17:15
A teacher
For a fair time I have been concerned with the importance, or not of nurturing an imaginative life. I'm going to take a wander for 500 words or so, and talk about how it relates to games afterwards.
Tolstoy, who was pretty much embroiled in the benefits of an imaginative life, started a farm (Tolstoy farm!) partly because he wanted to see the fruits of his labour manifested in a physical form.
So much of my reading and writing and gaming does not exist in a manifest form. Yes, I can see the words on a page, or the picture on a screen, or the books on my desk. My stats can be counted, and games can be completed. But there is not a physical entity at the end of it. It is not like I make something that can be held or admired.
There is something Kantian in playing games: what is the difference between the memory of a real experience, and the memory of an imagined experience?
It is at this point, drinking my coffee, that I remind you that time is linear in the sense that it stops everything from happening at once. It also allows us to stop thinking about time, and feel some certainty in the march of progress, and in the certainty of our births and deaths (!) However, the experience of our lives is not linear. We might experience something in later life that changes and colours something that he had experienced earlier. For example, watching Wolves FC play in a lower division for many years when I was younger was a somewhat disheartening experience. It seems pointless, and an unfair waste of my footballing support. However, a few years ago Wolves were promoted. At that point all those years became something of a heroic struggle, an epic chugging-away at an arduous task that was won without fanfare or pomp. My childhood boredom of the struggle gave way to an adult appreciation of its worth.
So what has this to do with having an imaginative life?
Firstly, I never esteemed much the status of money and a car and fashion and such employment positions. I pursued the arts. Of course, this left my career prospects somewhat limited, but I have still done well for myself. And from this, I have some autonomy over my work. But this doesn't drive me. I am not a careerist, although I work well and have a good looking CV. Although schools are hierarchical, I treat those who are beneath me as I treat those who are above (albeit that I duly deferential to my bosses.) To understand why I say this you should read "The Devil wears Prada." Essentially it concerns an intern who is treated terribly as means-to-an-end dogsbody for an whimsical boss. Ultimately (spoiler alert!) the fiery boss turns out to be deferential to her boss: it is apparent that she justifies her maltreatment of the subordinates by accepting such treatment herself from her superiors. Her imaginative life - of work being a food chain were her near the top - justified her obnoxious treatment.
I have never purchased an expensive car. Even if I had spare £10ks, I would not spend it on a new car. For me a car's price should be linked to its reliability and comfort. A new car loses £1000s when it is drive off the court. Yet it is not less reliable then it was before. An old colleague of mine part exchanged a car that was worth easily £2225 or more for £1500 to purchase a new car. The part exchange wasn't an issue: the purchasing of a new car was the cost. Every mile costs £s. Yet purchasing an expensive car isn't about reliability and comfort - it defines someone in the way only their imaginative world can. It manifests their status, perhaps even their professionalism often required to scrape the money together to purchase the thing. Their imaginative life colours their experience of owning the car.
People are all social persuasions in England drink, and often heavily. The act of drinking too much socially is, on the outset, a generally limited experience. It leads to poor health, funny conversations and the inability to function fitfully in work and play. Drinking socially is, I think, an essential part of the imaginative life of an adult. But, for some, it is their imaginative life. To some, the dramas and tribulations of a night out aren't just inebriated meanderings through city streets to bars designed to shift as much top-margin cheap booze as possible: their nights out are imaginative shared experiences of hedonism and friendship.
For me, everyone has an imaginative life, whether they realise it or not. It takes me some space like now in the Easter holidays to consider what is important to me in having an imaginative life. I feel that this is important because that is what I have lived effective half of my natural life pursuing.
When I travelled independently in my youth, I came to two beliefs. One, that when a man (or, of course, woman) is given the autonomy to choose jobs and work and worth, he becomes responsible for choosing his beliefs. He can choose his values (nurtured and ratified through his actions) and become the person he is meant to be. Except, of course, if he is meant to be something of no significance, or worse. In that case, a man should be able to choose his values to become someone worthwhile and wholesome: not like a man who would see lasting on The Apprentice. Secondly, I believed (or chose the belief) that whatever is most important in life is surely available to all people at all times.
