Books Are Not Sufficient Teachers
A Subtle Response to Dr. Christopher Perrin
Back in July, on his excellent substack,
, Dr. Christopher Perrin gave his “Ten Essential Principles of Classical Pedagogy.” He lists them as follows.Festina Lente / Make Haste Slowly: Taking Time to Master Each Step
Multum non Multa / Much Not Many: Going Deep not Wide
Repetitio Mater Memoriae / Repetition the Mother of Memory: Memory is the Mother of the Muses but Repetition is the Mother of Memory
Songs, Chants, and Jingles: The One Who Loves Can Sing and Remember
Wonder and Curiosity: The Best Way to Commence Learning that Will Last
Scholé and Contemplation: Ordering Time and Space for Deep Thought
Embodied and Liturgical Learning: Creating Academic Rhythm and Harmony
Docendo Discimus / By Teaching We Learn: When Students Teach Learning Multiplies
Optimus Magister Bonus Liber Est / The Best Teacher Is a Good Book: Finding The Wisest Friends That Never Leave
Conversation: Learning in Community with Sympathy and Fellowship
This is an excellent list and I find little to critize in it, but I do want to address his ninth principle.
You may be surprised to see me say that. After all, I work at a classical school in the broadly Great Books tradition. This means my students are supposed to engage with the Great Books, read them, take them in, and learn from them. And they are! I don’t take issue with that. Rather, my concern is how this principle is often deployed. I should note that Dr. Perrin does not use it this way, but I have seen it so used too often.
Essentially, my issue with his ninth principle is how easy it is to go from Books are the best teachers to we don’t really need non-book teachers. And this I vehemently disagree with.
So why are living teachers in the classroom necessary? Why does someone need to be in the room with the student either when they are reading or afterward? In short, students need guides! While I agree that students should not need to read lengthy introductions or first read secondary literature before tackling one of the great books, there can be no denying that a teacher is a helpful guide. After all, how often have you read a book and found yourself confused? I know it has happened to me on more than one occasion. A passage comes along, an idea is put forward, and I can make neither heads nor tails of it. In my better moments, I soldier on, hoping I’ll understand as more is explained. But often, even as a well educated adult and teacher, if I don’t “have” to read the book, I may give it up. That is where the teacher comes in.
The teacher serves as both taskmaster and guide. The teacher is taskmaster because they so design a class that there are consequences for simply giving up, whether that comes in the form of bad grades immediately or later when tests and essays are given. The book cannot, on its own, hold you accountable for reading it. Only a teacher can do that. But, as I have discussed before, the teacher is also a guide.
Thinking back to my metaphor of the teacher as fellow pilgrim, when it comes to reading this is often the easiest to see. The teacher assigns the book (whether because the curriculum requires them to or because they have selected it themselves), and the teacher reads the book alongside the students. If they’ve read it before, they will have places for the student to stop and attend to special places in the book. If not, which happens, then at least they are better trained in the art of reading than the student and know what kinds of things to look for as they read. A student left on their own may still finish the book but may completely miss the point. Even when the teacher is there, they may do this, but they can be brought back to a better understanding.
Now, do not misunderstand me. I say the teacher should be a guide, a fellow pilgrim. Rarely should the teacher take the role of expert discoursing on what is most important. As John Milton Gregory has said, “Never tell a student anything they can discover.” But we must aid them in the discovery. It is a delicate balance, not being too authoritative, but also not acting as though there is nothing objectively to be found in the book. Yet this is the path the teacher must walk.
In the end, I think we have often forgotten that reading is, in one way or another, meant to be a communal act, not simply a solitary one. Even the academic who studies the works of Plato also reads the works of others who has done so and then teaches his works and also writes about them. His writings, should he be lucky, are then read by other scholars who comment on them. He may be alone in his study reading, but he does so in order to discuss the ideas about which he reads to others. This is why I think book clubs such a wonderful thing.
Last year at my school I started a book club for our parents. I wanted to give them an opportunity to practice what their students are asked to do every day. Just last week we finished Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare. Many had read it before but found it totally confusing. My job as “teacher” was not to tell them the right answer, but to help facilitate a discussion so we could work together and arrive at conclusions. This is what the teacher does. They select the books. They guide the discussions. They set the parameters to ensure reading happens. They journey with their students toward the heart of the book.
So I agree with Dr. Perrin. Books are the best teachers, but only when in the hands of a teacher in the room to help guide the readers. Of course, Dr. Perrin himself acknowledges this, saying, “One who guides a student through a study of a great book is a tutor, the teacher is the author. Together the author (teacher), tutor, and student engage in a three-way conversation that remarkably educates.” We may quibble about what term is most appropriate for the guide in the room. Perhaps fellow pilgrim would work as well. But whatever word we use, we all must remember the importance of the guide. Otherwise, inexperienced readers may easily get lost, and that is not the way to wisdom.