A few words about vegetarianism

Firstly, I would like to say that there are good reasons to be a vegetarian: you don’t like meat, or you feel healthier when you don’t eat it, or you feel icky eating the muscles of something that died, or you don’t want to eat meat that has been factory farmed and can’t afford alternatives, or you have certain health problems with digesting meat, or your religion or other cultural customs prohibit it. Those are all fine with me. What isnot fine with me is saying either “meat-eating is bad for the environment” or “I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of animals”. 

"Environmental" vegetarianism

The way we currently farm meat is bad for the environment. But that’s because we, as a society, do almost everything in ways that are bad for the environment, and this is no exception. A healthy ecosystem includes carnivores and herbivores and plants in complex relationships, and if we can fit ourselves into a healthy ecosystem, as we have actually done in the past in lots of different ways, then there is no environmentalist reason not to eat meat.

When I envision my ideal agriculture, it includes fields of diverse grains, planted with cover crops and mulched with the unneeded straw in between plantings. There are birds and insects and mammals feeding on the grain, because you didn’t cover it in pesticides, but there are other birds and insects and mammals eating them, so it balances out. (See One Straw Revolution) Vegetables are planted as companion crops, and pollinated by the bees kept on the farm for honey and wax. There is coppiced woodland, where the pigs feed, eating things we can’t (not corn), and each winter, some of them are harvested, and every part of the animal is eaten or used or fed to some other animal or returned to the soil in another productive way. There are chickens, eating vegetable scraps and weeds we won’t eat (not corn), and producing eggs we can eat, and fertiliser to feed the plants we can eat. There are sheep, or goats, or cattle, grazing on the hillsides too steep for grain, eating grass we can’t eat (not corn), and providing in return meat, milk, and wool. (see permaculture)

There probably isn’t anywhere that does all of these things at once, but there are, and have been during human history, many places that do some of these things. Current industrial agriculture, which works incredibly hard to maintain enormous monocultures rather than ecosystems, are the exception, not the norm.

What does this mean? It means that when you say “we feed x million tons of food every year to our food”, I say, “that’s because we’re acting like idiots”. Humans use plants to turn sunshine into food. We use animals to turn non-edible plants into food. If we treated agriculture like an ecosystem, we could easily include meat in an environmentally responsible harvest. 

There are three important things to remember here:

1. Create diverse ecosystems, not monocultures

2. Use every part of the animal (for food or not).

3. Return everything you get from the ecosystem to the ecosystem. Don’t flush fertiliser into the ocean - that starves one ecosystem and poisons another.

"Ethical" vegetarianism

Eating meat always requires the death of an animal; I do not deny this. The way we currently produce meat is unnecessarily cruel; I do not deny that either. But we don’t have to produce meat that way (see above), and eating meat is not the only way we cause animals to die. (Vegans, you don’t get a free pass here either.) 

The production of any food causes the deaths of animals, plural. First there are all the animals killed by pesticides, and they are many. Second, there is the habitat loss necessary to create farmland.  Depending on where you live, there are now kangaroos, or badgers, or orangutans, or deer, without a home, without food, and you are, at least in part, responsible for that. All humans are responsible for the deaths of many animals in the production of their food.

Humans, by the way, are not unusual in this, only in matters of scale. The way ecologies work is that everything gets eaten by something else. Even the top predators are eaten by bacteria and worms, as someday we shall be. It’s the circle of life, and all that.

We kill animals for food. That is inevitable, and sad. We also kill animals for lots of other reasons, which is less inevitable, and more sad. Urban living has spread across the globe in a wave of habitat loss - for every species (foxes, racoons, etc) which finds a living in the city, there are a dozen who are kept to the edges, and a dozen more who entirely disappear. Bats fry on our power lines, possums are run over on our roads. Bears and wolves and coyotes are shot to keep us safe. Seabirds choke on plastic bags. Bees are poisoned by the pesticides which “protect” the very plants they pollinate. Porpoises are maimed by boat propellers, and blind dolphins are deafened by their roar in the smog of the Yellow River. Every day of our lives, we are responsible for the deaths of animals. 

We can and should grieve them. We should prevent their deaths whenever we can. We should eat less meat, indeed. But we should also try to consume less of every other kind of thing - less space, less water, less power, less clothes, less furniture, less stuff. We cannot escape death, our own or others’ For any creature to live, others must die, and we are selfish animals which want to live. 

