Ambition

It's a peculiar thing, the way people think of 'ambition'.

"Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your hands," says the writer of the first epistle to the Thessalonians. Hardly the sort of behaviour one would expect from a possessor of 'naked ambition'. The fact is, when someone whispers to another person about a third party's ambition, it is probably descriptive of something very much the opposite.

I like to see ambition as the natural outgrowth of the word ambit, which signifies the range of one's reach or breadth of concern. While it is true that Browning wrote, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?" it is not necessary that his reach should be particularly grasping.

I remember suffering quite a lot over the years, as people kept attempting to attribute various sweeping and overreaching ambitions to me. Unhappily for the truth of their claims, I am not ambitious in the sense of wanting to dominate some vaguely-conceived political or educational landscape. I just want to be a teacher, to warn the idle, encourage the timid, help the weak and be patient with everyone. It is sufficient ambition for me.

It's hard to remain your own person, though, when people assume you will automatically work to 'self-actualize' (a horrible term, that) and fulfil lofty ambitions or mad power-hungry ambitions or whatever. Either you get so irritated that you feel perhaps you should get powerful enough to silence these silly people (which doesn't work) because "You're a man and it's good for you to be ambitious" or you get so irritated that you feel you should do something sub-standard just to prove that you haven't a grain of excellence in your body.

My patent remedy for this doesn't work that well, but it helps. I just do what I want, help as many people as I can, and make sure that I can live with the work I do. It no longer upsets me that half the world seems to think I could do more and the other half seems to think I'm showing off. Whatever, whatever. Life is too short.

Ambition (Redux)

It's interesting that, three and a half years ago, I wrote this particular post about ambition. Since I wrote that piece, I have not changed in this particular respect. It is still as perverse or as inexplicable (or incredible) to others that I should think this way, but it is true.

Out of curiousity, I decided to search for 'ambition' within this blog. The findings were interesting. It's not that I've never been ambitious before, but I have held most peculiar ambitions. As the Good Book says, "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands..." (I Thessalonians 4:11a). If anything, my major flaw in pursuing this set of ambitions is an insatiable curiosity (aforesaid), often at war with the second point in the set.

However, I realise that I have also had other ambitions, which can be discerned from reading through the post first linked. Further down, it quotes another section of that epistle. Specifically, I Thessalonians 5:14 says, "And we urge you, brothers, warn those who are idle, encourage the fearful, help the incapable, be patient with everyone." To me, this has always been a brief summary of the Teacher's Approach.

In those four points, the bulk of my earthly ambitions has been described. And here, for those of you who have been taught by me, I would like to apologise if at any time I failed to observe these things when teaching you.

Things To Do

I remember writing about my ambition, or lack of it, five years ago in this post. Despite being talked of as ambitious, I am quite certain that those who talked never knew me — I don't think I am. Rather, as I said then, my ambition as a teacher has always been "to warn the idle, encourage the timid, help the weak and be patient with everyone." Those lines are quoted from Paul's final instructions to the church at Thessalonica.

It was with some amusement therefore that I read the Gnome's version of June 1977, in which he said, "We had to exhort the faithful, encourage the faint-hearted, and censure the ungodly." That, he said, was the task of the Atlantean leadership.

It occurs to me that both lists are the outlines of some sort of philosophy. Both can be seen as lists of 'things to do'. For me, Paul's list is ideal for a teaching philosophy: you will always have three kinds of poor students — the lazy, the fearful and the less academically inclined — and you must be patient with all of them. For the Gnome, it was a question of political importance: what to do with those on your side, those on the other side, and those sitting on the fence.

The key difference is that I've never seen any kind of student as being 'on the other side'. If anything, I've always been on their side (whether they thought so or not, heh). I've felt frustration, but never contempt; I've felt irritation, but never hatred. Students are people trying to get on in life; it's the duty of a teacher to help them in whatever way a teacher can, and not to hinder them.

