巴赫的禱告曲

One Sunday winter afternoon， I attended a concert by the Dessoff Choirs titled “Sing-In1）： Bach’s Prayer in B Minor2），” with the original Catholic Mass in Latin transposed3） into Jewish theological ideas in Hebrew. It is not the kind of event I usually attend， but a friend was affiliated with the group. There was a strange blend of highbrow culture—18th-century music sung in a transliterated4） ancient language—and communitarianism5）—voices， trained and untrained， joined in a project that bridged two worlds. Walking into the New York chill afterward， I considered hailing a cab to get home， but the subway was right at the corner.

I spotted a sort-of empty seat—sort of because the passengers on both sides had colonized some of the space. Wanting to read， I squeezed in. I perched forward， irritated that neither of my seatmates budged6） to give me more room.

I’d just begun reading when a shrill voice drew my attention away. A woman with dirty hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail that made her forehead look too large and her eyes too small was standing by the door， launching the woe-unto-me lament to which New York subway riders are inured7）， staring at our shoes during the ensuing8） a capella9）/harmonica/Peruvian10） flute performance and the inevitable passed cup. This time， though， I couldn’t ignore the petitioner. She was weeping.

“I’m so embarrassed，” she cried. “This is so humiliating.”

I’d never before heard a panhandler11） express the humiliation so many must feel. It felt strangely postmodern， like an actor proclaiming that it’s weird to pretend to be someone else. I examined her lined and splotchy12） face， her bulky body—guessed weathered 30s， though she could have been a decade older or younger.

“A few days ago， I left an abusing husband. I went to a shelter， but because of the cold， they’re all overcrowded. I’m three months pregnant and I had to sleep on the floor next to a woman who had bugs crawling all over her.”

The woman wiped her eyes and her nose on the sleeve of her puffy jacket. “I went to the emergency room. I waited 14 hours. Now， I’m trying to get back home.”

Still stuck on the image of a person with bugs crawling over her， I now noticed the woman’s chipped13） tooth. She was trying to get back to the husband who’d abused her？ But we know this is what happens： Women go back to the men who smash their teeth. Particularly women who have nowhere to sleep save on a floor next to someone with bugs.

“I’m trying to get enough money to stay tonight in the YMCA14） on 135th Street. I need $22 more.”

Hadn’t she said she was trying to get home？

We’ve all heard vitriol15） directed toward panhandlers—reports like Fox Business Network’s John Stossel16）’s indignant account of having posed for a few hours as a panhandler during which he earned what he extrapolated17） would be $23，000 tax-free a year. （His experience runs counter to the findings of a survey of San Francisco panhandlers that showed 60 percent made $25 a day or less， and 82 percent were homeless； 44 percent admitted using money collected for drugs and alcohol， but 94 percent reported using it for food.） And， we all know the argument， including from advocates for the homeless， that there is greater cost-benefit to a dollar sent to a food bank18） than dropped into a paper cup.

The woman was beginning to move from person to person. If I had to place a bet on whether she was actually three months pregnant， I’d have to say no. If I had to place a bet on whether she had a husband who’d abused her， I’d have to say even odds19）. But if I had to place a bet on whether she’d recently slept on the floor next to someone crawling with bugs， I’d bet yes. Yes that she wanted to sleep in a clean bed. Yes that she was desperate. Yes that she was weeping.

I would give her a dollar. A dollar isn’t much， but it’s pretty much what I give anyone who asks and who I let catch my eye， which is usually someone every day. Maybe I was being taken. Maybe her next stop would be a dealer or liquor store. But I didn’t think so.

I unzipped the little pouch I was carrying as a wallet. Inside were my Metro card， my American Express card， a $20 bill， and some change. No quarters： just pennies and dimes.

The woman was approaching. I kept my head bowed， fighting back a creeping panic. What should I do？ She’d already seen me reach into my bag.

To give her pennies and dimes， what looked to be 28 cents， seemed worse than not giving her anything. Like a slap in the face. Like Marie Antoinette20） saying “Let them eat cake.”

With my seatmates still unbudging， I was pitched into the aisle. The woman was now inches from me. She bent forward slightly at the waist. I looked up， at her lined skin， her chipped tooth， her red nostrils. I handed her the $20.

Her eyes opened wide. Her lips parted. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She touched my hands， my wrists.

“God bless you，” she said.

