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如果有人要问，通识教育与技术教育的区别在何处？受过通识教育的人应该是什么样的？针对这些问题，我们完全可以在《西南联大英文课》中找到满意的答案。
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在技术学校，学生们为一份特定的工作做准备，大部分停留在感性活动的层面，做别人可以理解的工作。在职业学校，学生们倒是处在思想和原则的领域之内，但他们仍然局限于某一特定的人类旨趣，他们的认知活动也仅基于此。但是大学之所以相对于这两类学校被称为“通识学院”，是因为它的教育不是由特定的兴趣所主宰，它不局限于任何单个的人类使命，不是孤立地理解人类的种种努力，而是将人类活动当作整体，将这种理解置于彼此的联系之中，置于与总体经验即我们所谓的人们的生活的关联之下。（P643）
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我认为，一个接受过通识教育的人应该是这样的：他年轻时受到的训练可以使其身体服从自己的意志，就像一台机器一样轻松而愉悦地从事一切工作；他的心智好比一台敏锐、冷静而有逻辑性的引擎，每个部分能力相当，有条不紊地运行着；他又如一台蒸汽机，待于效力各种工作，纺织思想之纱，铸就心智之锚；他的大脑中充满着知识，既有关于大自然的重要真理和知识，也有自然界运行的基本规律；他并不是一个不正常的苦行人，他的生活中总是充满生机和热情，但他的激情永远受制于强大的意志力和敏感的良知；他学会去热爱一切美好的事物，不论是自然之美还是艺术之美；他憎恨所有的丑恶，并做到尊人如待己。（P220-221）
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透视目前中国外语教育之现状，许多外语学院变成了职业的训练场，教师忙于专业教学，灌输学科的专业知识，教学与研究都离开了学问的原起点。更有甚者，思想已经淡出，学术已经褪色，技术有统领学术的势头。如果是创新技术，倒还无可厚非，问题是许多技术和方法无非西方的舶来品。遗憾的是这种简单的重复应用并没有让我们的一些教授心虚，其中还会有人觉得自己已手握倚天剑屠龙刀，可以发令于学术界。在这种气候下，博雅教育的生态环境必将遭到践踏，学生得到的教育不过是工具训练而已。
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即便对于专业学者和人文学者，《通识学院的理论》一文中都有这么一段精彩的论述：
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现在如果有人选择只关注自己的业务领域我并不反对，但如果一个人这样做是因为他不懂其他业务领域的知识，或是因为他不了解使他的业务变得有理据、有意义的任何相关领域的知识，那我们就可以说虽然此人很专注于自己的业务，但他并不通晓，并不理解它们。这样的人，从今天所要求的“通识教育”的角度看，与不懂自己买卖的买卖人和只从事自己专业的职业人士没有本质差别。（P648）
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这种论述来自学术界的一个普遍的看法：真正的学者只关心自己的学术研究，甚至是两耳不闻窗外事。“如果一位学者冒险去探索自己领域与周围领域的关系，他很容易成为知识普及工作者、文人、思辨者，或者最不好的结果是变得与科学研究背道而驰。”（P648）在中国的外语界，不是没有持这样观点的学者，这也许是中国学术界为寻求规范而需要共同度过的一个阵痛时期。归根结底，这只是一种片面和不成熟的表现。首先，知识首先体现为网状的整体，就像一个蜘蛛网一样，一切均指向其中心原点；或者说，知识由中心的原点出发，无限地指向未来，而知识的每个节点都在其中发生作用。其次，在当今的学术界，传统学科已趋向饱和，学术研究和发现已接近瓶颈，同为这个时代的学者，如果谁持有通识和博雅的教育，就更容易发现新的增长点，产生新的理论和知识。课文中有这样一段描写：“他与他们一样将自己封闭于狭窄的个人兴趣之内，而从来不花脑力从整体上理解自己的经验。遗憾的是，我们大学里越来越多的席位都被这些仅有特定兴趣，掌握专业化知识的人占据。”（P648）这种理解来自一个世纪以前的西方学者、教育家，我们不得不感叹我们在教育理念上与西方的一些先哲相比，还存在一定的差距。
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第三，课本由经典构成。全书共收录四十三篇课文，涉及文学、教育学、政治学、哲学等。该书选文多样，有小说、散文、论说文、传记等。所选英文文章，必出自大家之手，如毛姆、赛珍珠、兰姆、梭罗、爱伦·坡、罗素等，其中不乏中国的作者，如胡适、林语堂。这些文章不仅语言优美，更重要的是，它们充满了深邃的思想、睿智的对话和审美的体验。
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经典对大学教育十分重要，它是文化记忆的基本元素。经典需要一代又一代学者的解读、阐释、重构。在无穷循环的阐释与演绎中，经典犹如美酒佳酿，时间越长，其味越醇。经典作家的声誉独立于大众读者而存在，经典作品的甘醇伴随每一位接受过博雅教育之士的生命中的每一个时刻，须臾不曾分离。课本选有《经典之所以为经典》一文，可以告诉学生为何要读经典，如何去读经典：
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所谓经典著作，就是那些作品，它们能够给那些对文学表现出持久且浓厚兴趣的少数人带来快乐。这种快乐感之所以存在，是因为这类少数人愿意体验新的快感，于是怀揣一颗永无止境的好奇心，投入于永不止步的再发现当中。成就一部经典之作并不倚仗于伦理道德。经典作品能够流芳百世，并不是因为其遵循了某套标准，也不是因为其备受关注而免受疏忽，而是因为经典作品是快乐的源泉。（P385-386）
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其实，陈福田先生主编的《西南联大英文课》课本本身就是一个经典。编者高屋建瓴，以超人的学识，以深邃的思想，荟集了人文社会科学的优秀文章。这些文章具有跨学科的、多层次的特色，都是可读性极强的范文。阅读这些文章，能给人以震撼，能给人以感悟，能给人以启迪，能给人以方向，能给人以力量。课本不仅仅是针对西南联大的学生，而是面向未来的中国教育。中译出版社发现这部教材，并深入挖掘，重新编辑，邀请清华大学、北京大学、南开大学、北京外国语大学等多校教师联合翻译其中的英文课文，编辑成英汉双语课本，这于中国外语界，甚至中国教育界，都是一件功德无量的事情。
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是为序。
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罗选民 2016年岁末写于广外云溪居
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西南联大英文课（英汉双语版） [:1705033790]
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1 BARREN SPRING
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By Pearl S. Buck
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BARREN SPRING, from The First Wife and Other Stories, by Pearl Sydenstricker Buck, New York, The John Day Company, 1933, pp. 279-283.
