Surely, when all is said, the ultimate objection to the English public school is its utterly7 blatant8 and indecent disregard of the duty of telling the truth. I know there does still linger among maiden9 ladies in remote country houses a notion that English schoolboys are taught to tell the truth, but it cannot be maintained seriously for a moment. Very occasionally, very vaguely10, English schoolboys are told not to tell lies, which is a totally different thing. I may silently support all the obscene fictions and forgeries11 in the universe, without once telling a lie. I may wear another man’s coat, steal another man’s wit, apostatize to another man’s creed12, or poison another man’s coffee, all without ever telling a lie. But no English school-boy is ever taught to tell the truth, for the very simple reason that he is never taught to desire the truth. From the very first he is taught to be totally careless about whether a fact is a fact; he is taught to care only whether the fact can be used on his “side” when he is engaged in “playing the game.” He takes sides in his union debating society to settle whether Charles I ought to have been killed, with the same solemn and pompous13 frivolity14 with which he takes sides in the cricket field to decide whether Rugby or Westminster shall win. He is never allowed to admit the abstract notion of the truth, that the match is a matter of what may happen, but that Charles I is a matter of what did happen—or did not. He is Liberal or Tory at the general election exactly as he is Oxford15 or Cambridge at the boat race. He knows that sport deals with the unknown; he has not even a notion that politics should deal with the known. If anyone really doubts this self-evident proposition, that the public schools definitely discourage the love of truth, there is one fact which I should think would settle him. England is the country of the Party System, and it has always been chiefly run by public-school men. Is there anyone out of Hanwell who will maintain that the Party System, whatever its conveniences or inconveniences, could have been created by people particularly fond of truth?
The very English happiness on this point is itself a hypocrisy16. When a man really tells the truth, the first truth he tells is that he himself is a liar17. David said in his haste, that is, in his honesty, that all men are liars18. It was afterwards, in some leisurely19 official explanation, that he said the Kings of Israel at least told the truth. When Lord Curzon was Viceroy he delivered a moral lecture to the Indians on their reputed indifference20 to veracity21, to actuality and intellectual honor. A great many people indignantly discussed whether orientals deserved to receive this rebuke22; whether Indians were indeed in a position to receive such severe admonition. No one seemed to ask, as I should venture to ask, whether Lord Curzon was in a position to give it. He is an ordinary party politician; a party politician means a politician who might have belonged to either party. Being such a person, he must again and again, at every twist and turn of party strategy, either have deceived others or grossly deceived himself. I do not know the East; nor do I like what I know. I am quite ready to believe that when Lord Curzon went out he found a very false atmosphere. I only say it must have been something startlingly and chokingly false if it was falser than that English atmosphere from which he came. The English Parliament actually cares for everything except veracity. The public-school man is kind, courageous23, polite, clean, companionable; but, in the most awful sense of the words, the truth is not in him.
This weakness of untruthfulness in the English public schools, in the English political system, and to some extent in the English character, is a weakness which necessarily produces a curious crop of superstitions24, of lying legends, of evident delusions26 clung to through low spiritual self-indulgence. There are so many of these public-school superstitions that I have here only space for one of them, which may be called the superstition25 of soap. It appears to have been shared by the ablutionary Pharisees, who resembled the English public-school aristocrats27 in so many respects: in their care about club rules and traditions, in their offensive optimism at the expense of other people, and above all in their unimaginative plodding28 patriotism29 in the worst interests of their country. Now the old human common sense about washing is that it is a great pleasure. Water (applied externally) is a splendid thing, like wine. Sybarites bathe in wine, and Nonconformists drink water; but we are not concerned with these frantic30 exceptions. Washing being a pleasure, it stands to reason that rich people can afford it more than poor people, and as long as this was recognized all was well; and it was very right that rich people should offer baths to poor people, as they might offer any other agreeable thing—a drink or a donkey ride. But one dreadful day, somewhere about the middle of the nineteenth century, somebody discovered (somebody pretty well off) the two great modern truths, that washing is a virtue31 in the rich and therefore a duty in the poor. For a duty is a virtue that one can’t do. And a virtue is generally a duty that one can do quite easily; like the bodily cleanliness of the upper classes. But in the public-school tradition of public life, soap has become creditable simply because it is pleasant. Baths are represented as a part of the decay of the Roman Empire; but the same baths are represented as part of the energy and rejuvenation32 of the British Empire. There are distinguished33 public school men, bishops34, dons, headmasters, and high politicians, who, in the course of the eulogies35 which from time to time they pass upon themselves, have actually identified physical cleanliness with moral purity. They say (if I remember rightly) that a public-school man is clean inside and out. As if everyone did not know that while saints can afford to be dirty, seducers have to be clean. As if everyone did not know that the harlot must be clean, because it is her business to captivate, while the good wife may be dirty, because it is her business to clean. As if we did not all know that whenever God’s thunder cracks above us, it is very likely indeed to find the simplest man in a muck cart and the most complex blackguard in a bath.
