Genius

by Clare Nonhebel

CHAPTER 55

  They found Eldred hunched on the floor with open books spread out around him. He was so absorbed that he jumped when Mr Clinford's voice sounded from just behind him.

  'What have you found to read, Eldred?’

  'I was trying to find out the dividing line between philosophy and psychology,’ Eldred said, 'because I wasn't sure which to start reading first.’

  'Did you find where the division is?’ Mr Clinford asked.

  'I'm not sure,’ said Eldred, 'but I think philosophy might be about different ways to live and psychology might be about why people act the way they do. I'm not convinced that there are all those different ways to live, though. I mean, not little differences like some families having tea at six and some having supper at seven, but different ways of being a person and experiencing life.’

  'It's an interesting subject,’ Mr Clinford said, 'and you seem to have dived into it at the deep end.’

  'You see,’ said Edgar, 'this is what he does. He has to find out for himself. He won't learn from people who know better than him. Eldred, you could ask Mr Clinford what philosophy and that stuff is. He's a headmaster; he knows about these things.’

  'It's much better,’ said Mr Clinford, 'for a child to ask questions and be guided to search for the answers than to be given all the answers on a plate. I would rather have a child with an enquiring mind than a child who passively accepts what his teacher tells him.’

  'A zeal to learn,’ said Eldred.

  Mr Clinford smiled. 'Quite.’

  'It's not that I don't want to learn from people,’ Eldred told him. 'It's just that most times there isn't anyone to ask - not anyone who knows.’

  Edgar emitted a faint spluttering noise.

  Mr· Clinford bent down and picked up a couple of the books. 'No one can give you all the answers on any subject,’ he said. 'What we can give you here is help to know where to look. These books you've picked, Eldred, are quite advanced. You'd do better to start with this.’ He selected from the shelf a volume entitled Introduction to Philosophy.

  'I read that,’ said Eldred.

  'Oh, you've read this book?’ said Mr Clinford. 'Where did you find it before? In the public library?’

  'No, here,’ said Eldred. 'It was the first one I read when I came in here.’

  'He doesn't read properly,’ Edgar apologized. 'He learnt some speed-reading method from a book when he was four or five. I don't know how much he takes in.’

  'Didn't you find what you were looking for, in this book?’ Mr Clinford asked. 'Did you skim through it and find nothing to interest you - was that it?’

  'No,’ said Eldred. 'I wanted a general idea of what philosophy was, but then I didn't know how long I'd be in here for; I thought the time might be quite short, so when I got an overview of different branches of philosophy then I picked one or two to look at separately. I do know,’ he said with dignity, 'that I can't learn all about it in one hour.’

  'And the topics you selected,’ said Mr Clinford, reading the titles of Eldred's choice of books, 'were phenomenology, ontology and existentialism. How far did you get with understanding them, Eldred?’

  'Not very far, really,’ said Eldred. 'It seems complicated.’

  'That's a fair assessment,’ said Mr Clinford. 'It's not an easy subject at all.’

  'It made me wonder,’ said Eldred, 'if this is the best way of looking at it. I mean, it's interesting and all that, but how useful is it in showing people how to live? Do you believe there are different ways of being?’

  'Different ways of perceiving reality, perhaps,’ Mr Clinford suggested, 'rather than different ways of being a human being. That is to say, human beings share more or less the same range of experiences and reactions and even the same kinds of thoughts and feelings, but we don't all perceive life in the same way. We all come at it from different angles, if you like, and give priority to different things. We choose to react differently from one another and we vary in the ways we express our feelings and form our thoughts.’

  'Why?’ asked Eldred.

  Edgar looked at Mildred and raised his eyebrows. Mildred shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other and clutched her handbag. They were both feeling the strain.

  'Now that would bring you into the sphere of psychology,’ said Mr Clinford, apparently enjoying the conversation. 'Factors defining individual personality - nature versus nurture: a person's inherent disposition (assuming there is such a thing, which some philosophers question) versus their social conditioning, their personal experiences, the circumstances of their life, the people who influence them.’

  Eldred was thinking. 'Would that mean that a theory in philosophy, like whether you can prove if there is a God, is true for some people and not for other people?’ he enquired. 'Could some personalities perceive some things as proofs that God exists while other persons see the same things as proof that he doesn't?’

  Mr Clinford opened his mouth to answer.

  'Or,’ said Eldred, continuing, 'could it be that psychological factors actually make it impossible for a certain person to perceive God in any way, whatever the evidence? Or, could it be that social conditioning, for example, might predispose a person only to be able to perceive a distorted notion of God - like a tyrant or a big computer-mind - and then if that person also had a truthful disposition they would be obliged to reject this image, and then they would believe they were rejecting the real God and that God didn't exist, when in fact they were only proving that this tyrant-bloke or this genius figure couldn't really be true? Or might it happen that someone perceived themselves as totally religious and convinced about God's existence when in fact they were believing in an image they'd created in their own mind? And in that case, would ...?’

