当我还是小女孩时，母亲就告诉我，过马路只能在拐角处，并且要等交通信号灯变绿。我照做了，事实上，我很肯定，如果在红灯时往人行道外跨出一步，就会像土豆一样被辗成泥。我照着母亲的话去做。但后来，我发现她自己经常乱穿马路，拉着我的手在车流中闪躲避让。所以，不久后，我也学着她的样子，不听她的劝告了。
父亲告诉我不要撒谎或偷窃。记得六岁时，有一天，我偷了一个来访叔叔放在窗台上的三毛钱，被当众打屁股，受到奇耻大辱。可是，我到了该买地铁全票的年龄时，父亲会让我躲避，看电影也只买半票；母亲经常把她办公室的大量文具和其他用品拿回家。
父母对我的撒谎行为会处以严厉的惩罚。但我知道，在他们认为有理由的时候，就会相互欺骗，或对我和别人撒谎。
当然，这只是其中一部分，我花了很长一段时间，才弄清楚他们在性、种族关系、宗教方面的伪善。高中毕业以后才完全了解，但这些细致的了解并没有影响到我，这些年来，我对此已经相当有研究。十八九岁时，我觉得自己已经长大，能够理解和面对所看到的一切。我和朋友们，都对这一切熟视无睹了。父母和祖父母们都是那样。对于父辈们，我们只能用“伪善”这个词来形容。我们多数人接纳了伪善，如同生活的一部分——其实事情本来就是这样。
现在，我长大了，也有了自己的孩子。我带着儿子们去公园玩，解开大狗的皮带(要知道，这是不合法的)，时刻警惕那些可能逮住我们并开罚单的警察。我经常拉着小女儿横穿马路——就像我的妈妈那样——同时也警告她，“我没有和你在一起时，不能这样过马路”。
当超市职员不小心多找了钱，有时我会悄悄收下，并给自己找个理由——他一定经常多收我的钱，这只不过是一次补偿而已。这种与原则的较量促使我去做自己想做的事，而不是应该做的事。因为一个人很难按照他伟大的原则去生活，于是我们会很羞愧，羞愧实际的自己不如本质的好，而这羞愧就是伪善的另一个原因。
韦勃斯特把伪善解释为对美德的虚假设定，是对善良的模仿。换言之，伪善就是装成比我们自身更好的样子。这是由于我们总是想做得更好？或者仅仅只是想愚弄人们，使他们认为我们很好？如果我们信奉鼓吹关爱他人的宗教，还会走出教堂就拒绝把房子租给一个黑人家庭吗？或者是因为我们在某种程度上已经下意识地得出结论，在当今社会，这样的精神分裂症是生存所不可或缺的，因而我们都沿着两个轨迹在生活？
折翼的蜜蜂
A Wing And A Prayer
格伦·沃森 / Glen Wasson
One afternoon a few summers ago, I had been clearing brush in the mountains for several hours and decided to reward myself with lunch. Sitting on a log, I unwrapped a sandwich1 and surveyed the rugged scenery. Two turbulent2 streams joined to form a clear, deep pool before roaring down a heavily wooded canyon.
My idyll would have been perfect had it not been for a persistent bee that began buzzing around me. The bee was of the common variety that plagues picnickers. Without thinking, I brushed it away.
Not the least intimidated3, the bee came back and buzzed me again. Now, losing patience, I swatted the pest to the ground and crunched it into the sand with my boot.
Moments later I was startled by a minor explosion of sand at my feet. My tormentor emerged with its wings buzzing furiously. This time I took no chances. I stood up and ground the insect into the sand with all my 210 pounds.
Once more I sat down to my lunch. After several minutes I became aware of a slight movement near my feet. A broken but still living bee was feebly emerging4 from the sand.
Beguiled by its survival, I leaned down to survey the damage. The right wing was relatively intact, but the left was crumpled like a piece of paper. Nevertheless, the bee kept exercising the wings slowly up and down, as though assessing the damage. It also began to groom its sand-encrusted thorax and abdomen.
Next the bee turned its attention to the bent left wing, rapidly smoothing the wing by running its legs down the length. After each straightening session, the bee buzzed its wings as if to test the lift. This hopeless cripple thought it could still fly! I got down on my hands and knees to better see these futile attempts. Closer scrutiny confirmed the bee was finished—it must be finished. As a veteran pilot, I knew a good deal about wings.
But the bee paid no attention to my superior wisdom. It seemed to be gaining strength and increasing the tempo of its repairs. The bent veins that stiffened the gossamer wing were nearly straight now.
