The smell of coffee this morning reminded me of something I read last week—how coffeehouses in 18th century London were called "penny universities." For a penny, you could buy a cup and listen to debates on everything from politics to poetry. No formal credentials required, just curiosity and the price of admission.
I spent an hour at the library today, surrounded by students hunched over laptops. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of keyboards. It struck me how solitary our learning has become. Those Georgian coffeehouses were loud, smoky, contentious places where ideas collided and arguments spilled from table to table. Someone's theory of governance might be challenged by a merchant, a doctor, a writer—all in the same room, all equal for that penny.
There's something we've lost in that transition, I think. The historian Habermas called these spaces "the public sphere," where private citizens could gather as a public and hold power accountable through rational debate. But rationality was never as neat as it sounds. People raised their voices. They changed their minds mid-argument. They learned by being wrong in front of others.