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Chapter Four
“I cannot teach anybody anything. I can only make them think.”
—Socrates
University of Birmingham
Birmingham, United Kingdom
Jameson stood in front of the large lecture hall as eighty pairs of eyes stared back at him from the seats that rose up and spread out in a fan pattern, almost like in a Colosseum. An apt analogy, as in the beginning, each class had seemed like a Roman public spectacle, with him lecturing and waiting for the thumbs-up or thumbs-down that would determine if he’d managed to entertain. Unfortunately for him, if it had been the Colosseum, he would’ve been sentenced to death.
At the beginning of each term, his Introduction to Philosophy course was always filled, as it had become a rite of passage for the students who came to Birmingham. They wanted to see the prince teach a class. It didn’t take long for people to learn it was ProfessorLloyd, not Prince Jameson or the Duke of Wessex. He’d had loads of information he’d been eager to convey, and that, combined with his distinctly not royal style, had led to high dropout rates.
He’d quickly learned to adapt his teaching style. Modern students had a shorter attention span than their predecessors and they needed time to process the information. They tended to get more out of a lecture if they had the opportunity to engage with him versus sitting and listening to him spew material. That shift in technique had helped him improve each term, which had boosted his already high gratification in his job.
Some terms were better than others. This class, with its ninety percent capacity, counted as a personal victory. If they could do their part and show up, he could ensure the subject matter caught and retained their interest.
He glanced to his left at the three students sitting in chairs facing the far wall. “Masks on and covering your eyes. Ready?”
When they’d donned the black satin eye masks and given him the predetermined ready sign, Jameson turned back to face the rest of his class. “Book seven of theRepublicgives us Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, one of the most famous images in all of philosophy.”
He pressed the button on the clicker in his hand and the lights dimmed. Nervous snickers filled the air and Jameson smiled.
Same reaction every time.
He grabbed the industrial-strength flashlight off the lecture stand and strode over until he was on the other side of the room, facing the backs of the students sitting in the chairs.
“Masks off,” he told them, before beginning. “A group of prisoners have been confined in a cavern since birth, with no knowledge of the outside world. They are chained, facing a wall, bound by feet and necks, unable to turn their heads, while a fire behind them gives off a faint light.”
He turned on the flashlight. The students’ shadows were projected on the wall in front of them.
“Occasionally forms pass by the fire, carrying figures of animals and other objects that cast shadows on the wall. The prisoners name and classify these silhouettes, believing they are perceiving actual entities.”
Jameson gestured to the two students sitting in the front row, who stood and walked in front of his flashlight, holding their bags and books aloft.
“Thank you,” he said when they scurried back to their seats. He continued his tale. “Suddenly, one prisoner is freed and is dragged outside for the first time. And since we’re not in the habit of inducing physical violence and if I send you outside you probably won’t come back”—laughter followed this remark—“everyone except Isla, put your masks back on. Isla, keep yours off, but stand and face the class.”
The girl sitting in the chair on the far end did as he directed. Jameson turned the overhead lights back on.
“The sunlight hurts her eyes, and she finds the new environment disorienting. When told the things around her are real, while the shadows were mere reflections, she cannot believe it. The shadows appeared much clearer to her. But gradually, her eyes adjust, until she can look at reflections in the water—for our purposes that will be your classmates—and then at actual objects directly. And finally”—he pointed overhead—“at the sun, whose light is the ultimate source of everything she has seen.”
Jameson looked at Isla, who was blinking rapidly. “Now, I want you to go back and stand in front of your fellow prisoners.”
Once Isla got into position, he turned the overhead lights back off and instructed the other students to once again remove their masks.
“The prisoner returns to the cave to share everything she has learned, but she is no longer used to the darkness and has a hard time seeing the shadows on the wall. The other prisoners think the journey has made her stupid and blind and violently resist any attempts to free them. Again, for the purposes of this class, a simple shake of your heads will suffice.”
More laughter.
“Let’s give all of our participants a round of applause.”
He turned off the flashlight and turned on the overhead lights as the students gingerly made their way back to their seats.
“Plato used this allegory to explain what it’s like being a philosopher trying to educate the public. And over two thousand years later, it’s still being used. In fact, what if I told you a popular movie uses this same symbolic narrative?”
“Which one?” a student called out from the back.
Jameson knew the reaction his response was going to get. “The Matrix.”
