The Irony of Class in Pygmalion

Act Three may well be my favorite portion of Shaw’s immortal play Pygmalion.  The social statements made in this part of the play are so hilarious, so stunning, and so true that it is difficult not to enjoy the entire misadventure.  Henry Higgins, who seems to think himself perfectly superior to everyone else, creates a severe faux pas by showing up to his mother’s home unannounced when she is about to have a party.  He announces that he would like to try out his “project,” Eliza, on his mother’s distinguished guests.  Before his mother can refuse, some of the said guests appear– none other than the aristocratic trio from Act One.  Henry Higgins makes the risky mistake of opening his mouth, and is on the brink of horribly insulting his mother’s respectable acquaintances when he is saved by Eliza’s arrival.  This is, in itself, ironic because it reveals that Henry, who seems to think himself the only truly refines human being around, is actually devoid of etiquette and social graces that would have been common to all but the lowliest of his contemporaries.

To both Henry and Eliza’s credit, none of the three aristocrats recognize the flower girl they briefly interacted with before.  They are initially charmed by her ladylike behavior and language, but when she begins slipping into her old accent, and even mentioning her father’s alcoholism, both Freddy and Clara are absolutely taken with her.  They think she is making a hilarious joke, and speaking with the vogue “new speech.”  Clara even tries to imitate her, while Freddie is clearly becoming infatuated with her.  Again, the arrogant Henry is outshone by his supposedly inferior student.  This is ironic not only because the less-refined Eliza is more popular with the high-born guests than her better educated teacher, but also because the aristocrats are trying to imitate her.  This struck me as important because it still goes on today.  How many times have I heard college seniors, who are quite capable of speaking like educated people, trying to sound as if they came from a trashy trailer park or inner-city project housing?  Apparently now, as in the time of Shaw’s play, ignorance is in fashion.  Some things, I suppose, never change.

Class and Pygmilion

One of the most interesting aspects of the first act of Pygmalion is that of class, and it’s relation to characters’ names.  It is fascinating not because it is there, but because it is so pointedly obvious– arguably to the point of being satirical.

The characters in Act One represent a stereotypical cross-section of English society at that time.  There are the Aristocrats– Freddy, his mother and his sister– as well as the middle class academic Henry Higgins.  There is Colonel Pickering, whose academic and military experiences allow him to span a gap between the aristocratic and the middle classes, and then, of course, there is Eliza Dolittle, the lower class flower girl.

The importance of class in the play is illustrated by the fact that all of the characters are initially known by epithets that either directly or indirectly point to their social statuses.  The Mother and the Daughter, being upper class, are known solely by their familial positions, because those are their only places in society.  The Flower Girl, being lower class, must work for a living and is therefore known by her job title.  The Gentleman, obviously, is exactly what his name indicates, while the Note Taker, while middle class and therefore known again by his activity, is also an academic, as the act of taking notes suggests.  Only Freddy seems to be immune to the classification– a fact which proves significant as more about his character is revealed later in the play.

Even the characters’ proper names seem to have social significance.  Henry Higgins is a name for an “Everyman” if I’ve ever heard one, yet the surname Higgins means “Intelligent.”  Eliza’s surname, Dolittle, can be taken as a descriptive for the stereotypical view taken by the English of the period toward the lower class.  The poorest in English society at that time were typically viewed as lazy and idle.  Colonel Pickering’s name is especially interesting.  Firstly, the combination of a officers’ title with the name speaks of both high birth– because at the time only aristocrats became officers in the English military– and of intelligence– because of two famous Victorian astronomers, Edward and William Pickering.  Again, only Freddy’s name does not seem to bear some sort of social significance.

The Faltering of the English Language

George Orwell, in his essay “Politics and the English Language,” stated that English was in notable disrepair and that this fact both had its roots in and would be the cause of social and political problems.  He compared the downfall of language to be like a drunk, who begins his affair with heavy liquor because he feels like a failure, and as a consequence becomes a far greater failure than he was.

This essay is as relevant today as it was when it was published in 1946.  English is still, as Orwell worded it: “in a bad way.”  According to an April 2009 article in BBC News Magazine, Professor David Crystal, who has written nearly one-hundred books concerning his research in English language studies, estimated that the average English speaker knows between thirty-five-thousand and fifty-thousand words.  (This estimate includes modern additions to the dictionary, such as slang terms that have been adopted into the English language.)  These estimates are dismal because Global Language Monitor, a U.S. based linguistics company, estimates that English now officially contains about one-million words.  (Again, this includes new additions to the Oxford dictionary.)  Do the math and you will find that fifty-thousand is about fifteen percent of one-million.  That is a truly depressing number.

