the previous question, “Should we read at all?” Now the value of
reading has, in times past, been seriously doubted by thinkers and
non-thinkers. The philosopher Democritus put out his eyes so that,
ceasing to read, he might think. We are not going to follow his
example. But we can readily sympathize with him when we think of the
many learned men who have read themselves into dreamy stupidity; men
who know what everybody else thought, but who never have any thoughts
of their own. We must admit that the arguments of these cranks are at
least good medicine for the prevalent belief that the more a man reads
the more he will know and the better thinker he will become.
Learning to think by reading is like learning to draw by tracing.
In each case we make the work of another man our basis, instead of
observing directly from Nature. The practice has its value, it is true;
but no man ever became a great artist by tracing, and no man will ever
become a great thinker by reading. It can never become a substitute
for thought. At best, as John Locke says, “Reading furnishes the mind
only with materials of knowledge, it is thinking makes what we read
ours.”[15]
Our problem may be divided in two parts: (1) What ratio should our
reading bear to independent thinking, and (2) how should we read when
we do read?
It may be thought that we can learn something about the first question
by investigating the practice of great thinkers. But the outcome
of such an investigation is likely to be disappointment. Kant, for
instance, was an omnivorous reader; so were Huxley and Sir William
Hamilton; and outside the circle of philosophers, men as unlike as
Gibbon, Macaulay, Milton and Thomas A. Edison. On the other hand,
Spencer seldom ever read, and Hobbes is famous for his remark that if
he had read as much as other men he would have known as little. Auguste
Comte was unique in that he read copiously until he conceived his
Positive Philosophy, and then hardly at all until the end of his life.
Even were it found that most great thinkers adhered to nearly the same
practice, it would prove little; for how could we tell whether they
were good thinkers on account of, or in spite of it?
We can agree a priori, however, with the remark of Schopenhauer that
“the safest way to have no thoughts of one’s own is to take up a book
every moment one has nothing else to do.” And we may agree with him
further: “A man should read only when his thoughts stagnate at their
source, which will happen often enough even with the best of minds. On
the other hand, to take up a book for the purpose of scaring away one’s
own original thoughts is a sin against the Holy Spirit. It is like
running away from Nature to look at a museum of dried plants, or gaze
at a landscape in copper-plate.”[16]
It would be folly to lay down any fixed mathematical ratio between
the time we should devote to reading and the time we should give to
thinking. But one hour given to reading plus one hour given to thinking
would be certainly more beneficial than two hours devoted entirely to
reading.
You can find quite a number of serious-minded men who put by a certain
period each day for reading. But how many of them put by any time at
all for thinking? It would be unjust to say they do not think. But at
best their thinking is merely accidental—and apparently considered so.
Surely it is as important that we lay aside a definite period each day
for thinking as it is that we lay aside some time for reading. But how
much this time should be and whether it should bear any specific ratio
to the time given to reading can best be decided after a consideration
of the problem of how to read.
This problem has unfortunately been much misconceived. Those who have
laid stress on the maxim, “A good book should be read over and over
again,” have done so in the belief that this is the best way to get
the most out of a particular book. But the object of reading is not to
get the best out of any one book, but out of reading in general. A
realization of this end will change our problem somewhat.
It will bring us to a consideration, for example, of the law of
diminishing returns. While the more we re-read a book the more we get
out of it, it must be remembered that with a few possible exceptions,
every time we re-read it we add less to our knowledge than we did
the previous time. This means that we can usually make much faster
progress by reading other books, in which case we do not merely read
over what we already know for the most part. Whether re-reading is ever
justified, and when, is a question which will be considered a little
later.
The law of diminishing returns applies to an entire subject as well
as to a single book. That is to say, past a certain point, every book
we read on a particular subject, while it will probably add to our
knowledge, will not yield as much return as a book of equal merit on
another subject, new to us.
The problem of reading asks how we can acquire the greatest number of
ideas, and how we can arrive at truth rather than the verdict of an
author. It assumes a limited time and asks how we can use that time
most profitably. Not least of all, it asks how we can best combine our
reading with original thought.
From the remarks already made, it is evident that we cannot prescribe
any one method for dealing with all books. Even works of similar nature
and merit will be treated in different ways, depending on the order
in which we read them, and like conditions. The mastery of any book
will not be an end in itself. It will be subordinated to the larger
end of obtaining the best from reading as a whole. But for the sake of
clearness, I shall for the present consider our end as the mastery of
some particular subject, and shall indicate a plan of reading to best
serve that end. Needful qualifications will come later.
I shall first outline a typical plan of study, and then review and
explain it in detail.