In fairy tales， the same story is told over and over. A poor old man sits by the side of the road. The greedy， unfeeling， wealthy daughter passes him by， but the kindly impoverished stepsister shares her bread and water. The poor old man is transformed into a prince， who then marries the kindly girl. Now， though， I felt mortified21）. God bless me for not giving a weeping woman 28 cents on my way from a sacred music concert to my warm， bug-free apartment？ For having only a $20 bill in my wallet？

When I got out of the subway， I cleaned my hands and wrists with the hand-sanitizer in my bag， ashamed that I felt the need to distance myself from the almost primal connection I felt to this woeful woman， to ward off22） the bugs she had described， the germs I imagined her harboring.

At this time of year， many of us struggle with questions related to giving： To whom should we give， how much， in what way？ Whereas for some， this is a religious matter， for most of us， we follow our guts as we decide what to give in gifts or tips or canned goods or checks or our time. How， though， do our guts work？

Philosophers and social psychologists have for some time now been interested in this question with respect to moral decisions. A branch of study called “trolleyology，” named after “the trolley problem，” has emerged that examines the influence of different variables in different decision scenarios. In the trolley problem， a person must decide whether to pull a switch that will divert an out-of-control train from running over five people tied to the tracks but will lead to the death of a solitary tethered23） victim on the other track. In a variant called “the footbridge problem，” the decision is whether to push a fat man off a footbridge， his corpulent24） body halting the train and thereby saving the tethered five. The death count is the same in both scenarios—one dead， five saved—yet most people would pull the switch but would not push the fat man.

Perhaps most of us would not push the fat man because it means crossing a line that threatens our own humanity too. So， in my view， it is with looking away from the panhandler， with ignoring her plea. I accept that it is more efficacious25） to give a check for $365 to a food bank than to hand a dollar bill each day to whichever panhandler happens to catch my eye. With each of those dollar bills， though， more transpires26） than money moving from one pocket to another. The bridge goes both ways. Perhaps we stop a stomach from grumbling， perhaps we spark a feeling of hope—but we also nourish our own capacity for generosity. We enlarge our ability to imagine other lives.

Yes， it is possible the woman on the subway would use the $20 to get a fix27） or a drink or some pills—and if I had her life， I might do the same. Still， I believe her that she also wants a clean， safe place to sleep. We all do.

冬日里一個周日的午后，我去聆聽了戴索夫合唱團演出的一場名為“大家一起唱：巴赫B小調(diào)禱告曲”的音樂會，原作中拉丁文的天主教彌撒被改寫成了希伯來文的猶太教神學理念。如果不是因為我的一位朋友參加了這個合唱團，我通常是不會出席這類活動的。這場演出將高雅文化和社群主義奇妙地融合在了一起：一方面是用音譯過來的古老語言演唱18世紀的音樂，另一方面則是經(jīng)過訓練和未經(jīng)過訓練的嗓音共同參與到這個連接兩個世界的活動中。音樂會結束后，我走在紐約寒冷的街頭，心想要不要打輛出租車回家，不過街角恰好就有個地鐵站。

我發(fā)現(xiàn)了一個還算空的座位——之所以說還算空，是因為座位兩邊的乘客各自占據(jù)了它的一部分空間。因為想看書，我就擠著坐了進去。我坐在那里前傾著身體，為兩個鄰座誰也不肯往旁邊挪讓一下而暗自惱火。

就在我剛開始看書時，一個尖銳的聲音把我的注意力吸引了過去。一個女人站在車門旁邊，一頭臟發(fā)在腦后緊緊地扎成一個馬尾辮，使她的前額顯得過大而眼睛顯得很小。她正在發(fā)出“我好命苦啊”的哀嘆——紐約地鐵一族對此早已司空見慣，隨后她一邊盯著我們的腳下，一邊清唱/吹口琴/演奏秘魯長笛，最后免不了地把討錢的杯子遞了過來。但是這一次，我無法對這個求助者視而不見。她正在哭泣。

“我覺得太難為情了，”她哭著說，“這么做太丟臉了。”

我以前從沒聽到過街頭行乞者說自己感到丟臉，雖然他們中的很多人肯定都有這種感受。她的話讓人有種怪異的后現(xiàn)代主義的感覺，就像一個演員宣稱扮作另一個人很奇怪一樣。我仔細打量了一下她那長著皺紋的臟兮兮的臉和笨重的身軀——我猜她有三十多歲，滿臉滄桑，不過她也可能比我估計的年長或年輕十歲。

“幾天前，我離開了經(jīng)常虐待我的丈夫，去了收容所，但是因為天氣太冷了，收容所里人滿為患。我懷孕三個月了，卻不得不打地鋪，睡在一個渾身爬滿臭蟲的女人旁邊。”

那個女人用她那鼓鼓囊囊的夾克的袖子抹了抹眼睛和鼻子。“我去了急診室，等了14個小時。我現(xiàn)在正想辦法回家。”

