Courtesy
A powerful norm. Some of our politenesses are so deeply ingrained as to be almost involuntary - the 'sorry' reflex when bumped, for example, is a knee-jerk response for many of us - but most require conscious or indeed acutely self-conscious effort. The English are often admired for our courtesy but condemned for our 'reserve', which is seen as arrogant, cold and unfriendly. Although our reserve is certainly a symptom of our social dis-ease, it is also, at least in part, a form of courtesy - the kind sociolinguists call 'negative politeness', which is concerned with other people's need not to be intruded or imposed upon (as opposed to 'positive politeness', which is concerned with their need for inclusion and social approval). We judge others by ourselves, and assume that everyone shares our obsessive need for privacy - so we mind our own business and politely ignore them. But our polite sorries, pleases and thank-yous are not heartfelt or sincere - there is nothing particularly warm or friendly about them. Politeness by definition involves a degree of artifice and hypocrisy, but English courtesy seems to be almost entirely a matter of form, of obedience to a set of rules rather than expression of genuine concern. So when we do break our own courtesy rules, we tend if anything to be more obnoxious and unpleasant than other less 'polite' nations. We are not naturally socially skilled; we need all these rules to protect us from ourselves. Key phrases include: 'Sorry'; 'Please'; 'Thank-you/Cheers/Ta/Thanks' (every culture has these words, but we use them more); 'I'm afraid that...'; 'I'm sorry, but...'; 'Would you mind...?'; 'Could you possibly...?'; 'I don't suppose...'; 'How do you do?'; 'Nice day, isn't it?'; 'Yes, isn't it?'; 'Excuse me, sorry, but you couldn't possibly pass the marmalade, could you?'; 'Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry but you seem to be standing on my foot'; 'With all due respect, the right honourable gentleman is being a bit economical with the truth'.
Modesty
The English are no more naturally self-effacing than other nations, but (as with courtesy) we have strict rules about the appearance of modesty, including prohibitions on boasting and any form of self-importance, and rules actively prescribing self-deprecation and self-mockery. We place a high value on modesty, we aspire to modesty. The modesty that we actually display is often false - or, to put it more charitably, ironic. Our famous self-deprecation is a form of irony - saying the opposite of what we intend people to understand, or using deliberate understatement. It's a kind of code: everyone knows that a self-deprecating statement probably means roughly the opposite of what is said, or involves a significant degree of understatement, and we are duly impressed, both by the speaker's achievements or abilities and by his/her reluctance to trumpet them. Problems arise when the English try to play this rather silly game with foreigners, who do not understand the ironic code and tend to take our self-deprecating remarks at face value. Modesty also requires that we try to play down or deny class/wealth/status differences - polite egalitarianism involves a combination of the three 'key values' (courtesy, modesty, fair play) with a generous helping of hypocrisy. English modesty is often competitive - 'one-downmanship' - although this game may involve a lot of indirect boasting. English displays of modesty (whether competitive, hypocritical or genuine) are distinctive for the degree of humour involved. Our modesty rules act as a counterbalance to our natural arrogance, just as our courtesy rules protect us from our own aggressive tendencies. Key phrases include: 'Don't boast'; 'Stop showing off'; 'Don't blow your own trumpet'; 'Don't be clever'; 'Don't be pushy'; 'I do a bit of sport' (meaning I've just won an Olympic medal); 'Well, I suppose I know a bit about that' (meaning I'm the acknowledged world expert on it); 'Oh, that's all a bit over my head, I'm afraid) (ditto); 'Not as hard as it looks/just lucky' (standard response to any praise for personal achievement).
THE DIAGRAM
So. There are the defining characteristics of Englishness. They already seem to have arranged themselves into something a bit more structured than a list. We have a 'core' and we have identified three distinct categories - reflexes, outlooks and values - each with a 'cluster' of three characteristics. Diagrams are not really my strong point (for non-English readers: that is a big understatement) but it looks as though I might be able to keep my somewhat rash promise to represent all this visually in some way. 67
It is impossible to show all of the individual interconnections and interactions between the characteristics - I spent several days trying, but it always ended up looking like a tangled mass of spaghetti, only less appetising. And, in any case, I realized that these connections between defining characteristics are only relevant or even apparent in relation to specific aspects or features or rules of English behaviour. The money-talk taboo, for example, is a product of social dis-ease + modesty + hypocrisy + class-consciousness (that is, the 'core' plus one from each 'cluster'); the Christmas moan-fest and bah-humbug rule is Eeyorishness + courtesy + hypocrisy (one from each 'cluster' again, and all indirectly related to the 'core'). So, I would have to include all the minutiae of our behaviour patterns and codes in the diagram in order to show these relationships, which would effectively mean including everything in the book.
I think we'll just have to settle for something much simpler. Ditch the microscope, stand back and look at the big picture. This basic diagram of Englishness won't tell us anything we don't already know from the 'narrative' list above. It just shows what the defining characteristics are, how they can be classified, and that the 'clusters' are all linked both with each other and with the central 'core'. But the diagram does at least convey the notion that Englishness is a dynamic system rather than a static list. And it gets the whole thing on to one convenient page. For, um, easy reference or something. Englishness at-a-glance. And it looks rather nice and pleasingly symmetrical.
I'm afraid my diagram of Englishness hasn't come out looking much like a 'grammar', or a 'genome' for that matter, and it will no doubt be disappointing for those who were expecting something more complex and difficult and scientific-looking. But those genomes and so on were only metaphors, and much as I love to stretch, labour and generally abuse a metaphor, Englishness just would not be shoehorned into any existing scientific models, so I've had to make up my own rather crude and over-simplified structure. But it does look a bit sort of molecular - don't you think? - which is quite scientific enough for me. And anyway, the point was not to have a grandly impressive diagram, just something that would help us to understand and make sense of the peculiarities of ordinary English behaviour.
CAUSES
In our search for this understanding of Englishness, one question remains. If our unfortunate social dis-ease is indeed the central 'core' of Englishness, then we have to ask: what causes this dis-ease?
It is as though, throughout the book, I have been a sort of ethnological psychiatrist, examining a patient ('The English') who has 'presented with' a complex, apparently incoherent and unrelated set of odd behaviours, bizarre beliefs and strange, compulsive habits. After a long period of close observation and a lot of embarrassing questions, I can see the recurring patterns and themes, and eventually arrive at a diagnosis: the condition I am calling the English Social Dis-ease. It is not a severely debilitating disorder; the patient self-medicates quite effectively in various ways, has developed a range of coping mechanisms, manages to lead a relatively normal life and regards his/her behaviour as perfectly reasonable (often claiming that it is the rest of the world that is odd and out of step). But others find the patient weird and often rather tiresomely anti-social, if sometimes quite charming. Although I cannot provide a cure, my diagnosis may in itself be of some help, at least in understanding the condition and its management.