This second belief (that whatever is most important in life is available to all people at all times) is, I think, the next step on from my arty-farty belief that meaning and value is relative. Yes, killing is wrong. But beyond that, the Christian values that we should live by are often lost. Being nice to people will never be the most important thing we do. Treating others as we ourselves want to be treated is perhaps the most important rule, though. Either which way, that second belief suggests that whatever is most important, it isn't at the whim of a boss, nor determined by how academic or how privileged you are. It is, for me, determined by the richness of your imaginative life. That is, a person's ability to bring meaning and purpose and significance to what they are doing.
I do not think that a person is able to do this (bring significance and purpose into their lives) by themselves. I think a spiritual belief is necessary for most. I also think people are unable to control their perspective and their mood: like Dickens' Scrooge says, ours moods can be moved by undigested food as much as they can be affected by thoughts. Of course, jobs and being busy, or being publicly celebrated (or lambasted) can replace the need to shape our own imaginative lives - being British, it is bad form to celebrate our own achievements. It is much better (or at least more preferable) to have someone else do that for us.
My memory of my experience of games and books is often better than the game or the book itself. There is a sense that with much great literature, or much great gaming, that there is an aspect of improvement. I don't know how far I'd agree with that: many of my lecturers at university did not seem to be the kind of people who had a grasp on the vitality of life, nor much concern for those they were charged to inspire.
One example of a game that stays with me even today is civilisation. The game mechanic itself is tedious: you build cities and manage an economy. But the meaning behind it is tremendous. Millions of lives are influenced on a whim. I am sure (or, rather, I know!) that often snap judgments that affect the lives of many are made by those with some power. I still remember how I brokered an alliance with one of two civs on another continent. I started a war with the other civ (on the other continent) and dragged my unfortunate ally in. About 50 years later (10 turns in game time) I had made peace with my original enemy without ever being attacked, as the two now-malcontent civs being warring. 200 years later, both these civs had regressed as their economy was devastated by war, and I was the emerging superpower. The gameplay in doing so was was basic. There was no-one to celebrate my 'achievement' and nor were there fantastic graphics to show off how well I had done. There was no need: my memory of that experience was profound enough to stay with me now.
Another example of a game that stays with me today is Deus Ex (HR, not the original.) The game itself has action sequences, but its real power is in the moral choices you make. It is entirely non-linear in the sense that one response to a scenario (trying to talk an angry man out of killing a hostage) will work sometimes, and other times not. There is no walk-through for the game, as it seems to randomly choose what option might work (or not.) In doing so, there is something unique about each game - something distinctively personal.
What made Deus Ex a great game was its moral choices. A main character that is an integral part of the plot for some could be killed early in the game for others. Dragon Age: Origins (and its much-maligned successor, DA:2) had meaningful moral choices, too. Where both of these games succeeded was that the moral choices were often the case of choosing the lesser of two evils. The choices also affected the latter game, too.
How does this apply to being a teacher? I think that creative writing and gaming and literature shouldn't be forced upon anyone. To read a story for the narrative, or to play a game to tour the content is only part of the experience. To realise that imaginative experiences can shape you ways unavailable by social status or finance or academic ability or even just by the social circle determined by your school and street: that realisation will, for some students, be the making of them. To realise that they live a life different and wider and more wonderful than any marketing-campaigned desire packed into the limited thinking encouraged by others.
Of course, it is not the job of others to encourage your thinking, or not. Chances are, if you are reading this (and have got this far) then you do think. Orwell said that the Government are terrified by the idea of people having two much leisure time. They believe people cannot occupy leisure fitfully, that we require marketing, and excessive working hours to keep us occupied. If we don't, then we riot. And perhaps if we live in London, or believe that commuting two hours to socialise on a weekend is a worthwhile allocation of time, there might be a grain of truth in what he says.