Assuming you have chosen a subject, your first step should be to do a
little unaided thinking on it. Next I would advise the selection of a
comprehensive text book. This should be read critically and written
note made of the problems taken up which you do not believe have
been adequately treated, or the solutions of which are in any way
unsatisfactory. These you should think out for yourself. A second book
may in some cases be read in the same thorough manner as this first
one, and the problems recorded in the same way. After that all books
on that subject may be read “hop, skip and jump” fashion, for the new
problems or solutions they suggest.
I do not expect the foregoing plan to be strictly adhered to, for the
nature of the subject studied will make certain changes necessary.
However, it demands more detailed explanation and perhaps defense.
Let us take up the first step advised—giving a little unaided thought
to the subject. My only reason for advising “a little” thinking, is
that I know if I asked more the reader would probably do nothing at
all. Indeed many readers will fail to see the necessity of thinking
about a subject before studying it. Many may even question the
possibility of doing so. “How is a man to think about a subject on
which he knows nothing?” you ask. Let us, however, consider.
The very fact that you want to study a subject implies that the
phenomena with which it deals are not clear to you. You desire to
study economics, for instance, because you feel that you do not
understand everything you should about the production, distribution and
consumption of wealth. In other words, something about these phenomena
puzzles you—you have some unsolved problems. Very well. These problems
are your materials. Try to solve them.
“But how can I solve them when I know nothing of economics?”
Kindly consider what a science is. A science is nothing more than the
organized solution of a number of related problems. These problems and
their answers have been changed and added to the ages through. But when
the science first started there was no literature on it. It originated
from the attempts of men to solve those problems which spontaneously
occurred to them. Before they started thinking these men knew nothing
of the science. The men who came after them availed themselves of the
thoughts of those before, and added to these. The whole process has
been one of thought added to thought. Yet, in spite of this, people
still cling to the belief, even if they do not openly avow it, that
we never can make any headway by thinking, but that in order to be
educated, or cultured, or to have any knowledge, we must be reading,
reading, reading.[17]
I almost blush for this elaborate defense. Everybody will admit the
necessity for thinking—in the abstract. But how do we regard it in the
concrete? When we see a man reading a good book, we think of him as
educating himself. When we perceive a man without a book, even though
we may happen to know that he is engaged in reflection, we do not look
upon him as educating himself, though we may regard him as intelligent.
In short, our habitual idea of thought is that it is a process of
reviewing what we already know, but not of adding anything to our
knowledge. Of course no one would openly avow this opinion, but it is
the common acting belief none the less. The objections to thought are
inarticulate and half-conscious. I am trying to make them articulate in
order to answer them.
To return, then, to the remark that we should use as materials for
unaided thinking the problems which occur spontaneously. You will
find when you begin to solve these that other problems will arise,
and that up to a certain point, the deeper you go into a subject—the
more critical you are in your thinking—the more problems will occur.
Perhaps it would be too much to ask you to solve all of these. Yet
even a little of this preliminary thinking will be of immense help
in reading. It will give you a far better sense of the importance of
different problems which a book considers, and you will not judge
their significance merely by the space it devotes to them. An author
may indeed bring before us certain problems which had not hitherto
occurred, and stimulate in us a sense of their importance. But this
artificial stimulation can never take the place of natural and
spontaneous wonder. Once we have obtained a solution of a problem
which has arisen spontaneously and from within, we do not easily forget
it. Our independent thinking, too, will have given us an idea of the
difficulties presented by problems, and will make us more critical in
reading and more appreciative of the solutions of an author. Not least
of all, if we read first we are extremely liable to fall into the
routine and traditional ways of considering a subject, whereas if we
first think, we are more likely in our insophistication to hit upon an
idea of real originality.
One last objection to thinking before reading remains. Schopenhauer has
answered it in his forcible manner:
“A man may have discovered some portion of truth or wisdom after
spending a great deal of time and trouble in thinking it over for
himself, adding thought to thought; and it may sometimes happen that
he could have found it all ready to hand in a book and spared himself
the trouble. But even so it is a hundred times more valuable, for he
has acquired it by thinking it out for himself. For it is only when
we gain our knowledge in this way that it enters as an integral part,
a living member, into the whole system of our thought; that it stands
in complete and firm relation with what we know, that it is understood
with all that underlies it and follows from it, that it wears the
color, the precise shade, the distinguishing mark, of our own way of
thinking, that it comes exactly at the right time, just as we felt the
need for it; that it stands fast and cannot be forgotten.”[18]
Despite the strong case that Schopenhauer makes out, I am satisfied
with my former advice—that a little thinking will suffice. Not only
because, as already said, the reader will probably do nothing if
advised to do more; but because after a certain amount of thinking
has been done, it is more profitable to avail ourselves of the wisdom
of the ages, stored in books, and to do our thinking after we have
acquired the main outlines of this wisdom. For when we think a problem
out, with the feeling that even after we have obtained a solution we
shall probably find it in a book later, we have not the incentive that
we have when we feel we have covered most of the old ground and that
thinking may bring us into new territory.
