1933.01给我三天光明

shiyi18

HEALTH
Three Days to See
“It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.”

By Helen Keller

AP
JANUARY 1933 ISSUE
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I

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations, should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?

Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the epicurean motto of 'Eat, drink, and be merry,' but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

In stories, the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.

The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. "Nothing in particular," she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.

How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.

At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.

If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes." The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

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II

Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?

I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest long on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.

If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.

On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.

I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that "window of the soul," the eye. I can only "see" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.

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Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance? Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?

For instance, can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? Some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.

The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.

Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.

And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs—the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender, and playful friendships are so comforting to me.

On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.

In the afternoon of that first seeing day, I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature, trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field (perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.

When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light, which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.

In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.

III

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The next day—the second day of sight—I should arise with the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.

This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day? Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, but I have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there—animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic presentations of the processes of evolution in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.

I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made use of it. There, indeed, is a place to use your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I, with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.

My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here, in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged Victory of Samothrace are friends of my finger tips. The gnarled, bearded features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.

My hands have lingered upon the living marble of Roman sculpture as well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant to be seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but its figured decorations are lost to me.

So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul of man through his art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of El Greco, catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!

Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that for a deep and true appreciation of art one must educate the eye. One must learn through experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark night, unexplored and unilluminated.

It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty—a beauty so neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a Metropolitan to find this key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the greatest treasures in the shortest time.


The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts, but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion. But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color, grace, and movement?

I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a Pavlowa, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.

One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch thus a meagre glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in my mind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.

So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great figures of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes.

IV

The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.

This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings; there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities and conditions of men as in New York? So the city becomes my destination.

I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long Island. Here, surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boats chug and scurry about the river—racy speed boats, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity upon the river.

I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an awe-inspiring sight, these glittering spires, these vast banks of stone and steel—structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day. How many, I wonder, give it so much as a second glance? Very few, I fear. Their eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.

I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State Building, for there, a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me it would be a vision of another world.

Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their lives. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud. I see suffering, and I am compassionate.

I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of color. I am certain that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be like most other women—too interested in styles and the cut of individual dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on display.

From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city—to Park Avenue, to the slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add to my understanding of how people work and live. My heart is full of the images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life. To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.

My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the theatre, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones of comedy in the human spirit.

At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a glowing memory of how that object looked.

Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight does not agree with the programme you would set for yourself if you knew that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.

I who am blind can give one hint to those who see—one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense; glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.



健康
给我三天光明
"也许是人之常情，对我们所拥有的东西感激不尽，对我们所没有的东西渴望不已，但非常遗憾的是，在光明的世界里，视觉的天赋仅仅被用作一种便利，而不是作为一种增加生活的手段。

作者：海伦-凯勒

美联社
1933年1月号
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I

我们所有的人都读过惊心动魄的故事，其中的主人公只有有限的、特定的生命时间。有时长达一年，有时短至24小时。但我们总是对发现这个注定要失败的人如何选择度过他的最后几天或最后几个小时感兴趣。当然，我说的是可以选择的自由人，而不是活动范围被严格限定的死刑犯。

这样的故事让我们思考，想知道在类似情况下我们应该怎么做。作为凡人，我们应该把什么事件、什么经历、什么联系挤进最后的时间？在回顾过去的时候，我们应该找到什么样的幸福，什么样的遗憾？

有时我想，把每一天都当做我们明天就会死去一样来生活，这将是一个很好的规则。这样的态度将鲜明地强调生命的价值。我们应该以一种温柔、活力和敏锐的鉴赏力来度过每一天，而当时间在我们面前不断延伸，不断出现更多的日月和年月时，我们往往会失去这些。当然，也有一些人愿意采用 "吃喝玩乐 "的史诗格言，但大多数人都会被即将到来的死亡的确定性所吓倒。

在故事中，注定失败的英雄通常在最后一刻被某种幸运之举所拯救，但几乎总是他的价值感被改变。他变得更加欣赏生命的意义及其永久的精神价值。人们经常注意到，那些生活在或曾经生活在死亡阴影中的人，为他们所做的一切带来了一种醇厚的甜味。

