那么强烈地想把自己定位在摄影上出于什么原因？你觉得别人都摄影了那我也应该摄影吗？     王：有这个原因，还有一个重要的原因是我当时的展览方式遇到了阻碍。1999年在意大利都灵青年双年展上，我没有把影像印在相纸上，而是印在塑料布上，还覆了一层膜，当时还是想从"艳俗"这个方向上走。结果展览的时候整个效果不好，起皱，看不清楚图像。2000年韩国光州双年展效果也不好。回来后特别烦，觉得可能走偏了，当时打印在各种俗气的材料上，亮闪闪的塑料纸上、金丝绒布上，还用挂轴，因为敷一个花哨的亮膜出了问题，后来想干脆就都算了，也许印在相纸上反倒更有力。     鲍：还有哪些因素？     王：那个时候老栗写的摄影文章对我都有影响，因为当时摄影是一个最新、最重要的潮流。     鲍：老栗当时有这个意识了。     王：有一篇文章。     鲍：哪一年？     王：老栗在1997年就已经写文章了，那篇文章不停地在改，不停加人。这个对我的压力挺大，后来他越写越好，原来写的只是不长的一段，后来基本上快到一页纸了。     鲍：这个文章是每次用的时候加一点？     王：对，我记得老栗当时写了当代艺术的五个方向，其中有一个是摄影。老栗老是把我放在"艳俗"里边，其实那个时候我对"艳俗"已经有抵触情绪了。1999年在天津泰达美术馆举办"艳俗艺术"展，是一个综合展览，我展出了早期的《思想者》、《亚当与夏娃》、《新兵和老兵》、《拿来千手观音》四张作品。展览之前听说可能有人要出20万收藏，这样每个人至少会有万把块钱的收入，但是最后没有。那时候钱是结果，不仅是学术的结果，被人收藏就觉得作品不错，能卖钱了，就有信心了。     鲍：那个时候这对很多艺术家是很重要的一个考量。   圆明园艺术家的分裂       王：对，当时预计泰达展完，会到东北东宇美术馆或者成都上河美术馆巡回，结果两个全部泡汤了。我内心感觉到很多人在排斥"艳俗"这个东西，觉得艳俗这个词就是垃圾。从有些人说话中也可以感觉到，包括"玩世"、"前卫"这批人，对这批更年轻的做的新东西有点不喜欢。     鲍：他们有排斥态度？     王：应该是。     鲍：你感觉他们对你们有敌视？他们觉得杀出一帮小的，又想玩一个什么主义把我们这帮人给替代？     王：有这种感觉。因为我们的展览连续泡汤。     鲍：泡汤背后有他们的影子。     王：我觉得有，所以后来再见面，基本只是打招呼而已。     鲍：老栗明白这个问题吗？     王：老栗当然知道，他太清楚了，老栗感觉到我们"艳俗"内部的矛盾，觉得展览应该再放放。     鲍：你在一个访谈里提到，你在圆明园的时候，别人介绍你去认识杨卫（圆明园艺术家，后期批评家、策展人），杨卫跟你谈起了"艳俗"。     王：准确的说，是1993年到1994年大概一年左右的时间，我都在圆明园画画，突然发现周围有一种变化，不适应了，发生抵触了。我以前很内向，总想找到一个个人创造的点，忽然发现找不到了，外界总是干扰我。这个时候我就停下来，大概停了几个月，完全不做任何事情，就是游手好闲这里坐坐，那里聊聊，当时也是经济最困难的时候。后来徐一晖（圆明园艺术家）跟人做了一个室外的公园项目挣了一点钱，他回来就问，"庆松，干什么了？"我说，"最近没法做，我想换换脑子，想做一些有意思的东西。"他问，"做什么？"我说，"想跟民族文化有些关系的。"他一听有点儿愣，就问我，"你认识杨卫吗？"我说，"不认识。"虽然不认识，但是我知道，因为杨卫住在我斜对面的小房间里，里边挂着湘西的什么木楼，完全是行画。     鲍：他在画行画？     王：酱油色的木楼，画几张"胭脂"系列，很像李路明的管道，粉红色的。我觉得他当时是李山、李路明、余友涵三个人的结合，当然他的色彩已经开始庸俗化了，粉嘟嘟的，画的像女的生殖器的小花瓣。但是看不出杨卫画那个花瓣是女性的花瓣，他只不过是把局部放大了，他画的是真的花瓣。我印象不是特别好。徐一晖就拉我们一起聊。我那时跟画画的刘峥（油画家、圆明园艺术家）很好，跟他也聊了很多。当时我就想，艺术应该肯定不是只讲大的方向，要跟生活有关系。     鲍：你已经意识到了，刚才我就特别想问，民族主义这个东西你怎么想起来的？     王：那时我印象最深的就是当时的流行歌曲。1993年刚好毛泽东诞辰一百周年，全国都在纪念毛，唱关于"毛"的歌曲，什么李玲玉等，但是节奏明显加快，有摇滚的感觉，就是那种很俗的唱法。我说太奇怪了，怎么能把这种革命歌曲唱成靡靡之音的调子？很不舒服的感觉。这对我影响很大，觉得所有严肃的东西都被消解了，这种消解是很商业化的，不是批判的，目的旨在挣钱。     鲍：抽掉了所有具体的历史背景和价值，什么都没有了。     王：但是它能够流行，是因为它把问题边缘化，不谈论"毛"的问题了，是市场化改变了人的思维。1990年代初流行"下海"，我也想"下海"，到圆明园来有下海的动机。虽然说我想找个地方画画，其实还是想离开原来的地方，觉得要找一个方向。那时候我快30岁了，过去30岁的人没有自己的目标是很恐惧的。我那时很恐慌，很彷徨，感觉再不奋争就永远没有机会了，想有一个自己的事业，所以才决定到北京来。到北京后，却发现连过去认为很严肃的也被人们拿来挣钱。这个时候你觉得有点儿怪，觉得艺术肯定要变，当时谈的还不是"艳俗"，更多的是中国传统民间艺术和商业流行文化之间混搭的东西。     鲍：你是从这个角度，你觉得当时中国民族的、民俗的文化有强大的吞噬力，历史最终还要回到这个缸里头来，从这个角度进入民族主义。     王：对，无论个人怎么强大，背景却是老百姓家里、出租车、大街上播放的通俗歌曲，毛主席像挂在车里面像驱魔的虎符似的，我感觉自己无法脱离出这种现实。     鲍：现在更厉害了，最近的"红歌"完全被政治化了。     王：1990年代初出现了香港三流女星很暴露的泳装挂历。整个商业化进程让你发现钱能改变很多东西。     鲍：那个时候正是邓小平南巡讲话以后，整个国家坚定地向市场方向转。     王：对。中国为什么以发展经济作为国策，让一部分人先富起来？后来物价上涨却让很多人发热的头脑冷却下来。当时社会的种种变化和矛盾让我特别想了解原因在哪里。     鲍：当时正是一个角力的时候，实际上到那个时候已经彻底转向了。在转向的时候，你就看到突然市场经济出现乱象，原有的价值体系崩解，但是你又找不到一个更好的理论，你感觉到是对中国传统的一个文化颠覆。     王：市俗文化盛行，市俗文化就是务实，这个危害很大。     鲍：市场经济一旦启动以后，最先兴起的就是市俗文化，它是最早的基础。     王：老栗那个时候去圆明园看了我们两次，他愣了，这些年轻艺术家用日常的东西做作品，包括小闪灯、陶瓷瓶、丝绒布、电视机等。他说你们可以做一个展览。我们当时一听老栗说可以做展览，大家就积极准备，让老栗做策展。     鲍：你在别的访谈中还提到邹跃进（现中央美术学院史论系教授、批评家）。     王：邹跃进那时刚到北京，跟我们是一种同时发展的状态，他希望建立一个理论。     鲍：共同绑着一块走，他从理论来加盟，老栗是领袖。     王：后来出现矛盾了。1994年以后，大家聊得不能再聊了，作品创意都聊出来了，所有人都积极做作品。没想到两三个月后，杨卫自己写了一篇文章发在《江苏画刊》上了。他写"庸俗艺术"，把我们所有的人整合并个人化了，就是都放在他自己一个人身上。当时所有人傻了，一下矛盾全出来了。大家不高兴，觉得杨卫也只是参与者，不能这么说，而且没跟大家打招呼就投稿。当时徐一晖也在写文章，他比较能写，而且写得很有意思，他也非常不高兴，之后徐一晖就分出来了。     鲍：你说老栗提议大家要做个"艳俗"的展览，做了吗？     王：1996年做了。徐一晖的女朋友聊天时无意透露，徐一晖准备要自己做展览。这些共同准备的朋友们当时一听就疯了，不是说要一起做展览吗？怎么徐一晖要自己做展览？后来徐一晖把王劲松和祁志龙也拉进来了。     鲍：分裂公开化了。     王：大家就跟杨卫说了，杨卫说那我们就赶在他前面做。