-
Thinking as a Hobby
思考作为一种嗜好
While I was still a boy, I came to the
conclusion that there were three grades of
thinking; and since I was later to
claim thinking as my hobby, I came to an even
stranger conclusion--namely, that I
myself could not think at all.
还是个孩子的时候我就得出了思考
分三种等级的结论。后来思考成了嗜
好，我进而得出了一个更加离奇的结论，那就是：我
自己根本不会思考。
I must have been
an unsatisfactory child for grownups to deal with.
I remember
how
incomprehensible
they
appeared
to
me
at
first,
but
not,
of
course,
how
I
appeared to
them. It was the headmaster of my grammar school
who first brought
the subject of
thinking before me--though neither in the way, nor
with the result he
intended.
He
had
some
statuettes
in
his
study.
They
stood
on
a
high
cupboard
behind his desk.
One was a lady wearing nothing but
a
bath towel. She seemed
frozen in an
eternal panic lest the bath towel slip down any
farther; and since she
had no arms, she
was in an unfortunate position to pull the towel
up again. Next to
her, crouched the
statuette of a leopard, ready to spring down at
the top drawer of
filing
cabinet
labeled
A-AH.
My
innocence
interpreted
this
as
the
victim's
last,
despairing
cry.
Beyond
the
leopard
was
a
naked,
muscular
gentleman,
who
sat,
looking
down,
with
his
chin
on
his
fist
and
his
elbow
on
his
knee.
He
seemed
utterly miserable.
< br>那个时候我一定是个很让大人头疼的小孩。当然我已经忘记自己当初在他们
眼里是
什么样子了
,
但却记得他们一开始在我眼中就是如何不可理喻的
。第一
个把思考这个问题带到我面前的是我文法学校的校长，当然这样的方式，这
样的结果是他始料不及的。他的办公室里有一些小雕像，就在他书桌后面一
个高高的橱柜上面。其中一位女士除了一条浴巾外一丝不挂。她好象被永远
地冻结在
对浴巾再往下滑的恐惧中了。而不幸的是她没有手臂，所以无法把
浴巾拉上来。在她的身
边蜷伏着一头美洲豹，好象随时都会往下跳到档案橱
柜最上层的抽屉上去，
我懵懵懂懂地把那个抽屉上标着的
理解成为猎
物临死前绝望的哀鸣
/
惨叫。在豹子的另一边
端坐着一个健硕的裸体男子，他
手肘支在膝头，手握拳托着腮帮子，全然一副痛苦不堪的
样子。
Some time later, I learned
about these statuettes. The headmaster had placed
them where they would face delinquent
children, because they symbolized to him
the whole of life. The naked lady was
the Venus of Milo. She was Love. She was
not worried about the towel. She was
just busy being beautiful. The leopard was
Nature,
and
he
was
being
natural.
The
naked,
muscular
gentleman
was
not
miserable.
He
was
Rodin's
Thinker,
an
image
of
pure
thought.
It
is
easy
to
buy
small plaster models of
what you think life is like.
过了一些时候，我对这些雕像有了一些了解
,
才知道把它们
放在正对着犯错的
孩子的位置是因为对校长来说这些雕像象征着整个生命。那位裸体的女
士是
米洛斯的维纳丝。她象征着爱
。她不是在为浴巾担心，而是忙着显示美丽。
美洲豹象征着自然，它在那里显得很自然而
已。那位健硕的裸体男子并不痛
苦，他是洛丁的思索者，一个纯粹思索的象征。要买到表
达生活在你心中的
意义的小石膏像是很容易的事情。
I had better explain that I was a
frequent visitor to the headmaster's study,
because of the latest thing I had done
or left undone. As we now say, I was not
integrated. I was, if anything,
disintegrated; and I was puzzled. Grownups never
made sense. Whenever I found myself in
a penal position before the headmaster's
desk,
with
the
statuettes
glimmering
whitely
above
him,
I
would
sink
my
head,
clasp my hands behind my back and
writhe one shoe over the other.
我想我得解释一
下，
我是校长办公室的常客，
为我最近做过或者没做的事情。<
/p>
用现在的话来说我是不堪教化的。
其实应该说，我是顽劣不羁，头
脑迷糊的。
大人们从来不讲道理。每次在校长桌前接受处罚，那些雕像在他上方白晃晃<
/p>
地耀眼时，我就会垂下头，在身后紧扣双手，两只鞋不停地蹭来蹭去。
The headmaster would look opaquely at
me through flashing spectacles.
Well, what were they going to do with
me? I would writhe my shoe some
more
and stare down at the worn rug.
Then I would
look up at the cupboard, where the naked lady was
frozen in
her
panic
and
the
muscular
gentleman
contemplated
the
hindquarters
of
the
leopard in
endless gloom. I had nothing to say to the
headmaster. His spectacles
caught the
light so that you could see nothing human behind
them. There was no
possibility of
communication.
