The Morrie I knew, the Morrie so many others knew, would not have been the man he was without the years he spent working at a mental hospital just outside Washington, D.C., a place with the deceptively peaceful name of Chestnut1 Lodge2. It was one of Morrie's first jobs after plowing3 through a master's degree and a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago. Having rejected medicine, law, and business, Morrie had decided4 the research world would be a place where he could contribute without exploiting others.
Morrie was given a grant to observe mental patients and record their treatments. While the idea seems common today, it was groundbreaking in the early fifties. Morrie saw patients who would scream all day. Patients who would cry all night. Patients soiling their underwear. Patients refusing to eat, having to be held down, medicated, fed intravenously.
One of the patients, a middle-aged5 woman, came out of her room every day and lay facedown on the tile floor, stayed there for hours, as doctors and nurses stepped around her. Morrie watched in horror. He took notes, which is what he was there to do. Every day, she did the same thing: came out in the morning, lay on the floor, stayed there until the evening, talking to no one, ignored by everyone. It saddened Morrie. He began to sit on the floor with her, even lay down alongside her, trying to draw her out of her misery6. Eventually, he got her to sit up, and even to return to her room. What she mostly wanted, he learned, was the same thing many people want-someone to notice she was there.
Morrie worked at Chestnut Lodge for five years. Although it wasn't encouraged, he befriended some of the patients, including a woman who joked with him about how lucky she was to be there "because my husband is rich so he can afford it. Can you imagine if I had to be in one of those cheap mental hospitals?"
Another woman-who would spit at everyone else took to Morrie and called him her friend. They talked each day, and the staff was at least encouraged that someone had gotten through to her. But one day she ran away, and Morrie was asked to help bring her back. They tracked her down in a nearby store, hiding in the back, and when Morrie went in, she burned an angry look at him.
"So you're one of them, too," she snarled8.
"One of who?"
"My jailers."
Morrie observed that most of the patients there had been rejected and ignored in their lives, made to feel that they didn't exist. They also missed compassion-something the staff ran out of quickly. And many of these patients were well-off, from rich families, so their wealth did not buy them happiness or contentment. It was a lesson he never forgot.
I used to tease Morrie that he was stuck in the sixties. He would answer that the sixties weren't so bad, compared to the times we lived in now.
He came to Brandeis after his work in the mental health field, just before the sixties began. Within a few years, the campus became a hotbed for cultural revolution. Drugs, sex, race, Vietnam protests. Abbie Hoffman attended Brandeis. So did Jerry Rubin and Angela Davis. Morrie had many of the "radical9" students in his classes.
That was partly because, instead of simply teaching, the sociology faculty10 got involved. It was fiercely antiwar, for example. When the professors learned that students who did not maintain a certain grade point average could lose their deferments and be drafted, they decided not to give any grades. When the administration said, "If you don't give these students grades, they will all fail," Morrie had a solution: "Let's give them all A's." And they did.
Just as the sixties opened up the campus, it also opened up the staff in Morrie's department, from the jeans and sandals they now wore when working to their view of the classroom as a living, breathing place. They chose discussions over lectures, experience over theory. They sent students to the Deep South for civil rights projects and to the inner city for fieldwork. They went to Washington for protest marches, and Morrie often rode the busses with his students. On one trip, he watched with gentle amusement as women in flowing skirts and love beads11 put flowers in soldiers' guns, then sat on the lawn, holding hands, trying to levitate12 the Pentagon.
"They didn't move it," he later recalled, "but it was a nice try."
One time, a group of black students took over Ford7 Hall on the Brandeis campus, draping it in a banner that read MALCOLM X UNIVERSITY. Ford Hall had chemistry labs, and some administration officials worried that these radicals13 were making bombs in the basement. Morrie knew better. He saw right to the core of the problem, which was human beings wanting to feel that they mattered.
The standoff lasted for weeks. And it might have gone on even longer if Morrie hadn't been walking by the building when one of the protesters recognized him as a favorite teacher and yelled for him to come in through the window.
An hour later, Morrie crawled out through the window with a list of what the protesters wanted. He took the list to the university president, and the situation was diffused14.
Morrie always made good peace.
At Brandeis, he taught classes about social psychology15, mental illness and health, group process. They were light on what you'd now call "career skills" and heavy on "personal development."