特别搞笑的是我差点没能参加。那天我刚好在五道口洗片子，因为要等半天，我就给杨卫打电话，说洗片子要等两三个小时。杨卫说："你快点过来，11点钟之前必须过来，我要拿资料给老栗看。"我当时一听就傻了，怎么这么急？因为他跟老栗约了那个时间就必须到，于是我就加急洗出来，让杨卫带过去，算是参与到这个"艳俗"展览中，要不然连展览都参与不了。     鲍："艳俗"这个现象中也就没有你的份了。     王：不可能有。所以说特可笑，差半个小时就差点儿把我在历史中开除了。     鲍：人生就是这样，经常被莫名其妙的命运左右。     王：开始老栗的文章里边也没特多写我，别人都去过老栗家，我没有去过，所以跟老栗的关系远一些，     鲍：你这个人的性格内敛。     王：但是在这个展览的前言上，老栗比较关注我。老栗在前言中写别人都是并列的，只是谁第一个，谁第二个，我的名字也不是特别靠前，但写我是独立的段落。这又引起矛盾了，有人提议改老栗前言。     鲍：那怎么能改呢？老栗能同意吗？     王：老栗不知道。下午要开幕，中午他们就把前言全改了。     鲍：这太过分了。不管老栗写的对不对，有意见可以提，但不能不经过作者知道就改。     王：当时要贴上去。我们说不能改，老栗的文章怎么能改呢？其中只有两三个人想改，后来一看觉得不对，两点钟的时候撤下来，三点钟开幕前又重新换上了老栗原来的文章。     鲍：杨卫想改吗？     王：他是中立。但他觉得老栗写的也并不是特别满意。想改的是老常、老胡他们。因为老栗写老胡是受王广义《大批判》的影响，写老常是因为跟我有点儿相似，我画在丝绒布上，他搞刺绣，基材一样，但我比他先做，感觉是他跟我学。圆明园时我就在做屏风，画小猫小狗在丝绒布上，而老常是后来圆明园都散了以后才搞刺绣。不过从展览效果上看，老常的作品效果比较好，他绣了一个农民暴发户的大脑袋，感觉很滑稽。所以他感觉自己在这个展览上特成功，应该获得突出的评价。     鲍：这种情况在文革后的艺术潮流发展中，有一段时间非常常见。因为那个时候社会资源有限，展示平台不多，不像现在有无数的展览空间画廊，大家没什么争的，东方不亮西方亮。那时经常需要群体意识，大家相互绑起来发声。但是这其中会产生许多个人性的相互矛盾，其实这也是历史发展的动力。后来的许多历史叙述都是冠冕堂皇的，但许多改变历史的动机和发酵的因素都是很个性化的。不过应该检视的是，为什么有些人淡出了？不是那些表面的原因，背后本质的就是人品。     王：品质有问题，艺术就不行。因为艺术是非常个人化的，人品和思想如果不行，肯定会阻碍你，因为人品是你跟社会、朋友、周边人的关系。除非你是一个奇才，我就要自己弄，跟谁都没有关系。后来走向影像也有这个因素，就是考虑"艳俗"这个群体里关系太复杂。     鲍：走开，走一条自己独立的路。刚才提到有结果，说能卖出去、能发表出去都是很重要的结果。你觉得当时这种心态是不是也强烈地影响了当代艺术的走向？     王：1996年"艳妆生活"开幕没有钱，大家凑了500块钱，展览就两个媒体报道，《江苏画刊》报道了很小的一块，广东的《画廊》报了一个小豆腐块。展览请柬就是做名片的小店的打印稿，三个名片加起来那么大的一个请柬，花了几百块钱。所以那个时候哪儿要发表、谁要发表是很重要的。     鲍：大家急于去寻找一种成功，而且不择手段，有这个问题吗？     王：当然有。从早期的"星星画会"、后来的"玩世"、"政治波普"，有人成功，有人失败，有人当时很火，后来就不成了。最终还要靠作品说话，就是你的作品能不能经受历史的检验。评论文章上也能看出来，比如很长时间有些人盯着老栗的文章，觉得我应该在这文章里边排第几，我不应该是第五，我应该是第三。他发现这个人超过自己，那不行，于是就会有矛盾。所以说邻居发财最伤人，邻居发财就更容易眼红。有次老栗把我排在第三个，而且写了很独立的段落，就引起过一些人的不愉快。     鲍：其实是老栗把你当成一个独立的现象来研究了。     王：有些人就开始分析，老栗他为什么要把王庆松提前了？   对摄影的理解       鲍：你后来完全转入摄影，你怎么理解摄影这种方式呢？你再详细谈谈。     王：其实我早前是拒绝摄影的，那时候还没有觉得摄影是艺术。觉得摄影家跟艺术家是两回事，感觉摄影跟设计、装修差不多，属于技术工种。艺术家才是自己发挥，想干什么就干什么，这个多牛逼。所以开始做影像时很矛盾，但摄影是现在当代艺术一个重要的方向。     鲍：现在何止是重要，上世纪末西方影像已经全面开始介入当代艺术了。     王：那个时候我已经开始参与很多关于摄影的展览，包括1998、1999、2000年很重要的展览。那时没有人再谈我的"艳俗艺术"了，都是谈我的图片，还是没有说摄影。     鲍：当时使用摄影这个词汇是非常随意的。实际上艺术家开始使用摄影这个媒介，对自己的艺术定位都是模糊的，包括朱其写《中国先锋摄影》的书，把那时出现的使用摄影这个媒介的视觉艺术都归在"摄影"里面，现在看来是很不严谨的，虽然使用了"先锋"这两个字。     王：是。那时我们对摄影理论、摄影历史根本不了解。那个时候最多看当代艺术，怎么会去研究摄影的历史？我们对摄影历史的理解就是新闻图片，比如这个图片我见过，了解图片背后的一个个故事以及图片反映的当时社会背景，绝对不会认为摄影本身是一个历史，更不会把自己放在摄影的历史里边。当时觉得摄影应该是一个非常正统、很专业，而且是跟记者有一定关系的职业，不可能是我们这样无正当职业的"盲流"所从事的。     鲍：其实也不只是你，恐怕当时全世界的艺术家都是这么认为的，所以有很多年摄影家不被艺术界所接受。后来摄影这个媒介被艺术界广泛使用，是跟艺术全面观念化有关，因为传统的手艺式的艺术有点儿走不下去了。安迪·沃霍尔这些人对这一转变有巨大的贡献。     我印象特别深的是2002年见到高氏兄弟，看到他们工作室里边一些用摄影媒介的作品，有摆拍的，也有一些完全是数码制作的影像作品。比如用数码高塔，塔尖上再贴上去一个小人。那个高塔使用的一种矢量软件叫"Freehand"，可以纯粹靠数字建模计算出一些带有立体感的假影像。现在大家使用的Photoshop叫图象处理软件，是对照相机拍摄的影像进行调整切割和重新安排，它和摄影影像有直接的关联性，但是"Freehand"那种软件，则纯粹属于设计类的图形软件，和"图像"一词就有很大距离了，是一种"无中生有"的软件。高氏兄弟的作品许多都是这样的，而且他们和我交谈时也称其为摄影。我问他们说为什么管这种样式的艺术叫摄影呢？他说他也不知道，可能最终拿相纸输出的，所以叫摄影。我说，从美学上来讲，应该有一个严谨的学术的定义。他们问我的意见，我说应该叫"当代影像艺术"，也可以叫图像艺术，但是影和图在汉字中是有区别的，图可以从零绘到有，而影一定是经过镜头镜像出来在感光体上留下来的，再在这个东西上去做文章，所以应该是关于影像的一种艺术。这种艺术现在可以假于数码技术移花接木等，早期是暗房拼贴。后来我问这种说法什么时候开始的？他说中国艺术界从1996、1997年开始使用摄影这种媒介，并这样称谓的。   老栗和《老栗夜宴图》       鲍：在你的印象中，老栗这个人在中国当代艺术中的作用，表明他是什么样的人呢？     王：老栗是特明白一人，我第一次去老栗家是1997年。当时我和张芳（王庆松妻子）花37块钱买了一挂进口香蕉去看他。现在想起来都很可笑，那香蕉连一个黑点都没有，很好看，其实很难吃，但礼物说明我们那种虔诚的态度。     鲍：那是当时时髦的厄瓜多尔香蕉。     王：我当时介绍张芳说，"这是我女朋友，我没有来过你们家。"老栗说，"是吗？"我想他肯定知道我，因为我当时做"艳俗"，他怎么会不知道呢？果然老栗又问，"庆松你最近不做艳俗了吗"？老栗经常就只问一句话。我说，"我一直在做，只是说做得很复杂，大概还有一个星期就出来了。"过了一个星期我把《三姐妹》、《拿起战笔，战斗到底》、《最后的晚餐》等一些最早换脑袋的图片给老栗看了，老栗一看说不错，因为老栗一看这个东西绝对不是一个星期做出来的，是花了几个月的时间，那时候电脑速度很慢。     