What we can do is this:

1. Remain aware of those who die for our sake, and mourn them

2. Prevent as many deaths as we can, by reducing our consumption of all kinds of goods

3. Do our best to make their lives good. If they can live in a habitat rather than a zoo, free-range rather than factory farmed, if we can make green corridors for them to travel down, keep their water sources clean…all these things can help pay the debt we owe them for their lives.

Let me conclude by saying: it would be a good thing if we ate less meat. Go ahead and eat less meat. I respect you. Do so for personal reasons, ethical reasons, cultural reasons, environmentalist reasons, health reasons. But do not let yourself believe that the environmentalist or the ethical arguments are logical reasons to eat no meat at all, and do not believe that by becoming vegetarian you have fulfilled your obligation to help our society live in an ethically and ecologically balanced relationship with the other creatures on this planet.

Too much to care about

The world today faces many problems. Or rather, the global community faces many problems - the planet doesn't really care. Some of these are because people are and have been stupid: because people are biased, because people don't think about the future, because people are illogical, because people ignore evidence as to the way things are. Some of these are because people are and have been ignorant. Some of these are unexpected consequences. Many of them have been problems for a long time. None of them will be fixed quickly or easily. So how do you deal with all of the problems that need fixing?

The people most affected by this are the people who can do the least. People who can, who are doing something have at least that comfort. But those of us who have not yet the money, or the independence to make a difference - in short, children, teenagers, young adults living at home - often find themselves without an outlet for all the care we place on their shoulders. And we do place in on their shoulders. The guilt of those who have finally reached the level of influence goes into education, targeted at the young, who hear them and can do nothing but pass the message on, until their hopes are broken under the weight of all our unfulfilled prayers.

Every generation has its predicted apocalypses. But what could the everyday citizen do about the threat of nuclear war? Report suspicious happenings, vote for the right government, hope. Now, we are confronted with a world where each person, especially each person with an internet connection, can send money, or promote opinions, or actually do something to support a cause. We learn that "with great power comes great responsibility", we learn that we are rich, that we are lucky; the message is that we are responsible for fixing any problem we encounter, because we are the ones with the power.

It is overwhelming. It is exhausting. And it is impossible.

No one can fix everything. No one can fix anything. One person may be a catalyst, at most, but every substantial change in this world has started small and grown like a snowball rolling downhill until it actually makes a difference. Martin Luther King did not fix racism. No one today will fix homophobia. But change will come, because change is inevitable. It may not be in the direction we would like, but it will come.

And no voice goes unheard. No one shouts into the void; each time we say "no" the flavour of our culture shifts a little, mixes a little; each time we say "yes" we change what people expect the next answer to be. The thousands of victims ignored become a statistic which cannot be. The lives saved by thousands of small gifts will go on to change the world in little ways which cannot be predicted. It is impossible to do enough to save the world, but while you do anything at all, you cannot do too little.

I am sometimes frustrated by how little I do. Like many, I focus my attentions on one lens - I mostly ignore human rights issues, poverty, war, so that I am not overwhelmed by environmental issues, which are significant enough. I do not use sustainable sources of electricity; I use the clothes dryer and dishwasher rather than the clothes line and sink; I have a lot of things, and throw away a not insignificant amount of plastic; the food I eat is not local, organic, or produced on small farms; I am not even partially vegetarian. But I use a reusable lunch wrapper everyday, and throw out no gladwrap. I travel by train and on foot, rarely by car. I use no air conditioning or heater at home. I wear clothes twice if they aren't dirty. I have less stuff than many. I keep the lights off except after dark in my room. I recycle as much as I can. I use things until they are irredeemable broken. And I care. Those who know me, know that. And maybe that makes them care a little more. And those who know them know that. And so it spreads. And the little things I do, and the things that I think, do not alone fix the problems of this world. But a little bit of care where I can spare it causes ripples outwards that cannot be traced, or understood, or predicted, and yet they spread, and something changes.

The Importance of Stories

Once upon a time, so long ago that storrytellers remember, there lived a girl called Anya in a land of darkness...

Stories matter. Our whole lives are told in stories, to ourselves and to others, and they are vital to communication.

...One day, as she worked in the fields, she saw a glimmer of light in the distance, and as it drew closer she could see it was a shining bird, so bright that all around it was illuminated...

