Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.
Will Durant
Recently I read online of a 67-year-old woman who decided she wanted to run in a marathon. She had never run for exercise in her life, but her desire and passion led her to put on a pair of sneakers, leave the house, and walk a mile. Every day she walked through her neighborhood, extending the distance a little each time. Soon she was jogging and walking. In another six months, she was running. In the next seven years, she competed in a number of marathons and other distance races.
One step at a time, and sooner or later you can run a marathon. One page at a time, and sooner or later you can read the 8,945 pages of Will and Ariel Durant’s The Story of Civilization.
Will Durant
Recently I read online of a 67-year-old woman who decided she wanted to run in a marathon. She had never run for exercise in her life, but her desire and passion led her to put on a pair of sneakers, leave the house, and walk a mile. Every day she walked through her neighborhood, extending the distance a little each time. Soon she was jogging and walking. In another six months, she was running. In the next seven years, she competed in a number of marathons and other distance races.
One step at a time, and sooner or later you can run a marathon. One page at a time, and sooner or later you can read the 8,945 pages of Will and Ariel Durant’s The Story of Civilization.
But why conquer such a mountain of words? What kind of nut sets out reading a set of histories few today know or treasure? Who would care except the nut himself?
Money? Out of the question.
In 2002, Julie Powell vowed to cook all 524 recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year and to blog the results. Powell fulfilled her vow, her blog won her a book deal, her book deal segued into a movie, and her year of preparing all those recipes in her tiny kitchen brought her a little deserved fame and, one assumes, a nice piece of change.
Millions of people revere Julia Child. Few today know or care about the Durants. Reading and writing about The Story of Civilization promises, ipso facto, nothing but another nail in my coffin of penury.
So why attempt it? Cui bono? (Note to self: Dump the Latin tags? Are such self-amusements the bane of readers? From Elements of Style, Chapter V, #20, Strunk and White offer this observation: “Some writers…from sheer exuberance or a desire to show off, sprinkle their work liberally with foreign expressions, with no regard for the reader’s comfort. It is a bad habit. Write in English.” Do Latin expressions common in English make readers uncomfortable? Perhaps after each inclusion I should suggest a cup of cocoa, a warm bath, and a nap.)
I have spent two frustrating weeks mulling over my motivation and have concluded that the only sure result from such a quixotic expedition would be a grand case of asthenopia, i.e. severe eyestrain. (Note to readers: Here is a working definition of mulling as undertaken by this writer: “I should do it!” Five minutes later, “Are you insane?” Repeat these flip-flops fifty times per day.)
Finally, I set down on paper reasons for reading The Story of Civilization. (TSOC) Lists are to me as Valium is to the anxious: they offer a palliative effect and give me the false but satisfied impression that I am in control of my life. Here in expanded form is that list.
Because I am facing a summit, I first put down George Mallory’s old retort, who, when asked why he wanted to climb Everest, replied: “Because it’s there.” (Note to readers: Mallory died climbing Everest, and his body remained undiscovered for 75 years. Should I begin scaling Mount Durant, and should you fail to see me post here for a week or so, please take a moment from your busy day to call 911. The ambulance gang can shoo away any stray critters, remove the volume of Durant from my stiffened fingers, and bundle me off to the local morgue.)
The Durants’ historical insights and writing style affords a second reason for reading them. As I know from my past flirtations with TSOC, the Durants are a delight, never dull, never sententious, and drolly humorous. They bring their zest for people, the past, literature, and philosophy into print. Sure, new research has displaced some of the Durants’ data and the passage of time has dated many of their theories, but the scope of their work is still unsurpassed. Besides, I want to wallow in their style and their sly humor as much as their history.
One other note on their writing: Will Durant was fond of the aphorism, as am I. The difference between us is that he enjoyed writing aphorisms and I enjoy reading them. Ours is a natural friendship.
Page 71 of Durant's Volume I: Our Oriental Heritage proffered still another motive for making this climb, a passage where he considers the decline and fall of civilizations. Bear in mind that the writer of these words was a man of the left and a socialist:
“The intellectual classes abandon the ancient theology and—after some hesitation—the moral code allied with it; literature and philosophy become anticlerical. The movement of liberation rises to an exuberant worship of reason, and falls to a paralyzing disillusionment with every dogma and every idea. Conduct, deprived of its religious supports, deteriorates into epicurean chaos; and life itself, shorn of consoling faith, becomes a burden alike to conscious poverty and to weary wealth. In the end a society and its religion tend to fall together, like body and soul, in a harmonious death. Meanwhile among the oppressed another myth arises, gives new form to human hope, new courage to human effort, and after centuries of chaos builds another civilization.”