然而，我们大多数人都认为生命是理所当然的。我们知道有一天我们必须死亡，但通常我们把这一天想象成遥远的未来。当我们健康状况良好时，死亡几乎是不可想象的。我们很少想到它。日子在无尽的远景中延伸开来。所以我们去做我们的琐事，几乎没有意识到我们对生活的无精打采的态度。

恐怕同样的无精打采也是我们所有能力和感官使用的特点。只有聋子才会欣赏听觉，只有瞎子才会意识到视觉中蕴含的多种祝福。这一观察尤其适用于那些在成年生活中失去视力和听力的人。但那些从未遭受过视力或听力损伤的人，却很少最充分地利用这些有福的能力。他们的眼睛和耳朵朦胧地接受所有的景象和声音，没有集中注意力，也没有什么鉴赏力。这是一个老生常谈的故事，在我们失去它之前，我们不会感激我们所拥有的，在我们生病之前，我们不会意识到健康。

我常想，如果每个人在成年后的某个时候都能失明失聪几天，那将是一种幸福。黑暗会让他更加珍惜视觉；沉默会让他了解到声音的乐趣。

现在，我已经测试了我的盲人朋友，以发现他们看到了什么。最近，一位非常好的朋友来拜访我，她刚从森林里走了很久回来，我问她观察到了什么。她回答说："没有什么特别的东西"。如果不是对这样的回答习以为常，我可能会感到不可思议，因为很久以前我就相信，看得见的东西很少。

我问自己，在树林里走了一个小时，没有看到什么值得注意的东西，这怎么可能呢？我这个看不见的人，仅仅通过触摸就能发现成百上千的东西让我感兴趣。我感觉到一片叶子的精致对称性。我爱不释手地抚摸着银桦树光滑的皮肤，或松树粗糙、蓬乱的树皮。在春天，我抚摸着树枝，希望能找到一朵花蕾，这是大自然在冬眠后苏醒的第一个迹象。我感受着花朵令人愉快的、天鹅绒般的质地，发现它非凡的旋涡；大自然的一些奇迹向我显现。偶尔，如果我非常幸运，我把我的手轻轻地放在一棵小树上，感受到一只鸟儿在充分歌唱时的快乐颤抖。我很高兴有一条小溪的凉水冲过我张开的手指。对我来说，一块茂盛的松针地毯或海绵状的草地比最豪华的波斯地毯更受欢迎。对我来说，四季的盛会是一场惊心动魄和无休止的戏剧，它的行动通过我的指尖流淌。

有时，我的心因渴望看到所有这些东西而呐喊。如果我可以从单纯的触摸中获得如此多的乐趣，那么视觉一定会展现出更多的美。然而，那些有眼睛的人显然看不到什么。充满世界的色彩和行动的全景被认为是理所当然的。也许是人之常情，对我们所拥有的东西欣赏不多，对我们所没有的东西渴望不已，但非常遗憾的是，在光明的世界里，视觉的天赋仅仅被用作一种便利，而不是作为一种增加生活丰富性的手段。

如果我是一所大学的校长，我应该开设一门 "如何使用你的眼睛 "的必修课。教授会试图告诉学生，他们如何通过真正看到眼前不为人注意的东西来为自己的生活增添乐趣。他将试图唤醒他们沉睡的、迟钝的能力。

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也许我可以通过想象我最想看到的东西来说明问题，比如说，如果我被赋予了眼睛的使用权，只需三天时间。在我想象的同时，假设你也在思考这样一个问题：如果你只有三天时间看东西，你将如何使用自己的眼睛。如果随着第三夜黑暗的到来，你知道太阳将不再为你升起，你将如何度过这宝贵的三天时间？你最想让你的视线停留在什么地方？

