First and foremost, I would like to congratulate everyone in the ICHK community for having made it through to the end of term 3 and the end of the year.

It has been an extraordinary 12 months and, I am confident in saying, a year that we’ll all be very pleased to see the back of.

It’s impossible right now to know exactly – or even roughly – what next school year will look like, but it’s reasonable, I believe, to trust that it will be an improvement on the one we’ve just been through.

Looking back over school year 2020-21 put me in mind of a quote from one of my favourite story books, JRR Tolkien’s epic fantasy, the Lord of the Rings.

For those of you who don’t know Tolkien’s trilogy, either as a book or in Peter Jackson’s film adaptation, it’s the story of humble individual, Frodo Baggins, who finds himself caught up in events for which he has no responsibility, little understanding, and, as he sees it, no power to influence, let alone control what happens.

Guided by mentors, protected by friends, bolstered by allies, yet challenged, obstructed, threatened, or deceived every step of the way, Frodo must make the long and wearying journey into the very heart of his enemy’s realm to complete his quest. Only by shouldering his burden, with acceptance and resolve, can he fulfil his unwanted, unbidden part in the drama that has overtaken him.

Early in the story, as his role becomes clear and he reflects on his unfortunate, potentially tragic fate – a foot soldier in the war against Evil, knowingly walking into danger despite the risks and hazards – Frodo confides his misgivings to his friend, the powerful wizard Gandalf.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” Frodo tells him.

“So do I,” Gandalf replies, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

Now, while I don’t see the current pandemic as being quite as dramatic as Frodo’s epic struggle with the forces of darkness, I do find myself in sympathy with the sentiment he expresses – “I wish it need not have happened in my time” or any of our times. But then I’m also struck by Gandalf’s reply, “Well, my good fellow, that’s not for you to decide. Your job is to get on with doing what you can, given the circumstances.”

That’s sound advice, I think, and very similar to the implicit advice found in the Serenity Prayer, a well-known verse by American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr.

In his Prayer, Niebuhr makes the following plea:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and wisdom to know the difference.

The message in both cases is the same: coming to know the limits of one’s powers, the extent of one’s influence, the margins of one’s sovereignty is a vital part of becoming an adult. That’s not to say you cannot extend and deepen these limits over time: of course, growth is always possible; but it’s a gradual process, governed by the reality of circumstances and not just by the yearnings of one’s desire.

It’s very common for young children to exhibit what’s known as “magical thinking” – which is to believe that your own preferences and wishes will come true, just because you want them to happen badly enough. Sadly, however, as most, though not all, children come to learn, the world is not always so accommodating. It turns out that, if we are not to be constantly frustrated and resentful, one of the things we need to do as we grow up is to reconcile ourselves to the many ways in which reality intrudes on our dreams and plans. Reconcile ourselves to fate throwing up barriers, hurdles, blockages and brick walls, so that, as Niebuhr suggests, we can finally come to identify the things that we can change and, equally, accept the things we cannot.

How to achieve such serenity? Well, note that “finally” – because the process tends to be a long and circuitous one. There is no simple answer to the question, I’m afraid – because the answer will concern each of us differently, depending on the people we are and the context in which we live and grow.

But what we can do is keep our minds open, work to increase our stock of ideas and theories about how life works, and practice the willpower to do what we think is right, rather than what comes easy. To manage that, even when, as with Frodo, we find ourselves living through times we’d rather have avoided and which just don’t seem fair, is a true test of our character.

And it’s with thoughts of fairness that I would like to finish. The human impulse towards fairness is extremely strong and deeply embedded in our expectations of the world. Research even with very young babies, no more than two or three months old, indicates that they find the unfair treatment of other people both surprising and unsettling, and that they gravitate towards people who treat others kindly.

Where does this sense of fairness originate, why is it so firmly established?

It turns out that other primates – our ape and even some of our monkey cousins – are motivated by a sense of what they perceive as fair and unfair. An experiment first run nearly twenty years ago and repeated many times since, illustrates the innate sense of fairness that runs through many complex social animals. As you watch the experiment and listen to Frans de Waal explain what is happening, watch the monkey on the left and reflect on its behaviour. Treated unfairly, as perhaps we all have been treated unfairly by fate over the last eighteen months, what feelings arise – and how should we cope with them? In a year that has given us cucumber rather than grapes, how to respond? The monkey has one solution. Does yours match it? Can you think to better it? I will leave you to decide.