In stories, everything is simple and obvious. Emotions and attitudes are externalised: transformed into new characters, behaviours or objects. The girl marries a handsome prince, rather than a kind and loving man. Two of the sons go one way and the third another, rather than one son feeling conflicted. The emotions of the characters are not told.

...Anya took a handful of grain and spread it before her, calling

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, come and eat!”

And the Bird o’ Light did so, and while it ate Anya could see everything that had before been hidden to her, and when it had finished, it flew away and all was once more in darkness...

In this way, everything in a story can be interpreted symbolically. But caution must be taken to avoid over-interpretation, and it must be remembered that the most important part of the story is the enjoyment of the teller and the listener.

...The next day the same thing happened, and the next, and the next, and so things went on. But Anya was running out of wheat, and though she stinted herself to have more for the Bird o’ Light, a year to the day after it first came to her, she found herself with but a single peck of grain...

It is of great importance to remember that a told story is entirely different to a written one. Written story can afford to be unmemorable, but a forgettable fairytale will find itself ignored very quickly. This simple fact has significantly impacted the different styles of the two genres.

...So on that day Anya took up her peck of grain for the Bird o’ Light and baked three travelling cakes for herself and set out to follow the Bird o’ Light to wherever it might lead her...

A tale is full of cliches and repetitive language. In a novel, this would be a fatal flaw, but it renders a tale memorable. What phrases are better remembered from childhood than “mirror, mirror on the wall...”, “Oh Grandma, what big teeth you have!” or “I’ll  huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down”? Such things form the backbone of storytelling.

...Anya walked and walked, until she felt she could walk no longer, and there she sat upon the ground and ate the first of her travel cakes. As she ate, she saw a gleam of light in the distance, and so she spread grain before her and called out:

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, come and eat!”...

In a tale, things appear in specific amounts, contained. Three bears, or seven brothers, or a year and a day to break the spell. There are never “a few” fruits  left on the tree, or “many” who had fallen under the witch’s spell. And if something must be unnumbered, it is extravagantly so – “so many that none could count them, should they live a thousand years”, “more coins there were than the stars in the sky”, “so large that none could see from one side to the other”.

...The bird flew to her and ate, and as it did, she told it her story, and when it had done, it spoke to her:

            “I am not the Bird o’ Light you seek; he shines far brighter than me. I am the Bird o’the Morning Star. I know not where he flies, only that I have never seen him rest. But go on as you have done and you shall surely find him. Take this feather of mine, and when you are in need, speak my name and it shall light your way.”

This said, the bird flew away and Anya began once more to walk...

In stories, the supernatural is accepted with ease. If a horse talks to you, you talk back, and politely too, for discourtesy leads into trouble. Should a fairy give you three wishes, there is no confusion about how the wishes will be granted. It simply is so. No novel would leave such a plot device unexplained.

...Anya walked and walked, until she felt she could walk no longer, and there she sat upon the ground and ate the second of her travel cakes. As she ate, she saw a gleam of light in the distance, and so she spread grain before her and called out:

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, come and eat!”...

But the most important thing about tales is the interaction between the teller and the listener. The author of a novel is writing an extended letter to the world. The tale-teller is having a conversation with particular people. Unsurprisingly, stories vary from telling to telling, and from teller to teller. It would be ludicrous to say that unless it is perfectly memorised and replicated each time, the teller must not know the tale. The ability to improvise is the true sign of understanding a told story, yet utterly foreign to written narrative.

...The bird flew to her and ate, and as it did, she told it her story, and when it had done, it spoke to her:

            “I am not the Bird o’ Light you seek; he shines far brighter than me. I am the Bird o’the Moon. I know not where he flies, only that I have never seen him rest. But go on as you have done and you shall surely find him. Take this feather of mine, and when you are in need, speak my name and it shall light your way.”

This said, the bird flew away and Anya began once more to walk...

Interspersed with variation on the words is variation on the gestures and voice mannerisms of the performer, things that cannot easily be described. Suffice to say that the task of the storyteller is far more complex than it may, at first, appear.

...Anya walked and walked, until she felt she could walk no longer, and there she sat upon the ground and ate the last of her travel cakes. As she ate, she saw a gleam of light in the distance, and so she spread grain before her and called out:

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, come and eat!”...

