{Culture (continued)}[11th December 1969]

[Redbook1:107-108][19691211:1145]{Culture (continued)}[11th December 1969]

Thursday 11th December, 11.45 a.m.

[continued]

           

            ,,, [which se]es it as a part of man's historical development in the context of his history as a whole, is what I might have been going to say.  I think that the history of art as I was taught it to ‘O’ level is irrelevant. (N.B. I didn't get the ‘O’ level!).  What is wanted is an examination of culture as I defined it (above) -- bringing psychology into it as well?  A simple examination of artistic development for its own sake is practically useless unless applied.

            These people who go around galleries -- what do they look for?  There are students, taking notes on art for its own sake.  There are those who seek “culture” for its own sake -- often with quite genuine eagerness to improve their minds. Poor fools!  They merely fill themselves with cocktail-party culture.  But they do try.  There are those who add galleries to their collections of cathedrals, museums, and Places of Interest.  How many go there for a reason which is not connected with the furtherance of the ideal which caused the gallery to be set up? [sic]  In other words, how many are not part of the closed circle of art produced for consumers who consume it because it is produced?  A man who goes there to find peace of mind, surrounded by the physical expression of the thoughts of men long dead, is somewhere near a real reason for visiting an art gallery.

[PostedBlogger30112012]

{Culture (continued)}[28th November 1969]

[Redbook1:106-107][19691128:1230]{Culture (continued)}[28th November 1969]

Friday, 28th November, 12.30 p.m.

            Would e.g. abstract glass work fit into this definition?  Yes, I think so, because it would show the creator’s view of his environment unconsciously -- inevitably so.  It might not be possible for us to read it, but his attitude would be in his creative work, so long as the urge to create formed at least part of his reason for creating.

            A term like “culture” cannot -- must not -- imply any value judgement, or else no two people will ever agree on what it contains: similarly with “art”. 

            I think I am guided by the historian's approach to culture, which se[es]....

[continues]

[PostedBlogger29112012]

{Culture}[28th November 1969]

[Redbook1:106][19691128:0010]{Culture}[28th November 1969]

Friday, 28th November, 12.10 a.m.

            I have just been to a debate on "can pop and culture ever meet?"  The meeting practically never got down to brass tacks of any sort, largely owing to the difficulties encountered in defining “culture”.  I was tempted to speak myself, but I had not quite got my ideas straight at that stage, and we had to leave early.

            Culture could be defined as the way man sees his environment, especially his human environment, as shown in his actions, and in particular by those of his actions which are not essential to his physical survival.

            This would include those parts of Pop produced not with the prime intention of making money from the mass market, but to satisfy some need for self-expression in the producer.

[PostedBlogger28112012]

{Treason}[23rd November 1969]

[Redbook1:105][19691123:1600a]{Treason}[23rd November 1969]

Sunday, 23rd November, 4 pm. [continued]

            "The Red and the White”: an afterthought:

(1) the Whites wore German-type uniforms (said V) -- did they in "real life"?

(2) the crucial point of the whole film from my point of view was when a Red said: “One cannot be forced into treason”.  Was that cynically meant?  Or was it serious?

[PostedBlogger27112012]

{Memory}[23rd November 1969]

[Redbook1:105][19691123:1600]{Memory}[23rd November 1969]

Sunday, 23rd November, 4 pm.

            Could I train my memory to act like a three (or even four?) dimensional framework of bright coloured blobs, each linked to those things that most concern it?  Then if each fact I learned was slotted away in its blob, I might be able to find it again easily, with its co-coordinating factors.

[PostedBlogger26112012]

{The Cliff-edge}[20th November 1969]

[Redbook1:105][19691120:0045]{The Cliff-edge}[20th November 1969]

Thursday 20th November, 12.45 a.m.

(waking(?))

“Here, a cliff-edge.

“If I were to jump, I should, for one brief moment, be lord of Creation.

“Shall I jump?

“I shall jump.

“I will jump; therefore, I shall be lord of Creation.

"Therefore, I am Lord of Creation.

(Poised)

            “But I cannot jump.

            “Therefore, I shall not be,

            “Therefore I am not Lord of Creation.”

[PostedBlogger25112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(8)]}[19th November 1969]

[Redbook1:102-104][19691119:1630c]{A trip to Oxford [continued(8)]}[19th November 1969]

4.30pm Wednesday 19th November 1969 [continued]

            There was something very revivifying (?), or perhaps rejuvenating, about that half-day in Oxford.  I didn't finish it feeling any happier, superficially, but I felt straightened inside; more certain, perhaps, of what I was uncertain about.  Yet what in that trip caused this?  Nothing in the detail; just, I think, the fact of being away from [the school] and in the company of people whom I knew, although I did not know them, that I could trust.  If that is “liberalisation", then roll on!