有一次我因为晚了住在老栗那儿。他说，"庆松，你知道吗？这个沙发睡了很多成功的人，也有失败的人，大家一来就睡这儿，现在你们这拨儿又跑这儿睡了。"他说的时候很感慨。老栗这人特别明白，谁过来是拍马屁还是求教，他都太清楚了，他只是在看演戏。最近听说老栗写了一篇老艾（艾未未，国际著名艺术家）的文章特别好，我没看到。其实你说老栗喜欢老艾吗？他不太喜欢老艾这种方式，但他还是站出来写这篇文章。老艾被抓了以后，他妈妈找了一些有名的知识分子，很多人躲了，不敢写。但老栗写了，据说写得很老练，把种种不利老艾的矛盾往下压，同时又从学术角度评价老艾。     鲍：老栗这人是挺义气的，尤其在大是大非面前，敢承担。大家尊重他是有理由的。声望要靠学识和能力，品格其实是更为重要的。     王：老栗最风光是2000年以前，那个时候没人推动先锋艺术，他做了。2000年以后，政府干预很多，老栗就转到宋庄这边做艺术区。其实老栗也不喜欢这种乱哄哄的感觉，但是他觉得中国需要这个，他不得不做，他总是在特别重要的时期转折。在宋庄美术馆，我相信他的阻力非常大，包括后来"行为艺术"的文献展（2011年1月1日宋庄美术馆举办的"1985-2010行为艺术文献展）。     鲍：这次行为艺术文献展闹得鸡飞狗跳的，各种利益都在表演。一些人指责老栗抢夺话语权，其实他们怎么会理解老栗做这件事有多为难，他用得着抢这个话语权吗？宋庄美术馆惨淡经营，既要维持办展览，又不能惹事导致美术馆关门，真不是一件容易的事儿。     王：关键是老栗会发现有希望的东西，比如实验电影。2000年以后，中国实验电影的发展就像当时1990年代初的当代艺术，蓬勃发展但无人支持，老栗就做了一个电影基金，筹措资金每年举办纪录片节。     鲍：老栗这个人挺棒，但他有他的毛病，委曲求全，有时候他的委曲求全让事情变得有点复杂，所以"成也萧何，败也萧何"。但他真的是一个好人。老栗的内心特坚定，但是他表面又很柔弱，碰到一些事他就软化处理。老栗在中国当代艺术史上，起到一个至关重要的作用。现在"玩世"、"政治波普"那帮人腰缠万贯，中国当代艺术品的价格一度成了世界艺术市场上的冠军，这又出现另外一个问题。我个人观察老栗也很难受，难受在哪儿？就是中国当代艺术这么多年积存的问题。前面咱们聊到那些比如"有没有结果"的问题和"成功没成功"的问题，很多个人的欲望掺杂在这个历史的潮流中。这当中难免由于个人的欲望、自私造成整个大的运动中出现很多特别不和谐的东西，比如新殖民主义的问题。由于早期只有外国人来买，这种购买早期是抵抗过去官方艺术意识形态控制和构建新艺术力量的必要手段，这是必须肯定的。但是后来这种行为完全成为一种纯商业的时候，弊端也出来了。中国的新艺术家全奔钱去了，能卖钱就得，结果最后变成了一个由外国人操纵市场的中国当代艺术。这个过程中，老栗一直是在场的。他有时候特别难说话，他培养出来的"玩世现实主义"这些人过分地市场化，现在大家都在批判，你说老栗怎么办？有很多人说，"当代艺术这个德性跟你栗宪庭有关系"，我不太同意这个观点。他从来没有这个愿望，老栗很憋屈。他希望的艺术不是这样的。我觉得老栗本来要进行的是一场艺术革命，但是这场革命刚见成果就纷纷被各种势力接手了，比如市场。老栗这个人不是激烈的人，他都是顺势而为。他也不能解决一切问题，尤其是艺术家生存致富的问题。     老栗和我说起这些现象的时候说过，很多画廊的展览开幕式，他是不去的。他回答那些功成名就的艺术家是，"你们要是新艺术，我肯定去参加开幕式，如果还是过去那些作品，我去干嘛？"其实老栗心里挺明白的，也挺无奈的。转到做宋庄艺术区，他也表示过，他希望中国的艺术运动能够持久地发展下去，别光前面的人成功，让后续的人也能接上，让后来的年轻艺术家能在宋庄安身立命，形成一个大的艺术基地，所以他去干这个事，他是一个有使命感的人。     王：宋庄这地方更复杂，有太多的利益纠缠，那些艺术家不论大小事都找老栗，这个也够他烦的了。他这人太爱面子，谁这几天跟他接触多，碰到个展览他就说你参加吧。这很容易得罪人，有的人没赶上，没有从老栗那儿得到利益的时候就骂老栗。     鲍：没得到利益就开骂，"庄主"、"乡绅"估计都是这么来的。     王：他们不明白，不是老栗推荐谁，谁就一定能有成效，别人不喜欢你，推荐也没用。     鲍：我不爱到他那儿去，每次去都发现他们家跟大车店似的，坐那儿一会儿，就好几拨人进来。老栗都成了专职会客的了。     王：我的展览从来不叫老栗，因为我觉得没有必要，你叫他来干什么，我怎么可能麻烦他？我经历了很多策展人、批评家问我，"你觉得老栗这个人怎么样？"我知道他跟老栗不对付，说白了就是你如果不跟他，我绝对猛推你。我心说你跟我说这干什么？用得着你推吗？画廊给我办展览，让老栗写文章，我说给点儿钱。老栗知道后说要钱干什么？我给你写文章就是写文章，跟钱没有关系。我说这个钱跟我也没有关系，是画廊出钱，不出钱不行的。他说那就意思一下吧。我当然要尊重他，他实在不要，我也不硬塞。我们就是这种关系，我一年不去，他也不会埋怨我。我觉得和老栗完全像是一家人，他是兄长、长辈和老师，都搅和在一起了。     从世俗的角度上说，我接触他的时候，是他最巅峰的时候，之后他反而开始往下走。比如说策划展览他一般不再做了，但我觉得他是在做一种延续的工作，可能更有意义，将来会看出来的。     鲍：我同意你的判断。你那张作品《老栗夜宴图》对老栗在西方的影响还贡献了一把。     王：是。好多西方人老问这个人是谁？我说这个人是中国非常重要的知识分子。2000年，上海双年展开始出来了，表面上是地方主义，有钱人投资办展览，其实是国家参与把控的。国家参与培养中国当代艺术就是从这个时候开始的。那个时候拍《老栗夜宴图》，很多人就觉得为什么要找老栗？我说这个人特别重要，作品也确实拍出老栗的落寞神情。     鲍：我记得你在一个访谈里说过老栗有一种挺失落的感觉。     王：白发的状态，刚刚花白的状态是人们最不好接受的，怀疑这个年龄真到了吗？别人以为他是很老的知识分子。     鲍：2008年，我主持了北京摄影季的高峰论坛，请的人全是世界上顶尖的做视觉批评的学者。中国这边的学者老栗、还有李陀、汪晖等都去了。结果老栗一去，发现那些西方学者很兴奋，纽约大学的安妮·霍伊冲上来跟老栗握手说，"您是栗宪庭？我看过《老栗夜宴图》"。我这才明白，你的《老栗夜宴图》在国际上有这么大的影响。     王：国内当时很多人认为我在利用老栗。其实是老栗当时自己答应的，他想帮我，特高兴参加，他觉得他像韩熙载的状态。     鲍：也有戏谑的成份，通过韩熙载传达对现在时弊的讽刺，又跟原来的"艳俗"串上了。     王：当时我挺感动的。头天晚上没有睡觉，任晓林（中国当代艺术家）过生日，我陪老栗去，张晓刚他们都去了。第二天早上八点钟就要开机，三点钟还没回家，我心都慌了。老栗看出来了，说，"没事，再待会儿，再待5分钟。"他觉得跟这帮人玩儿高兴。回去后老栗说，"庆松，你睡吧，我不睡了。"三、四点钟才回家，他怕睡了起不来。他真的一晚上没睡，就看书。他知道这个事对我很重要，当时是第一次组织很多人拍作品。     鲍：那是第一次组织人？     王：第一件作品。   观念与立场       鲍：当代艺术这么热闹，影像这部分你有什么看法？     王：一般我不太主动接触。开始做摄影时我非常喜欢庄辉（当代影像艺术家）的合影作品。海波后来都受庄辉的影响。我当时就觉得庄辉把这些人叫过来合影，他自己在里边插一杠子，这个挺逗的。我觉得这些开什么大会的合影里边，你跑里边搅局很荒谬，破坏了这种很严肃的集体主义的感觉，当时觉得很好。     鲍：因为影像这个东西是要和任何艺术家的内心直接碰撞出来的。不像绘画、装置，需要一个很长时间的考虑，对过程中的工艺或是方式的选择会改变最终的效果。唯独摄影这个东西不会影响你，你这个人是怎么回事，它直接一下就明明白白地表现出来了。艺术观念化以后，更多考验的是艺术家的思想状态。