So where does this leave us? So far I have said that tales are unlike novels, and told some ways that they are different; I have said that the teller is far more integral to the success of a story than they seem; and I have put forward the idea that we use stories to shape our perceptions of the world. That last point, however, I should elaborate on.

...The bird flew to her and ate, and as it did, she told it her story, and when it had done, it spoke to her:

            “I am not the Bird o’ Light you seek; he shines far brighter than me. I am the Bird o’the Sun. The bird o’ light you seek flies unceasingly, but to eat and sleep, and if you have not grain to give him, he will not come to you.”

“Is there not a way to free him from his unending journey?”

“That there is, but it is not easy.”...

Stories are frameworks in which to place our experience. We can tell the story of the battler who succeeds against the odds, or the misunderstood genius whose talents are realised after years of being undervalued. We tell our own stories to other people when we are trying to explain who we are. We imagine stories around what we know of other people’s lives. When questioned as to why we hold a belief, we often tell a story about how we came to believe it, or about why it is right.

...”You must go from here to the Cave of Eternal Darkness, where the Bird o’ Light sleeps each night. There you will find three cages, one of iron, one of silver and one of gold, each inside the other, and each locked with a lock made of shadow. To free the Bird o’ Light, you must break those locks, and to do that you must light each one as bright as he ever lit your home. Take this feather of mine, and when you are in need, speak my name and it shall light your way.”

This said, the bird flew away and Anya began once more to walk...

I feel that it is important to recognise the power of told story in the face of the innovations in communications technology of the last two decades, especially the ebook. The discussion of the possible “death of books” because of the new presence of electronic media raises the question of the “death of story” at the hands of books. I inwardly rebel against the disappearance of books, because I believe there is something more to them than the text itself. The same is true of tale-telling. But is it lost?

...Soon she reached the Cave of Eternal Darkness, a place more black than any she had seen. She walked inside, but could not see her way, and so called out:

            “Bird o’ the Morning Star, shine for me!”

The feather she had been given shone as bright as the bird itself, and she could instantly see all within the cave. There before her were three cages, one of iron, one of siver, and one of gold, each within the other, and each locked with a lock made of shadow...

Storytelling is not a dying art, but an enduring one. Despite the challenges to its supremacy, there is not one of us who cannot remember hearing stories as a child and telling them as an adult. Just as the rise of recorded music has not ended concerts or improvisation, so the rise of books, and ebooks in their turn, has kept a place for the tale. The ability to communicate a series of events in a meaningful sequence in conversation is one that will never be lost, because it is fundamental. It is not storytelling, but it is close.

...Anya saw at once that the feather she held was not enough to break the locks, so she called out:

            “Bird o’ the Moon, shine for me!”

The feather she had been given shone as bright as the bird itself, and straightway the lock on the cage of iron broke in two, and the cage was opened...

Storytelling will survive a long time, and if it does not, then we must accept it. But I believe that through our own efforts we can aid story. By telling stories, listening to stories, asking for stories, we help them be remembered, and by remembering stories, we keep them alive.

...But though the iron cage was open, Anya could see that the feather she held was not enough to break the next lock, so she called out:

            “Bird o’ the Sun, shine for me!”

The feather she had been given shone as bright as the bird itself, and straightway the lock on the cage of silver broke in two, and the cage was opened....

I wrote this story about friendship, but that meaning is hidden now to all but me (and maybe a very astute listener). Instead, it sounds like just another fairytale, following the structure of East of the Sun, West of the Moon, perhaps. I wrote it as I walked, telling it over to myself until I was happy with it. I have not yet told this story, so perhaps it is not quite fully-fledged yet, but it is something.

...But though the silver cage was open, Anya could see that the feather she held was not enough to break the next lock, and she despaired. Then, through the entrance of the cave, she caught sight of a gleam of light in the distance. She poured grain before her, and called out:

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, come and eat!”

and lo and behold, the Bird o’ Light came. It’s light was as bright as she remembered, and the third shadow lock seemed to weaken, but it would not break. She called out:

            “Bird o’ Light, Bird o’ Light, shine for me!”

and suddenly the feathers of the Bird o’ Light blazed brighter than ever before and the last lock was broken and the last cage was opened...

I believe that everyone has the ability to tell stories, at least a little, and to forget that skill would be a sad thing. Stories matter. They help tell us who we are and where we’re coming from, and if we don’t know that, how do expect to know where we’re going or how to get there?

...As suddenly as the light, darkness came.