We went to a tea shoppe opposite Fullers (?) since Fullers was ... fuller.  Inside I became, at one stage, very red for no reason, and so, being embarrassed, even redder and more embarrassed.  I then -- surprise? -- asked if the room was hot or if it was just me.  To hell with position!  Why can't I be just me?

            F and I looked at Lincoln College, which F is trying for.  Something he said suddenly made me wonder if it was all worth it -- something he said about people there talking about football and beer all the time.  And IA wrote back from New College, Oxford -- was it? -- saying that the promised land had not turned out to be quite so marvellous after all....  Oh God, please not another [School]!  But Oh God, please let me get there, even if it is.

            We joined the others at Blackwell's, where I found a fascinating-looking book on children's games all over England and their relevance to history and pre--history (I think).  Their railway history section was ridiculously small -- but perhaps there was more stored away.  When Blackwell's shut soon afterwards, V -- the system encourages surnames about [teachers] and full names about boys -- took us past the Sheldonian, the Bodleian (and the Radcliffe Reading Room), and to Christchurch College, his old college.  We went into the Cathedral as the choir were coming out, and looked around.  After a few minutes someone said he was going to lock up the Cathedral so we left again.  That seems all wrong to me -- locking people out.

            It was bitterly cold outside.  Everything seemed strangely unreal, or extra-real.  We climbed some stone steps -- so worn in the middle they try to push you back -- which might have come from "a man for all seasons", but Christchurch (dining) Hall was closed for repairs.  We looked at the remains of an old abbey (?) in a small court next door, then returned the way we had come via Christchurch library and Hertford College.  I should add that all this time V never stopped talking, prompted and answered by all of us, on everything from life at Oxford when he was there to the history and purpose of individual buildings.  We went to a pub called the Turf, where we each had half a pint of beer and a meal.  Our chicken pies were individual, dry, and tasteless; B’s ham and chips look much nicer. B drank all his beer in the first seven minutes and became rather merry.  We discussed Marlow’s Faustus (?), for which he is being auditioned in a minor part, and Tamburlaine (?) the Great.*  There was a parrot or other bird which kept wolf whistling; it took me about twenty minutes to realise that it was not a man.  There were some awkward silences.

            Afterwards we bypassed the main cinema, which was showing "I am curious – Yellow”, which F and I would both have liked to have seen, and went to the Scala to see intellectual films.  The first one was modelled vaguely on “Kind Hearts and Coronets”, but was not nearly so funny, except for a scene explaining Cambridge life.  I suspect it was made by Oxford or Cambridge -- probably Cambridge -- graduates between five and ten years ago.  The second one was called “The Red and the White”, and was interesting as a piece of history but bad by the standards of today.  Nevertheless, it was less biased than I expected.  It showed, I think (English subtitles), the fate of a Hungarian detachment of ex P.O.W.s fighting for the Reds in Russia after 1917, in the civil war against the Whites.  There was a marvellous slow-motion horsemen sequence at the beginning, but I felt that on the whole the film owed a lot to 1920’s Westerns (I hope there were some!)  -- U.S. cavalry to the rescue, that kind of thing.

            Afterwards we came home; silence after Swindon.

*Neither of which I knew anything about (11.4.70)

[PostedBlogger24112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(7)]}[19th November 1969]

[Redbook1:100-102][19691119:1630a]{A trip to Oxford [continued(7)]}[19th November 1969]

4.30pm Wednesday 19th November 1969 [continued]

            BR I cannot fully fathom yet.  He does not seem to have a real character of his own at the moment; like many children who seem nice at least from above, he appears to draw for his personality on those he meets, accommodating himself to the mood of the moment.  No doubt that will change.  What he lacks in emotional maturity -- a little -- he makes up in intelligence.  It is interesting to speculate on the origins of, and the motives for, his affected accent and slight impediment of speech.  The former may be the result of some long childhood experience (or just imitation?); but the latter is most noticeable when he is speaking in a large company in a society meeting, with all eyes on him.  I should judge that he is more sensitive and less self-reliant than one might imagine at a distance.  This would also explain his need to be charming to his elders -- which is not to suggest that it is necessarily put on for their benefit.  It is probably so deep that he believes it, in which case it can in no sense be called false.  Can a conscious mask or affectation be called false, then?  Draw me the border -- clear and defined -- between a conscious and a subconscious attitude, and I will consider labelling them in a moral sense.

