X: The Question of Purpose

The evening had settled gently over St Anselm's.

Rain had finally exhausted itself.

The fog had withdrawn.

Even the committees seemed less active than usual.

The Common Room was quiet.

Professor Quillibrace sat by the fire.

Miss Stray occupied her customary chair.

Mr Blottisham arrived empty-handed.

This immediately attracted attention.

Quillibrace looked up.

"No documents?"

"No."

"No reports?"

"No."

"No dashboards?"

"No."

Quillibrace exchanged a glance with Stray.

"Are you unwell?"

Blottisham ignored him.

Instead, he sat down and stared into the fire.

The silence persisted.

Finally Stray spoke.

"You seem thoughtful."

"I am."

"How alarming."

Blottisham nodded.

"I've been thinking about purpose."

The room became attentive.

Not dramatically.

Simply attentively.

The way one listens when a familiar question returns wearing unfamiliar clothes.

After a while Quillibrace asked:

"And?"

Blottisham frowned.

"I don't think I understand it."

"Purpose?"

"Yes."

Quillibrace nodded.

"A promising beginning."

The fire crackled softly.

Blottisham continued.

"All these systems we've discussed."

"Yes."

"The metrics."

"Yes."

"The optimisation."

"Yes."

"The benchmarking."

"Yes."

"The strategic frameworks."

"Unfortunately."

Blottisham ignored this.

"They all seem to assume purpose."

The room became quiet.

Stray nodded.

"Go on."

"But none of them seem able to explain it."

No one spoke.

Outside, darkness settled across the quadrangle.

Inside, the conversation proceeded carefully.

At length Quillibrace said:

"Purpose is awkward."

"Why?"

"Because it cannot be derived from efficiency."

Blottisham considered this.

"Why not?"

Quillibrace gestured toward the fire.

"Efficiency tells us how well something pursues an end."

"Yes."

"It does not tell us which end to pursue."

The room fell silent.

Stray smiled faintly.

"The fire is very efficient."

"It is."

"But efficiency alone does not tell us whether we should heat the room, burn the college down, or boil a kettle."

"Precisely."

Blottisham stared into the flames.

The distinction appeared to be settling into place.

After a while he asked:

"So where does purpose come from?"

The question lingered.

Longer than most questions did in the Common Room.

Quillibrace looked thoughtful.

Stray looked thoughtful.

Even the fire looked thoughtful, though this may have been projection.

Finally Quillibrace spoke.

"Human beings, mostly."

Blottisham blinked.

"That's all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

The room became quiet again.

Stray closed her notebook.

No one had written anything for some time.

Eventually she said:

"I think that's why optimisation struggles with purpose."

"Why?"

"Because purpose is usually particular."

The room became attentive.

She continued.

"A university exists for certain things."

"Yes."

"A hospital exists for certain things."

"Yes."

"A friendship exists for certain things."

"Yes."

She paused.

"Optimisation prefers generality."

Quillibrace nodded.

"Very good."

"It seeks methods."

"Indeed."

"It seeks procedures."

"Yes."

"It seeks frameworks."

"Naturally."

"But purposes often remain stubbornly local."

The fire crackled approvingly.

Blottisham sat quietly.

Then asked:

"Do you think institutions forget their purpose?"

Quillibrace considered.

"Sometimes."

"How?"

The answer came more quickly than usual.

"By becoming fascinated with their own machinery."

The room smiled.

Even Blottisham.

After all, they had spent nine discussions establishing precisely this point.

The silence returned.

Not uncomfortable.

Simply reflective.

Eventually Blottisham spoke again.

"You know what I keep thinking about?"

"What?" asked Stray.

"The sewage authority."

Quillibrace looked delighted.

"An excellent sign."

"No, really."

"I am being serious."

Blottisham stared into the fire.

"It knew what it was for."

The room became unexpectedly quiet.

Quillibrace nodded slowly.

"Yes."

"It didn't need a Strategic Horizon Framework."

"No."

"It didn't need a Universal Efficiency Index."

"No."

"It just knew."

The fire crackled.

Outside, a bell rang somewhere in the college.

The sound drifted through the evening.

After a while Stray said softly:

"I think that's what unsettles people."

"What is?"

"The possibility that some purposes are simpler than their management."

No one spoke.

The idea sat comfortably in the room.

Unlike most strategic documents.

Eventually Quillibrace stood and walked toward the window.

The quadrangle was almost empty.

A few lights remained.

Students crossing between buildings.

Conversations continuing.

Life proceeding without performance indicators.

After a while he spoke.

"Perhaps the strangest thing about instrumental reason is that it is not wrong."

The room became attentive.

"It is enormously useful."

"Yes."

"It helps us organise."

"Yes."

"It helps us coordinate."

"Yes."

"It helps us improve."

"Yes."

He paused.

Then smiled faintly.

"It simply becomes confused when asked why any of those things matter."

The silence that followed was complete.

Not because there was no answer.

But because answers of that kind cannot be supplied by method alone.

At length Blottisham stood.

"Well."

"Well," said Stray.

"Well," said Quillibrace.

No one moved.

Finally Blottisham asked:

"Do you think we'll ever solve it?"

Quillibrace looked out across the darkened quadrangle.

Then back toward the fire.

Then toward his friends.

And replied:

"My dear Blottisham."

"Yes?"

"I rather hope not."

The room became very still.

"Why?"

Quillibrace smiled.

"Because the day we no longer need to ask what things are for..."

A pause.

"...is the day we shall have become a very efficient species indeed."

The fire crackled.

The evening deepened.

And for a while nobody felt any need to improve it.