As a faithful lover of the humanities, it would be no surprise for me to say that books have changed my life.
However, I do not merely say this to laud their psychological benefits or to appeal to the pleasures of escapism, although both are generally used to commend actively engaging with literature. Rather, in recent times I have discovered reading has implications for the "real world" too.
There is a sense in which we tend to relegate literature, or the humanities themselves, to lower, more sentimental and even more subjective categories of intellectual pursuits. That is not to say we completely devalue these subjects, but only that we implicitly treat them with inferiority. The well-informed reader, we assume, is a beneficial force in his or her community (in some vague, unexplained way), and in particular, he or she is admired for their "culture" (again, a subtle undefined concept), or their elevated intelligence. However, a strange paradox befits our notion of the "reader" when the hobby is taken too far.
"What do you plan to do with that after you graduate?" you, a humanities major of some sort, perhaps hear a well-intentioned elder say.
"Beware of such antisocial tendencies," materializes in the mind like an invisible billboard sign plastering itself in your way. Heaven forbid, you even approach the fearsome label of "snob." Do not use incomprehensible words or be too critical of any one mode of personal artistic expression. Indeed, do not reference your knowledge of literature so as not to display an avaricious want of praise. Worst of all, do not permit yourself any attachment to frail wispy idealism, an excessive focus on fantasy worlds irrelevant to anything tangible, any fond desire of joining those machinating scholars in the "ivory tower" or in short, a mind entirely concerned with "words" which ultimately fall short when one must live in "reality."
On occasion, this has been my experience, as it has been that of others I have discussed the subject with. But what if books were no longer treated as any kind of escape from the material, but rather, shaped and transformed, recreating certain aspects of our tenuous reality? What if our activities toward our personal, internal world were powerful enough to shape the world outside us?
What I am suggesting is, of course, not novel. Far too often, we treat our education as a means to a productive end, and that is usually incumbent on our success. That is not a bad way to approach life — I certainly do not want to fail in regards to my career — but in recent times I have found that education, particularly in curriculums centered around heavy reading, makes an immeasurable difference in one’s internal disposition as well as to the society around them.
"Beauty will save the world," says the quixotic protagonist Prince Myshkin in Dostoevsky’s "The Idiot." "Beauty is truth, truth (is) beauty. that is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know," Keats writes in his Romantic ode in celebration of art and immortality, "to a Grecian Urn." Personally, the beauty I have encountered through my Notre Dame education has been so arresting, so inspiring and also so ridiculously challenging, that I find both these quotes entirely applicable to my developing views on books and the philosophy of education. Through it, I have been taught to wonder, to ask and seek the truth, to inquire and to dare to better myself even as I grow in knowledge and understanding.
And yes, I do tend to lean towards a passionate description. Even still, I can confidently say that reading books, particularly from a variety of genres, histories or cultures and intellectual traditions, has been an essential agent of change in my worldview, in my intentions and more importantly, in my character. I need not say engaging in seminar-style discussions of these books was an instrumental portion of this alteration. Through them, I began to move beyond the joys of personal introspection and savor the taste of articulating my private impressions about the deepest matters; this task, once so strained and impervious a labor, yielded much fruit following eventual habituation (in fact, I am now acquiring the art of learning when not to share my unsolicited opinion, which has resulted in my fair share of humorous experiences).
In any case, my point is, although love for books has been a continuous aspect of my personality even before college, the kind of education I am receiving actually invited me to allow these books to shape me from within.
Far be it from me to say, however, that books are the only method of "enlightenment" out there. Anything that invites the soul toward a quest for truth, goodness or beauty can do that in my opinion, whether that is gratitude for a good meal, a conversation with a friend, a breath of summer's day, a surge of wind, a spark of creativity or even scrolling through a particularly inspiring account on social media. Nevertheless, it would be disingenuous of me not to recognize the impact of my "book-centered" education in terms of personal development.
Charitable reading, acquiring empathy for authors from various time periods and appreciation for ancient wisdom are all merits of engaging with literature of various kinds. When one practices charitable reading, one approaches a text with an open mind, seeking to understand and interpret an author's perspective. This allows for a deeper appreciation of the text and the potential for personal growth through challenging one's own beliefs.
It also involves recognizing that people from different eras and cultures have diverse worldviews and that literature can provide insight into a multitude of perspectives. This understanding can lead to greater empathy and compassion for others, as well as an appreciation for the diversity of human experience.
Appreciating ancient wisdom, especially in terms of the study of philosophy, involves recognizing that the ideas and insights of philosophers from the past are still relevant today. This can lead to a deeper understanding of oneself and the world, as well as a greater appreciation for the intellectual traditions that have shaped human thought throughout history.
Learning about C.S. Lewis's conception of chronological snobbery is perhaps especially relevant when one is faced with an inherently antagonistic disposition toward the past. It refers to the idea that people tend to assume that the ideas and beliefs of their own time period are superior to those of the past. This can lead to a dismissal of the wisdom and insights of earlier generations, and the failure to recognize the fallibility of all generations and that humans have not yet obtained complete freedom from error and heinous tendencies. Immersing oneself in the history of human thought can help to abolish this kind of snobbery by providing a deeper understanding of the intellectual traditions that have shaped human culture and thought throughout history. By recognizing the value of these traditions, one can avoid the trap of assuming that one's own beliefs are inherently superior to those of the past or even to those of the present.
In fact, my experience has often been that of feeling more connected both to your humanity and to that dignity inherent in others. You learn to discuss a variety of topics and opposing viewpoints, while also seeking the value in these great works; they are, after all, "great" for a reason, even if they are radically foreign to our perspective. They invite us to recognize the person, or the culture, behind the work and to acknowledge whatever we can gain from their ideas as well. I learned that there is most often something of common ground I can find with anyone, no matter how different (both from authors past and in present relationships). I learned how the time and place of my birth and the way I was raised directly influenced my method of viewing the world, and how to understand concepts that even seemed, at first glance, too esoteric or abstract for my feeble powers of comprehension. Even more surprisingly, I learned how to talk about all of these lessons in an enthusiastic way. I am still learning how to inspire others with the same love for wisdom that was first nascent in me, and that was planted by other hands rather than my own inherent disposition. Both fiction and nonfiction, philosophy and the natural sciences, the marvel of the arts or the reasonings of logic, are all essential to a person.
Most importantly, the value of holistic education cannot be understated. Too often we approach education with hopes of accruing knowledge. Instead, I believe that through reading and discussing great literature we can instead develop our internal mode of being (and thus effect practical changes in the way we live and relate to others). Reading philosophy, personally, was indispensable to this realization. There is no shortage of criticisms explaining how much of what we learn in schools is of little consequence to our way of life. Education, especially education during the Medieval or Renaissance periods, was meant to be a formative way of living. The first universities were designed around a heavy philosophical curriculum, not to detract from other subjects, but to promote the seeking of those answers which matter most to our well-being and even existence as humans.
It is no wonder, then, that the prison education programs Notre Dame is involved with are centered around reading and discussions through seminars. When discussing this issue with my literature professor, he was adamant about how beautifully sharing his expertise in the field, together with the work of other volunteers and professors, helped individuals who were incarcerated reform their educational journey and find meaning and hope in life. That was, for me, the final piece of evidence convincing me to write this piece, simply to share, once again, a bit of my own journey in my relationship with reading. I owe much to the university, my educators, my classmates and especially, to those authors which have impacted me through the power of beautiful words and ideas.