             
[....]

[PostedBlogger23112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(6)]}[19th November 1969]

[Redbook1:100][19691119:1630]{A trip to Oxford [continued(6)]}[19th November 1969]

4.30pm Wednesday 19th November 1969

            I think V probably enjoys being back at school, where he can patronize -- in the nicest sense.  He is a very nice person, and a very vague one.  From remarks made on the day [....].  As they say, it was not what he said, it was the way he said it -- slightly nervously, but laughing at the same time.  We were talking about Sparrow, and D.H. Lawrence.

[continues]

[PostedBlogger22112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(5)]}[17th November 1969]

[Redbook1:99-100][19691117:0000]{A trip to Oxford [continued(5)]}[17th November 1969]

MONDAY 17th Nov.

The particular Holman Hunt picture was not perfect, especially as far as expressions went; but it did include a small boy -- the one holding a container for grape-juice (?) -- whose expression haunts me yet.  He is quite incidental to the main subject of the picture; but if my memory serves me right, he is the only character in the picture who is looking out of the picture at the person looking in, and he thus lives on a completely different plane from the rest of them.  He is also very beautifully drawn.  How awful -- I am still inhibited enough to feel guilty whenever I think of a male body as being beautiful.  And yet it's not a question of male or female -- the human body is beautiful.  Why?  Because of the psychological urges which motivates us?  If that is so, it is the social urge which counts for more than the sexual urge in our appreciation of art involving characters.  This must be so, because the sight of any person awakens the social urge -- which is always present, positively or negatively -- whereas more significant titillatory triggers are required to arouse sexual feelings, which are not always with most of us.  Unfortunately the two are very much mingled -- I say “unfortunately” from the point of view of art alone -- and even the artists are often uncertain as to why they paint a particular character in a particular way.

[continues]

[PostedBlogger21112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(4)]}[16th November 1969]

[Redbook1:99][19691116:1645c]{A trip to Oxford [continued(4)]}[16th November 1969]

Sunday 16th November, 4.45pm [continued]

            The car journey to Oxford was full of little undercurrents of uncertainty, but nevertheless the conversation was quite enjoyable.  Conversation started off with a real old conversation starter -- The Winter’s Tale at Stratford, I think it was -- but became more interesting (for me, who hadn't seen that production) later -- significantly, I cannot remember what it was about at that stage.

            We saw the picture gallery -- I think -- of the Ashmolean.  I discovered to my delight that the only thing F really liked was Holman Hunt’s Anglo-Saxons [sic] (?)  (or Ancient Brits?) sheltering a Roman missionary from the Druids.  He preferred the Pre-Raphaelite room to anywhere else.  I had to exorcise a mental block against Victorian art that I discovered in myself; having done so, I felt inclined to agree with him.

[continues]

[PostedBlogger20112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(3)]}[16th November 1969]

[Redbook1:97-98][19691116:1645b]{A trip to Oxford [continued(3)]}[16th November 1969]

Sunday 16th November, 4.45pm [continued]

            F.S. is one of the few people at this school that I really like.  We often disagree; one day we shall disagree about something of major importance; but he is the only person I can think of who I have never known be vindictive, spiteful, or underhand.  When he is angry, he is angry sincerely, openly, and he would never go out and slam the door.  That small thing is symptomatic of an incredible difference between him and (say) T.E. or B.G..  I cannot be objective enough about myself to compare us.

            He is regarded as a very "cultural” person – probably because he is fairly near the borders of sanity at times.  This is not meant to be vindictive or unkind, nor is it; I am simply writing the truth as it appears through my eyes.  His emotional background is disturbed.  He is subject to fits of depression, more acute than most of us.  Like me, he cherishes books for the sake of security.  [....]

            His own slightly apart view of life could make him into something we would call great.  His style, which many here glorify, is juvenile and immature -- but holds the seeds of greatness.  If he can but gain control of it, and learn not to let himself be carried away, I think he will be good.  He may be good already, in the market sense of the word, but not, for what it's worth, in my opinion.

            I have come to rely fairly heavily this term on his willingness to listen and to take account of my ideas and problems -- even when he does it humorously, his approach is serious enough to be helpful.  I think he may have found my own willingness to listen to him a help.  Odd that my one real contact with sanity in [the] House should be someone who is virtually a psychiatric case.

            That is not to say that I dislike the other people in this house.  I love them -- but that is another matter.

