We are in an era in which we are too eager to want to prove our sense of being. If we don’t show what we have and what we own by way of all kinds of high-tech media, it feels like we don't physically exist in the real world. The essence of proving our sense of being is because we are too afraid and anxious about lacking it.
This person however really existed. In the eyes of common people and by the standards of worldly accomplishments, she can at least be counted as a successful person. She graduated from Peking University and emigrated to the United States. She had a son and a daughter and they both amounted to something. She had a happy family, owned a car and a house. She traveled all around the world. This was the real life of a real person. This list alone could make millions of people envious. This sense of being is solid and real.
I happened to meet this person in a park in Boston, on the streets of Shanghai's Wujiaochang district, and by Kunming Lake in Kunming. I also met her when I was at outdoor barbecues, at dinners, on strolls, during academic discussions, and when I visited historic sites and watched fireworks over the Hudson River.
During the time and in places where I encountered her, I do know she existed, sometimes near me, sometimes far away, or sometimes close at hand. But I also sometimes couldn’t feel her presence. This person, during the nearly twenty years of our interaction, shook my soul with her sense of not being and changed my idea regarding what it means to exist, something that I took for granted. That is, I am, therefore I exist. But this person used her years on earth, which were not many but were also not few, to prove that there is another idea about existence--that is, I am not, therefore I am.
She was not a nobody, nor was she a lady of great wealth or great fortune who never left her boudoir. She was a person who was truly committed to her studies, her family, her career and her beliefs.
She was admitted to China's top institution of higher learning. Then she assisted her husband and raised her children. She silently supported her husband who was constantly traveling. She never gave up her on work, whether in Yan Yuan or in Boston. Besides all of these, she was also an enthusiastic volunteer.
We both were in our fifties, so I know that this person lived a hard life. But this sense of not being seemed to make the burdens on her shoulder lighter. She never showed anyone a sad look. It’s not that she never felt pain. Being a person who had to struggle with an incurable disease during her last journey on earth, no one could ever relate to the pain in her body other she herself who experienced it personally.
She had a kind of power in silence. This kind of power is silent, and only faintly discernible. But in fact, it is filled with fortitude, valor, determination, and persistence. It erases the existence of a real sense of being in a quiet way: always being a giver and helping others.
While viewing the selected PPT photos of her life, I have been thinking about this sense of not being her. It feels like I have forgotten her. I cannot recall her voice or remember what her face looked like. I can only remember the view of her backside.
She seemed to be just a passerby. But in the sense of a person, nameless, the daughter of a mother and a father, a student by Weiming Lake, the mother of two children, a virtuous wife, and a zealous sister. She seemed to never exist. Her tenacity, gentleness, silence, could not be touched physically, but yet could be touched by one's heart.
We who are still alive can always tell those who have passed away to live a happy life in heaven. These kinds of words are, in fact, for ourselves. If there is a heaven, then heaven itself is filled with happiness. Heaven would never lack it. Those who lack happiness are we who are still alive and breathing. I’m praying now that you who are happily living in heaven would pray for our happiness. She would gladly do so because she was willing to share happiness with other people when she was alive and so would naturally be willing to pray for the ones who are still alive to live happy lives.
This person is the wife of my friend, Lanlan (1963-September 1, 2019). She was my friend and my sister.
at my Shanghai apartment
31 August 2020
(The author is a professor of philosophy at Fudan University, Shanghai)
- Translated by Nicolas Cao
好友安息主怀一周年追思
作者：刘平（复旦大学哲学学院）
这是一个刷存在感的世代。若不通过一切现代高科技手段表明自己的所得、所有，似乎不曾在这个世上以肉身方式存在。这种刷存在感的本质是对存在感缺乏的恐惧与焦虑。
但是，这个人的确存在，在世人眼中，以可见的所得、所有为标准，至少算得上是成功人士：北京大学毕业工作，移民美国，二代儿女双全，儿女成才在美工作，家庭和美，有房有车，世界各地旅游……。这是真实的一个人曾经的真实生活。仅仅罗列出这份不完全的人生清单，就足以让亿万人羡慕。——这种存在感真的够确确实实，也真的够实实在在。
我有机会在波士顿绿油油的公共草坪、在上海五角场的街道、在昆明昆明湖畔，或室外烧烤，或聚餐，或闲逛，或学术讨论，或参观历史景点，或观赏哈德逊河边的焰火，与这个人相遇。
在相遇的时空中，我实在知道这个人存在，就在身边存在，或不远，或咫尺，但是，我也的确感觉不到这个人存在。这个人，在近二十年的交往中，以自身的不存在感震撼了我的灵魂，颠覆了我原来以为理所当然的存在价值观——我在，故我在。而这个人以自己不短也不长的地上帐篷岁月证明了存在另外一种存在价值观——我不在，故我在。
这个人并非闲云野鹤，也非大富大贵之家不出闺房的大小姐，而是一个真真实实投入学业、家庭、职业与信仰之家的人。
她入读中国第一高等学府，之后相夫教子，默默支持成为空中飞人的丈夫；或在燕园，或在波士顿，都不曾放弃自己的工作；在这些之外，这个人是热心义工。
年过半百的我深知年过半百的这个人，是实实在在辛苦的。但是，这种不存在感似乎让这个人肩负的重担显得轻省。这个人从来没有愁容。不是说这个人没有痛苦，至少在地上最后一段旅程这个人要与绝症对抗，其中的肉身之痛非亲历者不可想象。
