by Mike O’Brien

One of the greatest joys of my graduate studies was reading primary sources in full, rather than a mishmash of summaries and excerpts. I could have done this prior to graduate school, but I didn’t, because I was lazy.
(I am still lazy.)
Having to read and re-read the works of authors, in the presentation in which they chose to be received, created a more personal relationship with them. “Personal” meaning, in its literal root sense, pertaining to that which speaks for itself. Rather than dragging the thinker, by means of citations, onto a panel of experts marshalled together for some inquiry, reading all the words, in the order intended, allows the thinker to express themselves as they willed. One has the sense of reading someone rather than just something, and one can posit a mind that understood things in its own way. Getting to know a mind thus, a reader can even guess how a writer might have understood things that are not explicitly mentioned in their work.
One of the misfortunes that befalls great thinkers is that they are cited vastly more often than they are read, and when read are not understood on their own terms because of the frame in which they are presented. When the thinker is someone whom I have read in depth, this can be offensive in the same way that hearing untruths about a friend is offensive. The mistaken claims need not be slanderous or abusive; the mere fact that they have gotten your dear friend wrong is objectionable in itself. But if one has famous friends, one can’t expect every person who speaks of them to know them beyond a public persona. And so one has to distinguish between, for example, discussions about Mark Twain and discussions about Samuel Clemens. (I am not friends with Samuel Clemens, but I like to think we’d get along). Read more »