Sounds familiar, yes?
Perhaps a few hours each week with the Durants would give me insights into the health and status of our present civilization. In college I majored in history, studied the same subject for two years in graduate school, and have always felt indebted for the long view of politics and culture those studies gave me. Reading The Story of Civilization might expand that view and render current events more comprehensible. At the least, The Story of Civilization would offer certain perceptions about human nature.
Next time: a final reason for reading the Durants.
Money? Out of the question.
In 2002, Julie Powell vowed to cook all 524 recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year and to blog the results. Powell fulfilled her vow, her blog won her a book deal, her book deal segued into a movie, and her year of preparing all those recipes in her tiny kitchen brought her a little deserved fame and, one assumes, a nice piece of change.
Millions of people revere Julia Child. Few today know or care about the Durants. Reading and writing about The Story of Civilization promises, ipso facto, nothing but another nail in my coffin of penury.
So why attempt it? Cui bono? (Note to self: Dump the Latin tags? Are such self-amusements the bane of readers? From Elements of Style, Chapter V, #20, Strunk and White offer this observation: “Some writers…from sheer exuberance or a desire to show off, sprinkle their work liberally with foreign expressions, with no regard for the reader’s comfort. It is a bad habit. Write in English.” Do Latin expressions common in English make readers uncomfortable? Perhaps after each inclusion I should suggest a cup of cocoa, a warm bath, and a nap.)
I have spent two frustrating weeks mulling over my motivation and have concluded that the only sure result from such a quixotic expedition would be a grand case of asthenopia, i.e. severe eyestrain. (Note to readers: Here is a working definition of mulling as undertaken by this writer: “I should do it!” Five minutes later, “Are you insane?” Repeat these flip-flops fifty times per day.)
Finally, I set down on paper reasons for reading The Story of Civilization. (TSOC) Lists are to me as Valium is to the anxious: they offer a palliative effect and give me the false but satisfied impression that I am in control of my life. Here in expanded form is that list.
Because I am facing a summit, I first put down George Mallory’s old retort, who, when asked why he wanted to climb Everest, replied: “Because it’s there.” (Note to readers: Mallory died climbing Everest, and his body remained undiscovered for 75 years. Should I begin scaling Mount Durant, and should you fail to see me post here for a week or so, please take a moment from your busy day to call 911. The ambulance gang can shoo away any stray critters, remove the volume of Durant from my stiffened fingers, and bundle me off to the local morgue.)
The Durants’ historical insights and writing style affords a second reason for reading them. As I know from my past flirtations with TSOC, the Durants are a delight, never dull, never sententious, and drolly humorous. They bring their zest for people, the past, literature, and philosophy into print. Sure, new research has displaced some of the Durants’ data and the passage of time has dated many of their theories, but the scope of their work is still unsurpassed. Besides, I want to wallow in their style and their sly humor as much as their history.
One other note on their writing: Will Durant was fond of the aphorism, as am I. The difference between us is that he enjoyed writing aphorisms and I enjoy reading them. Ours is a natural friendship.
Page 71 of Durant's Volume I: Our Oriental Heritage proffered still another motive for making this climb, a passage where he considers the decline and fall of civilizations. Bear in mind that the writer of these words was a man of the left and a socialist:
“The intellectual classes abandon the ancient theology and—after some hesitation—the moral code allied with it; literature and philosophy become anticlerical. The movement of liberation rises to an exuberant worship of reason, and falls to a paralyzing disillusionment with every dogma and every idea. Conduct, deprived of its religious supports, deteriorates into epicurean chaos; and life itself, shorn of consoling faith, becomes a burden alike to conscious poverty and to weary wealth. In the end a society and its religion tend to fall together, like body and soul, in a harmonious death. Meanwhile among the oppressed another myth arises, gives new form to human hope, new courage to human effort, and after centuries of chaos builds another civilization.”
Sounds familiar, yes?
Perhaps a few hours each week with the Durants would give me insights into the health and status of our present civilization. In college I majored in history, studied the same subject for two years in graduate school, and have always felt indebted for the long view of politics and culture those studies gave me. Reading The Story of Civilization might expand that view and render current events more comprehensible. At the least, The Story of Civilization would offer certain perceptions about human nature.
Next time: a final reason for reading the Durants.
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