[continues]

[PostedBlogger19112012]

{A trip to Oxford [continued(2)]}[16th November 1969]

[Redbook1:97][19691116:1645a]{A trip to Oxford [continued(2)]}[16th November 1969]

Sunday 16th November, 4.45pm [continued]

            A little note received in lunch, saying we shall be leaving immediately afterwards and do I still want to come?  signed B.R..  I fold over the paper to put his signature on the outside, add “[House name] Yes” underneath, and send it back.  Brevity is the soul of wit?  Or Precision is the essence of showmanship?

            Ten minutes after the stated time I arrive to find only one other person there – F.S., strangely enough.  My calculations appear to have mis-fired; instead of arriving thirty seconds after everyone else, I have to wait three minutes.  Ah well!

            Stop taking yourself off, [...], and stop this fatuous and frivolous style. (With apologies to the housemaster).

[continues]

[PostedBlogger18112012]

{A trip to Oxford}[16th November 1969]

[Redbook1:96-97][19691116:1645]{A trip to Oxford}[16th November 1969]

Sunday 16th November, 4.45pm

            For once I feel like writing in diary form, because an actual event has happened which, though seemingly boring, holds interest for me at least.

            I went to Oxford yesterday.  It was to have been a trip to see “Twelfth Night” by a dozen or so members of the Literary and Arts Society, but both transport and tickets fell through, so [...]V, the society's president, took three of us in his car: the two secretaries, F.S. and B.R, and myself.

            Seen objectively, we had what could have been a very boring time.  It was (continuously) cold and (intermittently) wet.  We went to the Ashmolean, had tea in a hot restaurant, visited Blackwell's, had a look at several of the colleges, including Christchurch, had supper at the Turf, saw two films at the Scala cinema, and came home.

            I feel changed by it, somehow.  It has lifted me out of a short term rut of hopelessness -- as I intended -- but for some reason I find myself now in a longer-run sense of complete pointlessness -- which is very different.  In the former I have an aim which I fear I shall never attain; in the latter, the aims themselves begin to seem worthless.

            Partly because of the cold, partly because of the unusual situation, I feel myself now to have seen things then with slightly different eyes -- both people and environment.  Oxford is a very peculiar place.*

*(I’m a showman at heart).

[continues]

            [PostedBlogger17112012]

{Communicate!}[13th November 1969]

[Redbook1:95-96][19691113:1630d]{Communicate!}[13th November 1969]

Thursday 13th November 1969. 4.30p.m. [continued]

            “Communicate, oh communicate, makers of men!  For makers you are, makers of all that is seen and is heard and is felt in the mind of a man, and therefore of men.  For what is a man but the sum of his thoughts, and what are his thoughts but of men?  Man, the sufferer; man, who is hurt every time he has hit, and, smarting, returns to revenge; man, who dies every death he deals out to his kind, but lives to do more.  But man, who is blind to the harm that he does to his friend, sees all that his friend does to him; man, the creator of men, is deaf to the steps of the monster created, returning to wreak its revenge on the godling that gave it re-birth, and reason to kill.  Oh man!  Beware the perils of easy attack, and thoughtless reply, or so will you die.

            “Communicate! Ah, communicate, thou man, thou maker of men!"

[PostedBlogger16112012]

{Hypocrisy}[13th November 1969]

[Redbook1:94-95][19691113:1630c]{Hypocrisy}[13th November 1969]

Thursday 13th November 1969. 4.30p.m. [continued]

            “You hypocritical little pseudo-saint, you!  You're just as bad as the rest of them, for all your high thoughts (so-called) and your great ideals!  You're just as ready to be rude to people who are out of fashion, just as capable of genuinely disliking someone because everyone else genuinely dislikes him!  When it comes to the crunch, you’re not in the front line, mocking it; you're at the back, egging them on.  That's even worse!  Can't you see?  All your great thoughts are worse than useless, unless you actually follow your own principles totally. They may influence others, when your reality is forgotten; they will never help you, or those around you -- persecutor or persecuted."

            “But I do try....”

            “And you fail.  You fail dismally; and your failure is accentuated by the fact that you did try, and that you acted as though you had succeeded.  You must live up to your own image of yourself, or your life will be pointless.  Yet you still go on being anti-social towards individuals in just the same way.  What are you going to do about it?”

            “Can I be sorry?"

