Public, Written
I had half a mind to begin this with some sort of prologue to explain why it is I’ve decided to waste my expend time and effort in writing this for the slack-jawed rabble all and sundry to see, but the truth of the matter is likely far more mundane than would be expected for a sizable rant regarding the nuances of idealism. Boredom, for example.
I’m not interested in lectures or suggestions for self-occupation. If I am bored, at least I’m exercising my mental facilities. I could be succumbing to the pathos and crushing pointlessness of my existence by corrupting biscuits with an overabundance of liquor, or lobbing water balloons at innocent bystanders. I could also spend my time castigating the warden population for their every minor slip and blunder, but that would be exhausting - far better suited to younger men with less to do.
Instead, I’m going to talk. As an inmate, I was encouraged often to do so. Talk. Talk to Libby Widmore, talk to my warden, talk to Martha, talk to Merlin. Talk to someone. One would get the idea that the path to redemption is somehow paved with small talk. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of the Barge that, while talking generally requires the other party to listen attentively, we all have our own demons with which we must contend: it makes it difficult to care when another party is suffering. I’ll refrain from suggesting the above never listened; that isn’t the case. It was simply my own perception of the situation which prevented me from being forthcoming with anyone. Then, too, I dislike conversation. Generally speaking, of course. Very little of interest is ever said, and someone (usually the other party) nearly always leaves feeling the worse for the exchange. Annoyed, hurt, insulted, angry. There are exceptions to this rule; I’ll admit as much.
Idealism, then. This isn’t meant to be a lecture, but a repository for information: it may not seem coherent, but perhaps in talking, I will appease some inner turmoil on the matter. In short, I am simply thinking out loud.
Those of you who are aware of my home know about Hogwarts. You know thatwe the school divides students amongst four houses, each with their own standards: ambition, courage, loyalty, and intelligence. If you strip away the legends, the competition – all of the nonsense accompanying the stories of witches and wizards who favoured one set of ideals over another – you come away with the bare facts. It isn’t to foster competition between children who are loyal and those who are intelligent, but rather to inspire collectivism. Students are placed into a dormitory with like-minded individuals and encouraged to succeed both as individuals and as a collective based on a dominant personality trait. It does not necessarily follow that students who display ambition are devoid of courage or loyalty or wit. Re-arrange that sentence as it suits you.
At the end of the war in my world, one child spoke out against Harry Potter. She was foolish and weak and misguided: she pointed her finger at the boy and demanded the staff hand him over to the Dark Lord. For her mistake, the entirety of her house was escorted beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts. I take exception to this, for several reasons. The first, of course, is the practicality of it. The war did not extend to the gates of the school and simply cease to exist. Whatever protection these students might have received was stripped from them because they shared a house with the girl in question. Slytherin did not solely contain students who were the product of unions between Death Eaters, and the other houses were not without their share of unsavory characters (I am thinking of Peter Pettigrew as I write those words). It was unmitigated, inexcusable bias which likely resulted in deaths because their parents were unable to protect them, either because they were embroiled in battle themselves or because they weren’t present at all. I can’t imagine what Minerva was thinking, save that she might not have been thinking at all.
The second issue is a philosophical one. These students were judged for their house. Many of them had committed no crime save that they were ambitious. Ambition, in and of itself, is not a negative quality. If you replace the word with self-determination, drive, motivation…or any number of near-synonyms, there would be no raised eyebrows. Ambition is not evil.
…I’m not certain why I feel the need to defend an intangible ideal against slander, but there you have it. Ambition is not a negative quality, and we, as people, are made of far more than our dominant personality trait. Those students ought to have been protected, not sent to die because they were ambitious. To do so is to become Brutus, standing over Caesar’s body with a bloody knife and decrying him for his ambition to sway public opinion.
Moving along. I’ve recently grown aware of the fact that my world seems to have ideals which others do not hold in the same regard. Loyalty. Love. Trust. Ambition. Bravery. (Yes, Lupin, I acknowledge it.) My idea of loyalty has been described, in the past, as pathological. My view of it, however, is no different than that of anyone else in my world, which leads me to believe that what is held important by my lot is not the priority of others.
