BEYOND KNOWLEDGE.

In company of 3 and 4 year-olds, in my son’s nursery; the head-teacher, said I had a letter, so, after ‘goodbyes’, I waited in a corner of the class, while the letter was fetched.

The day’s play commenced with the nursery-teacher, Miss. H, holding up a picture before the kids, who were witting with their tiny legs crossed, on the green carpet, surrounding her feet, in an arc. “Who knows what this is?” she asked. And, raising their hands, shouting ‘ME!’, but impatient, all answered at once, “IT’S A CHIMNEY!”

“Ah...remember kids…classroom voice…” Miss H, said, in a low tone. A slight pause and she asked again, “Who can tell us why we have chimneys?” Ignoring her immediate admonition, the children yelled, again. ‘ME! ME! ME!’ and propped up their hands as they did. Though this time, they waited to be selected. “It’s for Santa”, the chosen girl said, rubbing her hands shyly. “Santa was stuck in ours”, said another boy. And uproar ensued with each child eager, to give their version of Santa’s reward for good behaviour.

The teacher, not wanting to harm the toddlers’ beliefs, and allow maturation its cause, pressed on, cautiously. “No...Chimneys aren’t really for Santa. Can someone clever think about it?” Immediately, I could feel energy zap from the room, and a relative silence. Except my son, who was playing in a corner and not paying attention.

I heard faint taps on the window behind me, and turned around. It was the head-teacher, waving the letter. I tip-toed to the door, in accordance with the mood, and gently closed the door behind me.  

My letter required filling a form, and returning it by post; so I decided to fill it out immediately, and pop it into the red letter box on Headstone Gardens.

Walking through a pathway adjacent the school, underneath towering trees (elms and sycamores), which I suppose have stood here, many years before the Archbishop of Canterbury’s moated timber Manor House, was erected in their bowels, seven centuries ago. Now a museum (Harrow Museum and Heritage Centre), and housing other relics excavated from all over Harrow; ordinary items, but awe-inspiring to the human mind, for their ancientness, and the stories they hold.

Past the museum’s kid’s playground, and a brook, upon which a gang of ducks, paddled quietly; I began to think, “How were the kids to know, that before boilers, and radiators arrived Britain in the seventies, a fireplace in a small front room, as comes with period homes, was traditionally where families gathered to keep warm. And the chimney ducts lets out smoke into the clouds?”

Then, it hit me, “Don’t we adults, harbour beliefs we’re unsure of their authenticity, yet repeat them with straight faces, as ‘facts’?”

“A woman means ‘yes’ when she says ‘no’.” “Once a cheat, is ‘always’ a cheat". “Worst democracy, is better than best dictatorship.” “Only Christians will go to paradise.” “Only Muslims will enter Al-Janna.” “Prayer is the master key.” Many more inconclusive comments.

I remember being eight or nine, and I had begun paying more attention, looking closely at things. I realised my Maths teacher, and Santa, shared same orange and black spectacles, and I smiled at that discovery. But, the hollowness, which this awareness was to bring, shattered my young mind. “If Christmas is a charade” I thought, “What about Easter?” Scared of where this was leading me, I pushed what I had seen (my teacher being Santa) to back of my mind. And gradually, I became normal like every other child, excited about religious celebrations, again. If my classmates went through same torment, I don’t know, as none of us confronted our authority figure: teacher. The gimmick to keep us at our best behaviour was effective, beyond the stick.

Passage of information from one to another: Parent to child; TV to viewer; Book to reader; Teacher to student, etcetera, is knowledge. And by this meme, something nearer to social cohesion has been achieved amongst humans. But, consulting history, I find myself asking, “What about those times when social psychology, had made societies act inhumanely, e.g. Burning of witches; Slavery; Holocaust; Female Genital Mutilation; Killing of multiple births; Royalty; Terrorism; Wars, and more?” So far, we know only our specie records history, at least via writing. Thus, there’s nothing ‘written’, that isn’t a human’s expression. Therefore, all must be critiqued; especially those prescribing a way of life, as one can’t rule out errors, and, the innate temptation of writers to tell a story, by their thought, in their own favour.

I find when I’m asked my name, I respond within two seconds. Anything longer than that, it’s because I was thinking of a suitable name to falsify. This space between question and answer is ‘thought.’ But, if the question is one I haven’t answered several times, like “How do astronauts return from space?” I find myself silent, just as the children were. Trying to access my memory pool, where I had stored the knowledge passed on to me. And when I couldn’t find an answer there, I eventually confessed. “I don’t know.” It was in one of this silent recollection, that I realised something that shocked me. It shocked me so much, my knees almost gave way. Everything that I claim to know, everything that informs my loyalty, and even fanaticism, are what other people have passed on to me. I have no single thought of my own.

“Are we (humans) educated to become unique minds, or to fit into a programme (society), like mass product on an assembly line?” I watched a dog-walker cross the road on the zebra-crossing on Headstone Gardens, while a delivery-van driver, waited patiently at edge of the crossing. “Is this why we see nationality more important than humanity, at a time we now know human race journeyed ‘Out Of Africa’? If education leaves us with a predetermined and rigid mind, what then is brainwashing?”

Our species have long advanced ideas, and discarded obsolete ones, from Stone Age to Computer Age. Were not for new thinkers, probably I’d still be striking stones for fire, and chasing wild game with my stone spear (some still do). New thinkers are mainly called ‘crazy’, but being able to look analytically, draw up hypothesis, which becomes fact, when all doubts have been eliminated, is the human genius.

In early 1900s, a mid-twenties physicist, Albert Einstein, dared to critique a scientific ‘theory’ – Philosophie Naturalis Principia Mathematica – that had been authored about 200 years earlier, by a multi-genius, Sir Isaac Newton. The Blue-ray DVD, Smartphone, and many more ultra-modern devices are direct benefits of Einstein’s upgrade: ‘Quantum Theory, and Theory of General relativity.’

At the Off-Licence, right on the junction of Headstone Gardens, and Harrow View, where I intended to buy an envelope and stamp. A bent woman, elderly, with very creased face, and a completely shrivelled neck like a turkey’s, came out of the shop. Her thin lips twitched uncontrollably as she moved, I suppose she breathes through them. I stood back, to grant her passage. And in a motion that took lots of care, she eventually looked up at me, and attempted a smile. The four-legged walker she leaned on to walk, clicked on the concrete slabs with every little movement of her shaky hands, as she negotiated the street bend, at snail speed. I couldn’t help but wonder, “Had she once played in the orchards around here, as a child?” “Did she know when Nazi bombs hit places around Harrow in summer of 1940?” But away from all that, “Has she lived free as a human of reason, or, by knowledge?”