Intellectuality

Recently I realized that as a person who teaches children aged 9 and 10, I am not generally called upon to know anything substantial in the adult world. Instead I spend my days teaching 3 digit multiplication and long division, how to write a good and coherent sentence and how to talk out problems with friends. I teach about things that have historical significance for our state, (like the Spanish coming to California) I listen to children report about wild animals they have researched, and the art I get to see and offer an opinion on is limited to things like this model of a wild boar, made by my sweet student Tyler. I have no television, radio or internet at home, so I usually spend my evenings taking walks and spending time with my 12 year old, sometimes watching old episodes of beloved shows, (I think Family Ties is next on our list) and occasionally indulging in group TV show watching for shows like Lost. All of these things have satisfied me until this last week when I realized that I have done something horrible. I've let my thinking mind go.

I used to pride myself on knowing things, both trivial and important, and I often took comfort with my ability to hold my own in all manner of conversations, usually able to understand what was going on in a minimal way at worst, unless the conversation was about golf or something. That all changed last week when I was part of a conversation about Floquet, which somehow led to more talk on something called the panopticon. During the conversation, I smiled lamely and nodded, looked at my shoes, studied the pattern of the carpet, played with a piece of hair, and bent down to pet my dog who was sleeping nearby, momentarily jealous that she doesn't have to worry about having heard of these things.

The leader of the conversation, a gracious and really lovable person I have just recently come to know, was aware that I had gotten lost in the woods of this academic discourse and asked me if I knew what she was talking about. I had to admit that I didn't, and there was no pointing or laughing or anything. In fact, she humbly said it wasn't worth knowing about, but I know she is writing a book that has something to do with Floquet (another story). I listened to the explanation of the panopticon, which I could at least figure out through my knowledge of Greek and Latin root words, but my ears perked up when I heard the name Jeremy Bentham, the fellow who dreamed up the panopticon. Ha! At last! Someone I had heard of, but I couldn't place where. I vowed to Google that name as soon as I got to a computer.

The following Monday, safe in my classroom where I am considered to be somewhat of an expert, I entered Jeremy Bentham's name in the box on the Google page. An image search helped me place the name. There were several old timey pictures, of a man who was obviously The Jeremy Bentham, but then also a picture I recognized immediately. Of course! I flushed red in the empty room and realized that I hadn't heard of this guy (Jeremy Bentham 1748-1832, philosopher and social reformer) because I was smart, I had heard of him because I watch Lost, and it was the name Locke gave to himself when he returned to LA in a coffin. Great episode, and now I know more about the Lost mythology, but it didn't make me feel very smart.

I don't know how to fix this problem in the long term. I do want to know things, but am intrinsically lazy and frequently choose activities that feed my sensual and physical experience side rather than my thinking and "this would make a great high minded discussion" side. I sense a new years resolution on the horizon around this, but for the next two months I guess I will continue to wallow in intellectual squalor and be satisfied with being the "smartest" person in a room of fourth graders.