The following Wednesday, Mr Blottisham entered the Senior Common Room looking unusually serene.
Professor Quillibrace immediately became suspicious.
Miss Stray merely sighed.
"I have decided that you are both partly correct."
Quillibrace lowered his book.
"A generous concession."
"Indeed."
Blottisham sat down.
"The future may be uncertain."
"Quite."
"Values may be disputed."
"Certainly."
"Purposes may vary."
"Undeniably."
"The machine may not solve every philosophical problem."
"An encouraging possibility."
Blottisham nodded.
"Nevertheless, progress remains inevitable."
The room became very quiet.
Miss Stray slowly closed her notebook.
Quillibrace smiled.
"Ah."
"What?"
"We have arrived."
"Where?"
"The destination."
Blottisham looked pleased.
"I knew there was one."
The professor laughed softly.
"Not that destination."
The room settled.
Blottisham continued.
"Surely history demonstrates the point."
"Which point?"
"Humanity progresses."
Quillibrace considered this.
"How?"
"Science advances."
"Indeed."
"Technology advances."
"Certainly."
"Knowledge accumulates."
"Frequently."
"Therefore history moves forward."
The professor looked thoughtful.
"Forward?"
"Yes."
"In which direction?"
The room fell silent.
Blottisham frowned.
"The future."
"That is a temporal direction."
"So?"
"I was asking about the evaluative direction."
The silence deepened.
Miss Stray appeared amused.
Blottisham looked wary.
He recognised the terrain.
Unfortunately.
After a moment he replied:
"Toward improvement."
Quillibrace nodded.
"We appear to have returned."
The room relaxed slightly.
Everyone knew this circle by now.
The professor continued.
"Suppose medical science improves."
"Excellent."
"And life expectancy increases."
"Excellent."
"And populations age."
"Very well."
"And healthcare systems become strained."
"Less excellent."
"And new ethical questions emerge."
"Possibly."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Has progress occurred?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because people live longer."
"Excellent."
The professor smiled.
"Someone else might prioritise something different."
The room became quiet.
Miss Stray spoke.
"I wonder whether history contains many different trajectories."
The others turned toward her.
She continued.
"Scientific knowledge may increase."
"Yes."
"Social trust may increase or decrease."
"Yes."
"Economic prosperity may increase."
"Yes."
"Environmental stability may increase or decrease."
"Yes."
"Cultural diversity may increase or decrease."
"Yes."
She paused.
"Why should these all collapse into a single measure called progress?"
The room became very still.
Blottisham stared thoughtfully.
The idea appeared unwelcome.
But difficult to dismiss.
Eventually he rallied.
"Because otherwise history has no direction."
Quillibrace smiled faintly.
"Indeed."
The room fell silent.
Blottisham blinked.
"That is all?"
"For the moment."
The professor folded his hands.
"What interests me is that many people seem deeply attached to the notion that history must be going somewhere."
"Surely it is."
"Perhaps."
"Then why the hesitation?"
Quillibrace considered.
"Because movement and destination are not identical."
The room became quiet.
Again.
This was becoming a recurring theme.
Miss Stray nodded.
"We often treat change as though it automatically implies purpose."
"Exactly."
Blottisham looked dissatisfied.
"But surely humanity learns."
"Certainly."
"And develops."
"Certainly."
"And accumulates knowledge."
"Certainly."
"Then surely there is progress."
The professor smiled.
"There are many progresses."
The room became still.
Blottisham frowned.
"Many?"
"Scientific progress."
"Yes."
"Technical progress."
"Yes."
"Economic progress."
"Yes."
"Medical progress."
"Yes."
"Political progress."
"Sometimes."
The room laughed softly.
Quillibrace continued.
"The difficulty arises when we attempt to aggregate them."
The room settled.
Miss Stray looked out the window.
"I wonder whether people sometimes imagine history as a story."
"What do you mean?" asked Blottisham.
"A story has a beginning."
"Yes."
"A middle."
"Yes."
"And an ending."
"Naturally."
She smiled.
"Reality is under no obligation to provide one."
The room became silent.
Outside, students crossed the college lawn.
Inside, Blottisham stared into the distance.
At length he said:
"Then perhaps history does not have a destination."
"No?" asked Quillibrace.
"No."
"What does it have?"
Blottisham thought for a long time.
Finally he replied:
"Participants."
For several moments nobody spoke.
Miss Stray smiled.
Quillibrace looked unexpectedly pleased.
The professor eventually reopened his book.
"An excellent answer."
Blottisham brightened.
"Really?"
"Yes."
The optimism returned.
"What does it mean?"
Quillibrace turned a page.
"That, Mr Blottisham..."
A pause.
"...is considerably easier to say than to understand."
And the room once again fell into the sort of silence that universities occasionally mistake for wisdom.
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