Day 366

This is the day, last year, on which the Highest decreed that I should come out of where I was. It was an unsettling time; the Israelites out of Egypt, Abraham out of Ur, Odysseus out of Ithaca or Aeneas out of Troy must have felt it worse. In each case, the idea of staying with what one knows and has known, the idea of settling down for good — these ideas of familiarity and routine tend to keep one in the same place.

But there I was, uprooted. Fortunately, the Potter repotted the plant, and I am thriving in a far larger environment.

Yet, the Potter, the Highest, the Lord of Hosts, has many to do His bidding. He has supplied all my needs abundantly, and any shortfall in anything has been my doing and not His. This short post is to thank a few people who kept me sane, and to mention an uncountable horde who kept me alive and happy.

Besides my family, the most supportive and powerful agents of my regeneration — yes, bro, credo ut intelligam indeed! — I have to thank a bunch of fellow professionals:

Argonaut, wingman, then first employer and bridgehead into the world of self-sustainable work;
Historian, wingman, then second victim and valiant comrade in trenches and under heavy shelling and poison gas;
The Secret Society, ex-colleagues who were particularly active in countering the activities of the wild yak;
Boss Lady, who was always a great help and reassurance in professional matters;
Flower Lady, who sold flowers (just kidding) and made time to introduce contacts and find new eating places;
Guru Lady, who was always good for an academic chat and marvellously steady even when flooded with her own work;
Stoneface and the Old Gang, who were professional throughout and went out of their way to keep in touch;
The New Guardsmen, assorted and unnameable, who saved the sum of things for something less than a worthy fee.

I also have to mention a bunch of students, many of who must still remain anonymous:

Trivandrum, whose sorting algorithms were amusing and yet intelligent, for being absolutely marvellous in keeping the dream alive;
The One and the Other One, whose rather obsessed combined brainpower produced much thought;
The Debators, who provided endless encouragement just through their own odd journeys (especially the one who doesn't have green eyes);
Wolfberry, whose dialogues with me taught me as much as anything else I could have learnt;
The Librarian, for meticulous arguments, inspiration and assistance;
The Dancers, who somehow provided a bunch of uplifting experiences I could never have found elsewhere (like nasi lemak and funny trips);
Various animals from Serendip and other mysterious and legendary places (and the ninja ferret!), for showing that hope remains in the darkest of times (like a proof-of-concept);
The others who were my students and came visiting, both the 'geeks' (beware them bearing gifts, haha) and the 'non-geeks' (self-declared, in most cases);
The wolfpack and the hounds, who were always free with information and informative indeed;
The Second, Third and Fourth for continuing the great traditions of the First;
The First, for being the pinnacle of my short career in secondary education.

I also bow to the five corners of the earth and pay tribute to those who have gone before me in the particular journey that begins in the College of Wyverns and never seems to end as long as the best is yet to be. God save our land, and heaven bless. The faith was never lost except in that one dark corner of the legend.

In all things, I give thanks. I will always rejoice. My ambition has ever been to lead a quiet life and not be an encumbrance to anybody. Maybe it hasn't been so quiet, but it's getting there. I hope. *grin*

A Note About This Blog

What is this blog about anyway?

Well, if I were a bird, I'd be a corvid by nature. I'm curious. I like finding things out. I like using what I find, if that's possible.

Of late, my environment changed to produce an endless supply of associates who were interested in epistemology (or who had no choice but to act as if they were). So I dug into my hoard of material on this, and produced a few nice shiny bits.

That's what I am. If you're looking for something interesting, there's probably something about it on this blog. If there isn't anything about it on this blog, I might be interested enough to post something about it. See below for a list of topics, or stop right now and have greater peace of mind. Heh.