No, I didn't think, wasn't thinking,
couldn't think--I was simply waiting in
anguish for the interview to stop.
On one occasion the headmaster leaped
to his feet, reached up and plonked
Rodin's masterpiece on the desk before
me.
I surveyed the gentleman without
interest or comprehension.
校长透过亮晶晶的眼镜片眼神暗淡地看着我，
：
“
我们该拿你怎么办呢？
”
哦，他们要拿我怎么办呢？我盯着旧地毯更狠命地蹂躏我的鞋。
“
抬起头来，孩子！你就不能抬起头
来吗？
”
然后我就会抬起头来看橱柜，看着裸体女士被冻结在恐惧中，健硕的男子无
限忧郁地凝视着猎豹的后腿。我跟校长没什么好
说的。他的镜片反光，所以
我看不到镜片后面有什么人性的东西，所以没有交流的可能。
“
你从来
都不动脑筋思考的吗？
”
不，
我不思考，刚才没思考，
也不会思考
——
我只是在痛苦地等待接见结束。
“
那你最好学一学
——
你学了吗？
”
有一次，校长跳起身来伸手取下洛丁的杰作重重地放在我面前
的桌上。
“
一个人真正在思考的时候是这个样子的。
”
我毫无兴趣地看了看桌上的男子，什么也没弄懂。
“
回你班上去。
”
Clearly there was
something missing in me. Nature had endowed the
rest of the
human race with a sixth
sense and left me out. This must be so, I mused,
on my
way back to the class, since
whether I had broken a window, or failed to
remember
Boyle's Law, or been late for
school, my teachers produced me one, adult answer:
显然我是
缺了点什么。大自然赋予其余的所有的人第六感觉却独独漏掉
了我。一定是这样的，在回
班上去的路上我想着。因为无论我是打烂了玻璃
窗，不记得波义耳法则，还是上学迟到了
，我的老师们都会千篇一律地得出
一个答案：
“
你为什么不会思考呢？
”
As I saw the case, I had broken the
window because I had tried to hit Jack Arney
with a cricket ball and missed him; I
could not remember Boyle's Law because I
had
never
bothered
to
learn
it;
and
I
was
late
for
school
because
I
preferred
looking over the
bridge
into the river.
In
fact,
I
was wicked.
Were my teachers,
perhaps,
so good that they could not understand the depths
of my depravity? Were
they
clear,
untormented
people
who
could
direct
their
every
action
by
this
mysterious
business
of thinking? The
whole thing was incomprehensible.
In my
earlier years, I found even the
statuette of the Thinker confusing. I did not
believe
any
of
my
teachers
were
naked,
ever.
Like
someone
born
deaf,
but
bitterly
determined
to
find
out
about
sound,
I
watched
my
teachers
to
find
out
about
thought.
要我说，我打碎了玻璃窗是因为我想用板球打杰克
.
阿尼没打着；我记不
住波义耳法则是因为我根本没想去记；
迟到
了是因为我更喜欢在桥上看河水。
事实上，我是邪恶的。难道我的老师们是那么的善良，
以致于无法理解我的
堕落深度？他们是那种心地清澈，不受折磨，凭那神秘的思考指导每
一个行
动的人？整件事情都是让人无法理解的。更小一点的时候，我甚至觉得思索
者塑像也是令人迷惑的。
我才不相信我的哪位老师思考的时候是不穿衣
服的。
我象那些生来耳聋却决意苦苦寻求声音的人一样观察着我的老师们，想要了
解思想。
There
was
Mr.
Houghton.
He
was
always
telling
me
to
think.
With
a
modest
satisfaction, he would tell me that he
had thought a bit himself. Then why did he
spend
so
much
time
drinking?
Or
was
there
more
sense
in
drinking
than
there
appeared to be? But if not, and if
drinking were in fact ruinous to health--and Mr.
Houghton was ruined, there was no doubt
about that--why was he always talking
about the clean life and the virtues of
fresh air? He would spread his arms wide
with
the action of
a man who habitually spent
his
time striding
along
mountain
ridges.
那时有位豪顿先生，他总是要我思考。他带着谦逊的满足告诉我他自己
就动过一
点脑筋思索过。那么他为什么花那么多时间酗酒？莫非酗酒其实比
外表看起来更有意义？
而如果不是这样，酗酒事实上损害健康
——
豪格先
生无疑被酒毁了的
——
那他为什么还成天谈论纯净的生
活以及新鲜空气的
好处？他一边说一边还会象一位常年在山峦间行走的人那样伸开双臂，
说：
Sometimes,
exalted
by
his
own
oratory,
he
would
leap
from
his
desk
and
hustle us outside into a hideous wind.
God's good air!
