So the gods sent a message to an old king. "We will disguise you so that you can enter the enemy camp, find your son's killer and then you can try and ransom your dead son's body back off him." When the king tells his queen, she is terrified. "Don't go! Man-slaying Achilles will kill you too." But then the old man, King Priam of Troy, says something strange and wonderful but difficult for our generation to fully comprehend. "I don't care if the Greeks kill me, just as long as I first have the heart-comforting embrace of my dead son in my arms."
神傳遞了一個訊息給一位老國王: 「我們會幫你偽裝, 讓你能夠進入敵營, 找到殺死你兒子的兇手, 接著你就可以試著把 已故兒子的屍體贖回。」 當國王跟皇后說這件事時, 她嚇壞了。 「別去! 殺人不貶眼的阿基里斯 會把你也殺了。」 但,接著,這位老人, 特洛伊的國王普賴姆, 說了一句很奇怪且很美妙的話, 但我們的這個世代很難完全理解它。 「我不在乎希臘人是否會殺了我, 只要我在死前能夠先用我的雙臂 給我已故的兒子一個欣慰的擁抱。」
"My dead son in my arms?" Doesn't the old man know that the bodies of the dead are worthless? His quest pointless. Who would risk their life for a corpse? The story comes from Book 24 of "The Iliad," a foundation work of Western civilization written by Homer in 700 BC about a war that took place in 1300 BC. The siege of Troy. A bardic poem that was memorized, recited and performed for thousands of years.
「擁抱已故的兒子?」 這個老人難道不知道 死人的屍體是沒有價值的嗎? 他在追求沒有意義的目標。 為什麼要為了屍體冒生命危險? 這個故事出自於 《伊利亞德》第二十四卷, 這本書是西方文明的基礎作品, 由荷馬在西元前七百年撰寫, 內容是關於西元前 一千三百年發生的一場戰爭。 特洛伊戰爭。 數千年來,這首詩作不斷被 記住、引述、表演出來。
You heard the sound of the Iliad cascade through your ears and in that retelling you rediscover the ancient life and death wisdom of our ancestors. How to be brave in sorrow, how to face your own death with courage, how to teach your children how to die, how to be a better mortal, a better human. (In Greek) "Hṑs hoí g’ amphíepon táphon Héktoros hippodámoio." The very last line in Ancient Greek of "The Iliad" itself. A wisdom that we have willfully forgotten and lost in our newish self-centered fear of death.
源遠流長的伊利亞德之歌 縈繞在你耳畔, 在那不斷重述當中, 你重新找到我們 祖先的古老生死智慧。 在悲傷中要如何勇敢, 如何帶著勇氣去面對你自己的死亡, 如何教導你的孩子要怎麼死, 如何成為更好的凡人, 更好的人。 (希臘語)Hṑs hoí g’ amphíepon táphon Héktoros hippodámoio. 在《伊利亞德》中 古希臘語書寫的最後一句話。 我們在出於自我中心 而對死亡產生的新恐懼中, 蓄意忘記和失去了這種智慧。
In contrast, we have subcontracted our mortality out. Modern death absurdly has become a medical specialism. Palliative care a foreign country we never visit. Or only at the end of our own lives. The ultimate form of death denial. Just as we have forbidden ourselves not only the embrace but the very sight of our own dead.
相對的, 我們把自身的必死性給外包出去了。 很荒謬的是,現代死亡 變成了醫學的專業領域。 紓緩照護是一個我們從未造訪的國度, 或是我們只在生命臨終 才會前往的地方。 這在根本上是否認死亡。 就如同我們禁止自身擁抱死亡, 甚至禁止正視死亡。
Forbidden. Shall we take a test? Can you take the fingers of your right hand? Yeah, you, everyone, and count off the number of corpses that you have seen, touched, kissed and embraced in your entire life? One? Or two? Or none? Will your corpse count make it to the fingers of your left hand? And how could that be, in a world where everyone is mortal?
禁止。 我們能做個測試嗎? 能請各位把右手的手指伸出來嗎? 是的,所有人。 算算看你一生中曾經看過、碰觸過、 親吻過、擁抱過的屍體數目? 一個? 兩個? 沒有? 你計算屍體數目會需要用到左手嗎? 在這個人人都會死的世界, 怎麼可能會這樣?