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Currently, the list of tags/labels I've used in this blog is too long to form a nice tag cloud or list in the sidebar. So here it is, without hyperlinking:

1 Thessalonians (1), 1886 (6), 1960s (2), 1970s (2), 1980s (4), 1990s (2), 2 Timothy (1), 2000s (1), Abraham (2), Accountability (2), Acronyms (2), ACS (1), Acting (1), Actuarial Science (1), Adjectives (2), Administration (4), Adolescence (3), Adulthood (1), Adventure (1), Advertising (1), Aesthetics (3), Age (2), Agriculture (3), Akunin (1), Albion (1), Alchemy (5), Alcohol (2), Alexander (2), Alexandria (1), Alfred Duggan (1), Alistair Cooke (1), Alliteration (1), Altruism (2), Alumni (1), Ambidexterity (1), Ambiguity (1), Ambition (1), America (3), American Politics (10), Analysis (12), Anand (3), Anatomy (7), Ancestors (3), Anchors (1), Ancient of Days (7), Andrew Lloyd Webber (2), Angelology (1), Angels (3), Animals (7), Animism (1), Annie Lennox (2), Anniversary (1), Announcements (1), Anomie (1), Anonymity (2), Answers (2), Anthems (1), Anthony Hope (1), Anthony Price (1), Anthropomorphism (1), Apocalypse (6), Appraisal (11), Appropriateness (1), Archaeology (3), Archangel (1), 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No Cylinders

When something is working at maximum yield, we say that it is 'firing on all cylinders'. What then to make of something that seems to be producing no yield or a declining yield?

In 1886, the venerable institution I speak of was founded with the highest of ideals. It has had many high points and low points. For the last few years, it has been at the top of the table and rarely fallen to anywhere below third place. There was one golden year in which the team could do no wrong, and they remained undefeated the whole season.

This year, however, with various stalwarts farmed out into the unknown and the untested and untried brought in to replace them, the team seems to have been firing on no cylinders at all. We have a player who claims he is the best of his kind; well, we are thankful that there is only one of him, then. We have a captain who is forever mouthing off inappropriately and causing dissension in the ranks; sometimes all he seems to think about is his position and his pride.

We are decimated by injuries and by the need to wait too long for the next generation to rise up and lead. In fact, while we were waiting, some of the better players of that generation have gone on to other institutions and done very well. Occasionally, they get the opportunity to 'stick the boot in', as it were, against our side. It must give them some pleasure to return to the Emirates and win.

There is no point in appointing vice-captains who don't play and can't lead. There is no point in picking players without the guile to unlock the defences of teams like Sunderland. Sadly, even the inventive and eccentric talent of the Persian (haha) is now linked to an ultimatum that the club should show ambition. Well, people like him should show some spine. Rome wasn't built in a day, although you apparently can raise a Villa in a few months.

Time to build up the Arsenal and stand United. Or something like that.

Brotherhood

Tomorrow, my baby brother turns 37. It will be one of those rare years that both our ages are prime numbers, but that's beside the point. The point is that he's grown up, but he's still my younger brother, and I feel an abiding affection for him. I don't feel responsible for him, but I feel proud of him, happy that he's around, grateful for 37 years of sibling rivalry and togetherness.

Sometimes, it isn't so. Brother does turn against brother, although this is not one of the three fractious relationships that Jesus mentions. But the blessings of a dynamic and happy brotherhood are significant. In Psalm 133, unity in brotherhood is linked to eternal life.

I'm always sad when I see brothers who don't get along. Behind such an unhappy state, you will find ambition, greed, inadequacy, and the other myriad human failings, just as in any other relationship. Being brothers doesn't protect you from such things. There were periods of time as long as 5 years when my brother and I were happy not to be anywhere near each other. Those days are gone, and I am glad for that. Happy birthday, my brother!

White Space

In the Annals of Arda, concerning the fate of Al-Istari, the Wizards, it is written that the one whom men called Gandalf the Grey travelled to the Tower of Isengard to meet Saruman the Wise, head of his order. In this part of the account, the Grey One converses with Saruman, and towards the end of their converse, the Lord of Isengard reveals his true thought and ambition:

"For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman the Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!"

I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.

"I liked white better," I said.

