The Reader's Advantage
The headlines were sensational: “Archbishop wants women stoned for adultery,” “Archbishop supports female circumcision,” “Archbishop advocates death penalty for people who dis the Prophet!”
Okay, it wasn't that bad, but the fury over Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams' call for “constructive accommodation” with Muslim religious law earlier this year was fierce. I found the whole thing fascinating, but I particularly enjoyed Williams' effort to douse it: He posted his entire statement on his website and invited people to read it.
Generous offer, that. It's over 6,000 words long. Online reading, where a blog post longer than a thousand words is Tolstoyan, is notorious for the short attention span it demands of its readers. I suspect Williams knew few would actually read the whole thing.
Unfortunately for him, Anne Applebaum did, and she published her opinion in The Washington Post: “[E]very syllable of the harshest tabloid criticism is more than well deserved. . . . the [Archbishop's sentiments are] profoundly dangerous.”
By reading the entire 6,000 words, Applebaum gave herself an advantage over other commentators. A simple advantage, a readily-available advantage, but an advantage nonetheless.
In the past fifty years, our cultural mental pendulum has tocked wildly: from a society of readers, to a society of TV watchers, to a society of writers. In football, it's the equivalent of a double reverse. Such a societal misdirection play would've tricked even Marshall McLuhan.
Writing used to be the activity of the highly talented, academics, bohemians, and the leisurely rich. It has now become the activity of Everyman.
People are also reading, of course. The desire to write, Joseph Epstein observed, leads to a desire to have something to write about, and that desire prompts people to read. A society of writers must of necessity be a society of readers.
But today's mob of writers isn't reading carefully. Of that, I'm convinced.
They're reading from the Internet. Online reading is enjoyable, but it isn't ideal. The vertical screen, the glare, the need to keep your body in one position, the constant link lure of other reading material. It's no wonder that an online magazine paid me $50 per column, but enjoined: “Never exceed 500 words.”
People don't read carefully any more: They scan, they grab headlines, they look for summaries. Then they paste to their blogs or social networking page or email, maybe offer a comment, and move on.
It makes me wonder: What tactical advantage, what edge, does the careful reader have in this world of writers?
A few come immediately to mind: The reader is less likely to make a stupid blunder. The reader gets more facts. The reader gets more angles.
But I think there's much more.
I think the reader gets more grace. At least the careful reader.
Careful reading requires effort yet a certain level of detachment: Eyes on the page, then lifting them to ponder the words. The furtive reader might read every line, but he's not reading between the lines, filling-in levels of substance, making connections that even the writer may have missed.
Careful reading requires leisure. And it's in leisure, Josef Pieper reminded the world in Leisure, The Basis of Culture, that the great things are found. Man functions best in leisure, because it's in leisure that God provides grace.
The careful reader's edge in this society of online writers is stuffed with natural and supernatural advantages. These advantages are going to grow as more and more people forget how to read carefully. Those who can still pick up a book and read it for 90 minutes will be Smithsonian exhibits. Those who can read one online piece for 30 minutes will be marvels.
And they're going to be better commentators, observers, writers, and thinkers.
When commentators like Anne Applebaum write, I read. Because I know they read first.