On our TV screens, we would pixel it out, that final act of Homeric love, the dead Hector in his father's arms, on the grounds of taste and public decency, and the advertizing revenue. But our existential flight has not made us stronger, wiser, more death-courageous, just more fearful. We're far too sad, too frightened of our own death. Our conception of death has narrowed to an I-thing, never an our-thing. The terminally ill are often ashamed of their sickening and hide from sight. We are embarrassed about what to say to a colleague who's lost someone they love. Embarrassed by our mortality. Worried that if we say anything, we will make them more sad. And sad, of course, is bad.
在我們的電視螢幕上, 會用馬賽克遮住 荷馬之愛的最後一幕, 已死的赫克托爾在他的父親懷抱中, 打馬賽克的理由 是美感以及公眾禮儀, 還有廣告收益。 但,為了生存而逃避面對死亡 並沒有讓我們 更強壯、更明智、更不怕死, 只有更恐懼。 我們對自己的死亡 感到太悲傷、太懼怕了。 我們對死亡的觀念已經 狹隘到變成「我」的事, 而非「我們」的事。 得了絕症的人通常 會因為自己的病感到羞恥, 因而躲起來。 我們不知道該對 失去所愛之人的同事 說什麼才不會尷尬。 我們的必死性讓我們尷尬。 擔心如果我們說什麼, 會讓他們更悲傷。 當然,悲傷是不好的。
The pleasures of sorrow, grieving openly together, are unrecognizable to us. Though they are often cited in "The Iliad" along with motherly advice to have more sex as a form of grief therapy. Advice, which speaking from personal experience, can do a grieving soul a world of good.
悲傷的慰藉, 在於一起公開哀悼, 這些不在我們的認知範疇。 雖然悲傷的慰藉常在 引述《伊利亞德》時提到, 並搭配慈母般的建議: 用更多性事來當作 某種形式的哀傷療法。 出於個人經驗而給出的建議, 對於悲傷的人有莫大的好處。
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
We are more afraid of dying than those warriors on the plains of Troy. More conquered by death. And of course, you always would be more sad and more afraid if you believe that you will only ever face death alone and in terror. A once in a death time experience. A me-death, never a we-death.
我們比特洛伊平原上的那些戰士 還要更懼怕死亡。 比他們更被死亡所征服。 當然,你一定會感到 更悲傷、更害怕, 因為你相信你會獨自一人 在恐懼中面對死亡。 一「死」只有一次的經驗。 (註:通常說一「生」) 「我」的死亡,從來 就不是「我們」的死亡。
But what about if you train for death the same way that we all train to drive a car? Taking lessons off an instructor. Going on little laps around your local neighborhood, sitting a whole series of tests, which even if you failed, you'd get to resit again. A common social experience, a rite of passage. It doesn't sound hard, does it? Now if you've never been to a Trojan wake or an Irish version of the same thing, and only seen the movie, you're probably thinking it's just another Irish piss-up. A few drunks in some dank bar, lamenting their dead uncle Johnny who they buried that morning. But you would be dead wrong. Wakes are the oldest rites of humanity.
但如果我們接受死亡訓練, 就像接受駕駛訓練一樣呢? 向教練學習。 到你當地的鄰里去繞個幾圈, 參加一連串的測驗, 就算你被當掉了,也還可以再參加。 變成一種常見的社會經驗, 一種人生重大儀式。 聽起來不難,是吧? 如果你從來沒有參加過 特洛伊式的守靈, 或同一種守靈的愛爾蘭版本, 且只看過電影, 你可能會認為這又是愛爾蘭的狂飲。 陰冷的酒吧裡,幾個醉漢, 為他們在那天早上 下葬的已故強尼叔叔哀悼。 那你就大錯特錯了 (字面譯:死的錯)。 守靈是人類最早的儀式之一。
When I was seven, my mother took me to meet my first corpse. A wake on the island of our ancestors. An old man with hairy nostrils lying in a box, who I instinctively knew wasn't sleeping. Even then in her maternal care she was teaching her boy to overcome the fear of death, just as her community had overcome their fear together for thousands of years. My family have lived in the same village on an island off the coast of County Mayo in Ireland for the last 250 years. A real wake has got a real dead body. A dead one of us.
