When four knights6 scattered7 the blood and brains of St. Thomas of Canterbury, it was not only a sign of anger but of a sort of black admiration8. They wished for his blood, but they wished even more for his brains. Such a blow will remain forever unintelligible9 unless we realise what the brains of St. Thomas were thinking about just before they were distributed over the floor. They were thinking about the great mediaeval conception that the church is the judge of the world. Becket objected to a priest being tried even by the Lord Chief Justice. And his reason was simple: because the Lord Chief Justice was being tried by the priest. The judiciary was itself sub judice. The kings were themselves in the dock. The idea was to create an invisible kingdom, without armies or prisons, but with complete freedom to condemn10 publicly all the kingdoms of the earth. Whether such a supreme11 church would have cured society we cannot affirm definitely; because the church never was a supreme church. We only know that in England at any rate the princes conquered the saints. What the world wanted we see before us; and some of us call it a failure. But we cannot call what the church wanted a failure, simply because the church failed. Tracy struck a little too soon. England had not yet made the great Protestant discovery that the king can do no wrong. The king was whipped in the cathedral; a performance which I recommend to those who regret the unpopularity of church-going. But the discovery was made; and Henry VIII scattered Becket’s bones as easily as Tracy had scattered his brains.
Of course, I mean that Catholicism was not tried; plenty of Catholics were tried, and found guilty. My point is that the world did not tire of the church’s ideal, but of its reality. Monasteries12 were impugned13 not for the chastity of monks14, but for the unchastity of monks. Christianity was unpopular not because of the humility16, but of the arrogance17 of Christians18. Certainly, if the church failed it was largely through the churchmen. But at the same time hostile elements had certainly begun to end it long before it could have done its work. In the nature of things it needed a common scheme of life and thought in Europe. Yet the mediaeval system began to be broken to pieces intellectually, long before it showed the slightest hint of falling to pieces morally. The huge early heresies19, like the Albigenses, had not the faintest excuse in moral superiority. And it is actually true that the Reformation began to tear Europe apart before the Catholic Church had had time to pull it together. The Prussians, for instance, were not converted to Christianity at all until quite close to the Reformation. The poor creatures hardly had time to become Catholics before they were told to become Protestants. This explains a great deal of their subsequent conduct. But I have only taken this as the first and most evident case of the general truth: that the great ideals of the past failed not by being outlived (which must mean over-lived), but by not being lived enough. Mankind has not passed through the Middle Ages. Rather mankind has retreated from the Middle Ages in reaction and rout20. The Christian15 ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.
It is, of course, the same in the case of the French Revolution. A great part of our present perplexity arises from the fact that the French Revolution has half succeeded and half failed. In one sense, Valmy was the decisive battle of the West, and in another Trafalgar. We have, indeed, destroyed the largest territorial21 tyrannies, and created a free peasantry in almost all Christian countries except England; of which we shall say more anon. But representative government, the one universal relic22, is a very poor fragment of the full republican idea. The theory of the French Revolution presupposed two things in government, things which it achieved at the time, but which it has certainly not bequeathed to its imitators in England, Germany, and America. The first of these was the idea of honorable poverty; that a statesman must be something of a stoic23; the second was the idea of extreme publicity24. Many imaginative English writers, including Carlyle, seem quite unable to imagine how it was that men like Robespierre and Marat were ardently25 admired. The best answer is that they were admired for being poor—poor when they might have been rich.
No one will pretend that this ideal exists at all in the haute politique of this country. Our national claim to political incorruptibility is actually based on exactly the opposite argument; it is based on the theory that wealthy men in assured positions will have no temptation to financial trickery. Whether the history of the English aristocracy, from the spoliation of the monasteries to the annexation26 of the mines, entirely27 supports this theory I am not now inquiring; but certainly it is our theory, that wealth will be a protection against political corruption28. The English statesman is bribed29 not to be bribed. He is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so that he may never afterwards be found with the silver spoons in his pocket. So strong is our faith in this protection by plutocracy30, that we are more and more trusting our empire in the hands of families which inherit wealth without either blood or manners. Some of our political houses are parvenue by pedigree; they hand on vulgarity like a coat of-arms. In the case of many a modern statesman to say that he is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is at once inadequate31 and excessive. He is born with a silver knife in his mouth. But all this only illustrates32 the English theory that poverty is perilous33 for a politician.