The practice of Gibbon remains to be considered: “After glancing my
eye over the design and order of a new book, I suspended the perusal
until I had finished the task of self-examination; till I had revolved
in a solitary walk all that I knew or believed, or had thought on the
subject of the whole work, or of some particular chapter. I was then
qualified to discern how much the author added to my original stock,
and I was sometimes satisfied by the agreement, sometimes armed by the
opposition of our ideas.”[19]
The trouble with this method is that it is not critical enough;
that is, critical in the proper sense. It almost amounts to making
sure what your prejudices are, and then taking care to use them as
spectacles through which to read. We always do judge a book more or
less by our previous prejudices and opinions. We cannot help it. But
our justification lies in the manner we have obtained these opinions;
whether we have infected them from our environment, or have held
them because we wanted them to be true, or have arrived at them from
substantial evidence and sound reasoning. If Gibbon had taken a
critical attitude toward his former knowledge and opinions to make sure
they were correct, and had then applied them to his reading, his course
would have been more justifiable and profitable.
In certain subjects, however, Gibbon’s is the only method which can
with profit be used. In the study of geography, grammar, a foreign
language, or the facts of history, it is well, before reading, simply
to review what we already know. Here we cannot be critical because
there is really nothing to reason about. Whether George Washington
ought to have crossed the Delaware, whether “shall” and “will” ought
to be used as they are in English, whether the verb “avoir” ought to
be parsed as it is, or whether Hoboken ought to be in New Jersey, are
questions which might reasonably be asked, but which would be needless,
because for the purposes we would most likely have in mind in reading
such facts it would be sufficient to know that these things are so.
We might include mathematics among the subjects to be treated in this
fashion. Though it is a rational science, there is such unanimity
regarding its propositions that the critical attitude is almost a waste
of mental energy. In mathematics, to understand is to agree.
* * * * *
We come to the second step outlined in our plan of study—the selection
of a comprehensive text book.
Every large subject has gathered about it a vast literature, more
than one man can ever hope to cover completely. This literature may
be said to consist wholly of two things: information as to facts, and
opinions on those facts. In other words, any book you read on that
subject will probably contain some facts new to you and will contain
also the thoughts and reflections of the author. Of course you should
endeavor to learn as many facts as possible. But it is not necessary
to know all that has been thought about the subject. You are supposed
to have a mind of your own; you are supposed to do some thinking for
yourself. But though it is not necessary that you know all that has
been thought, it is well that you know at least part of what has been
thought, and so far as possible, the best part. For as just pointed
out, if you attempt to think out an entire subject for yourself you
will expend great energy and time in arriving at conclusions which
have probably already been arrived at during the generations that the
subject has had its being. Therefore you should endeavor to get, in as
short a time as possible, the greatest number of important facts and
the main outlines of the best that has been thought.
So if you sincerely intend to master any subject, the best way to begin
is by the selection of the most comprehensive and authoritative work
you can secure.
The man who desires to study any subject is commonly advised to read
first a small “introductory” book, then a larger one, and finally the
largest and most authoritative volumes. The trouble with this practice
is that you will have to study each book in turn. If you take up the
most thorough book first you need merely glance through the smaller
books, for the chances are that they will contain little that is new
to you, unless they happen to be more recent. The only justification
for reading a small book first is that the larger books are apt to be
technical and to assume a certain knowledge of the subject. However,
_the_ authoritative treatise or treatises on a subject usually refer
far less to the smaller books than the smaller books do to them. Any
greater depth of thought which the larger works may possess can be made
up for by increased concentration on the part of the reader. Of course
if a man does not intend to master a subject thoroughly, but only to
get some idea of its broad outlines, the case is different. He would
then be justified in reading a small work.
Another advantage of beginning a subject with the study of a
comprehensive and authoritative volume or main textbook, is that you
avoid confusion. The man who has mastered one foreign language, say
French, will always find his knowledge of great benefit to him for the
study of another language, such as Spanish. But any one who has begun
at about the same time the study of two or more foreign languages must
remember his confusion, and how his vague knowledge of one tongue
hindered him in the acquisition of the other.
So with reading. When we peruse a book in the usual casual way we do
not master it. And when we read a book on the same subject immediately
after it, the different viewpoint is liable to cause bewilderment and
make us worse off than before the second book was started. We do not
like to devote a lot of time to one book, but would rather run through
several books in the same time, believing that we thereby gain more
ideas. We are just as mistaken as a beginner in swimming who would
attempt to learn several strokes before having mastered one well enough
to keep afloat.