许多中国当代艺术家的思想资源、观念资源，大多来自于中国最陈词滥调的所谓对封建社会的批判。比如以苏州园林做素材的影像，天上水里都飘着血红色，象征园主们和背后的制度都是血淋淋地吃人，太简单概念化了。     当代观念艺术，第一要有思想深度；第二要有立场态度。其实我一直特别欣赏你的就是你两方面兼有，比如你最早关注对消费主义的揭露批判，是一种思考；后期表现拆迁，还有"新闻摄影"（王庆松的一个作品系列）这一块，都是强烈关注现实的，这都构成了当代艺术的思想性特征，这是最重要的，如果这两点一条都不沾，那就是伪当代。当代艺术这个词，实际上现在说是"当下"，就是强调你对当下问题的关注。比如说像西方最成功的古尔斯基（Andrea Gursky，国际著名摄影家），都是紧紧地站在这点上的。中国的一些艺术家，兴趣全是裸体女人，甚至说对所有中国的历史现象以性的角度去解释它，这些其实都蛮成问题的，中国历史绝不是这么简单。你拿弗洛伊德那套，荣格那些精神分析的思想来切入这么宏大和错综复杂的历史，显然是以偏概全的。我有一天在网上看嘉德拍卖的信息，看到一个艺术家拍了一张中国女孩子叉开腿露着生殖器的照片上拍，居然卖了好几万。荒谬至极，说明他们思想之混乱的程度。这些年优秀的作品实在是太少了。   当代艺术的基金会制度与市场       鲍：西方人为什么操控？实际上正好赶上西方艺术突然大规模地市场化和资本化。中间很重要的一个原因，是从上世纪九十年来以来，新技术引起社会财富的暴增，西方艺术基金会制度也大规模地出现，成为闲余资本和避税的中介。2011年2月份的时候，瑞士温特图尔摄影博物馆请我参加一个叫"平台Plate"的活动，这个活动有一个推荐委员会，每年在欧洲选40个新影像艺术家，到博物馆这儿来交流。我是作为东方的观察员去的，也没什么具体的任务，就是看。期间他们安排参观各个艺术博物馆、基金会、机构，艺术区。给我的印象深刻的是，西方的艺术实际是一个大产业。这个产业并不只是一些艺术家、画廊，还有很多人依附在这个产业中生存。比如基金会，西方鼓励企业把利润投入到文化、公益事业，并给予税收优惠，这就催生了名目繁多的基金会，于是大量的人去做这些事情并以此生活。他们要活着，就要找理由创造机会和收入。这时我才闹明白一件事情，为什么西方在中国这么大规模的买艺术品，而且有时是胡买。2007年连州摄影节结束的时候，突然冒出一个英国小子，背着一书包的钱，到一些艺术家的场地上说你墙上这些作品都卖给我得了，几个都是几百块美金。有的艺术家觉得拿回去还是个麻烦事，既然有人愿意收，拿走。对这种奇怪的行为，当时理解是他们到中国押宝来了，等未来中国艺术升值。现在看应该是前面说的情况。因为它是一个产业，它就必须按照产业的规律运作。运作是有计划的，比如说人家给基金会捐助了多少钱的额度，不能到年底一分钱没花出去。你的业绩在哪儿呢？明年凭什么再给你钱？所以他们可能就会出现这种突击花钱，胡乱收购。关键的问题也就来了，来收购的是真正懂艺术的吗？看来未必，没准儿就是一个刚毕业的学生。这些年中国当代艺术在国际市场上火爆，其实跟这有关。再有，商业行为都是一种大众跟风的行为，你买我也买，越买越厉害，这个结果后面真正的原因错综复杂。     王：宋庄那边更多这种，突然来了一个莫名其妙的人就开始收东西，收完就走了，最后也不知道展览不展览。     鲍：这次在瑞士我们到各艺术区去参观，每次都跟他们座谈。座谈话题都有一个内容，就是他们说没钱，现在最大的任务就是找钱，起码在瑞士有很多人靠艺术这个名词活着。     王：瑞士那个地方比较特殊，它的免税制度很厉害。同样偷税、洗钱也是最狠的。为什么巴塞尔那么成功？巴塞尔如果在别处就不一定。比如尤伦斯虽然是在比利时，但是他的基金会却是在瑞士。很多人在瑞士建立一个办公室，就像中国有很多大公司在香港有办公室，这样他可以从税收上减免。为什么瑞银很厉害，有大量的收藏，我想可能跟制度有关，人们可以钻这个空子。瑞士确实是这样的，美国也是一样。法国大部分是国家行为，英国完全不一样。美国基本上是基金会体制，MOMA也是基金会支持的，基金会就需要给赞助人看，就要"表演"，你不表演，没有"业绩"，下次人家不给钱了。     鲍：你说得非常对，表演是必要的。我要表现很有效率地在工作，这样目的和工作就出现分离了，目的不重要，工作成了第一了。这个过程中就会出现乱收藏。很多中国人有意见，你们收的都是什么东西啊？你想，他找了一个根本不懂学术的人，他哪管那么多？比如他就收有关毛泽东的，因为熟啊。最终的结果就是出现这么一个情况，背后还是一个制度和资本的问题。     王：最近中国的拍卖也挺疯的。     鲍：也是这个问题，就是洗钱。     王：洗钱是避免不了的，包括电影洗钱，胡乱说拍摄电影的费用花在这些上面了，很难有人去查。   一百件作品的计划       鲍：你好像一直很喜欢电影，听说你前几年拍了几个小短片？     王：2008年我做了三个录像作品，基本上都是从一个固定的角度拍摄的。《大厦》是雇了40、50个建筑工人花一个月的时间，用涂成金色的脚手架搭建了一座35米高的"摩天大楼"，最后用35毫米胶片定格拍摄。2007年底，我找到了昌平军都山滑雪场附近的一个村庄，那里农民很穷。拍摄过程中我刻意省略掉民工的形象，是想说虽然中国房地产建设靠的是这些人，而贫穷的他们永远也住不起自己建造的楼房。《铁人》里挨打的主人公一直在微笑，那样子就像是说打得越厉害，我就笑得越厉害。我要的就是这种模棱两可的感觉，不知道是痛苦接受，还是满意享受。我们每个人在生活中都会经历这样那样的打击，也许不是真正意义上的身体挨打，所以打只是一种比喻的说法。《123456刀》里的男人在寂静的黑夜，疯狂地乱砍一只羊，直到羊肉、骨头和木屑混杂在一起，洒满微光下照射着的大案板四周。也许这个主人公平时受惯了社会给他的种种不公待遇，他在诉说、在发泄。中国社会教导我们作为男人必须经打，必须要百折不挠。     鲍：以摄影媒介这个方式做，你还想继续走下去吗？     王：应该会走，但会少，每年我想控制在3幅左右。     鲍：你觉得你在这方面遇到瓶颈没有，或者是有问题？     王：目前没有想到。但不想把大部分的时间花在这个上面，因为我还想干些别的，我现在对流动影像有兴趣。因为我拍的东西不属于时髦的，不是今天不拍，明天就过时了，所以没有这个担心，是一种无所谓的状态。我一直有一个完成100张摄影作品的目标，现在大概有70多幅。将来100件挑出50件出来做一个展览，那时期待大家可以就我的作品聊一聊，看看我的脉络，可能发现每件作品力度不是很大，不像一个大棒子，一下子打中要害，而是像一根根细细的针，一点一点地戳痛要害，这样最后可能一针就触到问题的关键部位。     鲍：你现在对你过去所有的作品有一个评价吗？你认为你最满意的是什么？     王：我还是对《老栗夜宴图》最满意。《大摆战场》是从我家楼道里边发现像牛皮癣似的小广告到处张贴，有感而发的。《跟我学》拍的时候没有感觉，片子洗出来后才发现人的比例、黑板的大小，都太棒了，那个时候才觉得拍得不错。     鲍：你的"新闻摄影"作品也是一个系列，对这个系列的评价是怎样的？     王：新闻是多方面、多角度的观察，现在只做了一部分。     鲍：这部分我倒是认为很重要，感觉挺彻底的，应该是你整个过程中最高峰的作品。《老栗夜宴图》把你的方式定下来了，之后《向上看》等系列作品，是对消费主义的批判，一下子让你很成熟了，《拿起战笔、战斗到底》（1997年）和《鲁迅-2004年》也是很多年后的又一次思考？     王：对，骨子里老想知识分子在这个商业操纵的社会里到底还有什么作用？     鲍：《千手观音》系列呢？     王：那是1999年主要用电脑photoshop做的，因为没有人长三头六臂。     鲍：这段都是你相当成熟和很高峰的时候，很棒，包括2001年的攻占麦当劳高地的摄影作品。我觉得你最近这三、四年以来略微有点儿弱了，不太成系列，好像很个人化。没有早期"新闻摄影"系列的那种对中国现实很深刻洞悉的感觉。