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Quantum Leaps

I have just made my first real visit to Florence, which is a bit rubbish. We have all gone as a family (minus one daughter, in Central America, having just recently spent 6 weeks at the British Institute in the City), behaving like proper tourists to see all the cultural sites.  At one level, it is all rather passé. The images you see are all so iconic I feel I know them.  However, seeing them up close is so different from the images reproduced in a textbook.  Not only are the textures and colours so much more alive, I found myself trying to put myself in the shoes of the artist to understand what they were attempting to achieve.  

Take the Ognissanti Madonna by Giotto (above): he was attempting nothing short of changing the way we saw the world. Before him most art was flat and stylistic: here he attempts perspective and a lifelike rendition of the human form. Looking back on it it all seems rather obvious to paint what you actually see, but at the time it was a proper hand brake turn. 

To put it into context, we are on the cusp of developing the first real world technologies using quantum physics, a bizarre world where things can be probable but not certain, and connected across space and time. No, I don’t understand it either but it is going to take every bit as much fortitude for us to digest this wrenching change to the way we perceive the world as it did for our forefathers on the brink of the Rennaissance and the Enlightenment. 

Whither India?

As I sit in the Departure Lounge (having completed an obligatory early morning yoga session before leaving the hotel – think ginger chopstick), it is probably time to set down a few thoughts from this relatively green India watcher about what the future holds for this great, extraordinary country.

The impression I had before arriving in India was of a sleeping giant, who, if only they could get their act together, might start to be able to compete with that other behemoth, China.  A few more rational decisions, much less corruption, considerably more “Western” organisation etc.  Funnily enough, now that I have spent some time here, that prescription still broadly stands: it is certainly what most Indians would like to see.  However, as I argued in my last post, it would be wrong to see India on some sort of singular Fukuyama-esque treadmill towards the West and the End Of History, and that many aspects of their culture and economy actually seem more suited to the digital future than our own.

Indeed, given the enchanting glimpse Karen and I have had into rural India, it would be immensely sad if the juggernaut (as it were) of globalisation crushed the joy, contentment and spirituality on such vivid display.  This is a risk many more erudite watchers of India have expressed (like Mark Tully, in his book “India’s Unending Journey“), where they have highlighted the dangers of rampant consumerism to traditional, mystical India.  From my (very inexperienced) standpoint, I am optimistic that India can modernise whilst retaining its essential identity: from almost all that I’ve read and experienced, India’s historic genius has been to absorb all that the World has thrown at them, from the Islamic rule of the Mughals to the Brits in the Raj, ingest what is useful, and plod serenely on, like one of the wonderful elephants we rode in Jodphur.

I would argue that the West’s consumerism is not the illness, but merely a symptom of a deeper malaise.  Western religion is different from the myriad of faiths found in India.  Contrast the “true path” language of Islam and Christianity with India, where the old sanskrit word “Neti”, loosely translated (I am told) as “not only this”, appears in much of their religious text, giving room for nuance, compromise and flexibility, allowing for continued relevance in times of change.  The cast iron Christian church has, by insisting on rigidity, been shattered and replaced by an equally insistent and dogmatic secularism, and the resultant “vacuum in wonder” that has appeared in developed countries has been filled (but not sated) by the impulse to buy things.  

Why Go Private?

Much is being written about the effectiveness, public-spiritedness and even the morality of sending one’s children to private school.  This old ground has been raked over by news of the Government’s supposed attempts to encourage employers to “aim off” for candidates from the state sector and give them preference over an equivalently-qualified candidate from a private school background.  This all seems a non-issue, as I suspect that most employers already do that, on the grounds that a candidate that achieves “against the odds” is more likely to exhibit the sort of character the employer is looking for.

