The Masters

CP Snow took over 30 years (1920s-1950s) to write The Masters, a novel on the academic life in an imaginary university in England. The plot is rather simple: The master of an old, prestigious university is about to pass away, so a new master must be elected. Faculty members presented two candidates: Jago, a professor in Humanities who has great ambition, strong social skills, but less of an academic achievement; Crawford, a professor in Science who is an established scholar, yet not as adept in human connections. Written in a first-person narrative in the eyes of one of the faculty, the book delineates the process of the election through a series of negotiations, persuasions, and power struggling. 

Snow is famous for his idea of "two cultures," i.e., the culture of Science and the culture of Humanities in academia. But the book strikes me not by the distinct characteristics of these two cultures but by a shared mentality that defines academic life, or more precisely, academic politics. As the heart of the contentious election lies the ambition, ideal, and self-interest of individuals. Both candidates desired the position badly, and they used all strategies, not always noble, to achieve their goal. The book is not an "exposé" of the dark side of academia, however. It is rather a sober reminder of the importance of social relationships and individual characters in shaping academic life.

In the eyes of Eliot, the narrator, each faculty member involved in this election has his own character. Eliot aligns himself with Jago, the candidate in Humanities. Why? Because Jago prefers self-torment than conceit. Ago is vulnerable in his own eyes. He is proud and diffident at the same time. Maybe at the deepest level, pride and diffidence becomes the same (p204). I resonate with this connection though it is hard to articulate why. Pride comes from within, from an attitude of pursuing something high and noble, with intrinsic values. Diffidence implies connection or comparison to others, how one positions oneself in a social network. We can do things that we feel proud of because they fulfill our moral needs. But that is a self-centered sentiment. Often times we don't experience that pride fully until what we do is socially recognized, or even better, appreciated. But that departs from one's own perspective; we are asking others, often unconsciously, to agree with us that what we think is right and good is actually right and good for everybody. Every time we do a good, unselfish thing, with lots of pride, we plead appreciation from others. Yet we are not sure whether what works within us works interpersonally, so comes lots of diffidence. Can we do things truly altruistic, without considering being paid back, not in material sense, but in a sense of social recognition? Are we all like Jago or Crawford, whose pursuit of mastership evinces their insistence on such a recognition? I don't have the answer. But I want to say this: morality entwines with sociability. I often consider my urge to do good things is self-satisfaction derived from a pure pleasure to be helpful and useful. But how pure is the pleasure if the satisfaction is conditioned and mitigated by the reactions from the helped? What if that person does not say "Thank you?"