The Last WordBy Kevin C. Hudak | Sunday, October 1, 2006 If there’s one word that sums up everything that’s gone wrong since the War, it’s Workshop. After Youth, that is. I believe what really happens in history is this: the old man is always wrong; and the young people are always wrong about what is wrong with him. The practical form it takes is this: that, while the old man may stand by some stupid custom, the young man always attacks it with some theory that turns out to be equally stupid. If past history was all there was to the game, the richest people would be librarians. People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use. The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible. Your life story would not make a good book. Don’t even try. The friendship of students and of beauties is for the most part equally sincere, and equally durable: as both depend for happiness on the regard of others, on that which the value arises merely from comparison, they are both exposed to perpetual jealousies, and both incessantly employed in schemes to intercept the praises of each other. Last summer in Saint-Tropez I was appalled by the way groupies genuflected before people like Jack Nicholson, with his big belly, and George Clooney. There is no discernment between people with fame and people of genuine achievement. Americans have been anesthetized by TV. It is a besetting vice of democracies to substitute public opinion for law. This is the usual form in which masses of men exhibit their tyranny. If I drink water I will have to go to the bathroom and how can I use the bathroom when my people are in bondage? No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; no gall, no glory; no cross, no crown. No sane man will dance. You can go a long way with a smile. You can go a lot farther with a smile and a gun. I read Shakespeare and the Bible, and I can shoot dice. That’s what I call a liberal education. An intellectual is a man who takes more words than necessary to tell more than he knows. No party is any fun unless seasoned with folly. I only drink to make other people seem more interesting. I was a modest, good-humored boy. It is Oxford that has made me insufferable. If women want any rights more than they’s got, why don’t they just take them, and not be talking about it. Of course there’s a lot of knowledge in universities: the freshmen bring a little in; the seniors don’t take much away, so knowledge sort of accumulates. Passionate hatred can give meaning and purpose to an empty life. The educated class has torn away from the family its sentimental veil and reduced it to a mere factory for the production of little meritocrats. Abroad is bloody. |
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