And because of this, business and law students today might look at Morrie as foolishly naive16 about his contributions. How much money did his students go on to make? How many big-time cases did they win?
Then again, how many business or law students ever visit their old professors once they leave? Morrie's students did that all the time. And in his final months, they came back to him, hundreds of them, from Boston, New York, California, London, and Switzerland; from corporate17 offices and inner city school programs. They called. They wrote. They drove hundreds of miles for a visit, a word, a smile.
"I've never had another teacher like you," they all said.
As my visits with Morrie go on, I begin to read about death_, how different cultures view the final passage. There is a tribe in the North American Arctic, for example, who believe that all things on earth have a soul that exists in a miniature form of the body that holds it-so that a deer has a tiny deer inside it, and a man has a tiny man inside him. When the large being dies, that tiny form lives on. It can slide into something being born nearby, or it can go to a temporary resting place in the sky, in the belly18 of a great feminine spirit, where it waits until the moon can send it back to earth.
Sometimes, they say, the moon is so busy with the new souls of the world that it disappears from the sky. That is why we have moonless nights. But in the end, the moon always returns, as do we all.
That is what they believe.
莫里曾在华盛顿郊外的一家精神病医院工作过好几年,那家医院有一个听上去挺宁静的名字:栗树园。如果没有这段人生经历的话,莫里就不会是我所认识的那个莫里,也不会是众人所认识的那个莫里。那是莫里从芝加哥大学读出硕士学位和博士学位后最早找到的一份工作。他摈弃了医学、法律、商贸专业后,把搞研究看成是一个不靠剥削别人而有所贡献的工作。
莫里得到了医方的允许,他可以观察病人的行为举止,记录下对他们的治疗方法。这个做法在今天看来是很普通的,但在五十年代初它却极具挑战性和富有开拓精神。莫里看到了整天尖叫的病人,看到了整夜哭闹的病人。有的病人故意弄脏自己的内衣内裤,有的拒绝进食,得被人按倒后进行药物治疗,靠静脉注射让他进食。
病人中有一个中年妇女,她每天走出病房,俯卧着躺在铺着瓷砖的大厅里,一躺就是几个小时,医生和护士就在她身边走来走去。此景让莫里觉得非常可怕。他作了记录,这是他的工作。她每天都这样重复着:早上出来,在地上躺到傍晚时分,不跟别人说话,也不为他人所注意。莫里看了很难受,他也去坐在地上,甚至和她并排躺在一起,试图帮她从痛苦中解脱出来。最后,他终于使她坐了起来,甚至回到了病房。他琢磨出了其中的原因,她最需要的其实也是许多人都需要的东西--有人注意到自己的存在。
莫里在栗树园工作了五年。虽然院方并不鼓励他这么做,但他还是和一些病人交上了朋友,其中有一个女病人和他开玩笑说,她能进这儿来真是太幸运了,"因为我丈夫有钱,他付得起昂贵的医疗费。要是进那些价格便宜的精神病院,那才惨呢。"
另一个女病人--她朝任何人吐唾沫--也对莫里产生了好感,称他是她的朋友。他们每天交谈,其他的医务人员见有人能与她沟通,也都抱着赞许的态度。然而有一天她逃跑了,人们叫莫里帮着把她找回来。他们在附近的一家商店找到了她,她躲在很靠后的一个地方。当莫里进来时,她向他射去愤怒的目光。
"原来你和他们是一伙的,"她咆哮着说。
"和谁一伙?"