我七歲時, 我母親帶我去見 我人生中的第一具屍體。 在我祖先的島嶼上舉辦的一場守靈。 棺材裡躺著一個鼻毛很多的老男人, 我直覺知道他並不是在睡覺。 就連還在做月子的時候, 我母親就教導她的兒子 要克服對死亡的恐懼, 就如同她的族人數千年來 都會一同克服他們的恐懼。 我家族一直住在愛爾蘭梅奧郡 外海小島上的同一個村落, 長達兩百五十年。 真正的守靈會有真正的屍體。 亡者是我們的一員。
Now they don't say much, but you sure can learn a lot in their company. Every human being who you have ever touched before, in love or anger, is a warm-blooded mammal. But the dead are so cold they could be carved from marble.
亡者現在不會說什麼了, 但你絕對可以 從他們的陪伴中學到很多。 你曾經接觸過的每一個人, 不論是愛他們或氣他們, 都是溫血哺乳類。 但亡者好冰冷, 好像從大理石雕刻出來的。
Later in life, when I took my own dead brother Bernard in my arms, and kissed and embraced him, I could not at first believe that this stone-cold mannequin had ever been human.
後來, 當我把我過世的手足伯納 抱在懷中, 親吻他、擁抱他, 一開始,我無法相信 這個和石頭一樣冰冷的 人體模型曾經是個真人。
And here's another existential epiphany. As you are sitting here listening to me, your heart is pumping blood. But when you cut that pump, the pressure disappears, the blood flows to the lower limbs, your cheeks sag, your face turns gray, your bloodless fingers a yellow ivory. And the great animating kern of personality, like the ignition on your car, is just gone.
還有另一個關於存在的醒悟。 各位坐在這裡聽我說話的時候, 心臟一直在將血液打出。 但當你切斷那幫浦, 壓力消失了, 血液會流向低處的肢體, 臉頰會下陷, 面孔會轉為灰色, 沒有血的手指會像黃色象牙一樣。 原本活靈活現的那些迷人人格, 如同汽車的點火器,就這麼不見了。
So what happens then, yeah? What we shouldn't do and what our ancestors didn't do, is then say something stupid. Like, "That's just a shell, forget about it," you know? The being that you loved in life never existed outside that body and if you loved that person in life, how should you not revere and respect their body in death? The Romans, the Kelts, the Greeks revered their dead. Like a newborn child, the dead were never to be left alone, and always had someone to watch over them until they were laid to rest.
那接著呢? 我們不該做的事, 也是我們的祖先沒有去做的事, 就是說蠢話。 比如「那只是軀殼,別再想了。」 活著時曾經被你愛著的那個人, 從來沒有存在於那具軀體之外, 如果那個人活著的時候你愛他, 在他死時為什麼不該 崇敬且尊重他的身體? 羅馬人、凱爾特人、希臘人 都會尊重他們的亡者。 就如同新生兒,我們 也不該丟下亡者一個人, 時時刻刻都要有人顧著他們, 直到他們能安息。
Sad was good too. There was no shame in sorrow at the gates of Troy. Even man-slaying Achilles wept until his breastplate was wet with tears, and women cried and grieved openly at funerals. The bodies of the dead were of worth. Together, our ancestors enacted a whole raft of rituals to bind up the wound of mortality, comfort the afflicted, bury their dead and get on with the rest of their lives. They gave of themselves freely. And they had a great time too, feasting, drinking, and having sex at funerals.
悲傷也是好的。 在特洛伊城門,悲傷並不可恥。 連殺人不貶眼的阿基里斯也會哭泣, 哭到眼淚都濕了他的護胸甲, 在葬禮上,女性會公開哭泣和哀悼。 亡者的身體是有價值的。 我們的祖先一起制訂了一大堆儀式, 用來包紮生者的傷口, 安慰痛苦的人, 埋葬他們的亡者, 讓他們在接下來的人生繼續走下去。 他們從悲傷中解放出自己。 他們也渡過很美好的時光, 吃大餐、飲酒、在葬禮上做愛。
Death -- and here is a really big idea -- was and is an every-other-day sort of event. Just as it is in Ireland today, where people still go in great numbers to wakes and funerals, and an ordinary person might see dozens, maybe hundreds of dead bodies in the course of their lifetime. Now funerals can be sad. But there is nothing abstract or sentimental about an Irish wake. The old woman in the box, that red-haired child wrapped up in a shroud is another dead human. Another one of us. Wrapped up, though, in these corpse encountering rituals are a lot of profound protocols.