我的思緒還停留在想象渾身爬滿臭蟲的人是什么樣子，這時我注意到她那顆有豁口的牙齒。她打算回到虐待她的丈夫身邊嗎？不過我們知道這種情況會發(fā)生：女人會回到打爛她們牙齒的男人身邊。對于那些沒有其他安身之所，只能挨著一個身上有臭蟲的人睡在地板上的女人而言，情況更是如此。

“我打算湊夠錢，今晚住在第135街的基督教青年會那兒，現(xiàn)在還差22塊錢。”

她不是說她想回家嗎？

我們都聽過針對街頭行乞者的刻薄話——比如福克斯商業(yè)網(wǎng)的主持人約翰·施托塞爾就曾經(jīng)在報道中義憤填膺地講述，他曾扮成街頭行乞者幾個小時，以那幾個小時他賺到的錢來推算，他的年收入將是23000美元，而且還不用交稅。（他的經(jīng)歷與對舊金山街頭行乞者所做的一項調(diào)查的結果截然相反。該項調(diào)查表明，在街頭行乞者中，60%的人每天的收入在25美元以內(nèi)，82%的人無家可歸，44%的人承認將討來的錢用于吸毒和酗酒，但是有94%的人稱他們將錢用來購買食物。）而且，我們也都知道與此相關的爭論，包括為無家可歸者爭取權益的人士也主張，把一塊錢捐給食物銀行要比直接投入乞討者的紙杯帶來更高的成本收益率。

那個女人開始依次走向每位乘客。如果非要我打賭說她是否真的懷有三個月的身孕，我得說沒有。如果非要我打賭說她是否有一個虐待她的丈夫，我得說可能性一半一半。但是，如果非要我打賭說她最近是否挨著一個身上爬著臭蟲的人睡在地板上，我敢說是的。是的，她想要睡在干凈的床上。是的，她感到絕望。是的，她在哭泣。

我打算給她一塊錢。一塊錢不多，但對于每一個張口乞討并引起我注意的人，我?guī)缀醵际墙o這些錢。通常每天都會給。也許我被騙了。也許她接下來就會去找毒販子或是去賣酒的商店。但我認為她不會。

我拉開當做錢包隨身攜帶的小袋子的拉鏈，里面裝著我的地鐵卡、美國運通卡、一張20美元的鈔票和一些零錢。沒有25分的硬幣，只有一些分幣和一角的硬幣。

那個女人離我越來越近。我一直低著頭，對抗著逐漸襲來的慌亂。我該怎么辦呢？她已經(jīng)看見我把手伸進包里了。

給她分幣和一角的硬幣——看上去約有28美分——似乎還不如什么都不給。那簡直像給了人一記耳光。就像瑪麗·安托瓦妮特說的：“讓他們吃蛋糕好了。”

由于我的鄰座依然寸土不讓，我被擠到了過道里。那個女人現(xiàn)在距我只有咫尺之遙。她的上身微微向前傾著。我抬起頭，看著她發(fā)皺的皮膚、缺了口的牙齒和紅紅的鼻孔。我把那張20美元的鈔票遞給了她。

她瞪大雙眼，張開了嘴，淚水順著她的臉頰流了下來。她摸了摸我的手和手腕。

“上帝保佑你。”她說。

同樣的故事在童話里講了一遍又一遍。一位可憐的老人坐在路邊，貪婪、冷漠、富有的女孩視而不見地從他身邊走過，而她那貧窮、善良的同父異母的姐妹則把自己的面包和水分給了老人。那位可憐的老人搖身一變成了一位王子，然后娶了那個善良的女孩為妻。可是現(xiàn)在，我卻感到羞愧。上帝保佑我，因為我在從宗教音樂會返回溫暖且沒有臭蟲的家的路上，沒有把那28美分給一個哭泣的女人？因為我錢包里只有一張20美元的鈔票？

走出地鐵后，我用包里的洗手液清洗了雙手和手腕。對于我感受到的與這個可憐的女人間近乎原始的聯(lián)系，我感覺需要保持距離；對于她所描述的臭蟲和我想象中她身上攜帶的細菌，我感覺需要躲避——我為自己的這些想法感到慚愧。

每年的這個時候，我們中的許多人都會為了有關施與的問題而糾結不已：該向誰施與，施與多少，采取什么方式？對一些人而言，這是個宗教問題，而對我們大多數(shù)人來說，我們憑直覺決定送什么禮物，給多少小費，捐贈什么罐頭食品，開多少支票或是付出多少時間。但我們的直覺又是如何運作的呢？

