第十七届韩素音翻译大赛英译汉部分原文

Beauty (excerpt)

Judging

from

the

scientists

I

know,

including

Eva

and

Ruth,

and

those

I

’

ve

read

about, you can

’

t pursue the laws of nature very long without bumping into beauty.

“

I

don

’

t

know

if

it

’

s

the

same

beauty

you

see

in

the

sunset,

”

a

friend

tells

me,

“

but it feels the same.

”

This friend is a physicist, who has spent a long career

deciphering what must be happening in the interior of stars. He recalls for me this

thrill

on

grasping

for

the

first

time

Dirac

’

s

equations

describing

quantum

mechanics,

or those of Einstein describing relativity.

“

They

’

re so beautiful,

”

he says,

”

you

can

see

immediately

they

have

to

be

true.

Or

at

least

on

the

way

toward

truth.

”

I ask him what makes a theory beautiful, and he replies,

“

Simplicity, symmetry,

elegance, and power.

”

Why nature should conform to theories we find beautiful is far from obvious.

The most incomprehensible thing about the universe, as Einstein said, is that it

’

s

comprehensible.

How

unlikely,

that

a

short

—

lived

biped

on

a

two--bit

planet

should

be

able

to

gauge

the

speed

of

light,

lay

bare

the

structure

of

an

atom,

or

calculate

the

gravitational

tug

of

a

black

hole.

We

’

re

a

long

way

from

understanding

everything,

but

we

do

understand

a

great

deal

about

how

nature

behaves.

Generation

after

generation, we puzzle out formulas, test them, and find, to an astonishing degree,

that nature agrees. An architect draws designs on flimsy paper, and her buildings

stand up through earthquakes. We launch a satellite into orbit and use it to bounce

messages from continent to continent. The machine on which I write these words

embodies

hundreds

of

insights

into

the

workings

of

the

material

world,

insights

that

are confirmed by every burst of letters on the screen, and I stare at that screen

through

lenses

that

obey

the

laws

of

optics

first

worked

out

in

detail

by

Issac

Newton.

By

discerning

patterns

in

the

universe,

Newton

believed,

he

was

tracing

the

hand

of God. Scientists in our day have largely abandoned the notion of a Creator as an

unnecessary hypothesis, or at least an untestable one. While they share Newton

’

s

faith that the universe is ruled everywhere by a coherent set of rules, they cannot

say, as scientists, how these particular rules came to govern things. You can do

science

without

believing

in

a

divine

Legislator,

but

not

without

believing

in

laws.

I spent my teenage years scrambling up the mountain of mathematics. Midway up

the

slope,

I

staggered

to

a

halt,

gasping

in

the

rarefied

air,

well

before

I

reached

the

heights

where

the

equations

of

Einstein

and

Dirac

would

have

made

sense.

Nowadays

I add, subtract, multiply, and do long division when no calculator is handy, and I

can do algebra and geometry and even trigonometry in a pinch, but that is about all

that I

’

ve kept from the language of numbers. Still, I remember glimpsing patterns

in mathematics that seemed as bold and beautiful as a skyful of stars.

I

’

m

never

more

aware

of

the

limitations

of

language

than

when

I

try

to

describe

beauty.

Language

can

create

its

own

loveliness,

of

course,

but

it

cannot

deliver

to

us

the

radiance

we

apprehend

in

the

world,

any

more

than

a

photograph

can

capture

the

stunning

swiftness

of

a

hawk

or

the

withering

power

of

a

supernova.

Eva

’

s wedding album holds only a faint glimmer of the wedding itself. All that pictures

or words can do is gesture beyond themselves toward the fleeting glory that stirs

our hearts. So I keep gesturing.

“

All nature is meant to make us think of paradise,

”

Thomas Merton observed.

Because the Creation puts on a nonstop show, beauty is free and inexhaustible, but

we

need

training

in

order

to

perceive

more

than

the

most

obvious

kinds.

Even

15

billion

years or so after the Big Bang, echoes of that event still linger in the form of

background radiation, only a few degrees above absolute zero. Just so, I believe,

the

experience

of

beauty

is

an

echo

of

the

order

and

power

that

permeate

the

universe.

To measure background radiation, we need subtle instruments; to measure beauty, we

need alert intelligence and our five keen senses.

Anyone with eyes can take delight in a face or a flower. You need training,

however,

to

perceive

the

beauty

in

mathematics

or

physics

or

chess,

in

the

architecture

of

a

tree,

the

design

of

a

bird

’

s

wing,

or

the

shiver

of

breath

through

a

flute.

For

most

of

human

history,

the

training

has

come

from

elders

who

taught

the

young how to pay attention. By paying attention, we learn to savor all sorts of

patterns,

from

quantum

mechanics

to

patchwork

quilts.

This

predilection

brings

with

it

a

clear

evolutionary

advantage,

for

the

ability

to

recognize

patterns

helped

our

ancestors

to

select

mates,

find

food,

avoid

predators.

But

the

same

advantage

would

apply

to

all

species,

and

yet

we

alone

compose

symphonies

and

crossword

puzzles,

carve

stone into statues, map time and space.

Have we merely carried our animal need for shrewd perceptions to an absurd

extreme?

Or

have

we

stumbled

onto

a

deep

congruence

between

the

structure

of

our

minds

and the structure of the universe?

I am persuaded the latter is true. I am convinced there

’

s more to beauty than

biology, more than cultural convention. It flows around and through us in such

abundance,

and

in

such

myriad

forms,

as

to

exceed

by

a

wide

margin

any

mere

evolutionary need. Which is not to say that beauty has nothing to do with survival:

I think it has everything to do with survival. Beauty feeds us from the same source

that created us. It reminds us of the shaping power that reaches through the flower

stem and through our own hands. It restores our faith in the generosity of nature.

By giving us a taste of the kinship between our own small minds and the great Mind

of

the

Cosmos,

beauty

reassures

us

that

we

are

exactly

and

wonderfully

made

for

life

on this glorious planet, in this magnificent universe. I find in that affinity a

profound source

of meaning and hope. A universe so prodigal of beauty may

actually need us to notice and respond, may need our sharp eyes and brimming hearts