Thinking as a hobby.
This is an excerpt from the essay "Thinking as a Hobby" by William Golding, in which he classifies level of thought. Grade 3 thinkers are dull witted clods, Grade 2 are average to highly intelligent. Grade 1 is true genius, and these are few and far between. golding classified himself as a Grade 1, and here, he recounts his meeting with another Grade 1 thinker. i think you guys will definitely enjo this. Rachel, all i have to say to you is "Fisch, ja ja."
I did meet an undeniably grade one thinker in my first year at Oxford. I was looking over
a small bridge in Magdalen Deer Park, and a tiny mustached and hatted figure came and
stood by my side. He was a German who had just fled from the Nazis to Oxford as a
temporary refuge. His name was Einstein.
But Professor Einstein knew no English at that time and I knew only two words of
German. I beamed at him, trying wordlessly to convey by my bearing all the affection
and respect that the English felt for him. It is possible - and I have to make the admission
- that I felt here were two grade-one thinkers standing side by side; yet I doubt if my face
conveyed more than a formless awe. I would have given my Greek and Latin and French
and a good slice of my English for enough German to communicate. But we were divided;
he was as inscrutable as my headmaster. For perhaps five minutes we stood together on
the bridge, undeniable grade-one thinker and breathless aspirant. With true greatness,
Professor Einstein realized that any contact was better than none. He pointed to a trout
wavering in midstream.
He spoke: "Fisch."
My brain reeled. Here I was, mingling with the great, and yet helpless as the veriest
grade-three thinker. Desperately I sought for some sign by which I might convey that I,
too, revered pure reason. I nodded vehemently. In a brilliant flash I used up half of my
German vocabulary. "Fisch. Ja. Ja."
For perhaps another five minutes we stood side by side. Then Professor Einstein, his
whole figure still conveying good will and amiability, drifted away out of sight.
I did meet an undeniably grade one thinker in my first year at Oxford. I was looking over
a small bridge in Magdalen Deer Park, and a tiny mustached and hatted figure came and
stood by my side. He was a German who had just fled from the Nazis to Oxford as a
temporary refuge. His name was Einstein.
But Professor Einstein knew no English at that time and I knew only two words of
German. I beamed at him, trying wordlessly to convey by my bearing all the affection
and respect that the English felt for him. It is possible - and I have to make the admission
- that I felt here were two grade-one thinkers standing side by side; yet I doubt if my face
conveyed more than a formless awe. I would have given my Greek and Latin and French
and a good slice of my English for enough German to communicate. But we were divided;
he was as inscrutable as my headmaster. For perhaps five minutes we stood together on
the bridge, undeniable grade-one thinker and breathless aspirant. With true greatness,
Professor Einstein realized that any contact was better than none. He pointed to a trout
wavering in midstream.
He spoke: "Fisch."
My brain reeled. Here I was, mingling with the great, and yet helpless as the veriest
grade-three thinker. Desperately I sought for some sign by which I might convey that I,
too, revered pure reason. I nodded vehemently. In a brilliant flash I used up half of my
German vocabulary. "Fisch. Ja. Ja."
For perhaps another five minutes we stood side by side. Then Professor Einstein, his
whole figure still conveying good will and amiability, drifted away out of sight.