2009年的《安全奶》模仿《最后的晚餐》又是怎么一回事？     王：这是我当时特别想拍的一个系列，是跟《最后晚餐》有关的一个系列。1997年拍《最后晚餐》，使用非常俗气的挂历上的美女图像拼凑的；后来2008年拍《最后晚餐》风格的《营养液》是受时装品牌迪奥的邀请，其实我是在讽刺时尚；2009年由于奶制品安全出现恐慌，才拍摄的《安全奶》。这个系列我准备从各个角度、各个时期、针对不同的社会问题一共拍十张。我小时候对达芬奇的《最后晚餐》的理解就不是带有宗教色彩的，但是我们对《最后晚餐》有特殊的情感，总想为什么很多人都用各种方式画它？本来这个故事其实是一个包括狡诈、奸诈和理想的矛盾体。所以将来用这十件和《最后的晚餐》有关的作品，做一个展览，就想找一个教堂做。     鲍：《最后晚餐》之所以在历史上有那么长久的影响，是因为它探讨人性，并作为一个宗教故事流传下来。今天用这种图示做现实故事，虽然《安全奶》会让很多人想起三聚氰氨事件，有点儿现实的因素，但我觉得不是很直接。     王：是不太一样，跟新闻完全脱离出来了，是想用某一个东西熟悉的视觉印象引发一种思考。     鲍：你的《鲁迅-2004》特精彩，雪夜中的鲁迅夹着一本自己的《鲁迅全集》，你把所有人物的性格和时代的关系都表现出来了。很少有人这样，通过艺术来阐释一个非常复杂的中国现代以来的知识分子的问题。     王：很多人不喜欢，弄不明白。     鲍：这不奇怪。因为鲁迅这个符号需要很多知识和人格态度的准备，这些人如果只是从美术的表面形式效果上看，当然对不上卯。     王：我觉得挺有意思的，很多人可能是觉得当时雪花飘的感觉没有出来。     鲍：为什么他们老是回到那种感觉，艺术发展到今天完全是一个思想的媒介了。我们要求作品做好，但重要的是思想表达好。如果非要检讨效果质量，你好多作品中技术上不过关的地方太多了，但这重要吗？不重要。大家认可你的是你表达的思想和观念。很多人确实行活玩得很棒，但是有什么意思？你不必太多考虑这个东西。     王：是，感触挺多，大家对我作品中的问题都有很多个人见解，外国人关注我戏仿现实，是不是反社会主义，中国人觉得我在反资本主义，他们总在画圈，想归类处理。总问我到底研究什么主题，技术上是怎样实现的。而我有时就是没有章法地胡乱走，因为生活在这个发生天翻地覆巨变的时代，各种道德价值体系都崩溃了，艺术家比较敏感地用艺术媒介来表达自己的内心感受。我的摄影作品就非常直接地表现我对我们中国本土的社会出现的种种状况的看法，很多人说我像这个那个西方大师，我觉得我的作品就像经过多次整容后的东西，而大脑和内脏都是我自己的，希望大家不要被外表假象所蒙蔽。     鲍：现在你的作品，首先第一收藏界是很重视，然后是画廊圈。现在西方的一些学校邀请你多吗？     王：挺多的。每年都有一些学生专门拿我的作品做毕业论文，也有一些摄影史的作者准备写我，国外的电视媒体也有许多专访在播出。也有很多国内外的学校编教材，把我的几件经典作品编到他们的摄影教材里边。好像《百年摄影》里有，国外的，就准备往里编。     鲍：你没想起将来什么时候开一个讨论会什么的，关于你的作品？     王：现在还没有，这个东西肯定要等，到50岁的时候，因为自己还没有扯清楚，还有一个就是有一个契机，因为很多事情没做完。     鲍：以摄影媒介这个方式做，你还想继续走下去吗？     王：应该会走，而且会精减，每年我想控制在3幅左右。     鲍：你觉得你在这方面遇到瓶颈没有，或者有没有问题？     王：目前没有想到，只是说你需要时间，但是又不想把大部分的时间花在这个上面，比如现在对流动影像有兴趣，这样我就可能会做得精心一些，因为你拍的这个东西不是属于时髦的，不是今天不拍明天就过时了，今天拍也行，明天拍也行，后天拍也行，这样不会有压力，也不会存在紧张，是一种无所谓的状态。   2011.9.6     

唯有事件方能享其美誉，切断某种非事件.

那么这样的话，说当代艺术不值得是毫无意义，因为它是它自己的生存功能：它来说明我们的无用性和荒谬. 更准确地说，它让衰落变成一种生意，同时也让它变成一种表演。如果，像一些人说，艺术功能是让生活比艺术更有趣，那么我们可以把这个幻想忘记掉。

幸好，出现在我们面前的物体都是已经消失的。幸好，什么也没有在实时出现在我们面前，就像夜间天上的星星那样。...幸好，没有什么在实时发生，否则我们就会在所有事件的信息面前不知所措。...幸好，我们是以一种必需的幻觉方式、一种不在场的方式、一种非现实的和一种与事物非直接的方式生活。幸好，没有什么是瞬间的、同时的或当代的。幸好，什么也不在场，什么也不与其真身相同。幸好，实在没有发生。幸好，罪行从来不是完美的。

野地上有一堆烧过的纸灰，旧墙上有几个划出的图画，经过的人是大抵未必注意的，然而这些里面，各各藏着一些意义，是爱，是悲哀，是愤怒，......而且往往比叫了出来的更猛烈。

“这一案子的‘曝光’不亚于当年的‘银广夏案’。同时，鲁能案与当初的‘金元帝国’案都发生在电力领域，这又是一个值得深思的巧合。由于电力行业拥有超额垄断利润，但公司治理也非常欠缺，导致职工持股具备非常好的效益，却乏人监管。”

目前，美国是全球最大的风能产业市场，风能装机容量也是世界第一，但风电在其电力供应中不到2％，预计到2030年美国20％的电力将由风能提供。美国能源政策法案（EPA）、生产税收减免（PTC）、可再生能源发电配额制度（RPS）对风能的兴起，推动力巨大。减少中国温室气体的排放，根本在于调整燃煤为主的能源结构，大力发展可再生能源，特别是相对经济可行的风力发电。继火电和水电之后，风能有可能成为中国第三大电力来源。

账本的作者为清初在中国江南地区传教的比利时耶稣会士，1658年7月到达澳门，随后前往江南传教，驻地常熟，主要活动于常熟、苏州、松江、上海等地。1676年11月在太仓去世，葬于常熟虞山北麓的天主教墓地。

作者认为：分拆铁道部以国家铁路局和中国铁路总公司的方案取而代之，并未削弱中国铁路在国家大交通格局中不可替代的强势地位，也没有损害中国铁路军民一体的交通战略格局。铁路政企分开后，中国铁路管理和铁路建设运营的行政体制、公益和准公益性质反而得到了必须的强化和巩固。附作者2011年文章：中国铁路的功能决定体制

罗伯特•布伦纳是所谓“政治马克思主义”的代表人物。一方面，布伦纳的思想对正统马克思主义来说可以说是异端；另一方面，布伦纳的“政治马克思主义”坚持马克思主义关于阶级斗争、无产阶级革命等基本原理，因而又被认为是马克思主义衣钵在西方的真正继承者。本文主要围绕布伦纳关于“封建主义向资本主义过渡”和“战后资本主义现实”问题的研究，对他的政治马克思主义思想作一介绍和评析。

孤立主义并不能限制国家力量的扩张，而在遭遇国家间的利益冲突时，价值边界就像一道铁幕一样，无情地将民族国家内部享有的价值伦理截然阻断。