At last the bee felt sufficiently confident to attempt a trial flight. With an audible buzz it released its grip on the earth—and flew into a rise in the sand not more than three incheas away. The little creature hit so hard that it tumbled. More frantic smoothing and flexing followed.
Again the bee lifted off, this time flying six inches before hitting another mound. Apparently the bee had regained the lift in its wings but had not mastered the directional controls. Like a pilot learning the peculiarities of a strange airplane, it experimented with short hops that ended ignominiously. After each crash the bee worked furiously to correct the newly discovered structural deficiencies.
Once more it took off, this time clearing the sand but heading straight toward a stump. Narrowly avoiding it, the bee rechecked its forward speed, circled and then drifted slowly over the mirrorlike surface of the pool as if to admire its own reflection. As the bee disappeared, I realized that I was still on my knees, and I remained on my knees for some time.
几年前的一个下午，我在山上开垦荒地，接连干了几个小时。此时，我决定用吃午饭来犒劳自己。我坐到一根圆木上，一边打开一包三明治，一边欣赏着周围险峻的山景。只见两条湍急的小溪汇合到一起，形成了一个清澈无比、深不见底的水潭，之后，潭水顺着一片树木丛生的峡谷汹涌直泻而下。
假如不是一只蜜蜂绕着我不停地嗡嗡地飞，我田园诗般的心情必定会完美至极。那是一只很普通的爱让野餐者扫兴的蜜蜂。没有片刻的思考，我一下把它赶跑了。
这只蜜蜂非但没有被吓到，反而又飞了回米，绕着我嗡嗡地飞了起来。现在，我可没有耐心来忍耐它了，我猛地一下把它打落在地，一脚踩了下去，它嘎吱一声被碾进了沙土里。
没过多久，我脚旁边的沙土里发生了一次小爆炸，这令我大为震惊。那个令我感到苦恼的东西从沙土里钻了出来，用它的翅膀疯狂地扑打着。这次，我没有给它留下任何机会。我站了起来，用我210磅的体重将这只小虫子碾进了土里。
我再次坐下来开始吃午餐。过了几分钟，我觉得脚旁边有什么东西微微动了一下。一只身体遭到破坏却依然活着的蜜蜂从沙土里有气无力地钻了出来。
它的幸存引起了我的兴趣，我俯身对它所受的伤害仔细看了看。右边的翅膀相对来说还比较完整，然而左边的翅膀已经遭到了重创，就像一张被揉皱的纸。尽管如此，那只蜜蜂还在一刻不停地慢慢地上下活动着它的翅膀，就像在估量着它所受的伤害。它还开始修整沾满了沙子的胸部和腹部。
接下来，蜜蜂将注意力转向了那被折弯的左边的翅膀，它用腿不停地抚平整个翅膀，迅速平整了翅膀。在每次整理完后，这只蜜蜂就嗡嗡地扑打着翅膀，仿佛在检验升力。这只毫无希望的废物竟然以为它还能飞起来！
我把双手撑在地上，跪了下去，为的是能更好地观看这些毫无结果的努力。经过更为仔细的观察，我得出结论：这只蜜蜂死定了——它肯定完了。作为一个老飞行员，我对翅膀了解得相当透彻。
然而那只蜜蜂对我高超的学识置若罔闻。看上去，它正在渐渐恢复力量，而且加快了修整的步伐。此刻，它那薄纱般的翅膀变得坚挺起来，弯曲了的翅脉快要伸直了。
最后，蜜蜂感觉有足够的信心能够尝试飞起来了。随着一阵嗡嗡声，它从地面飞了起来，接着一头撞在了不足3英寸外的沙堆上。这个小生命遭到了严重的撞击，它接连翻了几个筋斗。接下来，它多次疯狂地梳理和伸展着翅膀。
这只蜜蜂又一次飞了起来，这次它飞了6英寸之后再次撞倒在另一个土墩上。显而易见的是，蜜蜂的翅膀恢复了升力，可是它尚未掌握好控制方向的机制。就像一名飞行员想要弄清楚一架生疏的飞机的特性一样，它试着作了几次短途飞行，然而均以屈辱告终。每碰撞一次，那只蜜蜂便会疯狂地活动起来，来纠正新发现的结构上的缺陷。
它再一次飞了起来，这一次它越过了沙丘，向着一根树桩笔直地飞去。它勉强躲过了树桩，接着放慢飞行的速度，转了几个圈，然后在明澈如镜的水潭上空缓缓飘过，像是在欣赏自己的倒影。那只蜜蜂消失在远方之后，我意识到自己依然跪在地上，并且一直跪了很长时间。