It will be the same if we compare the conditions that have come about with the Revolution legend touching34 publicity. The old democratic doctrine35 was that the more light that was let in to all departments of State, the easier it was for a righteous indignation to move promptly36 against wrong. In other words, monarchs38 were to live in glass houses, that mobs might throw stones. Again, no admirer of existing English politics (if there is any admirer of existing English politics) will really pretend that this ideal of publicity is exhausted39, or even attempted. Obviously public life grows more private every day. The French have, indeed, continued the tradition of revealing secrets and making scandals; hence they are more flagrant and palpable than we, not in sin but in the confession40 of sin. The first trial of Dreyfus might have happened in England; it is exactly the second trial that would have been legally impossible. But, indeed, if we wish to realise how far we fall short of the original republican outline, the sharpest way to test it is to note how far we fall short even of the republican element in the older regime. Not only are we less democratic than Danton and Condorcet, but we are in many ways less democratic than Choiseul and Marie Antoinette. The richest nobles before the revolt were needy41 middle-class people compared with our Rothschilds and Roseberys. And in the matter of publicity the old French monarchy42 was infinitely43 more democratic than any of the monarchies44 of today. Practically anybody who chose could walk into the palace and see the king playing with his children, or paring his nails. The people possessed45 the monarch37, as the people possess Primrose46 Hill; that is, they cannot move it, but they can sprawl47 all over it. The old French monarchy was founded on the excellent principle that a cat may look at a king. But nowadays a cat may not look at a king; unless it is a very tame cat. Even where the press is free for criticism it is only used for adulation. The substantial difference comes to something uncommonly48 like this: Eighteenth century tyranny meant that you could say “The K__ of Br__rd is a profligate49.” Twentieth century liberty really means that you are allowed to say “The King of Brentford is a model family man.”
But we have delayed the main argument too long for the parenthetical purpose of showing that the great democratic dream, like the great mediaeval dream, has in a strict and practical sense been a dream unfulfilled. Whatever is the matter with modern England it is not that we have carried out too literally50, or achieved with disappointing completeness, either the Catholicism of Becket or the equality of Marat. Now I have taken these two cases merely because they are typical of ten thousand other cases; the world is full of these unfulfilled ideas, these uncompleted temples. History does not consist of completed and crumbling51 ruins; rather it consists of half-built villas52 abandoned by a bankrupt-builder. This world is more like an unfinished suburb than a deserted53 cemetery54.
点击收听单词发音
1 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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2 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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3 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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4 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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5 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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6 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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7 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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8 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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9 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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10 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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11 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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12 monasteries | |
修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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13 impugned | |
v.非难,指谪( impugn的过去式和过去分词 );对…有怀疑 | |
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14 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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15 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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16 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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17 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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18 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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19 heresies | |
n.异端邪说,异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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20 rout | |
n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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21 territorial | |
adj.领土的,领地的 | |
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22 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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23 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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24 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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25 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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26 annexation | |
n.吞并,合并 | |
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27 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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28 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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29 bribed | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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30 plutocracy | |
n.富豪统治 | |
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31 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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32 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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33 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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34 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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35 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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36 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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37 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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38 monarchs | |
君主,帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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39 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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40 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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41 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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42 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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43 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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44 monarchies | |
n. 君主政体, 君主国, 君主政治 | |
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45 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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46 primrose | |
n.樱草,最佳部分, | |
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47 sprawl | |
vi.躺卧,扩张,蔓延;vt.使蔓延;n.躺卧,蔓延 | |
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48 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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49 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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50 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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51 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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52 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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53 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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54 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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