William Golding
[1]While I was still a boy, I came to the conclusion that there were three grades of thinking; and since I was later to claim thinking as my hobby, I came to an even stranger conclusion—namely, that I myself could not think at all.
[2]I must have been an unsatisfactory child for grownups to deal with.I remember how incomprehensible they appeared to me at first, but not, of course, how I appeared to them.It was the headmaster of my grammar school who first brought the subject of thinking before me—though neither in the way, nor with the result he intended.He had some statuettes in his study.They stood on a high cupboard behind his desk.One was a lady wearing nothing but a bath towel.She seemed frozen in an eternal panic lest the bath towel slip down any farther, and since she had no arms, she was in an unfortunate position to pull the towel up again.Next to her, crouched the statuette of a leopard , ready to spring down at the top drawer of a filing cabinet labeled A-AH.My innocence interpreted this as the victim’s last, despairing cry.Beyond the leopard was a naked, muscular gentleman, who sat, looking down, with his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knee.He seemed utterly miserable.
[3]Some time later, I learned about these statuettes.The headmaster had placed them where they would face delinquent children, because they symbolized to him to whole of life.The naked lady was the Venus of Milo .She was Love.She was not worried about the towel.She was just busy being beautiful.The leopard was Nature, and he was being natural.The naked, muscular gentleman was not miserable.He was Rodin’s Thinker, an image of pure thought.It is easy to buy small plaster models of what you think life is like.
[4]I had better explain that I was a frequent visitor to the headmaster’s study, because of the latest thing I had done or left undone.As we now say, I was not integrated .I was, if anything, disintegrated; and I was puzzled.Grownups never made sense.Whenever I found myself in a penal position before the headmaster’s desk, with the statuettes glimmering whitely above him, I would sink my head, clasp my hands behind my back, and writhe one shoe over the other.