In our new society there is a growing dislike of original, creative man. The manipulated do not understand them, the manipulators fear them. The tidy committee men regard them with horror, knowing that no pigeonholes can be found for them. We could do with a few of original, creative men in our political life, if only to create some enthusiasm, release some energy, but where are they? We are asked to choose between various shades of the negative. The engine is falling to pieces while the joint owner of the car argue whether the footbrake or the handbrake should be applied. Notice how the cold, colorless man, without ideas, no other passion but a craving for success, get on in this society, capturing one plum after another and taking the juice and taste of them. Sometimes you might think the mechanism we worship make all the chief appointments, promoting the human beings who seem closest to them. Between midnight and dawn, while sleep will not come and all the old wounds begin to ache, I often have a nightmare vison of a future world in which there are billions of people, all numbered and registered, with not a gleam of genius, not an original mind, a rich personality, on the whole packed globe. The twin ideals of our time: organization and quantity, will have won for ever.
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