[PostedBlogger15112012

{Happiness and Good}[13th November 1969]

[Redbook1:94][19691113:1630b]{Happiness and Good}[13th November 1969]

Thursday 13th November 1969. 4.30p.m. [continued]

           I am torn.  The greater part of me says: "There is no higher good than the well-being of your fellow creatures, and the only worthwhile happiness is that induced by doing what you can to make their lives easier.  Therefore, make all efforts to understand them, and to use that understanding to help them.”  But a doubt remains, to jab at me: Are happiness and good synonymous?  Will a contented childhood make a child less inclined to develop that sensitivity and awareness which can give so much pleasure and so much pain later on?

            I will remain true to myself; I will NOT let my sensitivity be blunted by happiness.

            Or is this a warped view of life?

            For the present, I must continue to make people happy so far as it is in my power.  There is no choice.  "Here I stand; I can do no other."

            N.B. I do NOT see myself as another Luther-type!

            Grief, hate, and hurt in and between other people -- in other words, tension -- all hurt me, literally.  I once stayed in a house in Wales -- or nearly so -- where the man and wife, both of whom I like very much, were tense with each other.  They kept asking why I was so well behaved: but I felt miserable with the part of me that was in the house, not fishing or walking.

[PostedBlogger14112012]

{Suffering and Ambition}[13th November 1969]

[Redbook1:93][19691113:1630a]{Suffering and Ambition}[13th November 1969]

Thursday 13th November 1969. 4.30p.m. [continued]

            I am glad in some ways that I have felt miserable and inferior for so much of my life, because now I shall never be content with what I have even if by normal standards I have enough.  I shall always be trying to prove myself to myself and to others; men may call me ambitious, provided that it doesn't wear off.  I don't think it will.

            On the other hand, I may never know true peace of mind for more than a short time.  There will always be something better to do, which I have not done and someone else has.

            I have tried for so long to suppress in myself the spirit of competition, because I feared I could not compete; now, finding I can, I can do nothing else.

            Luther: “Here I stand; I can do no other; God help me; amen.”

(Martin Luther, 18th April 1521, Diet of Worms; traditional.)

[PostedBlogger13112012]

{Dialogue}[13th November 1969]

[Redbook1:93][19691113:1630]{Dialogue}[13th November 1969]

Thursday 13th November 1969. 4.30p.m.

            I often find that in a conversation a chance remark will send my mind off at a tangent to an important conclusion away from the mainstream of discussion.  By the time I am ready to give my view, however, the discussion has moved on in its butterfly fashion, away from the matter from which my private train of thought originated, and I know that any attempt to return would be resented.  How much of value, not mine but other people's, maybe lost this way?

[PostedBlogger12112012]

{Quality of Mind}[Michaelmas Term 1969]

[Redbook1:(92)][196911?0:0000]{Quality of Mind}[Michaelmas Term 1969]

Michaelmas ‘69

Quality of Mind

There is, in some, a quality of mind

That is not intellect, nor speed of thought,

Not quick analysis, nor yet I.Q.,

But something else, defies our weak attempts

To give it shape; it has no single name,

Nor is it found in one peculiar type

Of mind; but those who have it know they have

And who else shares with them this privilege:

To see beyond oneself, and thus to be

Removed, and look back, as if from out the world;

To gain a new perspective, and to see

The 'I' for what it is, importance none,

And all its tears and troubles as of nought

Against the cosmic scale of time and space.

            This quality is priceless, for it brings

            Laughter, and quiet relief, upon its wings.

[....]

[PostedBlogger11112012]

{Respect}[5th November 1969]

[Redbook1:92][19691105:2015]{Respect}[5th November 1969]

Wednesday 5th November 1969

8.15 p.m.

            I respect everybody.  I like most people.  I love some of them.  I am in love with no-one.

[PostedBlogger10112012]

{Forgot}[3rd November 1969]

[Redbook1:92][19691103:1930]{Forgot}[3rd November 1969]

Monday 3rd November 1969 7.30 p.m.

            ...” Forget not!”  But she forgot....

[PostedBlogger09112012]

{Friendship}[1st November 1969]

[Redbook1:91][19691101:1830]{Friendship}[1st November 1969]

Saturday 1st November

6.30 p.m.

            I can never find with any man or woman, boy or girl, true friendship.  What is friendship, anyway?  Happiness?  Security?  Identity with another, perhaps?  Sometimes one sees people of whom one thinks: if only I had total identity with that person; if only I knew him/her fully, and he(/she) knew me fully.  But always before one gets to that stage one finds they do not live up to one's expectations.  Is it because one projects one's own image of what one hopes for into the empty shell of their image before one knows them, and it is replaced by a reality which cannot live up to it?  Or does one run foul of the shell of their own image of themselves, raised to acquaintances?