Then, through the entrance of the cave, Anya saw, not a gleam of light, but a soft glow. She stepped outside and saw, for the first time in her life, that the sun was rising. She looked to her other side and could see the low-hung moon and a fading morning star. And she looked behind her and saw that the Bird o’ Light had transformed into a young man, who said:

            “As long as I was imprisoned by the locks on those cages, all the light in the world was trapped in the feathers of the Birds o’ Light. But the spell is broken now, and all can see clearly what once was hidden to them.”

Well, the pair of them lived together for ever after, and if they’re not dead now, they’re living so still.

Things a chorister must keep in mind, or, Multitasking without knowing it

I have just finished a series of choral concerts, and it occurred to me tonight that choristers actually have quite a lot to think about.

Things necessary for any singing:
breath - when to breathe, how to breathe, when you'll need to breathe
posture - feet shoulder-width apart, shoulders back, head up, hands by sides
support  - tightening abdominal muscles, particularly for high notes, loud notes, or when running out of breath
preparing a note - this is difficult to explain, but each note must be thought of a beat before you sing it, and some notes need you to change the part of the voice you're singing in
tone - breathy or strong, head voice or chest voice, bright or dark
mouth shape - up and down rather than wide, soft palette raised (depending on the piece)
staying in tune - self-explanatory
whether you're going to faint - I haven't ever seen someone faint in performance, but I have seen people have to sit down, and if you stand still for too long it is a definite possibility

Things necessary for any piece:
vowels - avoiding dipthongs (e.g. sky is said "skah-ee" with them melded together, but sung "skah-ee" with the ee at the very end), what vowel it is (oo, oh, or, ah, a, au, eh, ee), bright or dark
diction - singing the voiced consonants (e.g. p, d), accenting unvoiced consonants (e.g. s, t)

tempo - are you rushing, are you slowing down, should you be

time signature - where are you in the bar, which beats are strong and which weak

dynamics - loud or soft or in-between, getting louder, getting softer, sharp changes in dynamic

accents - which notes are emphasised

staccato/legato - should notes be strung together smoothly, or each sung separately

cut-offs - when in the bar do you stop singing, maintaining the note until that point

the rhythm - what is the actual rhythm you are supposed to sing

the tune - what is the actual tune you are supposed to sing

the words - what are the words you are singing

what is coming next - in two bars, what will you be singing

the structure of the piece - where are you up to, is this a high point or a low point, are you repeating a section

Things necessary for any group:

the conductor - what are you being told to do, are you doing what is indicated

the ensemble - do you sound like everyone else, do you fit in with their sound, are you in tune and in time

blending - does your tone match theirs, do your vowels match theirs

Things necessary for any performance:
the meaning/emotion of the words - what should you be feeling, what should the audience be feeling

smiling/looking alive - keeping an interested expression on your face (it takes conscious effort for many performers, including me)

not fiddling with anything - don't touch your face, don't shift your feet, don't move your hands, look at the conductor, the ensemble or the audience

moving with the music - feel the music and move with it (this should be natural, but many are trained out of it)
props - sometimes you are holding something in your hands, maybe a candle (particularly for christmas concerts), or an instrument in some choirs, in which you need to think about how to use it
choreographed movement - I object to choralography on principle, but many choirs use it, pieces may also specify clapping, stamping or clicking at certain places, some specify standing and sitting, sometimes you sing while walking

That is actually almost thirty things a chorister should keep in mind, which you would expect to be impossible. However, with practice, tasks which are closely associated get mixed into a single "thing to think about". This can be seen in the difference between learning drivers and experienced ones - the learners have to pay very close attention to everything they do in case they forget something, while for more experienced drivers, driving is one task, so they can divert attention to conversation or music. In this way for a chorister breath, support and tone might all be combined, or vowels, diction, the words and meaning of the words. Posture, fiddling, not fainting, choreographed and natural movement all go together. The better a chorister, the less they have to think about each of these things, so the more they can prioritise. When choristers are very good, most of their attention goes to the conductor and the ensemble - to being totally together, singing exactly what is written, what the conductor wants and what everyone else is singing. It is quite remarkable when a choir achieves this.

