誰能對(duì)金錢和名聲說不呢？

I’ve never had great success, which is lucky, because I have seen it ruin many previously excellent writers and thinkers. This is an age-old phenomenon, but it has got worse in our era.

我從沒有取得過巨大的成功，這很幸運(yùn)，因?yàn)槲铱吹匠晒Я撕芏嘁郧白吭降淖骷液退枷爰?。這是一個(gè)由來已久的現(xiàn)象，但在我們這個(gè)時(shí)代變得更嚴(yán)重了。

The best business nowadays is selling to the 1 per cent. A caste of pundits has accordingly arisen to supply them with thoughts, or at least talking points. These pundits make decent money themselves, especially on the speakers’ circuit, which is now the place where original thinkers go to die. Here are some case studies:

如今最好的生意是面向1%的精英階層銷售。一群名嘴應(yīng)運(yùn)而生，為他們提供思想，或者至少是議論要點(diǎn)。這些名嘴自己賺取不俗的收入，特別是在演講臺(tái)上，如今這里是埋葬具有獨(dú)創(chuàng)見解的思想家的地方。以下是一些案例研究：

You are a historian. You spend years in the archives producing good books. You emerge blinking into the light, turn out to be fluent on television, and pretty soon are getting $25,000 to pontificate in Dubai on “What’s next for China?” (The 0.1 per cent want to know the future, because that’s where the money is.) When you aren’t being an oracle, you are explaining why you were right five years ago. Eventually you realise you aren’t a historian any more. You’re a content provider who plays a parody of himself on TV.

你是一位歷史學(xué)家。你花費(fèi)多年研究歷史檔案，撰寫了一些優(yōu)秀著作。最終你得到登上舞臺(tái)的機(jī)會(huì)，人們發(fā)現(xiàn)你在電視上口才極好，于是你很快獲得機(jī)會(huì)：在迪拜探討“中國接下來將走向何方?”，為此得到2.5萬美元報(bào)酬(0.1%的頂級(jí)精英希望了解未來，因?yàn)槟鞘蔷薮筘?cái)富所在。)當(dāng)你不做先知時(shí)，你會(huì)去解釋5年前你的說法為什么是正確的。最后你意識(shí)到，你不再是歷史學(xué)家。你變成了一位內(nèi)容供應(yīng)商，在電視上滑稽地模仿自己。

You are a reporter. You are multilingual, hardworking and sit in ordinary people’s homes trying to understand what’s going on in their country. But once you are a star, you become a talking head in a complimentary limousine, separated from your material. Now you’re sitting in a prince’s palace trying to understand what’s going on in his country. He’s charming, he loves your work, and over dinner you realise that his ostensibly self-serving power play is in fact intended only to root out corruption.

你是一位記者。你會(huì)多種語言，工作努力，住在普通人的房子里試圖了解他們的國家發(fā)生了什么。然而，一旦你成為明星，你會(huì)成為一位名嘴，坐在人家提供的免費(fèi)豪華轎車?yán)?，與你的素材隔離。然后你坐在一位王子的宮殿里，試圖了解他的國家發(fā)生了什么。他有魅力，喜愛你報(bào)道的內(nèi)容，進(jìn)餐時(shí)，你意識(shí)到，他表面上自私自利的權(quán)力游戲?qū)嶋H上只是為了根除腐敗。

You are an economist. You spend decades doing brilliant, complex work. But on the side, you have standard political views, and suddenly you’re explaining every day why the other side is wrong. (To quote the journalist John Avlon: “Hyper-partisanship makes you stupid.”) Sometimes even you get bored listening to yourself.

你是一位經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)家。你花了幾十年從事高端、復(fù)雜的工作。但暗地里，你有著標(biāo)準(zhǔn)的政治觀點(diǎn)，突然間，你天天在解釋為什么另一方是錯(cuò)的。(引用記者約翰•阿夫隆(John Avlon)的話：“過度的黨派之爭(zhēng)讓你變蠢。”)有時(shí)你甚至聽自己說話都覺得煩。

You write an original political book. A party leader whom you admire calls to say he loved it. Soon you’re texting each other daily. You feel that you have graduated from describing reality to shaping it. In your TV appearances, you start explaining why the party leader is always right. Still, you tell yourself in your worst moments, it could be worse: you could have been Christopher Hitchens, who prostituted his talent in the cause of the Iraq war.

你撰寫了一本具有獨(dú)創(chuàng)見解的政治書籍。你欽佩的一位政黨領(lǐng)導(dǎo)人打電話說，他喜歡這本書。很快，你和他每天都在互相發(fā)短信。你覺得自己已從描寫現(xiàn)實(shí)“畢業(yè)”，有本事塑造現(xiàn)實(shí)了。在電視上露面時(shí)，你會(huì)開始解釋為什么這位政黨領(lǐng)導(dǎo)人永遠(yuǎn)是正確的。話雖如此，你會(huì)在最不快樂的時(shí)刻告訴自己，事情本來可能會(huì)更糟：你可能會(huì)成為又一個(gè)克里斯托弗•希欽斯(Christopher Hitchens)，他出賣了自己的才華為伊拉克戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)辯解。

You are a journalist with an elegant style. But all the praise goes to your head. You become America’s prissiest prose-writer, crafting every sentence for a future book of Twenty-First Century Quotations.

你是一位風(fēng)格優(yōu)雅的記者。但鋪天蓋地的贊譽(yù)讓你陶醉。你成為美國最拘泥謹(jǐn)慎的散文作家，為未來圖書《21世紀(jì)語錄》(Twenty-First Century Quotations)咬文嚼字。

You are a rightwing journalist. There aren’t many of those, so you are adopted by a rightwing press proprietor. You serve his empire and his friends, telling yourself that his cause is generally just, even if some of the details make you queasy. Reading Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop, you used to identify with the naive young journalist. Now you are the editor who is always telling the proprietor, “Up to a point, Lord Copper.”