自然，我最想看到的是那些在我多年的黑暗中已经成为我的宝贝的东西。你也会想让你的目光长时间停留在你所珍视的事物上，以便你能带着对它们的记忆进入你面前的黑夜。

如果由于某种奇迹，我获得了三天光明的日子，随后就会重新陷入黑暗，我应该把这段时间分成三部分。

第一天，我想看看那些人，他们的仁慈、温和和陪伴使我的生活有了价值。首先，我想长时间凝视我亲爱的老师安妮-沙利文-梅西女士的脸，她在我还是个孩子的时候来到我身边，为我打开了外部世界。我不仅想看到她的脸部轮廓，以便在我的记忆中珍视它，而且想研究那张脸，并在其中找到她完成我的教育这一艰巨任务的同情的温柔和耐心的活的证据。我想在她的眼睛里看到那种使她在困难面前站稳脚跟的性格力量，以及她经常向我透露的对全人类的同情心。

我不知道通过那扇 "灵魂之窗"--眼睛来观察朋友的内心是什么感觉。我只能通过我的指尖 "看到 "一张脸的轮廓。我可以发现笑声、悲伤和许多其他明显的情绪。我从他们的脸的感觉中了解我的朋友。但我无法通过触摸真正描绘出他们的个性。当然，我通过其他方式了解他们的个性，通过他们向我表达的思想，通过他们的任何行为透露给我。但我被剥夺了对他们更深层次的了解，而我确信，通过对他们的观察，通过观察他们对各种表达的思想和情况的反应，通过注意他们的眼睛和面容的直接和短暂的反应，我就会对他们有更深的了解。

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与我关系密切的朋友我很了解，因为通过几个月和几年的时间，他们向我展示了自己的所有阶段；但对于不相干的朋友，我只有一个不完整的印象，一个从握手中获得的印象，从我用指尖从他们的嘴唇上取下的口头禅，或者他们在我的手掌上拍下的印象。

对于那些能看到的人来说，通过观察表情的微妙、肌肉的颤抖、手的颤动来迅速掌握另一个人的基本品质，是多么容易，多么令人满意。但是你们有没有想过用你们的视力来观察一个朋友或熟人的内在本质？难道你们中的大多数人在看人的时候，不是随随便便地抓住一张脸的外在特征，就这么算了吗？

例如，你能准确描述五个好朋友的脸吗？你们中有些人可以，但很多人不能。作为一个实验，我曾询问过长期合作的丈夫们关于他们妻子眼睛的颜色，他们常常表示尴尬的困惑，承认他们不知道。顺便说一下，妻子们长期抱怨她们的丈夫没有注意到新衣服、新帽子和家庭安排的变化。

观察者的眼睛很快就会习惯于周围环境的常规，他们实际上只看到令人震惊和壮观的东西。但即使在观看最壮观的景象时，眼睛也是懒惰的。法庭记录每天都揭示了 "目击者 "看到的东西有多么不准确。一个特定的事件会被许多证人以几种不同的方式 "看到"。有些人看到的比其他人多，但很少有人看到他们视野范围内的一切。

哦，如果我有三天的视力能力，我应该看到的东西!
第一天将是一个忙碌的日子。我应该把我所有亲爱的朋友叫到身边，长时间地看着他们的脸，把他们内心的美丽的外在证据印在我的脑海中。我也应该让我的眼睛停留在一个婴儿的脸上，这样我就可以看到在个人意识到生活中的冲突之前的那种热切、天真的美。

我还想看看我的狗忠诚、信任的眼睛--严肃、狡猾的小苏格兰犬达克，以及坚强、善解人意的大丹犬海尔加，它们温暖、温柔、俏皮的友谊让我感到欣慰。

在那个忙碌的第一天，我还应该查看我家里的简单小东西。我想看看我脚下的地毯的温暖色彩，墙上的照片，那些把房子变成家的贴心琐事。我的眼睛会恭敬地停留在我读过的凸起字体的书上，但它们会对看得见的人能够读到的印刷书更感兴趣，因为在我生命的长夜里，我读过的书和那些被读给我的书已经把自己建成了一个巨大的闪亮的灯塔，向我揭示了人类生活和人类精神的最深渠道。

在那个初见之日的下午，我应该在树林里长长地走一走，让我的眼睛沉醉在自然界的美景中，拼命地想在几个小时内吸收那些不断向能看见的人展示自己的巨大辉煌。在从林地远足回家的路上，我的路会在农场附近，这样我就可以看到耐心的马匹在田里耕作（也许我应该只看到一辆拖拉机！），以及人们在土壤附近生活的宁静内容。我还应该祈求五彩缤纷的夕阳的光辉。

