What a fine piece of writing this is; I learn things, I think new thoughts, I follow interesting leads ...
"... there were by the early twentieth century formidable strands of intellectual culture within Britain’s working classes, based on the efforts of individual autodidacts, mutual help societies, and eventually cheap editions of the classics." We had much the same here in Norway, too ... until the lemminglike Maoists who infiltrated the teaching profession in the seventies shifted the emphasis first towards equality, then equity, above knowledge or competence, let alone fostering talent.
My life's circumstances limit what I may spend money on, but not what I may read or what music I may listen to, and certainly not what I may think. The cost of those pleasures are negligible, but the worlds they open to me seem limitless. Their limit is not found in economy or availability, but in my ability to take an interest and to pay attention; the more I think I understand, the more I realize my own shortcomings (which become increasingly obvious).
Lacking formal education, social position or economic clout, and being of a contrary and disagreeable disposition, I am easily excluded from 'the Longhouse' which, as far as I can make out, is now wholly coopted by the misandrist feminists of Humaniora. They certainly don't seem to like having their synapses tickled, preferring consensus and comity above contention and strife. Who can blame them? Who doesn't want a calm, contented life?
What a fine piece of writing this is; I learn things, I think new thoughts, I follow interesting leads ...
"... there were by the early twentieth century formidable strands of intellectual culture within Britain’s working classes, based on the efforts of individual autodidacts, mutual help societies, and eventually cheap editions of the classics." We had much the same here in Norway, too ... until the lemminglike Maoists who infiltrated the teaching profession in the seventies shifted the emphasis first towards equality, then equity, above knowledge or competence, let alone fostering talent.
My life's circumstances limit what I may spend money on, but not what I may read or what music I may listen to, and certainly not what I may think. The cost of those pleasures are negligible, but the worlds they open to me seem limitless. Their limit is not found in economy or availability, but in my ability to take an interest and to pay attention; the more I think I understand, the more I realize my own shortcomings (which become increasingly obvious).
Lacking formal education, social position or economic clout, and being of a contrary and disagreeable disposition, I am easily excluded from 'the Longhouse' which, as far as I can make out, is now wholly coopted by the misandrist feminists of Humaniora. They certainly don't seem to like having their synapses tickled, preferring consensus and comity above contention and strife. Who can blame them? Who doesn't want a calm, contented life?
I.