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Pearl Sydenstricken Buck （1892-1973）, American novelist. Her parents were missionaries in China, so she was brought up in our country. She was married, first, to John Lossing Buck, at one time professor of Rural Economics at the University of Nanking. This early part of her life she included in her biography of her mother, in her novel The Exile , published in 1935. In the same year she divorced her husband to marry her present husband Richard J. Walsh, owner of the John Day Publishing House. She still writes under the name of Mrs. Pearl S. Buck. The Good Earth , generally considered as her best novel on China, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1931 for being the best novel published for that year in America.
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Liu, the farmer, sat at the door of his one-room house. It was a warm evening in late February, and in his thin body he felt the coming of spring. How he knew that the time had now come when sap should stir in trees and life begin to move in the soil he could not have told himself. In other years it would have been easy enough. He could have pointed to the willow trees about the house, and shown the swelling buds. But there were no more trees now. He had cut them off during the bitter winter when they were starving for food and he had sold them one by one. Or he might have pointed to the pink-tipped buds of his three peach trees and his six apricot trees that his father had planted in his day so that now, being at the height of their time, they bore a load of fruit every year. But these trees were also gone. Most of all, in any other year than this he might have pointed to his wheat fields, where he planted wheat in the winter when the land was not needed for rice, and where, when spring was moving into summer, he planted the good rice, for rice was his chief crop. But the land told nothing, this year. There was no wheat on it, for the flood had covered it long after wheat should have been planted, and it lay there cracked and like clay but newly dried.
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Well, on such a day as this, if he had his buffalo and his plow as he had always had in other years, he would have gone out and plowed up that cracked soil. He ached to plow it up and make it look like a field again, yes, even though he had not so much as one seed to put in it. But he had no buffalo. If anyone had told him that he would eat his own water buffalo that plowed the good land for him, and year after year pulled the stone roller over the grain and threshed it at harvest he would have called that man idiot. Yet it was what he had done. He had eaten his own water buffalo, he and his wife and his parents and his four children, they had all eaten the buffalo together.
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But what else could they do on that dark winter’s day when the last of their store of grain was gone, when the trees were cut and sold, when he had sold everything, even the little they had saved from the flood, and there was nothing left except the rafters of the house they had and the garments they wore? Was there sense in stripping the coat off one’s back to feed one’s belly? Besides, the beast was starving also, since the water had covered even the grass lands, and they had had to go far afield to gather even enough to cook its bones and flesh. On that day when he had seen the faces of his old parents set as though dead, on that day when he had heard the crying of his children and seen his little daughter dying, such a despair had seized him as made him like a man without his reason, so that he had gathered together his feeble strength and he had done what he said he never would; he had taken the kitchen knife and gone out and killed his own beast. When he did it, even in his despair, he groaned, for it was as though he killed his own brother. To him it was the last sacrifice.
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Yet it was not enough. No, they grew hungry again and there was nothing left to kill. Many of the villagers went south to other places, or they went down the river to beg in the great cities. But he, Liu the farmer, had never begged. Moreover, it seemed to him then that they must all die and the only comfort left was to die on their own land. His neighbor had come and begged him to set forth with them; yes, he had even said he would carry one of the old parents on his back so that Liu might carry the other, seeing that his own old father was already dead. But Liu had refused, and it was well, for in the next two days the old mother was dead, and if she had died on the way he could only have cast her by the roadside lest the others be delayed and more of them die. As it was he could put her safely into their own ground, although he had been so weak that it had taken him three days to dig a hole deep enough for her little old withered body. And then before he could get her buried he and his wife had quarreled over the poor few clothes on the old body. His wife was a hard woman and she would have buried the old mother naked, if he had let her, so as to have the clothes for the children. But he made her leave on the inner coat and trousers; although they were only rags after all, and when he saw the cold earth against his old mother’s flesh—well, that was sorrow for a man, but it could not be helped. Three more he had buried somehow, his old father and his baby daughter and the little boy who had never been strong.
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That was what the winter’s famine had taken from them. It would have taken them all except that in the great pools lying everywhere, which were left from the flood, there were shrimps, and these they had eaten raw and were still eating, although they were all sick with a dysentery that would not get well. In the last day or so his wife had crawled out and dug a few sprouting dandelions. But there was no fuel and so they also were eaten raw. But the bitterness was good after the tasteless flesh of the raw shrimps. Yes, spring was coming.
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