It is with all the above that I look again to the idea of a book about teaching and gaming. There are two other threads on the PC Gamer board that I will post on this for the perusal of those who read.
Tolstoy, who was pretty much embroiled in the benefits of an imaginative life, started a farm (Tolstoy farm!) partly because he wanted to see the fruits of his labour manifested in a physical form.
So much of my reading and writing and gaming does not exist in a manifest form. Yes, I can see the words on a page, or the picture on a screen, or the books on my desk. My stats can be counted, and games can be completed. But there is not a physical entity at the end of it. It is not like I make something that can be held or admired.
There is something Kantian in playing games: what is the difference between the memory of a real experience, and the memory of an imagined experience?
It is at this point, drinking my coffee, that I remind you that time is linear in the sense that it stops everything from happening at once. It also allows us to stop thinking about time, and feel some certainty in the march of progress, and in the certainty of our births and deaths (!) However, the experience of our lives is not linear. We might experience something in later life that changes and colours something that he had experienced earlier. For example, watching Wolves FC play in a lower division for many years when I was younger was a somewhat disheartening experience. It seems pointless, and an unfair waste of my footballing support. However, a few years ago Wolves were promoted. At that point all those years became something of a heroic struggle, an epic chugging-away at an arduous task that was won without fanfare or pomp. My childhood boredom of the struggle gave way to an adult appreciation of its worth.
So what has this to do with having an imaginative life?
Firstly, I never esteemed much the status of money and a car and fashion and such employment positions. I pursued the arts. Of course, this left my career prospects somewhat limited, but I have still done well for myself. And from this, I have some autonomy over my work. But this doesn't drive me. I am not a careerist, although I work well and have a good looking CV. Although schools are hierarchical, I treat those who are beneath me as I treat those who are above (albeit that I duly deferential to my bosses.) To understand why I say this you should read "The Devil wears Prada." Essentially it concerns an intern who is treated terribly as means-to-an-end dogsbody for an whimsical boss. Ultimately (spoiler alert!) the fiery boss turns out to be deferential to her boss: it is apparent that she justifies her maltreatment of the subordinates by accepting such treatment herself from her superiors. Her imaginative life - of work being a food chain were her near the top - justified her obnoxious treatment.
I have never purchased an expensive car. Even if I had spare £10ks, I would not spend it on a new car. For me a car's price should be linked to its reliability and comfort. A new car loses £1000s when it is drive off the court. Yet it is not less reliable then it was before. An old colleague of mine part exchanged a car that was worth easily £2225 or more for £1500 to purchase a new car. The part exchange wasn't an issue: the purchasing of a new car was the cost. Every mile costs £s. Yet purchasing an expensive car isn't about reliability and comfort - it defines someone in the way only their imaginative world can. It manifests their status, perhaps even their professionalism often required to scrape the money together to purchase the thing. Their imaginative life colours their experience of owning the car.
People are all social persuasions in England drink, and often heavily. The act of drinking too much socially is, on the outset, a generally limited experience. It leads to poor health, funny conversations and the inability to function fitfully in work and play. Drinking socially is, I think, an essential part of the imaginative life of an adult. But, for some, it is their imaginative life. To some, the dramas and tribulations of a night out aren't just inebriated meanderings through city streets to bars designed to shift as much top-margin cheap booze as possible: their nights out are imaginative shared experiences of hedonism and friendship.
For me, everyone has an imaginative life, whether they realise it or not. It takes me some space like now in the Easter holidays to consider what is important to me in having an imaginative life. I feel that this is important because that is what I have lived effective half of my natural life pursuing.
When I travelled independently in my youth, I came to two beliefs. One, that when a man (or, of course, woman) is given the autonomy to choose jobs and work and worth, he becomes responsible for choosing his beliefs. He can choose his values (nurtured and ratified through his actions) and become the person he is meant to be. Except, of course, if he is meant to be something of no significance, or worse. In that case, a man should be able to choose his values to become someone worthwhile and wholesome: not like a man who would see lasting on The Apprentice. Secondly, I believed (or chose the belief) that whatever is most important in life is surely available to all people at all times.