一段時間以來，哲學家和社會心理學家都對這個有關道德抉擇的問題很感興趣。一個叫做“電車學”的研究分支應運而生，其名稱來源于“電車難題”，研究的是在不同的決策場景中不同變量對決策的影響。在電車難題中，一個人必須決定是否拉動轉轍器讓一輛失控的列車轉軌，以避免列車從五個被綁在軌道上的人身上碾軋過去，但是轉軌的列車會軋死綁在另一條軌道上的一個人。電車難題還有另一個版本，叫做“天橋難題”。在這個情境中，人們需要決定是否要將一個胖子推下天橋，用他肥胖的身體將列車攔停，從而使被綁的五個人獲救。在兩個場景中，死亡的人數(shù)是相同的——一個死了，五個得救——但是大多數(shù)人會拉動轉轍器，卻不會把胖子推下天橋。

也許我們大多數(shù)人不會把胖子推下去是因為那意味著越過了底線，也威脅到了我們自己的人性。在我看來，扭過頭去不看行乞者、對她的懇求置若罔聞也是如此。我承認，為食物銀行開一張365美元的支票比每天給某個碰巧引起我注意的行乞者一美元要更有效。但是，每給行乞者一美元，從一個口袋流向另一個口袋的卻不僅僅是錢而已。這對施受雙方都有影響。也許我們讓一個人的肚子不再餓得咕咕叫，也許我們點燃了一絲希望——但我們同時也滋養(yǎng)了自己的慷慨之心。我們增強了自己感受其他生命的能力。

沒錯，地鐵上的那個女人可能會用那20美元去注射毒品、買醉或是濫用藥品——如果我過著她那樣的生活，我可能也會做同樣的事。但我仍然相信，她同樣想要一個干凈、安全的地方睡覺。這是人之常情。

1.sing-in [s???n] n. （聽眾參加合唱的）大家唱（節(jié)目）

2.Bach’s Prayer in B Minor：此為該合唱團改編之后的名稱，巴赫原作名為《B小調(diào)彌撒曲》（Mass in B Minor）。

3.transpose [tr?ns?p??z] vt. 把……改寫成另一種語言（或體裁）

4.transliterate [tr?nz?l?t（?）r?t] vt. 把（一個字母體系的單詞等）按另一字母體系拼寫；音譯

5.communitarianism [k??mju?n??te?ri?n?z?m] n. 社群主義，是一種提倡民主卻與個人主義、自由主義對立的政治哲學。

6.budge [b?d?] vi. 挪動，微微移動

7.inured [??nj??（r）d] adj. 習慣的，習以為常的

8.ensuing [?n?sju???] adj. 隨后發(fā)生的

9.a capella：阿卡貝拉，即無伴奏合唱，可追溯至中世紀的教會音樂。

10.Peruvian [p??ru?vi?n] adj. 秘魯?shù)模幻佤斎说?/p>

11.panhandler [?p?nh?ndl?（r）] n. 〈美口〉街頭行乞者

12.splotchy [spl?t?i] adj. 污漬斑斑的

13.chipped [t??pt] adj. 有缺口的；有缺損的

14.YMCA：基督教青年會，全球性基督教青年社會服務團體，1844年創(chuàng)立于英國倫敦。

15.vitriol [?v?tri?l] n. 刻薄；諷刺；尖刻的言詞

16.John Stossel：約翰·施托塞爾（1947～），美國電視明星、作家，福克斯商業(yè)網(wǎng)（Fox Business Network）電視節(jié)目主持人

17.extrapolate [?k?str?p?le?t] vt. 推斷，推知

18.food bank：食物銀行，主要為經(jīng)濟有困難人士提供暫時性的膳食支援。

19.even odds：成敗機會相等

20.Marie Antoinette：瑪麗·安托瓦妮特（1755～1793），法國國王路易十六的妻子。據(jù)傳聞稱，當大臣告知瑪麗，法國老百姓連面包都沒得吃的時候，瑪麗天真地說：“讓他們吃蛋糕好了。”不過這一傳聞并無歷史依據(jù)。

21.mortified [?m??（r）t?fa?d] adj. 感到羞辱的；窘迫的

22.ward off：避開；擋開

23.tether [?tee?（r）] vt. （用繩、鏈等）拴

24.corpulent [?k??（r）pj?l?nt] adj. 肥胖的；臃腫的

25.efficacious [?ef??ke???s] adj. 有效的，靈驗的

26.transpire [tr?n?spa??（r）] vi.〈口〉發(fā)生

27.fix [f?ks] n.〈俚〉毒品的一次注射