死亡——這是個很大的想法—— 曾經是也仍然是每兩天 發生一次的那種事件。 現今在愛爾蘭仍然是如此, 那裡的人仍然會去 參加很多守靈和葬禮, 一個普通人在一生當中 可能會見到數十甚至數百具屍體。 葬禮也可以很悲傷。 但愛爾蘭守靈完全不會 抽象難懂也不多愁善感。 棺材中的老女人, 用壽衣包裏的紅髮孩子 是另一個亡者。 另一位我們的成員。 不過,在這些有屍體的儀式中還有著 許多深奧的禮儀規定。
You see, at that wake -- You know, this is what death looks like. This is what death is. You can reach into the coffin and touch. And those protocols allow you to do things. So for instance, there is a licensing of grief. Being angry, tearful, grieving, crying. A recognition of irrevocable change in the very public deadness of the deceased. A communal acknowledgment of bereavement and loss. An unflinching mortal solidarity. A we-death, not a me-death.
要知道,在守靈時—— 死亡看起來就是這個樣子。 這就是死亡。 你可以把手伸進棺材中去觸摸。 那些禮儀規定容許你做某些事。 比如, 有哀悼的許可。 可以生氣、含淚、悲慟、哭泣。 在亡者的死亡公開當中 承認已經發生了不可挽回的改變, 大家一起承認喪失 親友的痛苦和損失。 堅定的人類團結。 是「我們」的死亡, 不是「我」的死亡。
Sharing the company of the dead at wakes and funerals was our foremothers' mortality driving lessons. They're "how to live and die" manual, with a list of embedded instructions, like, how being mortal is the one thing in life that you will never get to choose. How thinking that you're immortal is a foolish idea. How the pleasures of sorrow, open public grief can heal up a wounded soul. And how together we can conquer our fear of death. Sounds good, eh?
在守靈和葬禮上分享亡者的陪伴, 是我們女祖先的駕駛訓練課, 只是談的是生死。 這些駕駛課是「如何活、 如何死」的說明書, 內有指示清單,包括 如何死亡是你在此生中 永遠無法做的選擇。 覺得你永遠不會死, 是如何愚蠢的想法。 悲傷的撫慰和公開的哀悼 如何能療癒受傷的靈魂。 我們一起面對死亡 如何能征服對死亡的恐懼。 聽起來很棒,對吧?(觀眾私語)
(Audience murmurs)
But I wonder is anyone thinking it will never work in today's America. I don't know who my next door neighbors are, families are scattered, there's no communities left to do these wake things with. But again, you would be dead wrong.
但我在納悶,可能有人會心想, 這在現今的美國絕對行不通。 我不知道我的隔壁鄰居是誰, 家人散居各地, 根本沒有剩下什麼 可以一起守靈的團體族群。 但,同樣的, 你又大錯特錯了 (字面譯:死的錯)。
We all have the power as individuals to reenact the wisdom of our ancestors. Confronted in our mortality, we often feel powerless, death-struck. But all you need to do is rediscover yourself. Be a bit more Irish, if you like.
我們每一個人都有力量 可以重建我們祖先的智慧。 面對遲早必來的死亡, 我們通常有著無力感, 被死亡嚇壞。 但,你需要做的就只有 重新認識你自己。 如果你願意的話,試著愛爾蘭一點。
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
Maybe you just never recognized yourself as part of the same mortal community. But it is easy to reconnect if you want to try. Not because you're being altruistic, but for purely selfish reasons. Free dying lessons. Who else did you expect would teach you how to die apart from another dying human? All you have to do is overcome your fear, using the tools that you already have in your hands. Like your phones. So on the day that you hear that someone has lost someone they love, you don't wait but you reach out then with that phone and call them up and say, "I'm sorry for your loss."
