Why do we read books? I was in Washington, DC last week doing some research. I was also able to have some meetings with my professors and even attend an academic lecture at my alma mater, the Catholic University of America. Something changes when you are in an intellectual environment. At the lecture, it was as if simply walking into the room increased everyone’s intensity of thinking fourfold. For two hours, we were invited to listen intently and ask challenging questions. The goal was, in part, to help the professor presenting his paper to refine or extend his arguments—arguments that will eventually end up in a future book. But another goal was simply to immerse ourselves in thought for an afternoon and think about a difficult and new topic.
I was a philosophy major. Now that my own kids are starting to think about college, some other parents I talk to are concerned about their children pursuing more “practical” degrees that lead to “steady employment.” I understand the concern—my undergraduate and graduate degrees in philosophy qualified me for exactly two things: (1) teaching or (2) getting yet another degree. I did teach, and then I took the practical route and went to law school.
Although law school was intellectually engaging, my undergraduate and graduate studies in philosophy were the most interesting of my academic career. Being a student is a privileged time. It is something that many of us take for granted. I was able to spend five years studying the greatest thinkers the world has known. Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Aquinas, Descartes, Locke, Heidegger, Husserl, and so many others who were my constant companions and shaped how I think today.
One of the best attributes of Catholic University’s philosophy program is that students read primary texts. To learn what Aristotle said, we read Aristotle. We did not read someone’s commentary on Aristotle. We did not ask others to filter the information for us—we read the actual work even though it took additional time and effort. That was hard work, but as Peggy Noonan says, “it’s work the brain wants to do.”
Peggy Noonan, a former speechwriter for President Reagan and political commentator, spoke at Catholic University's commencement a few years ago. She spoke well about why we read books:
Reading books forces you to imagine, question, ponder, reflect, connect one historical moment with another. Reading books provides a deeper understanding of political figures and events, of the world – of life itself.
Watching a movie about the Cuban Missile Crisis shows you a drama. Reading histories of it presents you with a dilemma. The book forces you to imagine the color, sound, tone and tension, the logic of events: It makes your brain do work.
But, oddly, it’s work the brain wants to do.
A movie or a documentary is received passively: You sit back, see and hear. Books demand more and reward you with more. When you read them your knowledge base deepens, expands. In time that deepening comes to inform your own work, whatever it is, sometimes in ways of which you’re not fully conscious.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but your brain gets bigger, stronger. You become smarter and deeper. That happens with books.
The video of her address is here (start at the 6:00 mark for these remarks).
Note that these comments were made to graduates. That is, these were young people actively crossing the threshold from student to something else. Noonan’s point is about lifelong learning, and how all of us can continue learning through books. Books give us a different perspective on the world. As Noonan says elsewhere in her speech, “I follow the news to know what’s happening, but I read books to understand what’s happening.”
Reading books exposes us to the deep ideas of history and life. And even if they are difficult, working through them is worth the challenge: “It’s work the brain wants to do.” Put down your iPhone, your iPad, and your remote control and grab a book. You'll be better off for it.
Remember to turn every page. Enjoy your weekend. Please let me know whether you need anything.
Best,
Aaron