"White!" he sneered. "It serves as a beginning. White cloth may be dyed. The white page can be overwritten; and the white light can be broken."

"In which case it is no longer white," said I. "And he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom."

Tolkien, J.R.R. (1966). The Lord of the Rings, 1:252. Boston: Houghton Mifflin

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Sometimes, it is necessary to think of white as white, and avoid the perils of both Newtonian optics and Sarumanic thaumaturgy. Simplicity has always been a virtue, despite the frequent mockery of the simple - and in this age of complexity and doublethink (or groupthink), it is an even more important and valuable one.

Into The Thinking Kingdoms

I"ve made reference to this title before; it comes from a book by Alan Dean Foster (quick trivia question: what was the first Star Wars novel which was not a movie adaptation?) The title is an interesting one, and I'm going to take it out of context and use it for this post.

It came upon me tonight, as I scanned through the phylogenetic maps that humans have proposed over the years, that the students I teach cover the entire range of eukaryotes (well, some seem to be prokaryotic, but those are very rare). At one extreme are the plants, the viridaeplantae of all varieties, from the giant sequoia types which last forever to the grasses that Isaiah speaks of in the Bible. Some are fungi (or fungals), the fruiting bodies of which thrust their life into the unrequired and unrequited sunlight in order to transfer their memetic and genetic information. There are the singular and peculiar variants: poisonous rhodophyta, energetic and short-lived stramenopiles and alveolates.

Of course, the largest group are the metazoa, the animals of all shapes and sizes. Even at this level, the complexity varies: we have the porifera, which sit and sponge, happily filtering the ongoing flow of data fragments for the nuggets of nutrient knowledge; we also have the cridaria, some of which are dangerous predators who lack a spine (jellyfish, hydrae). And here is where it gets messy. We have begun to classify by geometry, for now we enter the realm of the bilateria, organisms with two distinct sides.

Some of the students I've met are worms. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, as it ensures survival with limited resources. Some are arthropods (mostly shells, segments, and stings, an old biology teacher once said). In this group are people who are crabby, some bottom-feeders with expensive flesh (lobster, anyone?) and some who weave webs and trap others. Some are insects, benign and malign.

But we are rising rapidly into the thinking kingdoms, the point at which neural clusters become neural webs, and neural webs become brains.

For the vast majority of my students are vertebrates with spinal cords; they are the chordata who are also craniata – there is a skull protecting those overdeveloped nerve clusters and networks. They are able to defend their thoughts and keep them private, able to marshal resistance to attacks on their concentrated intelligence. They are gnathostomata, organisms with jaws who can express themselves in complicated ways. And apart from the rare coelacanth, rhizodont or other organic post-Cretacean nightmares, they are terrestrial tetrapods, classic examples of what we think of as animals.

But the story does not end there. Sure, these are all capable of reasonably competent thoughts. By competence, we mean the ability of the organism to survive competition, to compete successfully at the execution of a task. And some of these are borderline competitors who aim to survive, and not much more – the cold-blooded and ambiguous amphibia.

We have to go higher, to the amniota, the reptiles (and birds) and mammals, before we see ambition, drive, and some level of creativity. And it is here that about 95% of my students find their true mode of existence. Yes, it might seem sad that some are still reptiles, and a few can be likened to birds. At this level though, all are creative survivors, and the larger portion of them is mammalian through and through – social, warm-blooded, with a high neurological turnover rate and complex environmental processing, with the ability to reflect and remember, and in some cases dream the dreams of the powerful and idealistic.

Here is where we are. We have entered into the Thinking Kingdoms, the world of warm hearts and minds. And the reason that I reflect on this is not only that I am a mammal myself, but because I've been looking through all the kind thoughts and reflections that my students have given me.

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Edit: For the Dancer, this link. Then again, anyone can have a look and learn something about the many awkward Latin terms in this biological post.

Visual Acuity

There are many ways to see things. This makes some people see things that are not there. It even makes people see things that are there, but ought not to be - and of course, see things that are not, but should be. This is what beauty is all about.