A main text being of such importance, its choice involves
responsibility. But how are we to know whether one book is superior to
another until we have read both? And if we are confronted with this
difficulty even when familiar with a subject, how much greater must be
our task when we know nothing of it? These difficulties do not appear
so formidable in practice.
Failing other means, the best method of selecting a main text is by
reputation. If we do not even know what book has the best reputation,
we can easily find out by referring to so acknowledged an authority as
the Encyclopedia Britannica, and consulting the bibliography in the
article on the subject.
But reputation does not furnish the only means of selecting. By merely
glancing through a book, stopping here and there to read entire
paragraphs—a task of ten or fifteen minutes—we can form an estimate
which later reading will usually justify. For an author betrays himself
in every line he writes; every slightest remark reveals in some manner
the breadth and depth of his thought. But just how well we can judge
a book in this way depends both on our own ability and on the time we
devote to glancing through it.
A few general requirements in a main text have been implied in stating
the purpose of having one. The book with the best reputation is not
necessarily the best for you. In economics Adam Smith’s _Wealth of
Nations_, though easily the most famous book on the subject, would
hardly be suitable as a main text because it has been superseded.
But though recency is always an asset, this does not mean that the
most recent book is always or even usually the best. The common idea,
though it is usually but vaguely formulated, is that the writer of the
more recent book has had all the previous books to draw upon, and has
therefore been able to extract the best from all of them and add to
this his own thoughts. The fallacy of this has been pointed out in the
trenchant language of Schopenhauer:
“The writer of the new book often does not understand the old books
thoroughly, and yet he is unwilling to take their exact words; so he
bungles them and says in his own bad way that which has been said
very much better and more clearly by the old writers, who wrote from
their own lively knowledge of the subject. The new writer frequently
omits the best things they say, their most striking illustrations,
their happiest remarks, because he does not see their value or feel
how pregnant they are. The only thing that appeals to him is what is
shallow and insipid.”
The value of recency will depend on the subject; while it would be
essential in aviation, its importance would be far less in ethics.
It is not well to take as your main text a book presenting a number of
different and conflicting viewpoints. One purpose of a main text is to
avoid confusion. Do not start the study of psychology, for instance,
by reading a history of the subject giving the views of different
thinkers. Begin by taking up one definite system.
Finally, be sure to select a book covering the entire field. Do not,
for instance, take a volume on the tariff to begin the study of
economics.
* * * * *
We pass now to the third step advised—to read critically. By this I
do not mean that we should read skeptically or to confute everything
an author says. I mean simply that we should resist our natural
tendency to have our minds swayed by every opinion he expresses. I mean
that before allowing an idea to slip into our minds we should first
challenge its truth; we should examine its evidence.
Perhaps you have listened to a debate. After the affirmative had
made his impassioned plea you were all for the affirmative. When the
negative came forward and presented his case, you found yourself
favoring _him_. . . . Why do debaters always try to get the last say?
Why is it that in a formal debate, the affirmative, which usually has
the last say, is most often the side that wins? I could state the
reason bluntly. But if I did the honorable judges of such controversies
would not feel that their critical powers had been complimented.
The tendency to absorb the opinions of others manifests itself to just
as great a degree in reading. I have held debating up as an example
merely because it brings out more strongly, more strikingly, the
effects of such a tendency. But how can it be resisted?
If we have thought out a subject thoroughly, if we have acquired a
stock of clear and definite ideas on it, criticism in reading will
largely take care of itself. By dint of our own thinking we will know
what is relevant and what is not; we shall be able to judge the truth
and importance of the various arguments offered. The chances are,
however, that we shall not have given much previous thinking to the
subject, and that even if we have we shall not have gone as far as the
author, who doubtless availed himself of other books. Consequently
certain problems which he takes up will not even have occurred to us,
and hence will not have received our consideration.
But where our thinking has not helped us, and even where it has, we
should look critically upon every statement of an author, instead of
lazily acquiescing in it. The difference between critical and ordinary
reading, is that in the former we look for objections, in the latter
we wait until they happen to occur to us. Even then we do not hold our
objections steadily in mind; we are as likely as not to accept later
arguments based upon one we have previously objected to. In order to
avoid this perhaps the best we can do when we object to any statement
or believe we have found a fallacy, is to make written note of it
in the margin. To some extent this will prevent forgetting it. Too
few or too many marginal notes are both extremes to be shunned. If
we make too many we shall be apt to lose a true sense of proportion
and fail to distinguish essential criticisms from nonessentials. The
only way we can keep clear of this extreme is to avoid quibbling and
hair-splitting, making only such written criticisms as we feel we could
unblushingly defend before the author himself. Often however we may
feel that a statement is untrue, or that an argument is fallacious, and
yet be unable to point out just where or how it is so. In this case
perhaps the best plan would be merely to put a question mark in the
margin in order to remind ourselves that the statement has not been
fully accepted.