Two Hundred and Eighty One

The book I’m reading has been a pleasure to read, until now.  The author understood his subject, and explained it clearly and concisely, in its early chapters.  But not in the chapter I’m reading now,

I had to reread this chapter to understand what he was trying to say.  Not because he introduced new ideas in this chapter which are more complex, and more difficult to understand.  After rereading it, I realised the ideas he introduced in this chapter are no more than the logical consequences of those he described in previous chapters.  But he described these over and over again, each time in slightly different words, which leads me to believe he found them difficult to understand, and assumed his readers would, too.

Am I arrogant to assume this chapter was difficult for me to read not because I don’t understand what Boltzmann said, but because the author didn’t understand what Boltzmann said?  I don’t think so.  I can see, through his confused and confusing narrative, how ideas the author introduced in this chapter follow logically from those he described in earlier chapters; but he didn’t seem able to see, and explain, how they do, no matter how many times he tried.  He seems to have memorized Boltzmann’s ideas, but couldn’t follow the reasoning by which he arrived at those ideas.  He only repeated what he remembered without understanding it.  I’ve had many teachers like him, who only repeated what they remembered without understanding it.

Most of the people who attempted to teach me about the world, whether inside or outside a classroom, didn’t understand it as well as I did, and only repeated what they’d been taught.  But instead of congratulating myself on knowing more than my teachers did, I was always painfully aware of how little I knew, and always hoped to find someone who could teach me what I—what we all—need to know.  But I never found that teacher.  So I got into the habit of studying a subject on my own before I was scheduled to study it in school.

I usually couldn’t understand what a teacher was telling us in class unless and until I studied the subject on my own; whereupon it became clear to me.  After that, I became one of the best, if not the best, students in the class.  Other students came to me instead of the teacher for help.

Some teachers resented me for knowing more than they did, and took petty revenge on me.  Some said I cheated, because any student who claimed or seemed to know more than his teacher must be a liar.  

Nowadays many people assume that anyone who claims or seems to know more than they do is a liar.  Some people who claim or seem to know more than others do are indeed liars, but they lie to themselves as well as others.

There’s a difference between ignorance and stupidity.  The ignorant know they’re ignorant, and can be taught what they need to know, if they can find a good teacher.  The stupid can’t be taught, because they think they already know all they need to know—which they think qualifies them to teach others.