I Suppose That Every Age Has Its

God, Stay With Me, Let No Word Cross My Lips That Is Not Your Word, No Thoughts Enter My Mind That Are Not Your Thoughts, No Deed Ever Be Done Or Entertained By Me That Is Not Your Deed.

Writers Like Aldous Huxley And George Orwell Have Imagined The Sort Of Scientific Utopia Which Is Coming To Pass, But Already Their Nightmare Fancies Are Hopelessly Out Of Date. A Vast, Air-conditioned, Neon-lighted, Glass-and-chromium Broiler-house Begins To Take Shape, In Which Geneticists Select The Best Stocks To Fertilise, And Watch Over The Developing Embryo To Ensure That All Possibilities Of Error And Distortion Are Eliminated.

Education, The Great Mumbo Jumbo And Fraud Of The Age Purports To Equip Us To Live And Is Prescribed As A Universal Remedy For Everything From Juvenile Delinquency To Premature Senility.

It Is Only Possible To Succeed At Second-rate Pursuits - Like Becoming A Millionaire Or A Prime Minister, Winning A War, Seducing Beautiful Women, Flying Through The Stratosphere, Or Landing On The Moon. First-rate Pursuits - Involving, As They Must, Trying To Understand What Life Is About And Trying To Convey That Understanding - Inevitably Result In A Sense Of Failure. A Napoleon, A Churchill, Or A Roosevelt Can Feel Himself To Be Successful, But Never A Socrates, A Pascal, Or A Blake. Understanding Is Forever Unattainable.

Surely The Glory Of Journalism Is Its Transience.