A world of low cunning
Walter Humes
Bernie Madoff, a financial psychopath
In Sebastian Faulks’s 2009 novel ‘A Week in December’ two of the more sympathetic characters, Jenni and Gabriel, discuss their experience of schooling. For Jenni, it was not a matter of ‘learning’ but of ‘getting through’.
Gabriel, who is older, is more positive: ‘I suppose I was lucky enough to be educated at a time when teachers still thought children could handle knowledge. They trusted us. Then there came a time when they decided that because not every kid in the class could understand or remember those things they wouldn’t teach them any more because it wasn’t fair on the less bright ones. So they withheld knowledge. Then I suppose the next lot of teachers didn’t have the knowledge to withhold’.
It is not hard to see how this analysis could be linked to recent concerns about grade inflation in school examinations and university degree classifications, or to reports of poor standards of literacy and numeracy among some teachers, and developed into a simplistic rant about the demise of traditional values. But Faulks offers a more subtle interpretation of the cultural effects of changes in education, linked to the broader themes of the novel (social fragmentation, the dangerous appeal of virtual reality in an electronic age, the power of money to corrupt and distort people’s lives).
Gabriel goes on to point out how the ‘cultural transmission’ view of education has been largely abandoned – that is, the notion that each generation has a responsibility to preserve, pass on and extend the accumulated wisdom of the human race. The pace of modern life means that what matters is the here and now, not the past, and the notion of knowledge for its own sake, unconnected to any potential commercial benefit, is regarded as hopelessly old-fashioned.
Low cunning becomes more important than intelligence. Those with plentiful supplies of it can persuade the masses that they really do want an endless diet of celebrity trash on television.
This mindset can be seen not only in the general population but also among those at the top. Gabriel observes: ‘I think that what’s happened is that because they themselves know less than their predecessors, innovators and leaders today have remade the world in their own image...They’ve remodelled the world so that ignorance is no longer a disadvantage. And I should think that they’ll carry on reshaping the world to accommodate a net loss of knowledge’. This view runs counter to the oft-stated belief that the internet has resulted in a massive expansion of knowledge. But access to lots of information (and misinformation) is not the same as personal engagement with the kinds of learning processes that lead to real knowledge. In this sense, Gabriel’s fear is well-founded.
Against this background, low cunning becomes more important than intelligence. Those with plentiful supplies of it can persuade the masses that they really do want an endless diet of celebrity trash on television, or that their lives will be transformed by cosmetic surgery or the purchase of more and more consumer goods. Is it any wonder that when these illusions turn to dust, they take refuge in drink and drugs, or retreat into the virtual worlds of social networking sites and computer games?
The most loathsome character in Faulks’s book is a hugely successful city trader, a financial psychopath, who never reads a book but is adept at exploiting the greed and fear of others. He stands as a powerful symbol of the destructive power of money. Although he has to listen to a few home truths at a dinner party, he shrugs them off as his latest coup comes to a successful conclusion. He is untroubled by the fact his actions will cause banks to go broke, and millions to lose their jobs or go without food. At the end, he thinks ‘I have mastered this world...To me there is no mystery, no nuance and no complication. I am a man who is alive to the spirit of his time.’
This statement could stand as a sinister testimony to the casual acceptance of ignorance. Those who aspire to real knowledge seek to investigate mysteries, to understand nuances and to explore complications. Such activities take time and the outcome may be uncertain. In a world where politicians seek ‘quick-fix’ answers to complex questions, and business managers set operational targets to be achieved within a strict time-frame, a slow, painstaking approach to the pursuit of truth is seen as a luxury that cannot be afforded. The scene is set for the ascendancy of leaders who are strong on assertion and self-confidence, but who are deficient in knowledge and understanding.
Prior to his retirement Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland. He is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling.