What ideals, then, are held in your worlds? What do you have to live for, if loyalty is as transient and inconsistent as the weather? If love is not the highest ideal one can achieve? Money, then? Politics? Religious zeal?
The point –
The point is –
Loyalty is important. Ambition isn’t evil, and loyalty is important.
Perhaps I am wrong, and the Slytherins were all loyal enough to Parkinson to die for her ideals.
I’m not interested in lectures or suggestions for self-occupation. If I am bored, at least I’m exercising my mental facilities. I could be succumbing to the pathos and crushing pointlessness of my existence by corrupting biscuits with an overabundance of liquor, or lobbing water balloons at innocent bystanders. I could also spend my time castigating the warden population for their every minor slip and blunder, but that would be exhausting - far better suited to younger men with less to do.
Instead, I’m going to talk. As an inmate, I was encouraged often to do so. Talk. Talk to Libby Widmore, talk to my warden, talk to Martha, talk to Merlin. Talk to someone. One would get the idea that the path to redemption is somehow paved with small talk. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of the Barge that, while talking generally requires the other party to listen attentively, we all have our own demons with which we must contend: it makes it difficult to care when another party is suffering. I’ll refrain from suggesting the above never listened; that isn’t the case. It was simply my own perception of the situation which prevented me from being forthcoming with anyone. Then, too, I dislike conversation. Generally speaking, of course. Very little of interest is ever said, and someone (usually the other party) nearly always leaves feeling the worse for the exchange. Annoyed, hurt, insulted, angry. There are exceptions to this rule; I’ll admit as much.
Idealism, then. This isn’t meant to be a lecture, but a repository for information: it may not seem coherent, but perhaps in talking, I will appease some inner turmoil on the matter. In short, I am simply thinking out loud.
Those of you who are aware of my home know about Hogwarts. You know that
At the end of the war in my world, one child spoke out against Harry Potter. She was foolish and weak and misguided: she pointed her finger at the boy and demanded the staff hand him over to the Dark Lord. For her mistake, the entirety of her house was escorted beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts. I take exception to this, for several reasons. The first, of course, is the practicality of it. The war did not extend to the gates of the school and simply cease to exist. Whatever protection these students might have received was stripped from them because they shared a house with the girl in question. Slytherin did not solely contain students who were the product of unions between Death Eaters, and the other houses were not without their share of unsavory characters (I am thinking of Peter Pettigrew as I write those words). It was unmitigated, inexcusable bias which likely resulted in deaths because their parents were unable to protect them, either because they were embroiled in battle themselves or because they weren’t present at all. I can’t imagine what Minerva was thinking, save that she might not have been thinking at all.
The second issue is a philosophical one. These students were judged for their house. Many of them had committed no crime save that they were ambitious. Ambition, in and of itself, is not a negative quality. If you replace the word with self-determination, drive, motivation…or any number of near-synonyms, there would be no raised eyebrows. Ambition is not evil.
…I’m not certain why I feel the need to defend an intangible ideal against slander, but there you have it. Ambition is not a negative quality, and we, as people, are made of far more than our dominant personality trait. Those students ought to have been protected, not sent to die because they were ambitious. To do so is to become Brutus, standing over Caesar’s body with a bloody knife and decrying him for his ambition to sway public opinion.
Moving along. I’ve recently grown aware of the fact that my world seems to have ideals which others do not hold in the same regard. Loyalty. Love. Trust. Ambition. Bravery. (Yes, Lupin, I acknowledge it.) My idea of loyalty has been described, in the past, as pathological. My view of it, however, is no different than that of anyone else in my world, which leads me to believe that what is held important by my lot is not the priority of others.
What ideals, then, are held in your worlds? What do you have to live for, if loyalty is as transient and inconsistent as the weather? If love is not the highest ideal one can achieve? Money, then? Politics? Religious zeal?
The point –
The point is –
Loyalty is important. Ambition isn’t evil, and loyalty is important.
Perhaps I am wrong, and the Slytherins were all loyal enough to Parkinson to die for her ideals.