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2021年2月10日发(作者：绿豆糕)

Integrated English Course for postgraduates

Unit One:

Beauty and the Beast

Introduction to the author and the article

Born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1935, Phil Donahue has worked at numerous radio and

television stations across America. In 1963 he became the co- author of a popular phone-in

radio talk show, which led to an offer to host a television show of similar format in 1967.

The show, now called

“Donahue”

, focused on one guest or controversial topic each week

and became a forum for discussion of changing values in America. He has won several

Emmy

awards

as

host

of

this

sometimes

controversial

show.

He

ardently

supports

the

civil-rights

and

feminist

movements

and

is

a

member

of

the

National

Organization

for

Women

(NOW).

His

autobiography,

Donahue:

My

Own

Story

(1980),

includes

observations about contemporary life in the United States.

This essay is taken from Phil Donahue’s

The Human Animal

(1985). Comparing the

two sides of human nature

—

noble and petty, sublime and savage, beauty and beast

—

Donahue raises questions about contemporary attitudes toward the dark side of the human

animal.

Beauty and the Beast

Phil Donahue

Compared to the animals around us, there’s no doubt we are a remarkable phenomenon.

Someone referred to us as the “superdeluxe model”:

we walk, we talk, we smell, we taste,

we touch, we think. All this in a relatively small and attractive package. We’re also very

good with our hands. In the comparatively brief time we’ve been available in the current

form

—

about

50,000

years

—

we’ve

inv

ented

the

wheel,

the

alphabet,

the

clock,

the

reciprocating machine, the cyclotron, and everything in between. When we weren’t busy

making

progress,

we

invented

more

playful

things

like

music,

art,

baseball,

and

bridge.

Over the years, we’ve demonstrated a

n admirable willingness to cooperate with each other.

We assemble in big groups to form towns and cities; we get together in twos to discover

love.

We’ve

also

shown

a

lot

of

individual

spunk.

The

wheel

wasn’t

invented

by

a

committee,

and

Albert

Einstein,

by

himself,

revolutionized

our

understanding

of

the

universe.

Of course, most of our uniquely human accomplishments are the result of a combination

of a cooperation and individual achievement. Even Charles Lindbergh had a ground crew.

Beethoven

composed

the

Ninth

Symphony

in

the

solitude

of

deafness,

but

scores

of

musicians are needed to bring it to life. Neil Armstrong had to have personal courage to

step

out

on

the

surface

of

the

moon,

knowing

that

he

might

sink

into

15

feet

of

“moondust,” but he had an ar

my of people to help him there and bring him back.

We can only imagine what it must have felt like to stand on the moon; look back at the

earth,

suspended

like

a

blue-and-white

marble

in

space;

and

think

how

far

we

humans

have

come

in

such

a

short

time.

That

feeling

itself

—

the

tightening

in

the

throat,

the

1

tingle up the spine, the tear of pride

—

is unique to the human animal. Throughout most

of

our

history,

that

feeling

belonged

exclusively

to

religion.

When

most

people’s

lives

were “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short,” religion was the only thing that made them

feel dignified, special, proud of being human.

The peasants who gazed for the first time at the stained glass in the cathedral at Chartres

undoubtedly

experienced

that

same

feeling

—

the

most

human

of

emotions

—

wonder.

Most of them had never been inside anything bigger than a thatched hut and never seen

anything

more

colorful

than

a

piece

of

dyed

cloth.

Even

today,

the

sight

of

this

huge,

arched

space

with

those

luminous

windows

suspended

high

in

the

darkness

is

almost

enough

to

make

a

believer

of

even

the

most

skeptical.

In

1260,

when

the

church

was

consecrated, the peasants who shuffled through those doors must have thought they had

died and gone to heaven.

In fact, Chartres cathedral, like dozens of other cathedrals built in the same period, is the

medieval equivalent of the modern effort to put a man on the moon. Both represent the

perfect

combination

of

individual

achievement

and

group

cooperation

in

the

pursuit

of

something

beautiful

and

lasting.

The

space

program

would

never

have

gotten

off

the

ground if Wernher von Braun hadn’t made his discoveries in the field of jet propulsion,

and

the

arches

of

Chartres

would

never

have

soared

if

an

anonymous

French

architect

hadn’t devised a system

of buttresses to support a two-ton block of stone 120 feet in the

air and keep it there for a thousand years. But there would have been no stones to support

if

the

wealthier

townspeople

hadn’t

dug

deep

into

their

pockets

and

come

up

with

the

money

needed

for

construction.

The

glass

in

the

openings

would

be

clear

instead

of

stained

if

merchant

guilds,

members

of

the

nobility,

and

even

the

French

king

hadn’t

contributed

money

for

the

windows.

And

all

the

money

would

have

been

worthless

if

legions

of

craftsme

n

hadn’t

been

willing

to

dedicate

their

skills

and

often

their

lives

to

making this not just another building, but a monument to human achievement.

Bees get together and build hives, termites build mounds, beavers build dams, and spiders

spin webs, but what other animal can change stone and glass into poetry? Other animals

can alter their environment at the margins, but only we can transform our environment so

completely that we reshape our destiny. Alone in the animal kingdom, we can set goals for

ourselves and then pursue them. The dream of the medieval craftsmen who built Chartres

was to secure a place for themselves in heaven. By lavishing love on this stone and glass,

they

glorified

God

and

hoped

to

be

rewarded

in

the

next

life.

But

in

the

process,

they

changed this life, made it more beautiful and more worth living.

A place like Chartres makes us proud to be human. We can stand tall and hold our heads

high.

Certainly

no

other

creature

could

conceive

and

create

something

of

such

sublime

beauty.

Case

closed?

Hardly.

There

is,

unfortunately,

another

side

to

the

human

animal

that’s

nothing

to

be

proud

of.

At

places

like

Chartres,

it’s

easy

—

and

tempting

—

to

overlook this other side, the ugly side, of our nature. But we can’t begin to understand the

human a

nimal without it. Surely there’s beauty inside us —

but there’s also a beast, a part

of us that we’d like to deny but can’t, a part that gives us a knot in the stomach instead of

a lump in the throat.

Even

the

God- loving

people

who

fashioned

the

soaring

vaults

and

delicate

windows

of

Chartres had murder on their minds. Some of the workers may well have been veterans of

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