Two harmful effects of reading upon the imagination

This false and servile respect that people show toward the ancients produces a great many very harmful effects, which it is useful to point out.

The first is that, by accustoming them not to make use of their own minds, it gradually renders them truly incapable of doing so. For one must not imagine that those who spend their whole lives studying the works of Aristotle and Plato are making much use of their intellect. Usually, they devote so much time to reading these books only in order to absorb the opinions of their authors; their main goal is to know exactly what those thinkers believed, without troubling themselves much about whether those beliefs are actually true or valid — as we shall demonstrate in the next chapter. Consequently, the knowledge and philosophy they acquire is properly speaking a knowledge of memory, not of understanding. They learn only facts and historical accounts, not evident truths; and they are historians rather than genuine philosophers.

The second effect that reading the ancients produces upon the imagination is that it introduces a strange confusion into the ideas of most of those who apply themselves to it. There are two very different ways of reading authors: one is excellent and highly beneficial, while the other is useless and even dangerous. Reading is very useful when one reflects upon what one reads; when one makes an effort to work out the solution to the questions stated in the chapter titles before even beginning to read the text itself; when one organizes and compares ideas with one another — in short, when one makes use of one’s own reason.

On the other hand, reading is useless when one does not understand what one is reading; but it becomes dangerous when one understands the words well enough yet does not examine them closely enough to form a sound judgment — especially if one has a good enough memory to retain what one has read, and enough imprudence to accept it without question. The first way of reading clarifies the mind, strengthens it, and broadens its scope; the second narrows its capacity, and gradually makes it weak, dim, and confused.

Now, most of those who pride themselves on knowing the opinions of others study only in this second manner. As a result, the more they read, the weaker and more confused their minds become. The reason is that the impressions formed in their brains become mixed and jumbled together; there are simply too many of them, and reason has not arranged them in any orderly fashion. This prevents the mind from clearly calling to mind and representing the things it needs. When it tries to recall one set of ideas, other more familiar ones get in the way, leading to mistakes and confusion. Since the capacity of the brain is not infinite, it is almost inevitable that this vast number of unordered impressions will become tangled and cloud one’s thinking. This is also why people with exceptionally good memories are often not very good at making sound judgments about matters that require careful attention.

But what is most important to note is that the knowledge acquired by those who read without reflecting — and who only seek to memorize the opinions of others — in short, all learning that depends chiefly on memory — tends to inflate the ego. It is showy and impressive, and fills those who possess it with vanity. Consequently, those who are learned in this way are usually full of pride and presumption; they claim the right to judge everything, even though they are rarely capable of doing so, and this leads them into countless errors.

But this false learning does even greater harm: such people do not fall into error alone — they draw almost all ordinary minds and a great many young people along with them, who accept every pronouncement they make as if it were an article of faith. These self-styled scholars overwhelm others with the weight of their supposed erudition, and dazzle them with unfamiliar doctrines and the names of ancient, obscure authors. In this way, they gain such powerful authority over their listeners that the latter respect and admire everything they say as if it came from an oracle, and adopt their opinions blindly.

Even people who are far more insightful and sensible — if they had never met these scholars before, and knew nothing of their true character — would still find it difficult not to respect and believe what they hear, seeing how confidently, proudly, imperiously, and gravely they speak. It is very hard not to be influenced by someone’s manner and bearing. Just as a bold and arrogant person often intimidates others who are stronger, wiser, and more moderate than himself, so too those who defend opinions that are neither true nor even plausible often silence their opponents by speaking with such authority, pride, and gravity that they take others by surprise.

And the people we are describing have enough self-regard and contempt for others to cultivate a certain demeanor: a proud air, mixed with solemnity and feigned modesty, which preoccupies and wins over those who listen to them.

For it should be noted that all the different manners and expressions people adopt in different situations are only the natural results of how much each person values themselves in comparison with others — as becomes clear upon a little reflection. Thus, a proud and harsh manner belongs to someone who thinks very highly of himself and cares little for the esteem of others. A modest manner belongs to someone who thinks little of himself and respects others highly. A grave and serious manner belongs to someone who thinks very well of himself and greatly desires to be admired. A simple, unassuming manner belongs to someone who thinks little of himself and cares little about what others think.

All these countless variations in demeanor are simply the outward effects that naturally appear on our faces and throughout our bodies, arising from the different degrees of self-esteem and regard for those with whom we speak. We explained in Chapter IV the connection between the nerves that stir up passions within us, and those that express them outwardly through the bearing and expression they shape upon our features.