Unfortunately, substandard vocabularies are not the only problems that the English language faces.  George Orwell, in his afore mentioned essay, argues that many writers, even among professors and journalists, do not have a great enough command of the language to fully express themselves as they intend.  This would be hard to believe if it were not for the examples he provides, such as the one below, from a New York Times article:

On the one side we have the free personality: by definition it is not neurotic, for it has neither conflict nor dream. Its desires, such as they are, are transparent, for they are just what institutional approval keeps in the forefront of consciousness; another institutional pattern would alter their number and intensity; there is little in them that is natural, irreducible, or culturally dangerous. But on the other side, the social bond itself is nothing but the mutual reflection of these self-secure integrities. Recall the definition of love. Is not this the very picture of a small academic? Where is there a place in this hall of mirrors for either personality or fraternity?

Is the described “hall of mirrors” a metaphor for love, the “free personality” of an individual, or academe?  It is not really clear.  What is clear, however, is that the paragraph lacks clarity and vivid expression.  Orwell is quite right in suggesting that this paragraph demonstrates a inapt handle on the usage of English.

I do not agree with all Orwell says in essay, however.  He argues against the use of scientific, archaic, and foreign words in English, while I embrace them fully.  I feel that Orwell’s apparent disdain for them is foolish, given the fact that he is arguing for salvation of the English language.  How can anyone argue that our language is being destroyed, and then suggest shortly afterward that we should limit our vocabularies?  The variegated plethora of words available in English is a large part of what makes it beautiful.  Should we return to using only Anglo-Saxon based words?  That would undo hundreds of years of linguistic development—an absurd notion.

I also disagree with Orwell’s suggestion that we should endeavor to save the English language by mocking those who use it incorrectly—although I think this comment was more tongue-in-cheek than serious proposal.  None the less, it seems to have some undertone of sincerity to it, so I must ask: what about those people whose command of English is poor because it is their second language?  What about those who do not use the language well because they have a mental or learning disability, or because they were not lucky enough to be read to as a child or sent to a decent school?  Should we poke fun at them, and thus give them a greater dislike for the very language we intend to save?  I don’t believe so.  No, I think rather the best thing we can do is to cultivate a love for English among other English speakers by leading through example, by introducing them to the joys of reading, and by discussing the very things mentioned in this blog whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Most of all, we must improve our own vocabularies, phraseology, and reading habits.  Only by embracing and displaying a love for the English language ourselves can we begin to pull it back for the edge of the abyss.

SOURCES:

Orwell, George.  "Politics and the English Language."  http://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/intrel/orwell46.htm 

Gall, Carolyn.  "The Words in the Mental Cupboard."  BBC News Magazine.  http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8013859.stm

Class and Names in Pygmalion Act One

One of the most interesting aspects of the first act of Pygmalion is that of class, and it’s relation to characters’ names.  It is fascinating not because it is there, but because it is so pointedly obvious– arguably to the point of being satirical.

The characters in Act One represent a stereotypical cross-section of English society at that time.  There are the Aristocrats– Freddy, his mother and his sister– as well as the middle class academic Henry Higgins.  There is Colonel Pickering, whose academic and military experiences allow him to span a gap between the aristocratic and the middle classes, and then, of course, there is Eliza Dolittle, the lower class flower girl.

The importance of class in the play is illustrated by the fact that all of the characters are initially known by epithets that either directly or indirectly point to their social statuses.  The Mother and the Daughter, being upper class, are known solely by their familial positions, because those are their only places in society.  The Flower Girl, being lower class, must work for a living and is therefore known by her job title.  The Gentleman, obviously, is exactly what his name indicates, while the Note Taker, while middle class and therefore known again by his activity, is also an academic, as the act of taking notes suggests.  Only Freddy seems to be immune to the classification– a fact which proves significant as more about his character is revealed later in the play.

Even the characters’ proper names seem to have social significance.  Henry Higgins is a name for an “Everyman” if I’ve ever heard one, yet the surname Higgins means “Intelligent.”  Eliza’s surname, Dolittle, can be taken as a descriptive for the stereotypical view taken by the English of the period toward the lower class.  The poorest in English society at that time were typically viewed as lazy and idle.  Colonel Pickering’s name is especially interesting.  Firstly, the combination of a officers’ title with the name speaks of both high birth– because at the time only aristocrats became officers in the English military– and of intelligence– because of two famous Victorian astronomers, Edward and William Pickering.  Again, only Freddy’s name does not seem to bear some sort of social significance.