How to Read a Book: The Classic Guide to Intelligent Reading

by Mortimer J. Adler

  This final step in interpretive reading is covered by RULE 8. FIND OUT WHAT THE AUTHOR’S SOLUTIONS ARE. When you have applied this rule, and the three that precede it in interpretive reading, you can feel reasonably sure that you have managed to understand the book. If you started with a book that was over your head—one, therefore, that was able to teach you something—you have come a long way. More than that, you are now able to complete your analytical reading of the book. The third and last stage of the job will be relatively easy. You have been keeping your eyes and your mind open and your mouth shut. Up to this point, you have been following the author. From this point on, you are going to have a chance to argue with the author and express yourself.

  The Second Stage of Analytical Reading

  p. 136 We have now described the second stage of analytical reading. Another way to say this is that we have now set forth the materials for answering the second basic question that you must ask about a book, or indeed anything that you read. You will recall that that second question is What is being said in detail, and how? Applying Rules 5 through 8 clearly helps you to answer this question. When you have come to terms with the author, found his key propositions and arguments, and identified his solutions of the problems that he faced, you will know what he is saying in his book, and you are thus prepared to go on to ask the final two basic questions about it.

  Since we have now completed another stage in the analytical reading process, let us, as before, pause a moment to write out the rules of this stage for review.

  The Second Stage of Analytical Reading,

  or Rules for Finding What a Book Says (Interpreting Its Contents)

  5. Come to terms with the author by interpreting his key words.

  6. Grasp the author’s leading propositions by dealing with his most important sentences.

  7. Know the author’s arguments, by finding them in, or constructing them out of, sequences of sentences.

  8. Determine which of his problems the author has solved, and which he has not; and as to the latter, decide which the author knew he had failed to solve.

  Chapter 10 – Criticizing A Book Fairly

  p. 137 We said at the end of the last chapter that we had come a long way. We have learned how to outline a book. We have learned the four rules for interpreting a book’s contents. We are now ready for the last stage of analytical reading. Here you will reap the reward of all your previous efforts.

  Reading a book is a kind of conversation. You may think it is not conversation at all, because the author does all the talking and you have nothing to say. If you think that, you do not realize your full obligation as a reader—and you are not grasping your opportunities.

  As a matter of fact, the reader is the one who has the last word. The author has had his say, and then it is the reader’s turn. The conversation between a book and its reader would appear to be an orderly one, each party talking in turn, no interruptions, and so forth. If, however, the reader is undisciplined and impolite, it may be anything but orderly. The poor author cannot defend himself. He cannot say, “Here, wait till I’ve finished, before you start disagreeing.” He cannot protest that the reader has misunderstood him, has missed his point.

  Ordinary conversations between persons who confront each other are good only when they are carried on civilly. We are not thinking merely of the civilities according to convenp. 138tions of social politeness. Such conventions are not really important. What is important is that there is an intellectual etiquette to be observed. Without it, conversation is bickering rather than profitable communication. We are assuming here, of course, that the conversation is about a serious matter on which men can agree or disagree. Then it becomes important that they conduct themselves well. Otherwise, there is no profit in the enterprise. The profit in good conversation is something learned.

  What is true of ordinary conversation is even more true of the rather special situation in which a book has talked to a reader and the reader talks back. That the author is well disciplined, we will take for granted temporarily. That he has conducted his part of the conversation well can be assumed in the case of good books. What can the reader do to reciprocate? What must he do to hold up his end well?

  The reader has an obligation as well as an opportunity to talk back. The opportunity is clear. Nothing can stop a reader from pronouncing judgment. The roots of the obligation, however, lie a little deeper in the nature of the relation between books and readers.

  If the book is of the sort that conveys knowledge, the author’s aim was to instruct. He has tried to teach. He has tried to convince or persuade his reader about something. His effort is crowned with success only if the reader finally says, “I am taught. You have convinced me that such and such is true, or persuaded me that it is probable.” But even if the reader is not convinced or persuaded, the author’s intention and effort should be respected. The reader owes him a considered judgment. If he cannot say, “I agree,” he should at least have grounds for disagreeing or even for suspending judgment on the question.

  We are really saying no more than what we have already said many times. A good book deserves an active reading. The activity of reading does not stop with the work of understanding what a book says. It must be completed by the work of p. 139 criticism, the work of judging. The undemanding reader fails to satisfy this requirement, probably even more than he fails to analyze and interpret. He not only makes no effort to understand; he also dismisses a book simply by putting it aside and forgetting it. Worse than faintly praising it, he damns it by giving it no critical consideration whatever.

