THE VIEW FROM
Studying a law degree is a lot like peeling an onion. From the outside it looks a little dry and unappetising, but nicely symmetrical and ultimately nourishing. When you start peeling layers, however, it becomes obvious that the apparent symmetry is merely the result of years of repetition, covering itself with the same insubstantial film year after year. If you stop at this point, you depart cynical, misty-eyed, but still faithful that there is some logic that you haven't quite grasped. However, if you go further you gradually acclimatise to the vapours that used to moisten your eyes, and become so used to the process of peeling that you don't pause to think what you'll find when the last layer is gone, or what you will do if there is no ‘last’ layer—if there is nothing but layers.
For some, the idea of being paid to peel these layers is abhorrent, so they start dicing from the outset. Lightly stir-fry the pieces of the law in a wok, add some chopped capsicum, some basil, an egg, salt and pepper to taste and you have a theory of law—not very much like the original article but far more palatable. You needn't sacrifice your principles and you can be objective because, by frying the onion, you won't be affected by the vapours that seem to blur everyone else's vision.
Others reject the onion entirely, looking for alternatives