There are too many plain girls and ugly guys simply because they cannot see that grace and chivalry outweigh fluff and prettiness. Yes, blondes have more fun; yes, men sometimes "don't make passes / at girls who wear glasses." But for a species whose visual acuity can detect the change of a single photon, and whose imagination populates a universe with endless ghosts and tortured ambitions, we can be pretty silly about deciding when not to see beauty - even when we can choose to see it.

Here I stand, a pleasantly ugly fellow of no great prospect and no high ambition. But God made me, and empowered me with the divine and controversial spark, a spark that defies the material and mundane and ignites high and peculiar creativity at will. And each of these - my brethren, my sisters - are likewise empowered, likewise able to be filled of an essence which can rewrite the meaning of life in a flash.

O take heart, my brothers and sisters; lift up your eyes! Raise the weak things of the earth against the great, shape the foolish things as weapons against the wise, celebrate the day of small things. The little instruments of profession and craft, given unto our willing hands, can make sanctuaries and citadels in a world which prefers to tear down and destroy. Go, go and read about Zerubbabel. And see, with blinding sight.

The Plan: Part I – Criterion 1 Situational Appraisal (Reprise)

When I wore a younger man's shoes, as the song goes, I had an odd ambition. I wanted to one day become somebody like my school principal; someone with a sense of rightness, a systematic and deliberate approach to planning, a keen feel for the true priorities in life, the ability to deliver morning devotions every day without repeats or loss in quality, the ability to speak his mind in flawless and considered prose. He was an inspiration, and in his usual deliberate way, he set out to share that with us.

I remember how he would always support the head prefect in public, and speak with him man-to-man in private. I remember that he dealt with all men as equals, with secular regard for their positional status and with respect only for their character. Yet, he assumed that there was always good to be gained from people, to be drawn out from them – and that was the essence of education, that drawing out of virtue to a place and state of being where it would become character.

He used to summon individuals with problems and difficulties for quiet chats in his office, where face to face across a covered desk, he would interrogate them as to their well-being and prospects. He was never one to flinch from debate, but always one to be generous and kind. You could sit and watch him spin a problem slowly in his hands as he looked up at the ceiling. You knew he was trying his best to do the right thing in the right way. He was that kind of man.

I remember him saying to a teacher, "You're a graduate! You should be able to learn things for yourself!" Yet he held us all to a code of learning from others, no matter who or what they seemed to be. And he would always ask us to test what we had learnt, and to be a man about it, fearless, exact, courteous. It did not rule out 'intimidating' or 'sharp' or 'sarcastic' – but he was at pains to stress that this was not the aim, but a side-effect which we should try to ameliorate.

The other day he spoke, and someone near me who had never known him said, "That's how a principal should sound." Indeed. I have often gone back to visit him in his office, for he has never retired despite being into his eighth decade. And every time I speak with him, I know that he is my principal, and with a leader like that, anyone would do better than they otherwise would.

Freelancers

I have a neighbour. If you knew him and you had to name him, you might call him W/2. W/2 is an interesting kind of person; if you were an Atlantean sorcerer, you would characterize him as an orichalcean alchemist. In his youth, he earned his doctorate from the Dreaming Spires, and currently sits in his tower turning paper into gold.

W/2 and I spend a lot of time walking around and eating cheap lunches. In our early middle age (or our late youth, perhaps?) we have discovered that there is such a thing as needless ambition. So we sit around, talk about life, education, happiness... we dream of a better society, a pragmatic one which works and yet has space for the intricate and marvelous dreams of children.

Informed by our common education, we think the best is yet to be. Informed by our happenstance travels, we think that truth is strong, and it prevails. Informed by our limited understanding, we believe that the Lord is our light.

We have become part of the company of the freelancers; like the cavalry of old, we are fast, we are reserved, we are able to operate in more dimensions than others. We know that in our capabilities, we have been richly blessed. It fires in us a determination to help others, just as the cavalry occasionally would arrive to save the day.