  Teachability as a Virtue

  What we mean by talking back is not something apart from reading. It is the third stage in the analytical reading of a book; and there are rules here as in the case of the first two stages. Some of these rules are general maxims of intellectual etiquette. We will deal with them in this chapter. Others are more specific criteria for defining points of criticism. They will be discussed in the next chapter.

  There is a tendency to think that a good book is above the criticism of the average reader. The reader and the author are not peers. The author, according to this view, should be subjected to a trial only by a jury of his peers. Remember Bacon’s recommendation to the reader: “Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.” Sir Walter Scott casts even more dire aspersions on those “who read to doubt or read to scorn.”

  There is a certain truth here, of course, but there is also a good deal of nonsense about the aura of impeccability with which books are thus surrounded, and the false piety it produces. Readers may be like children, in the sense that great authors can teach them, but that does not mean they must not be heard from. Cervantes may or not have been right in saying, “There is no book so bad but something good may be found in it.” It is more certain that there is no book so good that no fault can be found with it.

  p. 140 It is true that a book that can enlighten its readers, and is in this sense superior to them, should not be criticized by them until they understand it. When they do, they have elevated themselves almost to equality with the author. Now they are fit to exercise the rights and privileges of their new position. Unless they exercise their critical faculties now, they are doing the author an injustice. He has done what he could to make them his equal. He deserves that they act like his peers, that they engage in conversation with him, that they talk back.

  We are discussing here the virtue of teachability—a virtue that is almost always misunderstood. Teachability is often confused with subservience. A person is wrongly thought to be teachable if he is passive and pliable. On the contrary, teachability is an extremely active virtue. No one is really teachable who does not freely exercise his power of independent judgment. He can be trained, perhaps, but not taught. The most teachable reader is, therefore, the most critical. He is the reader who finally responds to a book by the greatest effort to make up his
own mind on the matters the author has discussed.

  We say “finally” because teachability requires that a teacher be fully heard and, more than that, understood before he is judged. We should add also that sheer amount of effort is not an adequate criterion of teachability. The reader must know how to judge a book, just as he must know how to arrive at an understanding of its contents. This third group of rules for reading, then, is a guide to the last stage in the disciplined exercise of teachability.

  The Role of Rhetoric

  We have everywhere found a certain reciprocity between the art of teaching and the art of being taught, between the skill of the author that makes him a considerate writer and the skill of the reader that makes him handle a book with conp. 141sideration. We have seen how the same principles of grammar and logic underlie rules of good writing as well as rules of good reading. The rules we have so far discussed concern the achievement of intelligibility on the part of the writer and the achievement of understanding on the part of the reader. This last set of rules goes beyond understanding to critical judgment. Here is where rhetoric comes in.

  There are, of course, many uses of rhetoric. We usually think of it in connection with the orator or the propagandist. But in its most general significance, rhetoric is involved in every situation in which communication takes place among human beings. If we are the talkers, we wish not only to be understood but also to be agreed with in some sense. If our purpose in trying to communicate is serious, we wish to convince or persuade—more precisely, to convince about theoretical matters and to persuade about matters that ultimately affect action or feeling.

  To be equally serious in receiving such communication, one must be not only a responsive but also a responsible listener. You are responsive to the extent that you follow what has been said and note the intention that prompts it. But you also have the responsibility of taking a position. When you take it, it is yours, not the author’s. To regard anyone except yourself as responsible for your judgment is to be a slave, not a free man. It is from this fact that the liberal arts acquire their name.

  On the part of the speaker or writer, rhetorical skill is knowing how to convince or persuade. Since this is the ultimate end in view, all the other aspects of communication must serve it. Grammatical and logical skill in writing clearly and intelligibly has merit in itself, but it is also a means to an end. Reciprocally, on the part of the reader or listener, rhetorical skill is knowing how to react to anyone who tries to convince or persuade us. Here, too, grammatical and logical skill, which enables us to understand what is being said, prepares the way for a critical reaction.

  The Importance of Suspending Judgment

  p. 142 Thus you see how the three arts of grammar, logic, and rhetoric cooperate in regulating the elaborate processes of writing and reading. Skill in the first two stages of analytical reading comes from a mastery of grammar and logic. Skill in the third stage depends on the remaining art. The rules of this stage of reading rest on the principles of rhetoric, conceived in the broadest sense. We will consider them as a code of etiquette to make the reader not only polite, but also effective, in talking back. (Although it is not generally recognized, etiquette always serves these two purposes, not just the former.)

  You probably also see what the ninth rule of reading is going to be. It has been intimated several times already. Do not begin to talk back until you have listened carefully and are sure you understand. Not until you are honestly satisfied that you have accomplished the first two stages of reading should you feel free to express yourself. When you have, you not only have earned the right to turn critic; you also have the duty to do so.

