When City & State Are One (Part I)
I have always found it easier to write of Atlantis than of Temasek. When one writes of Temasek in this day and age, there is seldom an emotional or cultural resonance of any kind. However, when one writes of Atlantis, one thinks of a great island kingdom, a regional trading centre, a technology hub, all put together by a kind of Hellenic republicanism headed by priests and sorcerers. And in a day and a night, as the many dire predictions and admonitions say, it can be consumed and destroyed by fire and the sword. "The work of generations can be destroyed in a day," as some would-be famous philosopher once wrote.
It's no secret that Atlantis, in any era of the imagination or of fact, is one of the last surviving city-states, a city whose borders are the same as those of the state it represents. But this gives those who analyse it both problems and opportunities.
In most countries, the political arena of the school is not so openly conflated with the political arena of the state. With an Atlantean city-state, this is inevitable; not only does the state drive the school curriculum, but what happens in the most instrumental schools can also drive the machinations of state. The College of Wyverns is an example of this.
The College is an unusual gladiator in the political arena. As has been mentioned before, the Pyromancers' Guild (whose sigil is that of a flaming torch and a book) and the Imperial Institute are the agencies of choice for the development and grooming of the Atlantean priesthood.
Yet, whenever examples of innovative and enterprising practice are raised, it is the graduates of the College who stand in the place of honour; Chief Liturgists, Great Generals, Lords of the Realm, Merchant Princes — all are Wyverns, and proud of it. I have estimated that whereas 95% of candidate priests are Pyromancers or Imperials, the 5% that are not make disproportionately greater contribution in this age.
This may yet continue. Or it may not. The curse of the Atlantean city-state has always been hübris, and it is sometimes hard to tell where pride in excellence ends, and overweening arrogance begins.
It's no secret that Atlantis, in any era of the imagination or of fact, is one of the last surviving city-states, a city whose borders are the same as those of the state it represents. But this gives those who analyse it both problems and opportunities.
In most countries, the political arena of the school is not so openly conflated with the political arena of the state. With an Atlantean city-state, this is inevitable; not only does the state drive the school curriculum, but what happens in the most instrumental schools can also drive the machinations of state. The College of Wyverns is an example of this.
The College is an unusual gladiator in the political arena. As has been mentioned before, the Pyromancers' Guild (whose sigil is that of a flaming torch and a book) and the Imperial Institute are the agencies of choice for the development and grooming of the Atlantean priesthood.
Yet, whenever examples of innovative and enterprising practice are raised, it is the graduates of the College who stand in the place of honour; Chief Liturgists, Great Generals, Lords of the Realm, Merchant Princes — all are Wyverns, and proud of it. I have estimated that whereas 95% of candidate priests are Pyromancers or Imperials, the 5% that are not make disproportionately greater contribution in this age.
This may yet continue. Or it may not. The curse of the Atlantean city-state has always been hübris, and it is sometimes hard to tell where pride in excellence ends, and overweening arrogance begins.
Labels: Government, Politics
etched with acid at 9:46:00 am
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