Yet, we know we have our limitations. We can't hold ground, take up fixed appointments, withstand the shifting sands and tides. We find it hard to comprehend the singleminded search for blue oceans when blood fills the water and dust fills the air. A blue ocean turns red too fast, unless the world be made a safer and happier place for all.

We eat lunch together, and we look at each other, and we feel mortal, human, perhaps afraid. We hear the eternal footman snicker. We hear the bell toll. We dare not ask the obvious questions, sometimes. But we are free, and for that, we give thanks.

Thoughtless

It is possible to suddenly come out of a state of thoughtlessness knowing that you have not been thinking, but only knowing this because of the contrast. Thinking leads to discontent, and the discontented mind is a lot like a dyspeptic stomach; it is not itself, and would like to become so again.

But yet the stomach is made for dyspepsia (as long as it cannot be felt) and the mind is made for discontent (as long as it calls it by another name, such as 'ambition' or 'challenge'). So odd, we humans.

Score (Part III)

For years I ate the hot crispy noodles from the same stall, every morning, at the same times each week. The kind folk who supplied this sustenance would put chili on chili, sauce and fresh and dried, with pepper ground and split, making food that would raise a hellish sweat. I loved it. The heat in my body and the increased velocity of blood from caffeine (long hard black from the other stall) prepared me for each hard day.

I was on top of my game. Everyone said so. But it wasn't the game that mattered to the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne.

Innocently, I taught, I learnt, I walked around. I was given a Ring of Power, but I never really used it. Still, there was fear. As a wiser and older colleague pointed out, the insanity of ambition sees competition in every minion; those who lack it are often victims of the sudden strike, the knife in the dark.

The Dark Lord said to me once, "Do not dream of building an empire. I will raise to eminence only those who will do my bidding and will not contend against me."

I had not thought of building empires, rising to eminence, or contending against him. Unfortunately, I was soon to realise that I would not always do his bidding either.

Morning

This is the day that the Lord has made
We rejoice, and are glad in it.

In everything we give thanks to Him,
In all things we remain at peace.

We make it our ambition to serve,
To stand the test and not give way.

We make it our sacrament to work,
To do what is required of us.

Though the illusion of merit gleam,
We will not be shaken by it.

For there are eternal kingdoms here
To be won, and not to be lost.

And in the end, as always has been,
We accept in faith what will come.

Amen.

Caesarean

The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answer’d it.

The famous lines from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, III, ii, capture the essence of my thoughts over the last 24 hours. The man who thought he was being described as Caesar did both good and ill; much of the good he did was public and the ill was private. But unlike the hapless Brutus, we should not forget Caesar's ambition produced good things that people remembered.

Curriculum Development

As most people know, curriculum is the Latin word for racetrack. It is the course which chariots, horse, or humans run; it defines their ambit, and hence their ambition (which is the driving force behind their performance on the track).

The point about curricula is that they are courses laid out with a certain amount of planning. A straight course, like a 100m sprint, is an explosion of power and grace aimed in one direction; a curved course allows some manoeuvre and perhaps the display of slightly more complex skills; a 10,000m race or a marathon — the latter run across a rather more tortuous course — allows the display of fortitude and resource management as well.

In all cases, there is a plan. There is a central idea behind the layout of the course, there is an idea of what we are to be testing and how we are to test it.

Unfortunately, in many institutions, the idea of curriculum development has become something more akin to the design of a fun fair or an amusement park. You see freaks of all kinds, extreme performances, ostensibly all connected to one or more themes, but in reality just designed to put people through their paces in peculiar and novel ways, and collect money from them.

That's not to say that a fun fair or amusement park cannot have a rigorous curriculum design. Some can indeed show curricular excellence. What I'm saying is that a fun fair or amusement park need not have a rigorous curriculum design, and hence curriculum development is of no import to the economic model thereof.

