Lost in Thought, Part 4
Dear Reader,
Chapter 1 of Lost in Thought has a most excellent paragraph reflecting on reading. It’s about the reading of one book, but the description has wider application:
“[T]he book Augustine writes, the Confessions, has itself been a limitless source of discovery; it has been read for more than a thousand years and still draws in those who seek to get to the bottom of things. Readers may use their negative reactions to the book to figure something out, or follow Augustine part of the way and take a detour elsewhere, or follow him all the way and trace out his path further than he did; or a reader may spend a lifetime, as many have spent their lifetimes, simply trying to understand Augustine himself, for his own sake.”
Isn’t that glorious?
I know readers who’ve spent a lifetime puzzling out Plato’s Republic; I know that I have a few on my own list that very well may become lifetime reads. And I know that I’ve also experienced the first three reading responses that Hitz lists.
As a small comment, I have observed that school, whether K-12 or college, often beats these potential reads from our heads. We’re taught that reading is monotonic or within a singular discipline.
There are plenty of pragmatic reasons to disagree with such a stance—it harms innovation etc etc—but I don’t really care about those reasons, as they are usually for practical ends. And I’m not so much concerned with the practical ends in this instance, though I recognize them.
I’m just not into monotonic reads because such an approach to reading is wrong. To be clear, I don’t question the value of monotonic or disciplinary reading—I question labeling either of them as the sum or sole purpose of reading. (Lest some readers worry I’m setting up a straw man here, my evidence for advocates of disciplinary reading runs this way: look at how the general population interprets reading; look at what students typically infer a reading life looks like. So even if no single teacher or professor has ever stated that disciplinary or monotonic reading is the cat’s pajamas, it’s what students take away from their education. And students aren’t simply taking that idea from the aether.)
Monotonic or disciplinary reading is limiting reading. Sometimes you need those limits, boundaries on your read so you can accomplish a specific task or produce the craft of your specific academic guild. But those limits aren’t permanent, nor do they constitute “real” reading. They are part of reading, sometimes quite important parts, but they are not the sum.
That’s why I found the above quote from Lost in Thought so delightful: it summarizes what I often try to communicate to other readers, though my attempts are longer winded and less evocative. Consider that quote again. How many reads and reading responses of your own does it reflect?
On a related note, I should mention that the Confessions can be read for theology, philosophy, history, and, interestingly enough, memoir. (Usually people will call it an early example of an autobiography, but as it is in the confessional mode of much memoir writing today, I’ve chosen the more contemporary term, the line between autobiography and memoir a much-debated one.) I’ve actually read the Confessions in a history class and for a great books course, both in undergrad.
Not every book contains that much potential—Augustine’s Confessions has earned its consideration as a classic—but many excellent works contain more than a singular reading vision can account for. That’s part of their excellence.
You might have noted that Zena Hitz is bumping up against Neil Postman’s quote from my previous post. Their placement in the same week was indeed intentional. I’ll let you decide how well they play to together.
Happy reading to you,
Kreigh