"看守我的狱卒。"
莫里观察到那儿的病人大多数在生活中都遭到别人的冷淡和厌弃,使他们感觉不到自己的存在。他们也得不到同情--这种同情心在医务人员的身上很快就耗空了。许多病人都很有钱,来自富有的家庭,显然财富并没有力他们带来幸福和满足。这是莫里永远不会忘记的经验教训。
我常取笑他说,他是对六十年代念念不忘的老古董。他回答我,与现在相比六十年代并不太糟。
他在精神病医院干完后便去了布兰代斯大学,那时正要进入六十年代,在短短的几年里,校园成了文化革命的温床。吸毒,性开放,种族歧视,反战示威。阿比•霍夫曼去了布兰代斯,杰里•鲁宾和安吉拉•戴维斯也去了布兰代斯。莫里的班上有许多激进分子。
造成这个情况的一个原因是,那些教社会学的教授不单单是教书,常常也卷入到社会和政治中去。比方说,他们都持激烈的反战态度。当教授们得知那些没有达到某一分数线的学生将被取消缓役资格时,他们便决定不给学生们打分。当学校当局说,"如果你们不打成绩,这些学生就作不及格处理时,"莫里提出了建议:"给他们全打A"他们果真这么做了。
六十年代为校园带来了发展,也为莫里所在系的教授们拓展了思路,其中包括上课时开始始穿牛仔裤和凉鞋,也包括把教室变成一个生气勃勃的场所,他们改变了单一的讲课模式,更提倡讨论的学习方法。他们不再追求理论而是推崇实践。他们把学生送到南方腹地①去研究人权,送他们去内地城市做实地考察。他们还去华盛顿参加示威游行,莫里经常和学生们一起乘坐公共汽车。在一次外出的旅途中,他颇觉有趣地看见一些穿戴着长裙和爱情念珠的姑娘们把鲜花放人炮筒,然后坐在草坪上,合拢着双手,试图去感化五角大楼。
"她们打动不了五角大楼的,"他后来回想道,"但是个不错的尝试。"
有一次,一群黑人学生占领了布兰代斯校园里的福特教学楼,并打出了马尔科姆•艾克斯②大学的横幅。福特教学楼设有化学实验室,校方担心那些激进分子会在地下室里制造炸弹。莫里心里比他们清楚。他认识到了问题的本质,那就是人需要意识到他们的存在价值。僵局持续了好几个星期,而且丝毫没有缓解的迹象。这时莫里正好经过那幢大楼,里面有个示威者认出了这位他最喜欢的老师,于是大声喊他从窗口进去。
①指美国南部最具南方特点的几个省份,尤指南卡罗来纳滥治亚、亚拉巴马和密西西比等州。
②美国黑人领袖。
一个小时后,莫里带着一份示威者的要求从窗口爬了出来。他把这份要求送到了校长那里,形势得到了缓解。
莫里总是充当和平的使者。
在布兰代斯,他给学生们讲授社会心理学,心理疾病和健康以及小组疗程。教授们并不注重现在所谓的"职业能力"的培养,而是偏重于"个人发展"的研究。
正因为如此,今天的企业管理专业和法律专业的学生也许会把莫里的努力视作既愚蠢又幼稚的行为。他教出的学生能赚多少钱?他们能打赢多少有高额报酬的官司?
然而,有多少企业管理专业和法律专业的学生在离开大学后会再去看望他们的导师?莫里的学生却一直和他保持着联系,就在他最后的几个月里,有数以百计的学生回到他的身边。他们来自波士顿,纽约,加州,伦敦和瑞士;来自公司的办公室和内地的学校。他们打电话,写信。他们千里迢迢地赶来,就为了一次探望,一句话,一个微笑。
"我一生中从未有过像你这样的老师,"他们异口同声他说。
随着我对莫里的探访的继续,我开始学习有关死亡的学说,研究不同的文化对人生最后这段旅程的不同诠释。比如说,在北美的北极地带有个部落,他们相信世界上的一切生灵都存在着灵魂。它是一种缩小了的依附在躯体内的原我--因此,鹿的体内还有一头小鹿,人的体内也有一个小人,当大的躯体死去时,小的原我依然活着。它会投胎到诞生在附近的某某生物里,或者去天空的暂憩处--伟大女神的肚子里,等待月亮把它送回地球。
有时候,他们说,月亮固忙于新的灵魂的降世,于是便从天空中消失了。所以有的夜晚没有月光。但最终,月亮是要回来的,就像我们每个人一样。
这就是他们的信仰。
1 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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2 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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3 plowing | |
v.耕( plow的现在分词 );犁耕;费力穿过 | |
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4 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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5 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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6 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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7 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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8 snarled | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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9 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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10 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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11 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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12 levitate | |
v.升在空中 | |
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13 radicals | |
n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 );根基;基本原理;[数学]根数 | |
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14 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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15 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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16 naive | |
adj.幼稚的,轻信的;天真的 | |
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17 corporate | |
adj.共同的,全体的;公司的,企业的 | |
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18 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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