My fond hope is that holistic curriculum design and development will be elevated to the necessary art it is in the sphere of education. What I'm now seeing is teams of bickering specialists carving out little fun fair and amusement park booths and tents for themselves. As long as they have space in the fairground or park, they're happy. They have no thought at all for their relationships with the rest of the carnival.

Psalm 131: Avoidance Play

The 131st Psalm is a tiny vignette of what it must mean to stay out of certain kinds of politics. This psalm says:

Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.
Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.

It is all about being as a child in some things. As I've quoted from the Book many times before, "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life." Sometimes, getting involved in things that are of a low priority for you and of too high a priority for others is a dangerous thing. But what about storming the Senate or other such romantic adventures that democratic people think about?

Well, I've come to realise that a part of humility that takes nothing away from the practice of democracy is to refrain from action or involvement unless truly qualified. Participation is one thing; exercising oneself in great matters above one's legitimate reach is another. One can comment, lobby, or otherwise persuade; doing the work of a senator or judge unless one is of that quality of experience, skill or training is not a good idea otherwise.

Plagiarism

The funny thing about uncritical perception is that it leads to a kind of groupthink on the part of whole groups of students. If you have ten students, that's not so bad; if you have 400, that's going to be a large clump; and if you have 400 elite students (or socioculturally elite in a meritocratic plutocracy or plutocratic meritocracy) then that is a large clump with a huge potential societal impact.

There are several such novitiates in Atlantis. They practise the practice of reflection — that is, they reflect because they are told to do so, and most of the time, when they are illuminated, they just reflect the illumination and feel good about it.

The problem with this light-scattering effect is that it eventually looks a lot like plagiarism when it isn't really so. This is because the entire armamentarium of these novitiates has become standardised. They all wear the same kind of armour, use the same kinds of weapons, follow the same sort of drills. Then they customise these things for their own personal ambition and comfort, but as in most cases, customisation amounts to a 5% difference (or less) between morphologies.

My next paper will therefore be one on the morphology of mass customisation. It is a lot like that ubiquitous computer game, Spore.

Day 003

Today is the third day. By the end of today, my last twelve years will have been crated up and distributed out. It is a sobering thing, to realise that all you have done and all that you own can be packaged in about 40 cubic metres of space, most of it filled with paper and emptiness.

It is like watching a play: five acts, maybe twenty scenes. Then it is over as the lights come up across the theatre. Yet, there will have been highs and lows, comedy and tragedy, fantasy and farce, serious issues and intangible ones. Love, war, power, destiny, hate, rivalry, ambition, kindness and generosity, the will to survive, the desire for peace — all these things can be revealed to us in a play.

For those of you who study business and management, who think about balance sheets and inputs and outputs, I have some advice. In life, as in business, assets should be put to work early and made to produce a return on investment. If assets held produce too little return on investment, and the overheads and downside are too great, then it is time to diversify or to divest. But all that is head knowledge. Sometimes, it has to be applied.

By tonight, I shall have filled in the boxes. By tomorrow, I will rejoin the community of believers as a penitent, for tomorrow is Good Friday. It will be time to remember the transition that is death — and also to begin to hope for all the life to come.

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Update at 5 pm: All my books are packed now. There are so many empty shelves. I have a box that contains nothing but the things my students have written about me. I spent a few hours looking through these for bad things. To those of you who felt my sarcasm, anger, or intolerance — I apologise to you for not being a better man. It is Holy Thursday now. Happy birthday to my Dutch god-daughter. Oddly enough, it's just a few days after my first god-daughter's birthday, she who is now in San Francisco.

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Update at 10 pm: I just threw out about 8 kg of materials pertaining to the past. It's amazing how much documentation exists, testifying to what I spent my youth on, signed by venerable authorities; it just amazes me. The past is truly another country, one whose borders I shall no longer transgress. Sometimes, I shall gaze forlorn across the barbed wire. It is like the experience of 20th century emigré Russians. It is still in my blood. You can take the boy out of Russia, but not Russia out of the boy.