            Oh for universal ESP....

[PostedBlogger08112012]

{Seeing people}[30th October 1969]

[Redbook1:91][19691030:1130]{Seeing people}[30th October 1969]

Thursday 30th October

11.30am

            I have a rather biased outlook on the world: I tend to see people, not as attitudes and mannerisms, but as personalities, motives and effects.  But sometimes -- too often -- I relapse....

[PostedBlogger07112012]

{Good and Happiness}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:91][19691029:1830f]{Good and Happiness}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969

6.30pm [continued]

            The conflict between the two claims of the good of man and the happiness of man is responsible for many of our political and ideological difficulties.

[PostedBlogger06112012]

{Self}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:90][19691029:1830e]{Self}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969

6.30pm [continued]

            Self is the ultimate reality.

            Dedication for a book: "To myself, without whom this book would have been neither possible nor necessary."

[PostedBlogger05112012]

{Captains and Kings -- continued}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:89-90][19691029:1830d]{Captains and Kings -- continued}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969

6.30pm [continued]

            I find it very difficult to be an efficient, in the sense of officious, prefect here, where I believe people -- or adults, anyway, as many of us are -- should be allowed to get themselves accidentally killed rather than being forced to be careful.  For one thing, it is an inadequate preparation for life -- or is it?  Perhaps in the old days people who had been regulated obeyed the regulations even when they were no longer there, like the geese whose pen was opened before they woke up (they wouldn't go through until it had been shut and re-opened); but today our intrinsic attitudes are so different that we should be more likely to reject the regulations.

            Many of the problems in a school like this stem from the fact that some of the people need a framework within which to operate, while some need total freedom -- and those who think they need freedom or framework are not necessarily right about themselves.

            I cannot understand the movement for total democracy in schools -- or at least, I can understand it, I think, but I cannot agree with it.  How can a transient group of immature amateurs possibly know more about education than relatively permanent professionals?  On the other hand they may know more about themselves, therefore they should be allowed to advise.

            I find these Dialogue groups frustrating in the extreme -- there is so much to say that one would either want to speak for three hours without a break or not at all -- and there are ten of us (I think) with only two hours!  We keep going round in circles.

[PostedBlogger04112012]

{Captains and Kings}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:89][19691029:1830c]{Captains and Kings}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969

6.30pm  [continued]

            One could liken being a head of house to being captain of a vessel -- no, please, spare your groans, hear me out: some captains of ships control from the front, ostensibly so that they can see clearly where they are going.  This means also that everyone in the ship can see the captain as well.  Others steer from the back; their view of the journey ahead maybe little impaired, though not necessarily so, but they are able to see what all the people in the ship are doing, especially since the people may not be aware that they are being watched.  The only drawback is that the people in the ship, not having a figurehead, may not realise that the ship is aiming for a specific point.

            All analogy is treacherous – see [the headmaster].

[PostedBlogger03112012]

{Probability Derivation}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:89][19691029:1830a]{Probability Derivation}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969
6.30pm [continued]

            If one could work out the probability of occurrence of such-and-such a thing, which is dependent on certain other things, one could therefore work backwards to find the probability of those cause events, if their probability could not be found by experiment.  Is this a practical idea?  If it is, I expect someone else has had it already.

[PostedBlogger02112012]

{Originality and Attribution}[29th October 1969]

[Redbook1:89][19691029:1830]{Originality and Attribution}[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969 [continued]
6.30pm

            I will always try, and have (I think) [always tried], to remember to make it clear when a thought put down in this book has been directly copied from someone else.  Although I don't believe that it is possible to be completely original, most of the things I think about cannot directly be related to specific external influences on me (i.e. particular books) and are therefore, from this point of view, "original ".

[PostedBlogger01112012]

{Visions of imperial transcendence }

[Redbook1:88][19691029:0000a]{Visions of imperial transcendence }[29th October 1969]

Wednesday 29th October 1969 [continued]

            For two brief and startling moments last Sunday, I saw the Sussex countryside, not as part of England, but as the centre of an Empire on which the Sun never sets.  It looked completely different; and I realised what we had lost, and what we must replace, or [we] shrink.

            To think that for so many years I thought Kipling's "Recessional" was a jingoist’s hymn!  I must have been blind.  But if anyone had pointed out [to me], as Beloff does, that it was written in 1897 on Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, I might have realised what Kipling was trying to say.

           

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