［摘要］早在吐蕃时期，孔子的盛名就随着唐蕃之间的文化交流而远播西藏并得到藏民族的文化认同。在藏汉交界地带，孔子被看作道德圣贤，但在西藏腹地则被看作是无数算学与消灾仪式文献传承的创始者，被改造成“圣、神、王”三位一体的贡则楚吉杰布。进而，苯教把贡则楚吉杰布看作是其教主辛饶米沃且的徒弟和岳父、苯教的四大护法神之一；而藏传佛教则把贡则楚吉杰布看作是文殊菩萨的弟子或者化身。不管贡则楚吉杰布与孔子的本来形象相去多远，其根本是藏民族基于自身文化传统的需要，发挥自己民族思维，在汉藏文化交流过程中对孔子形象进行认同改造的结果。［中图分类号］G127.14［文献标识码］A［文章编号］1000－0003－（2009）01－033－09“不语怪力乱神”是汉文化传统中孔子形象的基本特点之一，但在藏族文化传统中，孔子的形象却发生了令人不可思议的变化，他被看作是与占卜、禳灾、咒语、历算、工巧、仪式等神秘文化的创造者，并分别被苯教和藏传佛教吸收转化为教内重要神灵。孔子这种形象的变化，与汉文化传入吐蕃时期藏民族的崇拜信仰、思维方式和宗教需要密切相关，是处于特定文化发展水平的民族对外来文化接受和认同中所发生的必然现象。一在汉文化系统中，孔子用不同的称号来表示，如在儒家经典中，一般不言自明的“子曰”中的“子”即指孔子，这是孔子后学对孔子的敬称。这基本上为儒家传统所认同。而道家则称其为孔子。与之相同，在藏文化传统中，孔子也有其相应的表示文字。根据现存最早的藏文文献，即敦煌藏文写卷，在西藏传统文化中，“孔子”一般用“贡则”一词来表示。（一）孔子在藏文文献中的基本称谓能够证明“贡则”就是孔子的藏文文献，是敦煌文献中伯希和藏文写卷（P.tib）第987和第988号文献。根据法国藏学家石泰安的研究，这两种文献“实际上是同一部著作的两种抄本。这是一卷汉地儒教智慧格言集”，［1］这两部写卷的主要内容是具有强烈儒家伦理色彩的道德箴言，“都是先贤们以身所作出的表率”，而“贡则”是文中多次提到的先贤之一。特别是988号写卷中有一段内容是《论语》“已所不欲，勿施于人”或者《中庸》“施诸已而不愿，亦勿篱于人”的藏文译文或编译文，并明确说这是“贡则”说的，同时在第987号写卷中，相同的内容却被说明是“贡策”说的。这两部文献说明，至少在11世纪中叶敦煌石窟封闭之前，已经有人使用藏文“贡策”或“贡则”来指称孔子了。此外，18世纪藏族学者土观·罗桑却吉尼玛在其名著《土观宗派源流》中说：“儒家的导师是孔夫子或称孔子。藏人不能如汉语发音，遂讹称为公子。实际上指的是此人”。①（注：土观·罗桑却吉尼玛著：《土观宗教源流——善述一切宗教源流及教义晶镜史》，刘立千译，第202页；另外，在当今一些研究成果中，还有把孔子译为孔泽、孔策、贡则、贡孜等的现象。）可以看出，从古代以至于近代，藏文中把孔子一般记作“贡则”。（二）孔子在藏文化中的基本地位在藏文文献中，“贡则”除被单独使用外，更多的是和其他辞汇结合在一起，称为：“贡则楚吉杰布”或（贡则楚杰），后者是对前者的简称；“贡则楚吉布”；“贡则楚琼”；“贡则楚布琼 ”。根据学者的研究，这些与“贡则”相关的称谓并不一定指孔子本人，还可能包括与孔子存在某种关联意义的人。关于这一点，本文下面再作以解释。这里首先要揭示的是，这些称谓都普遍存在一个关键的藏文词汇：“楚”。这表明在藏文化中，“贡则”与“楚”之间存在着一种普遍的意义关联，了解“楚”的涵义，可以相应地了解孔子在藏民族传统文化中的地位。关于“楚”的涵义，藏学界已经有所讨论。著名的法国女藏学家麦克唐纳认为，在吐蕃社会早期西藏文化基本没有受到外来文化影响的前提下，“楚”所指涉的对象主要是现实社会统治者——赞普，其涵义“最初指全部的魔力，特别是指在天地之间往返活动的能力”。②（注：法国学者麦克唐纳著：《敦煌吐蕃历史文书考释》，耿升译，青海人民出版社1991年版，第194页；关于这段文字，曾德明译作：“最初是指神奇的能力，尤其是指在天界和人间往来自如的特殊能力”，参见《西藏文化中的孔子形象》，台湾东亚文明研究学刊第4卷第2期，第174页。）但在止贡赞普与罗昂决斗被杀之后的赞普丧失了这种魔力，但人神之间的联系并没有因此而断绝，吐蕃王室仍然是神的意志在现实社会的代表，神通过他们表达意愿。与这种变化相适应，“楚”“再也不被看作是往返于天地之间的体力了，而是一种比普通人要高一些的思想和智能能力”，［2］这是“楚”的转化意义。石泰安接受了麦克唐纳的这一观点，并提出了另外的两种内涵，即神奇和智慧。同时他和李方桂都认为，“楚”一词相当于汉文的“圣”。③（注：李方桂、石泰安也主张把“楚”理解为“圣”，参见Fangkuei Li, "The Inscription of the Sion - Tibetan Treaty of 821-822", Toung Pao,44（1956），石泰安著：《古藏语中的一个语义群：创造和生殖、存在和变成，活着、养活和救活》，褚俊杰译，载王尧、王启龙主编的《国外藏学研究译文集》（第7辑），西藏人民出版社1994年版，第16～18页。）我们认为，“楚”一词和汉语中的“圣”都具有常人所不具备的智慧和能力的意义，两者存在着一定的意义相通性，但也存在着一定的差异。在吐蕃原始信仰中，“楚”是“神圣”的结合体首先它是只有赞普才能够拥有的，因为赞普并不是人，而是神，是神在人间的代表，对于普通人来说，他们的智慧和能力是天赋的，是与生惧来的，是一般人所不能拥有的，不可超越的。与吐蕃原始信仰所不同的是，汉文化在春秋时代就逐渐消解了“圣”这一词汇的宗教和神话意义，把“圣”还原到了人，而不是继续归之于“神”，无论是作为统治的尧舜禹还是作为人间精神导师的孔子，他们本质上都是人，而不是神，他们所拥有的“神圣”的智慧和能力，固然是普通人所不具备的，但并不意味着永远不可超越的，只要人通过对自我的努力修养，也可以“超凡入圣”，拥有这种能力和地位。因此，如果注意到这一点，我们仍然可以把“楚”一词看作是汉文中“圣”一词的藏文对应词汇。“楚”的最初意义，或者准确的是在与汉文化接触之前的基本意义，应该是对吐蕃统治者神话性集中表现的词汇，指的是吐蕃赞普作为人间的神所拥有的上天（恰神）所赋予的、普通人所不可剥夺的、不可能拥有的、不可能认识的、超越常人的神秘的智慧和力量。那么，作为吐蕃赞普专用词“楚”又如何与表示孔子的“贡则”联系起来呢？我们认为，这和松赞干布时期及其之后西藏社会与外界社会的文化交流相关，特别是吐蕃社会时期与唐王朝的政治、经济、文化交流密切相关。史料和研究表明，吐蕃时期，唐王朝对西藏有着超越于其他周边国家的强大吸引力，如823年立于拉萨的唐蕃会盟碑记载：“神圣赞普鹘提悉勃野化身下界，来主人间，为大蕃国王……东方有国曰唐，东极大海，日之所出，与南方泥婆罗等诸国异教善德深，足与大蕃相匹敌。”［3］正因为如此，松赞干布及其后的赞普通过联姻和亲、使者交往等方式，加强对唐文化的学习。随着吐蕃政权与唐王朝交流的加强，与政治文化关系密切的汉文化人物，也获得了藏民族的普遍认同，特别是与本土赞普地位相应的政治人物，也被视为和赞普一样，具有特殊能力并与神紧密联系起来的人物。如在英藏藏文敦煌写卷中，唐玄宗被称作“具有上天所赋予的神奇能力的赞普李三郎”。同时，随着对汉文化的理解和吸收，孔子也作为汉文化的象征性人物获得了藏民族的认同，汉文化中的这一“圣人”也相应的获得了“楚”一词所具有的内涵。“贡则”与“楚”的多种结合，表明了西藏文化中，孔子是天神有着密切联系并具有一定特殊能力的形象。在这里，还要特别指出的是，因为藏文化对孔子和汉文化的接受认同，作为孔子的藏文名称“贡则”也逐渐地被转化为一种神圣形象，它的意义也不仅仅指孔子这个人，而成为一种文化符号，也可以指其他与汉文化关系密切的人。在完成于14世纪的著名藏文史书《拔协》中，“贡则”用来指唐朝皇帝李世民，他的全称是“贡则楚琼”。“楚”在藏语中是“小”的意思，按照我的理解，“贡则楚琼”的大致意思是“具有（与神相比）是小的神奇能力的孔子（一样的人）”。这里的意思基本上是“贡则楚吉布”是相通的，因为父亲是大的，儿子是小的，神是大的，人是小的，这是传统血缘社会的基本常识。用泛化的孙子来代表中国的皇帝，特别是唐太宗，应该与唐太宗推动汉文化在西藏传播的贡献密切相关。这种表述，一直延续到17世纪五世达赖喇嘛的《西藏王臣记》。而在16世纪的学者巴俄·祖拉陈瓦的《贤者喜宴》中介绍唐太宗的时候，所用的词汇就是“贡则楚杰”。这向我们表明，在藏文中即使出现了“贡则”这一词汇的时候，他并不一定就是指孔子本人，而有可能是指与孙子具有一定相似、相同性的人，当然，这种相似、相同性，并不能放在汉文化的视域去理解，而只能放在藏文化的视域下才能获得理解。不过，笔者坚信一点，即使在藏文文献中出现的“贡则”所指的并不是一个人，但一定是在汉文化系统下的人，这是他们相似、相同性的文化边界。二如上分析，在藏文化传统中，孔子与天神有着密切联系，也拥有特殊的神奇能力和崇高的文化地位。但问题在于，藏文化中的“贡则”是人还是神？对于这一点，藏文化的认识是存在分歧的，一般在靠近汉文化的地方，受汉文化影响比较深，对孔子的了解也相对深入，所以一般把孔子看作是先贤、圣人，而不是神；但在西藏腹地，则因为对汉文化缺乏全面深入的认识，并受本土神话思维的影响，所以一般会把孔子看作是神。