[F]or an intellectual, transference has an important function which I have already mentioned shortly in connection with Chesterton. It makes it possi… - George Orwell
" "[F]or an intellectual, transference has an important function which I have already mentioned shortly in connection with Chesterton. It makes it possible for him to be much more nationalistic — more vulgar, more silly, more malignant, more dishonest — that he could ever be on behalf of his native country, or any unit of which he had real knowledge. When one sees the slavish or boastful rubbish that is written about Stalin, the Red Army, etc. by fairly intelligent and sensitive people, one realises that this is only possible because some kind of dislocation has taken place. In societies such as ours, it is unusual for anyone describable as an intellectual to feel a very deep attachment to his own country. Public opinion — that is, the section of public opinion of which he as an intellectual is aware — will not allow him to do so. Most of the people surrounding him are sceptical and disaffected, and he may adopt the same attitude from imitativeness or sheer cowardice: in that case he will have abandoned the form of nationalism that lies nearest to hand without getting any closer to a genuinely internationalist outlook. He still feels the need for a Fatherland, and it is natural to look for one somewhere abroad. Having found it, he can wallow unrestrainedly in exactly those emotions from which he believes that he has emancipated himself. God, the King, the Empire, the Union Jack — all the overthrown idols can reappear under different names, and because they are not recognised for what they are they can be worshipped with a good conscience. Transferred nationalism, like the use of scapegoats, is a way of attaining salvation without altering one's conduct.
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About George Orwell
George Orwell (25 June 1903 – 21 January 1950) was the pen name of British novelist, essayist, and journalist Eric Arthur Blair, whose work is characterised by lucid prose, awareness of social injustice, opposition to totalitarianism, and strong support of democratic socialism.
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Also Known As
Pen Names:
John Freeman
Birth Name:
Eric Arthur Blair
Alternative Names:
Orwell
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Eric Blair
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P. S. Burton
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Additional quotes by George Orwell
لا تتصور أنك ستنقذ نفسك يا ونستون مهما كان استسلامك لنا مطلقاً،فما من امرئٍ انحرف مرة عن جادة الصواب ثم أبقينا على حياته،وحتى لو اخترنا أن نتركك تعيش إلى أن ينقضي أجلك فتموت ميتة طبيعية،فلن يمكنك أبداً أن تفلت من قبضتنا وما حدث لك هنا سيعيش معك إلى أبد الدهر.فعليك أن تعي ذلك سلفاً.إننا سنسحقك إلى درجة لا يمكنك بعدها أن تعود بحياتك إلى سيرتها الأولى ،وستحدث لك أشياء لن يمكنك أن تبرأ من آثارها حتى لو عشت ألف عام.وأبداً لن تقدر ثانية على الشعور بما يشعر به الأحياء .إن كل شيء سيموت داخلك ولن تعود قادراً على الحب أو الصداقة أو الاستمتاع بالحياة أو الضحك أو حب الاستطلاع أو الشجاعة أو الاستقامة .ستكون أجوف لأننا سنعصرك حتى تصبح خواء من كل شيء ثم نملأك بـذواتـنـا.
That devastating omniscience! That noxious, horn-spectacled refinement! And the money that such refinement means! For after all, what is there behind it, except money? Money for the right kind of education, money for influential friends, money for leisure and peace of mind, money for trips to Italy. Money writes books, money sells them. Give me not righteousness, O Lord, give me money, only money.
And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path. It is curious, but till that moment I had never realised what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working – bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming – all toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned – reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone – one mind less, one world less.
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