  This means, in effect, that the third stage of analytical reading must always follow the other two in time. The first two stages interpenetrate each other. Even the beginning reader can combine them somewhat, and the expert combines them almost completely. He can discover the contents of a book by breaking down the whole into its parts and at the same time constructing the whole out of its elements of thought and knowledge, its terms, propositions, and arguments. Furthermore, even for the beginner, a certain amount of the work required at those two stages can be performed during a good inspectional reading. But the expert no less than the beginner must wait until he understands before he starts to criticize.

  Let us restate this ninth rule of reading in the following form: RULE 9. YOU MUST BE ABLE TO SAY, WITH REASONABLE p. 143 CERTAINTY, “I UNDERSTAND,” BEFORE YOU CAN SAY ANY ONE OF THE FOLLOWING THINGS: “I AGREE,” OR “I DISAGREE,” OR “I SUSPEND JUDGMENT.” These three remarks exhaust all the critical positions you can take. We hope you have not made the error of supposing that to criticize is always to disagree. That is a popular misconception. To agree is just as much an exercise of critical judgment on your part as to disagree. You can be just as wrong in agreeing as in disagreeing. To agree without understanding is inane. To disagree without understanding is impudent.

  Though it may not be so obvious at first, suspending judgment is also an act of criticism. It is taking the position that something has not been shown. You are saying that you are not convinced or persuaded one way or the other.

  The rule seems to be such obvious common sense that you may wonder why we have bothered to state it so explicitly. There are two reasons. In the first place, many people make the error already mentioned of identifying criticism with disagreement. (Even “constructive” criticism is disagreement.) In the second place, though this rule seems obviously sound, our experience has been that few people observe it in practice. Like the golden rule, it elicits more lip service than intelligent obedience.

  Every author has had the experience of suffering book reviews by critics who did not feel obliged to do the work of the first two stages first. The critic too often thinks he does not have to be a reader as well as a judge. Every lecturer has also had the experience of having critical questions asked that were not based on any understanding of what he had said. You yourself may remember an occasion where someone said to a speaker, in one breath or at most two, “I don’t know what you mean, but I think you’re wrong.”

  There is actually no point in answering critics of this sort. The only polite thing to do is to ask them to state your position for you, the position they claim to be challenging. If they cannot do it satisfactorily, if they cannot repeat what you p. 144 have said in their own words, you know that they do not understand, and you are entirely justified in ignoring their criticisms. They are irrelevant, as all criticism must be that is not based on understanding. When you find the rare person who shows that he understands what you are saying as well as you do, then you can delight in his agreement or be seriously disturbed by his dissent.

  In years of reading books with students of one kind and another, we have found this rule more honored in the breach than in the observance. Students who plainly do not know what the author is saying seem to have no hesitation in setting themselves up as his judges. They not only disagree with something they do not understand but, what is equally bad, they also often agree to a position they cannot express intelligibly in their own words. Their discussion, like their reading, is all words. Where understanding is not present, affirmations and denials are equally meaningless and unintelligible. Nor is a position of doubt or detachment any more intelligent in a reader who does not know what he is suspending judgment about.

  There are several further points to note concerning the observance of this rule. If you are reading a good book, you ought to hesitate before you say, “I understand.” The presumption certainly is that you have a lot of work to do before you can make that declaration honestly and with assurance. You must, of course, be a judge of yourself in this matter, and that makes the responsibility even more severe,

  To say “I don’t understand” is, of course, also a critical judgment, but only after you have tried your hardest does it reflect on the book rather than yourself. If you have done everything that can be expected of you and still do not understand, it may be be
cause the book is unintelligible. The presumption, however, is in favor of the book, especially if it is a good one. In reading good books, failure to understand is usually the reader’s fault. Hence he is obligated to stay with the task imposed by the first two stages of analytical reading p. 145 a long time before entering on the third. When you say “I don’t understand,” watch your tone of voice. Be sure it concedes the possibility that it may not be the author’s fault.

  There are two other conditions under which the rule requires special care. If you are reading only part of a book, it is more difficult to be sure that you understand, and hence you should be more hesitant to criticize. And sometimes a book is related to other books by the same author, and depends upon them for its full significance. In this situation, also, you should be more circumspect about saying “I understand,” and slower to raise your critical lance.

  A good example of brashness in this last respect is furnished by literary critics who have agreed or disagreed with Aristotle’s Poetics without realizing that the main principles in Aristotle’s analysis of poetry depend in part on points made in other of his works, his treatises on psychology and logic and metaphysics. They have agreed or disagreed without understanding what it is all about.