In becoming a professional philosopher, I meet consistent plateaus in my development. Unlike technological advances, mine are peppered only by the illusion of improvement. Really, I step side to side, square dancing with the intellectual elite. I get nowhere, and notice no one, but have a lovely time nonetheless.

At this point, the metaphor stretches. I say that I reach a new plateau when I notice a misplaced shoe, an unwelcome smell in the hall. Therein lies philosophical progress. It is not when I learn a new hand gesture that I improve; those in the square dance are sufficient. Rather, I improve when I expose, bit by bit, the limits my world, my art and its elite.