关于这一点，要以通过相应的文献表现出来。（一）敦煌出土文献中的孔子敦煌是汉藏两种文化影响都比较深的地方。从敦煌文献可以看出，其中的孔子比较接近汉文化。最突出的例子，就是在敦煌文献（P.tib）第988号中，“贡则”和“贡则楚吉布”同时出现，都指孔子。此外，在敦煌藏文写卷I.O.742中也出现了“贡则楚吉布”，该写卷的内容主要与古卜有关，也是指孔子。前面说过，在藏文化中，“贡则”很少单独出现，而是与其他词汇结合在一起，便在敦煌文献中却出现了单独的“贡则”来表示孔子，这说明孔子在当地是为人们所熟悉的，他本身不需要过多的修饰说明就能为人们所理解。但“楚吉布”和“贡则”结合起来的“贡则楚吉布”也表明了吐蕃人对孔子的某种认同。如上所述，“楚”一词的出现表明了在当时藏族人的眼中，孔子具有神圣的特殊能力。但是只有对“楚”和“吉布”组成的“楚吉布”一词涵义的全面理解，才有可能理解当地人们心目中的孔子。关于如何理解“楚吉布”，藏学界一直存有不同的看法。麦克唐纳将“贡则楚吉布”理解为“具有神奇能力的孔子之子”；石泰安不同意这一看法，他认为，之所以用“楚吉布”——汉文意思为“具有神奇能力的小孩”来修饰孩子，则与“孔子项橐相问书”的内容相关。他认为，因为孔子虚心向项橐求教，所以被视为一个“具有神奇能力的小孩”。［4］显然，石泰安混淆了故事中孔子和项橐的角色，他的解释是很勉强的。我们认为，“楚吉布”的表面意思是“具有神奇特殊能力的小孩”，但在这里，应该看作是汉文“圣人”的对译。文献中所以用“楚吉布”来修饰孔子，与敦煌一带靠近汉文化地区的藏民族对“圣人”的意义理解相关。在他们看来，孔子是“圣”，他拥有一般人所不具备的神奇能力，所以应该用“楚”来修饰他，但孔子仍不是神，而是人。所以不能用“楚吉拉”来修饰，因为在藏文化中，“拉”是神的意思，“楚吉拉”的意思就是具有神奇能力的神，这一词汇，只能修饰在人间的神——赞普，而不能修饰其他人。但为什么用“楚吉布”来修饰孔子呢？我们认为，这应该与藏民族对汉文化中“天子”的接受相关。“天子”就是天的儿子，是天在人间的代表，在吐蕃社会，吐蕃赞普的尊号已经被人比作是汉文中的“天子”，认为赞普是“由上天所指定的”，“上天”这一短语是指高山，也指恰神，即赞普是由统治世界的神所指定的，是上天的儿子。孔子虽然也被看作是上天（神）的儿子，但他却是人，而不是神，而“布”在藏语中是小孩的意思，“楚吉布”则表达了“具有神奇能力的（神的）小孩”的意思，和汉文中的“圣人”、“天子”的意义是相通的，所以可以用这一词汇来修饰孔子。这一方面表达了藏文化对孔子的敬仰和认同；另一方面也表达了当地藏文化对孔子是世俗圣人的理性认识。（二）宗教历史文献中的孔子但是，在西藏腹地，人们的信仰思维具有强烈的神话性，而且这种思维的特点是把相通的事物往往连贯在一起理解、命名。如赞普，既是神在人间的代表，又是政治上的代表，还是文化方面的代表；同时又是超越于一般人的存在者。而孔子一旦被当作文化象征接受过来，也就具备了这些特点。具体来说，西藏腹地藏文化观念中的孔子，其形象并不是圣人，而是圣、神、王三者的结合体。这里的圣，指的是孔子具有一般人所不具备的超强能力；这里的神，表明孔子具有神的特点；这里的王，表明孔子又具有帝王化的色彩。在这种意义上的词汇“贡则楚吉杰布”（或其简称“贡则楚杰”）是最突出的表现。另外在14世纪完成的《汉藏史集》中出现了“贡则益杰布”、“贡则拉益杰布”等词汇，也表明了这一点。［5］现以藏文文献中频繁出现的人物“贡则楚吉杰布”为重点来探讨西藏传统文化中的孔子形象。按照汉语的意译，“贡则楚吉杰布”的意思为“孔子”和“具有神奇的特殊能力的国王”的结合；而有的学者则将之译为“孔子神变王”。当代著名的藏族学者卡尔梅认为：“贡则楚吉杰布”的原型就是孔子。①（注：引自曾德明、林纯瑜：《西藏文化中的孔子形象》，台湾东亚文明研究学刊第4卷第2期，第185页；原文参见Samten G.Karmay, "The Interview betwteen Phyva Keng-tse lan-med and Confucius", pp.6,171; "A General introduction to the Hisitory and Doctrines of Bon", p.107.）我们不必一定认为这一人物一定指的是孔子本人，但毋庸怀疑的是这一人物与孔子的确发生了某种意义的关联。土观·罗桑却吉尼玛在其《土观宗派源流》中比较集中地表达了西藏对这一人物的普遍看法，虽然他对这些看法持否定的态度。他说：藏人言公子神灵王，认为是灵异之王。又有些汉传历数禳解法中，制造了《公子现证修法》的仪轨。又有一类书中称工巧公子，认为他是一位善于工巧的能人，这些全是暗中摸索之语。［6］土观活佛的记述，表明了在他之前西藏文化关于孔子的基本认识，同时也说明了随着藏汉文化交流的加深，藏民族中已经有人对孔子有了更加明晰的认识，而对传统的看法开始质疑。另外，近代著名藏族学者工珠·云丹嘉措（1813～1899年）在其所著百科全书《知识宝库》中也表明，西藏文化中的“贡则楚吉杰布”就是孔子，他被视为“无数算学与消灾仪式文献的创造者”，［7］所有有关占卜、算命、工巧、仪式、禳灾的文化都与之相关。我们认为，“贡则楚吉杰布”与孔子密切相关，他是藏文化对孔子这一汉文化人物神秘化加工的艺术化人物。这一人物的产生与汉文化在唐代向吐蕃的传播有密切关系。唐代是汉文化，特别是儒家文化向西藏传播的一个高峰期。在这一时期，儒家文化大量进入西藏社会，并且为西藏本土文化所认同、吸收和改造。但是，输入西藏的汉文化，并不是主要表现为思想方面，而主要表现为与人们社会行为密切相关的礼仪、占卜、工巧文化，而唐文化对吐蕃文化的影响，也主要体现在这一方面。关于这一点，可以通过文成公主人藏时所带去的文明体现出来，据藏史记载，文成公主人藏时带去汉地很多东西，其中有“金镶书橱，诸种金玉器具，诸种造食器皿、食谱，诸种花缎、锦、绫、罗与诸色衣料二万匹”；还有“四百有四种医方，百诊五观六行术，四部配剂术和书典三百六十卷，术数书三百卷”。大致都是工艺、历算等方面的著作和物品。文成公主本人也好“术数”、通风水，她设计了大昭寺等建筑，这些都是唐文明对西藏影响的主要方面。与此同时，孔子的名声也被带到了西藏，他是汉文明或儒家文明的创造者，也就是工巧、风水、占卜、历算的创造者，所以被人们普遍认为他是具有特殊神奇能力的文化象征人物。而与汉文化交流更加频繁的敦煌以及唐蕃交界地带，人们对孔子更加熟悉，孔子对这一带的影响，主要体现在道德伦理方面，因此，他被看作圣人、先贤，而不是具有神秘色彩的占卜、禳灾人物。三虽然我们注意到在整个藏文化传统中，孔子主要表现为道德和神异两种不同形象的人物，但毫无疑问，作为神异人物的孔子形象“贡则楚吉杰布”是西藏文化中更为典型的形象。他不仅表明了藏文化对汉文化的吸收认同和理解接受能力，而且也表现了藏文化在吸收汉文化过程中所具有的民族思维特点，这就是在宗教文化需要的背景下，充分地展开民族特有的神话思维能力，对于孔子相关的传说进行艺术加工，从而创造出既与孔子本人相关、但又不完全同于汉文化中孔子形象的“贡则楚吉杰布”。（一）苯教文化对孔子的吸收和改造苯教是西藏的本土宗教，在汉文化输入吐蕃社会时期，它仍然是当时的强势文化，在社会思想中占据主流地位。而当孔子的种种传说随着汉文化的输人而逐渐为藏民族文化所了解的时候，苯教即已经开始运用自身的特点对这一汉文化的人物进行创造，这为西藏文化中孔子形象的形成奠定了一定文化基础。苯教文献中有大量与“贡则”或“贡则楚吉杰布”相关的记载。特别是在苯教教主辛饶米沃且具有强烈神秘色彩的传说文献中，已经为我们勾勒出一个完全苯教化的孔子形象。根据这些文献记载，“贡则楚吉杰布”的前世是一位叫作塞秋当巴的国王，由于累积许多功德，往生后投生为王子。他出生在贾拉欧玛洲其中一个最殊胜、以魔幻布局的城中。