This second belief (that whatever is most important in life is available to all people at all times) is, I think, the next step on from my arty-farty belief that meaning and value is relative. Yes, killing is wrong. But beyond that, the Christian values that we should live by are often lost. Being nice to people will never be the most important thing we do. Treating others as we ourselves want to be treated is perhaps the most important rule, though. Either which way, that second belief suggests that whatever is most important, it isn't at the whim of a boss, nor determined by how academic or how privileged you are. It is, for me, determined by the richness of your imaginative life. That is, a person's ability to bring meaning and purpose and significance to what they are doing.
I do not think that a person is able to do this (bring significance and purpose into their lives) by themselves. I think a spiritual belief is necessary for most. I also think people are unable to control their perspective and their mood: like Dickens' Scrooge says, ours moods can be moved by undigested food as much as they can be affected by thoughts. Of course, jobs and being busy, or being publicly celebrated (or lambasted) can replace the need to shape our own imaginative lives - being British, it is bad form to celebrate our own achievements. It is much better (or at least more preferable) to have someone else do that for us.
My memory of my experience of games and books is often better than the game or the book itself. There is a sense that with much great literature, or much great gaming, that there is an aspect of improvement. I don't know how far I'd agree with that: many of my lecturers at university did not seem to be the kind of people who had a grasp on the vitality of life, nor much concern for those they were charged to inspire.
One example of a game that stays with me even today is civilisation. The game mechanic itself is tedious: you build cities and manage an economy. But the meaning behind it is tremendous. Millions of lives are influenced on a whim. I am sure (or, rather, I know!) that often snap judgments that affect the lives of many are made by those with some power. I still remember how I brokered an alliance with one of two civs on another continent. I started a war with the other civ (on the other continent) and dragged my unfortunate ally in. About 50 years later (10 turns in game time) I had made peace with my original enemy without ever being attacked, as the two now-malcontent civs being warring. 200 years later, both these civs had regressed as their economy was devastated by war, and I was the emerging superpower. The gameplay in doing so was was basic. There was no-one to celebrate my 'achievement' and nor were there fantastic graphics to show off how well I had done. There was no need: my memory of that experience was profound enough to stay with me now.
Another example of a game that stays with me today is Deus Ex (HR, not the original.) The game itself has action sequences, but its real power is in the moral choices you make. It is entirely non-linear in the sense that one response to a scenario (trying to talk an angry man out of killing a hostage) will work sometimes, and other times not. There is no walk-through for the game, as it seems to randomly choose what option might work (or not.) In doing so, there is something unique about each game - something distinctively personal.
What made Deus Ex a great game was its moral choices. A main character that is an integral part of the plot for some could be killed early in the game for others. Dragon Age: Origins (and its much-maligned successor, DA:2) had meaningful moral choices, too. Where both of these games succeeded was that the moral choices were often the case of choosing the lesser of two evils. The choices also affected the latter game, too.
How does this apply to being a teacher? I think that creative writing and gaming and literature shouldn't be forced upon anyone. To read a story for the narrative, or to play a game to tour the content is only part of the experience. To realise that imaginative experiences can shape you ways unavailable by social status or finance or academic ability or even just by the social circle determined by your school and street: that realisation will, for some students, be the making of them. To realise that they live a life different and wider and more wonderful than any marketing-campaigned desire packed into the limited thinking encouraged by others.
Of course, it is not the job of others to encourage your thinking, or not. Chances are, if you are reading this (and have got this far) then you do think. Orwell said that the Government are terrified by the idea of people having two much leisure time. They believe people cannot occupy leisure fitfully, that we require marketing, and excessive working hours to keep us occupied. If we don't, then we riot. And perhaps if we live in London, or believe that commuting two hours to socialise on a weekend is a worthwhile allocation of time, there might be a grain of truth in what he says.
It is with all the above that I look again to the idea of a book about teaching and gaming. There are two other threads on the PC Gamer board that I will post on this for the perusal of those who read.
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