当黄昏降临时，我应该体验到能够通过人造光看东西的双重喜悦，人类的天才创造了人造光，以便在自然界决定黑暗时扩大其视觉的力量。

在第一天看到东西的晚上，我应该无法入睡，因为我的脑子里充满了白天的记忆。

三

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第二天--视觉的第二天--我应该和黎明一起起床，看到黑夜变成白昼的激动人心的奇迹。我应该怀着敬畏之心看一看太阳唤醒沉睡的地球的壮丽的全景图。

这一天，我应该对世界的过去和现在进行匆匆一瞥。我想看看人类进步的盛况，看看时代的万花筒。这么多东西怎么能压缩在一天之内呢？当然是通过博物馆。我经常参观纽约自然历史博物馆，用手触摸那里展出的许多物品，但我渴望用眼睛看一看那里展示的浓缩的地球及其居民的历史--动物和人类种族在其原生环境中的照片。恐龙和乳齿象的巨大尸体，这些恐龙和乳齿象在人类出现之前早已在地球上游荡，以其娇小的身材和强大的大脑征服了动物王国；逼真地展示了动物、人类和人类用来在这个星球上为自己打造安全家园的工具的进化过程；以及自然史的其他一千多个方面。

我想知道这篇文章的读者中有多少人观看过那座令人振奋的博物馆中所描绘的生物面貌的全景图。当然，许多人没有这个机会，但我相信，许多有机会的人也没有利用这个机会。在那里，确实有一个地方可以使用你的眼睛。你们这些看得见的人可以在那里度过许多富有成效的日子，但我，以我想象中的三天的视力，只能匆匆一瞥，然后就过去了。

我的下一站是大都会艺术博物馆，因为正如自然历史博物馆揭示了世界的物质方面，大都会博物馆也展示了人类精神的无数面。在整个人类历史上，艺术表达的冲动几乎与对食物、住所和生育的冲动一样强大。而在这里，在大都会博物馆的巨大展厅里，埃及、希腊和罗马的精神在我面前展开，这些精神在他们的艺术中得到了体现。通过我的双手，我很清楚地知道古代尼罗河土地上的雕塑神和女神。我摸到了帕台农神庙门楣的复制品，我感觉到了雅典战士冲锋陷阵的韵律美。阿波罗和维纳斯以及萨莫色雷斯的有翼胜利女神是我指尖的朋友。荷马那长满胡须的特征对我来说很亲切，因为他也知道失明。

我的手在罗马雕塑和后世雕塑的活体大理石上徘徊。我曾用手抚摸过米开朗基罗的石膏像，他的摩西是鼓舞人心的英雄；我曾感受到罗丹的力量；我曾被哥特式木雕的奉献精神所震撼。这些可以触摸到的艺术对我来说有意义，但即使是它们，也是为了让人看到而不是感受到，我只能猜测那些对我来说仍然隐藏的美。我可以欣赏希腊花瓶的简单线条，但它的花纹装饰对我来说却很陌生。

因此，在这一天，我视觉的第二天，我应该尝试通过艺术来探究人类的灵魂。我通过触摸知道的东西，现在应该看到了。更精彩的是，整个宏伟的绘画世界将向我敞开大门，从具有宁静的宗教信仰的意大利原始人，到具有狂热的幻想的现代人。我应该深入研究拉斐尔、达芬奇、提香、伦勃朗的画作。我想在维罗内塞的热烈色彩上大饱眼福，研究埃尔-格列柯的神秘，从柯罗那里捕捉自然的新视野。哦，对于有眼睛的人来说，古今中外的艺术有那么多丰富的内涵和美感！在我短暂的访问中，我看到了这座神庙。