你是一名右翼記者。這樣的人不多，因此你被一位右翼媒體老板延攬。你為他的帝國和他的朋友服務(wù)，告訴自己他的事業(yè)在總體上是正義的，即便一部分細(xì)節(jié)讓你反感。閱讀伊夫林•沃(Evelyn Waugh，已故英國諷刺小說家——譯者注)的《獨(dú)家新聞》(Scoop)時(shí)，你曾經(jīng)認(rèn)同那個(gè)幼稚的年輕記者。如今你是主編，總是對(duì)那位媒體大亨說：“在一定程度上是這樣，庫帕勛爵(Lord Copper，《獨(dú)家新聞》中的報(bào)業(yè)大亨——譯者注)。”

You are a revolutionary writer. You do this so well that you actually make money out of it. You acquire a fine house and even a porcelain collection. Ludwig Börne, the 19th-century German writer to whom this happened, told his rival Heinrich Heine (at least, according to Heine): “You have no idea, my dear Heine, how one is reined in by the possession of beautiful porcelain. Look at me, for instance, who was once so wild, when I had little baggage and no porcelain at all. With possession, and especially with fragile possession, comes fear and servility.”

你是一位革命作家。你做得如此出色，以至于你實(shí)際上靠此賺錢。你會(huì)購買一棟精致的獨(dú)立屋，甚至收藏瓷器。19世紀(jì)德國作家路德維希•博爾納(Ludwig Börne)就有過這樣的經(jīng)歷，他告訴他的競(jìng)爭(zhēng)對(duì)手海因里希•海涅(Heinrich Heine)(至少海涅這么說)：“你不知道，我親愛的海涅，收藏精美瓷器會(huì)如何收斂一個(gè)人。比如，看看我吧，我曾經(jīng)非?？褚埃瑤缀鯖]有行李，一件瓷器也沒有。擁有藏品，特別是易碎的藏品，帶來恐懼和奴性。”

Recently, Börne recounted, he had bought a darling tea service. Imagine if he had to flee – he couldn’t take it with him. Sometimes he suspected that the porcelain dealer was an agent of the Austrian state.

博爾納回憶道，最近他買了一套心愛的茶具。假設(shè)他不得不逃跑，這些茶具他無法帶走。有時(shí)他懷疑瓷器經(jīng)銷商是奧地利政府的特務(wù)。

This list isn’t exhaustive. Being ruined by wealth comes in endless variants. Most thinkers imagine that money will liberate them from drudgery to do their best work. Instead, it removes them from the sphere where they were doing their best work. The effect is worst in the biggest economies. As Martin Amis wrote in 1983: “When success happens to an English writer, he acquires a new typewriter. When success happens to an American writer, he acquires a new life.”

這份清單并不全面。被財(cái)富毀掉的形式千變?nèi)f化。多數(shù)思想家想象，金錢將讓他們擺脫單調(diào)的工作，去做他們最擅長的事情。事實(shí)上，財(cái)富讓他們失去了做最擅長事情的環(huán)境。這種影響在最大的幾個(gè)經(jīng)濟(jì)體最嚴(yán)重。正如馬丁•艾米斯(Martin Amis)在1983年所寫的那樣：“當(dāng)英格蘭的一位作家成功后，他會(huì)購買一臺(tái)新的打字機(jī)。當(dāng)一位美國作家成功后，他會(huì)過一種新的生活。”

And so the global conversation is degraded as original writers and thinkers get ruined. Only a few reject the world’s rewards. Philip Roth, for instance, sequestered himself in rural Connecticut, writing daily until he was nearly 80.

于是，具有獨(dú)創(chuàng)精神的作者和思想家一個(gè)接一個(gè)被毀掉，全球?qū)υ挼馁|(zhì)量隨之下降。只有為數(shù)不多的人會(huì)拒絕塵世的獎(jiǎng)勵(lì)。例如，菲利普•羅斯(Philip Roth)把自己隔離在康涅狄格州的農(nóng)村，每天寫作，直到快80歲。

The work that survives from past eras often wasn’t done by the biggest names. John Galsworthy and JB Priestley were star writers in Britain in the first half of the past century but no longer. Meanwhile, George Orwell went almost unnoticed until 1945, less than five years before his death, when he finally managed to get Animal Farm published. By analogy, today’s most interesting thinker is not the fiftysomething ­multimillionaire giving the keynote address, but the ignored 30-year-old blogger.

從過去時(shí)代存活下來的作品往往并非出自最知名作家的手筆。約翰•高爾斯華綏(John Galsworthy)和JB•普里斯特利(JB Priestley)在20世紀(jì)前半葉是英國明星作家，但現(xiàn)在不再是這樣了。與此同時(shí)，喬治•奧威爾(George Orwell)在1945年之前幾乎無人知曉，那年他的《動(dòng)物農(nóng)場(chǎng)》(Animal Farm)終于出版，不到5年后他就去世了。類似的，當(dāng)今最有意思的思想家很可能不是發(fā)表基調(diào)演講的50多歲的億萬富翁，而是被人忽視的30歲博客作家。

Still, who can say no to money and fame? For speaking engagements, do contact my agent.

可話說回來，誰能對(duì)金錢和名聲說不呢?若要請(qǐng)我演講，請(qǐng)務(wù)必聯(lián)系我的經(jīng)紀(jì)人。