因为“贡则楚吉杰布”有汉王室血统，并且出生时双手掌上即有三十个环状的“贡则幻变字母”，所以他的父亲给他取名为“汉族幻变之王孔泽”。“贡则楚吉杰布”具有观察他手上的幻变字母以预测未来的能力，并且擅长念诵咒语。为了宣扬苯教教法，“贡则楚吉杰布”远离家乡，云游各地，在旅途中向神童洽肯则岚眉虚心请教并深受启发，最后建造了一座雄伟的苯教寺庙。但是他却无法对抗鬼怪的蓄意破坏，幸赖苯教教主辛饶米沃且的协助，这座寺庙才得以保全，“贡则楚吉杰布”也因此成为辛饶米沃且的弟子。辛饶米沃且后来娶“贡则楚吉杰布”的女儿为妻，并生有一子，取名楚布琼，并且辛饶米沃且将360种占卜法悉数传授给楚布琼。通过种种刻意的描述，“贡则楚吉杰布”被披上了一层神秘面纱。然而可以肯定的是，“贡则楚吉杰布”在苯教传统中扮演重要角色，是苯教四位重要大师，或者是苯教教主辛饶米沃且的化身。在苯教文献中，对“贡则楚吉杰布”或其孙“贡则楚布琼”的描述都与占卜有关，他还被看作苯教所有仪式文献的创造者。我们认为，苯教中“贡则楚吉杰布”的原型就是孔子。在唐代汉文化输入吐蕃社会的过程中，最能为藏民族所接受和认同的不是别的，而是与占卜、风水、历算、攘灾相关的神秘文化。这些文化的根源，从根本上说，都是源于《周易》及其他儒家文化典籍，而孔子注重礼仪，“删定六经”，在汉文化中一向被看作是包括《周易》在内的儒家文化的创造者，藏民族自然也就把他看作是神秘文化的象征人物，而把相应的一些典籍也归之于他的名下。至于说“贡则楚吉杰布”双手掌心上与生俱来的幻变字母，笔者认为也和利用《周易》占卜的记忆方法有关。中国古代的占卜，为了便于记忆，常常用手上的指节表示五行、干支、八卦，在推算过程中按照规律掐算，藏族人看了觉得挺神奇，以为手上有神秘的幻变字母，所以将之附会于孔子。而孔子为苯教所认同和吸收，则一方面在于苯教文化和汉地占卜、攘灾文化的相似性；另一方面则在于佛苯斗争的需要。在佛教和苯教的斗争中，苯教为了争取信徒，扩大影响，把本不属于自己神话系统的人物吸收过来，或者做特殊的转化，将之视为同一的。其中，最突出的例子，就是把汉文化中的老子和苯教教主辛饶米沃且等同起来，这首先来自于道教所编造而盛行于当时的“老子化胡”的传说。在这个传说中，老子被认为是释迦牟尼的老师，自然为苯教所接受认同。我们在苯教文献中看到，释迦牟尼也被看作是辛饶米沃且的弟子，苯教的四大法师之一。同时，汉文化中又有盛行的“孔子师老子”的故事，这样，把孔子吸收到苯教文化中也就不足为奇了。但是，为什么苯教又把孔子演变为辛饶米沃且的岳父呢？如上指出，藏民族思维中自然地把作为汉文化创造者的孔子和推动者的唐太宗等同起来，如把唐太宗叫作“贡则楚琼”，而孔子的名字中也有了“楚吉杰布”（皇帝）的称号涵义。众所周知，唐太宗是松赞干布的岳父，这在汉藏文化中家喻户晓，既然孔子和唐太宗是等同的，而唐太宗又把女儿嫁给了松赞干布，所以苯教自然把这美丽的故事纳入孔子的神话之中，孔子变成了国王，变成了岳父。这样的影射，也自然能获得藏民族百姓的认同，甚至会获得统治阶层的支持。另外，苯教文献中有关“贡则楚吉杰布”在旅途中与童子洽肯则岚眉的对话，也极可能是脱胎于描绘孔子与项橐事迹的民间传说。（二）佛教文化对孔子的吸收和改造佛教经过前弘时期的传播，为其在西藏立足奠定了基础。到后弘时期，具有本土特色的藏传佛教逐渐形成，随后在西藏社会意识形态中一直处于主流统治地位。但是，藏传佛教的形成也不能不考虑其他文化系统因素对藏族社会的影响，对于已经被苯教所改造并为西藏社会所普遍认同的孔子，藏传佛教也对之进行佛教化的吸收和改造。与苯教一样，藏传佛教在形成过程中大量吸纳了汉地神秘文化的内容，把这一方面的内容称之为“算学”，并视为佛教的“五明”之一，同时也认为“贡则楚吉杰布”是这一方面的象征性人物。但与苯教所不同的是，藏传佛教认为汉族神秘文化的起源以及在西藏的传播，都是佛教感化的结果。根据16世纪的藏文著作《格言集锦——如意宝石》的说法，佛陀看到汉族喜好外道而无法理解佛陀教法，便指派了在佛教中象征智慧的文殊菩萨以世俗谛的五行算学降伏汉族子民。文殊菩萨在汉地五台山显现了很多奇迹，并给“贡则楚吉杰布”传授了五行算学。关于“贡则楚吉杰布”向文殊菩萨学习的内容，《格言集锦——如意宝石》说是五行算学的三十一续部以及三百六十种占卜法；五世达赖喇嘛说是年、月、日、时、生命力、身体、财富、运势、八卦、九宫等命理学概念；而五世达赖喇嘛的摄政桑结嘉措却说是称之为“解”的医疗方法和称作“道”的消灾仪式。但无论如何，都可以说是西藏命理学的主要内容。关于五行算学传人西藏的情况，五世达赖喇嘛说是由文成公主首先带至西藏；而桑结嘉措认为，因为大悲圣者观音的悲心展现，早在西藏传说中的第一位国王聂赤赞普时期甚至更早，“贡则楚吉杰布”就来到西藏，并创作了各种仪式，他所创作的仪式经常与苯教仪式混淆。这种陈述清楚地传达了作者明显区分苯教与佛教传承的意图，并暗示苯教与佛教关于“贡则楚吉杰布”的记载实属不同传承。藏传佛教关于“贡则楚吉杰布”的种种说法，表明了他们对汉文化的认同，以及在佛教的立场上努力吸收和容纳汉文化的态度。从而以藏传佛教对汉族孔子的印象为基础，借由文殊菩萨和一位起源于高度发展文明中的圣人形象，创造了具有佛教色彩的“贡则楚吉杰布”，以确保他们所新创的、融人佛教理念的西藏命理学系统的威信。这个创造的过程，不仅呈现了藏民族独特的文化创造力，同时也揭示了藏传佛教徒企图吸收汉文化中的重要成份，以达传播佛法的目的和意图。到了近代，著名藏族学者工珠·云丹嘉措对关于西藏命理学的传统观点做了总结，在其名著《知识宝库》中说：“五行算学，或称为西藏命理学的来源是内地。在第一位内地皇帝罢忽刹替时，一位居住在海边的百姓献给皇帝一只金色乌龟。皇帝仔细检视金色乌龟之后，心中首次出现八卦的象征符号。他根据这些符号创造了与八卦、九宫和十二生肖相关的各种算法。在此基础上，转世的国王、大臣及学者们逐渐发展出五行算学。后来出现许多相关文献，尤其是孔夫子——他是文殊师利的化身，在西藏以贡则楚杰著称——他也是无数算学与消灾仪式文献传承的创始者。在西藏本地最初是由前、后二位公主带来汉族算学文献，开启相关传承”。工珠·云丹嘉措的记载表明了西藏古代传统文化对孔子的普遍共识，不管“贡则楚吉杰布”与汉文化中的孔子形象相去多远，其根本上都是基于藏民族根据自身文化传统的需要，对汉文化积极吸收、认同和改造的必然结果。［参考文献］［1］［4］［法国］石泰安．两卷敦煌藏文写本中的儒教格言［A］．耿升译．王尧、王启龙主编．国外藏学研究译文集（第11辑）［C］．拉萨：西藏人民出版社，1994．269、272．［2］［法国］麦克唐纳．敦煌吐蕃历史文书考释［M］．耿舁译．西宁：青海人民出版社，1991：196．［3］王尧编著．吐蕃金石录［M］．北京：文物出版社，1982．43．［5］［法国］麦克唐纳．《汉藏史集》初释［A］．王尧、王启龙主编．国外藏学研究译文集（第4辑）［C］．拉萨：西藏人民出版社，1988：86．［6］土观·罗桑却吉尼玛．土观宗教源流［M］．北京：民族出版社，2000．202．［7］曾德明、林纯瑜．西藏文化中的孔子形象［J］．台湾东亚文明研究学刊，2007，（2）：200．［收稿日期］2008－09－02［基金项目］本文为西藏民族学院2009年度青年项目“唐蕃时期儒家文化在西藏的传播”（项目批准号：09MYQ05）的阶段性成果［作者简介］1、魏冬（1977—），陕西合阳人，博士研究生，讲师，主要从事道家教哲学和隋唐三教关系研究；2、益西群培（1951—），藏族，西藏拉萨人，主要从事藏汉翻译和藏语言研究。（1、陕西师范大学哲学系，陕西 西安 710062；2、西藏自治区人民政府，西藏 拉萨 850000）

从内容上来看《高家村》是讨论高家村从1949年到90年代中期的变迁，本书的主要内容都是根据主题而写的，每个主题自成一章。这些主 题包括：土地、水域与地方政治，人口与政治，生活水平，农村卫生，农村教育，大跃进，"文化大革命"，改革，移民打工，风俗习惯的变化和延续，高家村与外 部世界。