Many people are aware of studies which disprove effective multitasking. However, these studies usually do not actually test the effectiveness of common forms of multitasking, only ones that are easy to measure. I strongly hold that multitasking is possible, but only when the tasks are so closely associated they are not thought of as separate, or so automatic they need not be thought of. It is multitasking to walk and talk. It is multitasking to read aloud. It is multitasking to write or type. It is multitasking to have a conversation over dinner, to play a musical instrument, to cook. Very few of us do one thing at a time. To move and observe and think is to multitask. It is not impossible to multitask - it is impossible not to.

Assessment

We are just beginning an assessment period at my school, so they've been rather on my mind, and I would like to share some of my observations about assessment tasks.

They can be classified in various ways, including the following:
In-class or prepared
Constructive or diagnostic
Knowledge-based or skills-based
Short answer or extended response
Topic-focused or overall
Creative, analytical or research (for knowledge-based tasks only)

Already a bewildering number of options present themselves, but at least a few may be eliminated. It is unlikely, for example, that you would be required to do a short-answer, knowledge-based, in-class creative task, because it is almost impossible to write the questions, let alone answer them. Some tasks are irrelevant to some subjects: creative tasks are not possible in maths/science subjects. Even so, there is no possibility of a task which suits all subjects, or even all topics within a subject.

It occurs to me that, with this in mind, a standardised national test, in similar formats for every subject, is unlikely to truthfully represent the skill-set of even the average student. Why then are they so prevalent?

I believe that such final exams began to be used before much study had gone into teaching and learning styles, and it was possible to have rote answers for a great many subject areas, and have since been reinforced by their decades of existence and the difficulty of major changes to education systems. They are now regarded as a more or less fair way to distinguish between those students capable of extensive higher-level education, and those who are not. Are they?

The two important factors in judging a test are its reliability and validity. Is it reliable? If the same person undertook the same test three times with the same knowledge, would they get the same marks? If the same paper was marked three times, would the same marks be given? The design of these tests is highly concerned with this question of reliability, which leads to a greater proportion of short answer or even multiple choice, as well as cross-marking in most subjects. I think I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that most final exams are reliable. Are they also valid? Do they test what we think they are testing? To answer that, we must first define what we wish final examinations to do.

In my mind, final exams are designed to discriminate between levels of ability and predicted success at university, to tell us which students will do well there and which will do worse. With that in mind, we should look at what makes a successful university student. Good university students are motivated, independent, dedicated, disciplined and enjoy learning. In essence, good university students are those who can learn well, quickly and on their own. So, final examinations should test the ability of a student to learn, and to learn independently.

The HSC is a year and a half with a small break in the middle of continuous learning, with continuous assessments, leading to a final exam which focuses on factual information and skill-sets. Such a process tests endurance. It tests ability to withstand stress. It tests memory. It tests support systems and ability to find resources. All those things are useful in university, but not, I believe, a predictor of success. So we reach the conclusion that the HSC is an invalid test, and by extension, similar exams in other states or countries are also invalid.

Having reached the conclusion that the current exam format, though reliable, is invalid as a discriminator for university purposes,the immediate question is: what else could we do?

We wish to design an assessment of learning ability, particularly independent learning. It is important to note that this is not a test of intelligence - though it may contribute to learning ability, a high IQ will not guarantee high marks, in the same way that it does not in current systems. Nor would it aim to test the information in the syllabus. At first it seems an impossible task. To throw an idea in the air:

Topics could be assigned at random, with students asked to use set materials to create either a presentation (with script and visuals submitted) or a report (similar to an academic essay) and given a set time (a fortnight, a month) to do so. So that students would be able to work in their rough comfort zone, they would be able to choose a broad subject area (maths/sciences, social sciences, philosophy/literature). If they used additional sources, then they would gain marks, because ability to research is useful. However, marks would be given for successful integration of the set material, and the set material would be sufficient for an acceptable presentation/report. Students would be marked on originality/individuality to emphasise the importance of their own work.  Answers would be cross-checked (using the now prevalent anti-plagiarism software) against responses from other years to ensure students learned themselves. After students had submitted their works, they would each be asked to do a Viva Voce - to talk to an examiner about their topic area, without notes - as a demonstration of their absorbtion of the information.

At first sight, this model seems to require far too many markers - however, it would actually need probably half the markers that current systems use. Presently, every student does at least five or six subjects and in each there is a final exam. This replaces those five or six exam papers (each of which are marked twice, taking over an hour), with one paper and one presentation. It seems that it would take an enormous amount of time to interview each student, with the 70 000 students in my state alone, but once again, the HSC already makes provisions for the large number of students. If each school had a set of markers, the students could be heard in ten days, by my approximate calculations, and that is assuming each school hears only one student at a time. There are logistical problems, but they are not insurmountable, and they are certainly no larger than those presently dealt with by the Board of Studies.