这个人有一股静默中的力量。这种力量因为静默因为无声，看上去若有若无，但是一种刚毅、勇武、果敢与执著。它以悄无声息的方式抹掉了真实存在感中的存在：总是给予，成为别人的帮助。
在观看这个人浓缩在PPT照片中的客旅生涯之际，映现在我记忆屏幕上的居然还是这个人的不存在感——我似乎已经忘记这个人，我似乎冲洗不出这个人的音容笑貌，只有这个人洁白的背影深深印在我白底的回忆相纸之中。
这个人似乎是路人甲，但是在灵魂舞台上，这个人实实在在、真真实实、寂寂无名地活成：父母的女儿，未名湖畔的学子，两个孩子的母亲，有贤德的妻子，热心的教友……。这个人似乎不存在过，但是似乎不存在感中的坚韧、娴静、静默反倒有一种扎扎实实的粗粝感——通过心灵之手就可触摸得到。
我们活着的人常常会说这样一类的话安慰已经离去的地上帐篷：愿你在天国中过得幸福。这种安慰的话实际上是自我安慰，因为如果有天国，天国本身就是幸福，天国最不缺乏的就是幸福。缺乏幸福的是我们活在这个世界上的有气息的人。——我要祈愿的是，愿你这个幸福地活在天国的人为我们祈愿活得幸福。这个人一定乐意这样去做，因为这个人在地上活着就乐意给予幸福，今日在天国中活着一定更加乐意祈愿地上活着的我们活得幸福。
这个人就是是我友的妻子兰兰（1963-2019年9月1日），是我的朋友、我的姊妹。
（见附件图片：）兰兰女儿（左竖排第一位），兰兰（左竖排第二位），2005年于波士顿
2020年8月31日于上海寓所
We are in an era in which we are too eager to want to prove our sense of being. If we don’t show what we have and what we own by way of all kinds of high-tech media, it feels like we don't physically exist in the real world. The essence of proving our sense of being is because we are too afraid and anxious about lacking it.
This person however really existed. In the eyes of common people and by the standards of worldly accomplishments, she can at least be counted as a successful person. She graduated from Peking University and emigrated to the United States. She had a son and a daughter and they both amounted to something. She had a happy family, owned a car and a house. She traveled all around the world. This was the real life of a real person. This list alone could make millions of people envious. This sense of being is solid and real.
I happened to meet this person in a park in Boston, on the streets of Shanghai's Wujiaochang district, and by Kunming Lake in Kunming. I also met her when I was at outdoor barbecues, at dinners, on strolls, during academic discussions, and when I visited historic sites and watched fireworks over the Hudson River.
During the time and in places where I encountered her, I do know she existed, sometimes near me, sometimes far away, or sometimes close at hand. But I also sometimes couldn’t feel her presence. This person, during the nearly twenty years of our interaction, shook my soul with her sense of not being and changed my idea regarding what it means to exist, something that I took for granted. That is, I am, therefore I exist. But this person used her years on earth, which were not many but were also not few, to prove that there is another idea about existence--that is, I am not, therefore I am.
She was not a nobody, nor was she a lady of great wealth or great fortune who never left her boudoir. She was a person who was truly committed to her studies, her family, her career and her beliefs.
She was admitted to China's top institution of higher learning. Then she assisted her husband and raised her children. She silently supported her husband who was constantly traveling. She never gave up her on work, whether in Yan Yuan or in Boston. Besides all of these, she was also an enthusiastic volunteer.
We both were in our fifties, so I know that this person lived a hard life. But this sense of not being seemed to make the burdens on her shoulder lighter. She never showed anyone a sad look. It’s not that she never felt pain. Being a person who had to struggle with an incurable disease during her last journey on earth, no one could ever relate to the pain in her body other she herself who experienced it personally.
She had a kind of power in silence. This kind of power is silent, and only faintly discernible. But in fact, it is filled with fortitude, valor, determination, and persistence. It erases the existence of a real sense of being in a quiet way: always being a giver and helping others.
While viewing the selected PPT photos of her life, I have been thinking about this sense of not being her. It feels like I have forgotten her. I cannot recall her voice or remember what her face looked like. I can only remember the view of her backside.
She seemed to be just a passerby. But in the sense of a person, nameless, the daughter of a mother and a father, a student by Weiming Lake, the mother of two children, a virtuous wife, and a zealous sister. She seemed to never exist. Her tenacity, gentleness, silence, could not be touched physically, but yet could be touched by one's heart.
We who are still alive can always tell those who have passed away to live a happy life in heaven. These kinds of words are, in fact, for ourselves. If there is a heaven, then heaven itself is filled with happiness. Heaven would never lack it. Those who lack happiness are we who are still alive and breathing. I’m praying now that you who are happily living in heaven would pray for our happiness. She would gladly do so because she was willing to share happiness with other people when she was alive and so would naturally be willing to pray for the ones who are still alive to live happy lives.
This person is the wife of my friend, Lanlan (1963-September 1, 2019). She was my friend and my sister.
at my Shanghai apartment
31 August 2020
(The author is a professor of philosophy at Fudan University, Shanghai)
- Translated by Nicolas Cao
Remmember a Christian Friend on the First Anniv. of Her Death