在我对这个艺术殿堂的短暂访问中，我应该无法回顾向你们开放的那个伟大的艺术世界的一小部分。我只能得到一个肤浅的印象。艺术家们告诉我，要想对艺术进行深入和真正的欣赏，就必须对眼睛进行教育。人们必须通过经验来学习衡量线条、构图、形式和色彩的优点。如果我有一双眼睛，我将多么高兴地开始进行如此迷人的研究！然而，我被告知，对许多人来说，他们并不了解艺术。然而，我被告知，对你们中许多有眼睛的人来说，艺术世界是一个黑暗的夜晚，未被探索，未被照亮。

我极不情愿地离开大都会博物馆，那里有通往美的钥匙--一种被忽视的美。然而，观察者并不需要大都会博物馆来寻找这把通往美的钥匙。同样的钥匙在较小的博物馆里等待着，甚至在小图书馆的书架上也有。但是，在我有限的想象视力时间里，我自然应该选择那把钥匙在最短的时间内打开最大宝藏的地方。


视觉第二天的晚上，我应该在剧院或电影院度过。即使是现在，我也经常参加各种戏剧表演，但剧中的动作必须由同伴拼写在我手中。但是，我多么想亲眼看看哈姆雷特迷人的身影，或者在伊丽莎白时代五彩缤纷的装束中看到疾风骤雨的法斯塔夫！我多么想跟随每一个动作。我多么想追随优雅的哈姆雷特的每一个动作，追随酣畅淋漓的法斯塔夫的每一次迈步！但是，我只能看一场戏。既然我只能看一部戏，我就会面临一个多角的难题，因为我想看的戏有好几部。有眼睛的人可以看任何你喜欢的。我想知道，有多少人在凝视戏剧、电影或任何奇观时，意识到并感谢视觉的奇迹，使你能够享受其色彩、优雅和运动？

我无法享受有节奏的运动之美，除非在一个仅限于我的手触摸的范围内。我只能模糊地看到帕夫洛瓦的优雅，尽管我知道一些节奏的乐趣，因为我经常能感觉到音乐的节拍，因为它在地板上振动。我完全可以想象，有节奏的运动一定是世界上最令人愉快的景象之一。我用手指描画大理石雕塑的线条，就能体会到这一点；如果这种静态的优雅可以如此可爱，那么看到运动中的优雅，一定会有多么强烈的快感。

我最美好的记忆之一是约瑟夫-杰斐逊允许我触摸他的脸和手，因为他经历了他心爱的Rip Van Winkle的一些姿态和演讲。我因此得以对戏剧的世界有了一丝了解，我永远不会忘记那一刻的喜悦。但是，哦，我必须错过多少东西，而你们这些看戏的人可以从观看和聆听戏剧表演中的语言和动作的相互作用中获得多少乐趣！如果我只能看一部戏，那么我就必须看一部戏剧。如果我只看一出戏，我就应该知道如何在脑海中描绘我读过的或通过手工字母媒介转给我的一百出戏的动作。

因此，在我想象的第二个视力日的晚上，戏剧文学的伟大人物会从我的眼睛里挤走睡眠。

四

第二天早上，我又要迎接黎明，急于发现新的乐趣，因为我确信，对于那些有一双真正看得见的眼睛的人来说，每天的黎明一定是一个永远新的美的启示。

根据我想象中的奇迹的条款，这将是我的第三天，也是最后一天的视觉。我将没有时间浪费在遗憾或渴望上；有太多的东西要看。第一天，我把注意力放在我的朋友身上，无论是有生命的还是无生命的。第二天向我展示了人类和大自然的历史。今天，我将在当前的工作世界中度过，在人们为生活奔波的地方度过。在哪里可以找到像纽约这样多的人的活动和情况呢？因此，这座城市成为我的目的地。

我从我在长岛森林山庄安静的小郊区的家出发。这里被绿色的草坪、树木和鲜花所包围，是整齐的小房子，在妻子和孩子们的声音和动作中显得很快乐，是在城市中劳作的男人们的安宁休息的天堂。我开车穿过横跨东河的花边钢结构，我对人类的力量和智慧有了一个新的、惊人的认识。忙碌的船只在河上来回穿梭--繁忙的快艇，凝重的拖船。如果我有很长的视线，我应该花很多时间来观察河上令人愉快的活动。