  He stopped. Mr Clinford was laughing. Edgar was glaring at him. Mildred was looking at the floor. Eldred perceived his mother was tired, uncomfortable and embarrassed, that Edgar was out of his element and angry and probably wanted his tea, which was now an hour overdue, and that Mr Clinford ... he wasn't sure what Mr Clinford thought and he didn't want to make assumptions.

  'Sorry,’ he said humbly. 'We probably should go home now.’ He bent down and picked up the two remaining books, Beginning Psychology and A Guide to Transactional Analysis and replaced them on the shelves.

  'It's been very interesting talking to you, Eldred,’ said Mr Clinford seriously. He took Eldred's hand and shook it, man to man. 'I'm delighted to hear you ask so many questions and to see the interest you take in such a range of subjects. May I suggest something?’

  'Yes,’ said Eldred. He was embarrassed now. He had been carried away again. He had shown up his parents and overstepped the mark with this important man. His father would tell him he lacked respect for his elders and betters, as he had told him so many times before. Eldred wished he didn't forget things like that so easily, when other facts stayed in his memory with no trouble at all.

  'Your thirst for knowledge is a valuable asset,’ Mr Clinford told him. 'But if you try to learn everything you come across, chasing all these topics, you'll scatter your mind in so many directions at once that you'll become - yes, scattered is the word. Restless, always worrying about what you don't know yet and what there is still to learn.’

  'That's how he is,’ said Edgar. 'Isn't it, Eldred?’

  'Maybe,’ Eldred confessed. He felt ashamed.

  Mr Clinford put an arm round his shoulders and steered him past the bookshelves. 'All these subjects,’ he said, pointing at the signs on the shelves, 'all this history, philosophy, science, biography, literature ... are the product of years of work by thousands of minds, each one an expert in some little area of a vast field of knowledge. And that's what you are, Eldred, a contributor to the world's great store of knowledge. Everyone has their own contribution to make to the world, just by being in it and being themselves. But you can't know everything or be everyone or learn all that all the other people know.’

  'I know that,’ said
Eldred. He sounded despairing.

  'You're not meant to,’ said Mr Clinford reassuringly. 'You don't need to know everything, do you? You only need to learn the information you will require to be Eldred Jones and to make the contribution to the world that Eldred Jones is designed to make. All other knowledge apart from that can be acquired by other people who need it to fulfil their own particular function in the world.’

  Eldred wrinkled his nose. 'I hadn't thought of it like that,’ he admitted. 'But how will I know what I need to know to be Eldred Jones in the world?’

  'You'll be guided by circumstances,’ said Mr Clinford firmly. 'You don't have to work it all out for yourself. Now what I've proposed to your parents and they will talk over with you at home, is that you allow this school to become one of those circumstances. You can either come here as a pupil - which is what I would personally prefer - or, as your father has certain reservations about you leaving your present school, you could stay there and come here for after-school activities such as the chess club or information technology workshops or science clubs and so on.’

  Eldred looked at his father. Edgar had never expressed any reservations at all about Eldred leaving his present school. Was this about fees and money? Was he meant to take the hint and leave Edgar a let-out by saying that he, Eldred, would prefer not to leave his friends and become a pupil here?

  Mr Clinford beckoned to Eldred and led him out of the library to the top of the flight of stairs leading down to the entrance hall. Once again, Eldred had the impression of being a child led by an adult. The sensation was unfamiliar. His parents followed them.

  'This is something you will discuss with your parents, Eldred, as a family,’ Mr Clinford said, 'and your father will let me know the outcome when you have reached your decision. I realize it's something you need time to think about and to consider together.’

  He smiled at Edgar who, Eldred was surprised to notice, smiled back. Mildred, white with tiredness and the effort to look interested and alert, put out her hand mutely to return Mr Clinford's handshake.

  'I'll look forward to hearing from you, Mr Jones,’ the headmaster said, waving them down the stairs, 'in your own time. And Eldred ...’ he added as an afterthought, 'Don't worry!’

  'All right,’ said Eldred automatically. But in his heart he knew this was a skill he hadn't yet acquired.

  Outside the front gate, Eldred took his mother's hand. 'We'll go home and have tea now, shall we?’ he said comfortingly.

  'Which way is the bus-stop for going back?’ Edgar asked. 'Did you notice when we got here? I forgot to look.’

  'Left,’ said Eldred. 'Opposite the bank.’

  Things were back to normal. He was the adult.