I think that raising these questions about the nature of assessments and trying to come up with new ideas is important. A large contributor to the unshakability of systems currently in place is that other options are rarely considered. Such drastic changes would be very difficult to implement, but evaluating them paves the way for smaller movements towards valid assessment.

Time is money

When you have a job, the saying is trite, but in high school, it is remarkably apt. For us, time is money. Because we don't earn our livings, even if some of us do work a bit, money is used for treats - concerts, travel to a friend's house, afternoon tea at a cafe, gifts. We don't really need to pay attention to what money we have and how we spend it, although it is certainly wise to do so. Our equivalent currency is time. Every activity must be weighed in terms of the time investment. It is expensive to live far from school, because we lose hours in travel. Extra-curricular activities are also expensive. School is a necessary investment, like rent - our lifestyle requires it. Procrastination is spending unwisely on toys and gadgets. When I help somebody with their homework, or something I don't understand, I have given something away - not knowledge, because that never leaves you, or money, because I wouldn't be paid, but the time that I have spent teaching them, which I might have spent on my own work. I choose to make an investment in friendships, because I feel I gain something worthwhile from them. I cannot yet effectively avoid procrastination, but I wish I could, because I know it's a waste. Unlike money, however, we are forced to spend our time rather than save it. It's a little sad to realise, but where money comes and goes, time just goes.

Happiness is finite - or some such thing

It occurred to me today* that global levels of happiness are static. Our parents were probably as happy at our age as we are now. Their parents were similarly content, or if not, their levels of happiness were comparable to some other person of our acquaintance. In fact, a hundred years ago, people would have been as happy as us. And five hundred years ago. And a thousand. And two thousand and three thousand and five thousand and ten thousand and before human history our amount of happiness was identical to our happiness now. Because happiness is about comparison. Things are not as bad as they could be. Within the society I operate, I am successful. And there have always been those who are content with what they have, and those who wish for more.

During the Renaissance, infant mortality rates were higher, lives were shorter, the gap between those with power and those without was larger, and your chance of dying horribly even in the most developed countries was far greater. But, this was the same for everyone. Some people were unlucky, and became poorer or sick, or lost children. Some people were lucky, became richer and had robust healthy families. But this all lay on a continuum of possibility which everyone grew up with, and although the old could remember when times were different, that wasn't real in the way the present world was.

Now, we live longer, safer lives, with rights to greater freedom and individuality (at least in Western nations, I haven't lived in other cultures). Are we happier? I suspect the answer is no. Our worry quota is now filled by fears for the world, rather than fears for our lives, and the threat of unemployment rather than famine. But though our worries are different, we experience them in the same way and to the same degree.The human brain has not evolved the capacity to be happier, or to be more troubled.

I am not certain whether I should be pleased with this. At least it means that in the future we will be as content as we are now. But that raises the question: if we are as happy now as we have ever been, why on earth all these gadgets? As a society, progress does not make us happier. And of course, this question is answered by some of the fundamentals of evolution. We all compete. We compete for wealth, stability, prowess, anything in which we can be demonstrably superior. So if all we had to show off was sticks, then my goodness the stick brandishing that would take place. "Due to startling advances in twig technology", however (to quote Douglas Adams), we are now able to compare our gadgets - our phones, our computers, our mp3s - and don't they have a marvellous number of points of comparison? We can compare colour, size, capacity, dimensions, contents...the possibilities are endless. And by making our comparisons we can decide which qualities are worth keeping, and which are not, and the gadgets themselves undergo a process of evolution. Rather remarkable really.

So, if we retrace our steps from that somewhat extended tangent, we find ourselves again at the question: should we be comforted that we have never and will never be happier? As I am finding more and more lately (which I believe is part of the getting of wisdom), I don't really know. Much as I am disappointed that we have made no great advances, it is comforting to know that our lifestyle cannot really change our experience of life. And that leads to the realisation that since it is possible to be happy with less than we have now, we can afford to get less stuff, and still be content. Which is, all in all, a fairly admirable goal.



*My apologies for the semi-hiatus