“
新鲜空气对我有好处，孩子们
——
我知道的！
”
有时候讲到兴头上，他会从讲台上跳下来，把我们一窝蜂地赶
到外头去。
“
现在，孩子们！深呼吸！感觉上帝创造的美好气流直接进入你们的体内！
”
He
would
stand
before
us,
rejoicing
in
his
perfect
health,
an
open-air
man.
He
would put his hands on
his waist and take a tremendous breath. You could
hear the
wind,
trapped
in
the
cavern
of
his
chest
and
struggling
with
all
the
unnatural
impediments. His
body would reel with shock and his ruined face go
white at the
unaccustomed
visitation.
He
would
stagger
back
to
his
desk
and
collapse
there,
useless for the rest
of the morning.
他会站在我们面前，为他的健康而欣喜，好象他一个常进行户外活动的
人。他会叉着腰
，深深地吸一口气。你能听到风被他的胸腔堵住，遇到障碍
物艰难前进发出的声音。他的
身体因为不习惯这样的感觉而摇摇晃晃，脸色
变得惨白。他会步履蹒跚地走回讲台，然后
瘫软在那里，一个上午都缓不过
劲来。
Mr. Houghton was given to
high-minded monologues about the good life,
sexless
and full of duty. Yet in the
middle of one of these monologues, if a girl
passed the
window, tapping along on her
neat little feet, he would interrupt his
discourse, his
neck would turn of
itself and he would watch her out of sight. In
this instance, he
seemed to me ruled
not by thought but by an invisible and
irresistible spring in his
nape. His
neck was an object of great interest to me.
Normally it bulged a bit over
his
collar.
But
Mr.
Houghton
had
fought
in
the
First
World
War
alongside
both
Americans and French, and had come--by
who knows what illogic?--to a settled
detestation of both
countries. If either happened to be prominent in
current affairs,
no argument could make
Mr. Houghton think well of it. He would bang the
desk,
his
neck
would
bulge
still
further
and
go
red.
can
say
what
you
like,
he
would
cry,
Mr. Houghton thought with his neck.
豪顿先生喜欢发表关于美好的、清心寡欲、尽职尽责生活的独
白。但是在发
表这些独白的间隙，
如果有个女孩经过窗前，
灵巧的小脚发出轻轻的脚步声。
他就会停下他的演讲，
脖子不由自主地扭转过去，
一直目送她走出视线之外。
在这种情况下，我认为他不是受思想，而是受他后颈里某个看不到却无法抗
拒的发条的
控制。
我对于他的脖子十分感兴趣
。通常它在领口上方稍稍凸出。但是豪顿先生在
第一次世界大战中曾经和美国人和法国人
并肩作战，而且
——
由于谁也弄不
懂的
逻辑
——
对两个国家都深恶痛绝。无论这两个国家中哪一个在时事中
表现突出，他都对它没有好感
，任何论证都无法说服他。他会捶着桌子，脖
子胀红：
“
你爱怎么说怎么说，
”
他会叫道：
“
但是我已经想过这个问题了，而
且我知道我想什
么！
”
豪顿先生用他的脖子思考。
There
was
Miss
Parsons.
She
assured
us
that
her
dearest
wish
was
our
welfare,
but I knew even then, with the mysterious
clairvoyance of childhood, that
what
she wanted most was the husband she never got.
There was Mr. Hands--and
so on.
还有帕森小姐。她要我们相信她最
大的愿望是希望我们幸福，但是即使
是那个时候凭着我小孩子神秘的的直觉我都知道，她
最希望得到的是她从未
得到过的丈夫。还有汉兹先生
——
等等。
I have dealt at length with
my teachers because this was my introduction to
the
nature
of
what
is
commonly
called
thought.
Through
them
I
discovered
that
thought
is
often
full
of
unconscious
prejudice,
ignorance
and
hypocrisy.
It
will
lecture on
disinterested purity while its neck is being
remorselessly twisted toward
a skirt.
Technically, it is about as proficient as most
businessmen's golf, as honest
as
most
politicians'
intentions,
or--to
come
near
my
own
preoccupation--as
coherent
as
most
books
that
get
written.
It
is
what
I
came
to
call
grade-
three
thinking, though more properly,
it is feeling, rather than thought.
我要对我的老师们进行详细的分析是为了介绍一下通常被称为
思想的本
质。通过他们我发现思考通常是充满了无意识的偏见、无知和虚伪的。在训
诫无私的纯真的时候它的脖子却为了短裙而执意扭曲。从技术上而言，它娴
< br>熟如同商人玩高尔夫，
诚实如同政客的意图，
或者
——
更接近我自己的领域
< br>——
有条理如同大多数写出来的书。这就是后来被我称
作第三等级的思考，
虽然事实上称它为感觉更为恰当。
True, often there is a kind of
innocence in prejudices, but in those days I
viewed
grade-three
thinking
with
an
intolerant
contempt
and
an
incautious
mockery.
I