我往前看，眼前出现了纽约的梦幻般的塔楼，这个城市似乎是从童话故事中走出来的。这些闪闪发光的尖顶，这些巨大的石头和钢铁的银行，是多么令人敬畏的景象啊！这些结构就像神明为自己建造的一样。这幅生动的画面是数百万人每天生活的一部分。我想知道，有多少人对它多看了一眼？恐怕很少。他们的眼睛对这个壮观的景象视而不见，因为它对他们来说是如此熟悉。

我匆匆赶到那些巨大的建筑之一--帝国大厦的顶部，因为在那里，不久前，我通过我的秘书的眼睛 "看到 "下面的城市。我急于将我的幻想与现实进行比较。我相信我不会对展现在我面前的全景图感到失望，因为对我来说，这将是另一个世界的愿景。

现在我开始在城市里巡视。首先，我站在一个繁忙的角落，只是看着人们，试图通过观察他们来了解他们的生活。我看到微笑，我很高兴。我看到严肃的决心，我感到自豪。我看到痛苦，我就有了同情心。

我在第五大道上漫步。我把我的眼睛从焦点上移开，这样我就没有看到任何特定的物体，而只是看到一个色彩缤纷的万花筒。我确信，在人群中移动的妇女裙子的颜色一定是一种华丽的景象，我应该永不厌倦。但也许如果我有视力，我就会像其他大多数女人一样，对个别衣服的款式和剪裁太感兴趣，而不太注意大众的色彩的绚丽。我也相信，我应该成为一个不折不扣的橱窗购物者，因为欣赏无数美丽的物品一定是一种享受。

从第五大道开始，我在城市里巡视，到公园大道，到贫民窟，到工厂，到儿童玩耍的公园。我通过参观国外的街区，进行一次居家旅行。我总是睁大眼睛看所有幸福和痛苦的景象，以便我可以深入探究，增加我对人们工作和生活的理解。我的心充满了人和事的形象。我的眼睛不会轻易放过任何一件小事；它努力触摸并紧紧抓住它的目光所停留的每一件事物。有些景象是令人愉快的，使人心中充满快乐；但有些景象是可悲的。对于后者，我不会闭上眼睛，因为它们也是生活的一部分。对它们闭上眼睛就是闭上了心和思想。

我的第三天的视力已经接近尾声了。也许有许多严肃的追求，我应该在剩下的几个小时里投入其中，但我担心在这最后一天的晚上，我应该再次跑到剧院，去看一场滑稽可笑的戏剧，这样我就可以欣赏到人类精神中的喜剧色彩了。

午夜时分，我对失明的暂时缓解将停止，永久的夜晚将再次向我逼近。自然，在这短短的三天里，我不应该看到我想看到的一切。只有当黑暗再次降临到我身上时，我才会意识到有多少东西是我没有看到的。但我的脑海中会被辉煌的记忆所挤满，我应该没有时间去后悔。此后，每件物品的触摸都会给我带来关于该物品外观的炽热记忆。

如果你知道自己即将失明，也许这个关于我如何度过三天光明时光的简短概述与你为自己制定的计划并不一致。然而，我确信，如果你真的面临这种命运，你的眼睛会对你以前从未见过的东西睁开，为未来的长夜储存记忆。你会以前所未有的方式使用你的眼睛。你看到的一切都会成为你的宝贝。你的眼睛会触摸和拥抱每一个进入你视野范围的物体。然后，最后，你将真正看到，一个新的美丽世界将在你面前打开。

我这个瞎子可以给那些看得见的人一个提示，给那些想充分利用视觉天赋的人一个告诫。使用你的眼睛，就像明天你就会失明一样。同样的方法也可以应用于其他感官。听声音的音乐，鸟儿的歌声，管弦乐队的雄壮乐曲，就像你明天会被打成聋子一样。触摸每一个你想触摸的物体，就好像明天你的触觉会失效一样。闻一闻花的香气，津津有味地品尝每一口，仿佛明天你就无法再闻到和尝到。充分利用每一种感官；在世界通过大自然提供的几种接触方式向你展示的所有快乐和美丽的层面上感到自豪。但在所有的感官中，我确信视觉一定是最令人愉快的。