The Senior Common Room at St Anselm's: III. The Map

Professor Quillibrace unfolded the latest essay with unusual care.

"I've always admired maps," he remarked.

Mr Blottisham nodded enthusiastically.

"Very sensible things."

"In what way?"

"They prevent one from becoming unexpectedly Welsh."

Miss Stray looked up from her book.

"I wasn't aware that Wales behaved unexpectedly."

"It does if you were trying to reach Birmingham."

Quillibrace accepted this with a slight inclination of the head.

"A fair geographical observation."

Blottisham looked pleased.

"I've often felt maps deserve greater appreciation."

"So has our anonymous essayist."

"Oh?"

"He suggests that a map is not primarily a picture."

Blottisham frowned.

"It certainly looks like one."

"Yes."

"But it isn't."

"What is it then?"

"A machine."

Blottisham sighed.

"I really must stop reading these essays."

"They're unsettling?"

"They're mechanising perfectly respectable household objects."

Miss Stray smiled.

"I don't think the machine is the paper."

"No?"

"It's the possibilities."

Blottisham considered this.

"I've never unfolded possibilities."

"You have whenever you've unfolded a map."

"I thought I was unfolding Gloucestershire."

Quillibrace adjusted his spectacles.

"Let us perform a small experiment."

He reached for an atlas lying on the shelf.

"Imagine arriving in an unfamiliar city."

"An alarming prospect already."

"You possess no map."

"I ask a policeman."

"You cannot find one."

"I ask another policeman."

"There are no policemen."

Blottisham looked increasingly uneasy.

"This city is becoming most unsatisfactory."

"You may walk anywhere."

"Good."

"But you cannot easily decide where."

Blottisham thought for a moment.

"I see."

"Do you?"

"The streets exist."

"Yes."

"But the possibilities don't."

Miss Stray shook her head gently.

"The possibilities exist."

"They do?"

"You simply can't see them."

There was a pause.

Blottisham looked at the atlas.

"So what exactly does the map add?"

Quillibrace smiled.

"Nothing."

"But surely..."

"It adds no roads."

"No."

"No buildings."

"No."

"No rivers."

Blottisham looked bewildered.

"Then why is it useful?"

Miss Stray answered.

"Because it lets you compare futures."

Silence settled briefly over the room.

Blottisham repeated the sentence quietly.

"Compare futures..."

He looked unexpectedly thoughtful.

"I've never considered that maps contain futures."

"They don't."

"No?"

"They contain possibilities."

"The futures are produced by choosing among them."

Blottisham stared at the map for a long moment.

"I say..."

"Yes?"

"I've always assumed maps were about places."

Quillibrace nodded.

"So does almost everyone."

"But they're really about journeys."

"Closer."

Miss Stray closed her book.

"I think they're about decisions."

The Professor looked interested.

"Go on."

"A place without a map still exists."

"Certainly."

"But a decision needs alternatives."

"Yes."

"The map doesn't create the city."

"It creates visible alternatives within the city."

Quillibrace smiled.

"Excellent."

Blottisham looked mildly alarmed.

"I've just realised something."

"What?"

"I trust maps enormously."

"Most of us do."

"And yet..."

"Yes?"

"I've never asked what they've left out."

Miss Stray nodded.

"That was the sentence that stayed with me."

"'Every map is mostly omission.'"

She looked towards the window.

"It sounds almost paradoxical."

"Doesn't it?"

"But it's obviously true."

She continued quietly.

"The map succeeds because it refuses to show almost everything."

Blottisham looked unconvinced.

"Surely more information would make it better."

"Would it?"

"If it included every tree..."

"And every paving stone..."

"And every pigeon..."

"And every conversation..."

Blottisham began to smile.

"I suppose finding the railway station might become rather difficult."

Quillibrace folded the atlas shut.

"There is, I think, a larger lesson."

Blottisham nodded cautiously.

"I feared there might be."

"We all carry maps."

"Road maps?"

"No."

"Maps of politics."

"Maps of history."

"Maps of success."

"Maps of other people."

Blottisham looked puzzled.

"I've never folded any of those."

"You use them every day."

There was another thoughtful silence.

Miss Stray finally spoke.

"I wonder whether wisdom is partly learning that one's favourite map is still only a map."

No one answered immediately.

At length Quillibrace said,

"I suspect that is one of the most difficult lessons an educated person can learn."

Blottisham looked down at the closed atlas.

"So the real danger..."

"Yes?"

"...isn't getting lost?"

The Professor smiled.

"No."

"The real danger is forgetting that there may be another map."

Blottisham nodded slowly.

"I don't know whether that's comforting or unsettling."

Miss Stray laughed softly.

"Perhaps both."

Quillibrace reached for the teapot.

"I have always thought, Mr Blottisham, that the best maps possess one admirable quality."

"And what is that?"

"They quietly expect to be revised."

Blottisham looked thoughtfully towards the shelves of atlases lining the wall.

"I wonder..."

"Yes?"

"...whether philosophers ought to come with edition numbers."