也許你只是從來不肯承認 你也屬於血肉之軀的一員。 但若你肯試,很容易可以重新連結。 並不是因為你很無私, 而是出於純自私的理由。 免費的死亡課。 除將死的人之外, 你以為還有誰會教你怎麼死? 你要做的就只有克服你的恐懼, 用你手中已經擁有的工具。 比如你的手機。 在你聽到某人失去了某人的那一天, 別等, 伸手拿起你的手機, 打電話給那個人,說: 「對你的損失,我深表遺憾。」
Or go visit the sick and dying and try to be there for the moment of death, for the witness and the wonder. Nothing else that you will ever do in life will be more profound or more life-affirming. Or go to more funerals. Even if you think you don't know the dead person that well. I can assure you, as long as you are breathing, you know them well enough. Give of yourself freely. Because even by these small steps, you will be recognizing yourself as part of the great mortal us. Just as human, just as vulnerable as all the lives around you.
或者去拜訪生病將死的人, 試著在死亡的時刻也能在場, 為了見證,也為了理解。 你在人生中做的任何事, 都不會比這件事更深刻, 更讓你對生命充滿希望。 或者,多參加葬禮。 即使你覺得自己和亡者並不熟。 我可以向你保證,只要你還在呼吸, 你和他們就算夠熟了。 自在地解放出自己。 因為,即使只是照著這些小步驟做, 你也會了解到,你和我們 所有人都一樣會死。 你也是人, 你也很脆弱, 就和你周遭的所有人一樣。
Death matters because life matters, and the two are indivisible. Don't worry if you feel awkward at first. Practice, practice, practice, until it's just like getting in that car and going and you don't even think about it. Though your own death will take you a whole lifetime to get right.
死亡很重要,因為生命很重要, 這兩者是不可分的。 如果一開始你覺得尷尬,別擔心。 練習,練習,練習, 直到就像坐上車就開走, 自然到不用思考。 不過,你要花上你一生的時間, 才能把你自己的死亡做對。
So after I gave up on going to foreign wars, and the maturity of youth, I turned a bardic poet. And I wrote this praise song in honor of my island mothers, who for thousands of years never faltered to cradle the dead to rest. It's called "If I could sing."
所以,在我放棄去國外打仗 且變更成熟之後, 我轉職為吟遊詩人。 我寫了這首讚頌之歌, 向我的島嶼母親們致敬, 數千年來,她們從不畏縮地 安撫亡者長眠。 作品的名稱叫「如果我能唱歌」。
If I could sing, I would not sing of the fallen city of Ilias and glories gone or Hector's blood dried and stained in sand. No. I would sing of an island, far out to the west, rising sea-plucked, spray-lashed, a citadel of stone, walled deep in the blue ocean. Another Troy, an Irish Troy. Closer to the sinking sun. Unconquered.
如果我能唱歌, 我不會唱出伊利亞德的隕落城市 及消逝的榮耀, 或沙地上已經乾涸的赫克托爾之血。 不。 我會唱出這個島嶼, 位在遙遠的西邊, 豎立海中,浪花不斷擊打, 石頭做的堡壘, 在藍海中用高牆深深圍住。 另一個特洛伊,愛爾蘭特洛伊。 更接近落日。 未被征服。
If you could hear this song, you, too, would listen in rapture to the mná caointe keening women, crying out, grieving, heart-struck in eternal chorus at the wake, where the last best hope of humanity beats on. That mortal being incarnate in flesh shall not live, love or die alone.
如果你能聽見這首歌, 你也會歡天喜地般地 聽見 mná caointe, 慟哭的女人,哭喊出來, 哀悼,痛心, 在守靈的永恆合唱中, 在那裡,人類最後的 最佳希望繼續燃燒著。 具有血肉之軀的人, 不該獨自生活、愛人、死去。
And if I could sing, if we could sing together, my brothers and sisters, surely then we should never stop the singing of this song.
如果我能唱歌, 如果我們能一起唱歌, 我的兄弟姐妹, 當然, 我們永遠都不該停止唱這首歌。
Thank you.
謝謝。
(Applause)
(掌聲)