08/28 抄書

The old dramatic pattern, with its concept of linear history moving the human race ineluctably to its goal in the modern world, depended on concealed principles of transcendence inappropriate to the human understanding of human affairs. The trinity of acts composing the great drama of human history and its concept of the modern epoch as not just the latest but the last act of the play bear witness to its eschatological origins, and such notions seem to me peculiarly inappropriate to so human an enterprise as that of the historian. But I also find the traditional scheme unsatisfactory because it is not dramatic enough. It fails to accommodate the sense of contingency and, therefore, suspense - the sense that the drama might have turned out otherwise - that belongs to all human temporal experience. Though it has survived for over five centuries, for example, I see no reason to assume that the anthropological vision we owe to the Renaissance is destined to triumph forever over the forces arrayed against it, and much in the modern world suggests the contrary.

But the more human concept of the drama of history that had its effective origins in the Renaissance understanding of culture overcomes these various disadvantages. Its pluralism implies the possibility of a multiplicity of historical dramas, both simultaneous and successive; and so it relieves us of the embarrassment, inherent in a linear and eschatological vision of time, of repeatedly having to reclassify in other terms what for a previous generation seemed modern. Since it perceives history as a part of culture and also, therefore, a human creation, it permits us constantly to reconstruct the dramas of history and so to see the past in fresh relationships to ourselves. Above all, since it insists on no particular outcome for the dramas of history, it leaves the future open.

-- William J. Bouwsma, "The Renaissance and the Drama of Western History", in idem., <A Useable Past>, pp. 361-2.

12/28 居人与过客

昨天乘车进城去，不知道第几百次经过朗费罗桥，望向水上，仍然感动于两岸景色的清丽。日光从上游方向斜斜照过来，后湾的两幢高楼将颀长的剪影映在河面，近处是灯塔山和州政府的金顶，山脚下沿河岸的堤上行人熙攘。下游的水面愈发宽，愈发显得蓝；天气冷而水未结冰，白桅杆的游船都泊在岸边，两岸树木落尽了叶，能够看清灰红的建筑底色。鸟群在城市上空盘旋，不知道是北雁南归，还是就决定在这里落脚。反正这个冬天，尚未露出冰雪峥嵘的面目，年底将近，温润犹过于十一月。

六年以来，这个城市像是一座满载公共历史记忆的大房子，它欢迎新手进入，给予慷慨的馈赠，并许诺他们，你的努力将不会白费，你所获得的任何一点关于过去的知识，都会在现实生活中得到印证。事实上，熟谙掌故将会不断带给你新的乐趣与朋友。在离开它的半年里，我发现自己不止一次地在与陌生人的谈话中提到灯塔山、后湾、剑桥镇上的老房子，以及这里糟糕而漫长的冬天。这无疑是此地的某种荣耀在学院世界里延续的力证。你一旦生活在这里，将永远属于这里；十八、十九世纪的记忆在二十世纪延续，马上二十世纪的记忆，又将被折叠到二十一世纪生活的褶皱当间。这里的未来将不会抛下过去。这里的未来，怎么会抛下如此令人留恋的过去？

五年前，由一张旧地图而对这座城市的肌理开始着迷，继而考索一些不难找到的小故事，固然是巧合，但也非意外。如果不是那些地图上的桥梁、地标建筑和主要街道，今天都还在同样的位置，我不会有那么高的兴致去按图索骥。如果不是一些重要人物的生平、肖像甚至轶事都已经在互联网上被归档、公开并可搜索，我怎么能在课余饭后，坐在屏幕前面动动鼠标，就可想见一百年前人的音容笑貌。在这里回望过去，故事无论怎么讲，都可以成为对当下安稳生活的确证，并且对这安稳生活在未来的延续给予一种希望。在大劫大难、时空断裂的年代，反复讲述历史，考订其上下文，则带来更猛烈的疼痛与不安稳。Vera Schwarcz曾写道：

“记忆不会将过去与现在缝合到一起，抑或把现在带回到过去。体验性的时间（experiential time）全都是破碎的片段；记忆是对此碎片性的一种承认，是让自己明白，那些空缺与失落，必须以言语作为桥梁才能到达。”（Bridge across Broken Time, xi）

我仍然喜欢在不同的季节重回灯塔山，阅读街巷拐角的铭牌。但慢慢地，我发现已经没有继续写这些小故事的必要了。我所了解的过去，已经足够让我在今日的波士顿不会迷路；与此同时，我发现可供使用的材料如此丰富，以至于可以任意采撷，无止境地写下去，且一不小心，写出来的故事便迅速沦为这座城市固有荣耀的一个小小注脚。这样的故事引人羡慕、光滑可爱，却缺少疼痛，因此显得无足轻重。作游记的好处，在于将见闻与理解的无限可能性，框在雪泥鸿爪的短短一瞬；地方风土志的作者，则有大把的时间与纸张，将本地的人事一板一眼地记录在案。我于此地，已断然不是过客，但也并非居人；世上的牵绊，大抵难都难在这中间地带。