Still, it did elicit much comment about the iniquity of private school parents unfairly giving their children a leg up. There are quite a few parts to this debate: the alleged poor quality of the state product, the private schools’ tax status, and the amazing concentration of those from the private sector in certain professions like the Law.  I want to concentrate on where I think most people are missing the point: the reasons for sending your child to a private school in the first place.  Most of the commentators (both for and against) regarded it as obvious that parents are choosing private education to allow their children to “get on” in a way that is not so possible in the state sector.  That, to me, a private sector parent, seems wrong-headed and far too narrow, and it may all hinge on what we call these schools.  I send my children to a public school, which, confusingly, I pay for, at which point most people will sigh and tell me to stop being so parochially English and use the international “private” description.  However, there is a difference, and it’s bound up with why I choose to pay for my children’s education.  Let me explain.

Public schools are called public because in the dim and distant past they were set up to educate children who could not afford to be educated at home.  The best public schools tend to exude a service ethos (which isn’t surprising, given their history of supplying the British Empire with its administrators), where the pursuit of high standards in many different areas of life is championed, giving a child self respect and not a little humility.  Thus excellence on the sports pitch is given almost as high a priority as achievement in exams.  This seems to be the opposite of the state sector, where there is a requirement to demonstrate excellence, and the grades are bent to suit. Smaller, “private” schools simply play this grade game more effectively, using smaller class sizes and fewer disruptive students.

How quaint and out of touch, I hear you say: the modern world has moved on from such Victoriana.  What really counts are the grades and who you know for the internships.  Well, I disagree, which brings me back to the first paragraph.  Employers, faced with a blizzard of top grades, are desperate to find a good level of intellectual attainment coupled with evidence of character, that difficult to define quality that hints at grit.  Given the fact that our children’s working lives will look very different to those we experienced, they need resourcefulness, self sufficiency and a positive outlook on life to solve problems.  It’s just such a shame that the public schools are so damn expensive.

 

 

Fitness

I thought I’d write a little ditty about something that many people feel is a simple concept, but is in fact very complicated.  When asked “are you fit?”, the correct answer ought to be another question: “for what?”.  It is one of those words where the received meaning has escaped the actual definition – suitability.  In this modern world where the pursuit of fitness is the new religion (see the last post on the parkrun), the word takes on a binary, “either you are or you’re not” – type feel, the inference being that to be unfit is tantamount to be morally deficient, rather than simply not suitably prepared for a given activity.

So what? I hear you say.  At least this modern religion is healthier than some of the guilty, self-flagellatory variants of the past.  On the other hand, however, it is actually very similar: one of the pernicious consequences of this binary, moral approach to fitness is that training becomes an exercise in proving self worth.  Every session is a test to be passed, not a period to prepare.  The result? Chronic overtraining and underachievement, leading to lower self worth and redoubled, disastrous efforts to prove oneself on the training ground.

I have had a many and varied relationship with physical training.  Indeed, those who only know me now would be surprised if the relationship had ever been anything more than a long distance correspondence course (I do love my wine).  However, I did spend 10 years as a professional athlete whilst serving as an infantryman in the British Army, two very different fitness regimes.  Let me explain.  On the one hand, the life of a professional athlete was all about shepherding oneself through the minefields of potential injury: you worked with your body, you listened to it, you respected it.  On the other, the military training was about “conquering” the body, “beasting yourself”, being proud of the dissonance between mind and sinew.  Of course, both approaches were right for their respective contexts, but its fair to say that whilst the military approach makes supreme sense as preparation for war, it is flippin’ dangerous in any other environment.  Maybe it is the gnawing feeling of banality in some people’s lives that attracts them to the drama of such military approaches, but it is depressingly common in pastimes that are meant to be fun.

That is not to say that an athlete does not know pain on the training ground and in the competitive arena: there were plenty of occasions when interval training sessions were distinctly barfworthy, and boundaries were pushed in the big games.  However, such sacrifice comes from the thrill of competition, not the desire to conquer yourself.  To give you an example close to home, my wife (a Great Britain marathon runner) was coming second into the finish of the Edinburgh Marathon after a gut wrenching last few miles into the wind.  With 200 metres to go, her legs simply gave way and she collapsed in the mud of the home straight.  Hauling herself up on the advertising hoardings, she staggered through the finish, muddy hands held up to revel in what she had managed to do.  That’s what sport is all about.

 

runner 102 finish line