I have to say, anxiety about the Great Sorting gives me far more anxiety than the prospect that my personal passions, or what I construe as the representative passions of the “contemporary,” won’t survive the Sorting. It makes me think Kafka was right that impatience was our original sin, a cudgel against intolerable, unpreventable ignorance. Nothing can close the gap between what we are and what the Sorting will make and remake of us. What maybe hurts, is realizing that.