There are other instances, of course, of this oily trick of turning the pleasures of a gentleman into the virtues36 of an Anglo-Saxon. Sport, like soap, is an admirable thing, but, like soap, it is an agreeable thing. And it does not sum up all mortal merits to be a sportsman playing the game in a world where it is so often necessary to be a workman doing the work. By all means let a gentleman congratulate himself that he has not lost his natural love of pleasure, as against the blase37, and unchildlike. But when one has the childlike joy it is best to have also the childlike unconsciousness; and I do not think we should have special affection for the little boy who ever lastingly38 explained that it was his duty to play Hide and Seek and one of his family virtues to be prominent in Puss in the Corner.
Another such irritating hypocrisy is the oligarchic39 attitude towards mendicity as against organized charity. Here again, as in the case of cleanliness and of athletics40, the attitude would be perfectly41 human and intelligible42 if it were not maintained as a merit. Just as the obvious thing about soap is that it is a convenience, so the obvious thing about beggars is that they are an inconvenience. The rich would deserve very little blame if they simply said that they never dealt directly with beggars, because in modern urban civilization it is impossible to deal directly with beggars; or if not impossible, at least very difficult. But these people do not refuse money to beggars on the ground that such charity is difficult. They refuse it on the grossly hypocritical ground that such charity is easy. They say, with the most grotesque43 gravity, “Anyone can put his hand in his pocket and give a poor man a penny; but we, philanthropists, go home and brood and travail44 over the poor man’s troubles until we have discovered exactly what jail, reformatory, workhouse, or lunatic asylum45 it will really be best for him to go to.” This is all sheer lying. They do not brood about the man when they get home, and if they did it would not alter the original fact that their motive46 for discouraging beggars is the perfectly rational one that beggars are a bother. A man may easily be forgiven for not doing this or that incidental act of charity, especially when the question is as genuinely difficult as is the case of mendicity. But there is something quite pestilently Pecksniffian about shrinking from a hard task on the plea that it is not hard enough. If any man will really try talking to the ten beggars who come to his door he will soon find out whether it is really so much easier than the labor47 of writing a check for a hospital.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
accusations
|
|
| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
pedants
|
|
| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
ancestry
|
|
| n.祖先，家世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
entangles
|
|
| v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
7
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
blatant
|
|
| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
forgeries
|
|
| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
pompous
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
frivolity
|
|
| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
hypocrisy
|
|
| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
liar
|
|
| n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
liars
|
|
| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
veracity
|
|
| n.诚实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
superstitions
|
|
| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
delusions
|
|
| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
aristocrats
|
|
| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
plodding
|
|
| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
patriotism
|
|
| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
rejuvenation
|
|
| n. 复原，再生, 更新, 嫩化, 恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
bishops
|
|
| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
eulogies
|
|
| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
blase
|
|
| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
lastingly
|
|
| [医]有残留性，持久地，耐久地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
oligarchic
|
|
| adj.寡头政治的，主张寡头政治的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
athletics
|
|
| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
intelligible
|
|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
travail
|
|
| n.阵痛；努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
asylum
|
|
| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |