winner of the 1925
Nobel Prize in literature
. . . and there is, on the
whole, nothing on earth intended for
innocent people so horrible as a school. To begin with, it is a prison.
But it is in some respects more cruel than a prison. In a prison, for
instance, you are not forced to read books written by the warders (who
of course would not be warders and governors if they could write
readable books), and beaten or otherwise tormented if you cannot
remember their utterly unmemorable contents. In the prison you are not
forced to sit listening to the turnkeys discoursing without charm or
interest on subjects that they don't understand and don't care about,
and are therefore incapable of making you understand or care about. In
a prison they may torture your body; but they do not torture your
brains; and they protect you against violence and outrage from your
fellow-prisoners. In a school you have none of these advantages. With
the world's bookshelves loaded with fascinating and inspired books, the
very manna sent down from Heaven to feed your souls, you are forced to
read a hideous imposture called a school book, written by a man who
cannot write: A book from which no human can learn anything: a book
which, though you may decipher it, you cannot in any fruitful sense
read, though the enforced attempt will make you loathe the sight of a
book all the rest of your life.
"A Treatise on Parents and
Children," preface to Misalliance (1909),
reprinted in Bernard Shaw: Collected Plays with Their Prefaces, volume
IV (1972), page 35.
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